Gone With The Wind, Margaret Mitchell

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."





Oh Rhett. You had me at "Goddamnit, Scarlett you tramp-faced skank!"
And the so the book continues. At over one thousand pages, you'd better start likin' Miz Scarlett pretty darn quickly, because it's not as if she's a character who improves upon closer acquaintance.

An interesting question to ask about Gone With The Wind (which will henceforth be known as GWTW) is whether or not Scarlett O'Hara is a feminist. Does a frothed-up-trollop maketh a feminist?

The story goes thusly: Scarlett O'Hara is sixteen living in the deep South pre-civil war, and already The Grand Manipulator. She spends the first five or so chapters shaking her bosom in every direction and pouting like a constipated fish. She's only got the whole freakin' county trying to get in her corset for a little bit of jiggy jiggy, but she wants more, More, MORE! She decides, because a mere mortal man isn't enough, to deify her neighbour Ashley. (This book has ruined the name "Ashley" for me. Anyone named Ashley, male or female, whenever i meet them I just hear Scarlett's voice - Ok, so Vivien Leigh's voice- in my head shrieking over and over and over "ASHLEY! DON'T LEAVE ME!"). So Ashley becomes some kind of demi god, but upon realising Scarlett's *cough cough* "high spirited nature", decides instead to get hitched to his cousin, Melanie. Even marrying a blood relation would be better then being stuck with Scarlett for eternity, never able to escape that high pitched bimbo shriek- or so we are lead to believe. AND SO CREATETH THE TRIANGLE OF LOVE.
The story then goes on for another 900 pages or so, all about Scarlett's various schemes to steal Ashley away from Mellie Hamilton (if you ever wanted to know what a human doormat looked like, I would suggest Melanie Hamilton, bristles and all). Schemes including marrying various men and general prostituting about the town. Because nothing says "I Love You Ashley" like having another man's baby. Oh! I almost forgot, there's a war on by the way and a bunch of people die- but that of course is inconsequential compared to Oh-the-torment-Ashley-doesn't-love-me.
Although I haven't covered it yet, I feel that I should mention a certain Rhett Butler (with a name like that, how could you go wrong?) who is this dude who rocks up and is revealed to be basically Scarlett with a cock. However we all like him more, probably because he spends less time throwing The Tantrum To End All Tantrums. In the 1939 movie adaptation of GWTW, Rhett is played by Clark Gable- who, I'm sorry, does not fit the role of Rhett at all. Sure, he spends appropriate amounts of time throwing Scarlett down stairs (who wouldn't!) and hurling pottery at her head, but he's just not....Rhettish enough for me.

The verdict: GWTW reads like a soap opera. Just when you think everything's dandy, you suddenly realise that Scarlett's pool keeper is actually her illegitimate brother who in fact is now sleeping with her sister. That never happens. But I spent the over-a-thousand-pages hoping that it would. Personally, I enjoy soap operas. The book also reads in parts something like a whispery gossip conversation. It does feel on occasion that Margaret Mitchell is sharing some massive secretly gossip- another quality I do enjoy. In addition, the historical aspect is fascinating- though that of course plays a minor role to Ashley (who is, by the way, a rather insipid individual) and his various, ahem, charms.

Gone With The Wind, by Margaret Mitchell, Scribner (1st September, 1936)