I have blogged before about The Love-Child, one of my favourite books and in my ongoing list of 50 You Must Read, but I’ve never been very happy with my post on it. Nor do I think the following wholly encapsulates how wonderful the novel is by any means, but… I thought it worth sharing. I wrote it for Hesperus Press’s Uncover A Classic competition – but, sadly for me, a different book was chosen. More on that soon, but I decided not to put my ‘500 word introduction’ to waste – and so, just in case you’ve yet to read this beautiful novel, here is the piece I wrote for the Hesperus competition…
Edith Olivier’s The Love Child (1927) was her first novel, and easily her best. Although rediscovered as a ‘modern classic’ in 1981, it has not been reprinted since – perhaps because it resist categorisation – yet it deserves a far wider, rapturous audience.
The Love Child tells the story of Agatha Bodenham, a middle-aged childless spinster mourning the death of her mother as the novel opens. She fondly recalls her childhood imaginary friend, Clarissa, and even copes with her loneliness by talking to Clarissa again. This attachment grows until one afternoon, to Agatha’s surprise, Clarissa herself appears in the garden: ‘She was smaller even than Agatha had imagined her, and she looked young for her age, which must have been ten or eleven. […] Physically, she looked shadowy and pathetic, but a spirit peeped out of her eyes, with something of roguishness, perhaps, but yet it was unmistakably there.’
Initially Clarissa is visible only to Agatha, but gradually others can see her also – and Agatha copes with both the joy of new-found companionship, and the embarrassment of explaining the sudden appearance of a child. Eventually she decides she must pretend that Clarissa is her own daughter; her love child. ‘She had saved her. But at what a cost! Her position, her name, her character – she had given them all, but Clarissa was hers’.
Olivier constructs a mother/daughter relationship which is more poignant, and more vulnerable than most. Clarissa may disappear as suddenly as she appeared – especially when, as the years progress, a local man named David begins to fall in love with her. Agatha’s possessiveness and uncertainty are drawn beautifully, demonstrating the pain suffered by one unused to love when her creation may be taken from her. She is not cast as a villain, but simply a lonely woman battling for the solution to that loneliness. Olivier herself had neither husband nor children when, in her fifties, she was inspired to start writing novels. According to her autobiography, the idea for The Love Child came to her suddenly in the middle of the night, and was written ‘during those feverish wakeful hours when the body is weary but the mind seems let loose to work abnormally quickly.’ The novel certainly reads with the enchanting spontaneity this writing process suggests and, although often addressing sad topics, is far from a melancholy book. This is primarily due to Clarissa herself. She is a captivating character – naïve, almost elfin, yet fascinated by science and delighted by motorcars – she animates not only Agatha’s monotonous life, but enlivens the whole novel.
In a short book, which could easily be read in two or three hours, Olivier encompasses moving and involving themes in a warm, lively manner; it seems absurd that this beautiful novel should ever have fallen out of print. A new generation of readers deserve to discover The Love Child.