Plain Mary Smith: A Romance of Red Saunders — Context and Discussion

A Narrator Who Names Hypocrisy

From the first paragraph, Red Saunders establishes himself as a shrewd observer of character. He notes that his mother could read a dog’s pain without words, while his father’s religion condemned “everything that had a touch of color, a pleasant sound, or a laugh in it.” This contrast sets up a narrator who values genuine feeling over pious posturing. Later, when he watches Brother Belknap manipulate Mary with “highfalutin talk,” Red sees through the performance immediately: “Belknap was no old man, not a day over forty, and powerful as a bull.” His commentary on why women fall for such men—“they’ll take his word for his size, and swallow almost anything for the fun of supporting him”—reveals a narrator who has learned hard lessons about romance and self-deception. The voice is the book’s engine: plainspoken, ironic, and never fooled for long.

The Art of the Set Piece

The excerpted scene at Mary’s house is a masterclass in dramatic tension built through dialogue and gesture. Belknap’s “smooth smile” and theatrical humility—“I am worn down so I barely believe in hope”—contrast sharply with Red’s bluntness. When Red announces he will take supper with Arthur Saxton, the stage directions are precise: “Mary looked very confused and bothered. Belknap shot his eyes from her to me and back again, learning all he could from our faces.” The narrator’s internal fury (“The blood went to the top of my head”) is held in check by a sudden “unaccountable rush of sense.” This restraint, paired with the charged silence of Mary catching his sleeve, shows how the author builds conflict through what is left unsaid as much as through the crackling dialogue.

A Romance Complicated by a Rival

The subtitle promises “A Romance of Red Saunders,” but the excerpts reveal a love triangle already in crisis. Mary Smith is caught between Arthur Saxton, a man who “would insist on stripping things to the bones,” and Brother Belknap, a manipulator who “sadly regretted” his faults rather than admitting them. Red’s bitter observation that “even the best of women are easy worked through the medium of making ’em feel they are the support of a big man” suggests the romance will hinge on Mary learning to see past performance. The narrator’s own feelings—he is clearly fond of Mary, but his loyalty to Saxton drives him—add another layer. The reader is left wondering whether Red’s role will be that of friend, rival, or catalyst.

Voice and Vernacular as Signature

The prose is studded with colloquialisms that feel both period and personal: “a rocky scheme for the Little Results,” “scart Mary,” “durned sight more romantic.” The narrator addresses the reader directly (“as the feller said about Julius Cæsar”), creating an intimacy that pulls us into his confidence. The illustrations listed—such as “I grabbed cans of tomatoes, and pasted the heap”—hint at physical comedy and action that balance the psychological drama. The author, Henry Wallace Phillips, uses Red’s voice to blend humor with genuine insight: “There is a poetry in being honest, but like some kinds of music, it takes a highly educated person to enjoy it.” This is not a simple frontier yarn but a character study delivered in a voice that earns its wisdom through hard experience.

As you read, pay attention to how Red’s judgments evolve. He begins by dismissing his father’s religion and Belknap’s charm, but his own certainties may be tested. The excerpts show a narrator who learns as he tells, and the gaps in the text—what Mary cannot say, what Saxton has done—are invitations to read between the lines. Trust the voice, but watch for the moments when even Red is surprised.

That tense supper table in Plain Mary Smith—how Belknap's oily words just hang there, curdling everything—reminds me of moments I've sat quiet, watching people talk past each other. I found that same ache of unspoken things in Paradise Bend — Reading Companion. It lingers differently, softer maybe, the way old regrets do.