In the very first chapter of The Bastard, we have the main character having a Symbolic Dream about his Destiny, wondering why he’s Different from Everyone Else in this poor provincial town, getting beaten up by bullies, and losing his virginity to a maidservant, who forces wine down his throat and basically rapes him in his mother’s hayloft.
Once I read this chapter, I had a pretty good idea of what I was in for. And I wasn’t disappointed. The Bastard is fanfiction-caliber wish-fulfillment, through and through. But for all that, it’s very entertaining wish-fulfillment.
The main character, Philippe Charbonneau, is the bastard son of a French actress and an English duke. Not a landed squire, not an MP, not a baronet, not even an earl, but a friggin’ DUKE, as in the highest rank of English nobility, someone who’s closely connected or even related to the British royal family! Even better, the duke, despite marrying a noblewoman, has still been carrying a torch for Marie Charbonneau, the French actress he had a fling with twenty-some years ago! So much so, that he’s even sent her letters, stating that he wants his bastard son to inherit half his fortune!
The sheer implausibility of this scenario is staggering. For all John Jakes’ reputation as someone who does careful historical research, he doesn’t seem to have done much research on the British nobility, class attitudes of the 18th century, or social mores of the time period. And yet he could have made the situation work if he’d just made Philippe’s father an untitled but landed gentleman. But no; his father had to be a duke. Honestly, I can’t tell if Jakes wanted his hero to be Just That Special, or if he just picked a random noble title and didn’t look back.
And the implausibility just keeps piling up. Through an incredibly contrived situation, Philippe saves the life of the thirteen-year-old Gilbert du Motier, the future Marquis de Lafayette, who insists that Philippe call him “Gil” (seriously). He invites Philippe to his chateau in thanks and gives him a sword. That’s right: a French noble in the 1770s thanks a peasant boy for saving his life by inviting him to his chateau and giving him a sword. Jakes does know why there was a French Revolution, doesn’t he? He does know that the prevailing attitude of many French nobles towards peasants was “treat them like dirt” or “pretend they don’t exist,” right?
This meeting with the future Marquis also begins one of Jakes’ most annoying writing quirks, what I like to call “historical name-dropping”. Jakes’ characters meet every well-known historical figure from the time period. In this book, for example, Philippe Charbonneau meets the Marquis de Lafayette, Lord North, Benjamin Franklin, Charles James Fox, William Molineux, Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Edes, John Adams, and Henry Knox. And it’s not like he just bumps into them once or twice, or shakes hands with them, or catches a glimpse of them. No, Philippe has to be close friends with them, or talk politics with them, or participate in the Boston Tea Party or Revere’s midnight ride with them. Jakes is never graceful or subtle about this, either. It feels like he’s saying, “Ha! My character knows Benjamin Franklin! See? SEE? He belongs in this time period! Oh, and he also knows Paul Revere and Samuel Adams! HE BELONGS IN THIS TIME PERIOD, DAMMIT!”
What makes this most maddening is that Jakes’ characters never seem like real people from the 18th century: they seem like 20th-century cosplayers or actors in cheap costumes. This becomes obvious once Marie gets a letter saying the duke is dying, and she and Philippe go to England and to his estate to claim the inheritance. They act more like middle-class Americans from the 20th century than French peasants from the 18th century, doing things that would have gotten them thrown off the estate in real life, if not put in the stocks or even jailed. Marie yells at the duchess, demanding to see the duke. She tries to force her way into the house past the servants. She calls the duke “James” at one point, in front of the duchess! Philippe is even worse. He sasses back at the duke’s legitimate son, Roger, when Roger taunts him. When the Prime Minister comes to visit, Philippe yells radical political taunts at him.
I think we’re supposed to sympathize with Philippe and Marie, when the duchess refuses to listen to Marie’s claims of Philippe’s paternity and Roger has his servants constantly hounding Philippe, trying to drive him out of Kent. But I had no sympathy at all. By 20th-century American standards, these two were standing up for their just rights. By 18th-century European standards, they were doing the equivalent of stalking and harassing a celebrity or a politician. Bottom line: if you were lower-class in the 18th-century, you did not behave this way to members of the upper class, unless you were insane, or you had a death wish.
I get what Jakes was trying to write: a pair of European peasants are denied the fortune they feel entitled to, all because of the old class system of Europe (hence why they need to seek a new life in America). But it doesn’t work, because the old class system of Europe barely inconveniences the Charbonneaus, except when it hurts their pride. In real life, bad things happened to members of the lower classes who stepped out of line—imprisonment, public humiliation, ostracism, transportation to a penal colony, or execution. None of that happens here, but the Charbonneaus and Jakes make it sound like being driven away from the estate and not being allowed to see the duke are the most unjust punishments that could be inflicted on these people.
Again, if Jakes had only thought more carefully, he could have made the situation work. Instead of making Marie and Philippe peasants, he could have made them wealthy middle-class people. Then their hurt pride at being looked down on by the nobility would make sense. Then they might be able to get away with showing their anger to noblemen and their servants (although it would still be pretty stupid). I’ll admit that seeing poor people going up against rich people is a lot more satisfying than seeing rich people going up against rich people with titles. But as I said, Marie and Philippe don’t behave like poor people from the 18th century, so the whole situation falls apart.
Apart from the historical inaccuracies, the book is an absolute cliché storm. Roger, Philippe’s legitimate half-brother, is evil and violent, because of course he is. He even has an oddly-shaped birthmark on his forehead. He tries to kill Philippe numerous times during the story. Philippe gets involved in a love triangle--with a “Madonna” and a “whore” figure, naturally. The “whore,” Alicia Parkhurst, is also Roger’s fiancée, and she and Philippe meet for trysts on a hill on the duke’s estate. But we know she’s bad news, because even though she’s having sex with Philippe, she still wants to marry Roger for—(gasp!)—money! The “Madonna,” Anne Ware, is a sharp-tongued, strong-minded, chaste woman, but of course she’s still good-looking, with a nice rack (which Jakes mentions numerous times). Of course, Anne is Not Like Other Girls, and there’s a whole subplot about how her mother died of depression trying to fit into the role prescribed for women in 18th-century society, and how she resolves that the same thing won’t happen to her. Spoiler alert: Anne’s ultimate fate is much worse. In fact, Jakes’ buildup of Anne as a strong-minded, capable, determined woman in this book makes what happens to her in Book 2 all the more unspeakably vile.
So, was there anything about this book I liked? So far, all I’ve done is complain. But believe it or not, there were parts of the book I liked. Once Philippe got to America and changed his name to Philip, the story improved noticeably, probably because his brashness didn’t stand out as much when he was surrounded by revolutionaries as it did when he was surrounded by nobles. Also, Philip faced actual, believable problems once he got to America: homelessness, poverty, and having to work his way up from nothing. In fact, the believability of the whole story got better, although the historical name-dropping got worse. And despite how silly it gets a lot of the time, Philippe/Philip does have a character arc. He starts out desperate for money and a place in high society, then he goes to America and learns to work and to fight for what he believes in, and by the end of the book, he has pride, money he earned on his own, a new nationality, and a cause to fight for. As a standalone novel, this book would have been satisfying and fun, despite the anachronisms and the clichés.
Unfortunately, Jakes had planned to write a family saga stretching all the way to 1976. After this book, he also must have decided to make his series a SERIOUS, EPIC family saga. And when authors who are used to writing pulpy, non-serious fiction decide to go SERIOUS and EPIC, oh, boy, are we in trouble. It’s all downhill from here. Read The Bastard and make up your own stories about the Kent family. Whatever you think up will be more interesting, more plausible, and less offensive than what actually happens in the other books.