The Peppered Moth
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REVIEW BY JENN MCKEE
The peppered moth, referred to in the title of Margaret Drabble's new novel, evolved over time in response to its environs. Existing near coal towns, pale-colored versions of the moth became extinct because they stood out from their sooty surroundings, while their dark-colored counterparts thrived. Drabble uses the mutated moth to evoke the progression of the family line of Bessie Bawtry, a character loosely based on Drabble's own mother. Readers first see Bessie at the beginning of the 20th century as a young, smart girl who despises Breaseborough, the coal town where she lives; she does everything she can to disassociate herself from it as she ages. However, at the book's outset, her granddaughter, Faro, is back in Breaseborough to attend a talk about an ancient skeleton found in a local cave, and she provides a DNA sample from her cheek lining to find out whether the long-dead man is her ancestor. Thus, no matter how much we try to escape our roots, the centripetal pull of the past feels, in this novel, inevitable. Drabble's narrative dips into different pockets of time freely, concentrating primarily on the three generations of Bawtrys: Bessie, her daughter Chrissie, and Chrissie's daughter Faro. We see them in the moments that set the course for their own lives, which, of course, don't turn out as they planned. At first, it appears that a progression is occurring, and that the generations are becoming increasingly removed, geographically and temporally, from Breaseborough, but then, ironically, the search for connection brings everything back to the source. Drabble's own literary roots show here, as the third person narrator occasionally addresses the reader directly. At one point, the narrator, in reference to the Bawtrys, asks, "What are we to do about these dreadful people?" This Victorian convention, used most famously by Dickens, reminds us of the tradition from which Drabble writes. The plot of The Peppered Moth winds and circles back upon itself, like family stories told at reunions. However, the narrative often lacks momentum and tension. One of the narrator's early interjections urges Bessie, in the best interest of her progeny, not to make the decision (which she obviously did) regarding marriage to her Breaseborough sweetheart. But Drabble here sets us up for a much darker, harsher unraveling than that which actually awaits us. Yes, Bessie is perpetually miserable and makes those around her equally so, but daughter Chrissie ends up, if not happy, at least content and successful, and Faro turns out accomplished and confident as well. To earn the kind of forecasting Drabble uses, much more would need to be at stake than simply one bitter, ornery matriarch. Drabble has her best moments in The Peppered Moth when she explores the evolution of family, the tendency toward flight, and the push and pull of that which precedes us. The moth of the title, indeed, changes outwardly but still floats above the same old stretches of earth. Jenn McKee teaches at Penn State University.
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