The Squire (original 1938; edition 1987)

20 Jan 2011

Read for All Virago All August.
Steeped in maternity and family, a rather amazing Virago for its time, and now. Like being immersed in the waiting suspension of late pregnancy and the milky intimacy of a new mother. The female Squire running her house contrasts with the sere butler and communes with her midwife and friend, again contrasted with their virginity and rather desperate youthfullness respectively. Hugely engaging; absorbing in all respects. ( )

When our title character's husband leaves the household for his annual buying trip to India, the mistress of the house becomes "the Squire" in his absence. Well into her 40's, she is also very near to her delivery date for her fifth child. This situation sets off a book-load of introspection, reflections, musings, self-analysis and observations on the nature of love, and the things that are important to a woman's life. Among all that (which can get a bit overdone at times) are vignettes of life that are often quite realistic. Each existing child has a distinct personality, and the Squire loves each of them for their qualities. She also has those Exasperated Mother moments that even parents of an Only know much too well. There are fascinating glimpses into the less-than-optimal servant situation (Mr. Hudson does not run this household with a firm and unflappable hand, and Mrs. Bridges is not reigning supreme down in the kitchen) and the mystical, if limited, relationship between a new mother and her mid-wife. If this book were a musical recording, I would call it overproduced---too many violins, by half. But it was a solid 3 1/2 star read. ( )

Written between 1921 and 1930, this is a rather amazing story about a woman, the Squire, in the latter stages of her pregnancy through the birth of her fifth baby. Her husband is away in India for three months of every year, a "Bombay merchant", so the Squire is left to manage her home and give birth to their child on her own.

Although its revelations aren't shocking by the standards of our time, I can imagine that they might have been in the early 30s, as Bagnold frankly discusses love, sexuality, childbirth, breast feeding and raising children.

The book is almost sensual in its languidness, its only sharp moments the occasional discord of a cook who must be fired, a butler who drinks, and a friend and neighbour who is still a woman "made for love", an echo of the Squire's younger self. It is beautifully written, a contemplative book which evokes the cycle of life (with death as a constant shadow in the background but naturally, not disturbingly so). Although it was set in a particular era, one which still had "this old feudal nonsense in a toppling world" with its class system of those who serve and those who are served, Bagnold's thoughts about motherhood, birth and being a woman are timeless.

I particularly enjoyed the author's insights into the love of a mother for her children. Bagnold set out to write about something which hadn't been done before and I do think she succeeded. ( )