Elizabeth von Arnim, Vera (#BookReview)

After a run of tough reads in 2021, my reading group wanted something gentler, so I suggested that for our “classic” we do a novel by Elizabeth von Arnim, whose works I’ve loved for their pointed wit, delightful humour, and astute commentary on marriage and the relationship between men and women. As is my wont, I nominated one from my TBR shelves, Vera. To my delight, they agreed.

Then, before reading it, I decided to remind myself of von Arnim’s life, so I read Gabrielle Carey’s Only happiness here: In search of Elizabeth von Arnim (my review). Imagine my horror when, two-thirds through, Carey wrote that Vera was her “darkest” novel, “a haunting portrait of psychological tyranny”. What? Too late by then, but I did hope my reading group would, one, forgive me, and, two, not be turned off von Arnim. As it turned out, all those who attended the meeting liked the book and pronounced it “not too dark”. Was I pleased!

Nonetheless, Vera is a dark novel, one that reminded me of a book written four decades later by Elizabeth Harrower, The watch tower (my review). Both novels are about narcissism and coercive control, about older men who marry and tyrannise vulnerable and inexperienced much younger women.

Wuthering Heights by Jane Austen”

When Vera was published, readers and reviewers were, says Carey, confused. How did “playful, witty Elizabeth von Arnim, author of light social comedies” become “a gothic writer of macabre tragedy”? Von Arnim was distressed but cousin Katherine Mansfield’s husband, John Middleton Murry, is reported to have said to her, on the appearance of a negative review in The Times Literary Supplement, “Of course my dear, when the critics are faced with Wuthering Heights by Jane Austen, they don’t know what to say.”

This is an apposite comment for a few reasons – besides its intention to reassure. Firstly, von Arnim pointedly has Lucy, our young wife, read Wuthering Heights even though husband Everard calls it “morbid”. It’s an effective allusion, given the darkness of Brontë’s novel and its focus on obsessive love. However, Murry’s comment also conveys something about the experience of reading this novel, because, while it is dark and distressing, it still bears von Arnim’s Austen-like light touch, and that, I think, is what my reading group appreciated.

By now, if you haven’t read it yourself, you may be wondering why this novel is called Vera when the two protagonists I’ve named are Lucy and Everard? So, let me do a quick plot summary.

The novel begins with 22-year-old Lucy Entwhistle leaning on the front gate of the house in Cornwall that she and her father had taken for the late summer. Her father has just died suddenly and Lucy is in shock. Into view comes another – apparently – grieving person, the mid-forties Everard Wemyss, whose wife Vera had died a week or so ago. Things, though, are not quite as they seem. A shadow hangs over Vera’s death, with a suggestion that it may not have been accidental but a suicide. Lucy, unfortunately, is naive and vulnerable, and despite the best efforts of her wise Aunt Dot, she is swept into marriage, with socially unacceptable haste. After the honeymoon, Everard takes her to his county mansion, “The Willows”, where Vera had died. He makes no attempt to change anything – expecting Lucy to sleep in the same bed Vera did, to occupy Vera’s sitting room, to have breakfast overlooking the flagstones onto which Vera had fallen (or jumped). Kind, head-over-heels-in-love Lucy does her best to justify Everard’s increasingly controlling behaviour but it dawns all too quickly that he expects nothing less than utter servitude . 

And so, Lucy, whose usual state had been one “of affection and confidence”, learns that the “scenes” that she hated could not be avoided “for no care, no caution would for ever be able to watch what she said, or did, or look, or equally important, what she didn’t say, or didn’t do, or didn’t look”. It leaves her “afraid with the most dismal foreboding, that someday after one of them, or in the middle of one of them, her nerve would give out and she would collapse. Collapse deplorably; into just something that howled and whimpered.”

Lucy starts to think kindly of this Vera she’d never met.

“It’s wonderful, wonderful … what love will do” (The doctor)

It’s grim, certainly, but this is Elizabeth von Arnim, so there’s humour – black comedy – here too. There are some truly funny scenes, particularly involving the poor servants for whom Everard has not one ounce of humanity. These servants only stay at “The Willows” because he is in town all week. They can manage his cruelly imperious ways from Friday night to Monday morning, because the wages were higher than any they’d heard of. (They probably had to be!)

So, here is a scene in which Everard confronts the parlourmaid about a missing button on a piano leg cover:

“What do you see?” he asked.
The parlourmaid was reluctant to say. What she saw was piano legs, but she felt that wasn’t the right answer.
“What do you not see?” Wemyss asked, louder.
This was much more difficult, because there were so many things she didn’t see; her parents, for example.
“Are you deaf, woman?” he enquired.
She knew the answer to that, and said it quickly.
“No sir,” she said.

And so it continues, but you get the gist. The scene is indicative of Wemyss’ extreme bullying behaviour, but you can’t help laughing while feeling for the poor parlourmaid.

This black humour is one of the things that kept me reading. Another was von Arnim’s writing. She has wonderful turns of phrase, such as this of Lucy reining in some disturbing thoughts: “Lucy made a violent lunge after her thoughts, and strangled them”.

