by Amy
“Reine-Marie had always
known this moment would come. From the first box they’d unpacked and the first
night they’d spent here. From the first morning she’d woken up next to Armand
and not been afraid of what the day might bring.”
“She’d known this day
would come. But she’d thought, hoped, prayed they’d have more time.”
This section of THE LONG WAY HOME is a brilliant bit of
writing by Louise Penny. She threads her way through three concurrent conversations: Annie and
Reine-Marie drinking peppermint tisane on the Gamache’s porch, Jean-Guy and
Gamache in the study, and Myrna and Clara (also drinking tisane –
peppermint and chamomile) at Clara’s home. The four women have parallel conversations
about the men in their lives. Reine-Marie
probably sees a reflection and reminder of her past as an inspector’s wife when she talks to her daughter. Their conversation is about recovery and peace, but there is an unspoken concern that they might live through pain and insecurity again. In the meantime, at the
Morrow home, Clara shares her fears with Myrna as they talk about Peter’s
unknown fate. Gamache asks Jean-Guy to help him answer Clara's request to find Peter.
I recently planted a garden. I think I’m in love. Who knew?!
Like Gamache and Reine-Marie, I’m basically a city girl and had very little
idea of how to start a garden. I have my own version of Myrna (a wonderful couple who is generous with their time and their knowledge) giving me hints and helping me decide what and
how to plant. It has been a pleasure to watch things grow and to eat from the produce in the backyard.
The mint, in particular, has flourished. I add leaves to juices and
have taken to making iced tea as well as adding it to water glasses. Yesterday I’d made myself some peppermint
tisane (although I called it tea until I read this book and learned a new word) and had already taken a picture to show the gardeners how successful our enterprise has been. Later the same day, as I was
listening to the beginning of The Long Way Home and ran across this scene, I
knew it would have to be my next post.
“Reine-Marie turned in her seat to look at the
porch light above the door. What had started as a gentle tapping of mothwings
against the bulb had turned into near frantic beating as the moth rammed itself
against the hot light on the cool night. It was getting on her nerves.”
“Does it hurt? Reine-Marie wondered. The
singeing of the wings, the little legs, like threads, landing on the white-hot
glass, then pushing away. Does it hurt that the light doesn’t give the moth
what it so desperately desires?”
“She got up and turned
the porch light off, and after a few moments the beating of the wings stopped
and Reine-Marie returned to her peaceful seat.
“It was quiet now, and
dark. Except for the buttery light from the sitting room window. As the silence
grew, Reine-Marie wondered if she’d done the moth a favor. Had she saved its
life, but taken away its purpose?”
“And then the beating
started again. Flitting, desperate. Tiny, delicate, insistent. The moth had
moved down the porch. Now it was beating against the window of the room where
Armand and Jean-Guy sat.”
“It had found its light.
It would never give up. It couldn’t.
“Reine-Marie got up,
watched by her daughter, and turned the porch light back on. It was in the moth’s
nature to do what it was doing. And Reine-Marie couldn’t stop it, no matter how
much she might want to.”
I have long identified with Reine-Marie. While there aren't a large number of scenes in which she is present,
her presence is felt throughout the entire series. She is an integral part of
Gamache; a half of the whole. He is able to be who he is, in part, because of
her support. In A RULE AGAINST MURDER we are shown how understanding she is when their anniversary vacation is waylaid by crime. We are
privy, time and again, to her hospitality and acceptance of the people Gamache
works with and brings into their home. We are told of her worry, indirectly,
when Gamache notices the inflection of fear when she tells him to be careful in
BURY YOUR DEAD. And, finally, when Annie is placed in a similar situation in
THE BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY, the women spend time together and Annie wonders whether
the solitary fear is how her mother felt through all those years of saying
goodbye to her Inspector husband when he went on his missions. As far as I
remember, though, this is the first scene in Madam Gamache’s point of view.
