Mazo de la Roche (1879–1961)

The Building of Jalna
Captain Wakefield of the British Indian army inherits a property in Canada in the 1850s, so he and his Irish wife decide to emigrate.

A good, soapy, read. The Atlantic crossing was very well done -- although I knew they had to stay safe for the book to continue, it was still very atmospheric, showing that a safe voyage was by no means guaranteed. There were several parts later in the book that felt we were building up to some disaster which didn't happen.

Morning at show more Jalna
Bizarre episode in which a married couple from South Carolina and three of their slaves come to stay at Jalna purportedly as refugees from the American Civil War but in fact to take part in raids across the border into the Northern States to hamper their war effort.

This was the last of the Jalna books to be written and left a slightly sour taste, but no doubt accurately reflects the opinions of some people for the time it was set.

Mary Wakefield
30-odd years later Mary Wakefield comes to Jalna as a governess to baby Philip's children and the young widower finds consolation.

Predictable cozy read, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Young Renny
12 years later, Meggie, Philip's daughter by his first wife is on the verge of matrimony to the boy next door.

The pranks against Malahide Court were very funny. show less

http://leavesandpages.wordpress.com/2013/06/17/review-ringing-the-changes-an-aut...

"(When reading) the autobiographies of other writers … some appear as little more than a chronicle of the important people the author has known; some appear to dwell, in pallid relish, on poverty or misunderstanding or anguish of spirit endured. They overflow with self-pity. Others have recorded only the sunny periods of their lives, and these are the pleasantest to read."

~Mazo de la Roche ~ Ringing the show more Changes

Ringing the Changes itself is a diverting memoir, and, if the author indeed intended to record the frequent sunny hours of her life, she by and large succeeded. Tragedy both major and minor continually followed Mazo and her extended family, and while unhappy events are described, they are not dwelt on or singled out as an excuse for pathos. I never got the feeling that the author was “wallowing”, though I occasionally shook my head in wonder at the sad fates of so many of her relatives, and, frequently, of her family’s beloved animals. They did seem, so many of them, to come to such tragic ends…

I must confess that I knew very little about de la Roche before I read this book, though I had a pre-existing vision of her as a rather reclusive, mildly eccentric sort. I had read several of the Jalna novels way back during my teenage years, but had certainly not found them worthy of any sort of “fandom”, as so many others apparently have. I did pick up a number of the books quite recently in a library sale, thinking that my mother might enjoy them, but she was rather dismissive of the series, so they currently languish somewhere in a box.

In this memoir, Mazo looks back to her childhood, and, once a bit of genealogical discussion is gotten out of the way, launches into a compelling tale of gallantry, tragedy, heartrending anecdotes and humorous vignettes. “Gallant” is a term I kept saying to myself as I read Ringing the Changes; so many of the people in Mazo’s life demonstrated this trait, in particular her beloved cousin Caroline, who was the epitome of selfless devotion in numerous ways, though she appeared to have a full and satisfying independent life as well. The Mazo-Caroline relationship is still raising eyebrows – were they lesbians? what was Mazo’s hold on Caroline? who really wrote the books? – but, seriously, it does seem like that particular relationship was one of equals. Both women apparently had romantic interludes – with men - at various times throughout their lives; that they would choose to stay single and in a “family relationship” with each other and various other family members surely is a purely personal matter and rather understandable given their backgrounds and that of their extended family.

The argument for “closet lesbianism” for Mazo at least is quite strong, or perhaps one might go so far as to speculate that “cross-gendered” might be a more apt term. From her own statements in Ringing the Changes, in childhood she wanted to be a boy, she related on completely equal terms with her male editors and literary advisors, and, perhaps most tellingly, she frankly states that she identified extremely strongly with one of her male protagonists, Finch Whiteoak, who is portrayed as artistic, emotionally and physically fragile, and highly conflicted in his romantic yearnings.

In Ringing the Changes it does seem that Mazo de la Roche was continually striking back at her many critics, the ones who denied her work any place in the “literature” canon, due to its popular success and formulaic nature. She is highly defensive of her own motivations, and this oft-quoted passage sums up her rather hurt tone well:

"I could not deny the demands of readers who wanted to know more of that [the Whiteoak] family. Still less could I deny the urge within myself to write of them. Sometimes I see reviews in which the critic commends a novelist for not attempting to repeat former successes, and then goes on to say what an inferior thing his new novel is. If a novelist is prolific he is criticized for that, yet in all other creative forms — music, sculpture, painting — the artist may pour out his creations without blame. But the novelist, like the actor, must remember his audience. Without an audience, where is he? Like the actor, an audience is what he requires — first, last and all the time. But, unlike the actor, he can work when he is more than half ill and may even do his best work then. Looking back, it seems to me that the life of the novelist is the best of all and I would never choose any other."

