Finished Albert Nobbs, a book that kept me guessing until the end.

I’ve wanted to read it for a while, since I’ve always liked books with gender bending, or obscurely gendered, protagonists. I did not come blind to the book; I chose it I knew it was about a woman who disguises herself as a male butler. But how, and why, and what happens after that, was what kept me turning the pages. Though a novelette, I read it slowly, and may read it yet again, just to digest the richness of the language and the archaic style of writing.

(This review contains spoilers, so if you hadn’t read it, and are wanting to be surprised, like me, don’t go any further.)

This book carries a reputation as being sympathetic towards characters who are breaking away from the gender norm. In reading about the author, George Moore, after I finished, he was indeed sympathetic towards gay and lesbian characters and endowed them with sympathy and humanity, something that was not common in the age in which he wrote. The mentions are low key, as in Albert Nobbs, but clearly there; however, they are just as clearly overlooked by readers wishing to see a more mainstream narrative.

Albert Nobbs begins by not being about Albert Nobbs at all. Instead, it starts with two blokes having a chat in Dublin about how the city has changed, and one of them casually mentions the strange butler who used to terrorize him as a child by his (her) unworldly appearance:

… his squeaky voice remains in my ears. He seemed to be always laughing at me, showing long, yellow teeth, and used to be afraid to open the sitting-room door, for I’d be sure to find him waiting on the landing, his napkin thrown over his right shoulder. I think I was afraid he’d pick me up and kiss me. As the whole of my story is about him, perhaps I’d better describe him more fully, and to do that I will tell you that he was a tall, scraggy fellow. With big hips sticking out, and a long, thin, throat. It was his throat that frightened me as much as anything about him, unless it was his nose, which was a great high one, or his melancholy eyes, which were pale blue and very small, deep in the head.

The narrator then tells the story of the butler’s life, acting as a stand-in for the author who might have told the story to the reader directly, but by using that framing device removes himself from the more controversial twists and turns therein. So the narrative is twice removed, but, somehow it works, and the framing device that seemed clunky also allowed the writer to express his own ideas about class and gender.

Albert’s adventure starts when, having been established as an exemplary employee who lives in her employer’s hotel to save money, she is requested to share her bedroom and bed with a contractor doing some painting for the hotel’s owner who can’t find any other accommodation for the night. (I’m sure this was a common occurrence in the Victorian age the story takes place in, and perhaps something of a plot cliché of that time too.) Albert fears being exposed as a woman, yet tries to make the best of it as she shares her bed. And of course she is exposed as a female… and, as it turns out, the painter she thought was a man is, in fact, a female in disguise just as she is!

This chance meeting and the painter’s story (which is a story in a story in a story) of leaving an unhappy marriage and disguising herself as a man to earn a trade, even marrying an accepting woman to join economic forces and gain a middle class life, gives Albert ideas. She discovers she need not labor alone and incognito, always fearful of being found out, but can find a trusted confidante, gain respectability, and live a normal life… all hinging on finding another woman who agrees with her plan, as her true gender cannot be kept a secret even in a marriage of convenience.

The story turns humorous as Albert mulls over possible candidates, before deciding on a maid who works in the hotel who she thinks has the proper temperament. She begins her courtship, but can never quite be fully trustful of Helen, the young woman who believes Albert a man, yet not enough not like a man. Helen has a casual boyfriend in Joe, a waiter who also works at the hotel, and the difference between him and Albert makes her suspicious. She knows Albert has more money and respectability and offers advancement for her life – Albert carefully save and buys her courtship gifts to prove just that – yet the dissonance is there. Thus the two never quite connect, and things go haywire, and the disillusionment and heartbreak begin.

It’s all psychologically on the nose, and in spite of the framing of the story, and the Edwardian language, and the odd way it is written (long, long, paragraphs, no quotation marks) I was drawn into it completely. The language was oddball in parts, yet lyrical. It would have been perfect read out loud.

When the tragedy plays itself out, the framing device muffles rather than amplifies it, driving the lessons home without additional emotional wear and tear on the reader.

The story can be read as a cry for gay acceptance, and also a manifesto for a dreamer. But my take on it is that it’s more a mild parody of the Protestant middle class than an allegory of queerness. Hard work and having savings, Albert believes, are necessary for a middle class Victorian Dublin, which includes a townhouse, piano, nice carpets and lace curtains. It’s also necessary for men and women to marry and join forces in this endeavor, so therefore, it makes sense for one partner or the other to switch genders to gain it.

