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A review by fiction_aficionado
The Words in My Hand by Guinevere Glasfurd
4.0
From the moment I began reading this novel I was drawn into Helena Jans’ world. At the risk of sounding like I am overstating the matter, there was some stunningly beautiful writing. I cannot think of any other way to say it. Guinevere Glasfurd has taken what little we know of Helena Jans and woven an evocative story of a passionate thinker and the young maid whose simple observations and desire to learn capture his mind.
The entire novel is written in the first person from Helena’s point of view. We begin, briefly, in the middle of Helena’s story as she is taken away from Mr Sergeant’s book store where she worked as a maid. From there, we travel backwards slightly, becoming acquainted with her and her situation, before we are introduced to Monsieur – Rene Descartes. And the story flows from there.
One of the things I found so utterly enchanting about this book was the way in which there was an almost childlike simplicity about Helena’s observations, and yet a striking depth at the same time. Everyday life in 1630s Holland doesn’t just come alive, it breathes character. Helena herself is a complex mix of strength and vulnerability, intelligence and innocence, and a product of a time when women were not taught letters and numbers. But she had a hunger to learn and improve, satisfied first by her brother when she was a young girl, and later by using beetroot juice and writing on the only thing she has to hand. Literally.
Rene Descartes is perhaps most well-known for his conclusion Cogito, ergo sum (I think, therefore I am), and yet it would probably have been just as true for him to say ‘I am, therefore I think’, especially if his representation in this novel is anywhere close to the truth of his character. There was a kind of obsessiveness about his intellectual life that is probably true of all geniuses to varying extents, and it can’t help but impact those closest to them. Would Helena have made different choices if she could have looked into her future? I don’t know. I suspect not. Regardless of the outcome, the story was beautifully wrought.
Some readers may care to note there are a few instances of crass language and/or sexual references, and Helena and Monsieur’s physical relations occur on page on a few occasions (on the low end of the descriptive scale). These instances were infrequent and brief enough that they could be passed over, however they did temper my enjoyment of the novel slightly, as reflective by my four star rating rather than five.
The entire novel is written in the first person from Helena’s point of view. We begin, briefly, in the middle of Helena’s story as she is taken away from Mr Sergeant’s book store where she worked as a maid. From there, we travel backwards slightly, becoming acquainted with her and her situation, before we are introduced to Monsieur – Rene Descartes. And the story flows from there.
One of the things I found so utterly enchanting about this book was the way in which there was an almost childlike simplicity about Helena’s observations, and yet a striking depth at the same time. Everyday life in 1630s Holland doesn’t just come alive, it breathes character. Helena herself is a complex mix of strength and vulnerability, intelligence and innocence, and a product of a time when women were not taught letters and numbers. But she had a hunger to learn and improve, satisfied first by her brother when she was a young girl, and later by using beetroot juice and writing on the only thing she has to hand. Literally.
Rene Descartes is perhaps most well-known for his conclusion Cogito, ergo sum (I think, therefore I am), and yet it would probably have been just as true for him to say ‘I am, therefore I think’, especially if his representation in this novel is anywhere close to the truth of his character. There was a kind of obsessiveness about his intellectual life that is probably true of all geniuses to varying extents, and it can’t help but impact those closest to them. Would Helena have made different choices if she could have looked into her future? I don’t know. I suspect not. Regardless of the outcome, the story was beautifully wrought.
Some readers may care to note there are a few instances of crass language and/or sexual references, and Helena and Monsieur’s physical relations occur on page on a few occasions (on the low end of the descriptive scale). These instances were infrequent and brief enough that they could be passed over, however they did temper my enjoyment of the novel slightly, as reflective by my four star rating rather than five.