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Sunday, August 12, 2007

Mary Balogh - The Secret Pearl (2)


As discussed in my previous post, this is a novel underpinned by a particular moral view, namely that in the face of adversity one should behave in an oysterish manner, and in turn the morality in the novel is based on theology. Mary Balogh once wrote that
I make great claims for love. Occasionally, a reader will accuse me of putting too much faith in its power. I believe one cannot put too much faith in the power of love. The belief that love in all its manifestations (and I speak of love, not of lust or obsession) is the single strongest force on this earth is central to my very being. The universe, life, eternity would have no meaning to me if anyone could prove that something else – evil, for example – was more powerful. Love, I believe, can heal all wounds, pardon all offenses, soothe and redeem the deepest guilt. (1999: 27)
The use of theological terms such as 'faith', 'belief', 'lust' and 'evil' is clearly not accidental here. Balogh is described in North American Romance Writers as being 'involved in her local Catholic Church as an organist and cantor' (1999: 19). In this post I'd like to take a quick look at some of the theology which pervades The Secret Pearl.

Shortly after his encounter with Fleur, Adam misquotes William Blake:
"Every whore was a virgin once." The poet William Blake had written that somewhere, or words to that effect. There was no reason to feel any special guilt over being the deflowerer. Someone had to do it once the girl had chosen her course. If he had been her second customer instead of the first, he would not have known the difference and would have forgotten about her by that morning. (2005: 14)
Adam's attempt to rid himself of guilt by placing the blame upon the woman and her choices cannot help but recall the original Adam who declared 'The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat' Genesis 3:12. He is also twisting what appears to be the meaning of Blake's poem, To the Accuser Who Is the God of This World, the first verse of which reads:
Truly, My Satan, thou art but a Dunce,
And dost not know the Garment from the Man.
Every Harlot was a Virgin once,
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan. (Wikisource)
According to Alfred Kazin,
The "Accuser" is Satan, who rules this world, which is "the Empire of nothing." It is he who tormented man with a sense of sin; who made men and women look upon their own human nature as evil; who plunged us into the cardinal human heresy, which is the heresy against man's own right and capacity to live. The "Accuser" is the age in which Blake lived and it is the false god whose spectre mocks our thirst for life. It is the spirit, to Blake, of all that limits man, shames man, and drives him in fear. The Accuser is the spirit of the machine, which leads man himself into "machination." He is jealousy, unbelief, and cynicism.
Blake's meaning isn't entirely clear, but it seems to me that he's implying that it's the essence of the woman that is important, and that that is not necessarily changed when her 'garment' is changed from that of 'virgin' to that of 'whore'. Certainly that's the case in this novel: Balogh both demonstrates that Fleur does not become a lesser woman because of becoming a whore and the novel also reveals the hypocrisy of those who judge 'fallen women' harshly while themselves being members of postlapsarian humanity.

Daniel Booth is a clergyman whom Fleur had once hoped to marry but after the turmoil and suffering she has experienced she comes to the conclusion that
"I think he is too good for me," she said. "He can see a clear distinction between right and wrong, and he will stick by what he believes to be right no matter what. I can see too many shades of gray. I would not make a good clergyman's wife." (2005: 330)
When Fleur uses the term 'good', however, she is perhaps meaning that he is 'good in the conventional sense', whereas she herself has a different, more nuanced and compassionate measure by which to judge both herself and others. Here is her response when Daniel asks if she repents of her choice to become a prostitute:
He lifted his head at last, though he did not turn around. "Are you sorry?" he asked. "Have you repented, Isabella?"
"Yes and no," she said steadily after a pause. "I am more sorry than I can say that it happened, Daniel, but I am not sorry that I did it. I know that I would do it again if it were my only means of survival. I suppose I am not the stuff that martyrs are made of."
His head dropped again. "But how can you expect God's forgiveness if you do not truly repent?" he asked.
"I think perhaps God understands," she said. "If he does not, then I suppose I have a quarrel with him." (2005: 316)
Daniel, it seems, would perhaps benefit from reading Matthew 7: 1-5 (which, incidentally, is followed by a verse which mentions pearls):
1. Judge not, that ye be not judged.
2. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
3. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
4. Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
5. Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.
6. Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.
Ultimately Daniel does come to recognise his own hypocrisy:
"I thought," he said, "that it would be possible to love only someone I felt to be worthy of my love. I thought I could love other people in a Christian way and forgive them their shortcomings if they repented of them. But I could not picture myself loving or marrying someone who had made a serious error. I was wrong. [...] I have been guilty of a terrible pride," he said. "It was as if I believed a woman had to be worthy of me. And yet I am the weakest of mortals, Isabella. [...]". (2005: 363-64)
Unlike Daniel, Adam quickly recognises his own sinfulness, and he acknowledges that Fleur is, if anything, less culpable than he: '"If you are a whore," he said, "I am an adulterer. We are equal sinners. But you at least had good reason for doing what you did. [...]"'(2005: 147). He also responds in an extremely orthodox manner to his sin, working through the various stages of the sacrament of penance: 'The Council of Trent (Sess. XIV, c. 3) declares: "the acts of the penitent, namely contrition, confession, and satisfaction, are the quasi materia of this sacrament"' (New Catholic Encyclopedia)

