Lorna Doone

All right, all right—I confess!

After years of eating the shortbread cookies, and then recently watching the 2000 TV miniseries, I wanted to finally read this classic Romance of Exmoor. ("Romance" not in the sense of John and Lorna's love story but in the sense that Blackmore wrote the book with a romantic approach to history, rather than penning a novel strictly concerned with historical fact.)

However, I've been only a third of the way through an unabridged copy of Les Misérables for years now—yet planning on finishing it sometime, once I've cleared out enough "cushion space" for it. (As much as I've thoroughly enjoyed that work of Victor Hugo's so far, even its tangents, I've still 1000 more Misérables pages to go, and I'm not show more the naturally fastest reader around. Here in the more recent seasons of my writing/publishing and book blogging schedule, I've been sticking to reading books that will only take me a certain number of hours to finish and review.)

So, I've spent some years successfully resisting the temptation to start any more epic-length classics, while my completion of Les Mis is pending. Yet, for months, I've kept hearing the theme music from that Lorna Doone miniseries in my head, against the backdrop of bracing winds from a waterfall up in Exmoor's hills…

("Romantic" sigh)

So, to the meat of my first confession, here: I made a compromise that I usually don't make for novels, not even for really long ones.

I decided to read (*gasp!*) an abridged edition of Lorna Doone. The one from Puffin Classics, 1976. Which, at 340 pages, is edited down to about a third of the length of the original 1869 novel.

(I mean, I once read a somewhat reworded and whittled-down version of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. But only because I'd already read the original Ben-Hur years before—and because the author of the updated version I read is the original author's great-great-granddaughter.)

And, while my old-fashioned, book-nerdy, and maybe a tad book-snobbish self is in confession mode, I'm going ahead to admit this. Even the abridged Lorna felt, um…long and slow to me.

It isn't because I always need fiction to be fast-paced. Again, even tangents like Hugo's lengthy ones in Les Mis can keep me interested. But those social and philosophical tangents give me substantive food for thought.

In contrast, my interest wanes in books where stretches of more mundane or technical descriptions are what keep delaying a story from getting to the next real action. For instance, I don't need a scene to take more than one paragraph (certainly not a whole page or two) just to describe how John Ridd (or anyone in any novel) goes over the river and through the wood. Up the hill, down the slope, and around the rock.

If a character, or the plot itself, is merely moving from Point A to Point B, without philosophical morsels along the way—then just arrive at Point B already, please.

Granted, I realize that some of this sentiment comes from the precious time it takes me to finish a novel. (And, no, for both personal and professional reasons, I don't want to become a faster reader.) Hence, if I'm going to spend X-number of hours with a slow-paced book, I need it to give my brain or soul more in the midst of its slowness. I also realize that what counts as "more" varies from one person to the next. Or it can vary from one day to the next for one person, depending on one's mood or mindset.

Besides, I know I can't fully judge literary Lorna Doone because, hey, it's possible that however many of those 600-ish omitted pages might have contained the kind of morsels my mind would've liked for contemplative chewing.

Don't know.

In any case, as a further confession: This is one of the rare times when this book nerd actually enjoyed a screen adaptation more than the novel it's related to—rather than my liking the book more. Or rather than my liking the visual version and literary version differently but equally.

Yet, three reasons why I stuck it out with this novel anyway:

1) Given that I did like the overall story I watched, I wanted to see if certain parts from the screen match the book, which they mostly do,

2) an unplanned delay in the publishing process for my own next book gave me some extra reading time, and

3) I'd already made a fan art book cover for my blog and wanted a reason to post it.

So! I'll likely watch that miniseries again, and maybe at least one more screen adaptation sometime. And I'll go on eating the cookies.

Note, Puffin Classics edition:
• murder and war-level violence; non-detailed harm to a few children
• language kept to a "PG" level
• no explicit sexual content show less

John Ridd’s life as he narrates his story is as large as he is. The Hercules of Exmoor, as his author describes his strength, is as gigantic as the near seven-foot yeoman himself. He has been the sole male support of his family since he was schoolboy when his father’s death at the hands of the Doones, the aristocratic outlaws of his region of southwest England, placed him in this position. A champion wrestler at county fairs, he must, as an adult, tackle the wiles of the lawyers and court of King James II, as well as the outlaws of Bagworthy Forest, and the labors of the harvest and fields. Ironically, his only true love, Lorna Doone, is a member of the clan of his enemies.

Blackmore’s romance, a he terms his most popular book, is show more more than a seventeenth century Romeo and Juliet. In addition to John’s striving for a match above his station in life, there are Blackmore’s expert characterizations of John, his family, friends and rivals. The countryside and its seasons are described so vividly and actively that it’s more an active character than background or setting. There are also episodes of court intrigue, religious contention between Catholics and Protestants, several pitched assaults and battles, secret business deals, open rebellion, multiple near escapes, and even hints of supernatural doings. It’s a bit of something for every reader formula that still works for best sellers today as it did in 1869 when Lorna Doone was first published. show less

When I realized that this was a nineteenth-century work set in the seventeenth century, I thought, "Well, this is either going to be grueling or delightful." It turned out to be just the right blend of delights to win my heart. The beautiful descriptions of Devonshire and Somerset, the homely likeability of John Ridd, the charmingly anthropomorphized descriptions of animals (!), an ample dash of political and religious history adding texture to the setting, with a good balance of dry humor and melancholy that wasn't too heavy-handed. It's too soon to tell if this is the sort of novel I'd reread more than once a decade, but I'm certainly glad I didn't wait longer to pull it out of the to-read queue.

