Capable, intelligent, and single-minded, Miss Majoribanks is on a two-pronged mission: to be a comfort to her dear papa, and to reorganize Carlingford society. Along the way she stumbles against stupidity, secrecy, and misunderstanding, but nothing daunts Lucilla Marjoribanks or holds out against her benevolent, if somewhat dictatorial, sway.
Miss Marjoribanks has a long book to match her long name; longer than anything Jane Austen wrote, it stops just short of being truly long. Little Women is probably a fair comparison for length.
Although the book falls squarely in the category “girl story”, I give Miss Marjoribanks a 15+ recommendation for it’s subtle humor, complex plot, and lengthy character development.
As is usual in my book reviews, you can skip straight to the bottom for a brief recap or read on through for all the detail!
The Plot [spoiler alert!]
Lucilla Marjoribanks, at nineteen, comes home from school with one goal: to be a comfort to her dear papa. She has nothing sentimental or self-effacing in mind, for Lucilla has a thorough and not misplaced confidence in the intrinsic comfort and pleasure that her society confers. Nor is her benevolence confined to her father only; she is eager and determined to delight him by showing her talent in the total reorganization of Carlingford’s upper class society—and she starts by refurnishing the drawing room, a necessary prelude to her “Thursdays,” the evening social gathering that will soon become the event of the week for Carlingford’s gentry.
Another essential prelude is the snubbing of her infatuated cousin Tom, whose suit Lucilla views with some scorn. Marriage is not among her immediate interests—as she says, if she had been thinking of that she need never have come home; and having come home, and remodeled the drawing room, it’d simply be swindling her dear papa if she went and married. Perhaps in ten years, when she has begun to “go off,” she’ll think of it. Tom puts his fortune to the test anyways, is snubbed accordingly, and goes to India. Nor is he the only one who finds Lucilla’s pitch of disinterestedness or practicality beyond credence, and society finds plenty of matter for speculation in the various eligible young men who present themselves in Carlingford.
Foremost among them, Mr. Cavendish (one of the Cavendishes, my dear!) has the advantage of being a handsome young man who can flirt, thus an invaluable acquisition to Miss Marjoribanks in her role of hostess. But Lucilla inadvertently thrusts him into temptation by inviting Barbara Lake, the daughter of a poor art teacher in town, to help her sing duets on Thursdays. Barbara’s voice and beauty catch Mr. Cavendish’s attention—and Barbara herself, proud, spiteful, and furious with Lucilla for daring to patronize her, even if at the same time entirely ready to reap the benefits of that patronage, is eager to complete the conquest.
All eyes upon her notwithstanding, Lucilla behaves beautifully, not to say brilliantly. She’s entirely willing to sacrifice her personal prospects to her societal aims, and both Mr. Cavendish and Barbara are crucial to the social success of her Thursday evening—not least so because of the fund of gossip they provide. Their flirtation proceeds even under her eye, but she turns it into a triumph of magnanimity, disappointing Barbara’s spite and heaping embarrassment on Mr. Cavendish.
Yet Lucilla’s most magnanimous moment is not a public triumph—rather, it’s keeping private a secret Mr. Cavendish unintentionally betrays. For when one Archdeacon Beverley comes to town and shows up at one of her “Thursdays”, Mr. Cavendish turns green with fright and only Miss Marjoribanks’ quick wits cover his retreat. After that, it’s easy for Lucilla to put two and two together, when the Archdeacon thinks he remembers seeing somewhere some man who he considers an impostor in good society. While Lucilla is partly moved by her own self interest, not wanting it to become known that she has hosted a guest under false pretenses, far deeper than that is her innate loyalty, a determination not to condemn someone she had come to view as a friend unheard.
Unheard, however, Mr. Cavendish seems determined to remain. Though profoundly grateful to Lucilla for covering his retreat–too grateful to take his sister’s advice and propose to her, assuring himself of a good position, when he knows he doesn’t love her—he finds the safest thing to be total concealment. But the safest thing isn’t the most satisfying thing… and Mr. Cavendish compromises by seeing Barbara, the one person who never judges him, clandestinely.
