Vera by Elizabeth von Arnim

Elizabeth von Arnim’s 1921 novel, Vera, is unlike anything else I have read by her. I’ve heard it suggested that it may have inspired Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel, Rebecca. I don’t know if there is evidence to back up this claim, but the two books are not dissimilar. Both feature young women who meet a man who has recently been widowed, and who they shortly thereafter marry. They honeymoon abroad and return back to England, but once they are set up in their husband’s spacious home, they are expecting their happily ever after to start. But it is there that things start to go wrong.

While in both books there is the suggestion that the young woman does not know the man she has married. In Rebecca, the focus is the young woman’s belief that her husband is still in love with his dead wife, that he is constantly comparing her to Rebecca. She becomes obsessed with living up to Rebecca’s memory to try to eclipse her in her husband’s heart. Of course, she is terrifically misguided in her assumptions, but I won’t say anything more or I will risk spoiling the book for the two people out there who have not yet read it. But despite the fact that Vera is named after the dead wife, the focus of this book is on the husband. 

I know I’ve already said this in part, but I’m going to repeat myself. Vera is so different from all of the other books I’ve read by this author, that it is hard to even compare this book to her others. If it wasn’t for the fact that the domineering patriarch is a common character in her books, I would have a difficult time believing Vera and The Enchanted April were written by the same person. As much as I love her lighter books, like The Enchanted April, I’ve always been more fascinated by what is in the shadows. That said, even for me, I found this book hard to read. From about the fourth page, you know something is wrong with Everard Wemyss. He is waving red flags with both hands, but Lucy Entwhistle is too blinded by grief over the very recent loss of her father to see anything but Wemyss’s love for her. Even when Lucy is briefly concerned by his lack of grief over his wife, who has died under tragic—and suspicious—circumstances, just two weeks prior to the two meeting, Lucy chooses to believe that he is keeping his grief inside and excuses his appearance of happiness as being a sign he is attempting to distract himself from his wife’s death. 

Lucy is not entirely alone in the world though. When Wemyss takes over the arrangements for Lucy’s father’s funeral, he contacts Lucy’s aunt, Miss Entwhistle. At first, she assumes Wemyss was one of her brother’s friends. Even so she cannot help but think how unlike her brother, Jim, Wemyss is. Once Lucy informs her about how she met Wemyss, Miss Entwhistle, is not surprised Wemyss was not a friend of Jim, but she is taken aback by how quickly Wemyss has inserted himself into Lucy’s life. Being an observant person, she suspects Wemyss’s feeling for Lucy before the two reveal their engagement. But as much as she tries to convince herself of the attachment being a suitable one for Lucy, she is worried. As hard as she tries to like Wemyss, she cannot. The man has two houses, and no children, who cares if he is old enough to be Lucy’s father? What does love know of age? But niggling at the back of her mind is Vera’s untimely death. 

How does a person fall out of the top floor window of a house by accident? That is the question. Wemyss was in his library, sitting facing the window directly below the window Vera fell from, and no one else was with Vera at the time. At the inquest, Vera’s maid related something that Vera had said to her, which steers the verdict away from accidental death to being left open, suggesting Vera died by her own hand.

Among the serious subject matter of this book, the suggestion of a man who has driven his wife to killing herself, or worse, has killed her himself, there is Elizabeth von Arnim’s humour. It’s a little darker in this one than any of the other books of hers I have read, (The Enchanted April, Father, The Pastor’s Wife, Introduction to Sally, The Adventures of Elizabeth in Rügen and her autobiography All the Dogs of My Life,) but it still creeps up in the most unexpected places.

In one scene, something Wemyss has said reminds Lucy of an unwanted proposal she once received, thinking of that moment, “she hung her head in shame”. Meanwhile, Wemyss, who is either ignorant of her discomfort or is not bothered by it, admires her.

Wemyss, not having his pipe in his mouth to protect him and help him to hold on to himself, for he had hastily stuffed it in his pocket, all alight as it was, when he saw her at the gate, and there at the moment it was burning holes,—Wemyss, after a brief struggle with his wishes, in which as usually he was defeated, stooped and began to kiss Lucy’s hair. And having begun, he continued. (44) 

Lucy’s reaction will likely not surprise anyone who has read Elizabeth von Arnim’s other novels. 

She was horrified. At the first kiss she started as if she had been hit, and then clinging to the gate she stood without moving, without being able to think or lift her head, in the same attitude bowed over his and her own hands, while this astonishing thing was being done to her hair. (44)

A reoccurring theme in Elizabeth von Arnim’s books is unwanted physical attention from men being forced upon women. It is often given a slightly humorous bent, but there is the underlying message that being touched by a man is an awful experience, one to be avoided, if possible, even with one’s husband. But this book gives a reason beyond simply the touching in and of itself being abhorrent. 

Death all around them, death pervading every corner of their lives, death in its blackest shape brooding over him, and—kisses! Her mind, if anything so gentle could be said to be in anything that sounds so loud, was in an uproar. (44-45)

Frankly, the episode gets more disturbing from there. Coming as it does so early in the book, I think it perfectly sums up what is to come. Wemyss aggressively forcing his ‘love’ on Lucy, while “death [pervades] every corner of their lives”. 

As I mentioned at the outset the focus of this book is on Wemyss, rather than his dead wife. However, we could read the line “death in its blackest shape brooding over him” being the spectre of Vera, there with them even then. In which case, she could be seen as the person who is looking out for Lucy, even when no one else is able. Vera’s portrait hangs in the drawing room, her belongings are still as they were on the day she died, even her library of books—heavy on the Brontë sisters and travel to far off destinations—all remain, as though Vera has just stepped in to the next room. 

The other thing I have heard said is that Vera is a less good Rebecca. From that I expected this book to get attempting to do the same thing as Rebecca does, the dead wife haunting the thoughts of the living wife until she is eaten up by jealousy. In Vera it is the dead wife’s death that haunts the thoughts of the living wife, not the woman herself. Lucy does not seem to be jealous of Vera in the least. The issue is that Vera has died in the house where Lucy is expected to live happily, where she is expected to ignore the horror of the woman’s death. And as Wemyss reveals himself to be so different from the man Lucy thought she had married, the tension grows. Now, do I think Rebecca is a better book. Yes. It happens to my favourite of all of Daphne du Maurier’s novels. One of my favourite novels, full stop. Du Maurier keeps to one theme, and writes the stronger book because of it. However, the level of tension in Vera actually made me feel physically sick. I found myself gripping the book, my shoulders hunched up to my ears, as though I and Lucy were one, trying to make ourselves small. Von Arnim does not stick to one focus though, making for a less cohesive story. But for atmosphere she gets full marks.

Give Vera a try if you are feeling brave, but perhaps pick a time when you are happy and rested. If you are already anxious or under stress, this book is not going to help.

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