Whilst I enjoyed this historical fiction romance, I felt at times that I was reading two separate books that had been merged into one - the romance and the depiction of a farmer's life in the late 1600s. I think that both halves would make a good book one their own (and of a shorter length!), but the romance in particular would be an exciting tale on its own. However, abridging this novel would be like cutting the Mona Lisa out of her background - sure, the famous portrait of the woman is still there but it has lost some of its power by being taken out of its proper context. John Ridd, despite his love story and adventures, is fundamentally a yeoman farmer and delights in the land and the beauties of nature. If you cut all of that away, show more he would become unconvincing as the hero (especially as a hero who takes such a long time to "get the girl"!).

By using Ridd as the narrator, Blackmore manages to immerse the reader in the late seventeenth century. John, with his wealthy shop owner uncle and his freehold farm, is in the middle of society - not a nobleman nor a peasant or labourer, but able to mix with both. This allows Blackmore to show us a wider range of life than many historical fiction novels manage to do, and the introduction of Jeremy Stickles brings the political picture into the story as well. I was a little disappointed that the Monmouth Rebellion played such a small part in the plot, but upon reflection, it was consistent with John's character.

I had some difficulties with reading some of the characters' dialect - this is a problem I have encountered before in other books (both British and American). I am coming to believe that the way of speech being depicted may not be worth preserving in this manner... A decent audiobook edition might be the way to go - unfortunately, the Librivox recording is one of the collaborative recordings. As with all of the collaborative efforts I have listened to from Librivox, the quality of the narrators and the recordings is uneven. I found some of them excellent, but for some chapters I preferred to read rather than listen to the narration. show less

Not one of the best 'classics' I have ever read - I found the narrator rather unformed, and the various skirmishes with the Duke of Monmouth became tedious. There were good bits though - notably the tense confrontation with the Doone family early on in the book. The trouble is, I kept thinking, just transpose the whole scenario into the modern day, have the Doone family living on a sink estate with a rusting Rover up on bricks in the front garden, Lorna would have been just as rough as the rest of them, I'm sure. Why it should be any different in olden times I don't really understand.

Lorna Doone is the story of a young man named John Ridd who lives in England during Monmouth's rebellion (1685). He and his family are humble but respected yeomen who have farmed their land for the past six hundred years. When John is still a boy, his father is murdered by the local gang of rogues, the Doones. The Doones are unique among outlaws because they come of noble blood, and it is partly this heritage that awes the countryside and allows the Doones to grow strong without any interference. By the time the Doones become a serious problem for the surrounding area — killing, plundering, and stealing maidens — they have grown too entrenched, and anyone who stands up to them is killed. John's father stood up to them on a lonely show more road one night, and was murdered by the most evil bandit of the group, Carver Doone.

John is our narrator and tells how, as a boy, he stumbled quite by chance on a secret entrance to the Doones' hidden valley. There he meets a beautiful maiden, Lorna Doone, with whom he falls in love. But Lorna's lineage is not as straightforward as the Doones would have her believe. Old Sir Ensor Doone and his son the Counsellor (father of Carver Doone) know the truth of her birth, and would use her to further their own devious purposes. John must balance his duty to his family and his love for Lorna with the larger political events that are causing great tumult in London.

I thoroughly enjoyed this story. There are a few quibbles I'll mention before praising the good parts. Some of the accents are ridiculously overdone, to the point of being unreadable. I never could understand what Betty Muxworthy was saying whenever she'd open her mouth. Far from drawing me into that culture, it jolted me out every time I had to try to decipher it. Another issue is the length of the book. It really isn't that complicated of a story to need 624 pages of small text. The narrator goes off on a lot of tangents. Some of those tangents are interesting, but others are ponderous and made the book feel heavy to read.

For the good aspects of the book, I will say that John Ridd is an excellent character and his narration was peppered with humor and self-deprecating comments that were really quite amusing. It was mainly this that made me look forward to whenever I got a chance to read this book. For example, he talks about how honest the people in his part of the country are, except on market day when the customers expect to be cheated. He is very good at laughing at himself, and it made his style very accessible and welcoming. He is also very good at discerning (and seeing the funny side of) the motives of others, especially those of his mother. His simple, forthright morality and the reasoning behind it were refreshing.

Lorna as a character was slightly annoying, probably because we see her through the eyes of her lover and of course she is perfect in every way, beautiful beyond measure, winsome and wonderful, etc. It's hard to believe she turned out so perfectly after being brought up by the cruel and murderous Doones, but there you have it.

Carver Doone was a bit stereotypical. I liked Tom Faggus and Annie, and even Eliza because she was so different. John's mother was also very well-written. I thought Sir Ensor was portrayed too sympathetically. The Counsellor was pretty good. And John Fry was very funny.

Just a note on this particular edition (Wordsworth Classics): it was horrible. I could not believe the number of typos in this book. Spell check could have saved most of them, but the thing with spell check is that you actually have to use it. Tough, I know.

Overall, I would definitely recommend this story to anyone who enjoys humor and good historical fiction with a personal touch. I believe it has been in print continuously since its publication in 1869, and with good reason. An enjoyable story. show less

I have just re-read this after many many years. It has stood the test of time wonderfully, and comes up once again in bright fresh colours. You have to accept the long descriptions and explanations; the nature descriptions may be flowery, but they are also very accurate and detailed. Accept also the 17th/19th C view of the sexes; the characterisations are still wonderful. I enjoyed Tom Faggus, John Fry, Betty Muxworthy, Ruth Huckaback and all, all over again. And it is, despite its length and detail, an exciting tale, constantly switching from comic incidents (the rescue of the drake) to stirring ones (Winnie's mad gallop with young John), all through the book and right to the (very exciting) end.