Meanwhile, Archdeacon Beverley has made another discovery, finding an old friend of his in a youngish widow that Miss Marjoribanks has been patronizing. This re-encounter, coming as it does just as the Archdeacon seems to be verging on paying attention to Lucilla, and involving a protege to whom she has been very generous, calls again for some magnanimity on her part. But Lucilla is ready not only to overlook, but to throw herself most heartily into the advancement of the Archdeacon’s suit–a matter of more delicacy than may be supposed, for there’s a pretty hefty bone of contention between him and the widow, Mrs. Mortimer. It turns out that some Mr. Kavan, long ago, had gotten into the good graces of Mrs. Mortimer’s uncle, and been willed the bulk of his estate. The Archdeacon is convinced that he took advantage of the situation and ran off with what was rightfully Mrs. Mortimer’s. He pressured her to bring a lawsuit against Mr. Kavan, but Mrs. Mortimer, who saw everything firsthand, denies any underhanded dealing on Mr. Kavan’s part. Even now, years later, the Archdeacon is as adamantly against Mr. Kavan as ever, and will not be reconciled with Mrs. Mortimer unless she takes his advice.
Everything is starting to fall into place now for Lucilla, and with her usual confidence in her own abilities she sallies forth to put things right. After all, Mr. Cavendish, or Mr. Kavan to give him his right name, has done nothing criminal, even if he is not “one of the Cavendishes” as he has led people to believe. The Archdeacon is simply being a stubborn, and possibly jealous, fool—a jealousy that Lucilla turns to her advantage. Lucilla catches Mr. Cavendish through Barbara Lake and convinces him to stop running and confront the situation. She orchestrates a splendid denouement, and has the happiness of seeing Mr. Beverley and Mrs. Mortimer reconciled as Mr. Cavendish rides out Mr. Beverley’s exaggerated accusations. What Mr. Cavendish was really scared of was being taken to task for changing his name and allowing society to connect him in their imaginations with “the Cavendishes;” Mr. Beverley is too busy accusing him of worming his way into an old man’s favor and stealing his fortune, an exaggerated accusation that Mr. Cavendish can laugh at. Yet when Lucilla snubs him by seriously suggesting that he marry Barbara Lake, a disgruntled Mr. Cavendish leaves Carlingford.
This ends the first section of the book, and we skip over nearly ten years. The narrative picks back up just before Lucilla’s father dies, as an election cycle begins in Carlingford. Lucilla throws herself heartily into the fun on behalf of a relatively new resident, Mr. Ashburton, but when Mr. Cavendish suddenly reappears and announces his intention of running, that damps her enthusiasm. Yet she chooses to stick with Mr. Ashburton and her judiciously used influence secures the support of several of the most prominent citizens.
Naturally her father’s death breaks up Lucilla’s interest in the election, and when she discovers that he has left her much poorer than expected, Lucilla is forced to reevaluate her position. She chooses, albeit with reduced means, to stay on in Carlingford, though it’s a decision that almost no one understands or approves of. But she finds enough to immediately interest her in the election and is content to leave the future to itself.
Things are looking rather even between the candidates—Cavendish has got the rector on his side, by posing as a penitent and changed man—when Mr. Cavendish makes his final faux pas, and goes to see Barbara. It’s the Saturday before the election, and he deludes himself into thinking that there will hardly be time even for the story to spread, and that besides, he deserves a little downtime, and that there is nothing to his visit anyways—but of course, the news spreads like fire, and the dissenters make the most of it in opposition to the rector, who cannot help being cast down and disheartened; not, indeed, so much because there is might be something wrong with Mr. Cavendish seeing Barbara, but nothing could appall all Carlingford more than the idea that Barbara Lake, barely respectable Barbara Lake, might be the wife of the next MP. Lucilla’s choice of Mr. Ashburton rather than Mr. Cavendish is thoroughly vindicated.
Mr. Ashburton himself has been touched by Lucilla’s exertions on his behalf, though these have necessarily been small since her father’s death. As Mr. Cavendish did so long ago, he realizes that it would be eminently sensible of him to marry Miss Marjoriebanks, and though not a romantic man he has, as I hinted, been touched by Lucilla’s confidence in him during the election. On the other hand, Lucilla is naturally sensible of the value of being the wife of the Member for Carlingford. Nothing could be more suitable or more easily expected.
But Lucilla is never one to do the expected thing. Sure as she is that marrying Mr. Ashburton would put her in an ideal position, Lucilla has been hesitating almost without knowing why. And then Tom, the lovelorn cousin of long ago, comes rushing home post haste to fling himself and the moderate fortune he’s made at her feet, which certainly is more dramatic and romantic than anything Mr. Ashburton would have done, and Lucilla finds that the soft spot she did always have for Tom is larger than she’d calculated upon; and so matters are settled, with Tom and Lucilla happily ever after and Mr. Ashburton rather out in the cold.