Touching, sly, and heartbreaking. I give it five stars. ( )

This came to me as a recommendation from Carolyn McBride. I enjoyed it, especially considering the time in which it was written, and its length. I felt it was packed full of emotion anyone can relate to regardless of gender. I think part of the reason for this was its layout, with speech being in text and not separated, it made the reader feel almost overwhelmed by the information coming off the page. I did find the ending a little obscure, but I may just need to reread it. I was struggling to read it on my phone because I couldn't find it on Kobo and had to use a reading Kindle reading app, but that takes nothing away from the writing, rather a grumble at its availability. The piece worked very well as a short and I was surprised by its depth of feeling and expression. I felt the Albert's angst, hopes, and sorrow. I would recommend this to others. ( )

This novella served its purpose, apparently, by inspiring the film in which Glenn Close and Janet McTeer put in stunning performances, and Gabriella Prekop and John Banville turned a highly flawed book into a heart-breaking film.

It's late 19th century in Dublin; Albert Nobbs, a successful waiter in an upscale hotel, is forced to share his bed with a house-painter, Hubert Page, during an especially busy time. Albert resists, but finally has to relent. His reluctance is born of the fear that allowing another man into his personal space will result in the exposure of the secret he has been keeping for years---Albert is really a woman. Well, as it turns out, so it Hubert. They have both found it convenient, if not vital, to present themselves to the world as men in order to survive without resorting to prostitution or submitting to otherwise abusive relationships. Upon learning that she is not alone in choosing this lifestyle, Albert is rather more confused than relieved, and must now struggle with her perception of herself. The core of the story is brilliant, if rather poorly executed in the book. And Moore sets it in an inexplicably useless framework of one man telling Albert's story to another years after the fact. We have no idea who this narrator is, nor who he is talking to, let alone how he could possibly know the intimate details of Albert's and Hubert's personal lives. He can't be Albert, because we are told of Albert's eventual death. Could he be Hubert? Just possibly, I suppose, but there is nothing whatever to suggest that we are meant to conclude that. The movie adds and subtracts from Moore's story in ways that I feel only improve it, and the cast alone makes watching it a worthwhile experience. (The always-delightful Pauline Collins appears as Mrs. Baker, owner of the hotel, and Mia Wasikowska is perfect as a maid who Albert contemplates "marrying" after Hubert explains his own cozy living arrangements.) As short as the novella is, don't waste your time reading it. Watch the move instead. Not a recommendation I put forth often! ( )

Una joya literaria de la literatura irlandesa, es este pequeño libro que sorprende lo que guarda en sí.

Nos habla de varias vidas, pero hay uno en particular, Albert Nobbs. Un hombre solitario con un universo diminuto, solo él y su vida, su historia. Parece insignificante, sin trascendencia, inocua, pero ahí está el valor, cuando más nimia más significativa es. No solo es un hombre solitario, es un hombre solo, en realidad una mujer vestida de hombre inmensamente sola en el mundo. Muchas veces me he preguntado qué será sentirse totalmente solo, sin amigos, sin parientes, sin familia, sin una pareja, ni siquiera una mascota. Solo tu trabajo y tú. No puedo imaginármelo. Pero el autor lo describe tan claro, tan fácil que parece nada, pero para Albert Nobbs lo era todo, lo fue todo.

Y este inocente y tranquilo hombre o mujer siempre estaba sola, por lo menos hasta que se murió la que fue como su madre, su Aya. De allí las circunstancias de sobrevivir la llevaron a vestirse como un hombre y así estuvo trabajando, ahorrando y viviendo muy recatadamente hasta que Herbert Page se cruzó en su vida y cambió su mundo. No revelaré qué hizo para no desvelar el kit del asunto, pero significó un antes y un después.

Albert empezó a tener sueños de lo que quería en su vida, no quería estar sola y morir sola, quería a alguien en su vida. Es curioso cómo antes no se planteó eso, se volvió casi una obsesión.