1 - contrition:
interior repentance has been called by theologians "contrition". It is defined explicitly by the Council of Trent (Sess. XIV, ch. iv de Contritione): "a sorrow of soul and a hatred of sin committed, with a firm purpose of not sinning in the future". (New Catholic Encyclopedia)
Adam reaches this stage when, despite his attempts to convince himself that 'He had no reason to feel guilt' (2005: 14), he 'could not help feeling responsible' (2005: 15) and regrets the pain he has caused Fleur: 'If he had known [that she was a virgin], he could have done it differently' (2005: 14).

2 - confession:

Adam's confession of guilt occurs when he admits what he's done both to himself and to his 'sensible and hardworking and discreet' (2005: 57) secretary, Peter Houghton.

3 - satisfaction:
satisfaction regards both the past offense, for which compensation is made by its means, and also future sin wherefrom we are preserved thereby: and in both respects satisfaction needs to be made by means of penal works. (Aquinas, Summa theologica)
Adam means to make reparation for his sin by finding Fleur and offering her employment. He himself thinks of it in these theological terms: 'He had done his part to atone both for his sin of infidelity and for his part in setting the girl on the road to degradation and ruin' (2005: 73). In itself, merely giving Fleur employment did not involve him in 'penal works' but he confesses his sin to her, as well as to Houghton and promises to do 'penal works' should this be required: 'if there is ever no one else to whom you can turn, then come to me' (2005: 148), 'I was angry at my own weakness that night, Fleur, and I used you crudely and cruelly. I have much to atone for. I would like to do you a kindness' (2005: 149).

In fact it would appear that Fleur and Adam's sexual sin is actually quite minor because there are extenuating circumstances. Fleur prostituted herself only out of the direst necessity and Adam, in making use of her services, had been seeking 'a release from all the pain and self-consciousness and degradation he had lived with for six years' (2005: 73), 'The need to spend a night sheltered in the arms and body of a woman who would accept him without question. [...] The need for some peace. The need to soothe his loneliness' (2005: 127). In other words, his primary motivation was not lust, though he was guilty of cruelty and anger in his behaviour towards Fleur. Although technically he commits adultery, we eventually learn that his marriage has never been consummated, so there would be grounds for an annulment. In this context, when he and Fleur have a second sexual encounter, again at a tavern, but this time with love existing between them, spiritually if not technically he considers them to be married: 'In one way, Fleur, you will always be my wife, more my wife than Sybil is. And physically I will always remain faithful to you. There will never be any other women in my bed' (2005: 349).

Adam in fact comes to consider his original sin a felix culpa, since it saved Fleur: '"Thank God it was me," he said, his eyes burning into hers. "If it had to be anyone, then thank God it was me."' (2005: 308). This thankfulness for the original sin, given it's outcome, perhaps parallels the way in which the sin of the first Adam with Eve in the garden of Eden was sometimes described as a happy or fortunate sin and one for which people have also thanked God, 'Deo gracias!', because
Ne had the apple taken been,
The apple taken been,
Ne had never our ladie,
Abeen heav'ne queen.

