Mehalah, A Story of the Salt Marshes - S. Baring-Gould

Sabine Baring-Gould is a little known Anglican priest and novelist of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, with literary works ranging from religious writings to folk and gothic genres. Mehalah appeared in 1880, and is set in the desolate marshes of Mersea and the surrounding area. A lot of people, particularly students, liken the story to that giant of gothic romance, Wuthering Heights, but I am not inclined to enforce the association. One could suggest Wuthering Heights is almost a scene of domestic tranquillity in comparison. Although set in bleak, isolated conditions, there is no dramatic and romantic entanglement, unless the sustained persecution and victimisation of a young lady by her landlord can be considered as such. Let me also dispel another commonly accepted fallacy, there is nothing glamorous about abuse and I defy any attempt to glorify it. 

The tale begins with a rather spooky description of the Ray where Mehalah and her sickly mother reside. With rent day fast approaching, their brutish new landowner, Elijah Rebow, has visited to remind them that that they now owe their livelihood to him. He tries to bully Mehalah into submission, yet she openly defies him and insists upon self sufficiency and independence. The central theme of the book is freedom and imprisonment, and the text swarms with corresponding imagery, not all of it subtle. The increasingly violent means of Rebow to secure Mehalah as his lover have a ring of the fairy-tale about them, as does the systematic trio of vows he wishes to enforce on her, namely to obey, cherish, and love. In addition to the dark and brooding main narrative, there is a host of ridiculous supporting characters to provide some comic relief. A modern reader might take umbrage with Baring-Gould's frequent and negative representations of women. With the exception of his main characters, women are portrayed as jealous, spiteful and vindictive harridans, whilst his men are largely hard-working, humble and brow-beaten.

Especially startling and strange to read was Mehalah's trip into Wivenhoe (spelt Wyvernhoe here) to obtain a loan from a distant cousin. Quite apart from the farcical outcome of the expedition, finding one's village of residence in an old novel was pretty amusing. It seems like the place really hasn't changed much at all, what with its priggish, pathetic inhabitants - but I digress! With criticisms out of the way, I'll advocate Mehalah as a perfect winter novel almost begging to be read by a blazing fire in one's parlour, favourite pub, or simply in solitary candlelight. The writing is masterful, gripping and energetic and also blackly, morbidly funny in places. The gothic bent of the tale can be used to excuse elements of excess melodrama, for it goes with the territory. As of yet, I have not read any critical or scholarly opinions on Mehalah, and my edition was woefully inadequate for secondary material, therefore this review is relatively raw and uninformed. Overall, it is a hauntingly powerful, highly memorable book inviting multiple readings. In my opinion, it deserves a more definitive seat among the classics.

Rating: 4/5