If you don't like this book, it's probably because your Marxist professor told you not to. ( )

Goosecap’s review of “Angel in the House”: NOW WITH A NEW INTRODUCTION

Well, I don’t think that this is violently not okay, although your average non-poet/rank and file conformist/uncle who gave this to his niece in 1899, may well have been, right. Most of the men of science and titans of industry and so on, although not so very open to female influence of any sort, probably had a solid three-quarters’ amount of the contempt that second wave feminists (and subsequent waves) had for all this sort of thing—nostalgic Victorian poetry, more backwards-looking than Dickens—if I suppose they felt less threatened by it. I wouldn’t read it again, even if time weren’t an issue, although I don’t regret reading it, as I sometimes feel, not like a therapy regret, but like an insurers’ regret for the books I read, you know: (sigh) another total loss…. 😟…. And yeah, the 19th century is certainly on a short list for The Most Conformist Century Ever, and quite possibly the winner, right: at least for ordinary non-monastics and people angling to court and get married, right.

(shrugs) But it’s almost charming. Some people try to separate word-based poetry and music-based poetry because their job is to…. Well, who knows that it is, right: but if it were set to music it might be rather pleasing, indeed, you know. 🧐🥰

……………

(written at various times)

…. Charlotte Bronte thought that Victorian poetry came down from the Romantic era heights into saccharine stereotypes, and she’s probably right. But we can’t all be like Blake; that guy ranted like a suicide….

So he (Angel house) is a stupid lover, a more aristocratic version of the radio that people surround themselves with, the better to ignore it. I myself think that it’s no more sexist or non-feminist than a grumpy father or blood in the mud chauvinism, often perpetrated by perfectly ridiculous people not intent on going one hour more than usual without eating or without any other comfort they can easily get, and I like it better than Homer or WW2, or most other things like that, although there’s certainly a lot you don’t learn from Victorian cant and pretty lace; a Shakespearean doomed lovers story is probably the best romance. But pretty lace and cant don’t bother me unless I’m trapped with them for five hours at work, and I take that on myself. Grumpy warrior dads are part of the world and I have to be able to negotiate with them and let them be, so I can do the same for the stupid lovers, so long as we aren’t forced to pretend that all of the classics are of one impersonal piece, for then shall I laugh.

…. At the same time, he does have, obviously, a sense of the pretty phrase and florid image, and the ‘preludes’ provide the lover’s philosophy that supplement his lover’s tale, which is…. He even does try to be Christian, at least, and I think he thinks he is, which is more than you can say of some people; at worst he is deceived, and I will not say that he is not, as people already think that Christ’s is Victorian Religion…. At any rate, he’s not someone I’m embarrassed of, like the people who think that God is above being pleased by anyone or anything, ever. A lot of theologians are only worried about defending their little god from the butterflies. Coventry just likes his phrase of lace, you know.

…. Coventry’s not a deep thinker, but I think he’s happy. You have to decide for yourself what to do with simple happiness and other forms of satisfaction.

…. Though of course the second half especially offers some opportunity for the less classically saccharine.

…. Women do bear the children of men, and it is a mystery why at some times it all seems a dreary lie, and at other times brings a joy like heaven.

"Well, why not just take one quick look?"
The foolish reader asks herself,
And plucks another ghastly book
Into her lap from off the shelf.

"What is this rhyming scheme I see?
Annoying, and a bit singsong.
First A, then B, then A, then B –
Good heavens, where did I go wrong?"

"Where are the books of fun and joy,
The books that would bring me delight?
Why do I read this sexist goy
As soon as I conclude Twilight?"

"Research," I murmur with a sigh.
"This book will help my novel work.
That's why I read this sexist guy,
Although he is a total jerk."

"He makes me want to pound my head,
Or hang myself with my own scarf;
His writing fills my soul with dread;
Let's face it: this book makes me barf."

"'Her daisy eyes had learn'd to droop' –
Dear sir, please tell me what this means.
I think that you are full of poop.
Your poem makes me want to screams."

"This poet's full of mule manure!
How does he know how women tick?
He can't say what we're like, I'm sure –
For heaven's sake, he has a dick."

"He likes his girls dumb and demure
Religious, mild, and gently bred;
He likes us sweet and simple, pure,
Without a thought inside our head."

"Well, sir, I cannot help but think
That you and I should never meet.
Your thoughts on women frankly stink
More than a mar'thon runner's feet."

"I'm so glad that you bought the farm
So long ago and far away;
For I would surely do you harm
If you mansplained this shit today."

(I was going to do something all educational and classy and talk about Virginia Woolf and stuff, but this was more fun. Plus now you know what the book sounds like without all the trouble of reading it.) ( )

Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore was an English poet (1823-1896)known chiefly for his long poem, "The Angel in the House", extolling the joys of married life and the treasure of a loving wife. The 'Angel' of the poem was Patmore's wife, Emily, and he describes their courtship, marriage and family life. The poem has had an enduring popularity from the 19th century on into today.