In 2011, I bought an enormous book called Recapture by Clemence Dane – largely because her name was familiar to me from my research into the Book Society of the 1930s – a book of the month club of which she was a panel member. I might have opened it then, but it basically went on the shelf and I’d forgotten what was in it. I thought maybe it was a trilogy anthology.
Well, turns out it has eleven works in it – mostly plays, and two novels. One of those is Regiment of Women (1917), which is Dane’s first novel and probably her most famous work after Broome Stages. It’s set in a girls’ boarding school, and is largely about the relationships and power dynamics that happen within it. It’s also a really impressive portrait of an almost Machiavellian creature: Clare. As a world, the boarding school is almost hermetically sealed from the outside, and this exaggerates all emotions and relationships within it.
The present boarding-school system of education ousts the mother from that, her natural position; renders her, to the daughter steeped in an alien atmosphere, an outsider, lacking all understanding. Invaluable years pass before the artificial gulf that boarding-school creates between them, is spanned.
Clare is obsessed with power, and is blessed with a personality that bewitches many – though there are also those who see right through her. She is one of the teachers who has been there a while, officially below the headmistress in the hierarchy, but managing to bend the will of the school to her own. And she does it by charming people – by making them care deeply what she thinks of them. Her main targets are Alwynne, a 19-year-old who is a new teacher at the school, and Louise – a young girl who has been put up a couple of classes because she is so intelligent.
Alwynne and Louise are besotted with Clare. Louise believes herself in love with Clare, and I have seen this described as a lesbian novel – well, it’s quite possible that Louise is experiencing her first lesbian attraction, but it certainly isn’t a two-way street. Clare intends to captivate her and make her servile – while also seeing extraordinary promise in her unusual skills in English and Drama classes.
Meanwhile, she is also determined to rule Alwynne – a kind, nervous, animated young teacher, not yet sure how to make the leap from pupil to authority figure. She lives with an aunt, a good woman who had taught Clare and sees through her. A power battle begins that Alwynne is not conscious of, and her aunt is barely fighting. Clare puts all her energy into it.
She intended to master Alwynne, but she realised that it would be a question of time, that she would give her more trouble than the children to whom she was accustomed. Alwynne’s utter unrealisation of the fact that a trial of strength was in progress was disconcerting: yet Clare, jaded and super-subtle, found her innocence endearing.
So, at the heart of Regiment of Women is an extraordinary and sustained portrait of somebody selfish, cruel, and charming. It is brilliantly done, in terms of character creation, even if it makes for nasty reading at times – and the book certainly gets quite dark.
Sadly, the heart of the book is surrounded by an awful lot of padding. There is a brilliant 20-page novel in this 345-page novel. But it takes so long to get going, with overly elaborate detail about the school – and every scene is bogged down with the same emotion or thought being played with in three different ways before we’re allowed to move on. It’s often frustratingly slow – and, indeed, is a product of the sort of baggy writing that characterises a lot of 1910s literature. The second half of the novel moves faster than the first, but there were many times in that first half where I almost gave up.
If you have more tolerance for that sort of bagginess, then I think you’ll be rewarded by the power of what is written inside it. But I would sympathise if you got to the end of the first chapter and thought it might not be worth the energy.