Mrs. Gulliver (2024)
By Valerie Martin
Doubleday, 304 pages.
★★★
Mrs. Gulliver is the new novel from Valerie Martin, a writer I enjoy. I'm not sure how this one will be received, though strict Freudians could have a field day with it. More on that momentarily, but it should be noted that this is a fun read though its literary merits might be considered suspect.
It takes place in 1954 on the fictional island of Verona. Contextual clues suggest a Caribbean location but pinpointing which one requires finding a place that, in 1954, had a sizeable English-speaking population, lawful prostitution, and legal or tacitly accepted bordellos. In the unusual morality of the day, many Caribbean islands allowed prostitution but outlawed brothels. The reasoning was that the employer/employee sex for hire industry exploited sex workers.
Martin developed some intriguing characters, though whether you find them noble, exploited, or self-deceived depends upon your personal moral code. Lila Gulliver is an assumed name, though few know that or realize that her assumed surname is packed with metaphorical significance. Lila runs a high-class establishment where much of Verona's (semi-) respectable citizens gather to drink and enjoy the world's oldest profession. Layla takes care of her “girls,” pays them well, and employs Brutus to protect them at work. One of the ladies of the evening is married and another is a college student. Each holds strong views about the lives they wish to lead. Lila’s clientele is on an invitation and referral basis only. If someone gets out of hand, he and the person who referring are barred.
One day, two sisters show up, Bessie and Carità Bercy. They have fallen upon hard times because their uncle squandered the family money and then killed himself. Bessie has secured a job shucking oysters, but that won't work for Carità, who is blind. If you were Lila, would you send a 19 year-old blind woman to the boudoir? Carità presents as a person of poise and breeding, but insists she relishes the idea of sex with strangers. She soon takes her place among the others in the house and each of them adore her, including Lila. Carità is remarkably self-sufficient.
Lila sees herself as a businesswoman. Among her daily tasks is staying on the good side of both respectable society like Judge Mike Drohan and gentlemen gangsters such as Marcus Betone. The latter isn’t easy because Marcus’ son Ben is a bit of a lout. One night he shows up with his college buddy Ian in tow. Ian continues to come though he doesn’t partake of fleshly delights–until he meets Carità. Then things get interesting, but not in comfortable ways.
Ian is pampered, idealistic, and moralistic, though we might also say he thinks with his penis. He expressed interest in “rescuing” Carità by marrying her and taking her away from what he sees as an immoral lifestyle. Carità is pretty sure she doesn’t need a rescue, but she does marry Ian. This brings Lila and Mike together and when the young couple depart for parts unknown, Mike wants to find them. This venture will lead Lila to abandon her self-imposed celibate life. Never mind that Mike is married. Lia knows she should walk away, but the sex!!!
This is where the ground of Martin's novel grows boggy. On one level all the female characters are strong in ways that seem too feminist for 1954. Yet on another level, sex seems to drive motives to the point where it feels as though the novel should be subtitled Sigmund Freud Unbound. I hasten to say that I am not shocked by the topic, but like the novel's feminist ideals, Martin's views of free love seem anachronistic. I wonder if the very mix of feminism and love-the-one-you’re-with will displease some readers. At the very least, it causes a few structural problems. Mrs. Gulliver is often neither fish nor fowl–not sexy enough to be a bodice ripper, but not assertive enough to be fully feminist.
For me, Carità is a fascinating character. Martin leaves the bedroom doors cracked just enough that we're never sure if she's weighing her options, madly in love with Ian, grifting, or simply coming into full adulthood. She's a keystone for a novel in which almost everyone is playing a role that is less than the sum of who they are.
Rob Weir
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