The Salterton Trilogy (1986)

Robertson Davies  The Salterton Trilogy (1986)
     Tempest Tost (1951) The Salterton little theatre company puts on The Tempest, and a number of complications in personal and social relationships ensue. Solly Bridgetower and Pearl Veronica Vambrace appear for the first time; they hardly notice each other until near the end, when Solly takes Veronica home from the ball, and her father berates her. Hector McIlwraith suffers mid-life blues, and pursues Griselda Webster, a girl with more than her fair share of common sense, but who nevertheless is briefly flattered by a cad, Lt. Roger Tasset. The love-lives sort themselves out, not without a little pain, and some of the social relationships are, er, clarified, like butter.
     This book is a social comedy much in the style of Jane Austen, and like hers, Davies’ satire is sometimes very sharp. The persona of avuncular good will slips from time to time and reveals an irritated distaste for hypocrites, moral cowards, social climbers, and pelf-hunger; in this, Davies resembles Stephen Leacock. From time to time Davies preaches, but he does it so gracefully, and makes his sermonettes such natural parts of serious or semi-serious conversation, that one hardly notices. This is Davies’ first published novel, and shows some creakiness here and there, but any writer would be happy to have made such a well-crafted work. One of my favourite books. ***½
      Leaven of Malice (1954) A mischievous fake classified ad announces that Solly Bridgetower and Pearl Veronica Vambrace are to be married on November 31st. This starts the story; the inevitable joining of Solly and Veronica ends it. In between we have a mystery (who is the mischief maker?); a parent blinded by egotism even to his own love for his daughter; two shy and sensitive people discovering they are made for each other; and a variety of social enmities, some of which end in satisfying poetic justice.
     As in Tempest Tost, Davies’ tongue is often sharp enough to cut deeply into small-town Canadian pretensions, but his focus is family tragedy or near-tragedy. Davies is a comedian, with a comedian’s cruelty (something he discourses on in the third book). So although the story veers close to tragedy, and certainly includes a great deal of pain, his characters prove themselves resilient enough to survive and even to find happiness. Another favourite book. ****
     A Mixture of Frailties (1958) Mrs Bridgetower dies, and her will enjoins her son and daughter-in-law to produce a son before they can inherit her considerable fortune. In the meantime, its income is to be devoted to the European education of a young woman in the arts. The lucky girl is Monica Gall, a singer, and the book centres on her. I get the feeling that Davies started out with the intention of telling the story of Solly and Veronica’s marriage under the blight of the dead woman’s’ malicious testament, but that Monica got away from him. In any case, he’s more interested in the education of an artist than in a blighted marriage, albeit that education causes enough trouble.
     But the social and personal relationships and their effects on the characters, which is the stuff of novels, seems not to interest Davies as much in this book as in the other two. Rereading it, I realised how much I had forgotten of the discussions of art and art education, and how much Monica’s life reads like a case history. The satire is almost perfunctory – it’s as if Davies is discovering some new aspect of comedy. He can make fun of silliness as well (and as gently or roughly) as ever, but his heart isn’t in it. I suspect he has come to a realisation about his talent here, and that’s why this book seems to be an experiment in the themes and forms he uses in his later trilogies. Although all three books tell how troublesome, and even wicked, choices may cause unintended good, it’s in this book that this theme becomes explicit. Nevertheless, because it has the requisite happy endings, it satisfies. ***½
     The Trilogy: I reread these three novels over almost two months. I’d forgotten how much happens in them, how many characters there are, how lightly Davies wears his learning, how well the plots develop, how naturally the dialogue fits into the story. As a group, these books would make a lovely TV series (it would have to be a full season in length), or a set of three longish movies. However, if such a production kept Davies’ astringent tone, it would not be very popular. Davies is very hard on Canadian pretensions, and especially on our peculiar mix of self-deprecation and vanity, and on a trait we share with the Americans: our conviction that ignorance of politesse is a virtue. (2002)