02 January 2026

The Woman Who Didn't (and the Man Who Very Much Wanted To)



The Woman Who Didn't
Victoria Cross [Annie Sophie Cory]
London: Lane, 1909
159 pages

The narrator is a British soldier who is returning home on leave having served six years in India. He reclines in the aft of a large boat one dark Aden evening, smoking and listening with bemusement to his fellow countrymen squabble with local boatmen as to when payment should be made for services. 


"I should pay now; if you mean to at all," says someone from the stern. The voice is that of a woman. After further squabbling, she adds: "Well, I am going to pay mine, and I strongly advise you to, or we may lose our ship. What can it matter to you whether you pay now or afterwards."

Untitled engraving of Aden in 1885 credited to T. Taylor.
Slowly, the other passengers open their wallets. The boatmen bring them to the awaiting vessel and its long ladder. Our narrator stays back because he's curious about the woman who stood so resolute.

Eventually, she appears out of the darkness. Petite, fetching, and young, her name is Eurydice: 
"It’s an awfully pretty name!"
   "Not with the surname,’ she answered, laughing. "Eurydice Williamson! Isn't it a frightful combination!"
   "I don’t think so," I maintained unblushingly, though the seven syllables in conjunction positively set my teeth on edge.
Together, they enjoy a stroll around the deck, made all the more pleasant through conversation. All in all, the beginning of what? A friendship? A romance? Both seem possible until our soldier narrator leans in for a kiss outside her cabin door. Eurydice avoids his lips, hitting the back of her head in the process. She strikes his chest, then shuts him outside.

Evelyn – the soldier's name is Evelyn 
– makes his very best apology the following day and is taken aback by Eurydice's forgiveness. The remaining days of the voyage toward England's green and pleasant shores are spent in conversation. The soldier is smitten. On the final day, just as he begins to lay bare his soul, Evelyn is met with an unwelcome discovery: Eurydice is a married woman!"

In grand Victorian tradition, the reader is met with a misunderstanding. Eurydice had lost her wedding ring during an unfortunate handwashing incident. Did Evelyn not read the ship's passenger list! Eurydice shares that she is wed to a man who is is unfaithful. Her husband's dalliances began the month after their marriage, and yet she maintains her vows.  

The news strikes hard. Despite his many faults, Evelyn has drawn a line at pursuing married women. He and faithful Eurydice – again, did he not read the passenger list? – choose to never see one another again.

Being somewhat familiar with Victorian  literature, I was fairly certain where this would land. Evelyn would keep his distance until Eurydice's degenerate husband's lifestyle did him in. It wouldn't be long.

I was wrong. 

The Woman Who Didn't is a simple, commonplace story with an unconventional ending that I promise not to spoil.


From the beginning, The Woman Who Didn't (1895) has been paired with our own Grant Allen's The Woman Who Did (also 1895). It is most certainly not an offspring; title aside, I would argue that it is of no relation at all. 

Much has been made about the two these past few decades. In The Cambridge Guide to Women's Writing in English (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999), Lorna Sage describes The Woman Who Didn't as "a deliberate response to The Woman Who Did." Kathryn G. Lamontagne goes further in Reconsidering Catholic Lay Womanhood (New York: Routledge, 2024): "Victoria Cross's The Woman Who Didn't (1895) was written in angered response [emphasis mine] to Allen's work which scandalized contemporary society."

Was it? 

Contemporary accounts suggest otherwise. In the mid-July 1895, two months before 
The Woman Who Didn't was published, Arthur Waugh submitted this to The Critic:


I suggest that the title The Woman Who Didn't has everything to do with publisher John Lane seizing an opportunity to cash in even further on The Woman Who Did, his firm's new succès de scandale

The Woman Who Did is the story of Herminia Barton, a young, educated clergyman's daughter who falls in love with successful lawyer Allan Merrick. Despite the depth of this love, Herminia rejects his proposal because she does not believe in marriage. She convinces her lover that they should simply live together, outside the "unholy sacrifices" matrimony has sustained. But then Allan dies, leaving behind a pregnant Herminia.

