The Absentee by Maria Edgeworth

It's taken me an unconscionable length of time to get through this work. Perhaps in this review we'll be able to figure out why.

It's not even all that long. My edition is 258 pages – very short, actually, for a novel published in 1812. It concerns the doings of the family of Lord Clonbrony, particularly those of his son, Lord Colombre. (Don't look at me, I didn't invent these names.) As the title implies, this family's income comes largely from land that they own in Ireland. Though they are Irish themselves, they live in and around London, leaving the management of their property and tenants to hired stewards.

Actually, Colombre is not entirely satisfied with this state of affairs, but because he is a minor (he doesn't come of age until nearly the novel's close), there's a limited amount he can do about it. His father, though a man of great good will, seems largely incapable of managing his own property; the first thing we see Colombre do is go to visit a man hired to repair his father's carriage. The job is taking a terribly long time. Upon investigating, Colombre discovers that this is due to the repairman's evident intention to get as much money out of Lord Clonbrony as he can get away with. Colombre, clearly a more practical man than his father, puts a stop to this at once. Lord Clonbrony is profoundly grateful for this, acknowledging that his son is much better at such things than he himself is. This gives you an idea of where the story is going.

So why is this family in London rather than in Ireland? For the same reason many Irish families had in the early 19th century, it seems; because everyone thought that Lonon was the social center of the British Islands, if not the whole world, and Ireland – all of it – was way out in the sticks. Which is less important to Lord Clonbrony, or particularly Colombre, than to Lady Clonbrony. She has less than no interest in leaving the social hub, so the family has been in London for years. As is the case with his father's habits, Colombre is unhappy to see that his mother is fooling herself about her social position. It's Colombre who sees that his mother's friends come to her parties, eat her food and drink her liquor, and then make fun of her all day.

While all of this is going on, Colombre's parents are anxious for him to marry, his mother in particular anxious for him to marry an heiress to rescue them from their financial difficulties. Several such heiresses can be found in the family's environment. Unfortunately for the family's ambitions, Colombre is in love with his cousin Grace Nugent. At this period of history, marriages between cousins was not uncommon, but since Miss Nugent is poor, Colombre struggles against his feelings (of course he does – this is 1812, and a novel rather than real life). On the other hand, this being an early 19th century novel, you have three guesses as to whether things work out between these two.

Of more interest are the chapters describing Colombre's experiences when he examines the family's Irish property. He's in Ireland primarily to dig into how the family's income is being managed, but he learns a good deal more about Ireland and the Irish. That he discovers the simple virtue of Irish life, in contrast to the phoniness and expense of London life, is no surprise; author Maria Edgeworth was herself from an Irish landowning family, and knew a good deal about what happened to the tenants of absentee Irish landlords. The fun part of this segment of “The Absentee” is what happens when Colombre cleverly hides his identity, travels around his family's holdings, and discovers that the property is being managed even worse than he suspected. Being the hero of the story, he corrects this far more quickly than anyone could expect, goes back to London, wraps everything up into a nice little bow, and brings his whole family back to Ireland to live happily ever after.

And here, I think, is part of my difficulty with “The Absentee” – it strikes me that there's just not enough story for 258 pages. In 1812, a novel of this length was probably pretty typical, regardless of how much material it covered. I imagine that was particularly true for novels like this one that tried to make political points, as well as telling a story. Today, when terseness is more in the fashion, it can be hard for someone like me to read.

Maria Edgeworth was a fine writer, and her support of Irish life is touching – it's usually touching when someone can support those who need it without being condescending, as Ms. Edgeworth does here. The lengths she went to are mostly a matter of taste.

Benshlomo says, Today, make your point as efficiently as you can.