The French Lieutenant's Woman

First published at Booking in Heels.

I read this based on how much I'd loved The Collector the year before. I'd adored John Fowles' formal yet chatty narrative, and the way his characters (although dislikeable) were brought to life. I knew at the time that I had to read more of his work. All of it, if possible.

And here we are. The French Lieutenant's Woman is a simpler plot than The Collector, at least prima facie. The book is set in Lyme Regis in the 1860s, and revolves around a young, recently engaged couple, Charles Smithson and Ernestina Freeman. In the same town, there's a young woman by the name of Sarah Woodruff who has been scorned for a scandal involving, you guessed it, a French lieutenant.

That's it, really. That's the story. show more The beauty with this novel, however, isn't the plot, it's the beauty and ingenuity of the prose. It's sort of meta, or it would be if that didn't seem an inappropriate word to use regarding a setting of 1867. Instead of the dark, stream of consciousness narration present in The Collector, the narrator spends a lot of time talking directly to the reader, with phrases such as 'you'll have to excuse Charles, he was merely a product of his time.'

It has a similar tone to The Crimson Petal and the White, come to think of it. It's very much as if the narrator is guiding you along, nudging you to keep up and follow the characters. The author actually pops up as a minor character at one point, just to sit there and muse about the nature of novel-writing. It's odd, but not jarring.

It's balanced very well though, and stops short of becoming abstract. There's a definite story here and it's not difficult to follow, despite the frequent musings of the pecularities of the Victorian Age. If anything, that was my favourite thing, and it seems to be what has earned The French Lieutenant's Woman its glory. The frequent and direct comparisons between the Victorian era and the current time (well, the 1960s) are so naturally inserted into the text, and are so imminently readable, that I just devoured them.

Honestly, without them the book wouldn't be half as interesting. The plot is simple and the main character is profoundly irritating. Charles Smithson is just awful. One minute he loves Ernestina for her little quirks, the next he can't stand the exact same little quirks... ugh. And his attitude towards Sarah Woodruff also doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

The ending is... odd. You're provided with an ending in the natural course of the novel, obviously, but then the author pops up and says 'but because I'm a writer, I can explore what also could have happened,' and then we're provided with two other endings. It doesn't state which is the 'real' one, but then that's sort of the point - Fowles states that because the whole thing is a work of fiction, each ending is as real or unreal as the next.

He's right, I suppose, but I do really prefer a fixed ending.

It's fine though, my enjoyment of The French Lieutenant's Woman wasn't spoilt by Charles Woodruff nor John Fowles. Read this just for the prose, which reminds me quite a lot of The Crimson Petal and the White, with a smidge of The Collector. It's so, so well-written in such a unique manner, that I really do recommend that everybody pick it up. show less

This is a fast and playful work, perfect for either fans of the Victorian novel or fans of the postmodern. Whether you find yourself loving Fowles for the style of this work or despising him for his skill at playing with expectations and style, you'll react to this book. For the longtime reader of classics, the allusions here are a constant enrichment to the text, but even the reader who's so far unfamiliar with the texts Fowles plays into his novel will find the book entertaining. It might end up being frustrating for the reader who expects a set traditional novel, but I believe it's well worth the ride, and it's far more readable than many other experimental texts. In general, I can't recommend it highly enough to anyone who wants a show more beautifully written and engaging escape into literature. show less

I had a memory of reading and enjoying this novel many years ago, perhaps in my teens, but discovered that I remembered very little about it.

I was expecting a straightforward historical novel, a story set entirely in a very different time from when it was it was written. Actually this is a very 20th century novel, with a 1960s author-narrator telling a story set in 1867. He continually interrupts his story to comment on and discuss his characters, their actions, attitudes and values, and those of the Victorian society they live in.

Charles is an educated gentleman, preparing to meet social expectations of a man of his class, planning to marry Ernestina, daughter of a wealthy businessman. He becomes curious about Sarah, a servant and show more former governess with a mysterious but probably scandalous back story, nicknamed "the French lieutenant's woman", and a habit of walking along the cliffs in Lyme Regis, looking out to sea.

