I enjoy works that fill in the gaps left in other narratives, or tell the same story from another character's perspective. The first time I encountered this was in Tom Stoppard's play,
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. It's basically the off-stage action from
Hamlet, with some existential and absurdist twists and turns. I thought the idea itself was inspired and the execution of it a delight.
From there it's a short leap to: What was Penelope's story while Odysseus was taking his roundabout 10-year journey home from the Trojan war (The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood)? What was Circe's life like before and after Odysseus's visit (Circe by Madeline Miller)? What did Jim, the enslaved runaway from Huckleberry Finn, think about their adventures (James by Percival Everett)? There are a number of other novels that use this method (a "best of" list here, if you're interested); I'm not sure if it requires less creativity or more creativity to write using this format.
I thought this kind of storytelling was a recent idea, and Jean Rhys' novel, Wide Sargasso Sea, published in 1966, may be the first of this sort. I would love to know if that's true. Stoppard's play was first performed that same year -- so perhaps there was something in the air in 1966. How fun it would be if they knew each other! Maybe Rhys (real name: Ella Gwendoline Rees Williams) and Stoppard attended a workshop together or met at a party. That would be a wonderful "gap filling" tale (true or imagined!).
Rhys' novel provides the backstory of the "mad" first Mrs. Rochester from Jane Eyre. It's a prequel, really (another recent form), and explores themes of racism, slavery, colonialism, and sexism through the life events of Antoinette Cosway. Antoinette grows up in Jamaica in a way that feels between worlds: her family benefitted from colonialism and slavery and was thrown into financial distress when slavery was abolished in 1833. Antoinette's widowed mother is Creole, not white, and though she retains some of her aristocratic ways, it's financially impossible to maintain the trappings of wealth. It becomes increasingly uncomfortable and even dangerous for them to live among the freed and understandably resentful native-born Jamaicans. The feeling of gathering menace is palpable in this section, narrated by Antoinette as a child. Tragic events loosen the mother's grip on sanity and Antoinette is left alone in the world, essentially among strangers.
When Antoinette is older, her marriage to Rochester is arranged, but the difference in economic status and her family background of mental illness, combined with his obvious lack of character, give him leverage to abuse her mentally and emotionally. This section is alternately narrated by Antoinette and Rochester, so we have a window into his cruel psyche. He renames Antoinette "Bertha" and flaunts his unfaithfulness to her. Although Antoinette is initially desperate to regain his trust and love, her efforts backfire. Ultimately Rochester takes her to England, away from the tropical countryside she loves and the only home she's ever known.
Once in England, Antoinette's circumstances grow even worse. She tells how Rochester confines her to the attic, essentially imprisoning her in the upper floor of his mansion. She has a paid companion, more jailer than friend, and her isolation causes her to become more and more detached from reality. Is she mad because of some inherited weakness from her mixed blood, as Rochester maintains, or is it his dehumanization of her that causes her madness? It seems to me that anyone in such circumstances would lose their sanity. As a last straw, Antoinette pleads for help from her stepbrother in Jamaica, but he refuses to interfere with her husband's rights over her. Antoinette begins stealing the key while her keeper sleeps and roaming the house at night. Eventually, as Jane Eyre fans will remember, she burns the place down.
This novel has strong elements of the Gothic -- Rhys definitely creates a dramatic, sinister atmosphere, and also portrays the lush beauty of the Jamaican countryside. The gap between Jamaica and cold, gray England is as wide as the vast Atlantic ocean that separates them. Even more deeply, not belonging is a horror. Racism is an exile. Powerlessness is shackles and chains. Dominion is an outrage. Perhaps, Rhys seems to suggest, a purifying fire is needed to move forward from what has gone before.
Excerpt:
But now I turned too. The house was burning, the yellow-red sky was like sunset and I knew that I would never see Coulibri again. Nothing would be left, the golden ferns and the silver ferns, the orchids, the ginger lilies and the roses, the rocking-chairs and the blue sofa, the jasmine and the honeysuckle . . . . When they had finished, there would be nothing left but blackened walls and the mounting stone. That was always left. That could not be stolen or burned.
Then, not so far off, I saw Tia and her mother and I ran to her, for she was all that was left of my life as it had been. We had eaten the same food, slept side by side, bathed in the same river. As I ran, I thought, I will live with Tia and I will be like her. Not to leave Coulibri. Not to go. Not. When I was close I saw the jagged stone in her hand but I did not see her throw it. I did not feel it either, only something wet, running down my face. I looked at her and I saw her face crumple up as she began to cry. We stared at each other, blood on my face, tears on hers. It was as if I saw myself. Like in a looking-glass.
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