Voice in the Wind: Julia Goes Rogue

Voice in the Wind, pp. 215-227

This week we turn to Julia, who is playing knucklebones with Octavia. So rebellious. Julia mourns that Decimus won’t give her any money. Octavia tells her to simply charge items and her father will have to pay for them, but Julia says she “wouldn’t dare do that.” Such a rebel. Octavia turns the conversation to her friend Calabah, which by the way is so not a Roman name. Octavia says Calabah trains with the gladiators, and asks Octavia to come to the next pregame feast.

“Father would never allow it. He knows what goes on at those feasts.”

“Delicious fun, that’s what goes on. When are you going to exert yourself, Julia? You’ve been married and widowed and you still bow to your father’s every dictate.”

I’ll tell you what’s going on here—Rivers is setting up Octavia as a corrupting influence. Julia has been through hell and back, and yes, Julia is petulant and upset with her parents, but at the moment she’s still obeying them and bowing to their wishes. She hasn’t stepped out on her own to assert her rights, parents be damned. That is about to change.

I grew up in a community where parents homeschooled out of a desire to control who their children befriended, to prevent exactly this. This was one of the primary selling points of homeschooling, in evangelical circles—to keep your children from friends who might be bad influences on them. The story Rivers is telling here reinforces that narrative.

Perhaps if Julia had had a friend who was content to sit and spin, perhaps she would have been so too. This brings up a question. Why doesn’t Julia have a friend who is content to sit and spin? Why doesn’t she have any friends but Octavia? One would think Julia would have been socialized among her peers, other daughters of wealthy Roman families. Instead, she appears to have contact with only one—Octavia. Maybe that is the lesson to be learned—don’t isolate your daughters and let them die of boredom.

Quick note: A number of readers have pointed out that based on the form of marriage Julia had, Claudius’ money should now be Julia’s (split between her and any other heirs he might have had) and not the Valerians’. Rivers writes that Marcus is managing Julia’s money, and when Octavia asks where he has invested it she says she has no idea. It does appear that it Claudius’ fortune being treated as Julia’s money, though Julia’s father and brother clearly believe that managing it is their right.

The other issue is Julia’s guardian. A number of readers have pointed out that Claudius would have provided for Julia’s guardianship in his will, and while Julia’s father could have been made her guardian, he wouldn’t necessarily have been. It would have been nice to have a sentence or two from Rivers making it clear that she understands that Claudius would need to assign a guardian, and stating briefly that for XYZ reason Claudius had provided for Decimus to be Julia’s guardian. As it is, it reads as though Julia’s family simply fetched her back as a matter of course, which is not the way it would have worked, given the form of marriage used in this case.

Back to the text. Octavia has grown tired of Julia’s constant objections. She decides she’s going out, and Julia, almost on a dare, decides to go with her. Julia changes her clothes and puts on jewelry and makeup, dressing herself as a young woman of wealth, and she and Octavia leave the house, alone. They have no servants or chaperones with them, not even Hadassah. It’s just two girls on the town—one monied, one with royalty in her veins.

Needless to say, this would not have happened.

This moment is a turning point for Julia. As she walks with Octavia through crowds of people on the streets, turning heads left and right, she muses that “Father was bent on spoiling her whole life if she let him” and determines that she was “not going to be like Mother, content to live behind high stone walls and wait upon her husband like he was a god. She had her own life to live, and she was going to do with it as she pleased.” And that meant pregame feasts and gladiators.

Julia asks Octavia how many lovers she has had, and she says she has lost count. Not to be a broken record, but Octavia is a young unmarried Roman woman of noble blood. She would not have had lovers, and certainly not publicly. Octavia encourages Julia to take lovers too, and encourages her to use Marcus’ adoration for her to get to her money, which Marcus manages.

“Is it fair that your father and brother have use of that money when you were the one who had to sleep with that dreary old man?”

Julia blushed and glanced away, well aware she had been a poor wife.

Yes, that’s right, Julia believes she was a poor wife. This is one of many moments where I want to look Julia in the eyes and tell her that no, it was not her fault, that no, she should not have been married off to Claudius, that she isn’t bad for not liking his sexual attentions, that she has the right to consent or not, and that right was violated.

Of course, this reads as weirdly realistic. Yes, Julia would struggle with self-doubt. Yes, she would worry that her parents were right. Of course she would blame herself, and of course she would be conflicted about what happened, poor thing. The trouble is that I’m not sure Rivers disagrees with Julia’s sentiment here. I could be wrong, but in my reading Rivers has Julia struggle with self-doubt because she believes Julia was actually in the wrong, not because Julia is a survivor and that is something survivors struggle with.

Throughout all of this, Octavia keeps saying things that shock Julia. Octavia said she wanted to go out, it didn’t matter where, just out. Octavia suggests that Julia take lovers. Octavia suggests Julia play on Marcus’ emotions to get her money. Octavia refers to Claudius as a “dreary old man.” For all her ostensive selfishness, Julia is actually quite innocent at this point. She’s the good girl to Octavia’s bad girl—and Octavia is hard at work trying to corrupt her.