Ringing the Changes, read as a stand-alone book without reference to Mazo de la Roche’s fictional body of work, “works” as a memoir which can be read for the pleasure of the tale itself. Mazo de la Roche was, as even her harshest critics freely admitted, a “born storyteller”, and this account of incidents in her life, as deliberately selected and edited as they may be, is a very readable thing indeed. show less

It’s been quite awhile since I visited the Jalna series by Mazo de la Roche but luckily the author wrote each book to be able to stand alone. In this, the fourth volume, we read of the romance between governess Mary Wakefield and the current master of Jalna, widower Philip Whiteoak. With Philip’s mother bound and determined to prevent this couple getting together, there many moments of angst, treachery and tears.

It is the 1880s and Mary Wakefield has been hired in London to travel to show more Canada to become the governess of two children. She doesn’t have any experience, but Ernest Whiteoak, who hired her, was in a hurry as the woman that had been hired for the job had broken both her legs and could not travel to Canada. Mary looked upon this as a great adventure and she fell in love with the beautiful Ontario estate of Jalna when she arrived. She also fell in love with the children’s father and Mary and Philip enjoyed a couple of months before his mother returned from England, bringing Philip’s two brothers and his sister for an extended visit. She immediately sussed out the situation and did her best to intervene between Philip and Mary.

Although I found this book a little over the top in regards to emotions, it was a light, entertaining read that provided me with a giggle or two as the dowager Adeline plotted against the romance. I have the next few book in the vintage series and will definitely be continuing to read about the Whiteoak family. show less

Portrait of a dog, published in 1930, is one I want to use the word delightful a lot when describing it. Dogs are a delight, but it takes an observant person and a great command of the English language to make the book charming and wonderful. I will add a fair amount of excerpts from the book after I get my own thoughts out first so you can get a feel for the book.

The story is of a lady describing the life of mostly of her Scottish terrier. We are told of the naming of this little female, show more Argyle Bunty, only once and then throughout the book is just referred to as ‘you.’ So. the book is a fond remembrance like she wrote it talking to the dog.

There are some other dogs , mentioned, especially a West Highland Terrier dog that was his companion for a good part, but mostly it was able about the Scotty.

When I was young, my neighbors had, and I think bred, Scottish Terriers, but I never interacted with them. Seems like a huge, missed opportunity now. After I had a couple of Newfoundland’s, my wife had us get a West Highland White terrier, and I came to appreciate the good, and tolerate the less than good, of terriers. So much good in every breed, with various aspects of good within each individual dog, hard to really crown any breed the best. I somehow feel like getting another Newfoundland, but also feel like it would be fun to experience an Airedale after having read a few books with them as the hero.

I know what a lot of people want to know about any dog book, if Kleenex is needed. The answer is yes, but like actually owning a dog, you can’t have all the joy, without a bit of sadness.
My first excerpt is from when they first got the dog as a puppy.

‘That tail! Was there ever such another? A man, they say, may wear his heart on his sleeve, certainly you wore yours on your tail. Other dogs I have known wagged their tails in pleasure or drew them close in fear or apology. Yours never drooped. You waved it like a banner and it was seldom that it was absolutely still. - A breeder told me that its carriage was too “gay” for showing, that your muzzle was not heavy enough, that your eyes were too large. He agreed, and well he might, that they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in a dog’s head and that you had a “grand little body.” Out walking, the waving of that tail gave our progress the air of a procession. It was a hardened hater of dogs who had not a smile for you. You had none of the dourness and reserve attributed to your breed. From morning to night you craved friendliness, and you were almost as greedy for it as you were for food. Lying stretched asleep on the floor, you would seem suddenly to be conscious of something. Life stirring about you, perhaps—and you approved of life with your whole soul. Your tail would thud against the floor in ecstasy,’

It sounds like as far as Scottish terriers go, this one was special:

‘A Scotsman once wrote that “the real Scottish terrier has the most characteristic facial expression. Jock is a thinker, philosopher, and seer . . . there should be a cast of thought upon his face even when he is a puppy and knows naught of men and dogs and things from personal experience.” You had the cast of thought upon your puppy face, but your philosophy was one of beaming approval of the world in which you found yourself.’

I also like how the book reminded me of the first times a puppy learns to jump up, like on to the couch, or go somewhere the cat (Christopher) goes:

‘Then, at last, a day came when you clambered to the top and sat there, the picture of comical surprise at your own achievement, you seemed afraid to get down for fear you would never again accomplish the feat but sat surveying the room from this new and startling eminence. It seemed no time until you were jumping over the stool as though it were nothing, and after that came the conquest of Christopher’s chair. He no longer had any refuge from you except on the shoulder of one of us or on Lizzie’s lap.’

