It is the size of an infant, and like an infant its ribcage is delicate and pathetic beneath its parchment skin, and its head is large, and its fists are drawn up to its face. But this is as far as the comparison may be extended. For no infant has such fearful claws, and no infant such a snarl, with such sharp fangs in it. And no infant's torso ends in the tail of a fish.
The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock starts with a bang: A merchant in 1770s England who has been worrying that one of his ships is long overdue finally hears word from its captain – it would appear that the man sold the ship in order to buy a mermaid from some Japanese fishermen; a cargo that the captain believes will be the making of his boss' fortune. Mr. Hancock is distressed to learn of the unauthorised deal, and most especially when he discovers just what this “mermaid” looks like. Feeling as though he has no choice but to make the best of it, Hancock agrees to display his curiosity for public inspection, and when the public goes wild with interest, Hancock's fortunes elevate him to the highest strata of society; a height from which the meek and lonely businessman begins to believe that he, too, might deserve some of the finer things in life; including love. With such a beginning, a lightly ironic British tone, and a fine attention to period details, I thought that author Imogen Hermes Gower was setting me up for a thrilling story – but it all kind of fell flat for me in the end. The plot was less interesting than I expected, the characters had incomprehensible motivations, and at nearly five hundred pages, it took far too long to not quite tie everything up.
Here he is, sorry Jonah Hancock: a husband without a wife; a father without a son; paterfamilias of a she-house ruled by little maids, and whose years of faithful work have accrued no fortune to compare to what a freak goblin can bring him.Having lost his wife and stillborn son in the birthing room, Hancock now devotes himself to his business concerns; allowing a young niece and a novice maid to run his household (all overseen by his hectoring sister when she visits). When the sensation of his mermaid reaches the ears of London's premiere bawdy-house madam, Hancock is invited to rent out the mermaid for her use; and when Hancock attends a party at her establishment, he is horrified to witness the debauched orgy to which his “betters” (mainly Members of Parliament) descend. I must admit: I was not expecting an orgy. Hancock's storyline seems mainly concerned with the notions of class and power; how wealth might buy respect and security, but maybe not happiness.
Which are you, then? A beautiful siren or a malevolent little beast?In an alternating storyline, Angelica Neal is a courtesan – recently returned to London after the Duke who had been supporting her died without making provisions for her in his will – and as the madam (of London's premiere bawdy-house) who trained Angelica attempts to lure her back under her control, Angelica looks around for a better situation: she's no common whore, and maybe she deserves love, too. Angelica does attend the madam's mermaid party – at which she is meant to entertain Mr. Hancock – and while she's not much taken with the dowdy businessman, he is smitten (and as the book's title includes a Mrs. Hancock, it's no surprise when she eventually turns to him for rescue). Angelica's storyline is focused on the limited options available to poor girls at the time – one could only be a maid or a whore if one's family couldn't afford a marriage price – and even once Angelica is settled into a respectable situation, she can't shed public perception of who she is:
You are helpless. You are kept. You go where you find yourself best supported, as you always have; perhaps you mistake this for independence, but you are still a whore.This whole middle part of the book was quite boring to me, but an event takes place about three quarters through which perked up my interest again: the tone changes completely, and while I was relieved by this change, it suddenly felt like a different book (and then didn't ultimately live up to this new promise). I didn't like the storyline about the racism faced by the young dark-skinned courtesan (which came from, and then went, nowhere), didn't like the constant infighting amongst the women (of every house) trying to build themselves up by tearing each other down, and didn't think the author had anything authentic to say about Hancock's particular struggles as a man in this world. Even so, I did appreciate the rich period details and smiled every now and then at the book's tone:
It happens that a man named Mr. Brierly is one day caught in flagrante with his horse-boy, or some say with his horse, but either way such prurient interest in the dealings of strangers has no place in this story. It only signifies at all because after this Mr. Brierly hanged himself, the extent of his debts was revealed, and his widow put his house and all its contents up for sale for a very reasonable price.The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock has made for some buzz for first time novelist, Imogen Hermes Gowar; I'm not convinced that it's been earned with this effort.