What Herminia "did" 
 what she dares do  is raise the child, a daughter, at a time when she would have been expected to give her up for adoption. You see, the title is not nearly as titillating as it would seem.

The Woman Who Didn't concerns a woman who very much believes in marriage, so much so that she is willing to endure an unfaithful husband. And so, Eurydice and Evelyn face separate futures, each made more unhappy for having ever met.

In what way is that an "angered response" to The Woman Who Did? How is it a response at all?

Annie Sophie Cory [Victoria Cross]
1868 - 1952
RIP
The claim is made all the more absurd when one considers the author's other works. In January of the same year, 'Theodora: A Fragment,' her first published work of fiction, was published in The Yellow Book.


As the title suggests, it was written as part of a longer work. Though complete, it wouldn't be published until 1903 under the title Six Chapters of a Man's Life. It revolves around an unmarried couple, Cecil and Theodora. Well matched, they share interests in art, literature, spiritualism and sex. It is more than hinted that Cecil has had homosexual encounters in the past. His attraction to Theodora has much to do with her "hermaphroditism of looks."

Annie Sophie Cory's twenty-six novels and short story collections are replete with positive depictions of 
extramarital sex, so what exactly would have provoked a response, angry or otherwise, to Allen's novel? If anything Cory, who never married, is more likely to have agreed with Herminia Barton:
"I know what marriage is, from what vile slavery it has sprung; on what unseen horrors for my sister women it is reared and buttressed; by what unholy sacrifices it is sustained, and made possible. I know it has a history. I know its past, I know its present, and I can't embrace it; I can't be untrue to my most sacred beliefs."
The Woman Who Didn't ends just that way with 
Eurydice caring for her absent, philandering husband's mother, sacrificing the possibility of a better life with a man she loves, but found too late.

That said, I'm not convinced Evelyn is such a catch.

Trivia: Aboard ship, Evelyn hears a young woman singing "She told me her age was five-and-twenty!" It comes from 'At Trinity Church I Met My Doom':


Fun fact: The author's third novel, A Girl of the Klondike (1899), is set in and around Dawson at the time of the Gold Rush.

New York: Macauley, 1925
Object and Access: First published in the autumn of 1895 by John Lane. My 1909 edition, 
one the earliest paperbacks in my collection, was purchased in 2024 from a German bookseller. Price: €10.35.
When published it cost one shilling.


The front cover illustration depicts a scene that does not feature in the novel. It is almost certainly inspired by Evelyn's unwelcome attempt at a kiss the night he met Eurydice. This of course, should have taken place outside her cabin, not in it.

The back cover features adverts for three other John Lane books:


As I write, I see nothing but print on demand dreck being offered online.

I don't see that any Canadian library has a copy.


Related post:

01 January 2026

'To the New Year,' 'To the New Year,' and More

For the day, the very first poem in Mary Morgan's very first collection of verse, Poems and Translations (Montreal: J. Theo. Robinson, 1887).


The poem appears on page three. This features on page 51:


I wonder which came first. and whether there aren't more Mary Morgan poems titled 'To the New Year.'

Henry Morgan & Co., Montreal, 1890.

I've yet to find a third, but not for want of effort. Mary Morgan is a fascinating figure. Raised in privilege, she was a member of the Montreal department store dynasty. Miss Morgan intended to study medicine at McGill University only to be denied entry owing to her sex. According to Types of Canadian Women (Toronto: William Briggs, 1903), it was after this rejection that she "devoted herself entirely to literature."

Mary Morgan produced six more volumes of verse. Her last book, Glimpses Into the Letters of a Wanderer (London: Elkin Matthews, 1914) was an autobiography. I've never seen a copy. WorldCat tells me that the nearest volume is held by Oxford University, a touch over 5313 kilometers away. Cambridge also has a copy, as does the British Library.

I refuse to believe that the book isn't to be found outside England, and so ask Westmount friends to check the attics of their respective family homes. Let's see what we can do to flesh out Mary Morgan's Database of Canada's Early Women Writers entry this year.