Blessed be the time
That apple taken was,
Therefore we moun singen.
Deo gracias! (Adam Lay Ybounden, a 15th-century carol)
Fleur similarly feels that 'despite all the pain, despite all the despair, she would not wish to have lived her life without knowing Adam. Without loving him' (2005: 363) and she trusts that 'everything that happens in life happens for a purpose' (2005: 332), though her optimism is qualified by the words 'We become stronger people if we are not destroyed by the troubles of life' (2005: 332).

  • Balogh, Mary, 1999. 'Do It Passionately or Not at All', in North American Romance Writers, pp. 24-28.
  • Balogh, Mary, 2005. The Secret Pearl (New York: Bantam Dell).
  • North American Romance Writers, 1999. ed. Kay Mussell and Johanna Tuñón (Lanham, Maryland: Scarecrow Press).
The picture is Albrecht Dürer's Adam and Eve (1507), from the Web Gallery of Art.

16 comments:

  1. Adam reaches [contrition] when... [he] regrets the pain he has caused Fleur: 'If he had known [that she was a virgin], he could have done it differently' (2005: 14).

    I'm not sure I'd call Adam contrite in the same sense. Isn't he initially more upset at the way he deflowered Fleur, than at having done it? He seems focused on the smaller "sin" (her pain), not the larger. Perhaps I'm misremembering?

    That type of thought process is common in romance heroes.
    - Sex with a woman who obviously isn't experienced or promiscuous or whatever he's thinking
    - Minor contrition over the way it happened
    - Evading responsibility for the act itself: "but you wanted it". (I take this to be unacknowledged discomfort over his decision making and actions.)

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  2. I'm not sure I'd call Adam contrite in the same sense. Isn't he initially more upset at the way he deflowered Fleur, than at having done it? He seems focused on the smaller "sin" (her pain), not the larger. Perhaps I'm misremembering?

    Well, I'm certainly no Gratian or a Burchard of Worms so the precise ranking of sins isn't something I'm an expert at, but in general fornication was viewed less seriously than adultery (and we see that Adam's sexual sin is downgraded from adultery to fornication because he has strong grounds for an annulment). Furthermore, fornication was viewed less seriously depending on the status of the parter, for example in the Middle Ages/Renaissance

    Penalties for fornication were influenced by the age and the social, religious, and marital status of the offenders. Punishment was harsher for the old than for the young, as sexual behavior was to be expected of the latter but exceedingly inappropriate for the former. Female peasants were often considered "fair game," and any man who fornicated with one of them was usually treated leniently, even if there was violence involved - as there often was. (Decameron Web).

    In making use of a prostitute Adam's sin would have been considered to have been less severe than had he had an affair with a married woman or seduced a virgin. And yet, Fleur is a virgin, so that perhaps makes him feel more sinful than he would had she been more sexually experienced.

    I suspect that according to canon law Adam's main sins would be minor fornication and the unnecessary pain (caused by anger) inflicted on Fleur.

    He does regret having broken his vow of chastity:

    "[...] Sometimes it is difficult not to feel certain cravings. But I was faithful to my marriage until that one occasion with you." (322)

    He sees the use of a prostitute as a "lapse": "I will recommit myself to my marriage. I hope I will have the strength to live with that commitment for the rest of my life, with no more lapses." (349)

    But I don't get the impression that, were it not for his marriage, he'd be very worried about such "lapses" since clearly prior to his marriage he'd been quite promiscuous: "Before my marriage [...] I slept with more than a dozen women. I could not possibly put a number on them, the women I bedded." (397)

    And I don't think he really thinks about the wider social pressures which bring women into prostitution. As he says, it's probably mostly because Fleur was a virgin that he remembers her and wants to help her.

    In A Precious Jewel Balogh has another heroine who's a prostitute and isn't a virgin, and still marries her hero. I think I'd have to read that to get a clearer idea of Balogh's ideas about prostitution and whether she sees it as a symptom of the commodification/oppression of women and/or how she regards the men who use these women.

