“If God be light, then death itself must be full of splendor – a splendor probably too keen for our eyes to receive.” – George MacDonald
I typically avoid abridged books (condensed, edited or simplified versions of classic literature) because too much of what makes a classic enjoyable in the first place is removed – eloquent writing, beautiful imagery, profound metaphors. Plot alone does not make a classic; as every good writer knows, all the elements of literature – plot, character, setting, theme, figurative language – work together to produce a harmonizing work of art. Reading an abridged classic is akin to plunking out the melody of the Hallelujah chorus on the piano with one finger. The effect is just not the same.
Unfortunately, some classics contain archaic language, the unfamiliarity of which renders them more or less inaccessible to today’s reader. (As a side note, even university students rely on footnotes to understand Shakespeare.) Thus the reason why many Victorian novels have fallen into obscurity. I have even abandoned reading a couple myself for this blog. If a talented writer could carefully and respectfully edit an obscure classic, to make it comprehensible for today’s reader, while still maintaining the original style, charm, and richness, that would be ideal.
Michael Phillips has done this with The Fisherman’s Lady by George MacDonald, originally titled Malcolm and published in 1875. In the original text, the characters speak Scots, making much of the dialogue incomprehensible to modern-day readers (see an example here). Phillips desired to stay as true to MacDonald’s original work as possible, aiming to retain for the 20th century reader (The Fisherman’s Lady was published in 1982) the style, tone, themes and language which first drew him to MacDonald and inspired him to resurrect his works so that others could enjoy them too. The result is a suspenseful gothic tale set in the rustic countryside of Scotland, peopled with a range of noble and evil characters. Some scenes are quite humourous and memorable, and throughout the book you can see foreshadowing of C. S. Lewis’ thoughts in the dialogue and themes (C. S. Lewis said that he never wrote a book in which he did not quote George MacDonald).
Malcolm is the ideal Christian man in The Fisherman’s Lady, the Victorian exemplar of the noble gentleman, a man who strives to be the picture of Christ – always serving others, putting himself last, acting humbly, seeking to please God above all else, no matter the cost to his life or his reputation – in a word, chivalrous (a term that has unfortunately become soured). The Victorian theme of station and class pervades the novel, but it is juxtaposed with Biblical teachings such as wealth being an obstacle for salvation, the equality of the rich and poor in God’s eyes, and God’s prioritizing of the heart rather than the appearance. Pleasing God is Malcolm’s preeminent ambition, and so when he seeks advice from Miss Horn upon being wrongly accused of a wicked act and she says “Who wouldn’t rather be accused of all the sins of the Commandments than to be guilty of one of them?”, Malcolm immediately accedes the truth of this statement and bothers himself little more about the scandalous gossip.
Malcolm also takes the teaching about being obedient and submissive to one’s master very seriously, seeking to honour the Marquis, his employer, even though the Marquis himself does not always act honourably and honestly. Malcolm answers first and foremost to God. And he shares the truth about Christ and his coming kingdom with others from a variety of places on their spiritual journeys, resulting in rich, interesting theological ideas and questions being parried about between the characters in their conversations. Malcolm is also quite witty and playful in his speech, and that delight combined with the mystery of his birth and the intrigue of the horrific “wizard’s chamber” make this tale a thoroughly enjoyable, unputdownable read, brimming with potential for a great Christian movie, if anyone’s listening.
Read a review of George MacDonald’s Phantastes, a totally different kind of novel.
Other books about the ideal Victorian gentleman:
Lorna Doone – R. D. Blackmore
The Heir of Redclyffe – Charlotte M. Yonge
Just a quick minor correction: the original characters speak Scots rather than Gaelic. If they spoke Gaelic, the text would be entirely incomprehensible–it may as well have been written in Greek. Thanks, however, for writing about Malcolm.
Thanks for the correction. It does say “Scotch dialect” in my edition so I’m not sure where I picked up Gaelic. I will change it above.
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Thank you so much for drawing attention to this absorbing book. Just a few weeks ago, my wife was saying to me, “We ought to read more George MacDonald.” (Up till that time, we had read only his fantasy books. We knew dimly that there were other things, but we’d never come across them.)
After reading the book, I saw that Mrs Oliphant had reviewed its original form in 1875. Since she was a fellow Scot, fellow novelist, and fellow believer, I thought her comments would be interesting, so I looked them up.
She makes exactly the same two main points as you do.
She describes herself as “Scotch to the fingertips, and loving dearly our vernacular.” But even she protests against MacDonald’s constant use of a “painfully broad” Scottish dialect “which bewilders even ourselves now and then, and which must be almost impossible to an Englishman.” Clearly there was a need for the book to be translated into more widely comprehensible language, even in 1875!
But she highly praises MacDonald’s ability to make a strongly positive character like Malcolm “really the central figure in the book and the most interesting—a thing which very few novelists succeed in doing.” That was something that also impressed C. S. Lewis. Introducing his anthology of MacDonald’s writings, he said: “One rare, and all but unique, merit these novels must be allowed. The ‘good’ characters are always the best and the most convincing.”
Convincing portraits of “ideal gentlemen” in fiction are indeed rare, but they do exist. (Rowland Hill used to ask, “Why should the devil have all the good tunes?”) I think also of Thackeray’s Colonel Newcome, Trollope’s Plantagenet Palliser, and Miss Yonge’s Louis (in Dynevor Terrace—her own favourite among her characters) as well as Guy in Redclyffe. As a reader, I find her heroes particularly helpful, because she shows, in practical terms, something of the long and difficult process by which such people can rid themselves of ingrained flaws and become more akin to their Master.
Personally, when I read a book, I want to look upward. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to be wicked. I want to be shown how to be good. That’s why I prize Malcolm and Col. Newcome and Planty Pal and Louis and Guy (and some characters whom no one would call “gentlemen,” such as Scott’s Jeanie Deans!). They help show me the way.
Just finished the second book of the series and I am very sad that it has ended. Great read, thank-you for highlighting this author and story.
Glad you enjoyed my recommendation! 🙂