Isola: A Novel

“To admit Nicholas’ interest was to throw herself away. To refuse him was to risk offending. He might speak to his father, and he, in turn, could complain of us to Roberval. In anger, Nicholas might call Claire rude or loose—all that she was not. He might sully her good name—and how could she defend herself? Hearing ill reports, the Montforts might throw her from the house.”

Nicholas Montfort lusts after the pious Claire, and his intense affection threatens the woman’s livelihood, highlighting The Personal Impact of Gender and Class Inequality in 16th-century France. Nicholas has the power to say whatever he wants about Claire to ruin her reputation, and no matter what Claire does or says, she won’t be believed because she is a woman.

“I shook my head. ‘We won’t see each other ever.’ Even in my bitterness, I knew she had no choice but to work for the Montforts. Roberval had done this, denying me Claire. He had stolen our friendship, as he stole everything. But he won’t have my ruby, I thought, as I slipped my ring from my finger. ‘Remember me.’ I gave Claire my mother’s jewel.”

Rings, a central symbol in the text, represent Marguerite and Claire’s innermost selves. Marguerite exchanges rings with Claire the night before she must depart to live with Roberval in La Rochelle and leave Claire behind. By leaving her ruby ring—her most prized possession—with Claire, Marguerite symbolically saves a piece of herself from Roberval, who thus far has had complete control and possession of Marguerite.

“‘There are places we have not imagined,’ my guardian said. ‘Unknown cities and new rivers. We must find them, and we must do it first.’ With wonder in his voice, he said, ‘What lands will we discover? What new fruit and animals? What countries will we conquer for the King?’”

One of Roberval’s key character traits is his lust for power, and this quotation demonstrates his eagerness to conquer a new land and acquire a glowing reputation. As Roberval discusses plans to sail to New France with his navigator, captain, and shipwright, his words of wonder also expose how little the men know about the lands they seek out, which foreshadows the danger of the voyage.

“‘Compared to you, he’s common. But he lords it over us because he’s your guardian’s man.’

‘Is he so arrogant?’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Alys gestured downstairs. ‘The cook scolds me. I cuff the kitchen maids. That’s the way of things.’”

Alys’s explanation of the hierarchy among the servants reinforces the ways in which Marguerite’s society is governed by prescribed class and gender inequities. Alys shows that even the servants have ways of exerting power over one another within the confines of their class. Like Roberval, the servants confirm their positions of authority by accosting those beneath them, even if, to someone like Marguerite, those hierarchies are indistinguishable.

“I learned verses to recite to Damienne, but in the passageway and outside he kitchen door. I sought Alys, who enjoyed the world and all the people in it. Keen as a sparrow, she snatched up every crumb of conversation. She listened to messengers and to the cook and to the grooms, and from her, I learned that Roberval was delayed again.”

This quotation illustrates the disparity between Marguerite’s practiced exterior and her internal desires. With Damienne—a woman who demands propriety—Marguerite diligently studies her psalms, but what Margeurite truly wants is information about her setting and about Roberval’s movements. Marguerite envies Alys’s freedom of movement, so she compares her to a bird, the text’s primary symbol of freedom.

“Hesitating, I enraged him. When he rebuked me, I lost confidence, and as I stumbled more, his fury grew. Then I longed to hear him speak again with gentleness, and I ached for his sweet words. So, by degrees, he instilled a strange obedience. I feared, and yet I craved his lessons.”

Roberval psychologically torments Marguerite to manipulate her into obedience, illuminating the extreme power disparity in their relationship. In this quotation, Marguerite describes her complex feelings towards Roberval’s lesson—fearing making mistakes because of Roberval’s vicious punishments and also wanting to impress him and receive his praise.

“‘I believe in symmetry.’

‘Do you believe in providence?’ I said. ‘Do you think God brought us here upon this ship? And that every circumstance is by design?’

‘I do believe in providence,’ the secretary said. ‘Although I cannot always understand it.’”

Auguste’s confession that he sometimes questions God’s divine plans, though he trusts that neither the good nor bad will outweigh the other, empowers Marguerite to confront her own doubts and ask her own questions. The idea of “symmetry” in the world sticks with Marguerite as she grapples with her faith, and she appreciates Auguste’s honesty about his doubts, which she hasn’t heard from her other companions before.

“Do you think him handsome? Alys had asked. And I had answered that I did not think of him at all. Of course, I had not considered him, but that was when I walked upon the ground. I was unmoored now, floating without a home or dowry or prospect of a family. In this place that was no place, I did think about the dark-eyed secretary.”

Marguerite describes how her new home aboard the ship has altered her perception of propriety and granted her a new sense of freedom. She uses figurative language to express how the rules and expectations of French society have no bearing on her while she is at sea. Because she feels “unmoored” in a “place that was no place,” Marguerite is emboldened to consider Auguste as a real love interest, even though she had rejected this possibility back in France.

“If we were reckless, our voyage seemed riskier than any action we might take. If we drifted from our rightful places, the world itself was water. Every moment the ship sailed into the map’s blank space. And so we lived from night to night, whispering, embracing, and delighting in each other.”

