After reading Anne of Green Gables in July, I was reminded of an eternal truth about books in a series: you can never read just one. Or at least I can’t, particularly when it is this series which so dominated my childhood reading. How could I leave Anne after just one book? So I read on, quickly progressing through first Anne of Avonlea and then Anne of the Island.
Anne of Avonlea is an odd book or perhaps it is just a very typical second book, written in a rush to capitalise on the extraordinary success of Anne of Green Gables. Published in 1909, only a year after Anne’s debut, Montgomery seems to have lost her sense of humour – and her sense of characterization. When the first book ended, Anne was maturing and recognizing (with humour) her tendency towards indulging in overly dramatic flights of fancy. In this book, she embraces those melodramatic tendencies wholeheartedly, becomes dreamier than ever without ever really coming back down to earth, and is insufferably condescending to her more prosaic friends. She has relapsed to a stage which readers of the first book thought she had outgrown and no one benefits from it. (There is a very good discussion of this in The Fragrance of Sweet-Grass by Elizabeth Rollins Epperly.)
The book still has its moments but Montgomery, desperately short of plot ideas, covers by introducing new characters at every turn. We meet Mr Harrison, a grouchy farmer with a foul-mouthed parrot; Davy and Dora, twin relatives who Marilla takes in after they are orphaned; Paul Irving, the most sickeningly sweet child ever written; and Miss Lavendar, who is even more prone to silly fantasies than Anne. None of these count as improvements to Avonlea society, as far as I’m concerned.
As usual, it is Anne’s humblest adventures that are the most entertaining. Montgomery writing about ethereal fantasies and really anything involving Paul Irving is insufferable. Montgomery writing about village gossip is delightful. The disastrous repainting of the church is one of the book’s greatest moments and Anne’s horror at having to strap one of her misbehaving students – and then find he respects her more for it, thereby crushing all her high ideals – is marvellous. And these moments are made better because they offer not just Anne’s perspective but a whole array of them, from besotted but still level-headed Gilbert Blythe, from sharp tongued Rachel Lynde, and from quietly amused Marilla.
If Anne of Avonlea is both frustrating and disappointing, Anne of the Island, happily, is an entirely different experience.
Published in 1915, Montgomery has several years to figure out how to next approach Anne’s story (and to write many sentimental stories and novels to expunge her overly dramatic tendencies). The result is the 2nd best book in the series and one of the most important books of my childhood.
The novel covers Anne’s four years of college, which takes her away from Avonlea and from Prince Edward Island entirely, over to Redmond College in Kingsport, Nova Scotia (a fictionalised version of Dalhousie University in Halifax, where Montgomery studied). She is accompanied by some familiar faces, Charlie Sloane and Gilbert Blythe, and joins up with friends Priscilla Grant and Stella Maynard, who she met at teacher’s school in Anne of Green Gables. And, most importantly, she makes two very important new friends over her four years: Philippa Gordon and Roy Gardner.
Roy Gardner enters Anne’s life during her third year of college, an answer to all of her romantic fantasies. Having by this point survived – and rebuffed – multiple marriage proposals (most very easily, with due horror, but one with great pain) since none of the men matched her vision of a future husband, it is almost too perfect when Roy appears in the midst of a rainstorm, perfection made flesh:
Tall and handsome and distinguished-looking – dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes – melting, musical, sympathetic voice – yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. He could not have more closely resembled her ideal if he had been made to order.
But ideal men aren’t very interesting – a fact the reader recognizes long before Anne. Roy is clearly a red herring but it is easy to understand why a wealthy, worldly, handsome man who adores her has so much appeal. He is so far removed from the Avonlea boys she’s grown up with, although the Redmond girls seem to think the Avonlea boys have a certain appeal, especially handsome, intelligent, and determined Gilbert Blythe, now studying to become a doctor. Really, there is no doubt that Anne and Gilbert will end up together but my god does Montgomery put her readers through an emotional rollercoaster before that happy ending comes.
The other character of note is the marvellous Philippa Gordon. I loved everything about this book as a child but it has only been on rereading it as an adult that I’ve recognized how much Philippa enriches the story. Philippa is a contradiction from her very first introduction: a beauty from a wealthy Nova Scotian family, she could have married well (to her choice of suitor – both Alec and Alonzo are waiting for her still) but chose instead to come and study mathematics at university. Despite an active social schedule through all four years, Philippa handles her academics with aplomb and sits at the top of the class. And, perhaps most importantly, she can do what Anne cannot do: acknowledge when she is wrong, recognize a chance at happiness, and go after it with all her considerable energy and determination.
Phil and Anne approach their romances from very different perspectives. Anne has dreamed of her ideal man for years. She knows just what he will look like, has devoted considerable time to composing his perfect speeches, and can envision an idyllic future spent staring into one another’s eyes. For her, the idea that Roy Gardner, her fantasy made flesh, won’t be as satisfying a life partner as Gilbert Blythe, her intellectual equal who would rather work beside her than worship her, is one she fights against. She has a fixed vision and it is one that she sticks to. When she finally consults her heart, it is almost too late.
