In case anyone wasn't already aware, I am currently in the process of a research project involving the novel Aurora Floyd by Elizabeth Braddon. It's a very interesting book, and I have been examining it very closely so that my project will follow it as precisely as possible. So, while I look at certain parts of the book in that light, I will pick some that spoke to me that won't do for my research.
First of all, I need to point out the passage that talks about Archibald Floyd. I love this page, because it speaks to me in such a way that I can relate.
...All forgetful of herself in her excitement, with her natural vivacity multiplied by the animation of the scene before her, she was more than usually lovely, and Archibald Floyd looked at her with a fond emotion, so intermingled with gratitude to Heaven for the happiness of his daughter's destiny as to be almost akin to pain. She was happy; she was thoroughly happy at last, this child of his dead Eliza, this sacred charge left to him by the woman he had loved; she was happy, and she was safe; he could go to his grave resignedly to-morrow, if it pleased God,- knowing this. Strange thoughts, perhaps for a crowded race-course; but our most solemn fancies do not come always in solemn places. Nay, it is often in the midst of crowds and confusion that our souls wing their loftiest flights, and the saddest memories return to us. You see a man sitting at some theatrical entertainment, with a grave abstracted face, over which no change of those around him has any influence. He may be thinking of his dead wife, dead ten years ago; he may be acting over well-remembered scenes of joy and sorrow; he may be recalling cruel words, never to be atoned for upon earth, angry looks gone to be registered against him in the skies; while his children are laughing at the clown on stage below him. He may be moodily mediating inevitable bankruptcy or coming ruin, holding imaginary meetings with his creditors, and contemplating prussic acid upon the refusal of his certificate, while his eldest daughter is crying with Pauline Deschappelles. So Archibald Floyd, while numbers were going up, and the jockeys being weighed, and the book-men clamouring below him, leaned over the broad ledge of the stone balcony, and, looking far away across the grassy amphitheater thought of the dead wife who had bequeathed tho him this precious daughter.
Now, I'm sorry that there is just so much information here. It really does seem to keep going on and on, but it really does have a message that anybody who has lost a loved one can relate to. When I was much younger, eight years old to be exact, I lost my younger brother. Death is not something that I am a stranger to. Losing the love of my life is something that is harder to relate to. Nonetheless, I still can somewhat sympathize with Mr. Floyd. He is at a race track with his beautiful daughter, and suddenly it strikes him that his dead wife is what helped bring this life into the world. She was the one that made him love, and she wasn't here today to celebrate in the beauty of the woman that he raised. This passage immediately spoke to me when I read it, and I had to share it again with those who have read it before. It's a common feeling for those who have lost a loved one, and when it does hit the person, it's a slap in the face. Trying to hold back tears that aren't fitting for the situation in front of him or her. It's hard to appreciate the feeling when death hasn't been experienced, but when it comes to someone, the only thing to do is wait it out.
Another thing that I would like to analyze is how much I do not like Mrs. Powell. The point at which this feeling started to come about was when Braddon explains servants. It's something that I had never really thought about before, but it makes so much sense! She mentions that when tragedy strikes in the home, that's what your servants feed off of because they have nothing else. This is a part of the novel that I'm sure jumped out at a few Victorians way back in the day. Here they are, sitting and enjoying life, being waited on hand and foot, reading this book and suddenly the realization occurs that the person bringing them their drink probably spit in it. How true is that, though? Anyone who has worked in an occupation similar (like a waiter) probably felt the same way when his table was being a bunch of jerks. Just a loogey in their coffee. They won't notice. They probably won't leave me a tip anyway. What's that? You've got problems in your life? Well try having my job; it sucks. Now, I can't say that this was the situation in every household, but I'm sure it was present enough that when Braddon addressed it, the help in the home became a bit more careful about how much they gossiped.
Anyway, on with Mrs. Powell. I can understand her hatred for Aurora, which was clearly found within the pages of the book. Whether it was trying to lock her out of the house when Aurora had met with James or when she tried the words that were clearly for James's eyes only, Mrs. Powell was ready to bring Aurora down. But why? Aurora had given her a home, a nice room, and gave her a small amount of duties around the house. My understanding for her hatred had to do with a great amount of jealousy that she kept hidden in her heart. Why not be jealous, though? Aurora's father was rich and gave her anything she wanted, and then she goes and marries a man (the second time around) that does the exact same thing! So, before anyone can just judge this old woman for being a jerk, not really realizing the roots of the situation, they need to realize that Mrs. Powell did have a pretty good reason for being a jerk.
Aurora Floyd held my interest in a ton of different ways. Whether it was the title character's rebelliousness or her husband who was a big teddy bear, the book was full of action that kept me wanting more. If Aurora Floyd had been a book written at a different time, the whole novel would have a different tone to it. She wouldn't be such of an odd Victorian, and instead would probably of fit into today's society. The book really needs to be read with a mind that has been placed back in time, and, if that's not done, you will not get the same satisfaction of reading it that I did.
