TW/CW: sexual assault.

I enjoyed The Gown: A Novel of the Royal Wedding by Jennifer Robson, mostly because it tackles a subject that is dear to my heart: why is traditionally-female created art  (think quilting, embroidering, knitting) labeled “a craft” and of less than value than male-produced art? As a historical novel, a full third of the narrative I found to be unnecessary, which meant there were parts of the book I had to slog through in order to get what was actually moving the story forward.

The novel occurs in two time periods: shortly after WWII and in the present day. I struggled with the present day portion of the book because I wasn’t sure it actually added anything to the story. The bits that occurred in the past, I loved.

WWII has ended and Britain’s economy is floundering. It’s a bitterly cold winter, and there is a coal shortage. Ann Hughes is grateful for the work she has working as an embroiderer for the fashion designer Norman Hartnell. Ann and the other all-female embroiderers bring his visions to life through extremely skilled work, and Ann is one of the best among her peers. Hartnell designs clothes for the Queen, meaning the clothes Ann works on must be of the utmost quality.

Despite her skill and the fact that the gowns she works on are eventually worn by royalty,  Ann’s job is not prestigious. She, like most people, is barely scraping by. Her home is cold and she struggles to make due with the rations available to her. Ann is not considered an artist, but a craftswoman. Her job with Hartnell is the product of good luck, not her own remarkable skill.

Ann’s sections of the book highlight the bleakness of 1947 Britain: even though WWII is over, many people are still suffering from its aftereffects. One of those people is Miriam Dassin, a Jewish Frenchwoman who survived the horrors of Ravensbrück while the rest of her family was murdered. Prior to the war she worked at a fashion house, so, desperate to escape the memories of occupied France and her own imprisonment, she leaves the Continent for England where she is hired (through her own determination) by Hartnell. Miriam keeps her faith a secret, still terrified by how precarious her situation is and traumatized by what she survived.  She befriends Ann, and the two eventually live together.

When Princess Elizabeth’s wedding to (the future Prince) Phillip is announced, Miriam and Ann are thrilled to find out that they will be doing the embroidery on the royal wedding dress.

This was the section of the book I loved so much. We have Ann and Miriam slowly forming a friendship that becomes an almost sisterly bond. They take care of each other as neither of them has any family in England. It is Ann who helps Miriam fit in and feel welcome at Hartnell’s, and it is Miriam who picks Ann up after she suffers a devastating attack and the course of her life is changed drastically.

Important note:

Ann sketches her own fashion designs in her spare time, helping another coworker modify a hand-me-down wedding dress into something more fashionable. Miriam embroiders tapestries of her family, preserving their memory. There’s a section in the book where Ann, in awe of Miriam’s ability, questions why what they do is not “art” and pushes Miriam to accept herself as a real artist.

I’ve always been fascinated by the art that women produce, things like quilting, embroidering, and knitting, and by how it is assigned a lower status than, say, painting or sculpture. There’s often a practicality to traditionally female art–the piece may serve a purpose other than just to be displayed–and I wonder how that dual purpose can possibly make it less valuable.

I recently saw a really beautiful display of quilts at the Birmingham Art Museum in Alabama and I was in awe of the level of skill and creativity required to produce such remarkable pieces, especially in a time when everything would have been done entirely by hand and without electric lighting. Museums seem to always have paintings, usually done by male artists, permanently on display. I wish more art such as quilts and needlework were included as default acquisitions by art museums, and treated with equal appreciation.

The Gown points to this disparity and also gives us insight into the fictional lives of the women who made Hartnell’s work real. He designed it; they created it. And they were artists in their own right, with their own creative visions.

I also loved the idea of a group of women gathering around an embroidery frame, working together on something they creatively enjoy, while also supporting each other emotionally. Knitting groups, quilting circles, and sewing bees are often safe spaces for women to engage in a shared hobby while also forming friendships and networks of support.

The third of the book that didn’t work well for me was the section set in 2016. Ann has long since migrated to Canada, and when she passes away, her granddaughter Heather is surprised to find she’s been left exquisite pieces of embroidery. She does a little research and wonders if her grandmother worked on the royal wedding gown. She travels to England to discover more about her mysterious grandmother’s life.

All of that is great, except we already know everything Heather will find as we see it in Miriam and Ann’s sections of the book in 1947. Nothing new is revealed, and so we’re just rehashing parts of the plot that have already happened.

There are two romances in this book, although neither of them is explored very deeply. I was very happy to…

If you love to sew or embroider or knit and if you love the history of those things, then I think The Gown may work beautifully for you. It’s a lovely work about female friendships that are forged in shared creativity, though it’s unfortunate that some of the book felt added on to create length.