Phil, on the other hand, never believed in romance. She believed in marriage, certainly, and expected that one day she would marry one of the rich young men from her social circle and settle down to a life like the one she’d always lived. Her time at Redmond is her way of postponing – at least for four years – having to decide which of the interchangeable eligible young men she will accept. She throws herself into university life and has a marvellous time. But then something changes. She meets Jonas Blake, an awkward young minister, and that’s it. Jonas is exactly the sort of man Phil has always joked about not being tempted by – ugly, poor, and far from at ease in company – but she falls in love almost immediately. And when Jonas doesn’t dare to think she could be interested in him, she makes it very clear that she is. Phil, knowing what she wants, is not going to let her chance at happiness slip away.
Nor is she about to let Anne do the same. Marilla and Rachel Lynde may want to tell Anne that she is making a mistake by rejecting Gilbert, but they don’t. Phil, on the other hand, is more than ready to do so. Repeatedly. For years. Phil is not afraid of a little blunt talking and I love her for it. As a child who found Anne too whimsical and Diana too timid, Phil was the first Montgomery character – and one of the first literary characters – I ever truly identified with. And that hasn’t change remotely in the 23 years that have passed since I first encountered her.
Anne of the Island isn’t quite as good as Anne of Green Gables but it is close. I could write about it endlessly but I’ll save that for another day. I’ve read it countless times already and I shall certainly return to it again. And again. And again…
The Captive Reader 
Can’t believe I haven’t read this yet!
Nor can I! Get reading!
Paul Irving is a blot on the Anne books. I loved the books and still do but I did my best to forget Paul Irving existed. Anne of the Island is wonderful though. Your post made me want to pull it off my shelf and read it all over again.
It is worth being reread! And it (happily) largely ignores the existence of Paul – as should we all.
I have a great fondness for Anne of the Island. I read it over and over as a teenager and I agree with you that it is easily the second best of the series.
I always hated Anne of Avonlea though. It’s insufferable. Anne is insufferable in it. And Paul Irving…(ugh) Take it from someone who’s always identified strongly with Anne (I once had a personality test throw up Anne Shirley as a fictional character who would be my personality type!) – Montgomery kind of lost the thread with this one.
Thankfully, she found it with Anne of the Island. I just skip the second one now whenever I do a re-read. Like you, the Montgomery books played a huge role for me growing up, so reading your reviews with interest. 🙂
I can’t quite bring myself to skip Anne of Avonlea – there are things I do enjoy about it – but I can certainly understand the urge to do so.
Gilbert. Gilbert is the interesting thing. And I have to admit I rather enjoy Mr. Harrison myself, particularly when he critiques Anne’s story in Anne of the Island 😀
I also think that Anne is one of those characters who’s more interesting as a child. Something of her individuality gets stamped out as she grows up.
I have a pet theory that Montgomery lavished all the domestic happiness on her that she was denied in life, and that she had a strange idea that it had to be one or the other (domestic happiness or career success)
Yes, Anne is definitely more interesting in childhood – but I think L.M.M. was also more interested in writing about her then. The later books were demanded by the public, not driven by her interest in developing the character. For me, the Anne books have always been about family so Anne’s adult life makes sense in that context. Unlike some other Montgomery heroines, she never had huge career ambitions and her writing was more of a passtime than a calling (as opposed to the overwrought Emily Starr, for instance).
That’s interesting – while Montgomery always insisted it was so in the later books (that writing was more a pastime than a career for Anne) – I never found it entirely convincing. I mean it’s possible that writing wasn’t Anne’s vocation, but I feel that with her passion and her intelligence – not to mention ambition and education – that she might have amounted to someone a bit more involved in, say, the intellectual/academic world. She needn’t have been career-oriented, per se, but I feel like she fades a bit in adulthood.
Emily…is a whole other tale. Looking forward to seeing what you have to say about the Emily trilogy if you’re planning on reading them again as well.
Oh god, could I handle the absurd Emily as an adult? I certainly couldn’t as a child and teen. I can’t say I’m drawn to reread them any time soon but who knows? I know many readers love Emily even more than Anne; it’s a very Austen-Bronte-esque divide, with mild-mannered domestic comedy facing off against gothic drama. My loyalties are clearly in the Anne/Austen camp.
I prefer Anne too! I didn’t hate Emily, but I found her unnatural. I did re-read them once as an adult and I found them far inferior in quality to the Anne books. Add creepy Dean and boring Ted and the motivation to return goes down even further. Ilse was the only really interesting character in those books. Would have loved to read a series centred on Ilse.
That’s a fantastic point about the later books being driven by public demand! I never looked at it from that angle, but it certainly makes sense.
Thank you for deconstructing these two novels so wonderfully well. I love the Anne books so much that I can brook no criticism of them, but I enjoy reading your opinion! I was a brainy hard-working student myself, and it was so inspirational to find a fictional character who also wanted to be first in her class, always.
Yes! Anne’s academic focus was a huge inspiration for me too!
