'The Princessa: Machiavelli for Women' by Harriet Rubin Is Anything But Macchiavellian

Author Sophia Alexander
holding Rubin's The Princessa

The Princessa (1997) is anything but Machiavellian—for women or otherwise!  The title is catchy—shocking, even—and I suppose they went with it for that reason, plus it does convey the promise of gleaning tactics for getting what you want.

  I liked many of the concepts that Rubin expounded. It never hurts to consider ideas like her poorly-termed ‘besting’, which she uses to describe authentically working for the best for everybody involved, including the ‘enemy’—which will help them to trust you and see you as more of an ally. Rubin promotes bravery and honesty, while discouraging petty tit-for-tatting, all of which I applaud. However, the way she lays out her ‘tactics’ certainly does make the honest expression of emotions sound manipulative—which concerns me that she’s providing fuel for any gaslighters out there who might be trying to figure out us women. Yet since that art-of-manipulation was rather the implied promise of the title, I suppose she did the best she could while still giving good, wholesome advice.

By this same token, however, I fear it may convert ordinary readers into being gaslighters themselves! Near the end, she interprets others’ ‘urgent’ messages as manipulative maneuvers, and she encourages readers not to let such measures ruffle our equanimity. Once others learn that we won’t fall prey to this tactic, they’ll stop using it on us, she asserts. I blinked, thinking, “Obviously, since they’ll know that we’re not someone to go to in times of crisis.” Rather a shame to make people give up on us—including bosses and mothers!

Rubin does include a few inspirational stories of peaceful resistance—like Ghandi’s and a French pastor’s wife, Magda Trocmé, who hosted Jewish refugees openly, refusing to be secretive about it. Magda got by with it for a long time, too, which is the inspirational part of the story, though of course it eventually landed her in some trouble.

Unfortunately, the book began with a frustrated trio of women whose lives were a disaster despite some outward success, but it never cycled back to telling us how their lives had improved as a result of these strategies. Instead, it fell at last on the teachings of Stoicism, with the uplifting final encouragement: “When does a candle shine the brightest? The answer is always in the dark.” 

So I really must conclude, in the absence of encouraging updates, that for all Rubin’s research, her new tactics had not yet yielded much tangible benefit for herself nor for her friends.  Instead, she presents Epictetus’ Stoic advice to focus on controlling our own perspectives, sometimes the only thing we have any power over; having been a slave for many years, he knew what he was talking about. Despite this wise encouragement, the reader walks away from the book awash with a sense of powerlessness, the theme of her final story—which was about a damaged POW taking comfort in the wise teachings of Epictetus. While the teachings may help us to cope, it’s hardly what any woman was going for when she picked up the book, I’m fairly certain.

 

A Restrained & Complex Cast in 'The Clockmaker's Daughter' by Kate Morton

Author Sophia Alexander with 
the audiobook of Kate Morton's
The Clockmaker's Daughter

The Clockmaker’s Daughter by Kate Morton is a complex, somewhat sad, but delicious ghost story to bask in, restrained in a rather Victorian manner. The story meandered, encompassing protagonists of different eras, but the writing was beautiful, and the author’s characters have a certain poetic refinement that I cherish now more than ever.  I adored Joanne Froggatt’s narration, too, which certainly adds to my recommendation of this novel.

At the heart of the story is a mansion in the countryside where most of the central characters eventually wind up for some period of their lives—including the ghostly presence of Birdie, though she only flits through sporadically, at most a faint influence. The whole cast of characters have their own intricate stories, the fates of several kept dangling until the very end.  There is romance, much of it bittersweet.

My biggest critique, I suppose, is the meandering nature of the story, but Kate Morton eventually ties together the disparate stories in a most satisfying way. This is so well done that I’d retract my criticism… except that this tendency to skip tracks did cause me to put down the story on more than one occasion, feeling utterly lost at yet another new storyline.  So if you do give this beautiful novel a go, just keep barreling through, knowing that the strands will all come together eventually.

This is my first Kate Morton novel, but I anticipate more in the future. First, though, I may just repeat this one!  I don’t tend to repeat novels (at least not within the same decade), with just a few special exceptions, but I may soon just start this one over from the beginning, now that I understand the cast of characters and their relationships to one another better.