Author: Daphne du Maurier
Title: Frenchman’s Creek
Year of publication: 1941
Page count: 253
Rating: ★★★★
In the 17th century, a sassy, restless, unhappy wife preceded by her scandalous reputation escapes from her dull husband and the city, taking refuge at their remote Cornish estate. Throw in suave french pirates, and you’ve got the perfect historical adventure/romance book—du Maurier truly is the gift that keeps on giving.
“Do you remember my father’s aviary in Hampshire, (…) and how the birds there were well fed, and could fly about their cage? And one day I set a linnet free, and it flew straight out of my hands towards the sun? (…) I feel like that. Like the linnet before it flew.”
This is the first book by du Maurier that I’d classify as a romance novel, but even here, it feels reductive to say so, because the story probably would’ve worked just as well if the kinship between Dona and the French pirate had been based on friendship alone, rather than romantic interest. That aspect did however lend a certain zeal and inevitability to the tale, and probably helped my suspension of disbelief along… and she really writes about it in the most beautiful way.
“For love, as she knew it now, was something without shame and without reserve, the possession of two people who had no barrier between them, and no pride; whatever happened to him would happen to her too, all feeling, all movement, all sensation of body and of mind.”
Not being someone who gets swept up in love stories, it was other aspects that made me enjoy this tale. Ultimately, the romance is secondary; what I personally reveled in most was the witty banter between Dona and her manservant William, as well as what Dona represented: Any woman who, from appearances, has nothing at all to complain about, but nevertheless feels confined by the societal expectations and boundaries placed on her—because she’s a woman, a wife, and a mother first, and a living, breathing individual with her own dreams and desires second (or not at all). She yearns for adventure and true freedom, and finds it in the form of charming pirates hiding out in the creek hidden on her property. But ultimately—and I don’t see it as a spoiler, it is unavoidable—she must choose between her new-found, careless liberty, and her sense of responsibility towards the children she loves, and the husband who is oafish, but well-meaning.
“Contentment is a state of mind and body when the two work in harmony, and there is no friction. The mind is at peace, and the body also. The two are sufficient to themselves. Happiness is elusive—coming perhaps once in a life-time—approaching ecstasy.”
Despite the serious themes at its heart, Frenchman’s Creek had something decidedly light-hearted about it that makes it stand apart from du Maurier’s other works, especially the brooding, atmospheric gothic classics she’s best known for. It came as a surprise—I suppose I’d expected a story similar to Jamaica Inn, which also deals with piracy on the Cornish coast—but I really enjoyed it; it made for a delightful read during a stormy week in October, and once again showcases that she was a talented writer perfectly willing and capable of dabbling in a variety of genres.
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