Happy New Year! Bonne année!

Related posts:

29 December 2025

The Three Best Reads of 2025 (two are in print!)



An annus horribilis, wouldn't you say? Strange, too! Never thought I'be be flying the flag of Greenland from the porch of our Upper Canadian home. 

This has also been an unusual twelve months for the Dusty Bookcase in that two of this year's top three reads are actually in print!

Huzzah!


Douglas Durkin's 1930 novel Mr. Gumble Sits Up, reviewed here in 2012 so disappointed that a full thirteen years passed before I got around to The Magpie; this despite having been given a copy by a reader of this blog. He recommended it, suggesting it as the Great Canadian Post-Great War Novel. I think he's right.

First published in 1923 by Hodder & Stoughton, it's currently available here from Invisible Publishing.

Related to Durkin, quite literally, is future wife Martha Ostenso and her award-winning 1925 novel Wild Geese.

Was Durkin the co-author? Evidence more than suggests so.

Will we ever know the extent of his contribution? I expect so.

Do I want to get into it? No, I do not. 

Aging copies of the 2008 New Canadian Library edition are still available for purchase from Penguin Random House. The cover, an abomination, was clearly created by someone who knew nothing about the novel. Who signed off on it, I wonder.


Reuben Ship's The Investigator, a 1956 adaptation of his then-two-year-old radio play of the same name, rounds out the top three best reads. I enjoyed this book more than any other read this year. It made me laugh, and is as relevant a commentary on American politics as it was seven decades ago. 

If I could revive just one of the out-of-print books read this year, The Investigator would be it. However, tradition dictates I select another two books deserving a return to print. And so:

A case can be made for The Salt-Box, her Leacock award-winning 1951 debut, but I consider A View of the Town (1954) to be Jan Hilliard's first true novel. It concerns the approaching sesquicentenary of a Nova Scotia town and the rivalry between the heads of its founding families. The lightest of the novelist's five novels, should it also have won the Leacock? It was up against Joan Walker's Pardon My Parka, which I aim to read next year.

Will let you know.


Winnifred Eaton's second novel as "Onoto Watanna," and her second novel overall, A Japanese Nightingale (1901) was the Montreal author's big commercial breakthrough, I liked it a lot, and was surprised to find that it has not been caught up in the wave of things Eaton – Winnifred and sister Edith –  that has swept through academe these last few decades.

Returning to the in print, three more titles figure, beginning with The Weird World of Wes Beattie (1963), the first book read and reviewed this year.


Had it not been for the good folks at New York publishers Felony and Mayhem, this bit o' fun would've made it to the list of three books most deserving of a return to print. That said, I do wish F&M would stop pushing The Weird World of Wes Beattie as "The First Truly CANADIAN Mystery."

It's nowhere close.


Stephen Leacock's Arcadian Adventures of the Idle Rich (1914) is still in print. The fifteen-year-old copies New Canadian Library edition sitting in the Penguin Random House warehouse have a better cover than Wild Geese, but I recommend the Tecumseh Press Canadian Critical Edition edition edited by D.M.R. Bentley.


Finally, we have Charles G.D. Roberts' The Heart of the Ancient Wood (1900). This was was the most disappointing read of the year, but only because I remembered liking it so much as a young golden blonde university student. This old grizzled guy saw it quite differently.


The Heart of the Ancient Wood is in print today as part of the the Formac Fiction Treasures series.


The Investigator aside, it's no great shame that the rest are out of print. Robert G. Collin's Tolerable Levels of Violence (1983) was interesting for its depiction of a dystopian North America in which law and order has collapsed. It stands in stark contrast with Rev Hugh Pedley's Looking Forward (1913), which imagines a futuristic near-Utopian Canada brought about by the unification of most Christian denominations. Expo 67 obsessives – I'm one! – will want to hunt down copies of A Fair Affair (1967), Paul Champagne's lone novel.

Regrets? Well, I was looking forward to reading They Have Bodies, the 1925 debut novel by Barney Allen (aka Sol Allen), but somehow misplaced my copy. I found it only a few days ago.

