There’s a lot to love about Hazel
Gaynor’s The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter,
a multigenerational saga interweaving dual historical narratives—one set in
1838, the other in 1938.
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The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter |
The story of Grace Darling, a
real Victorian lighthouse keeper’s daughter (1815-1842), who took part in a daring sea rescue off
the Northumberland coast, is wonderful material for fiction. And Gaynor
augments her tale deftly with additional plots inspired by women lighthouse
keepers in Ireland and Rhode Island.
The characters at the
novel’s heart—the pregnant, unmarried Matilda, the widowed Sarah, the bereft
Harriet and Grace herself—share a capacity for courage, a deep relationship
with the sea, and a penchant for attracting tragedy. It’s fun to guess from the
novel’s early pages what it is that binds them together, to puzzle out their
family trees and look for connections in an inherited book, locket or portrait.
Gaynor writes action
particularly well and bookends her novel with it, capturing the sea’s ferocity
as well as its beauty in the novel’s opening and later scenes. She also writes believable
dialogue, which suggests place and period with the lightest of touches, rather
than, for example, overdoing Irish dialect or ’30s slang.
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Hazel Gaynor |
As with many dual
narrative historical novels, the cyclical nature of time is a theme here, with
words, ideas and actions echoing through the generations. While the variations
in plot kept me guessing, the repetition on a language level sometimes grated—characters
are forever soothing each other, for instance, and everyone seems to collect
seashells. At times I also wondered if Grace and Matilda felt distinct enough
for having been born one hundred years apart. They have the costumes of
different periods and speak with appropriate metaphors, but I didn’t feel the
difference between their mid-nineteenth- and mid-twentieth-century world views.
Overall, I’d
recommend The Lighthouse Keeper’s
Daughter as a great summer read, especially if you’re going to be by the
water. As with Amy Brill's The Movement of Stars,
the last novel I reviewed as part of this Neo-Victorian Voices series, this
read offers an insight into the women who worked
during the nineteenth century and pursued passions we might think of as only
being explored by men.
Do you have any
recommendations of novels the Secret Victorianist should read next as part of
my Neo-Victorian Voices series? Let me know—here, on Facebook, or by
tweeting @SVictorianist.
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