The first time I saw the trailer of the movie that Notes on a Scandal became, I had totally different perceptions about the nature of the plot. I was entirely convinced that the main characters¹ — I’m not sure if you could call them protagonists — Barbara Covett and Bathsheba Hart (Sheba) were lovers, and that that set the stage for the rest of the scandals to ensue. After reading the book, I’m not sure if my previous hypothesis was entirely correct. The story is essentially this: after word leaks out (through expansive efforts of the media) that comprehensive school pottery teacher, Sheba Hart, has been carrying out an affair with a fifteen-year-old student in her tutelage, the “rather dingy” (in Barbara’s words) Steven Connolly, her confidante Barbara, who has known about the affair through Sheba for several months, decides to write a book to explain every last detail of the affair; she claims that this is for the benefit of the media, so that they can perhaps see another side of Sheba rather than the lecherous pedophile they paint her as, but the book ends up revealing Barbara’s own secret: that she manipulated her relationship with Sheba out of her own loneliness, and eventually betrayed her.

The book struck a particular chord with me because I could actually sympathize with Sheba — not because of her crime and obsession (which particularly annoyed me) but her innocence. The impression that Barbara gets from Sheba is that she is a “fey person,” a thin graceful figure swathed in diaphanous skirts. Barbara further alludes to Sheba’s mysticism when she becomes aware that Sheba teaches — rather, will be teaching — pottery at her school:

Pottery. I repeated the word quietly to myself. It was too perfect: I pictured her, the dreamy maiden poised at her wheel, massaging tastefully mottled milk jugs into being.

It really is too perfect. Sheba is very unstable as a character. She has a perfectly settled home, a stable marriage, and two energetic children — Polly, the typical adolescent loner, and Ben, a twelve-year-old with Down Syndrome — that she loves but still neglects in favor of a lover of their age-group. She can readily attack Barbara, a spinster, upon discovering the manuscripts, accusing her of “examining the machineries of other people’s marriages and pointing up the flaws” while she holds herself to a double standard. In Sheba’s world, her affair is perfectly legitimized. By turning her maternal instincts towards Steven in a dreadfully wrong direction, she creates some sort of bubble that she feels is absolutely impenetrable — a dream world. It’s baffling that a woman as well-versed as Sheba, as successful, and as comfortable could find nothing wrong in an affair with an fifteen-year-old, let alone validate it. Barbara’s coverage of her relationship with Sheba seems to try to dissuade the reader from assuming that there is something mentally wrong with Sheba, more that there is something wrong with Sheba’s perception of reality. Sheba, very simply put, doesn’t believe that she’s doing anything wrong at all.

Barbara is also quite interesting. Her role as a history teacher — and therefore her dedication to the creation of this account of Sheba’s demise — utterly dominates her persona. She is cold, relentlessly calculating, and harsh; it is only to Sheba and to her pet cat, Portia, that she even shows any emotion. In Sheba she finds not only her foil but her salvation. Barbara, whose dearest friend left her quite suddenly and entirely relinquished ties with her, is very much alone. She despairs quite fervently about this in the comfort of her own small apartment, tending lovingly to her dying cat, and going through life with simple, dreary daily rituals as company. Sheba, with the same geniality that damns her to her fate in the end, invites Barbara to lunch, to dinner with her family (on several occasions), and steadily looks towards Barbara as a friend whom she can speak to about everything — even intimate details of her life with Connolly. Her reason for telling Barbara this could be interpreted in many ways. Ideally, the reader would assume that Sheba has developed a high level of regard and trust in Barbara, or perhaps that, by my prior hypothesis that Sheba feels that she is blameless, feels that it is nothing more than a little secret to tell. Towards of the end of the book, her true rationale is somewhat more evident: she feels that Barbara, in her spinsterhood, her loneliness, and her pain, is absolutely nothing. Insignificant. Unimportant. Upon her discovery of Barbara’s manuscript well after the media circus had had their way with the story, she has an extremely interesting outburst that not only reveals her feelings for her husband — adding another mystery to her relationship with Connolly — but her opinion of Barbara’s value:

When she spoke again, her voice was low and menacing. “You have such delusions of grandeur, don’t you? It’s fascinating. You actually think you’re somebody. Listen. Let me tell you something. You’re nothing. A bitter old virgin from Eastbourne. You aren’t fit to shine Richard’s shoes.

While her words may be justified, did Barbara truly deserve such a harsh depiction of herself? After all, Barbara did nothing to stop the relationship, valuing instead Sheba’s attention — and confidence — in her; she also, at the pinnacle of the novel, goes on a date with a fellow teacher — an affair she both loathes (for she finds the man terribly annoying) and still, delights in. Was it possible at last that someone had fallen in love with her?

It is at this point in the novel that everything begins to shake and collapse. The teacher, Bangs, reveals not his love for Barbara but for Sheba. Out of jealousy, spite, or sheer humor — it’s difficult to tell with Barbara — she reveals the true nature of Sheba’s relationship with Connolly, although she does not mention the boy’s name. When Bangs eventually goes to the headmaster and the parties involved are notified, Barbara claims a certain air of power and importance at last. She soothes Sheba after revealing that Bangs had some notion of the relationship, but does not ever mention her part in the catastrophic revelation. She protects and nurtures Sheba, inviting her to stay with her after Portia’s death, and helping tend to her nervous state of mind after the affair is made public. Most of all, she controls Sheba, for fear of ever being alone again.

Barbara spoke to Sheba once about being alone. Sheba, who had been prattling on about her lack of worth even after raising a family, including little Ben, and making lovely pieces of art, infuriated Barbara who revealed, very poignantly, her desire to have children, or more completely, to be loved. In Sheba’s company, Barbara not only has companionship but also a feeling of maternal worth that she never would have been able to accomplish on her own. I find that the last line of the novel, part of which is included in the title, evokes that same maternal feeling. Barbara, who is now rather responsible for Sheba, treats her very much like a child. At the close of a very well-written psychological and evocative book, this one line holds the entire aura of the plot in its grasp:

And she knows by now not to go very far without me.

Read 2 comments (Leave a comment?)

Bemused Capybara said:

great entry, you make some really good points. awesome blog, i love your webdesign work.

Posted on June 23, 2007 1:08 PM; Permalink

Ranjani said:

Yay! Comments are working again! Thanks for the compliments! I really liked your post about dreams; it got me thinking :)

Posted on June 23, 2007 2:09 PM; Permalink