Resolutions, by which I mean reading resolutions, I have but one. Since 2009, when I began this journey through Canada's forgotten, neglected and suppressed writing, I've read and reviewed 460 books, barely thirty percent of which were penned by women.

In the New Year, I'll be reading and reviewing books by women only. No male authors. Barney Allen will have to wait.

Should be interesting.

I'm looking forward to it.

Wishing you all a Happy New Year. I'm confident that it will be happier one.

Really, I am.

Related posts:



26 December 2025

The Ten Best Book Buys of 2025 (and four gifts!)



This year, Simon Thomas of Stuck in a Book and Tea or Books fame made a fourth stab at what he refers to as "Project 24," his goal being to purchase only twenty-four books "for myself" throughout the year. The "for myself" bit is important. Why deprive friends?

As most of my books are stored in one of our outbuildings – there's no way they would all fit in the house  I chose to follow Simon's example. My Project 24 had a different carve-out: I would not be counting books purchased at a certain charity shop in nearby Smiths Falls. My justification for the exception had to do with my support of the charity... and, admittedly, the ridiculously low prices. One 2024 visit yielded three signed Margaret Atwood first editions from the 'seventies for two dollars in total.

When June hit I was feeling quite proud of my myself. I'd purchased just eight books. I'd been picky, even at the charity shop, Between Friends/Entre Amis being my only purchase.


All fell apart two days later when I visited a different charity shop, this one in Brockville, where I came across twelve seemingly unopened Folio Society Anthony Trollope novels at $2.50 each. I bought the lot. This meant that to get back on track I would have to keep my wallet in check until November.

Of course, I paid no mind to that constraint, continuing apace until late August when 
contractors appeared at our door, bringing the year's book buying to an abrupt end

Home renovations will do that.

I ended up purchasing twenty-nine books in 2025, which is far from a disgrace when one takes into account the twelve Trollopes. This year's list of best buys is atypical in that it features two Canadian books I already owned, and another that is Canadian in title only: 

The Victors

Robert Barr
New York: Stokes, 1901

There are real bargains to be had with Robert Barr. Most titles listed online are dirt cheap – so cheap that booksellers can't be bothered to provide a photo. Such was the case with this novel. I have no idea what it is about, but the subtitle, A Romance of Yesterday Morning & This Afternoon, intrigues.
The Girl from Toronto

Hugh Clevely
London:
   Amalgamated, 1954

A last minute addition to an order placed with a UK bookseller, the title caught my eye. Hugh Clevely was a Brit. Nothing in the two-columned 64-pages suggests he ever so much as visited Toronto. But that cover!
Lantern Marsh
Beaumont S. Cornell
Toronto: Ryerson, 1923

A novel set in a "provincial city" modeled on Brockville, Ontario, I'd been looking for a copy since buying a home in the area seven years ago. Cornell was born in nearby Athens Township and became a leading figure in cancer research. The jacket promises a "motif of woman-interest introduced in a rather unusual way." Intriguing!

Murder in a Road Gang

Hugh Cresswell
London: Sampson Low,
   Marston, 1936

Long a subject of interest, I tracked down a copy of this early Canadian murder mystery, likely the very first to be set on the Prairies. Illicit drugs figure!


Hearts and Faces
John Murray Gibbon
New York: John Lane, 1916

The scarce debut novel from the same man who would one day write the brilliant Pagan Love (1922).  This one appears to have been inspired by the Parisian art world. I'll let you know. A fortuitous eBay find, I was surprised and delighted to find that the copy I received was inscribed by the author.

A View of the Town
Jan Hilliard [Hilda
   Kay Grant]
New York: Abelard-
   Schulman, 1954

I already owned a copy of Nelson, Foster & Scott first Canadian edition, but this was signed! The author's first true novel, it is one of only two set in Nova Scotia, the author's home province. 

