Sir Isumbras at the Ford by D. K. Broster
Jun. 10th, 2020 05:11 pmSir Isumbras at the Ford (1918) is the first book written by D. K. Broster alone. Now, I don't want to denigrate G. W. Taylor, whose contributions to the two earlier books I enjoyed, but I do have to say I think Broster is better off without her. This book felt like a serious 'levelling up' in prose style, emotional stakes and general quality, and it's the first time in this read-through that I've really gone, oh yes, this person wrote Flight of the Heron.
Once again, the story takes place amongst the aristocratic émigrés of post-Revolutionary France. It begins in 1795 with the precocious young Royalist Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny, who lives with his French father and Scottish grandfather in London, being kidnapped and taken to France by nefarious Republicans who want to get information about the political schemes his father René is involved in. René is away on business related to these schemes, so it's left to his friend, the Breton guerilla leader Fortuné de la Vireville, to go to France and rescue the boy. This rescue effected, La Vireville returns to his counter-Revolutionary activities in Brittany, where he meets the courageous and interesting Royalist agent Raymonde de Guéfontaine; and then he and René de Flavigny both become embroiled in an invasion of Republican France, which (history spoilers) doesn't go well.
Before I discuss actual details about this book: the one thing that's really struck me, the more so the further through the book I got, is the sheer emotional weight and impact of Broster's writing. Something about the way she constructs sentences, scenes and plots... I can't put my finger on exactly what this quality is—I don't think it's tragedy alone, because ( Spoilers ). If I had to make an attempt, I'd say that it's something to do with the sense of authorial presence in the story—Broster puts her characters through terrible trials and heavy emotional journeys, but she also constantly sympathises with them in a knowing, omniscient-narrator way. She's got a way of emphasising little details of mundane happiness in the wake of tragic events, which I think is meant to show how the characters grow past their trials and misfortunes, but which feels almost cruel at times. It's almost as bad as Mary Renault, and possibly worse than Rosemary Sutcliff.
Anyway, pointless introspection aside, I really enjoyed this book for a number of reasons...
The characters, in general, are great. Anne-Hilarion's endearing precociousness got a bit much after a while, but his 'surrogate uncle' relationship with La Vireville was very sweet all the same. And La Vireville himself is a fave—his combination of world-weary cynicism about people in general and readiness to see the good in people he cares about, like Anne and, later, Raymonde, is great, and his bravery and endurance are very impressive. (If that sounds a bit familiar... yeah, I'll get to discussing FotH further on). My absolute fave in this book, however, was Raymonde. Now, I'm frequently disappointed with the roles that female characters get to play in the sorts of stories I otherwise enjoy, stories like this one, and it was very refreshing indeed to see a different sort of female character here. I loved that a woman gets to take part in the emotionally intense loyalty/honour/revenge/betrayal plots that Broster writes so well; I loved that she's an important political player in her own right, risking everything to work for the Royalist cause as much as the fighting men she works alongside; I loved her courage and resourcefulness and passion and pride. More characters like this, please!
I also enjoyed the two Republican double agents, Madame and Mademoiselle de Chaulnes. It's interesting to see women playing active roles as villains too, of course, and there's a lot of potential in their backstory and scheming. The last meeting between Mme de Chaulnes and La Vireville was particularly intriguing—we see Royalist and Republican characters actually arguing the merits of their causes and accusing each other with what they feel are the flaws of the other side, and I really enjoyed getting a view of that. And there are many other great characters—Anne's strict and suspicious but loyal Scottish nurse Elspeth, La Vireville's sweetheart of a mum, the eager young naval officer Francis Tollemache, etc. etc.
This book has a lot in common with Flight of the Heron!![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theseatheseatheopensea has described La Vireville as a sort of proto-Keith Windham—he's a soldier fallen into cynicism after the woman he loved betrayed him, who finds himself forming significant relationships with other, more worthy characters and slowly rediscovering the value of love. This arc involves some fraught situations of honour, characters mistakenly thinking other characters have betrayed them and characters saving each others' lives despite the enmity between them. La Vireville/Raymonde—the canon romance—is very much like Keith/Ewen, and I felt very vindicated by this. :) Other similarities include Broster's fondness for feinting towards killing characters off before abruptly saving them (which also appears in Chantemerle; interestingly, the patterns and eventual outcomes of threatened and real deaths are different in all three books), and impressive feats of physical endurance by badly injured characters. Although not the homoeroticism (which I'm glad about, frankly; I wouldn't want conflict with an m/m pairing I'd inevitably prefer to the canon m/f pairing to interfere with my love for Raymonde!). There's even a mention of a Mr Windham, although he appears to be historical—perhaps he's a relation.
My other favourite thing about this book is the presence of Child Ballads! Elspeth sings ballads to Anne-Hilarion, who loves the stories and quotes verses from them (with appropriately childish powers of association) at various significant moments in the plot, and Broster also uses them as epigraphs. The two ballads that turn up again and again are 'Sir Patrick Spens' and 'Thomas the Rhymer', which just happen to be two of my faves, as well. Good taste, Anne and Broster.
Altogether: a very good and enjoyable book, highly recommended if you like Flight of the Heron and enjoy playing spot-the-common-detail. Since there doesn't currently appear to be an ebook of this one available, and I have a first edition, I'm considering scanning it and sending the text to Gutenberg.org, because more people deserve to break their hearts over Broster's lovely writing. :D
Once again, the story takes place amongst the aristocratic émigrés of post-Revolutionary France. It begins in 1795 with the precocious young Royalist Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny, who lives with his French father and Scottish grandfather in London, being kidnapped and taken to France by nefarious Republicans who want to get information about the political schemes his father René is involved in. René is away on business related to these schemes, so it's left to his friend, the Breton guerilla leader Fortuné de la Vireville, to go to France and rescue the boy. This rescue effected, La Vireville returns to his counter-Revolutionary activities in Brittany, where he meets the courageous and interesting Royalist agent Raymonde de Guéfontaine; and then he and René de Flavigny both become embroiled in an invasion of Republican France, which (history spoilers) doesn't go well.
Before I discuss actual details about this book: the one thing that's really struck me, the more so the further through the book I got, is the sheer emotional weight and impact of Broster's writing. Something about the way she constructs sentences, scenes and plots... I can't put my finger on exactly what this quality is—I don't think it's tragedy alone, because ( Spoilers ). If I had to make an attempt, I'd say that it's something to do with the sense of authorial presence in the story—Broster puts her characters through terrible trials and heavy emotional journeys, but she also constantly sympathises with them in a knowing, omniscient-narrator way. She's got a way of emphasising little details of mundane happiness in the wake of tragic events, which I think is meant to show how the characters grow past their trials and misfortunes, but which feels almost cruel at times. It's almost as bad as Mary Renault, and possibly worse than Rosemary Sutcliff.
Anyway, pointless introspection aside, I really enjoyed this book for a number of reasons...
The characters, in general, are great. Anne-Hilarion's endearing precociousness got a bit much after a while, but his 'surrogate uncle' relationship with La Vireville was very sweet all the same. And La Vireville himself is a fave—his combination of world-weary cynicism about people in general and readiness to see the good in people he cares about, like Anne and, later, Raymonde, is great, and his bravery and endurance are very impressive. (If that sounds a bit familiar... yeah, I'll get to discussing FotH further on). My absolute fave in this book, however, was Raymonde. Now, I'm frequently disappointed with the roles that female characters get to play in the sorts of stories I otherwise enjoy, stories like this one, and it was very refreshing indeed to see a different sort of female character here. I loved that a woman gets to take part in the emotionally intense loyalty/honour/revenge/betrayal plots that Broster writes so well; I loved that she's an important political player in her own right, risking everything to work for the Royalist cause as much as the fighting men she works alongside; I loved her courage and resourcefulness and passion and pride. More characters like this, please!
I also enjoyed the two Republican double agents, Madame and Mademoiselle de Chaulnes. It's interesting to see women playing active roles as villains too, of course, and there's a lot of potential in their backstory and scheming. The last meeting between Mme de Chaulnes and La Vireville was particularly intriguing—we see Royalist and Republican characters actually arguing the merits of their causes and accusing each other with what they feel are the flaws of the other side, and I really enjoyed getting a view of that. And there are many other great characters—Anne's strict and suspicious but loyal Scottish nurse Elspeth, La Vireville's sweetheart of a mum, the eager young naval officer Francis Tollemache, etc. etc.
This book has a lot in common with Flight of the Heron!
theseatheseatheopensea has described La Vireville as a sort of proto-Keith Windham—he's a soldier fallen into cynicism after the woman he loved betrayed him, who finds himself forming significant relationships with other, more worthy characters and slowly rediscovering the value of love. This arc involves some fraught situations of honour, characters mistakenly thinking other characters have betrayed them and characters saving each others' lives despite the enmity between them. La Vireville/Raymonde—the canon romance—is very much like Keith/Ewen, and I felt very vindicated by this. :) Other similarities include Broster's fondness for feinting towards killing characters off before abruptly saving them (which also appears in Chantemerle; interestingly, the patterns and eventual outcomes of threatened and real deaths are different in all three books), and impressive feats of physical endurance by badly injured characters. Although not the homoeroticism (which I'm glad about, frankly; I wouldn't want conflict with an m/m pairing I'd inevitably prefer to the canon m/f pairing to interfere with my love for Raymonde!). There's even a mention of a Mr Windham, although he appears to be historical—perhaps he's a relation.My other favourite thing about this book is the presence of Child Ballads! Elspeth sings ballads to Anne-Hilarion, who loves the stories and quotes verses from them (with appropriately childish powers of association) at various significant moments in the plot, and Broster also uses them as epigraphs. The two ballads that turn up again and again are 'Sir Patrick Spens' and 'Thomas the Rhymer', which just happen to be two of my faves, as well. Good taste, Anne and Broster.
Altogether: a very good and enjoyable book, highly recommended if you like Flight of the Heron and enjoy playing spot-the-common-detail. Since there doesn't currently appear to be an ebook of this one available, and I have a first edition, I'm considering scanning it and sending the text to Gutenberg.org, because more people deserve to break their hearts over Broster's lovely writing. :D
