
Dinah Birch is the author of Our Victorian Education. She teaches at Liverpool University and is the general editor of the new edition of the Oxford Companion to English Literature.
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Vol. 12 No. 17 · 13 September 1990
pages 13-14 | 2664 words

The Great Mary
Dinah Birch
- Mrs Humphry Ward: Eminent Victorian, Pre-Eminent Edwardian by John Sutherland
Oxford, 432 pp, £16.99, August 1990, ISBN 0 19 818587 1
‘No Arnold can write a novel; if they could, I should have done it.’ That was Matthew Arnold’s reaction to his niece’s first significant attempt at fiction, Miss Bretherton, published in 1884. It can’t have been very encouraging. But Mary Ward was used to the magisterial arrogance of the Arnold men. Her father, Tom Arnold, had demolished the prosperity of his family and the happiness of his wife by his conversions and unconversions and reconversions to and from the Catholic faith. He took small interest in the upbringing of his oldest and most unruly daughter – ‘A child more obstinately self-willed I certainly never came across’ – and Mary was exiled from the family in a succession of more or less unhappy boarding-schools. She was briskly despatched to relatives for the holidays, and only reunited with her parents at the age of sixteen. It’s not altogether clear why she was so disfavoured. Perhaps her stormy resentment of restraint was to blame. Revisiting her infant school in later life, she proudly pointed to the wooden panels she had ‘bashed in with my fists in my fury when I was locked in the cloakroom’. Whatever the reason, Mary’s dismal childhood marked her for life. She never lost the stubborn self-will that had so displeased her still more self-willed father. But it was always accompanied by an eating insecurity, a covetous desire to earn acceptance and approval from those in authority.
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Letters
Vol. 12 No. 21 · 8 November 1990
From Boris Ford
John Sutherland’s handsomely produced and handsomely reviewed biography of Mrs Humphry Ward might lead unwary general readers to suppose that Mrs Ward is an established classic of English literature. Not having read any of her novels themselves (in all probability), they may now be setting out to buy a copy of Helbeck of Bannisdale, described by your reviewer Dinah Birch as ‘an impressive performance’ (LRB, 13 September), or Marcella or Robert Elsmere or David Grieve. If so, they will come back empty-handed for, according to this month’s microfiche, not a single one of Mrs Ward’s novels is in print. OUP, Virago and Penguin once published a novel each, but apparently no longer.
Yet all the very many people to whom I’ve lent my copies of Helbeck and Marcella during the last few years have expressed their astonishment at not having come upon these novels before, often not even having heard of Mrs Ward. Almost without exception they have agreed that Helbeck is a great novel, one of the very few genuine tragedies in 19th-century fiction. John Sutherland told me that he rates Marcella even higher. Mrs Ward’s handling of questions of faith and loss of faith, of belief pitted against unbelief, her candid rendering of love and passion, give these novels great intensity; and in her descriptions of natural scenery and her creation of rustic dialogue she is, as John Holloway has also said, the equal of Hardy.
We have a notable capacity for neglect. Not so long ago Monteverdi was a great composer whose music most people had never heard, and Bomberg a painter whose work was almost unknown and seldom seen. Surely the time has come for some publisher, some brave publisher with a few ounces of literary conscience (if such there be any longer), to issue a handsome edition, in hard and paper covers, of Mrs Ward’s five or six major novels?
Boris Ford
Bristol