The recent reviews of some of Jennifer Blake’s historical romances by Misfit of At Home With A Good Book And The Cat drew my interest to the author’s gothic fiction, originally penned under the name Patricia Maxwell. Bride of A Stranger was released at a time when the boom in gothic romances had begun its downward slide but – with the exception of marketing’s choice of cover – shows none of the effects of weariness, artificiality, and cynicism that marked much of the output by the mid-1970s. Gothic romances generally focus on the heroine's journey, and the best of the later ones are often clearly influenced by or deliberately incorporate feminist themes. In Bride Of A Stranger marriages of convenience are a tragedy, not a source of romance.
1816*. With one pitying glance across a hot Creole ballroom at a stranger's scarred face, Claire de Hauterive’s life changes. Society outcast Justin Leroux tears her from her comfortable fiancé and beloved New Orleans by marrying her against her will and installing her on his isolated sugar cane plantation on the banks of a Louisiana bayou.
Sans Songe is indeed a place without dreams, without illusions. In the main house, unspoken trespasses and mutual dependencies have woven an uneasy truce between bitter family members. In the slave quarters, fear and voodoo reign. Accidents and threats harass Claire from the first, but her new husband is more intent on breaking her will than listening to her concerns. Gradually Claire realises she can trust no one but herself if she is to survive – and that nothing is more dangerous than blind love.
The most interesting thing about Bride Of A Stranger is its heroine, Claire. Even now, almost forty years after the novel’s publication, she remains in some ways a unique romance heroine. Nothing proves this better than the last scene in the book, which shows a bedroom dynamic and personal priorities I don’t think I have seen in any other romance I have read over the years. An unequivocal nod to feminism, it certainly wrings something fresh out of formula.
Claire has her less intelligent moments in the latter parts of the story, but in the final judgement I thought her a breath of fresh air. She has been brought up to behave in accordance with society’s conventions and to respect accepted authority, and when these trap her into unjust situations she protests but, if unsuccessful, adjusts without indulging in self-pity. If it is true now that heroines often melt or grow passionate when locked in an embrace with a hero they supposedly despise, this was doubly true in romances in the seventies and eighties. Yet when Justin forces his bruising attentions on Claire, she is neither seduced nor weakened by his warm, low-voiced coaxing. She recognises that he tries to use passion as a tool of subjugation, and refuses to take responsibility for his sense of humiliation at her self-possession:
“’What kind of man are you to expect me to fall in with your – your – [...] – plans, and meekly agree to make you a comfortable and accommodating wife?’ Her voice shook with the strain of putting her resentment into words and also her fear of what he would do to her, but she was determined. [...] ‘And now – now that you have proven that you can force me to your will, that you care nothing for my feelings. [sic] I wish you pleasure then of your reluctant bride.’ Her voice was hard with the promise that, so far as it was within her power, he would gain nothing. [...] Claire wished, as the quiet seconds passed, that she could agree, could say that she too had enjoyed their days together, but the lie stuck in her throat. She had not enjoyed them. She had known constantly that she was only there because Justin willed it.” (Pages 45,46,62-3.)
Justin’s response? “But he grasped her arm, his fingers bruising her flesh so that she bit back a cry of pain.’Don’t try my patience, Claire. When it snaps I might enjoy the consequences. You, I’m persuaded, would not!’” At Sans Songe, cruelty, violence, and death are the legacy of love gone wrong. Justin’s understanding of love has been warped since childhood, and in adulthood he behaves like a spoilt boy who in a perverse fit destroys his toy, then whines over its loss. As a “hero”, he is an arrogant and domineering yet marginal figure; a deliberate stereotype, it seems, used to expose dangers inherent in romanticising a certain type of hero or love.
It is probably relevant to note here that there is no instance of rape or forced seduction (pick your euphemisms) in Bride Of A Stranger, nor any sex scenes either on the page or behind closed doors. Physical consummation of the marriage is tied up with the outcome of Claire’s fight to establish her equal standing in a juster relationship.
