#learwife

Wrap it, hide its sight. Fool it with old smells: lay jackets under its haunches, daub scent across the carriage roof. And let it come to its changed settlement only slowly – letting it roam a new room, a corridor, a windowsill, gradually expanding its world, as the glassblower slowly fills the balloon with air from the pipe. Why would we think humans are easier settled, more conditioned to brutal shifts?

Although I have studied multiple Shakespeare plays in my time, King Lear isn’t one I’m familiar with. I know a very brief outline of the plot but it’s not one I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading or seeing performed. However, I am a big lover of untold stories, particularly by extraordinary women and that’s why I requested this book with a very original premise.

For 15 years, Lear’s wife has been imprisoned in a convent, accused of a crime that she knows nothing about. Now the news has reached her that her husband and all three of her daughters are dead. While dealing with the mind-numbing grief of the tragedy, she is now determined to find answers. Why was she sent away? Where is Kent, her oldest friend? Can she possibly escape this world of women that has been her home for years?

Learwife is incredibly poetic. Thorp artfully describes intense emotion and vivid scenery is a beautiful, lyrical fashion. Some parts of the writing even resemble Shakespeare himself and I can’t help but think this is a deliberate replication in order to remind us where we are and who these characters are. Some scenes are very theatrical and I can almost see a production coming to life before my eyes.

Of course, there is a lot of grief and pain in the book. Our protagonist struggles to accept that the family she left behind and who she harboured hopes of being reunited with are gone. The idea of grief being a well-trained dog that refuses to leave its master’s side is a heartbreaking one but I’m sure it will ring true with so many readers who have experienced deep loss.

We also learn a little about our protagonist’s childhood and upbringing. She always knew that she would be a queen and her family prepared her for it. This required making certain sacrifices as she grew older, including friends who weren’t deemed worthy enough by her parents. The fact that she doesn’t remember her early companion’s name suggests that court life and queendom have overwritten the pure, organic connections that she formed in her youth. It’s a sad realisation but I didn’t detect any feelings of regret or nostalgia from our protagonist. She is very matter-of-fact about the path that her life has taken and that may have been why I found it hard to warm to her.

She has a fierceness about her and bears very little emotion towards Lear. I can’t bring myself to believe that she ever really loved him in a romantic way. Her relationship with her maid Ruth is quite strange too. Although Ruth obviously knows her queen very well and they spend a lot of time together, I didn’t get any sense of warmth between the women. I suppose this is an accurate dynamic for a certain type of queen and servant relationship but it only added to our protagonist’s cold demeanour.

Other than her daughters, the only person that our protagonist seems to bear a great deal of affection towards is Kent, her long-time friend whose whereabouts is unknown for much of the narrative. In her memories with him, we see a playful, less severe side to her, which I loved. I really wanted her to get back to that girl, who I was sure was still hiding in this stone pillar of a queen.

Our protagonist talks about her first marriage and husband a lot too. For her, being married is full of suffering and pain. She feels thoroughly worn down by her life and therefore, she is very much a product of her time and social status. She would have certainly been much happier if it had been acceptable for her to remain single. 

As many married couples were at the time, our protagonist and Lear are obsessed with producing a son. Daughters couldn’t be trusted to rule countries alone or inherit anything of worth. Perhaps the failure to have a male heir was the beginning of the end for our protagonist. Although this isn’t the reason given for her exile, I can’t help but think that it may have been a contributing factor of Lear’s decision to cast her aside, especially as it happened so soon after Cordelia’s birth.

Much of the novel revolves around life in the convent and the politics between the nuns. The time comes to select a new abbess and our protagonist is put at the forefront of this process. A bishop has been allowed to come and stay with the nuns during this time (because of course, women can’t possibly make such important decisions by themselves). His presence reminds our protagonist of how often men underestimate and wrongly judge women and their capabilities. This theme is visited several times in the book and it becomes clear that women really are perfectly fine and able to operate a peaceful, functional society without a single whiff of male influence anywhere near them.