Here’s the thing—Octavia couldn’t make any of this appealing if Julia were already happy. If her parents had made sure that she had interesting and fulfilling things to do, friends, opportunities at home, she might have been content there. Her father could have taken her to the games from time to time. Her mother could have arranged parties with her social peers. They could have found a hobby for her, something she actually saw value in. Her family could have listened to her and valued her needs and wants, but they did not, and here she is—discontent and longing for something more.

I’m reminded of fundamentalist homeschool girls who spend their lives being restricted and limited and ignored, only to jump at the first chance of freedom. I mean really, what did their parents expect?

So much of what happens to Julia is driven by her parents’ bad parenting.

For all her selfishness, Julia is remarkably selfless. She and Octavia stop at a stall selling crystals hung on chains. Julia is entranced as an Egyptians salesman explains the power of each crystal—rose quartz, moonstone, alexandrite, and an aquamarine that purifies the body.

“My father would like this one,” Julia said and set the aquamarine aside. “Mama thinks he’s sick.”

I told you last week that Julia didn’t hate her father. When the salesman hears her words he suggests a carnelian crystal which he describes as “a highly evolved healer.” And guess what? She buys it. And as we’ll get to another week—because I skipped ahead to check—she gives it to Phoebe when she gets home, for Decimus, and Phoebe does not believe that Julia bought it out of actual care for Decimus. It’s like her parents are actively sabotaging her.

This week really has two themes—Julia stepping out and doing what she wants for a change, and Octavia growing increasingly jealous of Julia’s riches. (I told you Julia needed more than one friend.)

As Julia selects crystals, Octavia fumes. Octavia’s family has far less money than Julia’s. Octavia begins down-talking the crystals, but Julia is all in. Julia buys four crystals, charging them to her brother, as manager of her estate. Julia goes on to buy perfume, scented oil, and “a painted box of powder.” Octavia is annoyed, and says they should have brought Hadassah to carry things, but Julia is riding high.

Looking at Julia having such a good time, Octavia was torn by envy. Bitterness ate at her. Her father was always making excuses to his creditors. He was spending more and more time with his patrons and searching for others who would add to his depleted coffers. … He had shouted at her yesterday, accusing her of spending too much money. … If they were so poor, perhaps, he should give up betting at the games.

When they go to the Field of Mars to watch the soldiers, it is Julia who grabs all of the attention, and once again Octavia fumes. Bored, Octavia says she’s going to Calabah’s house. Octavia says she’s not taking Julia to Calabah’s house. Julia offers Octavia one of the crystal necklaces if only she’ll take her, and Octavia intentionally chooses the most expensive. What Julia doesn’t know is that Octavia actually wants to take her to Calabash’s house, because she figures Calabah will mock Julia’s “provinciality.”

This is not a healthy friendship. In some sense I think Octavia is unhappy to see Julia breaking out of her shell—as long as Julia was wowed by Octavia’s modern independence, Octavia maintained the upper hand in their relationship even though it was Julia whose family had money. But if Julia steps out and grasps for that modern independence herself, Octavia will play second fiddle to Julia’s money—or so she fears. And she’s not wrong.

As Octavia and Julia head for Calabah’s house, I’m left pondering how this could have been different. Julia spent her day shopping and watching the soldiers train at the Field of Mars. Would it have been so hard to give Julia some spending money and arrange for her to have shopping and sight-seeing trips like this, perhaps with an older, trusted servant as a chaperone? What on earth was the purpose of keeping her confined to the home? It’s not as though Julia wanted something so extraordinary.

I want to ponder the authorial voice for a moment. Everything that happens in this book takes place from the perspective of one or another of Rivers’ characters. In theory this is a good thing—this sort of format can make a book complicated, interesting, and nuanced. However, this book was written by an evangelical writer and for an evangelical audience. There is an overriding authorial perspective, one that comes out when characters say or do things uncharacteristic for the time. Outside of these obvious moments, though, parsing out an authorial voice can be tricky.

The overarching theme of this book, if there is one, is Julia’s selfishness and descent into hedonistic depravity and the unhappiness that comes along with it. Side themes include Decimus’ growing discontent with his life (coupled with Pheobe’s steady presence), Hadassah’s desire to witness to her masters (and the fear that keeps her silent), and Marcus’ increasing and passionate sexual desire for Hadassah (along with his abusive actions). In each point of tension, the problem is a lack of faith in Jesus—that is what makes this an evangelical book.

Some readers have wondered who Rivers or her readers could actually approve of a girl of fourteen being married to a man of fifty. The trouble is that every other character in the book, including Hadassah, treats Julia’s failed marriage to Claudius as Julia’s fault. The only person who fights that narrative is Julia, and she is portrayed as selfish, petulant, and wracked with doubt. (Marcus opposed the match, but was nevertheless angry with his sister for not trying hard enough to make the marriage work.) Even if we assume that Rivers viewed the marriage as unfortunate, Julia is clearly to blame for not making the best of a less than perfect situation.

But Julia’s next marriage will be different. Right?

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