Not everything about the story questions stereotype, however. It felt peculiar, not to say bizarre, to read scene after scene of master-slave interactions that, in the complete absence of narrative commentary to the contrary, imply that the greatest enemy here is not the inequality of the institution but an outside threat that disrupts this relationship. On the face of it, the situation parallels the inequality between husband and wife in marriages of the time, as experienced by Claire. But (within the story) Claire is allowed to explore her role and challenge injustice, whereas the slaves, once the outside threat has been contained, are expected to remain as they were: subservient, and now smiling about it. There is one potential exception: a person of colour who is shown to have an intriguing life of her/his own making beyond the relationship to the Lerouxs. Nevertheless, this is a remote character who all but disappears into the cloak of mysticism that surrounds her/him, rather than a path-builder.
At no point does Claire observe or study the slaves to try to come to any conclusions about her own situation. Instead her reactions to the house slaves, for example, alternate between uncertainty, suspicion, and fear for her life. (Exactly who truly controls the servants is a source of tension and mystery in the plot.) In Bride Of A Stranger, slaves seem synonymous with unreliance, savage passions, and loss of control. While the atmosphere of paranoia that pervades the novel (not merely in regard to the slaves) may reflect how slave owners historically felt about their own situation as a minority among a much larger group of people who might quickly overpower them if they chose to rebel, any commentary about these or similar considerations is absent from the novel. Similarly, I was jolted when Justin remarks on Claire’s colouring, (blonde hair and) “'your skin so white [...] so different from the sallow crones’” who were her fellow Creole women at the ball where the pair first met (p. 45-6). It is a remark that is probably true to the historical period but that, unexplained, becomes very disturbing in a modern novel where the hero is a slave owner.
The success of gothics rely heavily on a doom-laden, unsettling atmosphere. Evoking a tense, ominous mood seems an effortless talent on Maxwell’s part. With plenty of nice details about the material culture and customs of early nineteenth-century Louisiana Creole society, there is a solid, rich feel about this aspect of the setting. The writing style is sharp and readable, and the plot entertaining despite a conventional mystery, many unsympathetic characterisations, and an extremely contrived denouement.
While Bride Of A Stranger most definitely is an interesting gothic, calling it a romance almost seems a misnomer. While the novel contains many recognizable elements of romance it also defies some of its most cherished tropes. It is the heroine’s realisation of the importance of self-respect and self-reliance that is the main story here. The growth of a loving, romantic relationship gets short shrift since the increasingly random interludes between the hero and heroine are more concerned with redressing the unequal balance between their states than with deepening the bonds of couplehood.
Patricia Maxwell displays considerable storytelling gifts in this novel, not least in her breaks with romantic convention. But the enjoyment this gave me was marred by a portrayal of slavery that I cannot call anything but insensitive. To me, Bride Of A Stranger ultimately reads as a commendable gothic experiment with a strangely flawed narrative.
*The year is not explicitly noted but in the first chapter it is stated that “Napoleon had been mewed up on St. Helena for several months” (page7). Chapter three, a few weeks later, mentions spring rains. Since Napoleon was taken to St. Helena in the summer of 1815, I have assumed Bride Of A Stranger opens in the spring of 1816.
Excerpt
(Fawcett Gold Medal paperback, 1974, p.47-8):
“The rumble of thunder woke her. Lightning forked the sky and a wet wind filled with rain struck the coach. Claire shivered and felt a stir of pity for the driver and groom riding up on top. She hoped that they had brought oilskins with them. And where was Justin? His great-coat would hold the rain off for a time, but he would eventually be soaked. Hard on that thought came the fear that he might ride back to join her inside the coach, and hurriedly she pushed her feet into her shoes. Then, gathering her hairpins from the floor and the seat, she smoothed her hair and coiled it in a flat knot on top of her head.
Straightening in her seat, she looked out the window. On one side was the forest, thick, dark, and impenetrable, but on the other was a fairly large bayou, its current swollen with spring rains. It must be near daylight, she realized, for although it was raining she could still see the water running swiftly along and also the thick, green grass studded with flowers at the edge of the roadside.
Abruptly the coach tilted forward, and by leaning against the glass she could see that they were heading down to what appeared to be a crossing; a crude, railingless bridge over the bayou. The body of the coach jounced on its springs as the wheels struck the thick hewn planks, then there was a rumbling as they started across. Claire could feel the bridge sag with the weight of the diligence, and her breath caught in her throat, but then they were past the dangerous half-way point and she began to relax.
At that moment she heard a hoarse yell above her. The coach stopped, and began to rock violently as the sounds of scrabbling hooves and frantic neighing came to her. The coached backed, then slewed sideways.”
