Sunny Days
A terribly tragic incident that incongruously occurs on a sunny day opens the story. That incongruity become inextricably linked to the tragedy itself in the mind of Sir Phillip. The result of this inextricable connection is the persistence of irony: sunny days rains melancholy down upon him:
“He stared out the window at the sun, which was slipping low on the horizon. It had been another sunny day today. That probably explained his exceptional melancholy. At least he hoped it did. He wanted an explanation, needed one, for this awful tiredness that seemed to be taking over. Melancholy terrified him.”
Natural States
Eloise is convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are natural states of things. And it is a violation of something inherent in a person’s character to go against that natural state. OF course, there’s another word this belief, but it carries a far less appetizing connotation: uncompromising. Compromising the natural state of things is what this story is really about, beginning with the unnatural state of a sunny day on which to commit a tragedy:
“This was not, [Eloise] thought through clenched teeth, her natural state.”
“His [Eloise’s nephew] skin was flushed, but his eyes, when he opened them, were glassy and unfocused, and when he wasn’t lying unnaturally still, he was thrashing about”
“This was killing [Eloise]. She had to break the silence. This was not natural. It was too awful.”
Confounding Expectations
Another element to the prickly pear that is the romance between Eloise and Phillip has to do with expectations. When one is expecting a certain thing only to discover something absolutely unexpected (like having two children) that is bound to knock one off one’s game. And there is the whole physical thing with Phillip:
“He was bigger than she’d imagined him, rougher-looking, less urbane. His letters had been so charming and well written; she’d pictured him to be more…slender, perhaps, certainly not given to fat, but still, less muscled. He looked as if he worked outside like a laborer…even though he’d written that his hair was brown, she’d always imagined him as a dark blond, looking rather like a poet…his hair was exactly as he’d described it—brown, a rather dark shade, actually, bordering on black, with an unruly wave to it. His eyes were brown, much the same shade as his hair, so dark they were utterly unreadable.”
The Bridgertons
The only imagery that can link all the novels in the series together—well, the most significant unifying trans-novel imagery in the series—is that of the Bridgerton clan itself. This imagery goes to support the who concept of the series: the essentiality of family to provide a sense of stability in a random world. This imagery is presented throughout the novels in scenes of family interrelationships in which members of the Bridgerton clan reach new levels of understanding about each other:
“She looked up at him, wondering when it was that this man, her brother, had become so wise. If he'd yelled one more word, spent one more minute speaking to her in that mocking voice, she would have broke. She would have broke, or she would have hardened, but either way, something between them would have been ruined. But here he was, Anthony of all people, who was arrogant and proud and every inch the arch nobleman he'd been born to be, kneeling at her side, placing his hand on hers, and speaking with a kindness that nearly broke her heart.”
