The Secret cover, The Secret

The Secret

Julie Garwood

Since Garwood's reputation is for bestselling books, I selected this 5-heart book from a reader list to see what all the fuss was about. I had a sinking feeling I wouldn't be nearly as impressed as I ought, not helped by the book's setting at the beginning of the 13ca.

Four year old English Judith Hampton forges a lifelong friendship with Scots Frances Catherine Kirkcaldy, who bears both her mother and her maternal grandmother's names in the hope that her female parents, denied burials in consecrated ground because they died in childbirth, will ride on their descendent's coattails into heaven. Eleven year old Judith vows to visit her friend when the latter is brought to childbed, because Frances Catherine does not wish to die alone like her mother and grandmother.

After persuading a stubborn counsel that the promise made to a mere woman must be honored, even if it means bringing one of the dread English into their land, Iain Maitland, newly made laird, deputizes himself to go fetch the friend of his younger brother's wife, fully expecting Judith's refusal to return with him. Instead, for a number of reasons of her own, Judith is packed and waiting to go. He insists she get rid of most of her luggage. She insists it's baby gifts and that it's coming. He cuts it off her pack animal, and I prepared to quit reading the book unless Judith did something really interesting, like knee the guy in the balls.

She doesn't, and author redeems her male protagonist's arrogant gesture with some thoughtful behavior. This scene marked for me the seesaw opinion I retained for the remainder of the book. The inside cover has an excerpt from a review that states the story has it all, and that it does---I felt as if there were a list of stock situations the author drove her characters through, or past, rather like putting a horse through its paces---there was the escape from an abusive, alcoholic caregiver, (and subsequent fear of drinking by the heroine) the sensuous, unfaithful, court-loving mother, the misogynistic and isolationist council, the unknown father of a deadly rival clan, just to name a few of the cliches. The most obvious confrontation comes at the end of the book, but I'll leave it to the imaginative reader to guess the relationship to the heroine of each of those two antagonists.

On the other hand, there is a rather sprightly thread of humor running throughout the novel, and that, I concluded, was its major saving grace. The characters, especially the principals, were frustrating, because they were inconsistant: they'd share some mildly witty repartee, and then, after a bit of that, the author would remember that they were supposed to be a delicate lady and her courtly knight, not twentieth ca persons on a date, and the pair of them would sink back into their roles of gentle, feminine heroine with easily hurt feelings, and strong but gentle but nonetheless also macho male, a contradiction that led to my alternating affection and irritation with him. Then just as I was getting bored with those stereotypes (which I really hoped had disappeared along with other 70s fashions), out would come the twentieth ca sensibility and humor, enough to get me over the next patch, but not enough for me to develop any emotion stronger than a mild liking for the characters. It didn't help that Judith would start to stand up for herself, and then, just as she was getting going, would retreat back into obedient, feminine mode. Gag. Well, that's a little strong. Sigh.

Even given my pitifully scant knowledge of the period, it was clear to me that the author ignored most of its problems, barring, perhaps, rotten postpartum care (one practice, in particular, had me shuddering: if actually practiced, then it's a wonder women back then didn't all die of childbed fever---which, by the way, is still a concern of modern midwives) and the dreadful sanctions placed upon pregnant women by the christian church. The women in this book were certainly downtrodden: forbidden to speak in council, let alone sit on it, working seven days a week, often considered unclean. Perhaps in my put-upon teens I enjoyed these victim type backgrounds, but I find I've largely lost my taste for that now. Myself, I'd rather write in a period when women's lives weren't quite so bleak.

And just what were those women doing on those relentless seven days of work? No details past a reference to scrubbing floors, which, given the fact that cabins in the last century, never mind the 1200s, still sported dirt floors, struck me as unlikely. Especially the idea of scrubbing floors every day---people didn't scrub themselves that often, let alone their floors! References in passing to a buttery is made, but other than that, the reader is left to imagine for herself what all those poor slaveys actually spend their time doing---one thing is certain: none of them seem to farm. I rather wondered what they ate besides game animals, since the clan didn't trade either.

Apparently mercantile persuits were outside this people's experience almost entirely, which perhaps was the reason they all had such a rotten standard of living. The men presumeably spend all their time perfecting hunting and mercenary skills, since nobody appears to have to mend the keep, or forge ironmongery, tan leather, or any of that other practical, artisan type stuff. And while I'm quite certain the ancient Scottish highlands had its fair share of twits (to quote one characterization of a worrywort impending father) the word doesn't exactly foster period flavor. Worst actually was the idea of the council of elders. Such councils may have indeed existed back then, though the rest of the book made me rather suspicious; however I've picked up the idea over the years that charismatic leaders collected warbands around their leadership abilities, not spread their power around to a committee.

The book is an easy, light read, with characters, when they're not being shoehorned into some chivalric mode, that are unobjectionable. The plot bits go together more like a patchwork quilt than a richly blended stew, but at least the whole does hang together. Two stars.

Sylvus Tarn

Last modified: Sun Sep 13 00:43:07 EDT 1998

Sylvus Tarn