The Books: Anne’s House of Dreams (L.M. Montgomery)

Daily Book Excerpt: YA/children’s books:

Next book on the shelf is Anne’s House of Dreams (Anne of Green Gables, No. 5) by L.M. Montgomery.

What a wonderful book this is. I love every book in the series – and in each one I have my favorite episodes – but for some reason, this one really GETS me. I think it has something to do with the saga of the heartbroken Leslie Moore, and how much that character gets under my skin.

It is easy, at times (and I think Lucy Maud was cognizant of this) to feel like Anne strolls under a lucky star or something. Her unhappiness occurred as a young girl … and after that, the power of her personality has just swayed everyone she has met. Even her heartache has a sort of … charmed quality to it. She never gets REALLY dark. (That’s one of the reasons why I love the Emily books too (one excerpt here) – even more than the Anne books. They are much closer to Lucy Maud’s actual autobiography – and what can I say, I like DARK. I like to at least know that even if a character DOESN’T succumb to the darkness, they COULD. It seems like Anne’s philosophy of life is such that it could never really bring her to her knees. This is not a criticism. There are people like that in real life as well.) Cranks become good friends, foes become admirers, etc. Leslie Moore is the first friend to really challenge this. Anne’s charm will not work on Leslie. Why? Because Leslie’s life has been TOO hard, and there are some tragedies that CANNOT be smiled their way out of, or charmed out of existence. I am making Anne sound shallow here and that is totally not the case – but there are some people who seem to have things work out for them (thru karma or good luck or whatever) – and others carry the weight of the world. Now Anne, in her sensitivity, does not understand why Leslie would automatically dislike her – like: what did she do??? She has never before been disliked for being FORTUNATE. After all, she was an orphan! She was impoverished! She had a hardscrabble life until Matthew and Marilla came along – but even then: she was always the oddball in Avonlea. Her clothes weren’t right. She didn’t have parents. Nobody in their right mind would be JEALOUS of Anne because of her good fortune! Maybe they would be jealous of her because of how she writes, or because of how she uses her imagination, but because of her good fortune? No. Not until Leslie Moore. Leslie’s soul has been warped by her own life tragedy – and no matter what Anne does, it wouldn’t matter. Anne has something Leslie knows she will never have: a husband, companionship, happiness … and this loneliness has corrupted Leslie. She stares at Anne with dull smouldering resentment – Anne cannot fight this. She doesn’t know how to “win Leslie Over” because … there is nothing she can do. What can she do – be less happy with Gilbert in order for Leslie to be happy? This, in my mind, is such an insightful observation about the married and unmarried of this world. There can be smugness about married people – that is completely unconscious – and there can be a prickly bitterness about single people – that is completely unconscious. It’s hard to bridge that gap.

Anne suffers a tragedy during House of Dreams – her first real tragedy as an adult. A loss that makes her question her belief in God, that makes her almost go crazy. We love Anne even more for faltering in the face of such strife. Don’t we? I know I did. A “plucky heroine” who shows no sign of doubt or uncertainty would become an insufferable prig after a while. Being optimistic is all well and good … but what about people who truly suffer loss? How on earth could “put on a happy face” help them? Leslie and Anne eventually do become “friends” – but it’s almost like they are two wild animals, circling around each other warily. Anne senses that her very existence is an insult to Leslie. If she’s happy about making baby booties, Leslie’s heart breaks. This is not because Leslie is a selfish bitch. It is because loneliness messes people UP and that fact needs to be acknowledged. Not to wallow in victimhood or whatever – but to just acknowledge the reality that loneliness can twist what was once straight. It is NOT easy to bear (for some). It is not easy for Leslie to bear. Loneliness can make you GLORY in other people’s hardships, and you can RESENT other people’s ease. It’s evil – you feel like you are evil. Lucy Maud, with her life of … unrelenting loneliness (famous to the masses, but oh, what a home life) … understood this so so well. She doesn’t write about it a lot – but glimpses of it are there in the Leslie Moore character in House of Dreams. What is it like to feel that you are barred forever from ease? Peace? Happiness? Contentment? What is it like when the things that other people take so for granted (having a nice chat at the end of the day with their husband, sharing a meal, knowing that someone else is in the house with you) … are SO foreign to you? Lucy Maud was behind that glass wall. She had nothing that other people had. Her marriage was not a real marriage. It was a nightmare. She ENDURED it. He was a petulant child. He was no mate. But she looked around and saw … people coupling up … sharing life’s struggles … TOGETHER … That was not for her.