El autor toca otro tema muy importante en esta historia, la homosexualidad en la mujer. Y lo muestra sin tabús, pero sí en la época que se publicó el libro, lo era, un duro realismo para la sociedad de aquel entonces, tan restrictiva y llena de prejuicios. Allí estaban y existían, las situaciones que las llevó a vestirse como hombres, comportarse como hombres y ganarse el sustento como tales. Pero el autor toca algo más, no solo bastaba ganarse el sustento, deseaban una familia, una pareja, hijos, una casa... y les aterraba estar solas. Pero lograr una convivencia no era una tarea fácil porque ni siquiera era un tema del que se podía hablar.

Moore no solo retrató perfectamente a Albert Nobbs, sino a todos los que trabajaron cerca de Albert, hombres y mujeres como la vida misma de aquel entonces, preocupados por sus trabajos, pobres y con un escaso salario, sin esperanza de abrirse camino para algo mejor. No faltaban los oportunistas, los guiados solo por el interés, los cotillas, los avariciosos y lujuriosos, pero sobre todo, un mundo de hombres donde la mujer pobre tenía muchas menos posibilidades de aspirar a un hogar, solo trabajar sin descanso.

George Moore también delinea temas como mujeres jóvenes embarazadas y abandonadas, el futuro de hijos bastardos, el abuso del trabajador, la esperanza de cruzar el charco y encontrar un futuro mejor, el constante peligro al que es sometida una mujer soltera, sola y pobre, el maltrato a la esposa, el abandono de los hijos, etc.

En resumen esta historia remarca a los marginados por las convicciones sociales, en especial las mujeres, contada desde una visión de un hombre. Y la inocencia que puede haber en un corazón como Albert Nobbs.

Un libro pequeñito pero grande en los pensamientos que podemos extraer a partir de él.

http://warmisunquausten.blogspot.com.es/2013/10/mas-que-homosexualidad-la-soleda... ( )

But her secret forced her to live apart from men as well as women; the clothes she wore smothered the woman in her; she no longer thought and felt as she used to when she wore petticoats, and she didn’t think and fell like a man though she wore trousers. Who was she? Nothing, neither man nor woman, so small wonder she was lonely.* (p. 39, Chapitre 3).

En refermant cette longue nouvelle, je ne peux m’empêcher de ressentir une immense tristesse et une immense solitude. Pas de cette solitude choisie et heureuse de celui qui se suffit à lui-même, mais la solitude de celui ou celle qui vit si seul au milieu de la société qu’il ne sait plus comment être au monde. Une solitude tellement au-delà de la simple solitude qu’elle ne se connait même pas.
Albert, parce qu’un jour elle a décidé de prendre des habits d’homme, n’est plus ni homme ni femme, et érigeant ce secret pesant dans la société ultra-codifiée de la fin du XIXème siècle comme une barrière infranchissable entre elle et le monde, elle se perd dans une solitude sans fond, dont elle finit par ne plus avoir conscience tant elle est la seule chose qui constitue son identité.

Cette nouvelle est étrange. Son scénario est peu crédible, mais qu’importe, c’est un prétexte. Les sujets qu’elle aborde sont nombreux si bien que l’on perd un peu le fil de ce que l’auteur veut dire. Il est question d’identité, de regard de la société, mais aussi de rêves de vie meilleure. Il est même question d’homosexualité, le regard graveleux des autres lorsqu’ils apprennent la vérité biologique me paraît assez proche de ce que ces questions peuvent soulever de réactions malsaines aujourd’hui encore.
Il est un peu dommage que le propos se perde ainsi, et, plus qu’une réflexion sur l’identité, je retiendrai cet irrémédiable sentiment de solitude, ce cuisant constat d’échec, même quand les rêves ne sont que ceux de chandeliers sur une cheminée et d’une petite boutique pour gagner honnêtement sa vie. « There had never been anything in her life but a few dreams, and henceforth there would not even be dreams. »** (p.84, Chapitre 4).

* Tentative de traduction : « Mais son secret l’obligeait à vivre à l’écart des hommes comme des femmes ; les vêtements qu’elle portait avaient éteint sa féminité. Elle ne pensait plus comme lorsqu’elle portait un jupon, mais elle ne pensait pas non plus comme un homme bien qu’elle porte un pantalon. Qui était-elle ? Rien, ni un homme ni une femme, rien d’étonnant à ce qu’elle soit seule. »
** Tentative de traduction : « Il n’y a jamais rien eu dans sa vie, juste quelques rêves. Dorénavant, il n’y aurait même plus les rêves. »