Mrs. Engels: A Novel

Mrs. Engels: A Novel

Gavin McCrea

Language: English

Pages: 368

ISBN: 1936787296

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


"The illiterate lover and eventual wife of a coauthor of The Communist Manifesto is the star of this enthralling work of historical fiction."O: The Oprah Magazine

"Lizzie has been brought to life with exuberant force."The New York Times

"Impressive. . . . A memorable portrait of a woman looking for a cause of her own, distinct from the one made famous by her husband."The Wall Street Journal

"Lizzie is as spirited a narrator as a reader could hope to encounter."The Minneapolis Star Tribune

Very little is known about Lizzie Burns, the illiterate Irishwoman and longtime lover of Frederick Engels, coauthor of The Communist Manifesto. In Gavin McCrea’s debut novel, Lizzie is finally given a voice that won’t be forgotten.

Lizzie is a poor worker in the Manchester, England, mill that Frederick owns. When they move to London to be closer to Karl Marx and family, she must learn to navigate the complex landscapes of Victorian society. We are privy to Lizzie’s intimate, wry views on Marx and Engels’s mission to spur revolution among the working classes, and to her ambivalence toward her newly circumstances.

Yet despite their profound differences, Lizzie and Frederick are drawn together in this high-spirited love story.

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Each other like a game, and that was all. She took his money and gifts, and lived like a fine lady of society on the back of him. And he showed her about like a prize. He said it himself, she was his finger-up to his family and the whole blasted bourgeoisie, and it was clear they both enjoyed it a bit too much, she and he. It was vulgar and intolerable, and it was doing no good for the Movement. People, our comrades, were asking questions. I remember hearing them wondering out loud to each other.

Earrings in, but apart from that, she’s the selfsame: sensible petticoat, two pleats in her dress. It’s said she’s had many suitors and could have made a good match more than once, even with the shame of Frederick’s bastard hanging over her, but here she has stayed, devoted and constant, both when the wages have come and when they haven’t. She sees me looking and comes over. “Your glass is empty, Mrs. Burns,” she says, taking it from me and replacing it with a full one from a passing salver.

Fags in their mouths, and it had the atmosphere of a wedding more than anything else. “It’s hard to imagine a grieving widow having to serve delights to such a rabble, but that’s exactly what Mrs. Miller had to do, as it was ordered in the will. Then, after all of that, he didn’t leave her enough to get by on her own.” There’s a pause to allow the shaking of heads. I pass the plate of sandwiches around. “Thank you, but no,” they each say in turn, for they don’t want to ruin their appetites;.

Regular situation. He spends his days collecting bits of smoked cigars from the gutter, which he then dries out and sells back to the tobacconists for a price. And when there’s no cigar butts to be had, he looks over the streets for sticks and handkerchiefs and shawls that have been dropped in the night. Or he digs out the cracks between the paving stones with rusty nails to find a penny. Or he collects dried-out 89 Gavin McCrea dog-dirt for the tanning yards, and bones for the glue makers.

Moss. “That’s how I got these scars here,” Moss says, opening his shirt and taking it down to show his neck and shoulders and back. I turn away. On the other side of the green, at the little tables, people are peering out from under their hats. “Cover yourself up,” I says. He obeys. Puts his hands in his pockets. Spits in the grass. “I’m going for a jimmy-riddle.” 127 Gavin McCrea We watch him go off towards the bushes. A fine figure, no question, but it’s his own fault everybody knows his.

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