A
Title: Devil's Cub
Author: Georgette Heyer
Publication Info: Arrow 1932 (reprint 2004)
ISBN: 0099465833
Genre: Historical: European
Sarah, pages 30-end of Devils’ Cub: NOBODY BETTER TALK TO ME UNTIL I FINISH THIS BOOK!
Every time I come across a list of “romance novels you will reread and keep forever,” Heyer has a place on that list. And yet, I’d never read one of her books – I know, a large hole in my romance education. Based on the recent recommendations on SBTB, I ordered a copy of this book on half.com and when it arrived, the cover art proclaimed this book to be Very Very Vintage. I mean, come on. Her hair is magenta. MAGENTA, people, for the love of all that is holy. I have to scan in this cover because seriously. Ma. Genta.
But while the cover is dated, thankfully, quality never expires. And you can bet your chemise and your cravat this was this book good. Better than good. Breathtaking, even. Now I can see why people adore Heyer, and why she is among the gold standards of romance writing. Her dialogue in particular is spectacular.
Devil’s Cub is the sequel to These Old Shades and features the son of the protagonists from Shades. Dominic is the definition of wastrel, and Heyer doesn’t excuse away his debauchery in the least: he gambles, he drinks, he drinks while he gambles, all to the despair of his mother and the anger of his father. As Marquis of Vidal, Dominic is held in high social regard, a regard he tries to chip away with each evening’s activity.
Currently his sights for romantic interlude are set on Sophia Challoner, a beautiful young woman with aspirations of grandeur almost as high as those of her mother, though the family resides far, far from nobility or even gentility. Sophia is stunning, and she and her mother both expect that the attentions of the Marquis of Vidal will lead to a proposal, even if a forced one due to the man’s actions, and are counting on Sophia’s looks and charm (and complete lack of sense) to elevate them from their poor status.
Sophia’s older sister, Mary, the much more intelligent and sadly less attractive of the daughters, is horrified at Sophia’s lack of self-preservation. She tries to keep Sophia from throwing away her virginity, knowing full well that the Marquis only sees Sophia as a dalliance, and certainly not as a future wife.
When Mary intercepts an illicit invitation from the Marquis to Sophia, she decides to pose as Sophia to save Sophia’s reputation, even though the shallow little twat doesn’t deserve her sister’s loyalty, in my opinion. And once Mary is trapped in an untenable situation with Dominic, the incredible parts of the book don’t stop until the end – and then, if you’re like me, you’re somewhat pissed off that the book is over.
Heyer does a wonderful job of setting up the depth of the hero and heroine before they meet and begin to interact, and it wasn’t until their deliciously snappy dialogue – snappy in the sense of sparks flying off the page – that I could appreciate the setup of Mary and Dominic’s meeting, slow and tedious though it was. Parts of Dominic’s character are revealed through gossip and through ancillary characters’ discussions of his own merits (or lack thereof). Parts of Mary’s are revealed through the narration, though her actions reveal what the narrator hints at. It’s a huge payoff- once the reader gets through the period of time introducing the reader to the protagonists, and the depth revealed about each one, the delight of watching Heyer place all the players in action is addictive. Thank God it’s not that huge a book or I’d have gotten exactly nothing done all weekend.
In addition, her prose is wonderful in that it doesn’t reveal too much by telling. The revelations as the protagonists come to care for one another are in tiny drops, but they’re contained in segments of narration that I had to go back and read over and over. For example:
Miss Challoner hunted for her handkerchief, and blew her little nose defiantly. It was a prosaic action. In her place, Sophia would have made play with wet eyelashes. Further, Sophia would never have permitted herself to sniff. Miss Challoner undoubtedly sniffed. Lord Vidal, whom feminine tears would have left unmoved, was touched. He dropped her hand on his shoulder, and said in a softer voice: “You’ve no need to cry, my dear. I told you, I don’t ruin ladies of your quality.”
Mary’s reasons for trying to avoid any ties to Dominic, though somewhat naive, demonstrate her intelligence and her innate nobility. She doesn’t want to be forced into anything, but moreover, she knows her station in life, and doesn’t want him to be forced into alliance with her or her family. Moreover, she doesn’t see that Dominic should sacrifice himself when she’s more than willing to work as a seamstress or a housemaid if she has to, given her ruined reputation.
But the interplay between them both is much deeper than mere plot progress. The questions of what is nobility, and who has it (and why) create the underpinnings of this novel. Nobility, to Heyer, is a quality not determined by birth status, but by character. In the beginning, Mary has more nobility than the Marquis, and while he is of much higher social status, he has to become worthy of her. Moreover, Mary’s nobility is a product of her own generosity and bravery as well as her intellect, and transcends her own status, as well as the negative influences of her very shallow sister and her ambitious, selfish mother.