Marguerite and Auguste’s secret meetings grow more reckless as they fall deeper in love with each other. Marguerite compares their disobedience to their voyage to the New World to illustrate the relative danger of each act. In Marguerite’s mind, her meetings with Auguste cannot be any more perilous than sailing to an unknown, uncharted land, so she refuses to give up her pleasure for the sake of safety—since that safety has already been taken from her on this voyage.

“‘Are you afraid?’

‘No,’ I said, because I thought the worst had happened. ‘I am done living fearfully.’

And he laughed and kissed me, saying, ‘If we are castaway, yet we are castaway together.’

I added, ‘And though we have been punished, we have escaped.’”

On the first night on the island, Marguerite acknowledges the paradox of being abandoned in a dangerous wilderness, yet finding herself finally free of Roberval’s grasp. The relief she feels hints at her transformation during her time on the island, underscoring the novel’s thematic interest in Survival Conditions as a Catalyst for Personal Growth. Even after all the hardship and loss she endures, Marguerite retains this fearlessness when she confronts Roberval once she returns to France.

“And she contrived a little broom from a bough she found on one of the dwarf trees, and she used the whisk to sweep our hearth and granite floor. In his way, she kept house, and she named each place so that our granite ledge became our kitchen, our driftwood shelter was our chamber, and at some distance in a crevice, we maintained our privy. Damienne deemed all of this necessary because, she said, ‘We must remember who we are.’”

One of Damienne’s key character traits is her adherence to propriety, as she believes behaving in a virtuous way, even when no one is around to see, helps maintain a person’s humanity. Here, Marguerite explains how Damienne continues her habit of “[keeping] house” even while on their isolated island, continually insisting to Marguerite, “We must remember who we are.” Damienne chooses to face her hardship with a hyperbolic domesticity, going so far as to label natural items with common room names.

“Like the birds, Auguste and I slept in open air. Gratefully we rested without enemies, and looking up at the dark sky, we counted ourselves rich in stars. Cast together, we might sing and laugh and kiss just as we pleased, and we enjoyed the paradox that bound us. Imprisoned, we were also free.”

Marguerite describes the island as a paradox because of the contradictory feelings it evokes. Roberval intended the island as a prison, but Marguerite and Auguste feel freer than ever—although they have no riches, they feel wealthy in stars and natural beauty. These contradictions evidence an element of truth: Marguerite and Auguste are free to behave any way they please due to the isolation of their punishment.

“Hadn’t I read of hunting in the book of ladies? Queen Zenobia left her palace and armed herself with sword and spear. Stalking wild game, she climbed steep mountains and slept in forests on the ground. Princess Camilla grew up hunting with her exiled father. She clothed herself in animal skins and ran swiftly as a hound. I imagined myself like these women, fleet and brave.”

Here, Goodman alludes to Christine de Pizan’s historic The Book of the City of Ladies, which collects stories of extraordinary women to counteract misogynistic stereotypes. Marguerite recalls stories from the book of ladies as she helps Auguste hunt on the island, finding inspiration in the stories of women performing traditionally masculine duties like hunting that help her to overcome her fears.

“Then I recited Marot’s rhymes. ‘He makes darkness his secret place. / In heavy clouds, he hides his face.’

‘You see that God is with us,’ Damienne told me.

I said, ‘With the steadfast, you are pure.’

‘Go on,’ said Damienne.

‘With the forward, you are less sure.’

‘God is in the darkness and the clouds,’ said Damienne.

I said, ‘In the storm itself?’

And she said, ‘Assuredly.’

‘But why? To punish us?’

‘To humble us,’ she said.”

Marguerite recites from her book of psalms while she, Damienne, and Auguste are trapped in their cave due to a snowstorm. Throughout the novel, Roberval weaponizes the psalms to manipulate and control Marguerite. This moment emphasizes Marguerite’s association of the psalms with punishment, as she immediately understands the storm as a divine punishment for her sins. However, Damienne helps break this association with an alternate reading, seeing the storm instead as a lesson.

“Once again, I wore Auguste’s boots, but this time I wrapped my feet in cloth so they would fit. I donned Auguste’s cloak. Across my chest I strapped the heavy bandolier with plugs of powder.

Damienne said, ‘It isn’t right to wear the trappings of a man.’

‘I promised I would live,’ I said. ‘And I have no choice but to shoot. If I must shoot, then I will carry what I need.’”

After Auguste dies, Marguerite takes up his duties as hunter, stepping fully outside of the prescribed gender roles of her society and embracing her authentic self. By clothing herself in Auguste’s cloak and boots—even imperfectly with her “feet in cloth so they would fit”—Marguerite symbolically assumes his masculinity and qualities than aren’t typically “right” for a woman to have.

“Alas, even after I ate the porridge, I had scant milk. For two days, my poor child suckled desperately, but I could not nourish him. My body was so tired and so thin.

‘I cannot let him die,’ I told Damienne.

‘We must pray,’ she said.

