The eccentric Lesley family could not agree on what to name Lorraine's new baby girl even after four months. Lorraine secretly liked the name Marigold, but who would ever agree to such a fanciful name as that? When the baby falls ill and gentle Dr. M. Woodruff Richards saves her life, the family decides to name the child after the good doctor. But a girl named Woodruff? How fortunate that Dr. Richards's seldom-used first name turns out to be . . . Marigold! A child with such an unusual name is destined for adventure. It all begins the day Marigold meets a girl in a beautiful green dress who claims to be a real-life princess. . . .
MY THOUGHTS:
A well-written Montgomery novel is always a pleasure to read, although this one starts off sadly. The baby heroine's father dies two weeks before her birth, her mother has barely recovered from her grief, and the clan gathers together to choose her name. As little Marigold grows up in her dead father's family nest, she brings much-needed sunshine and the story takes her to the cusp of adolescence in a series of the type of episode Montgomery writes so well.
In some ways, Marigold is a girl after my own heart, and in others she drives me nuts!
Marigold's overriding trait is her innate belief that the world is a very 'int'resting' place, and she makes magic for herself with her thoughts and daydreams. It's a purely private skill since she often keeps quiet about what she mulls over, and thanks God for 'arranging it so that nobody knows what I think.' As a fellow secretive daydreamer from way back, I find Marigold more relatable than the far more sociable Anne Shirley, who bubbles out whatever she thinks to anyone within earshot.
Life draws thoughts from Marigold which she's probably wise to conceal. She's bitterly jealous of the portrait of Clementine, her father's first wife, who was regarded as far more of a beauty than Marigold's mother. Marigold also has a pretend friend named Sylvia, who she senses is just a trifle too weird for most of her 'real' friends to wrap their heads around. And she throws an inner tantrum when she hears the rumour that her mother might marry the new minister, Mr Thompson.
I can't help thinking in this instance, Marigold realises her attitude stinks. Loyalty to her dad surely can't be such a big factor, since he died before her birth. She just doesn't want her own little bubble to burst, and luckily for her, it doesn't. Yet I suspect Marigold would have caused a huge hassle for her poor mother if her worst fears had materialised. Judging by her extreme reaction when her grandma takes away the keys allowing her to 'visit' Sylvia, Marigold lacks the flexibility to take life's blows in her stride.
(Honestly, who the heck languishes with grief to the point of death because they can't visit a pretend friend on the turf they've chosen? Even I found that overdrawn, and I was an intense, imaginative kid too. But unsurprisingly, the answer is the same person who resents the prospect of their mother finding renewed happiness with another man.)
But even though she's extremely manipulative in her passive-aggressive way, another thing that makes me sympathise with Marigold overall is her tendency to be a follower rather than a leader when it comes to her real life friends. Even though she has originality and imagination, she lacks the forcefulness to push herself forward, but that's okay. We can't all be chiefs, yet we can follow Marigold's example and stick up for ourselves when pushed too far. She shows we can have an agreeable nature without being a pushover.
I like the string of droll, larger-than-life playmates who stream through Marigold's life and the funny ways in which her hang-ups tend to get resolved.
Supporting adult characters are good. Marigold's mother, Lorraine, verges on the meek and downtrodden side, yet living as her stern mother-in-law's righthand man can't be easy without the solace of her husband's support. Notwithstanding, Lorraine does a fine job of parenting Marigold, suggesting that 'good enough' under challenging circumstances really does hit the mark.
Now, I don't consider myself a die-hard feminist, but I was miffed by the unspoken rule we see that women of the 1920s may occupy just one sphere at a time. Aunt Marigold begins the book as a brilliant doctor who saves at least one life while her medical peers remain baffled. Then when she marries Uncle Klon, it appears she must give it all up. What a waste of training and talent, potentially impacting many others apart from just herself. Thanks heavens we live a century later when the same woman can be a doctor as well as a wife and mother.
This is probably my biggest bugbear of the whole book. I understand that a woman's role as family anchor was treated with great respect, and I always jump to Anne Blythe's defense when people slam her for becoming 'just a housewife' instead of pursuing some idealistic literary career. But gee whiz, Uncle Klon and Aunt Marigold don't even have any kids! And she'd already put herself through medical school and set up a practice. Does she now devote the rest of her life to stroking his brow and folding his socks?
I feel as if this book ends on a good note, just as 12-year-old Marigold is on the threshold of exploring new feelings, regarding a particular boy. If Montgomery had followed this stand-alone book with another story about Marigold's teen years and young womanhood, I would have gone straight onto that next.
As it is, this was a fun read. There's a lot to love about being transported back to an old world where rudimentary motor cars rumble alongside horse drawn buggies, every household hangs a photo of Queen Victoria on their wall, cake must always be on hand in case of unexpected guests, and fruitcake is stored in an airtight box beneath the spare room bed. Duties and responsibilities seem refreshingly slower-paced, yet we readers can sense the possible threat of tuberculosis hanging over each and every family. Reading this book encourages us to adopt the best of this 1920s era if we want to, without having to factor in the worst of it.
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