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Rodmoor: A romance
Rodmoor is, unusually for a John Cowper Powys novel, set in East Anglia, Rodmoor itself being a coastal village.
The protagonist, Adrian Sorio, is a typically Powys-like hero, highly-strung with only precarious mental stability. He is in love with two women - Nance Herrick and the more unconventional Phillipa Renshaw.
This was Powys second novel, published in 1916. It deploys a rich and memorable cast of characters.
The protagonist, Adrian Sorio, is a typically Powys-like hero, highly-strung with only precarious mental stability. He is in love with two women - Nance Herrick and the more unconventional Phillipa Renshaw.
This was Powys second novel, published in 1916. It deploys a rich and memorable cast of characters.
460 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1916
About the author
John Cowper Powys
169 books179 followersPowys was born in Shirley, Derbyshire, where his father was vicar. His mother was descended from the poet William Cowper, hence his middle name. His two younger brothers, Llewelyn Powys and Theodore Francis Powys, also became well-known writers. Other brothers and sisters also became prominent in the arts.
John studied at Sherborne School and Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and became a teacher and lecturer; as lecturer, he worked first in England, then in continental Europe and finally in the USA, where he lived in the years 1904-1934. While in the United States, his work was championed by author Theodore Dreiser. He engaged in public debate with Bertrand Russell and the philosopher and historian Will Durant: he was called for the defence in the first obscenity trial for the James Joyce novel, Ulysses, and was mentioned with approval in the autobiography of US feminist and anarchist, Emma Goldman.
He made his name as a poet and essayist, moving on to produce a series of acclaimed novels distinguished by their uniquely detailed and intensely sensual recreation of time, place and character. They also describe heightened states of awareness resulting from mystic revelation, or from the experience of extreme pleasure or pain. The best known of these distinctive novels are A Glastonbury Romance and Wolf Solent. He also wrote some works of philosophy and literary criticism, including a pioneering tribute to Dorothy Richardson.
Having returned to the UK, he lived in England for a brief time, then moved to Corwen in Wales, where he wrote historical romances (including two set in Wales) and magical fantasies. He later moved to Blaenau Ffestiniog, where he remained until his death in 1963.
John studied at Sherborne School and Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and became a teacher and lecturer; as lecturer, he worked first in England, then in continental Europe and finally in the USA, where he lived in the years 1904-1934. While in the United States, his work was championed by author Theodore Dreiser. He engaged in public debate with Bertrand Russell and the philosopher and historian Will Durant: he was called for the defence in the first obscenity trial for the James Joyce novel, Ulysses, and was mentioned with approval in the autobiography of US feminist and anarchist, Emma Goldman.
He made his name as a poet and essayist, moving on to produce a series of acclaimed novels distinguished by their uniquely detailed and intensely sensual recreation of time, place and character. They also describe heightened states of awareness resulting from mystic revelation, or from the experience of extreme pleasure or pain. The best known of these distinctive novels are A Glastonbury Romance and Wolf Solent. He also wrote some works of philosophy and literary criticism, including a pioneering tribute to Dorothy Richardson.
Having returned to the UK, he lived in England for a brief time, then moved to Corwen in Wales, where he wrote historical romances (including two set in Wales) and magical fantasies. He later moved to Blaenau Ffestiniog, where he remained until his death in 1963.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
December 4, 2017
Rodmoor, John Cowper Powys' ("JCP") second novel, represents a significant change from his first novel, Wood and Stone, a turn towards an "unwholesome" morbidity in character and setting, and a focus on the emotional depth of nature. The book is unrelentingly disturbing and is easily criticized, but upon a second reading, it struck me as being quite excellent in its own particular fashion.
JCP dedicates the book to Emily Bronte and the town of Rodmoor is an East Anglia coast equivalent of Wuthering Heights. His description of the town, its inhabitants, the sea, the weather, the countryside, the river Loon that runs through it, are vividly and brilliantly portrayed.