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  3. I haven't read the Secret Pearl, but have been keeping up with your posts. Do you think there is a Hosea/Gomer type story being told?

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  4. I don't think so, Eva, because it's Adam's wife, Sybil, who is the unfaithful wife (like Gomer) but then Adam is unfaithful to her with a prostitute (Fleur/Isabella) and the prostitute is less promiscuous than the wife, and the husband is certainly no prophet and there is no divorce. I suppose Adam is parted from Sybil, who then ends up pregnant and he takes her back, but then she dies.

    I think you're right that there are some similarities (the adulterous wife, prostitution, a child who is not the husband's) but I don't have the impression that they fit together in the same way. That said, it could be that I need to reread Hosea because I'm depending on Wikipedia to refresh my memory.

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  5. Hi Laura: I admire your discussion here very much and am especially pleased to see references along the way to my favorite poet William Blake. It is worth noting that Blake was actually a strong supporter of women's rights in his time, and his poem "Visions of the Daughters of Albion" can be read as a rallying cry for women's liberation. Blake does not believe in "original sin" ( as you know), and he does not "blame" women for "the fall" (fortunate or not). In the context you are developing, Blake would probably want to remind us that, in his view, Mary Magdalene might have been a "whore" but she was certainly a woman of purity, a virgin with illuminated lineaments of visionary desire fulfilled.

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  6. Thank you very much for that additional information, Anonymous. My background's in medieval Spanish, so my knowledge of English literature isn't as extensive as it would be had I specialised in that subject. I've read some poems by Blake, of course, but not the Visions you mention, and I didn't know his opinions concerning original sin, though it was clear even from reading just To the Accuser Who Is the God of This World that his views were, to put it mildly, unusual for his time.

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  7. I don't believe the bible actually states that Mary Magelene is a whore. (an aside I know but it twists my knickers) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Magdalene

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  8. You're right, Eva. The Wiki article gives more of the details, but the New Catholic Encyclopedia gives a very concise list of the main differing traditions regarding this issue, so I'll quote it here:

    The Greek Fathers, as a whole, distinguish the three persons:

    * the "sinner" of Luke 7:36-50;
    * the sister of Martha and Lazarus, Luke 10:38-42 and John 11; and
    * Mary Magdalen.

    On the other hand most of the Latins hold that these three were one and the same. Protestant critics, however, believe there were two, if not three, distinct persons.

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  9. Thanks, Laura, for your fascinating analysis of THE SECRET PEARL. That is my favorite among Mary Balogh's books--when I first read it I was amazed that a traditional Regency romance novel not only addressed such deep issues, but also did it so well. I have read all of Balogh's other books (except for a few very early ones, now out of print, which I've been unable to obtain). Many of her books thoughtfully deal with issues that most other Regency romance authors would not touch. I believe she has tried to show real things that could have happened in that era, and how the limited roles available to women of the time could have forced them to make choices that contemporary women may disdain. I think she wants her readers to think about what they would have done, had they been in the heroine's place. Would they have been able to choose differently and still survive?

    Thanks again for the excellent discussion of the book.

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  10. I'm finally getting a chance to catch up on my blog reading, and wanted to come back to follow up on my previous comment. Reading through these two posts, Laura, I think it's some of what you talk about here that makes TSP difficult for me, especially vis a vis Adam's character.

    For me, when Adam takes Fleur so cruelly, it's an expression at all the anger he has repressed over his failed relationship with Sybil, the problem of his brother, and the many duties and disappointments that press on him so strongly. After that, being somewhat horrified by what he did, he takes in Fleur as governess (a virtual stranger, mind you!), which creates a different type of struggle. I guess in Balogh's terms, Adam would be transforming from sinner to sanctified lover, but I just can't get past a) the martyrdom he shows and that I think we're supposed to read as nobility, and b) the sense I have that Adam and Fleur are "rewarded" with love in a way that necessitates a ridiculously fortuitous and Romance-novely event. It's been a while since I read the novel, but rather than seeming noble to me, Adam comes off more as self-absorbed, both in his martyrdom and his guilt over/attraction to Fleur. There's an obsessive quality to some of his behavior that is continually reigned in by the contours of the narrative, something else which bothers me.

