Lolly Willowes
When I came to reread Lolly Willowes recently, I found a bookmark for A Common Reader, Pleasantville, N.Y., inside. A quick googling revealed that, no, the mail-order company was no longer in business and in fact went bankrupt more than a decade ago. A sad discovery, for it was their catalog which first acquainted me with this memorable novel.
Sylvia Townsend Warner published Lolly Willowes, or The Loving Huntsman in 1926. It is not a long book; you can read it in an afternoon. Which is what I did one exquisite fall day, a day made perfect for being a work day, only I wasn’t at work.
The book begins with a history of the Willoweses of Lady Place, most especially Laura Willowes, called “Lolly” by the family. Petted, docile, Lolly drifts through her sunny Somerset girlhood without ambition even to marry, ultimately going like so much Willowes furniture to her oldest brother and his family in London.
Dear, unexceptional Aunt Lolly. Who would guess this mild presence is at root elemental? Not even Lolly herself, plodding through life in her brother’s house, wanting—what? The turning point—a chance visit to a grocer’s selling sprays of dazzling beech leaves—is undramatic and profound. Lolly asks a few questions, buys a guidebook and map, and, to the bafflement of all, abruptly takes herself off to a hamlet in the distant Chilterns. Girded by the mysterious beech woods, Lolly’s chosen stamping ground has much to commend itself to such as she. More, in fact, than she at first understands, for Satan himself roams the hills, and the country folk know it ....
Lolly Willowes is a feminist favorite for good reason, but anyone can appreciate it. The book speaks eloquently to all who feel worn down, hemmed in, unvalued, invisible; who fear there’s a better self they’re forgetting and a simpler, truer existence out there waiting for them, if they can only find the courage to seek it. Pact with the devil optional.
Sylvia Townsend Warner published Lolly Willowes, or The Loving Huntsman in 1926. It is not a long book; you can read it in an afternoon. Which is what I did one exquisite fall day, a day made perfect for being a work day, only I wasn’t at work.
The book begins with a history of the Willoweses of Lady Place, most especially Laura Willowes, called “Lolly” by the family. Petted, docile, Lolly drifts through her sunny Somerset girlhood without ambition even to marry, ultimately going like so much Willowes furniture to her oldest brother and his family in London.
Dear, unexceptional Aunt Lolly. Who would guess this mild presence is at root elemental? Not even Lolly herself, plodding through life in her brother’s house, wanting—what? The turning point—a chance visit to a grocer’s selling sprays of dazzling beech leaves—is undramatic and profound. Lolly asks a few questions, buys a guidebook and map, and, to the bafflement of all, abruptly takes herself off to a hamlet in the distant Chilterns. Girded by the mysterious beech woods, Lolly’s chosen stamping ground has much to commend itself to such as she. More, in fact, than she at first understands, for Satan himself roams the hills, and the country folk know it ....
Lolly Willowes is a feminist favorite for good reason, but anyone can appreciate it. The book speaks eloquently to all who feel worn down, hemmed in, unvalued, invisible; who fear there’s a better self they’re forgetting and a simpler, truer existence out there waiting for them, if they can only find the courage to seek it. Pact with the devil optional.
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