Some might say that Bridgerton’s biggest USP is its romance, someone else might say it is the costumes, yet another person might say it is the background score. However, I would argue that what makes it so delightful is Lady Whistledown’s catty pamphlets that spare no gossip – and no one – in the ton.
Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1853 episodic novel Cranford does something similar minus the cattiness or malicious intent. It takes us through the lives of women in a small town called Cranford one episode at a time through stories of affairs and marriages, lost brothers, sensational incidents, and more. First serialised in Household Words, a magazine edited by Charles Dickens, Cranford became something of a sensation in the 20th century with multiple radio, theatrical, and television adaptations. Gaskell published it anonymously in 1853 even though she had already tasted some success with her previous novels Mary Barton and Ruth.
A town of Amazons
Cranford, a town “in possession of the Amazons”, is based on Knutsworth where Gaskell grew up. Gaskell did not mean to write Cranford as a coherent novel and was quite happy with its episodic structure – the sixteen chapters are mostly disjointed (the first few especially so) but we notice more coherence in the later ones. The first episodes were well-liked by readers and upon Dickens’s insistence, Gaskell was encouraged to shape it as a novel. There were disagreements between the two about her long procrastination and him not paying her enough, but their professional association continued long after Cranford was serialised.
The novel is largely plotless and begins as vignettes of women in the town of Cranford. They are of reduced means but governed by old-fashioned ways, and are careful to not let their genteel poverty show. There’s an exaggerated concern for appearances – the right kind of gowns and bonnets, manners, and entertainment. Gaskell knew she was writing about an era that was already fast-disappearing but she is sympathetic to those – especially women – who had a hard time keeping up. Therefore, it is not unintentional that the episodes also sound so much like recollections and memories, and the comic relief comes not so much from the action on the page but a curious disbelief about everything that was once considered important in society.
There’s much confusion when the group of women are invited to a “Lady’s” house for tea – they do not know how to address her. Much of their time at her home is spent worrying about what they should call or avoiding any direct conversation. They notice the expensive but weather-worn fine china and the elegant but old-fashioned furnishing. Yet, these proofs of hard times do not discount the fact that they are in the company of a gentlewoman. In the end, it is the antics of the dogs and his mistress’s doting affection that break the ice and put the women at ease with each other. It is such visits, card games, and courteous chatter that fill up the days of “eleven widows” and “innumerable spinsters” of Cranford.
It’s a matter of great discomfort when a man appears in their midst. They are utterly flustered about how to entertain or keep him company. But luckily for them, the men who visit Cranford are tender-hearted and understanding. The best example of this is Captain Brown. He attends to them as though he were a “maid” and does not intrude in their games or chatter. The women take a liking to him and become fond of his daughters – and when crisis hits the Brown family, the Cranford ladies band together in support and solidarity. Gaskell’s imagination of a community disregarding patriarchal conventions remains a distant dream but by incorporating men into this scheme, Gaskell gives us a glimpse of what happy coexistence can look like.
The episodic structure of the plot also allows the story to digress on its own terms. Ridiculous situations seem completely acceptable because the story is not constrained by time, characters, or other conventions of the novel. The railway accident is tragic but it does not prove to be a downer, the episode on a bank failure is especially fascinating in today’s context, the lost brother turns up bearing muslin and pearls from India but the reunion is coloured by melancholy. It is hard to pin down the chronological progression of the events but in truth, it is immaterial. The disjointed narratives become completely believable in Gaskell’s hands and the women’s reaction to them – not always lady-like – becomes the central concern in each episode.
A changing world order
While Gaskell’s Cranford is modelled on her childhood hometown, it won’t be unreasonable to speculate that much of it is also inspired by the events of her own life. She was raised by her feisty aunts after her mother’s death and had grown up in the company of strong-willed women. Her brother wanted to settle down in India but tragically disappeared (quite likely at sea) – the return of the long-lost brother in Cranford seems to be a manifestation of Gaskell’s own desire to see her sibling.
Death indeed comes creeping quietly in Cranford. It is entirely natural to find a character drop dead when a few pages before they seemed invincible and so full of life. This is another detail that mirrors Gaskell’s own life – in addition to losing her mother and brother, she lost her baby son and regularly witnessed the squalor and disease in England’s poorer quarters. She was sympathetic to the hard lives of the working class.
The women in Cranford might appear to be out of touch with reality, but that is not so. Despite an independent life and some degree of freedom, the women know what grief and loss taste like – unhappy love affairs, the threats of bankruptcy, and a changing world order confound them. There are new machines and inventions they do not understand, medicine they do not trust, and more poignantly, everything they hold dear is suddenly out of fashion. The gowns and bonnets, card games and tea parties, and gossip and friendship are the last links, however fragile, to their much beloved, rapidly changing Cranford.
Cranford, Elizabeth Gaskell, Penguin Classics.