The only part I didn’t like was the insincerity in the end of the book on the part of the Duchess, Leonie, who was her typical outspoken and somewhat adorable self, even as she pronounced loudly within Mary’s hearing that she didn’t want her son to marry someone as base as Mary. Clearly a Duchess wouldn’t come right out and apologize because, well, she wouldn’t have to, but I closed the book thinking that Mary would probably get on better with the Duke than with her mother-in-law, and that this was a bit of a shame, since I enjoyed Leonie’s character.
Aside from the utter novelty of reading a book first published in 1932, the story was set in a period a good bit before the much-written-about Regency. No mentions of Prinny here – but powders, patches, fans held by men, and the wonderfully-named Macaronis are everywhere. Since this isn’t a period of historical metrosexuality that I have often read about, it was particularly fascinating.
But by far the most fascinating part was reading a book held in regard so highly by so many different writers and readers. There’s no small amount of disagreement in tastes in romance novels, as we’ve amply demonstrated here a few times, but I’ve heard nothing but sighs and squee about this book, and others by Heyer. I’m happy to add my own sigh-age and squeeage to the crowd. Damn, this book was wonderful.
Now you need to go read These Old Shades, Sarah. Leonie’s behavior in Devil’s Cub will make more sense after you’ve read the other book.
Plus I heartily recommend The Grand Sophy. It’s not angsty at all, but for sheer good fun it’s a great read. Events just seem to happen around the heroine, even when she tries to behave with decorum. And it also has a lady shooting a gentleman on purpose, which we all agree we need more of in books. 🙂
True, but if your argument is that Mary’s “quality†is due to a portion of her lineage being gentry, then why would the same not be true of her sister?
Because it’s her half-sister. They share a mother, but have different fathers. Mary has been raised by her paternal grandfather, the General.
I am so glad you’ve reviewed Devil’s Cub. It was the very first Heyer I read and is one of my keepers, although my absolute fave Heyer is Frederica.
There’s a fan group devoted to the Divine Georgette http://www.heyerlist.org/join.html which, reviews one of her books monthly; and a website with trivia, games and other ephemera http://www.georgette-heyer.com/.
Georgette Heyer is IMHO, the foremost and best of the regency romance writers and I believe is one of the first to be plaguerized (pretty egregiously, I gotta say) by none other than Dame Barbara Cartland.
Anyhoo…thanks Smart Bitches for your review!
Deb (who usually lurks, but had to make a comment here)
Wheee! I’d forgotten how much fun Heyer was – thanks for reminding me. And audible.com has Devil’s Cup in audio! I spend so much time in my car these days, I have much more time for listening than I do for reading. I hope it’s a good narrator.
Heyer wrote two main kinds of books, comedies and serious romances, though of course she liked to mix elements. Devil’s Cub was breathtakingly romantic. He’s certainly one of the important prototypes of the modern dark hero. And The Grand Sophy is my favorite bildungsroman as comedy. Sophy takes her down-at-the-mouth family by storm and turns them all happier by interfering with their lives in a most amusing manner. And Cotillion was wonderful, sheer comedic bliss. I loved when a Heyer story would end with everybody showing up, one funny person after the next, at an inn, as in Sprig Muslin.
But hasn’t anybody noticed that Barbara Cartland stole Avon’s proposal to Leonie (and her family background), specifically, Leonie’s revolutionary counteroffer, almost word for word? Unless there is a well-known prior instance of this particular lost heir plot that I don’t know about, in which case they both are ripping off other writers.
This was the sad thing about Cartland being a UK writer. Anything she ever did that was really good and different, I always worried she had lifted from some other UK writer whose books never got published over here. And no, I am not accusing her of plagiarism, but of copying Georgette Heyer’s inventive plots and ideas. And probably those of other people. Still, after Heyer’s death, Cartland’s sheer volume of available historical romance material filled the gap in a way that Claire Darcy’s more modest publishing schedule could not.
Though Cartland of course hadn’t a funny bone in her body. Too busy being a vulgar social climber herself. I always figured she died happy, what with her claim to being related to Princess Di—via the horrid stepmother, of course!
Kalen, are you sure that Mary and Sophia have different fathers? After all, Mary got Vidal’s note because he had carelessly addressed it to Miss Challoner rather than to Miss Sophia Challoner. I would think that Sophia would have a different last name if she had a different father.