Trespass Against None
Eric Cecil Morris
Montreal: Whitcombe &
   Gilmour, 1950

Morris should be remembered for having co-written 1965's The Squeaking Wheel, but that bigoted screed is as forgotten as his quirky debut novel A Voice is Calling (1947). I was going on about Morris to a friend when I remembered this second novel. The only copy listed online was signed. An easy sale.

Hugh Pedley
Toronto: William Briggs, 1913

Early 20th-century Christian science fiction inspired in part by early 19th-century Washington Irving, in Looking Forward a pious man of science hibernates for decades, awakening to a Canada made utopian by the union of its Protestant denominations.

Sister Woman
J.G. Sime
London: Grant Richards,
   1919

This book is in horrible condition, but is so very rare that I had to rescue it. The Quebec bookseller had no idea what he had.

Unrecognized in its day, the novel has since been returned to print by Tecumseh Press (sadly, also unrecognized).

Anything Could Happen!
Toronto: Longmans, 1961
Phyllis Brett Young

A thing of beauty, I first purchased a copy in Toronto six years ago. This memoir of sorts inspired by a summer spent as a girl in Muskoka is not only signed by the author but also inscribed by her mother as a gift to an English relative. 



Twenty-twenty-five brought four generous donations to the Dusty Bookcase:


The Great Canadian Novel
Harry J. Boyle
Toronto: PaperJacks, 1973

A novel I've been meaning to read for over forty years, if only because of the title. When my parents were in university, both Bonheur d'occasion and Two Solitudes were promoted as the Great Canadian Novel. Fifth Business was mentioned most often during my own university years. What are the kids being told today, I wonder.

I have my doubts that The Great Canadian Novel "lives up to its title," as the late Peter C. Newman claimed, but aim to find out. 

Robert Stevenson: Engineer and Sea Builder
Kay Grant [Hilda Kay Grant]
New York: Meredith, 1969

A gift from the author's literary executor, Robert Stevenson was the second of the author's two biographies, the first being  Where the copy of A View of the Town above is signed "Jan Hilliard." this book is signed "Kay Grant." An accomplished lighthouse engineer, Stevenson was the grandfather of Robert Louis Stevenson. 


Beside Still Waters
Edna Jaques
Toronto: Thomas Allen, 1939

This summer, my friend Forrest Pass fed my Edna Jaques obsession with a copy of the poet's fifth collection. Seventy-five titles in total, of those I've read 'To a Radio' is my favourite.


The Poetry of Robert Henri Alphonse McGee
Bob McGee
Sherbrooke, QC: GGEL, 2025

My interest in Bob McGee can be traced back to the 2023 fiftieth anniversary of Véhicule Press. The poet's Three Dozen Sonnets & Fast Drawings was the publisher's very first book. Imagine my surprise in being contacted by Libbey Griffith asking whether I'd like a copy of this new collection.

Would I!

An inscribed copy arrived in my mailbox a couple of weeks later. It's a beautifully produced collection, featuring Three Dozen Sonnets & Fast Drawings and McGee's 1977 follow-up Shanty-Horses, James Bay Poems, along with the previously unpublished 'The Labovrs of Alphonsvs' and 'Votive Haiku,' interspersed with colour illustrations. The cover painting and author portrait are by Libbey Griffith.

I'll be making a second Project 24 attempt in 2026... even though my Abebooks shopping basket holds eighty-nine books.

Thanks to my beautiful wife Anyès for the photo of those Trollopes. 

21 December 2025

Dusty CanLit Autumn Reads


What a difference a season makes, twenty-two thousand little hours.

Three months ago, I was bemoaning the slim summer haul.

Well, this past autumn saw reviews of old Canadian books from eleven bloggers other than myself. Twenty-seven titles in total!

It warms the heart on a cold December day. 








I'm torn as to which to recommend most, but you can't go wrong with The InvestigatorThe Magpie or Wild Geese.

Must add that the season also saw the release of Contes de Noël d'antan au Québec, a new anthology edited by Jean-Louis Lessard of Laurentiana fame. It can be purchased here through Archambault. Better yet, buy it directly from the publisher Éditions GID.


Félicitations, Jean-Louis!