I have gone on and on … but as you can see, this is what this particular book means to me.

In a way, it is her first ADULT book. Leslie Moore is a character who made an indelible mark on my mind … and I love love love Anne’s journey in relation to her.

Anne confides to Captain Jim (another great character) how she feels that Leslie will never open up to her, be her friend. Captain Jim says to her that Leslie’s life has been so unrelentingly tragic that it must be hard for Leslie to deal with anyone who seems so happy. Anne thinks about this, remembers her own awful childhood, and says, “I wasnt happy before I came to Green Gables.” Captain Jim says, “Yes, but that was just the normal unhappiness of a child who is not looked after. You haven’t had any tragedy. And that’s why there’s a barrier there.”

Anne, with her optimistic belief in the good of people, in the good that a bit of laughter can do on a dark day … she is troubled by this. And yet she doesn’t give up on Leslie. She doesn’t PUSH herself on Leslie … she just tries to be there for her … and when Leslie suddenly rebuffs her, or suddenly the claws come out – she tries not to take it personally.

For me – this book is all about Leslie. The scene where she breaks down – and lets Anne in – (the chapter called “barriers swept away”) still brings me to tears today even though I have read it a gazillion times.

But there’s so much else in here to love. Uhm – Miss Cornelia? The man-hater? With the bright green house and the fierce political opinions? I love her. Dammit. I love her. And how she up and marries at the end of the book?? hahahaha Anne and Gilbert are literally stunned into silence when she breaks the news. Gilbert’s like: “But … don’t you hate men?”

And Captain Jim – the crusty old sea captain with all the old stories – who takes a liking to Anne and Gilbert (who wouldn’t??). He runs the lighthouse – and they spend many a night up there with him, listening to him tell tales.

And then of course – Anne and Gilbert are in their honeymoon phase. So everything is beautiful. I think Lucy Maud outdoes herself with some of her descriptive passages in this book. The chapter where she and Gilbert drive into Four Winds for the first time – and they catch a glimpse of Leslie – and the sun is setting – and Anne sees her home for the first time … that whole chapter is some of the best writing Lucy Maud has ever done, I think.

But naturally, I have to choose an excerpt about Leslie. Anne has only seen Leslie once – and did not know who she was. Anne was just struck by her intense beauty, and also by the fact that this girl obviously dislikes her on sight, glaring at her as she and Gilbert drive by in the buggy. Anne is baffled by this, but more than that – she is hurt. What has she done? What has she ever done to this woman?

Here’s the excerpt where … well, Anne and Leslie meet on the shore. Notice here how – for example – when Anne thinks she is bonding with Leslie about the “house of dreams” -she goes on about being happy with her prince in a small house – totally assuming that she and Leslie are on the same page – when she has really misread the situation horribly (we the reader don’t know Leslie’s full story until the next chapter). Lucy Maud makes a point here about the casual cruelty (unconscious!!) of happy people. The casual assumptions they make. Because THEY are happy … they think everyone should be happy. But also, they assume that everyone will speak the same language. This is not about smug self-righteous people. This is something that is very human. Anne, at this point, does not know Leslie’s tragedy – so she does not know that her every word is a knife in Leslie’s heart. And, of course, none of that is her fault. It’s not HER fault that she’s happy and that Leslie is not … but in order to truly become Leslie’s friend – a serious shifting has to occur, on both sides. And again: the fact that Anne, in the beginning, mis-reads Leslie because of her own happiness makes Anne even more lovable. Because it’s such a human thing to do.

Excerpt from Anne’s House of Dreams (Anne of Green Gables, No. 5) by L.M. Montgomery.

She loved the gentle, misty harbour shore and the silvery, wind-haunted sand shore, but best of all she loved the rock shore, with its cliffs and caves and piles of surf-worn boulders, and its coves where the pebbles glittered under the pools; and it was to this shore she hied herself tonight.

There had been an autumn storm of wind and rain, lasting for three days. Thunderous had been the crash of billows on the rocks, wild the white spray and spume that blew over the bar, troubled and misty and tempest-torn the erstwhile blue peace of Four Winds Harbour. Now it was over, and the shore lay clean-washed after the storm; not a wind stirred, but there was still a fine surf on, dashing on sand and rock in a splendid white turmoil — the only restless thing in the great, pervading stillness and peace.