The characters are striking (probably Philippa works the best here), and in their general morbidity seem to lack believability or reason to empathize with them, which makes it difficult to care about the book. And yet a second reading really brought them out. Every character is significantly "damaged" in some way, there is no relief from this. But that does not seem to be the purpose of the writer. He isn't trying to shock us or insult us.
The genius of the book I think it's on how the morbidity of the characters comes from the closeness to the North Sea. He is constantly describing the decay of the surroundings, and how the sea is slowly engulfing the town. It reminded me a lot of Lovecraft's "The Shadow over Innsmouth" in its portrayal of a decaying sea town. The river Loon that flows through the town is particularly well done and provides several great scenes.
Does the plot, particularly the ending, really work? Not really, but that is hardly what the book is about. This book is exceptionally original, a powerful mood piece, and full of fabulous scenes and descriptions. I'm not quite sure the plot is all that important, the book is more of a painting than a novel. I recommend strongly, but your expectation should be of a completely non-traditional book (I'm not even sure it qualifies as a novel).
JCP dedicates the book to Emily Bronte and the town of Rodmoor is an East Anglia coast equivalent of Wuthering Heights. His description of the town, its inhabitants, the sea, the weather, the countryside, the river Loon that runs through it, are vividly and brilliantly portrayed.
The characters are striking (probably Philippa works the best here), and in their general morbidity seem to lack believability or reason to empathize with them, which makes it difficult to care about the book. And yet a second reading really brought them out. Every character is significantly "damaged" in some way, there is no relief from this. But that does not seem to be the purpose of the writer. He isn't trying to shock us or insult us.
The genius of the book I think it's on how the morbidity of the characters comes from the closeness to the North Sea. He is constantly describing the decay of the surroundings, and how the sea is slowly engulfing the town. It reminded me a lot of Lovecraft's "The Shadow over Innsmouth" in its portrayal of a decaying sea town. The river Loon that flows through the town is particularly well done and provides several great scenes.
Does the plot, particularly the ending, really work? Not really, but that is hardly what the book is about. This book is exceptionally original, a powerful mood piece, and full of fabulous scenes and descriptions. I'm not quite sure the plot is all that important, the book is more of a painting than a novel. I recommend strongly, but your expectation should be of a completely non-traditional book (I'm not even sure it qualifies as a novel).
September 25, 2019
An odd novel, though one expects that of John Cowper Powys. Perhaps more odd is the fact that it was published at all - though as I understand it Powys' former manager and friend had gone into publishing at this point, for which we have to thank his start as a novelist.
It's the first of Powys' non-canonical works that I've read, not counting The Brazen Head, though that at least was re-published by Picador classics. Is it any different from his usual fare?
In some sense, no. It is guilty, as are all of his novels, of being peopled with characters overwhelmed by their creator's imagination. In other words, every character has thoughts, reactions and speeches which it is not hard to see are Powys' own. Here the problem seems even more obvious. The characters and plot have even less to do with what Powys wants to say than in his later, more 'classic' books. One imagines him in Aristotle's Lyceum, meekly handing in his creative writing pieces without any semblance of proper Beginning, Middle or End.
Rodmoor begins in London, where the main characters Adrian and Nance have to meet and fall in love, but also somehow be driven by separate forces to a coastal village in East Anglia - that, after all, is the place Powys wants to describe. Powys doesn't expend much energy in finding plausible reasons for this. (The books is not subtitled 'A Romance' for nothing, don't come here expecting any of that modish 'realism'!). So we hear of Rachel Doorm's vague plans of 'transporting' the sisters Nance and Linda off to an inherited dwelling, whilst Adrian, fresh from an American insane asylum (familiar from the Powys oeuvre, and about which the reader can expect no further elaboration) follows the invitation of an old friend to come and live with him in the very same village. Also worth noting is the opening page, which, uniquely for a Powys novel, begins with no grand description of the natural world nor a philosophical statement of cosmic purport.
