This was the strongest episode so far, despite straying further from the text than its past two instalments. Or perhaps it was strong because it strayed from the text; not just in omitting things, but by adding a few original details here and there.
When you have a novel as sprawling as Susana Clarke's, you have to make some cuts – but as with most adaptations, it's also important to at least attempt to put your own stamp on the project, to let it breath and grow on its own terms without slavish devotion to the book.
Just compare the first two Harry Potter films – which simply transposed as much of the books onto the screen as they could – with the latter ones, which felt like much more organic and creative. One of my favourite scenes is in Goblet of Fire in which Professor McGonagall teaches the students how to dance – it's nowhere to be found in the books, but it was funny and innovative and fit in perfectly to the film's storyline.
In the case of this episode, the screenwriter actually takes the opportunity to plug a couple of plot-holes. If memory serves, the novel does not dwell much on Lady Pole's inability to communicate her situation with others – she simply talks gibberish and then falls into silence. Here Lady Pole is depicted as taking the initiative and crafting a tapestry that shows what she's going through (I don't think her book counterpart doesn't even tried to write an account of what was happening) which naturally poses a threat to Norrell.
We also see both Lord Pole and Arabella come to the logical conclusion that if magic is what resurrected Lady Pole, than surely magic is to blame for what's affecting her peace of mind. Of course, this thread of inquiry has to be wrapped up hurriedly for the sake of the larger plot, with Lord Pole instructing Arabella for the sake of propriety to not tell her husband about what's been going on in his household – but at least they raised the possibility of it here.
It all plays out a little differently in the book. Again, if memory serves (it's been a while, and it's a pretty damn long book) Norrell is uncomfortable around Lady Pole, but not particularly fearful of her, being comfortable enough in his wealth, social standing and importance to avoid worrying about what a woman – and one that's been dismissed as mentally ill at that – has to say about him. Likewise, Lady Pole's family is stymied by the terrible restrictions of polite society to accuse Mr Norrell of anything.
But everything in the show regarding Mr Norrell growing increasingly paranoid about Arabella meeting with Lady Pole feels brand new – certainly he never instructed Childermass to steal Arabella/Jonathan's correspondence in an attempt to track what was being said between them (and honestly, the Childermass of the book would never have agreed to such a thing, much less breaking into the Pole household to destroy Lady Pole's tapestry). Furthermore, I'm fairly certain that Book!Norrell never went to see Lady Pole to explain exactly what was happening to her, though here it worked as her impetus for the attempted assassination in front of his house.
***
My least favourite part of the book is Jonathan's involvement in the Napoleonic War, and perhaps the very fact that I wasn't looking forward to it is why I actually quite enjoyed it. I noticed that the actor playing Lord Wellington in the opening credits was given the moniker of "special guest star", though I didn't recognize the name – and lo and behold, it was Ronan Vibert, last seen as a submissive to his evil dominatrix Satan-worshipping wife in Penny Dreadful. It's a small world.
All of this was nicely done, and I particularly appreciated the inclusion of the "a magician might [kill a man with magic] but a gentleman never would" line, which is a concise summary of the entire book, as well as Lord Wellington bestowing obnoxious nicknames on everyone around him, from Winestain to Merlin. And as a long-time Merlin watcher, this exchange was rather amusing:
Wellington: Only make [the road] a little straighter next time, Merlin. If you will
Strange: Not Merlin, my Lord. If you please.
Wellington: Why ever not?
Strange: Well, Merlin – if indeed he ever existed – was a very vagabonding type. Not the modern kind of magician at all. Mr Norrell and I are endeavouring to make magic respectable.
Hah. If we consider the canon of Merlin compatible with this show, then Merlin is in fact currently circling a lake in the guise of a homeless bum – so where's the lie?
Jonathan slowly winning over the troops was adequate without being particularly inspiring, though I question their fondness toward him after he resurrected the enemy soldiers for information. Surely it would have been more striking to play this in reverse: that the common soldier accepted the idea of a magician in their midst until the moment he initiated necromancy to summon the dead.
Still, the scene in which the windmill starts to move of its own accord was wonderfully atmospheric, and (as far as I can recall) another original addition to the show.
And poor old Jeremy. The show set up his death so we would feel conflicted over what to mourn more deeply: his life or the books. And clearly the books are considered the greater loss.
***
Finally the Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair continues his pursuit of Arabella. It plays out here as though Arabella is not fully aware of his presence – at least not enough to question it even when they're alone together, though it was even more ambiguous in the book about how cognisant she was of his influence (Clarke is a master at this sort of thing, and I recall a great book scene in which Arabella enthusiastically speaks of her acquaintance to Jonathan, only for the two of them to be bewildered at the fact she cannot even recall the man's name).
And then there's Stephan Black. Though they made a striking attempt to illustrate his past in this episode (a mirror reflects his birth and his mother's death in the hold of a slave ship), they haven't quite captured his situation: that of a black man in a white society, grappling between two worlds: the perilous one in which he's a prophesied king, and the familiar one in which he's a servant. A servant who is respected and kindly treated, but a servant nonetheless; a man who can never fully belong among the people that surround him.
The fascinating thing about the Gentleman is that although he's capricious and dangerous and amoral, he's also entirely without any conception of racism. To him, Stephen is handsome and courteous and so is of course a prince being held against his will in the dastardly Lord Pole's house.
Sothere is real agony in Stephen's conundrum, as it's not as simple as whether or not to embrace the world that appreciates him and reject the one that will forever perceive him as innately "lesser." Faerie is frightening and the real world is comfortable, so how can we blame him for wanting to avoid the Gentleman and Lost Hope? And yet by today's standards, how can we not root for him to seize a greater destiny elsewhere?
In short, I can see Stephen's confusion – but I can't quite feel it as keenly as I could in the book, which was a stunningly well-realized internal battle between a man who has enough kindness of heart to empathize with his master/mistress, but so much intelligence that he can't help but resent the position he's been forced into.
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