F. M. Mayor (1872–1932)

Bleak beauty: an exquisite study of pain, loss, misunderstandings and missed opportunities, all overridden by duty. A few aspects of the plot are a little contrived and I was never quite convinced by the character of Kathy, but the emotion is raw enough to justify these minor flaws.

Mary is in her mid 30s and living a lonely but useful life with her father (a canon in the Church of England) in a dull East Anglian village, between the wars. Her life is marked by loss from childhood onwards and show more she is generally "crushed by the invincible force of her father's inaction". Her father is fond of her, but unable to express it, in part because he is disappointed in and confused by her, and he is unaware of the hurt his thoughtless put-downs cause. Another time her father "grieved for her, but doing as he would be done by, he let fall no word of sympathy". For a while she funnels her love into her learning-disabled sister, "finding something to treasure in what others shunned", but the sister dies. She devotes herself to parish duties; she "attracted confidences, particularly sad ones".

There are fleeting glimpses of opportunities, but people, circumstances and Mary's own inhibitions conspire to prevent anything coming of them. She meets a man, but is "too humble to be repelled by his dullness". Love comes from another quarter, but it's a perilous path and she feels so guilty for such an incredibly minor transgression that she feels outcast from her religion. "She was exalted in ecstasy, but... with duty paramount her ecstasy took the form of good resolutions."

There are some wittier insights too, such as "Dora came from the section of the middle class which is so good and kind it CAN NOT be rude (Mary came from the section above it, which CAN)"; the fact that shy people make the best hosts because they dislike being left out, and wishing to live in London "where sympathy was not so omnipresent".

"On the whole she was happy", despite "her sad past, from which she refused to be free" and the book is similarly sad but captivating. show less

Henrietta, “the third Miss Symons,” is the third daughter of a large Victorian family. She enters life burdened with two attractive older sisters and parents who don’t understand her and don’t particularly care for her. They prefer her more straightforward sisters. They certainly don’t bother to unlock the secret of her personality: what she wants, more than anything, is to be loved and to be important to someone else. Unfortunately, being loved doesn’t come easily to her. She show more tries too hard, and she herself doesn’t understand the motives and behaviors of other people. As she grows older, she falls back on querelousness and bad temper as a way of asserting herself. She needs to feel important, but comes across as irritating. Her desperate need to be needed makes her almost entirely unwanted. She’s an interesting and brilliantly drawn character: the reader initially sympathizes with her, but gradually—like everyone else—begins to dislike her and to want to give her a good shake. The Third Miss Symons is not a joyous novel, but it’s a brilliant one—a little masterpiece of characterization. show less

This is a short but stunning novel, following a spinster daughter from her childhood yearning for love (never fulfilled) through a single romance (that fails to work out) and on into lonely adulthood. When her tenure as lady of the house is cut short (on her father's remarriage) she tries to find new interests...
And the way Henrietta Symons finishes up- snappy, unloved, critical - seems a combination of her own nature and the hand life has dealt her. Would she have been a lovelier person if show more she'd had her sisters' successes?
Sad little tale, very well written. show less

This novel reminded me of something important: that it is a lot easier to write an engaging novel about someone(s) exceptional, with extraordinary talents and/or dropped into unusual circumstances. It takes considerably more literary skill to write a beautiful, fascinating novel about one ordinary person to whom very little happens. Many of the former type of book can be found everywhere. Mayor has managed the much rarer latter form with 'The Rector's Daughter', which recounts the life of show more Mary Jocelyn.

I have to give 'The Rector's Daughter' five stars, not least because it managed what very few books have - it made me cry. On a train, even. It may be a contributory factor that I relate to Mary. I defy anyone to read this novel and not do so at least a little, but as I too am a spinster I felt especially sympathetic to her. Mayor recounts the minor occurrences and limited circle of people that constitute Mary's life with exceptional sensitivity. She and her friends, relatives, and acquaintances are brilliantly, utterly convincingly brought to life. Despite the absence of very dramatic events and lack of famous or historically significant characters, I was utterly fascinated with Mary's story. Her life felt real and moving in a way that few writers manage.

It was this that made the book so desolate. The narrative voice is cool and wonderfully paced, showing the inner complexity and humanity (I can't think of a better word) of Mary, then revealing in other scenes how she is seen, talked of, and remembered by those who knew her. This is a novel that understands loneliness, better even than Rilke's [b:The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge|93405|The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge|Rainer Maria Rilke|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1348925210s/93405.jpg|314321] (urban male loneliness is by no means of the same character as female rural loneliness, though). Despite the great similarity in subject matter, it is also utterly different to Orwell's [b:A Clergyman's Daughter|319238|A Clergyman's Daughter|George Orwell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1420079227s/319238.jpg|1469726]. In that, Orwell dwelt on a socio-economic system his protagonist was caught in, without sparing her much sympathy as a person. Thus, his novel is merely depressing, whereas 'The Rector's Daughter' is devastating.

I realise that using such adjectives as desolate and devastating doesn't amount to much of a recommendation. It should, as this novel is truly brilliant. Don't read it if you want something to simply cheer you up; I'd suggest Gideon Defoe's pirate adventures or something by Steve Aylett for that purpose. This is a book to remind us of the complexity and depth of inner life within every single person we come across. Everyone we walk past in the street has their stories, their memories, their joys and tragedies. Some fiction inadvertently conveys the idea that most people are cyphers. This novel (some dated comments about the 'lower classes' aside) powerfully demonstrates the exact opposite. show less