This book started promisingly and rapidly took a nosedive from which it failed to recover. The main issue is simply that it hasn’t aged well. It seems to have been received well in 1941, and ‘Susan Scarlett’ was a writer for ‘women reading during the blackout’. Which reminds me a lot of ‘books for smart women with the flu’, which are, I’ll be quite honest, my favourite genre of book. Certainly this is structured in that filed-edges comfort zone, but in 2025 what’s comforting is simply not the same. And it’s interesting, because plenty of books from much older eras are ones I find comforting – Jane Austen or LM Montgomery, for example. In these books the plucky heroine does end up getting married, and it is the focus of the story arc, but there’s something weird and cheap and off-putting about how it happens in this book.
Maybe it’s the setting. Someone getting married at eighteen in the 1810s or even the 1890s/1910s isn’t that mind-boggling. That being said, LM Montgomery’s heroines generally aren’t that young on marriage. On meeting the end-game man, sure, but Anne Shirley got through her university education first, for example. The heroine of this novel, Beth, starts the novel saddened by leaving her academic success in school to start work in the same department store as her father. Her parents are presented as nice and noble people, yet they don’t perceive there’s any waste in a bright girl like her not continuing her education. They also KEPT HAVING CHILDREN. I don’t know if that’s a personal thing, or a time period thing, but come ON. You have a TWO-BEDROOM HOUSE. Stop having children! They’re expensive! There’s five or six younger siblings (they do tend to blend together).
Early doors Beth encounters the son and heir of Babbacombe’s, David, and they are both struck with insta-love. Beth – via her father – raises some reasonable objections to a shop girl carrying on with the rich son. It’s fine, though, David’s intentions are always noble! Beth is Not Like Other Girls, you see! She dresses up like a QUAKER for a fancy dress ball, which David finds incredibly hot (??). She also stands in direct contrast to her frippery cousin Dulcie, to whom the family has reluctantly given house room. Dulcie commits such awful crimes as a) wearing make-up and b) wanting a rich husband, even though the whole narrative frames Beth (EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD) marrying a rich husband as the Cinderella ideal. Scarlett makes no effort to make Dulcie even slightly empathic, so her intrusions into Beth’s romance always feel negative. How much easier it was to write books when you could blithely hew to the Madonna/whore dichotomy without question!
David is a dumbass. This is what really gets trying, really quickly. Aside from the jail for a thousand years crime of using the pet name ‘ducky’ (NO), he’s a terrible communicator, he goes off in a towering huff every time his will is even slightly questioned, and he bullies Beth at every turn. Good thing he’s rich, I guess.
There’s also some really funky stuff going on with class dynamics here. Not only Beth but a customer she helps in the shop jump several social classes in marriage, and it’s fine because they’re somehow better quality than the equivalent Dulcies. Yet do Beths really exist? The idea of a family living on one shop assistant’s salary in a four-room house somehow having better morals and quality of mind than the family that produced Dulcie, or equalling the one that produced the Oxbridge-educated David … where’s the evidence for this? In reality, Beth and Dulcie would be the same. Then it transpires that Babbacombe Senior is just another shop assistant made good. So bootstrapping is the best … in interwar Britain?! Or anytime in history Britain? Be so for real. The British higher classes have never considered either the Dulcies or the Beths their equal. They might dally with them but they don’t marry them. Usually the Jane Eyre character proves themselves worthy by high moral stature and/or education, which is sort of the case here, but because it’s such a soft-focus story there’s a lot missing.