One forgives this silliness because, after all, one wants to get to Rodmoor. What is the point of a Powys novel set in an urban metropolis? And when we do get there things improve. Powys is always good when describing the terraqueous zone, the ebb and flow of tides the eternal struggle, as he might term it, between land and water. The best bits are extended sequences of description as the seasons turn and Rodmoor is painted in its ever-changing moods. The characters are mostly difficult to like - except perhaps the priest with his albino rat and the doctor who is also an amateur naturalist - but that is what one expects. Plenty then, for the enthusiast, and compared to many of the author's other books, quite short. It's also a little amusing to hear the disconsolate Mrs. Renshaw lamenting, in a novel written in 1915, the lack of a Walter Scott among the present day crop of English authors. An insight into just how against the grain Powys' tastes were, and also a foreshadowing of Woolf's use of the same author in To the Lighthouse.
It's the first of Powys' non-canonical works that I've read, not counting The Brazen Head, though that at least was re-published by Picador classics. Is it any different from his usual fare?
In some sense, no. It is guilty, as are all of his novels, of being peopled with characters overwhelmed by their creator's imagination. In other words, every character has thoughts, reactions and speeches which it is not hard to see are Powys' own. Here the problem seems even more obvious. The characters and plot have even less to do with what Powys wants to say than in his later, more 'classic' books. One imagines him in Aristotle's Lyceum, meekly handing in his creative writing pieces without any semblance of proper Beginning, Middle or End.
Rodmoor begins in London, where the main characters Adrian and Nance have to meet and fall in love, but also somehow be driven by separate forces to a coastal village in East Anglia - that, after all, is the place Powys wants to describe. Powys doesn't expend much energy in finding plausible reasons for this. (The books is not subtitled 'A Romance' for nothing, don't come here expecting any of that modish 'realism'!). So we hear of Rachel Doorm's vague plans of 'transporting' the sisters Nance and Linda off to an inherited dwelling, whilst Adrian, fresh from an American insane asylum (familiar from the Powys oeuvre, and about which the reader can expect no further elaboration) follows the invitation of an old friend to come and live with him in the very same village. Also worth noting is the opening page, which, uniquely for a Powys novel, begins with no grand description of the natural world nor a philosophical statement of cosmic purport.
One forgives this silliness because, after all, one wants to get to Rodmoor. What is the point of a Powys novel set in an urban metropolis? And when we do get there things improve. Powys is always good when describing the terraqueous zone, the ebb and flow of tides the eternal struggle, as he might term it, between land and water. The best bits are extended sequences of description as the seasons turn and Rodmoor is painted in its ever-changing moods. The characters are mostly difficult to like - except perhaps the priest with his albino rat and the doctor who is also an amateur naturalist - but that is what one expects. Plenty then, for the enthusiast, and compared to many of the author's other books, quite short. It's also a little amusing to hear the disconsolate Mrs. Renshaw lamenting, in a novel written in 1915, the lack of a Walter Scott among the present day crop of English authors. An insight into just how against the grain Powys' tastes were, and also a foreshadowing of Woolf's use of the same author in To the Lighthouse.
June 12, 2021
C'est beau, c'est tragique, meditatif, curieux, envahissant. Un livre comme je les aime. Hâte de découvrir ses autres oeuvres.
October 4, 2017
A great early work by JCP - already displaying his brilliant ability to describe the British environment - and create and describe memorable and totally believable characters. For instance the following from near the end of the book:
'The morning of the fourth of November dawned far more auspiciously than any day which Rodmoor had known for many weeks. It was one of those patient, hushed, indescribable days - calm and tender and full of whispered intimations of hidden reassurance - which rarely reach us in any country but England or in any district but East Anglia. The great powers of sea and air and sky seemed to draw close to one another and close to humanity; as if with some large and gracious gesture of benediction they would fain lay to rest, under a solemn and elemental requiem, the body of the dead season's life.'
'The morning of the fourth of November dawned far more auspiciously than any day which Rodmoor had known for many weeks. It was one of those patient, hushed, indescribable days - calm and tender and full of whispered intimations of hidden reassurance - which rarely reach us in any country but England or in any district but East Anglia. The great powers of sea and air and sky seemed to draw close to one another and close to humanity; as if with some large and gracious gesture of benediction they would fain lay to rest, under a solemn and elemental requiem, the body of the dead season's life.'
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews