The Constant Reader

The Sealed Letter is Emma Donoghue's vivid re-creation of a notorious mid-Victorian divorce case in which Henry Codington, a vice-admiral in the British admirality, sought to separate himself from his promiscuous wife Helen. Involved in the sensational trial as a witness was Emily Faithfull, a feminist and a businesswoman as well as a long-time friend of Helen's. Born in Dublin, Donoghue now lives in Canada but her knowledge of London as it was in 1864 is extensive. Yet beyond the facts of the case, interesting enough in themselves, what makes this novel so powerful is the author's invocation of the complex snarl of emotions revolving around the relationship between Helen, "Fido," as Faithfull was called by her friends, and the admiral himself. No one of them is blameless, but neither is any one to blame entirely for the fiasco that resulted from the case, the results of which seem to have satisfied no one. All in all, the novel is an argument for the more liberal divorce laws that came in time but much later than one would have thought given the misery exposed by Donoghue. Most of all, though, it's a wonderful novel.
The Birthday Present, by Barbara Vine (aka Ruth Rendell), is a nasty bit of stuff. This is not surprising given its author and I don't mean it in an entirely negative way. The "gift" referred to in the title is a mock kidnapping with strong sexual overtones set up by Ivor, a budding politician who is having an affair with a young married woman. She is to be "kidnapped" and delivered to him, all of which is a supposedly a happy adventure for her. Well of course it all goes awry in a big wayand what follows is the haunting of Ivor by the aftermath of the event. For about half the book I sped along, eager to pick it up again, but then it all began to seem unsavory and repetitive. Vione is a good writer with an eye for the telling detail but it's all kind of sordid unless you're really interested in the possible (and real) peccadillos of British politicians.
Lastly, having avoided the dreary-sounding movie I decided to read (I would say re-read, but I don't think that's so), Richard Yates's Revolutionary Road. Dreary, yes, horribly so, but what a good novel this is. The paperback edition I had featured a superb introduction by Richard Ford, a big favorite of mine, lamenting Yates's lack of critical attention, and pointing out what's so fine about his writing. This novel struck me as a cross between Cheever and Updike and yet it is very much it's own thing. Yates's ability to turn a phrase, to nail a character with a sentence or two is awesome, as is his unrelenting depiction of suburban angst, waste, soulessness, whatever. there is nothing very admirable (that's putting it mildly) about Frank and April, the two protagonists, and watching them destroy each other is not a pretty sight. But two other couples, friends of the main pair and their real estate agent and her husband, are portrayed with a large degree of compassions--this is not immediately evident but it becomes so in the course of the novel and it serves to sweeten the bitterness of tone. I liked it so much I might even decide to see the movie, but only on Netflix so I can walk out if necessary.