Von Arnim is also an excellent satirist and ironist. Just look at the doctor’s statement above. He’s surprised and unsure about the marriage to Lucy but, well, look what love can do! Already, however, we are aware that his initial uncertainty is more than valid. One of the points Carey makes in her book is von Arnim’s disappointment in love and marriage. In her experience – including the marriage to Francis Russell which inspired this novel – men change as soon as they are married or, as the heady days of love wane. Vera is at the extreme, but not unbelievable, end of this disappointment.

Finally, there’s Jane Austen. Elizabeth von Arnim – and I’m not the first to say this – owes much to Austen. From my first Von Arnim, Austen’s wit and astute observation of human nature shone through. She nails the way humans think and behave with, sometimes, excruciating accuracy. But von Arnim’s style in Vera is not Austen’s. We don’t have Austen’s omniscient third person voice. Vera is told third person, but von Arnim uses that technique more common to modernists, the interior monologue, with the narrative perspective shifting between the main characters – Lucy, Everard and Lucy’s wonderful Aunt Dot. In fact, a few of the last chapters are with Aunt Dot as she comes head-to-head with Everard and learns just how right she had been to be concerned – but, well, look “what love will do”.

There’s more to discuss in this book. There’s Wemyss’ deeply creepy infantalisation of his 22-year-old wife, calling her “a good little girl” and “my very own baby”. There’s also his insistence that everything can be simplified to one right answer. Initially, the overwhelmed, grieving Lucy finds this comforting but, having grown up in an atmosphere of intellectual enquiry, she starts to not only think that such an attitude might “cut one off from growth” and “shut one in an isolation”, but to doubt “whether it was true that there was only one way looking at a thing” or “that his way was invariably the right way”.

Too soon after her death, Elizabeth von Arnim was relegated to the realms of light romantic comedy, but that denies their value, even when you look at her lighter works. However, when you add Vera to her oeuvre, you have a writer whose work must be seen as relevant now as it ever was.

Elizabeth von Arnim
London: Virago, 1983 (orig. pub. 1921)
ISBN: 9781844082810

33 thoughts on “Elizabeth von Arnim, Vera (#BookReview)

  1. Ah… now I remember this.
    When I was going to the gym in the mornings before work, I got very tired of the dreadful music they played, so I borrowed audiobooks from the library. Including this one.
    Ha, let’s just say that it was not a good intro to Von Armin!

  2. This sounds great. I loved Enchanted April of course, German Garden a bit less. I think I’ll make this my next, though if you’ve other Von Arnim recommendations I’d love to hear them.

    • Oh do read it Max. I am confident you would like it. I’ve read two or three others but based on what you’ve said here I think besides Vera I’d go with Mr Skeffington, which was her last. I’ve also read Solitary Summer and Christopher and Columbus but, these two are less memorable I think.

  3. Great review, ST – come sempre. I do love that wonderful word picture of Lucy’s lunging after her thoughts and strangling them. 😀
    But I won’t try reading this one: I’m far too much of an escapist. :\

  4. It’s so interesting to see your reflections on this one. I think I found it chilling rather than darkly humorous, but von Arnim does have a flair for seeing the funny side of certain situations. Have you read The Caravaners? I found it very amusing and sharply observed!

    • Thanks Jackie. Yes it is chilling but not as chilling as Harrower’s The watchtower! Darkly humorous though is probably pushing Vera a bit… but it does have black humour.

      I have read several of her books but not The caravaners. It’s on my list though.

  5. I have never heard of this, and didn’t know who the author of Enchanted April is as I’ve only seen the movie. I’ll have a browse through this at our library this afternoon, but my “to read” pile is getting beyond me! I’m glad your book group enjoyed your suggestion Sue, it’s always a bit of a disappointment when you recommend something and others don’t enjoy it I find. This chilly damp weather is good for reading but I do miss our usual lovely mild sunny Autumn days! What’s it like where you are?

      • Yes, rats, I love Autumn for it’s crisp mornings and evenings and warm sunny days.. at least we are not flooded here – but it is a shame! Drive carefully Sue and enjoy your Melbourne stay!
        Interesting article on the role of stories on The Conversation today.

  6. When you read the Joyce Morgan bio (or the other one, sorry, forgot biographers name), you will discover (if you don’t already know) that all von Armin’s book came straight from her life. Vera, sadly, was a story that came from her disasterous second marraige to Betrand Russell’s brother, Frank. From memory, there were issues when she published it because everyone knew who she was referring too.

    • Thanks Brona … you’ve probably forgotten but Carey makes that clear too. I certainly knew that a couple I’d read had but it was interesting to see the connection for each of her books.

  7. Ohmigosh, have you read Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier?! This sounds so much like that novel, though the main character is not meant to become a domestic servant. Rather, she is supposed to become the woman of a manor, despite her poor background and inexperience. She’s often called “the child” and lives in the shadow of her new husband’s dead wife, Rebecca — the title of the novel. Ack! Okay, I might have to check out Vera simply for how much I love Rebecca.

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  9. I’ve just started reading Vera (I’m up to p. 71) and already I’ve decided to put it on the reading list for my U3A class next year. I love it! I love her delicate observations, her wry, hilarious witticisms, and her remarkable psychological astuteness – but above all I love the rhythm of her sentences! Thank you so much, Sue, for alerting me to von Arnim and her work. I’d never heard of her before.

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