‘No,’ I told her. ‘I must hunt.’”

Marguerite gives birth to a baby boy, but she’s too thin to produce milk, which threatens the baby’s life. This interaction exposes Marguerite and Damienne’s opposing views to hardship. Where Damienne believes prayer and faith in God’s mercy will save the baby, Marguerite thinks only of the practical matter of improving her health to improve her milk production.

“‘He is with the angels now,’ she said, ‘and with his father.’

Such was her goodness, but I cried out, ‘Why was he born, if he is happier in heaven? Why was he? Can you tell me that?’ And I would not change my clothes, or eat, or even drink. Nor would I allow Damienne to touch me—not even to comb my hair, as she had always done.”

The loss of Marguerite’s child pushes her to confront her belief in God and reject the concept of suffering as a punishment for sin. Marguerite believes her punishment is too great for the sin she committed against Roberval, leading to a crisis of faith as she believes that God has completely abandoned her. Although Damienne tries to comfort Marguerite by accepting the tragedy and proclaiming the baby is now safe as an angel, Marguerite finds the whole situation deeply cruel.

“Her grief shook me. I who had thought only of my own. If I had been wounded, why did I wound her? If scripture would not comfort me, did it follow that it could not comfort her? How cruel I had been to deny Damienne. What had she ever done but love me? ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘We will read together.’”

Marguerite refuses to read the New Testament aloud, and later she hears Damienne cry because she cannot read the scripture for herself to find her usual comfort in its words. In this moment, Marguerite transforms from selfish to selfless, as she recognizes how focusing on her own grief has made her neglect the suffering of her nurse— an innocent party in their punishment. Marguerite learns to not only live for herself, but to live for her nurse.

“If Auguste had lived, we would have comforted each other. If my child had lived, I would have sheltered him and kept him warm. With Damienne, I would have prayed—if not for myself, for her sake. But I was left alone, and so I did not eat, or bank the fire, or pray. No one watched me; no one noticed what I did; and I had no one left to love.”

After all of her companions die, Marguerite is left completely alone on the island, and she grapples with the purpose of her survival. In a string of parallel statements, Marguerite imagines what she would do if each of her companions was still with her. When the parallelism breaks with the “But,” she confronts her tragic reality. She employs parallelism again to describe her solitude, and the repetition of “no one” in the final statement emphasizes just how isolated she feels.

“‘Forgive me,’ I called out, and I meant forgive my lack of faith, my anger, and my willfulness—but most of all, I begged forgiveness for hiding in my cave. Silently, I pleaded, Raise me. Bring me back. Gather me as the tide gathers shards of ice.

This was my prayer. Not for rescue or escape, but for my soul, which had been sick. I gazed at waves rising and shattering, and this was my resolve—to remember myself as God remembered me.”

Marguerite witnesses a mysterious but beautiful phenomenon at the shore, and the power of this mystery awakens her to God’s presence—a spiritual awakening that leads her back to her faith on her own terms. Until this point, Marguerite has huddled in her cave and lived only to satisfy her basic needs, like an animal. The natural beauty she witnesses reconnects Marguerite to genuine faith and her humanity.

“Strange I must have seemed, striding into the melee. I did not think to pity these poor creatures as a pious woman should have done, nor did I hesitate to seize a wounded bird and slit its throat. I had lived so long upon the isle that I no longer knew how to disguise my hunger or display my tender heart.”

Marguerite brings a pair of Basque fishermen to the bird cove as a show of friendship, but her now-instinctual behavior surprises the men, who are still accustomed to European society and its gender restrictions. Having lived so long without confinement, Marguerite doesn’t think twice before hunting and killing a bird, which is not typical for a “pious woman” with a “tender heart.” Marguerite’s experience of freedom on the island exposes just how restrictive her life back in France was.

“But Claire interceded. ‘Do not strike her. This woman is in pain. She’s hurt.’ And although she did not recognize me, she helped me to my feet. Although I looked a filthy beggar, she did not shy away but held my arms to steady me. Claire, I thought, did I doubt you? Did I ever know you?”

When finally Marguerite returns to Perigord in rags, her pupils and companions don’t recognize her, but Claire still offers her sympathy. This scene demonstrates one of Claire’s main character traits—her devotion to Godly virtues. Where the other women shun or even abuse Marguerite for her lowly appearance, Claire offers her charity. Upon her return to France, Marguerite experiences both gender and class prejudice due to her haggard appearance.

“‘Why?’ I looked him in the face. ‘Would you turn me out? I can sleep upon the ground. Would you starve me? I know how to hunt. Would you break my heart? You have done it—and I do not have another heart to break. There is nothing more that you can do to me. I will not listen.’”

In a key moment in her character arc, Marguerite stands up for herself, asserting her autonomy, no longer afraid of Roberval’s threats. Roberval returns to Perigord and tries to prevent Marguerite from speaking with the Queen, but Marguerite firmly declares that she won’t listen to his manipulations anymore. Marguerite uses and answers her own rhetorical questions to emphasize the harms Roberval has already inflicted upon her, each of which she survived.