“Oh, this is a moment worth living through weeks of storm and stress for,” Anne exclaimed, delightedly sending her far gaze across the tossing waters from the top of the cliff where she stood. Presently she scrambled down the steep path to the little cove below, where she seemed shut in with rocks and sea and sky.

“I’m going to dance and sing,” she said. “There’s no one here to see me — the sea-gulls won’t carry tales of the matter. I may be as crazy as I like.”

She caught up her skirt and pirouetted along the hard strip of sand just out of reach of the waves that almost lapped her feet with their spent foam. Whirling round and round, laughing like a child, she reached the little headland that ran out to the east of the cove; then she stopped suddenly, blushing crimson; she was not alone; there had been a witness to her dance and laughter.

The girl of the golden hair and sea-blue eyes was sitting on a boulder of the headland, half-hidden by a jutting rock. She was looking straight at Anne with a strange expression – part wonder, part sympathy, part — could it be? — envy. She was bare-headed, and her splendid hair, more than ever like Browning’s “gorgeous snake,” was bound about her head with a crimson ribbon. She wore a dress of some dark material, very plainly made; but swathed about her waist, outlining its fine curves, was a vivid girdle of red silk. Her hands, clasped over her knee, were brown and somewhat work-hardened; but the skin of her throat and cheeks was as white as cream. A flying gleam of sunset broke through a low-lying western cloud and fell across her hair. For a moment she seemed the spirit of the sea personified — all its mystery, all its passion, all its elusive charm.

“You — you must think me crazy,” stammered Anne, trying to recover her self-possession. To be seen by this stately girl in such an abandon of childishness –she, Mrs. Dr. Blythe, with all the dignity of the matron to keep up — it was too bad!

“No,” said the girl, “I don’t.”

She said nothing more; her voice was expressionless; her manner slightly repellant; but there was something in her eyes — eager yet shy, defiant yet pleading — which turned Anne from her purpose of walking away. Instead, she sat down on the boulder beside the girl.

“Let’s introduce ourselves,” she said, with the smile that had never yet failed to win confidence and friendliness. “I am Mrs. Blythe – and I live in that little white house on the harbour shore.”

“Yes, I know,” said the girl. “I am Leslie Moore — Mrs. Dick Moore,” she added stiffly.

Anne was silent for a moment from sheer astonishment. It had not occurred to her that this girl was married – there seemed nothing of the wife about her. And that she should be the neighbour whom Anne had pictured as a commonplace Four Winds housewife! Anne could not quickly adjust her mental focus to this astonishing change.

“Then — then you live in that gray house up the brook,” she stammered.

“Yes. I should have gone over to call on you long ago,” said the other. She did not offer any explanation or excuse for not having one.

“I wish you would come,” said Anne, recovering herself somewhat. “We’re such near neighbours we ought to be friends. That is the sole fault of Four Winds – there aren’t quite enoguh neighbours. Otherwise it is perfection.”

“You like it?”

“Like it! I love it! It is the most beautiful place I ever saw.”

“I’ve never seen many places,” said Leslie Moore slowly, “but I’ve always thought it was very lovely here. I — I love it, too.”

She spoke as she looked, shyly, yet eagerly. Anne had an odd impression that this strange girl — the word “girl” would persist – could say a good deal if she chose.

“I often come to the shore,” she added.

“So do I,” said Anne. “It’s a wonder we haven’t met here before.”

“Probably you come earlier in the evening than I do. It is generally late – almost dark – when I come. And I love to come just after a storm – like this. I don’t like the sea so well when it’s calm and quiet. I like the struggle – and the crash – and the noise.”

“I love it in all its moods,” declared Anne. “The sea at Four Winds is to me what Lover’s Lane was at home. Tonight it seemed so free – so untamed – something broke loose in me, too, out of sympathy. That was why I danced along the shore in that wild way. If Miss Cornelia Bryant had seen me she would have foreboded a gloomy prospect for poor young Dr. Blythe.”

“You know Miss Cornelia?” said Leslie, laughing. She had an exquisite laugh; it bubbled up suddenly and unexpectedly with something of the delicious quality of a baby’s. Anne laughed, too.

“Oh, yes. She has been down to my house of dreams several times.”

“Your house of dreams?”

“Oh, that’s a dear, foolish little name Gilbert and I have for our home. We just call it that between ourselves. It slipped out before I thought.”

“So Miss Russell’s little white house is your house of dreams,” said Leslie wonderingly. “I had a house of dreams once — but it was a palace,” she added, with a laugh, the sweetness of which was marred by a little note of derision.