Also, Avon’s approval of Frederick Comyn (hee, hee) in the face of Fanny’s protests surely shows that breeding isn’t everything—although I guess Comyn *is* a gentleman, just not a nobleman.
Man, I am totally inspired to reread this book. Thanks, everyone!
Because it’s her half-sister. They share a mother, but have different fathers. Mary has been raised by her paternal grandfather, the General.
Ah. Of course I cannot lay my hands upon my copy of this book at the moment to review Mary’s geneology myself, but that does sound right. But then why do Mary and her sister (and mother) all have the same last name in that case (Challoner?)
I think that Sophia and Mary have the same parents, but Mary “takes after” her father’s side and spent more time with them. Sophia “takes after” her vulgar mother. La belle Georgette was a total snob IMHO, but I still love her books, despite being a Democrat, myself.
Yes, Sophie and Mary are both Sir Giles Challoner’s granddaughters. It’s just that all the “quality” went to Mary.
Personally I find Heyer’s class snobbery extremely hard to swallow – it’s relatively subtle in this book, although of course Mary must have her Challoner family side to be considered an acceptable wife for Vidal…but I love the romance of Devil’s Cub and can get past it.
However, These Old Shades is atrocious in that respect. I remember being actually shocked when I read it. Heyer basically states that most members of the aristocracy are genetically beautiful, smart, sensitive and worthy, while the lower classes are innately hideous, stupid farmers who are incapable of being educated. The big “crime” in the book is when this nobility-on-top natural order is violated, and the happy conclusion is when it’s restored and everyone is sent back to their place.
Honestly, I know she’s such a favorite, and as I said I do love Devil’s Cub, but Heyer’s class issues really make it hard for me to enjoy her books a lot of the time. It’s hard to keep reading when she’s making me see red.
p.s.
I just want to clarify that I have no problem when characters in historicals are snobby about class – in fact it adds to the atmosphere of the time. I’m not a fan of wallpaper regencies where the Duke’s family is suddenly happy to welcome a servant or someone as Duchess, just because she’s a nice girl and makes him happy. It just gets me when the author is obviously promoting it as her own point of view.
The trouble with Barbara Cartland is that she couldn’t write for toffee. There are much better would-be-Heyers. I used to really enjoy a writer called Marion Chesney when I read a lot of romance as a teenager but I haven’t read anything by her in ages. She had a brilliant series called the “Six Sisters” which was very funny.
Personally I find Heyer’s class snobbery extremely hard to swallow – it’s relatively subtle in this book, although of course Mary must have her Challoner family side to be considered an acceptable wife for Vidal…but I love the romance of Devil’s Cub and can get past it.
Very true. The Avons are definitely snobs (but then, as you say, that is more realistic than them cheering over the heir to a dukedom falling in love with a scullery maid, as one sometimes encounters in historical romance.) Certainly Leonie herself was only acceptable as a wife for Avon because of her “true” lineage. And poor Babs’ (Vidal and Mary’s granddaughter and the heroine of “An Infamous Army”) unhappy first marriage was to someone her family selected for financial and dynastic reasons.
However, These Old Shades is atrocious in that respect. I remember being actually shocked when I read it. Heyer basically states that most members of the aristocracy are genetically beautiful, smart, sensitive and worthy, while the lower classes are innately hideous, stupid farmers who are incapable of being educated. The big “crime†in the book is when this nobility-on-top natural order is violated, and the happy conclusion is when it’s restored and everyone is sent back to their place.
The “switched at birth” plot works better when the ones who are switched seem to belong in their original positions, but I agree that Heyer was more than a little heavy-handed with her characterization of the farmer’s son raised as a noble who still just wanted to milk cows (or some such thing.) But the true evil in this story, IMO, was the nobleman who could reject and abandon his own child in order to preserve his own dynastic power.
Honestly, I know she’s such a favorite, and as I said I do love Devil’s Cub, but Heyer’s class issues really make it hard for me to enjoy her books a lot of the time. It’s hard to keep reading when she’s making me see red.
Taken in isolation, “These Old Shades” seems to prove your point that Heyer felt that upper class/noble birth equals good looks, intelligence and innate nobility. But “The Unknown Ajax” runs counter to that thesis. Hugo, the hero with the very unsnobbish family connections, despite his placid disposition and a “bovine” countenance, was smarter and more noble than his snooty cousins. And in “Cotillion”, Jack was the one who had it all—good looks, breeding, brains, charm and athletism, but Heyer put more value on Freddie’s good heart. Both were of good birth and family, but I do not find that Heyer always portrays the upper class as a uniformly more intelligent, nobler and superior race.