Have you read all of the books Claire? Right through to Rilla of Ingleside etc? I have all of them in lovely 1930 editions
Oh, yes. I’ve read everything by Montgomery and most of it several times. Admittedly, some of this was more than twenty years ago but the Anne books I’ve reread regularly even as an adult.
You’re right, Philippa is a terrific character who may have influenced generations of girls. I still hope to be more like her!
She is a most worthy idol for us all!
I loved Anne of Green Gables when I read it as a teenager, but couldn’t get on with Anne of Avonlea, so read no further. It sounds like I may have been missing out on the later books!
Yes, you certainly have been missing out on this one! The other books in the series aren’t as impressive for adult readers, though have much to offer younger ones in terms of harsh life lessons (such as: how to handle losing a child. And then another one. I cried buckets).
I adored, and continue to adore the Anne books. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who’s favourite of the sequels was Anne of the Island. It is one of my favourite comfort reads, and I have probably re-read it most years if I am being honest. I think I have actually read it more often than Anne of Green Gables. I’m rather fond of Rainbow Valley and Rilla as well, but this is my favourite. I could gush about it endlessly, so it was lovely to read your review.
I am glad to know I’m not alone in disliking Paul Irving, and to be honest I’m not a huge fan of Dora and Davey either.
I’m just like you – I have read Anne of the Island exponentially more times than any other book in the series. Of the later books, I enjoy Anne of Windy Willows/Poplars and Anne of Ingleside but I have to admit that Rainbow Valley is my least favourite and I find Rilla as a character absolutely impossible to like. To each their own!
Dora and Davey aren’t quite as bad as Paul but a little goes a long way – and unfortunately we get more than a little of them (especially Davey) in Anne of Avonlea.
That’s funny, Ingleside is possibly my least favourite of the series. Rilla is no Anne! But I really like the first world War backdrop.
It’s been over twenty years since I read this series. I completed them all in a month, I loved them so much. I should really revisit them. It’s definitely time. Good insight in your post.
Yes, once you start reading (especially the first time) it’s hard to stop! I’ve been reading them steadily since I was 8 so it would be interesting to hear how your perspective on them changes – or doesn’t – after such a long gap between readings.
Exactly! I’m very curious how or if my opinion changes at all.
The first three are the Annes that I have reread the most often. I can’t imagine not reading them in order, even if I did have my favourites. There was always SOMEthing that I loved, even if it wasn’t the whole book. Like, I hated all the love talk in Windy Poplars but I loved the fact that there were letters in there! (Which, I know, annoys many readers.) After that, as a girl, the series was disinteresting because Anne fell in love, but I’ve gone on to reread the others as an adult. I’ve reread Emily twice as an adult and I enjoyed them more on the most recent reread. There are a lot of very LMM observations and remarks in there that I hadn’t remembered as a girl. Have you read LMM’s journals by chance?
I have read the journals, which was my first introduction to the concept that I could like an author’s works without liking him or her personally. I think that’s why the Emily books have no appeal – Emily is so much like Montgomery herself and I just can’t handle either of them in large doses.
And I’m another one who loves an epistolary novel, which is why I rank Anne of Windy Poplars more highly than many of the later books. Also, it seems to recapture some of the spirit of fun that the later child-focused books lack.
I recall that Maud felt there was a real connection between her and Anne (but I also wondered if she only said that, in later years, because she wanted to distance herself from Anne, being tired, at that point, of having had to write so much about her) but I didn’t really feel that there was a lot of her in the Emily stories beyond the outward dedication to writing. But I do understand what you mean about feeling a disconnect from Maud in many ways. I don’t think we would have been friends in real life – despite my own dedication to stories – but I do relate to many of the struggles she revealed in the diaries that I had not even glimpsed in the novels, so reading her personal fears and thoughts made me feel like we were kindred spirits in some ways, though not all.
It sounds like you aren’t super fond of the child-focused books later in the series, like Rainbow Valley, maybe also like The Story Girl (separate, of course, from Anne)? Those are books I missed when I was a girl, and I rather wish I’d read them then; I think I would have enjoyed the children’s antics more back then!
OOps, I meant to say that she felt there was a real connection between her and Emily not Anne!
Totally agree on every title! (Oddly I never wanted to switch to the non-Anne ones.) I can see the rationale for believing that the boy you’ve known most of your life is not the romantic figure of a stranger coming into it, as you’re unlikely suddenly to fall in love with a schoolfriend. So Montgomery gets out of that one very neatly. But they’re so part of my life that I couldn’t possibly think “Why did she not do X with them?” And I do like Anne of Windy *Willows* as it is in the UK – why? Perhaps I’ll be inspired to read about Lucy Maud herself now, especially as a colleague from U3A has just visited PEI…
L.M.M. herself was definitely an interesting – and rather troubled – woman. Her diaries are well worth the read. I always find it fascinating to see how authors incorporate (or don’t) their life into their work and Montgomery’s books were heavily, heavily influenced by her own life.
Definitely will read them, Claire!
Ohhh the painting of the hall! THAT was fun, though I have to say I liked the sound of the mistake colour more than the one they wanted.