“Much is said about
brilliance. Less attention is paid to those who live next to it. Spouses,
children, assistants… if anyone thinks of us at all, it’s generally to remark
upon how lucky we are to bask in the light of genius…” (Megan Hart in BROKEN)
So many people are curtailed in their expectations and
dreams because those who love them don’t quite see or
understand them. The two couples, the Gamaches and the Morrows, provide an
interesting contrast.
Clara and Peter have a lopsided relationship. It is so evident
that even people who don’t know them well – such as the art dealer who wanted
to represent Clara – wondered if she would give up her art because
of her husband. Peter tries to be supportive. He even realizes his failure to do so. But
he doesn’t know how to love her enough nor is he strong enough to allow her the
freedom of being herself. It breaks them. We are left to wonder if, in his
quest to find his own soul, he found the strength to mend the broken pieces. We
learn throughout the series that things are stronger where they are broken. In this case, we aren't given the chance to see that unfold. (Although the romantic optimist in me believes that the "new" Peter we see in the end of THE LONG WAY HOME is, in fact, a different man from the character we'd seen so far).
Clara is, in a way, Peter’s soul. He didn’t really see her.
Or, when he did, he only saw what he lacked, what he needed, and how she could
(and did) fill the empty places inside of him and save him (to an extent) from himself. While he did have redeeming
moments (Earl Grey tea in Still Life and the night he held her in the aftermath
of Jane’s death come to mind), he usually wasn’t aware enough of her feelings
or altruistic enough to be truly there for her.
In contrast, Reine-Marie is the perfect example of a supporting spouse. She
is as crucial to Gamache’s success as are the many spouses and friends
and family of great men and women in history. I was recently reading a
memoir/tribute by Rebecca Stead called My Life in Middlemarch. I was fascinated
by her take on the men in George Eliot’s life:
“Though Spencer later
claimed that he had early on encouraged Eliot to write fiction, she did not
find her fictional voice until she was loved by someone who saw beyond her
capacity for brittle cleverness – in whose company she did not feel the need to
be on her emotional guard. Even so, her experience with Spencer informed her
understanding. He was part of her education, as Dorothea was part of Lydgate’s education,
and as all our loves, realized or otherwise – all our alternative plots – go to
make us who we are, and become part of what we make.” (Rebecca Stead in MY
LIFE IN MIDDLEMARCH)
Louise Penny herself has said (I’m relying on the internet
here, although I’m hoping someday I’ll have the chance to hear her say so in
person) the importance of Michael’s support in her writing career. I wonder
if we’d have known Gamache-land if it weren’t for Michael, just as I wonder if
we’d have a Virginia Woolf without Leonard. Or the Shelley's and their work interaction feeding off each other both for inspiration and for improvement of their craft. Or… it’s a long list to
contemplate, there are numerous examples. There are also so many unknown and unsung heros in this arena.
Neil Gaiman, for instance, in the acknowledgements for one of his books, thanked his wife for her presence throughout the writing process. I think it's one of the best parts of a great book.
"As this book entered its second draft, as I was typing out my handwritten first draft, I would read the day's work to my wife, Amanda, at night in bed, and I learned more about the words I'd written when reading them aloud to her than I ever have learned about anything I've done." (Neil Gaiman in THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE)
There are, of course, those who flourish and survive despite
relationships that try–malignantly or not – to undermine them. Clara’s success
is especially remarkable and is probably a testament to the network of friends
and community that made up for Peter’s difficulties.
I think, when we read, we are allowed to wear someone else’s
skin for a little bit. Or, as Marilynne Robinson put it: “to feel reality on
a set of nerves somehow not quite [your] own." (WHEN I WAS A CHILD I READ BOOKS) I
can identify, at times, with all the characters, but Reine-Marie is special to me. I can easily slip into her skin. It feels as familiar as my own. Madame
Gamache is frequently in the background and is her husband’s friend, his sounding
board, his support, his home. She is the safe harbor he knows awaits him, and
the person he connects to in order to recharge.
