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This book was picked up on the whim: I wanted something to read by the pool, on a holiday in Chiang Mai. Chosen purely because it was the one book sitting snug and new in a wrapper, in the bookstore I chanced by.

An orphan of a novel, Orwell himself disowned it and was displeased by its continued publication. My theory: he had set out to write something satirical — an absurd situation and life — only to find it an embarrassingly accurate depiction (of a woman’s life). Put off by the unintended veracity (curses! i am a satirical political writer, not a feminist! thought he.)  he disavowed and swore against the title thereafter.

But boy am I glad it was written.

There was something deeply immersive about the inner world and adventures – or misadventures – of Dorothy. The phases in the novel are crisp and concise: her former life, hops picking, as a school teacher, etc. Each section compelling; necessary; brilliantly paced and placed. 

What was intended to be a light poolside read had me hooked – on a vacation! I read for hours in the balcony, the pool, the airport, on the plane and savoured each page till the last.

This book doesn’t get lost in itself – it is controlled, coming back to a full circle. Despite all Dorothy has experienced and overcome, she is back at ground zero. This despairing ending by her will and choice, not by her stupidity nor forces of plot. Yet, it was wholly relatable. The entire story has been built so you understand Dorothy’s upbringing, environment, inner beliefs, thoughts, and progression, and how it could have hit that brick wall when the ultimate decision was to be made.

I would go as far as to say this was one of the most raw and truthful depiction of a small town woman’s life in 1930s England I have read.

Now as for the surrounding characters: as much as they were caricatures, Orwell’s satire did a remarkable job at fleshing each one out. True, they were vehicles carrying highly specific socio-political messages. But really, everyone has an entirely disagreeable Rector Hare, a free-spirited and selfish Mr Waburton, and a shit-stirring gossip-monger Mrs Semprill, in their lives. Chances are they play to their caricatures all too well.

My verdict: Every woman should give A Clergyman’s Daughter a read, and find yourself both despairing and relieved. That there are aspects of Dorothy’s helplessness we can relate to; that we have the illusion of choice at times, but in fact not at all. But also that we have come really, really far from where Dorothy was. We have agency and choices that, even when difficult, is freedom in themselves.