Shakespeare’s Macbeth has long been steeped in a macabre tradition: misfortune befalls those who take part in performances. The play itself stirs up eerie feelings in readers and audiences. It’s even been said to be cursed.
Ava Reid’s historical fiction novel Lady Macbeth carries on this tradition seamlessly — it’s undeniably dark, twisted and unpredictable.
The Bard’s classic play centres around Lord Macbeth, Thane of Glamis, and his usurpation of King Duncan’s throne. But the focus of Reid’s novel is on Roscille of Breizh, Macbeth’s foreign young bride whose eyes are said to induce madness in men. Traded by her father for a political alliance with Macbeth, she must shield herself from the violence of her new home by whatever means necessary — even if it means bloodying her own hands.
Shakespeare casts Macbeth as a bit foolish, while his wife is the one who pushes him to kill his allies to gain the throne of Scotland. In Reid’s novel, however, the Lord and Lady Macbeth are constantly locked in an unspoken struggle for the upper hand. There is frequent mention of sexual violence, which Roscille fears from her husband and which pushes her to use tactics to protect herself.
Equally as significant in Reid’s book is the internal struggle between Roscille of Breizh and Lady Macbeth. While she performs violent deeds, she asks herself whether her time in Glamis has transformed her or simply revealed her true nature. Reid’s prose captures this struggle eloquently.
The book undoubtedly takes aim at the unjust and violent treatment of women throughout history. Roscille has no doubt in her mind that her marriage to Macbeth will bring about misery and ultimately, death.
The treatment of one theme in the book was surprising: witchcraft. It contributes to the dark mystery shrouding the setting of Glamis.
Reid’s book presupposes that witchcraft is real and that Roscille being a “hagseed” — a witch’s offspring — is a reality. For centuries, accusations of witchcraft were used to condemn women who were simply intelligent or independent, so witchcraft being treated so seriously could serve to undermine this tragic truth.
But witchcraft is real in Shakespeare’s play, so it only makes sense this would carry over into a book inspired by it. Reid intertwines witchery with the source of Roscille’s strength, which she ultimately reclaims.
Interestingly, Reid begins the novel with a list of “Dramatis Personae” — or list of characters — in keeping with playwriting protocol, and divides the book into five acts. She also acknowledges there were many languages and dialects in 11th century Scotland, and frequently switches between different variations of names to reflect this reality. This could have easily become confusing, but Reid interweaves French, Anglo-Saxon and Scottish dialects masterfully.
The book feels like walking through a dark room trying to find a lightswitch — you can never predict what might come next, even if you’re familiar with Shakespeare’s play. Having read or seen Macbeth is definitely not a prerequisite to read Lady Macbeth.
Tearing through the final chapter felt like finally finding that lightswitch. The unspoken undercurrent was this: women can honour those oppressed in the past, as long as we live freely and authentically in the present.
Featured image by Julia DeJong/The Charlatan.