The plot is decent, but its real reason for existing is to provide situations in which the author can show off Lucilla. This, by the by, makes it extremely difficult to summarize, as I feel obliged not merely to narrate the facts, but also to at least touch on Lucilla’s reactions and reflections. So much ingeniousness was lost even in my by no means bare bones recital. She’s brilliant in her ability to address every situation perfectly. What makes her a truly great character, however, is her total sincerity even in the midst of her tact. There is not much excitement or suspense, and Lucilla is so competent in every situation that you cannot be worried about what will happen to her. What keeps the book going is curiosity as to what Lucilla is going to do and how she will react.
7/10
The Point
Miss Marjoriebanks is mainly a character study; and Lucilla is an unusual choice of character for such a long study. She’s not at all impossible, not morbid or highfalutin, but in many respects ordinary. She’s happy and fundamentally healthy; which makes her probably a difficult character to write a whole book about, but an enjoyable character to read a whole book about. Lucilla is not flawless; she’s self-centered and shallow. Yet as she develops even these negative traits they become transformed by her sincerity and simplicity. Her self-centeredness has a disinterested quality and if she has a high opinion of her abilities she does view them also as responsibilities. And her shallowness is not so much lack of depth, as a simple transparency straight through to the bottom; there are no onion layers of contradiction underneath the serene surface of Miss Marjoribanks’ thoughts. She decides what to do and does it, and since she is not full of subconscious motives, neither misunderstanding or ingratitude deter her.
Lucilla is not a model heroine; you don’t come away from Miss Marjoriebanks wanting to be like her, but you do appreciate her, and perhaps can think of one or two people you would like better if they were like her. Her very calm outlook on life may not be the last word—we are not all young Englishwomen in easy circumstances—but there is something to be said for it. The author’s narrative perspective is not one of unqualified approval, but of sympathetic appreciation. After all, the book is more about trying to understand another person than trying to become another person, and the ability to understand other people is a skill well worth developing.
6/10
The Style
Oliphant’s style is lucid and unemotional. She does not lavish much description on surroundings, except as they are necessary to set the stage; her focus is on her characters’ thoughts and motives and impressions. Of these she has so much to say that the briefest scene can become a long chapter. A thread of humor woven through it all keeps dullness from intruding, but I think it would be fair to call this analytical way of telling a story rather slow. There are no sharp and sudden moments; even the steepest crises are smoothed off with thorough explanations. This keeps her characters vivid and real; it leaves you nothing to guess at, but a good deal to think over. There is quite a bit of repetition too—as usual in people’s thoughts, mulling over an event. Even Oliphant’s sentences are long and flowing, like thoughts. I suppose it is not a writing style likely to appeal to anyone who does not like words; but no one who does not love words for their own sakes has any business cracking the cover of a book this long, in the first place.
8/10
Conclusion
8/10
Miss Marjoriebanks is a long book more by virtue of its thoroughgoing exploration into its characters’ thoughts and feelings than any very dramatic or ingenious plot. What plot it has—a mild romance, a bit of society drama—serves the purpose of showing Lucilla Marjoriebanks off in a variety of circumstances; and Lucilla makes a fine appearance in each of them. Lucilla is an eminently sane character, and to watch her development is a pleasure. The book does not, perhaps, have a pointed moral, but it’s a useful exercise in understanding other people’s personalities, and Oliphant’s reflective style of writing enables her to tap into the thoughts of all her major characters. Personally, I can always rely on Miss Marjoriebanks for a few quiet chuckles and an increased appreciation for those people in my life who are always, successfully or otherwise, trying to help out.
It’s worth mentioning that this book is one of a series, the Chronicles of Carlingford. Miss Marjoriebanks is really the flagship of the series, which includes five novels and two short stories, but all of them had their good points and I particularly liked The Perpetual Curate. You can find ebooks of the whole series at the Margaret Oliphant Fiction Collection: www.oliphantfiction.com/x0300_series_and_themes Or find Miss Marjoribanks at Project Gutenberg: https://gutenberg.org/ebooks/41286
Already read Miss Marjoribanks or another one of Margaret Oliphant’s books? Share your thoughts in the comment section below.
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Geneva D 
What do you think?