I am quite intrigued that Fowles claimed to be a feminist and that it was debated as a feminist novel. There is a lot for feminists to discuss here but all female characters (and nearly all characters) are seen through the eyes of the author-narrator whose story is in turn filtered through the view of his gentleman protagonist Charles.

The novel is packed with Victorian cultural and literary references, including Charles Darwin (whose theories of evolution were considered quite shocking in his time), Thomas Hardy, William Thackeray, Matthew Arnold and Gabriel Dante Rossetti.

This is not quite the Victorian love story that I expected, but something enjoyably odd and thought provoking, with many digressions and rabbit holes, including alternative storylines presented by the narrator.

A film was made of this novel in 1981, with a screenplay by Harold Pinter, and my Vintage Classics copy includes the writer's afterword on the difficulties of adaptation. show less

I cannot decide whether I loved this book or was annoyed by it. Fowles wrote this Victorian era novel in the 1960s, but it never struck me as historical fiction. I guess it felt more like a writing exercise with really well thought out characters. Fowles inserts himself into the book, exploring his control or lack thereof over the characters, and comments on Victorian era psyche from the perspective of the 1960s. He also supplies 3 different endings to the book, never really saying which he feels is the right one.

I found this all interesting and annoying at the same time. I think it was even more annoying because the characters are so interesting and the plot so familiar (at the beginning at least) that I kind of wanted it to just be a show more straight ahead Victorian novel. I think it's kind of brilliant that Fowles was able to mesh these two things but it was also kind of jarring to read.

This is one of those books that I'll have to think about for awhile. show less

A very emotional novel. Simultaneously I wanted Charles to have a successful life, either with Ernestina or with Sarah, and wanted him to fall flat on his face for being the ignoramus he was. The early descriptions of Sarah’s downfall at the hands of a cruel and deceitful Frenchman are well drawn, but somehow they ring false. Sarah is not as complimentary of her ex-lover as she might have been when describing her ensnarement and seduction. She keeps him below her, describing a rather uneducated man who was transparently false and manipulative. How on earth could a woman who was described as having the ability to at a glance discern the true character of anyone she meets fall for this character? Sarah explains when she tells Charles show more that she cannot reasonably hope to marry an equal, so therefore she must marry shame. How altruistic. Sarah’s daily life with the cruel, hypocritical and bigoted harpy Mrs. Poulteney makes us sympathetic all over again though and we think that indeed Sarah must be a bit mentally unstable after all.

At first I wanted to believe Sarah was a wronged woman just trying to survive in the ghastly restrictive Victorian world. I wanted to believe that Charles loved her. Then when he’s presented with logical reasons to the contrary, I wanted him to take Dr. Grogan’s advice and quit her; the scheming wench. He should have let the conventions of the day protect him. In one ‘ending’ he does this and he and Ernestina marry and have a relatively successful (if not quite happy) life together. One breathes a sigh of relief at the bullet dodge. But then there is a lot more novel to get through and we’re immediately told that this might not be really what happens. I found Sam’s betrayal of Charles to be quite cruel despite Charles kind of deserving it.

The scene where Charles leaves Ernestina is the most gut-wrenching of them all. She is palpably in pain and believes that Charles could have made her a better person and in return she would give him the ultimate bridal gift; faith in himself. That nearly made me cry because she totally nailed it. Charles lacks self-esteem in all but the most superficial way. He is a man of his time; liberally educated, an amateur scientist, a doubter of religious dogma, a gentleman of sufficiently independent means and will almost surely inherit an estate from a bachelor uncle. He knows that Ernestina is beneath him socially, but thinks that marriage is something he should do and she will do as well as any; at least she has wealth as a bonus.

His perceived moral and social expectations drive most of his behavior. He wants to be normal, respected and liked. It’s only when he allows himself to become emotional about Sarah, do we see him act outside his catechism. Though even then he views himself as munificent savior as Sarah herself assigns him this role. He feels gallant and romantic envisioning her rescue and elevation to his social rank. In the final ending, she eschews this even after her deliberate turning of the knife in his wound. She maintains that she will never marry and prefers to live with their child as a purported widow, drawing on the kindness of her new benefactor. She denies she ever intended to be cruel and destroy his life, but she is unconvincing. Charles leaves this final vignette as a broken and defeated man. It’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be. I still harbor sympathy for fallible, old Charles and his delusions.