    For example, I wanted to see more of that same anger and resentment that he unleashes on Fleur come out in other parts of the book. Clearly he's been swallowing it for a long, long time, and one little tantrum is all it takes to clear that stuff out? I think I would have been so much more convinced if Adam had continued to struggle with that angry part of himself, instead of just the guilt, because IMO the guilt made him do some creepy things. For example, bringing a virtual stranger into his household as governess and then hang out in the nursery while lessons were ongoing so he could obsess over Fleur. Frankly, I never thought that either Adam nor Daniel ever really *saw* Fleur for who she was, separate from their own need of her.

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  11. For me, when Adam takes Fleur so cruelly, it's an expression at all the anger he has repressed over his failed relationship with Sybil, the problem of his brother, and the many duties and disappointments that press on him so strongly. [...] I wanted to see more of that same anger and resentment that he unleashes on Fleur come out in other parts of the book. Clearly he's been swallowing it for a long, long time, and one little tantrum is all it takes to clear that stuff out?

    As you say, it is a little difficult to understand how/why he can behave so brutally to Fleur when he shows so much restraint with others. The explanation he gives at the time is that "it angered him to feel ugly in the eyes of a common whore" (3) and

    He was angry. Angry with himself for returning to whoring, something that he had given up years before. Angry that he felt self-conscious and ashamed with a prostitute. And angry with her for being so much in control of her feelings that she would not even show her revulsion at his appearance. If she had done so, he could have used her accordingly. And the thought revolted him and angered him further. (5)

    Why would a "common whore"'s revulsion justify him "using her accordingly" but his unfaithful fiancée's revulsion doesn't? It's also interesting that he's "angry with her for being so much in control of her feelings that she would not even show her revulsion at his appearance", which possibly mirrors the way in which Sybil hates Adam more because he does control himself with her: "I hate you for being so noble and so understanding." (371)

    Perhaps that's the key to understanding why Adam gets so angry with Fleur but not with the others: his anger, like Sybil's, is intensified by guilt and the knowledge of his own wrong-doing. Fleur's status as a "whore" makes his sin in choosing to be with her clear, yet simultaneously her behaviour is such that his sin (not hers) is emphasised: his lust is propelling him, not her seduction, and her calm contrasts with the anger he feels. Lust and anger are mortal sins, it's Adam who's experiencing them, and he can't blame Fleur for them, which makes him even angrier. It reminds me slightly of what happens when Pilate "knew that for envy they had delivered" Jesus over to him (Matthew 27:18) and when Pilate asks "Why, what evil hath he done? [...] they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified" (Matthew 27: 23).

    Maybe I'm wrong and I'm picking up something that isn't there in either The Secret Pearl or the Bible, but I have the impression that in both cases the reminder of the innocence of the other party makes the guilty individual(s) more vehement about how much punishment they want to inflict on him/her.

    When he knows he's not in the wrong it's easier for Adam to be forgiving and gentle.

    Frankly, I never thought that either Adam nor Daniel ever really *saw* Fleur for who she was, separate from their own need of her.

    Maybe I'm not seeing her for who she is either ;-) but it seems to me that within the novel she functions as a saviour, suffering the little children to be brought unto her, suffering for the sins of others and in her humility making others recognise their pride and sin. So while I agree that the happy ending does depend on a "fortuitous and Romance-novely event", if it's supposed to be an earthly version of the sinner reaching heaven, then it makes sense that the wicked have to die/be banished while the good inherit the country estate.

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  12. That last bit should, of course, read "the repentant sinner reaching heaven", which theologically is near enough to being "good".

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  13. it seems to me that within the novel she functions as a saviour

    Which is another reason, I think, the book doesn't work very well for me. That Adam, for example, becomes more angry with Fleur's stoicism makes perfect sense to me; I thought all of that psychological characterization was very well and realistically done by Balogh. But again, I wanted more of that complexity of character once Fleur moves into the same house as his wife occupies. When you think of the set up there, the potential ramifications, IMO the book could have been so much more interesting. I mean, think about it: the guy brings the prostitute he deflowered into his house to care for his daughter, under the same roof as his wife -- that is BIZARRE behavior, and IMO it's virtually ignored while Balogh focuses instead on the process of Adam's redemption and reward. Instead of real characters, Adam, Fleur, Sybil, etc. feel more like types to me, Adam is let out of his box only once, and only so he can be put back together again as he *should* be.

