Eliza Lucas was a remarkable girl who ran her father’s South Carolina plantations
while he was lieutenant governor far away on the island of Antigua.
I’ve been intrigued to know more about her since my undergrad days at the College of Charleston, but even then I didn’t
realize that my West Ashley townhouse was within a mile of her Wapoo Plantation
home, possibly even on the Wapoo Plantation grounds themselves. I’m thrilled to learn that now, as I’ve
always admired her—and still do after listening to The Indigo Girl.
I do recommend this book, but note
that I may return to adjust this review later, as I’m so curious about the real
Eliza Lucas Pinckney that I plan to learn more.
First, kudos to Boyd for crediting
Eliza’s father for his open-mindedness in allowing his brilliant daughter to
take charge. No matter how competent
their daughters may have been, not all men of the 18th century would
have set this up to happen. So let me amend that: kudos to Boyd and to George Lucas, both.
Maybe. But was it open-mindedness
or sheer ruthless, pragmatic greed?
After all, he was running slave plantations for profit. We’re not talking about someone committed to
progressive social change, not that I know of, and some of the worst slave
conditions meted out by the English were on those Barbados islands, from what I
understand. Did he simply see in Eliza a competent manager? Was it all simply $$$$ signs (or pound signs,
I suppose I should say)? I rather
question him leaving his family in South
Carolina like that. It was harsh to abandon his
family for years—and I don’t believe he ever saw Eliza again. Nevertheless, no
matter his human failures, I’ll give him at least a little credit for not
restricting Eliza based on her gender or age. At the same time, though, I’m
sympathetic to any more traditional men of the time who might have shaken their
heads with concern and dismay.
Boyd makes slavery a central theme
of the book. I understand why, as it’s a near-impossible subject to ignore (or
should be), given the reality of Eliza’s situation. She redeems Eliza fairly well, but I find her
guesswork and premise suspect. I’d love to chat more with her about how she
came up with her plot, but as much as we might wish that Eliza had such an
open, fair mind, I’ve seen little to convince me that she considered the slaves
the way Boyd’s Eliza did. Again, I hope
to read more and make my own determination about that, and I’m sympathetic to
Boyd’s efforts on Eliza’s behalf, but I prefer my historical fiction to accurately
reflect history—though again, I’ll have Boyd’s story in mind when I get to
Eliza’s letterbook, and I might decide that Boyd was right, after all.
I’ll go ahead and reflect on one
element now. In the author’s notes, Boyd
presents as evidence that Eliza signed an emancipation note for Quash, a
mulatto slave. This was when Eliza was
older, maybe near the time of her husband’s death. Wouldn’t this most likely be
her husband’s illegitimate brother or child?
My limited understanding has it that the blood-children of the slave
owners were the most likely slaves to be emancipated—and someone gave Quash his European ancestry. It isn’t a random factoid
here, though I don’t know for sure it had anything to do with his emancipation.
Maybe it just opened doors for him with opportunity. Still—and this is just my
guess—to assume that Quash’s emancipation reflects some overarching
sympathy with abolitionist views seems to be wishful thinking. Again, I’m
looking forward to reading Eliza’s letterbook and will be enthusiastic if I
find evidence in support of Boyd’s interpretation of events. [Later edit: I didn't, not really, though I did see where Boyd seized her inspiration with a very between-the-lines interpretation. Her novel is fiction, after all.]
Despite these reservations, I
warmed to the story quite well. After
getting over my surprise at Eliza’s relationship with Ben and her relative lack
of assertiveness at the beginning of the story—she seemed to be such an
ordinary girl, contrary to my expectations—I found myself pulled into the tale
quite nicely, interested all the way through to the end, when I saw more
of the strong Eliza I suspect was always there, raring to know more about
her.
I started the book in Savannah, Georgia,
a city settled by Oglethorpe. Charles Pinckney refers to the ‘tyrannical
government of Oglethorpe’ more than once, to my delight. It’s rather amusing to
me that while in Georgia,
I wasn’t as engaged in the story, but once I crossed state lines, traveling in South Carolina, I was
fairly riveted.
Far more surprising is that when we
arrived at a terribly sad time near the end of the book, Boyd almost randomly
seems to insert a few of Eliza’s letters. Maybe 4 or 5. I believe she wants us to hear Eliza’s philosophical
tone there, which while not addressing the events in the story, do somewhat
reflect how one might try to cope with the story’s events. So, I’m listening to
Eliza talking about a comet she witnessed—which she goes on about it in two
different letters. Moments later, I see a meteor with a tail in the sky—far
larger than any meteor I’ve ever seen, for all that I’ve gone to watch the
Perseids on a dark island (none of those even compared to this meteor’s size).
So, between the meteor and the
discovery that I practically lived on the Wapoo Plantation site for two years, The Indigo Girl has been a rather magical
experience for me. I like Eliza in the story, and I hope to learn more about the
very-real and quite-remarkable Eliza Lucas Pinckney.
