Drop, drop, slow tears!
And bathe those beauteous feet,
Which brought from heaven
The news and Prince of peace.
Cease not, wet eyes,
For mercy to entreat:
To cry for vengeance
Sin doth never cease.
In your deep floods
Drown all my faults and fears;
Nor let His eye
See sin, but through my tears.Phineas Fletcher
At the heart of Ruth, published in 1853, is the tale of Ruth Hilton, a poor orphaned seamstress, who is led astray by the rakish Mr. Bellingham. The plot progresses with all the subtlety of a Victorian stage play, where misunderstandings and moral dilemmas are as abundant as Ruth’s tears. One cannot help but marvel at the sheer amount of misfortune Gaskell heaps upon her heroine, as if she’s testing how much sorrow a single character can endure before readers start to suspect she’s secretly a tragicomic figure.
Ruth Hilton: Our protagonist is the epitome of Victorian virtue, to the point where her saintliness becomes almost comical. One imagines that if Ruth stubbed her toe, she’d apologise to the furniture for being in the way. Her enduring purity and innocence are impressive, but they also beg the question: Did she ever consider, even for a moment, just running away to join a circus and avoid the inevitable scandal?
Mr. Bellingham: The archetypal cad, Bellingham is so transparently villainous that one wonders if he twirls his moustache in his spare time. His role in Ruth’s downfall is crucial, but his characterisation is so flat that he feels more like a plot device than a person. One can only imagine the awkwardness if he were to ever join a modern dating app – his profile would surely be flagged for excessive charm and insufficient substance.
Mr. Benson: The kindly minister who rescues Ruth is almost too good to be true. With his unwavering morality and unshakable belief in Ruth’s redemption, Benson feels like a walking advertisement for virtue. He’s the kind of person who would bring a quiche to a funeral and insist on washing the dishes afterwards.
Gaskell tackles themes of sin, redemption, and social hypocrisy with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The novel’s moral messages are laid on thick, much like the frosting on a Victorian sponge cake. This heavy-handedness is part of the novel’s charm, though; Gaskell’s earnestness is endearing, even as it becomes a tad overbearing.
The settings in Ruth are vividly described, though one sometimes gets the feeling that Gaskell spent a bit too much time dwelling on the dampness of the English countryside. Every leaf, cloud, and rain shower is painted with such loving detail that one wonders if Gaskell was perhaps angling for a side career as a meteorologist. The towns and landscapes are so steeped in atmosphere that they practically drip with it – literally, given the incessant rain. If you’ve read Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, you’ll have an idea.
Gaskell’s prose is lush and detailed, but it can also be prolix to the point of parody. Descriptions often meander like a lazy river, taking readers on scenic detours before getting to the point. One might wonder if Gaskell was paid by the word, as every minor action and emotion is painstakingly elaborated upon. It’s a style that requires patience, but those who persevere are rewarded with moments of genuine beauty – and a fair amount of unintentional humour.
Ruth is a novel that wears its heart on its sleeve. Its earnestness and moral fervour are both its strengths and weaknesses. For modern readers, the book’s melodramatic plot twists and saintly characters can be a source of amusement as much as admiration. In the end, Ruth stands as a testament to Gaskell’s belief in human goodness – even if that belief sometimes stretches credulity.
So, let us raise a (metaphorical) glass to Elizabeth Gaskell and her tragically virtuous heroine. Here’s to the tears, the rain-soaked landscapes, and the unrelenting moral lessons. It’s a wild, wet, and sometimes wonderfully overwrought ride.
Wording 