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azdak at 12:25pm on 15/08/2009
azdak at 12:25pm on 15/08/2009Vane, that is.
Although perhaps it would be more accurate to call this The Problem of Lady Peter.
Don't get me wrong, I really like Harriet, at least in the novels (I'm less keen on what little we see of her in the short stories, where smugness seems to have become the over-riding feature of her character). And while she is clearly a total Mary Sue, she also proves that Mary Sues are not of themselves a bad thing. It's what you do with them that counts. She's brave, she's prickly, she's honest with herself, even when it's painful for her to be so. I think her combative, push-pull relationship with Peter Wimsey is a delight, and I genuinely appreciate the new perspective she provides on him, allowing us to see beneath the mask of the "chattering icicle" to the vulnerable man beneath.
So. I like Harriet, I like Peter, I like the courtship. I like hearing them talk piffle, and I like seeing them fight, and I enjoy the sense that in spite of everything they really are very well matched. But it all goes wrong at the end of Gaudy Night.
It's often said that in Gaudy Night Harriet finally recognises that Peter is offering her a genuinely equal relationship, and that this is why she's able to accept him. And if their story had ended with Placetne, I'd have agreed. But it doesn't. the story doesn't end there, and Gaudy Night doesn't even end there. It ends with Peter demonstrating his superiority to Harriet by moving into a world to which she has no access, via his appreciation of music. Hold onto that moment. It will turn out to be significant.
Harriet tells Miss de Vine that if she once gives way to Peter, she will "go up like straw". Note the implication of destruction in that metaphor. The rot sets in when Peter writes to Harriet about settlements, ending his letter with "Either your pride or mine will have to be sacrificed – I can only appeal to your generosity to let it be yours." Surprise, surprise it is indeed Harriet's pride that is sacrificed – Peter is not obliged to endure the tiniest scratch in his position of aristocratic male privilege – and she becomes "meekly prepared to accept suitable income" (unlike, we note, Charles Parker, who insisted on finding a compromise solution to spare his pride). After that, things go from bad to worse. Harriet insists on promising to obey Peter as part of her marriage vows. DLS tries to finesse this by putting the counter-argument into the mouth of her least sympathetic character, so that we are treated to the spectacle of Helen Denver, of all people, objecting to the bride choosing to "obey" her husband (DLS pulls the same trick in the short stories, where Harriet, having married into the aristocracy, becomes more toffee-nosed than the toffs, but her views are made more sympathetic by giving Helen – Helen! – an advanced friend, who doesn't believe in beating children, and publicly criticises the system of primogeniture – the very same Helen who was hoping Peter would die without issue so all his money would go to Jerry).
The most gut-churning moment comes when Harriet calls Peter "my lord" in bed (and he likes it), though I'm not dead keen on the mention of her "gratitude" to Peter for being a better lover than Philip Boyes, either. After all, we can't all have rich uncles who pay for us to be educated by the prostitutes in Paris* (though I suspect Boyes' sin of omission was rather more basic than a failure to provide a dazzling array of sexual techniques – cue Harriet singing "I'm lying on the wet patch in the middle of the bed, I'm feeling quite hard done by, I spent ages giving head").
DLS's solution to the problem of being a heterosexual women in a man's world (how do you cope with falling in love with your oppressor?) is, I fear, that a woman can find sexual fulfilment and personal happiness by falling in love with a man who is genuinely her superior. The problem with the Philip Boyes/Harriet Vane relationship, it turns out, was not that Harriet submitted to his will, but that he was an arse whose will wasn't worthy of being submitted to. Submitting to a man like Peter Wimsey, however, will give your life meaning and give you lots of orgasms.
In the end, the thing which "overmasters" Harriet, the "proper job" she recognises by the amount of care she lavishes on getting it right, is looking after a man who is superior to her. Busman's Honeymoon ends with her being honoured by being allowed to provide emotional support to Peter when he suffers the inevitable breakdown that follows when a murderer he has identified is hanged. Her triumph has nothing to with her work, or her friends, or any aspect of her being except her relationship with Peter Wimsey. "Love," says Lord Byron "is to man a thing apart, 'tis woman's whole existence." Harriet Vane has truly become Lady Peter.
*As an aside, I note that Mrs Weldon is treated as a ridiculous old fool for trying to buy love with her wealth, whereas Peter is considered admirable for buying sex with people he regards as servants.
