Jane of Lantern Hill is one of L.M. Montgomery’s lesser-known works, but it was always one of my favourites. Rereading it as an adult, though, I could not help but notice that almost all of the tropes pervasive in Montgomery’s works seem to have found their way into this volume. I suppose, as Montgomery’s last novel, it was bound to be somewhat repetitive, but it caused me to question what it was about Montgomery’s work as a whole that I liked so much as a child.
The conclusion I arrived at was that I essentially liked the emphasis in the novels on the transformative and restorative power of nature, coupled with the sense of female power derived from domestic abilities. While these characteristics are found in other of Montgomery’s novels (one could create a rich matrix of tropes and volumes—in fact it is likely that someone has), they form the underlying themes of Jane of Lantern Hill.
The story is premised on a stereotypic—and metaphoric—contrast between restrictive urban life (at 60 Gay Street in Toronto) and rural freedom (in the cottage on Lantern Hill on Prince Edward Island). Jane Victoria Stuart—Jane to her mother and Victoria to the rest of her relatives—lives a life repressed by her overbearing, embittered grandmother; her misery is compounded by the derision cast at her by her uncles, aunts, and cousin Phyllis. That she is doted on by her mother does not mitigate her position, as her mother, Robin, disgraced herself by marrying Jane’s father against the family’s wishes, and only partially redeemed herself by leaving him when Jane was three. The story opens as Jane discovers that her father, whom she has been told is dead, wants her to join him in her birthplace—Prince Edward Island—for the summer.
A series of Montgomerian serenditpities transform Jane’s initial anger at the father who could possibly hurt her gentle loving mother into the soulmate that she has been longing for. A journalist and a poet, her father awakens in her life the beauty that Jane had always felt was hiding somewhere in the world—but was certainly absent from 60 Gay Street. The story of course, ends happily, with the little family reunited in their mutual forgiveness. That is not what interests me most as an adult reader, though, and not really what captivated me as a child.
What I found and find most interesting is young Jane’s ultimate arrival at a place of strength and self-assurance surpassing that of either of her parents. While Andrew Stuart brings joy and beauty to Jane’s life, he is also largely responsible for the mess that is his marriage. Jane’s mother is little more than a stereotype: the quintessential sheltered young rich girl who attempts to break free but is ultimately not strong enough.
While Robin is merely weak, Andrew’s fault lies in trusting the older sister that he loves, and believing unequivocally in her goodness. It takes Jane a while to figure out that her Aunt Irene’s charitable interventions and attempts to help little Jane play house are in fact her way of controlling her brother, of being the only woman who matters to him. Slowly (she is after all only 11), Jane begins to realize that in playing this same game 10 years earlier, Aunt Irene was largely responsible for the rift between her parents. She recognizes as well, though, that her grandmother’s matriarchal control, her mother’s weakness, and her father’s obliviousness all contributed in no uncertain way.
Intelligent and energetic, Jane is a natural homemaker, with an inner strength that has helped her survive her grandmother and life at 60 Gay Street. She brings this strength to Prince Edward Island, and it underpins her relationships with all she encounters. Her domestic activities give her the self-confidence to begin to stand up for herself in a way that was not permitted in Toronto. Slowly as she grows in self-assurance, she becomes able to see more clearly the machinations of the adults in her life, and in some ways to steel herself against them.
Montgomery presents Jane’s strength and youthful immaturity together in a believable balance, and her slow growth towards a more adult understanding of her parents’ relationship is entirely believable. As a reader, I wanted fairly early on to scream out at Jane’s mother: “Oh, for goodness sake, grow a backbone!” Late in the story, when Jane’s mother comments (whines) that Irene “kept pushing us apart… here a little… there a little… I was helpless,” Jane’s internal response is: “Not if you had had just a wee bit of backbone, Mummy” (205). I almost cheered for our Jane.
The tension in the story is very much between Jane and her female relatives, not between women and patriarchy. Where Jane’s mother was unable to stand up for herself, Jane does not suffer from the same weakness. One gets the feeling that in end the little threesome will survive as a family not because the parents are actually better people—although they have both realized how they were manipulated—but because Jane will not allow them to be so easily duped again.