Reine-Marie and Gamache are a unit, but they know how to
function separately. They have their own interests and occupations, but they
share a rare bond. And she sees him. She understands him as few others do. He’s
a wise man, a great man, a leader. It’s a lonely place to be. He’s also an only
child and an orphan. That’s another source of loneliness. He is frequently
surrounded by people that he likes, but cannot fully open up to because they
are possible suspects or at least indirectly touched by a crime. That’s lonely,
too. And as the series goes on and his involvement
in Suritê issues becomes increasingly complicated, he has less people he can trust and a growing number of people to protect. He becomes more and more
isolated. She's still right there beside him. She knows how to love the man – not the job or
the status or the trappings. But she also understands that those things are a
large part of making him who he is.
In Middlemarch there’s a scene that breaks my heart. A young
man, full of ambition, fully in love with his profession is told by his wife
that she wishes he worked with something else. I think he spends the rest of
his life aware that he is misunderstood and not quite appreciated by this woman
who doesn’t know him, see him, or understand him enough to fully love him.
“It is the grandest
profession in the world, Rosamond,” said Lydgate, gravely. “And to say that you
love me without loving the medical man in me, is the same sort of thing as to
say that you like eating a peach but don’t like its flavor. Don’t say that
again, dear, it pains me.” (George Eliot in MIDDLEMARCH)
Reine-Marie loved the whole of Gamache. Even when it hurt
her. Even when it hurt him. She was wise enough – and loved deeply enough – to know
that sometimes love hurts and demands certain courage. Annie is just beginning
to understand what that means.
“After spending most
of her life scanning the horizon for slights and threats, genuine and imagined,
she knew the real threat to her happiness came not from the dot in the
distance, but from looking for it. Expecting it. Waiting for it. And in some
cases, creating it.”
Reine-Marie knew it was in the moth’s nature. She knew that
while Gamache had retired, he might never be mistaken for the retired university
professor or journalist she’d fantasized he resembled just a few hours earlier.
She knew, deep down, that a part of him would always be an investigator, his
past was an integral part of who he was and he carried knowledge, memories, and
scars that would forever be embedded in his identity. She knew that keeping the
porch light on gave her a chance to be a part of the moth’s struggle and a part
of its story and recovery.
“There were things I
wanted to tell him, but I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let
them hurt me.” (Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close – Jonathan Safran
Foer)
Unlike Peter with Clara and her art, Reine-Marie is both
strong enough and wise enough to love Gamache . It's not easy and, in this book in particular, we are shown how it sometimes costs her to see Armand become increasingly committed to joining Clara's quest. But, ultimately, she is not only accepting of his involvement, but becomes involved herself. She is, as usual, his sounding board and his ear, but she also plays an active part in research. In an earlier scene, Clara
quotes Gilead and tells Gamache she prays that Peter will learn to be brave and useful. He could take lessons from Madame Gamache.
“I’ll pray that you grow up a brave man in a brave country. I will pray
you find a way to be useful.” (Marilynne Robinson in GILEAD)
Most of us aren’t faced with spouses or friends who are
as brilliant or outstanding in their fields as are Clara Morrow and Armand Gamache. Regardless, I believe
that there are few things more romantic or more integral to long-lasting love
and friendship than seeing and being seen. There is a special kind of
magic involved in understanding the essence of another and encouraging (and
sometimes nudging) them to be the truest version of themselves they can be. I’m
talking about the kind of love that looks into the soul and applauds
authenticity.
I pray that we all nurture the Reine-Marie in us… and that the Peter Morrow that lives inside of us finds a way to be brave… and useful.
For there’s some would
hear my words and think our love flawed and broken. But God will know the slow
tread of an old couple’s love for each other, and understand how black shadows
make part of its whole.” (Ishiguro Kazuo in THE BURIED GIANT)