“Oh, I once dreamed of a palace, too,” said Anne. “I suppose all girls do. And then we settle down contentedly in eight-room houses that seem to fulfil all the desires of our hearts – because our prince is there. You should have had your palace really, though — you are so beautiful. You must let me say it – it has to be said – I’m nearly bursting with admiration. You are the loveliest thing I ever saw, Mrs. Moore.”

“If we are to be friends you must call me Leslie,” said the other with an odd passion.

“Of course I will. And my friends call me Anne.”

“I suppose I am beautiful,” Leslie went on, looking stormily out to sea. “I hate my beauty. I wish I had always been as brown and plain as the brownest and plainest girl at the fishing village over there. Well, what do you think of Miss Cornelia?”

The abrupt chagne of subject shut the door on any further confidences.

“Miss Cornelia is a darling, isn’t she?” said Anne. “Gilbert and I were invited to her house to a state tea last week. You’ve heard of groaning tables.”

“I seem to recall seeing the expression in the newspaper reports of weddings,” said Leslie, smiling.

“Well, Miss Cornelia’s groaned – at least, it creaked – positively. You couldn’t have believed she would have cooked so much for two ordinary people. She had every kind of pie you could name, I think – except lemon pie. She said she had taken the prize for lemon pie at the Charlottestown Exhibition ten years ago and had never made any since for fear of losing her reputation for them.”

“Were you able to eat enough pie to please her?”

“I wasn’t. Gilbert won her heart be eating – I won’t tell you how much. She said she never knew a man who didn’t like pie better than his Bible. Do you know, I love Miss Cornelia.”

“So do I,” said Leslie. “She is the best friend I have in the world.”

Anne wondered secretly why, if this were so, Miss Cornelia had never metnioned Mrs. Dick Moore to her. Miss Cornelia had certainly talked freely about every other individual in or near Four Winds.

“Isn’t that beautiful?” said Leslie, after a brief silence, pointing to the exquisite effect of a shaft of light falling through a cleft in the rock behind them, across a dark green pool at its base. “If I had come here – and seen nothing but jsut that – I would go home satisfied.”

“The effects of light and shadow all along these shores are wonderful,” agreed Anne. “My little sewing room looks out on the harbour, and I sit at the window and feast my eyes. The colours and shadows are never the same two minutes together.”

“And you are never lonely?” asked Leslie abruptly. “Never – when you are alone?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever been really lonely in my life,” answered Anne. “Even when I’m alone I have real good company – dreams and imaginations and pretendings. I like to be alone now and then, just to think over things and taste them. But I love friendship – and nice, jolly little times with people. Oh, won’t you come to see me – often? Please do. I believe,” Anne added, laughing, “that you’d like me if you knew me.”

“I wonder if you would like me,” said Leslie seriously. She was not fishing for a compliment. She looked out across the waves that were beginning to be garlanded with blossoms of moonlit foam, and her eyes filled with shadows.

“I’m sure I would,” said Anne. “And please don’t think I’m utterly irresponsible because you saw me dancing on the shore at sunset. No doubt I shall be dignified after a time. You see, I haven’t been married very long. I feel like a girl, and sometimes like a child yet.”

“I have been married twelve years,” said Leslie.

Here was another unbelievable thing.

“Why, you can’t be as old as I am!” exclaimed Anne. “You must have been a child when you were married.”

“I was sixteen,” said Leslie, rising, and picking up the cap and jacket lying beside her. “I am twenty-eight now. Well, I must go back.”

“So must I. Gilbert will probably be home. But I’m so glad we both came to the shore tonight and met each other.”

Leslie said nothing, and Anne was a little chilled. She had offered friendship frankly but it had not been accepted very graciously, if it had not been absoutely repelled. In silence they climbed the cliffs and walked across a pasture-field of which the feathery, bleached, wild grasses were like a carpet of cramy velvet in the moonlight. When they reached the shore lane Leslie turned.

“I go this way, Mrs. Blythe. You will come over and see me some time, won’t you?”

Anne felt as if the invitation had been thrown at her. She got the impression that Leslie Moore gave it reluctantly.

“I will come if you really want me to,” she said a little coldly.

“Oh, I do – I do,” exclaimed Leslie, with an eagerness which seemed to burst forth and beat down some restraint that had been imposed on it.

“Then I’ll come. Good-night — Leslie.”

“Good-night, Mrs. Blythe.”