Book Review of “The Velveteen Daughter” by Laurel Davis Huber.
The author of the classic, bestselling children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit was Margery Williams Bianco. Pamela Bianco was her daughter, and she was an artist, recognized for her talent when only a child, with her first showing at a gallery in Turin Italy, at the age of 11. If you haven’t heard her name, that’s no surprise. Child prodigies grow up, and many fade from the limelight as adults. Sometimes, that’s because their uniqueness as children seems mundane for adults. Other times, their early fame was more than they could handle. Laurel Davis Huber’s novel investigates the relationship between these two women, with her own theories why Pamela and her work is relatively unknown today.
First, a confession: Of course, I’ve heard of the book The Velveteen Rabbit but I never actually read it as a child. As sacrilegious as that may sound, Huber was generous enough to add the text of the story into this book, so if nothing else, at least that’s one less hole in my literary education. While that might sound like a “filler” tactic, I can assure you that this novel about far more than just this classic children’s story. In fact, it is hardly a more than blip on Huber’s radar. Instead, what Huber investigates here is the relationship between Pamela and Margery, while at the same time, having these protagonists give us their own views of their lives, through their own first-person accounts. In this way, we are able to assume the relationship, rather than witness it. Moreover, it occurred to me that Huber might have used Margery’s famous work as a metaphor for Pamla’s life, which is impressive, particularly for a debut novel.
Huber achieves this using a prose style that is gently conversational, yet subtly injected with poetic passages whenever the story needs an infusion of emotion. With this, Huber chose to let these two women tell their stories with a somewhat fluid chronology that allows the reader to understand the timeline of events, with some backwards and forwards passages to fill in certain blanks. Of course, most of the flashbacks come from Margery to times before Pamela was born or was very young. To begin with, I found this method made the first couple of chapters a bit confusing to me, which I partially attribute to the fact that I had no prior knowledge of either of these two women. Nonetheless, this feeling passed very quickly, and I soon was engrossed in both these women’s lives. Thankfully, this transition happened just as Huber started bringing in a slew of other characters, many of which were actual parts of the lives of this family. These included the artist Pablo Picasso (considered a child prodigy himself), and playwright, Eugene O’Neil, who was married to Margery’s cousin. Most significant of these minor characters is Richard Hughes, the Welsh writer who preferred that his friends call him Diccon.
Diccon ends up being a central character in Pamela’s story, due to her having fallen in love with him when she was still a young girl. In fact, Huber seems to posit that this unrequited relationship, coming precisely as Pamela was going through puberty, was one of the more significant triggers for Pamela’s many bouts of depression. Other causes that Huber points to are such things as genetics (via her father), as well as the family’s financial dependence on Pamela continuing to be a commercially viable artist. Of course, depression is a highly complex mental illness, and while Huber cannot give us a comprehensive diagnosis, her assumptions seem mostly reasonable. Moreover, as we watch Margery dealing with both her husband’s and her daughter’s problems, and witness Pamela’s description of her condition, this novel then also becomes a portrait of this disease, almost even more than a depiction of the connections between a mother and daughter, together with the study of these women’s lives.
While this may sound like it might make for a depressing work in itself, Huber succeeds in instilling no small amount of hope into this novel in an attempt to sidestep giving the work an overall gloomy atmosphere. Mind you, at times the book did feel a bit sullen, and I feel that Huber could have added a few more lighter passages for the sake of greater variety of mood. This, combined with some passages that I felt was superfluous to the essence of the story (in particular, regarding the troubled marriage of O’Neil and Margery’s cousin Agnes), which disrupted the flow of this book for me, are the reasons why I’m not giving this book a full five stars. Aside from those niggles, I truly enjoyed reading this novel, and will recommend it warmly (especially if you’re curious about the lives of children’s fiction authors and/or child prodigy artists) with a solid four out of five stars.
“The Velveteen Daughter” by Laurel Davis Huber published by She Writes Press, released July 11 2017 is available from Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Canada, Barnes & Noble, Kobo Books (USA, Canada & Australia), iTunes (iBook or audiobook), The Book Depository (free worldwide delivery), new or used from Alibris as well as from an IndieBound store near you. I would like to thank the publishers for sending me an ARC of this novel via NetGalley.