Because this is the longest ending, I think it’s the one Fowles most wanted the reader to accept. Some people were annoyed with this device and the other where Fowles editorializes the story along the way, commenting on differences between his modern era of 1969 and that of the story; 1867. I found it very interesting and diverting. Why should every storyteller tell his story in exactly the same way? The enigmatic quality to the solution adds to its overall worth and if it was done in a more straightforward way would surely leave a less seismic impression. show less

The French Lieutenant's Woman is one of those novels that challenges the reader in his or her understanding of the Victorian era and of the idea of the novel itself. The descriptions of each person's role, down to the buttons on the coat, are exacting and precise. The visual descriptions are breath-taking and leave little to the imagination. Yet, this is as much a novel about the Victorian era as it is a comparison of modern society, or that in the 1960s when it was written, to that era. The comparisons and contemporary asides that draw the reader's attention to the differences, while startling at first, do force the reader to put aside modern sensibilities and allow the reader to appreciate those differences in a "how far we've come" show more fashion.

Having read this among my book club, there was discussion about the idea of role reversal between Sarah and Charles. Charles ends up being the character who wants the traditional life, marriage and children, career and contentment, while Sarah chooses to blaze her own path and not follow tradition or what society deems appropriate. Of even more importance than the gender roles is the idea of happiness. In each of the three possible endings, either they are both miserable, they are both happy, or one is miserable and the other is content, if not happy. Happiness, in Fowles' world, is more than following set rules, or not following them as the case may be. Rather, it is something that is not guaranteed no matter which path one might choose.

Speaking of the three endings, yes, there are three possible endings. Fowles presents each of them by including himself in the actual cast of characters, not as the omniscient narrator but as an actual character who interacts with Charles directly. It is this inclusion of himself into the novel and the three potential conclusions that creates the most confusion and ire among readers. For myself, I appreciate what Fowles was trying to accomplish. Life is a lot messier than choosing one path or another and knowing that all will end well no matter what. Sometimes, life takes us down a path that we neither want nor expect. It does not result in pat endings where all story lines are concluded neatly and nicely but rather often leaves more questions than answers. This true-to-life approach to The French Lieutenant's Woman makes the novel more realistic and profound.

The synopsis above lists The French Lieutenant's Woman as a love story. I am not certain I agree with this assessment. In fact, one could make a very clear argument that Sarah was never in love with Charles but rather in love with her freedom. This makes her actions more explanatory, if not acceptable. If she is in love with Charles, her actions become a lot more difficult to explain and understand.

The French Lieutenant's Woman is a beautiful story in and of itself. The reader can all but smell the sea air, hear the rustling of silk and satin, and feel the breeze on one's face through Fowles' gorgeous prose. The story itself unfolds quickly and clearly, without the need for extraneous words that so depicts Victorian-era novels. There are enough quirks, however, that allows the reader to understand that this is anything but a Victorian-era novel but rather a modern novel written about the Victorian era. This distinction is key to one's enjoyment of the novel. show less

If you like Thomas Hardy, this is a must-read! Set in southern England, around 1868, Fowles evokes the Victorian times and morals in a splendid way. As far as I know it even is one of the most handsome introductions to Victorianism. In the first place ofcourse, it is a love story, but with a bonus: every now and then Fowles reminds the reader this story is not quite his invention. His characters, he claims, have a mind of there own, and he's as eager as we to see what happens. Now, all this is beautifully written and done, but... in the end Fowles presents 3 different endings, and with this I have a problem: the way he describes the second and the third one is done in such a provocative way, that I have difficulty to follow and believe show more it. Also, the character of Sarah and the motives for her deeds remain a mistery; I think Fowles ment her to be a precursor of radical feminism, a woman that wants to change her destiny (like Charles does). In other words: the author introduces twentieth century motives into a nineteent century plot, and that's rather awkward. But ofcourse, in this way, Fowles proves authors really are gods, and literature is not dead at all (like the structuralists of the sixties stated). show less