"Ross Poldark" is the first book in "Poldark" novel series, written by Winston Graham, and originally published in 1945 to 1953, and then continued from 1973 to 2002. The story follows young Royal Army officer Ross Poldark upon his arrival in Cornwall from the American Revolutionary War only to find out that his father Joshua passed away, leaving nothing but abandoned home and two drunken servants behind, England struggling through the poverty of lower class citizens, and his beloved Elizabeth Chynoweth—believing Ross is dead—is now to be wedded to his cousin Francis.

At first, it appears that he has nothing to do in this place which he once called home and looked forward to returning to but his sense for righteousness and equality after he saw how low local economy fell, copper mines being entirely owned and dictated by all and one man—George Warleggan—a banker who built the empire on hard work and sweat of poor workers, Ross decides to stay, open his father's mine in spite of all the others getting closed due to owners' inability to return borrowed credits from the Warleggan bank, and start anew. He ventures on this new journey with help of Jud and Prudie (servants), his local friends, and young Demelza Carne—a girl he found in the town, being abused and beaten by her father— and who he brought to his home to be a kitchenmaid and who will, years later, become his wife.

I usually don't have only one particular preference when it comes about genres because I love to read everything that has both—a good story that will keep my interest most, if not all, the time and decent writing style. I guess this is what most of the readers look for as well but I really won't read anything that is less than that, even if I need a vacation from the current reads. I know some people like to take a break and read very light writing that won't make them think hard about it but I don't do that to myself. With this being said, Winston Graham's "Poldark" novel series has both—a good character development and an appealing writing style. This isn't a light reading that you can take in one seat but it also isn't too hard. The only reason why I stretched reading through the entire month is because I was captivated with poetic descriptions and careful characters' development. You are immediately attracted to not just the main character Ross but also to everyone else who happened to be on his way in this first book. If you appear to love poetic writing style in novels, if you love to read historical romance (with less or not at all sexual intercourses), intertwined with political opinions and acts of the 18th century then this novel series is highly recommended.

Like I mentioned above, the writing style is what I loved the most in this book. Here is a very long excerpt, describing the misery of Ross's cousin Verity after she was ripped apart from the Captain Andrew Blamey whom she was in love with.

"Ross Poldark, chapter fourteen, page 208"

Her eyes moved round the room. Every article in it was familiar with the extreme unseeing intimacy of everyday association. Through the long sash window and the narrow window in the alcove she had looked with the changing eyes of childhood and youth. She had looked out on the herb garden and the yew hedge and the three bent sycamores in all the seasons of the year and in all the moods of her own growth. She had seen frost draw its foliate patterns on the panes, raindrops run down them like tears on old cheeks, the first spring sun shine dustily through them on the turkey rug and the stained oak boards.

The old French clock on the carved pine chimneypiece, with its painted and gilt figures, like a courtesan from the days of Louis XlV, had been announcing the hours for more than fifty years. When it was made Charles was a thin strip of a boy, not a breathless empurpled old man breaking up his daughter's romance. They had been together, child and clock, girl and clock, woman and clock, through illness and nightmare and fairy stories and daydreams, through all the monotony and the splendour of life.

Her eyes went on, to the glass-topped display table with the carved legs, to the two pink satin bedroom chairs, the cane rocking-chair, the stumpy brass candlesticks with the candles rising in steps, the pincushion, the embroidered workbasket, the two-handled washing urn. Even the decorations of the room, the long damask curtains, the flock wallpaper with its faded crimson flowers on an ivory ground, the white plaster roses of the cornice and ceiling, had become peculiarly and completely her own.

She knew that here in the privacy of her own room, where no man except her brother and her father ever came, she could give away, could lie on the bed and weep, could abandon herself to sorrow. But she sat on the chair and didn't move at all.
There were no tears in her. The wound went too deep, or she was not so constituted to give way to it. Her would be the perpetual ache of loss and loneliness, slowly dulled with time until it became a part of her character, a faint sourness tinged with withered pride.
~~~

Instead, this room, which had seen her grow to maturity, would see her dry up and fade. The gilt mirror in the corner would bear its dispassionate testimony. All these ornaments and furnishings would be her companions through the years to come. And she realized that she would come to hate them, if she didn't already hate them, as one hates the witnesses of one's humiliation and futility.
~~~

The long summer days were full of interest about the farm: the sowing, the haymaking, the harvesting; butter and cheeses to superintend, syrups and conserves to make. The winter ones were full, too. Needlework in the evening, making curtains and samplers and stockings, spinning wool and flax with Aunt Agatha, brewing simples; playing at quadrille when there were guests, or helping Mr.Odgers to train the choir at Sawle Church, dosing the servants with possets when they were ill.

This winter too there would be a newcomer in the house. If she had gone, Elizabeth would have been doubly lost: Francis would have found the well-run routine of the house suddenly out of joint, Charles would have no one to arrange his cushions or see that his silver tankard was polished before each meal. For these and a hundred other small needs the household depended on her, and if they did not repay her with overt thanks they showed her a tacit affection and friendship she couldn't disregard.
~~~

Last year she had drifted on a tide of custom and habit. She might have so drifted, without protest, into a contented and unambitious middle age. But this year, from now on, she must swim against the stream, not finding stimulus in the struggle but only bitterness and regret and frustration.

She sat there in the room by herself until darkness came and the shadows of the room closed about her like comforting arms.

There is absolutely nothing I didn't fancy in this book.

Like any other reader, I guess I wanted to continue with the second book in the series which I eventually did of course. The ending wasn't a shocking cliffhanger. It is the care for the characters that makes me want to continue with the reading.

I really think I was born in the wrong century. Winston Graham's writing is so engaging, his characters are being polite and eloquent even in rivaling situations, they have classy manners which people nowadays, unfortunately, don't have. This all made me feel respect even for the protagonist in this story—George Warleggan. Yes, he is really on top of them all, using the poverty of ordinary citizens only to build a life in richness for himself. He is selfish, an emotionless man whose parents didn't have an ancient name that Poldarks had and everything he has now is because he extorted it one way or another but he exudes some kind of respect in his behavior, his body language which is exceptional if I may add. Being a protagonist means being hated, I know, but hating George Warlaggen in my book isn't applicable. I think I just don't engage excessively with any character in any book which I saw is the case with the other fans. I like George for what he is and how he is portrayed and for that I can only feel appreciation. I'm unable to really hate or really love characters even if they engage me in the story with their appearance.

Winston Mawdsley Graham OBE (30 June 1908 – 10 July 2003) was an English novelist best known for the Poldark series of historical novels set in Cornwall. Graham's father, Albert Grime, was a prosperous tea importer and grocer. His second son, Winston, was born at 66 Langdale Road, Victoria Park, Manchester on 30 June 1908, at 8 a.m. As a child, Winston contracted pneumonia and on medical advice was educated at a local day school, rather than Manchester Grammar School which his father had in mind for him.

When he was 17 years old, Winston moved to Perranporth, Cornwall. He had wanted to be a writer from an early age, and following the death of his father, who had previously been incapacitated by a stroke, he was supported by his mother while he wrote novels at home in longhand and attempted to get them published.

I'd recommend it because it is not your ordinary historical romance. There is so much of the politics, surrounding life in Cornwall in the 18th century. You will find that the main character, Ross, isn't your ordinary romantic who would recite you poetry, bring stars from the night sky, or look into your eyes and shower you with love exclamations. No. Ross will love you in his own, peculiar way—with his strong will and heroic characteristics, his sense for fairness and equality. And, for this, you will definitely love him back.

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Created Jan 29, 2019 at 10:50am • Submit your own review...