    And unfortunately, it's really only that first scene that feels compelling to me, the scene in which Adam is dissembling. And then the book -- to me, anyway -- really turns into a bit of a morality tale that does not have to, IMO, be as precisely allegorical as it is. There's a sense in which I feel that Fleur is sacrificed for Adam, as a vessel for his anger, as the recipient of his guilt, and later, as the object of his love and purveyor of his redemption.

    I'd be interested to see how you read A Precious Jewel next to this book, Laura, as I enjoyed APJ much, much more. I think there are some similar, perhaps even overlapping themes, IMO APJ isn't as overtly moralizing as I think TSP is. But finally your analysis here has given me more clarity about why TSP didn't work for me *as a Romance* -- as a conversion narrative, yes, but as a tale of romantic love, no.

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  14. your analysis here has given me more clarity about why TSP didn't work for me *as a Romance* -- as a conversion narrative, yes, but as a tale of romantic love, no.

    I wonder if for some people the theology underpinning the novel actually makes it a stronger and more romantic novel? Perhaps for them it makes the ending seem more right? The RWA definition of romance includes the explanation that the "emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending" is

    based on the idea of an innate emotional justice -- the notion that good people in the world are rewarded and evil people are punished. In a romance, the lovers who risk and struggle for each other and their relationship are rewarded with emotional justice and unconditional love.

    The language of "good" versus "evil" there does echo the moral values I'm finding in The Secret Pearl. And perhaps for some people seeing at least one lover taking on a sort-of Christ-like role sets up parallels with God's unconditional love, so that the human, romantic love story is strengthened by the allusions/comparisons with spiritual, heavenly love.

    That's just speculation on my part, though.

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  15. The language of "good" versus "evil" there does echo the moral values I'm finding in The Secret Pearl. And perhaps for some people seeing at least one lover taking on a sort-of Christ-like role sets up parallels with God's unconditional love, so that the human, romantic love story is strengthened by the allusions/comparisons with spiritual, heavenly love.

    I think you're right Laura, and I also think that the much of Romance is concerned with the relationship between earthy and divine love. The very concept of the grand love story and the HEA implicates transcendence of the physical realm, don't you think?

    But the nature of that relationship as it plays out in Romance doesn't implicate the same moral compass, or the same spiritual doctrine.

    It's interesting how different authors take on the emotional justice issue in Romance. Having just finished Jo Goodman's latest book, I'm struck once again by how strongly she sets out to establish a very strong moral center to her work without one iota of religion or spirituality. Then there's Patricia Gaffney's wonderful To Love and to Cherish, where Christy's spiritual crisis can only be resolved with a strengthening of his spiritual confidence as entwined with his romantic love for Anne (who undertakes her own spiritual awakening, of sorts). And while I adore the books of both authors, I think that Goodman's books present a much stronger sense of good and bad than Gaffney's books do, including TLATC. Then there's Laura Kinsale's incredible Flowers From The Storm and the relationship between the devout Quaker Maddy and the atheist(?) Jervaulx and the whole question of how her faith and sense of religiosity can be compatible with her very earthy feelings of desire for Jervaulx. IMO one of the real triumphs of that novel is the way in which Maddy becomes even an even stronger Quaker in her relationship with Jervaulx, despite the fact that I wouldn't really associate either character with a Christ-like role.

    For me, there is a definite moral character to all of Balogh's work, and IMO it often works really well on the level of the love story. TSP strikes me as more overtly allegorical than the other books of hers I've read. And had Balogh worked through some of the stranger aspects of TSP more carefully -- that is, the IMO somewhat creepy circumstances of Adam's bringing Fleur into his house to care for his daughter after meeting her once, and also the passive-aggressive way he brings his mistress home with his wife, all the while not challenging Sybil directly -- I might have been better able to find the book romantic.

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