56 pages • 1-hour read
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Content Warning: This section features discussion of graphic wartime violence and death of a child.
Peggy’s character arc in The Bookbinder is a journey of clashing with the divides that have structured her life in terms of gender, class, and profession. The novel examines how social boundaries are maintained or endangered, revealing the difficulties of crossing social boundaries.
Peggy’s greatest wish is to study at Somerville College and go from binding the books to reading them, discussing their ideas, and, ultimately, contributing her own ideas to the discussion. One of the greatest boundaries she faces is the divide between what the residents of Oxford call Town and Gown, as the University is perceived as a separate world from those who live and work within the city. The term Gown is a metonym for the scholars’ gowns worn by those who study and teach at the university. Though Peggy works at the Oxford University Press, which shares grounds with university buildings, she has only ever associated herself with Jericho, the working-class and industrial neighborhood, a polar opposite to the classically designed buildings of the school.
Peggy feels that the long-established division will work against her in two ways. First, she fears that her formal schooling, which ended at age 12, will not prepare her for college study. The second barrier she senses is the attitude of her fellow workers at the bindery that she exhibits pride, arrogance, or vanity to wish for college, and in attempting to cross this customary boundary, she shows that she thinks she is better than her bindery peers. In wishing for equal treatment and opportunities, Peggy invites scorn for attempting to move across these long-established social classes. Further resistance to this crossing of class boundaries shows in her work at the hospital. Peggy is considered an appropriate volunteer to assist regular enlisted men, but not officers, who typically come from upper social classes, as Gwen does.
Another example of boundaries emerges in the gendered workspaces of the Press, where the binding activities are assigned to the women, and the work with machines, heavy tools, or more specialized activities like repair are considered men’s work. These borders can be crossed at the discretion of men, such as when Mr. Owen enters the women’s area to ask for help binding Esme’s book. These boundaries are blurred by the war’s demands for soldiers and workers, which leaves it up to the women to move into men’s roles, such as when Peggy is offered a job as a reader or when Aggie leaves to work in the munitions factory. For the women, this is considered progress, but Gwen wonders if the level of respect for work done by women will ever change.
While a large-scale social disruption like war can upset long-held social boundaries, Tilda’s work as a suffragette shows an alternate method for changing these traditions—in this case, long-term activism and social pressure that eventually results in changes like certain women being allowed to vote or Oxford University granting women degrees. Gwen’s reflection on how women have proved themselves during the war raises the question of how these class and gender-segregated practices arose in the first place. Peggy suspects the answer to this question is one of value: Her example is the field of literature, in which works authored by men have long outnumbered (and have been accorded higher respect than) works by women. The outcome of the war and the social changes that follow suggest that these boundaries are largely upheld by custom or tradition and, when challenged or interrogated, can yield and allow progress toward equality.
The background of World War I through much of the novel means that the war is a chronic conflict, but the thematic focus is less on the actual conduct of war than its impact on those who fight the battles, those who aid or support the soldiers, and those who are left at home to continue with ordinary daily life. The Bookbinder explores how individuals, institutions, and broader social conventions respond under the pressure of large-scale conflicts like war or epidemics. On a more personal level, the experiences of several characters show how individuals respond to sudden loss, and how—and whether—healing after war is possible.
Bastiaan and his “war face,” as Peggy calls it, provides an explicit symbol of the cost of war. Bastiaan’s permanent scarring and slow recovery illustrate the physical challenge of recuperating and healing from grave injuries. He shows his ability to adapt in his use of a mobility aid—a cane—as well as adapting to the use of only one eye, just as he adjusts to a new job, new living quarters, and even Peggy’s rejection and then return. This ability to adapt is one reason he is able to survive. Another reason is his development of a strategy to cope with the trauma he experienced, a practice he describes as laying his dead to rest inside the graves of St. Sepulchre’s. Once the war is over, Bastiaan returns to the country of his birth, pursues the architectural career he dreamed of, and finds employment in the wholesale need to rebuild. This return home is another successful adaptation, one likewise illustrated by Jack, who comes back to work at the Press and live with his parents, learning to deal with his shell shock in his own way.
The opposite example is provided by Lotte, who is never able to come to terms with her loss and grief. Lotte’s despair is expressed by her evaluation that her life has turned to ashes; everything she loved was destroyed by the German army’s invasion of Louvain. Though Lotte is able to find temporary solace in the company of Maude, who it seems reminds Lotte of her son, her severe response to Mrs. Hillbrook’s loss of her son illustrates that Lotte does not have adequate coping strategies to deal with her loss. Her declaration that Mrs. Hillbrook could not live without her son becomes a physical reality of the emotional devastation Lotte faces. Lotte’s wounds, like Bastiaan’s scars, are permanent, as irrevocable as the loss of life encountered by Mr. Owen, Tilda’s brother Bill, and so many others.
Tilda’s dependence on alcohol as a numbing agent helps her deal temporarily with the trauma she witnesses and participates in daily, but her efforts to achieve sobriety while on leave suggest she knows this isn’t a strategy that will lead to long-term health. Instead, it is those like Maude and Bastiaan, who learn to adapt to their new circumstances, who find themselves surviving. Miss Garnell, the Somerville College librarian, suggests, with a touch of guilt, that there might be a silver lining to the cloud of war, and this is that certain social barriers will be eradicated and there might be increased opportunities for survivors. This ability to reform and adapt, the novel shows, is the only real way to survive these wholesale personal and social upheavals more or less intact.
Not surprisingly, a novel that is about the physical process of creating books is also deeply interested in the impact that stories, books, the literary arts, and ideas have on human experience and imagination. As Miss Garnell suggests to Peggy in her discussion about translation, the construction of meaning is a highly individual exercise, even when an idea is collectively admired or an emotion is shared. Throughout the narrative, Peggy reflects on the legacy of literature and ideas.
The different books that Peggy is assembling in the bindery provide an ongoing commentary on this topic, beginning with the works of William Shakespeare, one of Britain’s most admired native literary figures. Peggy spends time thinking about why Shakespeare is celebrated, even centuries later, just as she wonders about the license that editors might take to “correct” Shakespeare’s work. When the Press begins printing pamphlets that foster discussion on war as a philosophical ideal, she notes that a work by the early modern thinker and explorer, Sir Walter Raleigh, still contributes to the conversation, even though his work is centuries old as well. This return to earlier authors, reaching as far back as Homer, suggests that certain aspects of human experience pertain across historical eras and cultures, and that the preoccupations of earlier civilizations might inform or still speak to contemporary concerns.
Peggy’s own experience of growing up surrounded by books turns this legacy of literature from a philosophical concern to a matter of personal inspiration and growth. Listening to Ma read from her favorite works, tell stories from works like The Odyssey, or discuss why she liked certain works, like the dramas of the classical Greek playwright Euripides, all inspire Peggy’s love of stories and respect for literature, which in turn inspires her longing to study these subjects at the university level. Peggy’s recollection of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë as being the first adult novel she loved shows that this interaction with books is, for her, personal and affective as well as a philosophical engagement.
In part because her early life and her imagination were so shaped by Ma’s love of books and storytelling, Peggy feels the desire to pursue literary studies as an essential part of her identity. She wants to participate in this ongoing legacy of interpretation and creation of meaning and become a vehicle for delivering ideas in a way far different from the physical assembly of books, even though she values books as artifacts and worthy items on their own.



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