Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell

author: Elizabeth Gaskell

Mary Barton was a refreshing read after so many uninspiring books.   Mary, who is named after her mother, is a beautiful young girl growing up beneath the dense fog of an English factory town.  We are introduced to her on a Sunday walk, when everything is right with the world and pretty.  Her family is by no means wealthy (her mother has to ask her neigbors to bring their own dishes to share their evening meal), but they have sufficient for the day and each other. 
     It is a beautiful scene that, sadly, does not last.  Of course this life has more than enough trouble in it for tomorrow and their limited means of employment doesn't allow for saving against the storms.  And the storms do come.  And come.  And come.  And come some more.
     Mrs. Gaskell was the wife of a minister.  She had the priviledge of seeing poverty and plenty without being overtouched by either.  This was her first novel -- one that will break your heart -- and she may have been a little too aware of the audience she intended it for.  You see, Mrs. Gaskell apologizes and offers explanations for the choices of her desperate and starving characters.  Charles Dickens, who lived in terrible poverty, never apologizes for his characters.  But, Elizabeth Gaskell was out to change some hearts and open some eyes. 
     Reading this book, after loving the stories of Jane Austen for so long, I am baffled that Mrs. Gaskell's works are so often set aside by today's lover of historical drama.  She takes her characters through their teenaged years, self-discovery, regret, and maturity.  She rounds them out with faults, follies, and saving graces.  There is the breathlessness of the factory fire, the mystery of the murder, the tension of the courtroom.  All the while, inviting her audience in to question what they would do if they were walking in such worn and sodden shoes.
     "Mary Barton" the book, and the character by the same name, live through quite an adventure.  I didn't want to put it down. In the end, it is her own Christianity Mrs. Gaskell stumbles on.  No one in our time would believe in confessions and forgiving as portrayed here.  (Though it made me weep to hope that it was possible, even in someone elses imagination.)