Have to agree, Heyer was an awful snob. Nature v nurture in here, nature wins out most of the time. Poor heroines are proved “worthy” by having socially acceptable parents or grandparents.
But I also have to agree about the servant girl being welcomed into the family in modern historical novels. There are practical reasons why that didn’t work – ie networking. A servant girl had a different network, not useful to society. One servant girl who married a duke was a highly intelligent woman but she and her husband were never allowed into society for the rest of their days, even though she invested wisely and ended up humungously rich as well as titled. So there could be a book about it, but I’d like to see it followed through properly. It could be very romantic!
Heyer seemed to forget the networking reason, and go for the ‘good birth’ thing every time. And it is more prominent in some books than in others.
I still love them!
The way I see it, Molly, I don’t have to believe in string theory to read about it and I don’t have to believe in aristocracy to read about them. I think Heyer was very young when she wrote These Old Shades, very early twenties. I vaguely remember being more of an absolutist in my twenties too. As her writing matured, her characters became more human and more humane. I discovered her when I was twelve, so maybe these little blips bother me less.
I think Heyer was very young when she wrote These Old Shades, very early twenties. I vaguely remember being more of an absolutist in my twenties too. As her writing matured, her characters became more human and more humane.
That’s a good point – and if she wrote These Old Shades in her early twenties, count me a little jealous. Whatever else I might not like about the book, it is very well and wittily written.
And I admit I’ve never read The Unknown Ajax, but I’m putting it on the TBR list now.
You know, if I thought Heyer was a crap writer, she wouldn’t bother me. I don’t. It’s definitely a love/hate thing…
Georgette Heyer’s dialogue is wonderful, and her storytelling in what she doesn’t say.
Possibly my favourite line of all is in Venetia, when she arrives back to find Damerel somewhat sozzled, and remarks that she would “build me a willow cabin at your gates” (they’ve been quoting Shakespeare and other poets back and forth throughout) but that “November is not the month for willow cabins.”
My shortlist:
Venetia – for that quoting dialogue
Frederica – for the delightful family life
The Unknown Ajax – for Hugo
A Civil Contract – for upending the stereotype and having Adam finally realise he’s much better off with prosaic Jenny than flighty Julia
The Grand Sophy – for Sophy’s delightful upending of her relatives, for their own good.
But there are lots of good ones. The Masqueraders, Devil’s Cub, Arabella…
“The private world of Georgette Heyer” is a good biography.
I discovered Georgette Heyer at around age 12, “The Masquarade”. This was in the ‘70’s, when Xena warrior princess hadn’t been thought of, and I was looking for books about women who DID something. And here on the cover was a woman dressed as a man! I got more than I bargained for with that book… Devil’s Cub is in my top 5 also, but the Masquarade will always hold a special place in my heart!
I just have to weigh in on the class and snobbery issue in regard to Devil’s Cub and These Old Shades especially.
For a writer of historical romances, the advantages of upperclass/aristocratic characters are obvious. There is far more information about their lives available through research! Published memoirs and letters, fashion plates, periodical publications, portraits, etc., are all far more plentiful for the upper classes than for the lower.
Furthermore, the characters themselves will have more freedom of movement and more opportunities for action if they are wealthy aristocrats. They can take a trip across the Channel to France, they can fight duels, they can engage in races in their private carriages, and they can go off to visit a friend’s country house. This aspect of the issue reminds me of what Dorothy Sayers (another writer often accused of snobbery) said about the reasons for creating a wealthy sleuth: he doesn’t have a day job, and lack of money does not restrict his movements or plans. So Lord Peter could fly across the Atlantic to try to save his brother from being convicted for murder—a year or two before Lindbergh did it, I believe!
The discussion about inheritance of nobility as a character trait is a very interesting one. It’s actually less of an issue in Devil’s Cub, because it is Mary’s “breeding,” including her manners and morality, that sets her off from her sister. Their “birth” is the same. But in These Old Shades, there is the issue of the young man who wants only to farm instead of running the estate as a landowner. This character certainly comes down on the “nature” side of the nature/nurture debate!
Many people forget that in the early twentieth century, belief in genetic determinism was considered highly scientific and was generally approved. The eugenics movement was quite popular, and the Nazis had not yet discredited it. Perhaps Heyer was echoing some of these ideas in some form. After all, much as she obviously knew about the historical periods which she chose as settings, she herself was a woman of the twentieth century.
I like it, though, that some comments pointed out how evil Leonie’s aristocratic father is! Birth isn’t everything, even in romance.