We are only given the shadow of details for tragedies that happen in the book with the full illumination how they navigated past them. I liked the imagery in this one after previous chapters described how much the dogs loved to explore the stalks of corn in the nearby field:
‘It was over. Tragedy had found us, passed over us as a storm, We three who were left were prostrate in spirit, as the corn lay prostrate after the storm of wind and hail. After a while the corn had raised itself toward the sun, but never again were the bowed heads so erect, never again so fearless, so certain that all would be well. Nor would our spirits.’

Moving forward meant becoming a writer for the author. Love how she conveys how important a dog is when you take notice of them and allow them in:

‘We began to plan extravagantly, as we always did, and you sat in our midst, saying in your own way, with deep gazing eyes: “I shall be there. I am the centre of all this planning."’

‘On the day when I first took my writing things into that room and spread them out on the table and tried to work, you followed and lay down at my feet. That was the beginning of your share in all my work. You seemed to think that it could not go on rightly without you —and, indeed, this came to be so. I must have the support of your solid little presence, the intimacy of your eyes, the sympathy of your quick thudding tail on the floor when the pencil was laid down, the paper gathered up. You came to know that moment unerringly. I might fret about the room, look out of the window, or go to another room in search of something; you never budged. There you sat, doing your part, and not till the final moment rising to stretch, to give me a look complacent, beaming, affectionate, sealing the morning’s work.‘

Another passage to share with fans of Scottish Terriers:

‘I have known many breeds, — Irish Terriers, Airedales, Blue Bedlingtons, Collies, Spaniels, Yorkshires, English Bulldogs, — but it seems to me that the Scottish terrier has the most generous charm of all. Nature was liberal to him in giving him the heart of a big dog in a body so compact and small that he might be the perfect companion indoors and out.’

I also liked how she weighed in on the conversation of whether a boy dog or a female is better:
‘These differences of male and female! Looking back over that bright-eyed, quick-breathing procession, I believe that the bitch showed greater endurance, greater adaptability, and —I hate to say it — greater greed than the dog. A sense of self-preservation, preservation of her unborn young, is innate in her. The male is more wistful, more flighty, and he seldom has her soul-searching gaze that goes straight to one’s heart. The bitch usually has an adventurous, devil-may-care spirit. She is very sure of herself and her place in one’s affections.’

In the book the dogs were allowed to run free and would be gone for the whole day at times and not return until night. I know how incredibly stupid that would be now where motorcars are so much more prevalent and space to run is more limited for most of us. But I love the sight of a dog running off leash and I know the dogs take great joy in running and exploring. Here you can get a feel for that freedom:

‘The fullness of life had overflowed in you that day, Food mattered nothing, nor home, nor love of Us, only the chase, the penetrating of burrows, the return to the life for which your sires had been bred. But at sunset you came home, weary little dogs, ready to be stroked, to be held on comfortable laps, to submit to the pulling out of burrs.’

There is a good part of it telling of the Scotty and Westie together and the difference in personality between the two, like this passage which starts relating about the Westie:

‘I am certain that his mind was beset by dangers of which you recked nothing. I have seen the hair rise all along his spine, as he sat by your side, while you gazed tranquilly, savoring the amiability of the universe. But in your rages your two spirits were as one. By the time late summer came, “those black and white rascals” were the terror of all the dogs about. I think it was the ferocity of your sudden rushes. You were like two wild Highlanders charging down the glen brandishing your battle-axes. I have seen you harry a Great Dane the length of the beach, running in and out among his legs, leaping on him from either side, with snarls twice too fierce for your size. There were complaints.’

Our Scotty dog eventually goes blind but there is still so much interesting behavior left with him. I liked how she describes how the dog puzzles out the change in circumstances and then proceeds to live a normal life. Here is a bit that relates to that. Hope you can enjoy the prose as much as I do.

‘The minutest sound that had any bearing on your daily routine became significant to you. If I opened a certain drawer in my desk and took out my purse, opened it to see what it contained, you had leaped to the floor in an instant and were at my side, though the moment before you had been curled up on your chair apparently sound asleep. You knew that that sound portended marketing and its delights. The butcher’s and the bone bought for you. The bakeshop where you had only to sit up, waving your paws, and a little sweet cake would be put before you. The grocer’s and the evil converse with his great grey cat. Best of all, the fishmongers! I can see his inscrutable, unsmiling face as he weighed the fish, affecting to ignore you. Then suddenly he seemed to become aware of your pawing on his apron, of your whimperings that were now becoming outraged cries.’

Hope you can see why I loved the book. show less