In Victorian England in the early 1890s, it was very much—and very incongruously—a man’s world in a number of ways. Among the landed gentry, for example, property ownership was almost entirely the exclusive purview of men. Indeed, the feudal “law of entail” was such that property passed from father to eldest son, even if that son was a profligate, irresponsible rascal and a bounder. Similarly, of course, women were excluded from the country’s political processes and decision-making.
Thus, not surprisingly, the backdrop and general context of The Country House will infuriate modern readers of both gender. The simple plot is this: George Pendyce, next in line to inherit the beautiful acres of Worsted Skeynes from his father Horace, has committed the scandalous folly of falling in love with a married woman, Helen Bellew. Helen’s husband threatens a very public divorce. While this situation may barely cause a raised eyebrow today, the eruption is practically volcanic in the bucolic English countryside, where restrictive class distinctions are crushing but nevertheless clearly understood.
To exploit this period drama, author John Galsworthy populates his story with a number of stereotypes beyond, of course, the hapless, idle, directionless George and his vainglorious, rigid-thinking, pompous father. There is the village rector, a chauvinistic, narrow-minded man, who objectifies his wife by siring a child by her each year of their ten-year marriage, but who avoids with utter distaste anything related to the biology of childbirth. There is also General Pendyce, Horace’s brother, who “never married, feeling it to be comparatively useless.”
Despite an abundance of manliness and machismo, the men prove to be pathetic in their attempts to avoid a scandal. Rather, it turns out to be the women who are bold and undaunted in pursuing a viable solution. George’s mother, for example, albeit with trembling heart, stuns her husband with defiance—a scandal in its own right!—and imbues the situation with a common-sense touch, far more effective than the mulish, heels-dug-in immobility of the men. Helen Bellew herself sees no reason why, having got herself into this predicament, cannot with a foudroyant feat of feminism, get herself out of it just as easily.
Galsworthy’s scathing descriptions of men’s behavior will not go unnoticed by readers, nor will his subtle but savage criticism of the unfair dynamics between men and women. His brilliant writing is restrained and reserved, yet weighty with clarity. There is terrific humor, too: the slapstick variety, whereby Horace repeatedly steps on his luckless dog; and the intelligent, witty kind, as when the lawyer, Mr. Paramor says, “Don’t confuse yourself by dragging in Christianity. Christianity has nothing to do with the law.”
The Country House is a fabulous book, a short, fast-paced story written with confidence and competence. The delight of this reviewer’s first encounter with Galsworthy, has emboldened him to put Galsworthy’s nine-volume The Forsyte Saga high on his to-read list!