Although perhaps it would be more accurate to call this The Problem of Lady Peter.
Don't get me wrong, I really like Harriet, at least in the novels (I'm less keen on what little we see of her in the short stories, where smugness seems to have become the over-riding feature of her character). And while she is clearly a total Mary Sue, she also proves that Mary Sues are not of themselves a bad thing. It's what you do with them that counts. She's brave, she's prickly, she's honest with herself, even when it's painful for her to be so. I think her combative, push-pull relationship with Peter Wimsey is a delight, and I genuinely appreciate the new perspective she provides on him, allowing us to see beneath the mask of the "chattering icicle" to the vulnerable man beneath.
So. I like Harriet, I like Peter, I like the courtship. I like hearing them talk piffle, and I like seeing them fight, and I enjoy the sense that in spite of everything they really are very well matched. But it all goes wrong at the end of Gaudy Night.
It's often said that in Gaudy Night Harriet finally recognises that Peter is offering her a genuinely equal relationship, and that this is why she's able to accept him. And if their story had ended with Placetne, I'd have agreed. But it doesn't. the story doesn't end there, and Gaudy Night doesn't even end there. It ends with Peter demonstrating his superiority to Harriet by moving into a world to which she has no access, via his appreciation of music. Hold onto that moment. It will turn out to be significant.
Harriet tells Miss de Vine that if she once gives way to Peter, she will "go up like straw". Note the implication of destruction in that metaphor. The rot sets in when Peter writes to Harriet about settlements, ending his letter with "Either your pride or mine will have to be sacrificed – I can only appeal to your generosity to let it be yours." Surprise, surprise it is indeed Harriet's pride that is sacrificed – Peter is not obliged to endure the tiniest scratch in his position of aristocratic male privilege – and she becomes "meekly prepared to accept suitable income" (unlike, we note, Charles Parker, who insisted on finding a compromise solution to spare his pride). After that, things go from bad to worse. Harriet insists on promising to obey Peter as part of her marriage vows. DLS tries to finesse this by putting the counter-argument into the mouth of her least sympathetic character, so that we are treated to the spectacle of Helen Denver, of all people, objecting to the bride choosing to "obey" her husband (DLS pulls the same trick in the short stories, where Harriet, having married into the aristocracy, becomes more toffee-nosed than the toffs, but her views are made more sympathetic by giving Helen – Helen! – an advanced friend, who doesn't believe in beating children, and publicly criticises the system of primogeniture – the very same Helen who was hoping Peter would die without issue so all his money would go to Jerry).
The most gut-churning moment comes when Harriet calls Peter "my lord" in bed (and he likes it), though I'm not dead keen on the mention of her "gratitude" to Peter for being a better lover than Philip Boyes, either. After all, we can't all have rich uncles who pay for us to be educated by the prostitutes in Paris* (though I suspect Boyes' sin of omission was rather more basic than a failure to provide a dazzling array of sexual techniques – cue Harriet singing "I'm lying on the wet patch in the middle of the bed, I'm feeling quite hard done by, I spent ages giving head").
DLS's solution to the problem of being a heterosexual women in a man's world (how do you cope with falling in love with your oppressor?) is, I fear, that a woman can find sexual fulfilment and personal happiness by falling in love with a man who is genuinely her superior. The problem with the Philip Boyes/Harriet Vane relationship, it turns out, was not that Harriet submitted to his will, but that he was an arse whose will wasn't worthy of being submitted to. Submitting to a man like Peter Wimsey, however, will give your life meaning and give you lots of orgasms.
In the end, the thing which "overmasters" Harriet, the "proper job" she recognises by the amount of care she lavishes on getting it right, is looking after a man who is superior to her. Busman's Honeymoon ends with her being honoured by being allowed to provide emotional support to Peter when he suffers the inevitable breakdown that follows when a murderer he has identified is hanged. Her triumph has nothing to with her work, or her friends, or any aspect of her being except her relationship with Peter Wimsey. "Love," says Lord Byron "is to man a thing apart, 'tis woman's whole existence." Harriet Vane has truly become Lady Peter.
*As an aside, I note that Mrs Weldon is treated as a ridiculous old fool for trying to buy love with her wealth, whereas Peter is considered admirable for buying sex with people he regards as servants.
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