Jeannine—very good comments! I was bothered by the class implications when I read These Old Shades. That nature would always triumph over nurture, and Leonie’s false brother could be unmasked by his lack of aristocratic sensibilities.
It helps to remember the milieu in which the writer was living, and the time in which the books were first published.
Thank you, Darlene! It’s always fun to talk about Heyer!
One more thing: what about all the ridiculous and silly aristocratic characters in Heyer novels! I’m not the first person to see a resemblance between several of her male characters and Bertie Wooster. Freddy in Cotillion, Ferdy in Friday’s Child (really almost a Wodehouse story in Regency clothing), and even Rupert in These Old Shades: all are silly young men about town.
A favorite moment of mine in Friday’s Child involves the young men trying to think of how to help an abandoned unwed mother by inventing a husband who died at Waterloo. The action stops for a moment as they struggle to do the math: let’s see, baby’s age, 9 months’ gestation: nope, can’t be Waterloo!
Way late to the party but I can’t resist adding my two penn’orth.
Mary’s reasons for trying to avoid any ties to Dominic, though somewhat naive, demonstrate her intelligence and her innate nobility. She doesn’t want to be forced into anything, but moreover, she knows her station in life, and doesn’t want him to be forced into alliance with her or her family. Moreover, she doesn’t see that Dominic should sacrifice himself when she’s more than willing to work as a seamstress or a housemaid if she has to, given her ruined reputation.
I agree with your reading of Mary’s reasons except that I would not classify them as naive. Remember, her parents did exactly this: her father moved in the highest circles of society as Sir Giles Challoner’s son. He married beneath himself for the sake of a pair of pretty eyes and, once cut off by his family, lived to regret it. And then died, regretting it. However much Mary’s father was made miserable by his choice and its consequences, I think Mary is right to suppose Vidal would be more so. Can one imagine Dominic spending time with Mary’s family? No. Or having to curb his spending? No. Or being cut off from the society of his friends and family? No. Mary knows what that can do to a proud man because she has seen it. More than anything, I think that this parallel between the generations drives the plot of the novel.
“Devil’s Cub” is my favorite of all Heyer’s romance novels and I’ve read them all. Yes there is class distinction in her novels but I feel it is still glossed over. The true reality for a woman in those times was pretty bleak. Even if she did “marry well” as Mary did, she was totally at the mercy of her husband. Men had total freedom to find work, gamble, cavort, travel and women did not. I always wondered what would have happened to Mary had she not married Vidal. I feel that Heyer portrayed the Regency period in the most realistic light. Other than Austen who lived during the period and knew it’s downfalls Heyer has managed to capture the period the best. While there are things I would love to see return from this simpler time there are just as many or more that make me grateful for having been born in a more tolerant age.
Many of the morals and manners portrayed in Heyer’s Regencies were more typical of her own between-the-wars world than they were the “real” Regency, whatever that was. Read Sayers or Christie, and you’ll see similar manners and attitudes there.
If you look at the scandal sheets and caricatures of the time, you’ll see a very different Regency, the one Queen Victoria and her contemporaries rebelled against, where every man had his mistress and went carousing in Covent Garden, where estates changed hands on the gambling tables and the crudest manners and behaviour prevailed. Cruickshank depicts a very different Regency to either Heyer or Austen. Just as authentic, just as real. And just as prevalent.
Austen showed the middle class and its ways, not the upper class, and Heyer took that, added some bits of her own, and made an upper class that never existed, but is seductive in its appeal.
If you study the politics and the power plays of Regency England, you’ll find a world as complex as our own, so calling it a simpler time is perhaps to take Austen at face value, not looking deeper to the bitterly disillusioned woman underneath. That’s why Austen is a great novelist and Heyer a good one.
IMHO.
heyer gives me chills. i’ve read regency buck, devil’s cub and friday’s child. i can’t wait to sink my teeth into the rest of her books!
~lAUra
Well said, Ros.
I just finished this book (I’m working my way through the SBTB “A” reviews) and my feelings are alloyed. It was finely done, despite the annoyingly slow opening with all the fops chatting about snuff-boxes. I wish we’d had a little more of Mary and Vidal together, as everyone seems to have made up their minds rather quickly. The shooting was wonderful, however.
I also loved the description of Mary and Mr. Comyn’s flight to Dijon; two sympathetic characters, obviously liked by the author, who are gradually revealed to be totally incompatible and are too polite to say so. Mary’s practicality is set off by Vidal’s blood-and-thunder rashness, and Comyn’s stodginess is enlivened by Juliana’s bright, flighty nature.