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Well, I didn’t think I was going to have time to do Downton recaps this season—I mean, I don’t have time; it’s crazy how much I don’t have time for it. But I watched episode 3 on the treadmill this evening and doggone it, I miss talking about it with you guys. I thought I’d see if I could knock out a quick comment on each major plotline—no frills, no photos, no direct quotes, because that’s what turns a recap into a nine-hour endeavor. (No exaggeration.) Sound all right?

Spoilers below, obviously.

DON’T DREWE IT

Let’s see, where to begin. I’ll focus mainly on this week’s episode (argh, here I go already), but we’ve got to chat about the whole Drewe of Yew Tree Farm situation. Or maybe we don’t. I’m too irritated by that whole hamhanded series of events. My heart breaks to think of the family leaving the farm they and their forefathers have nurtured “since before Waterloo.” The wrenching resolution of that storyline illustrates one of the dominant themes of this season: the question of agency. Who has it, and who doesn’t. The difference between doing what you want to do and what you must—and what kind of must it is. Duty? Desperation? Social roles? Lack of options? Sometimes the “want” and the “must” overlap, but not often, so far this season.

Mrs. Drewe wants Marigold back (wants not to have had to give her up at all), but she has no agency, no say in the matter. Mr. Drewe wants conflicting things: to keep his farm; to keep his promises; to protect his wife’s mental health; to take care of his family. The farm, which is part of his being at the cellular level, is the thing that must be sacrificed. He started this chain of events in motion by agreeing to raise Marigold, and then by giving her back to Edith, and he’s doing what he sees as his duty by handing in the lease and relocating his family, to remove Mrs. Drewe from Marigold’s vicinity. And…as a plotline, I think this stinks. It’s one of those places where I’m just yelling at Julian Fellowes: “Write it differently! Come on!”

SAD-EYED MR. MASON 

Also out on his ear. Zero agency. New estate owner, new plans, old story. Of course it all seemed too coincidental last week—dear old Mr. Mason is going to need a new farm, and why look, there just happens to be a vacancy at Yew Tree. I made the same leap Daisy did, and this week I’m scratching my head, wondering why Cora hinted about “an idea” (strongly suggesting she was picturing Mr. Mason being able to take over for the Drewes) but is now being so cagey about it. Daisy, positively quivering with agency, is determined to maneuver her father-in-law into that gap whether Cora likes it or not. This is a pretty interesting turn of events, actually—Cora being all “oh, I don’t know, I wouldn’t get your hopes up” about it and Daisy just barreling ahead and announcing it to the world like it’s a done deal. “I want to get things settled,” she insists, when Molesley chides her for counting her chickens before they’re hatched. Daisy’s ready to start cracking open some shells. Her impetuous efforts to help Mr. Mason at the neighbor’s auction in Ep. 1 backfired rather badly, but it is to be hoped she’s more successful this time. I mean, that perfectly nice farm is wide open now, SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM, CORA? And how come this hasn’t occurred to anyone else? Robert makes such a convincing worry face but I’m not sure he’s had an original thought in a decade.

THOMAS, ODD MAN OUT

Second most infuriating storyline. Robert and Carson have accepted that a staff reduction is inevitable, but why fire someone when you can freeze him out? Thomas is openly, deliberately made to feel redundant at every turn. Carson seems to despise him. Honestly, this business seems out of character for Carson. He’s usually more direct. If you’re going to sack him, sack him already.

So Thomas goes on another job interview and I have to say, there was a moment in this scene that choked me up. The vast, empty house; the lonely old man. For a moment I thought Thomas was going to find a congenial and fulfilling position here: the chance to be important to someone, to be needed and useful. But the scene turned. The house is a tomb. Sir Michael is a ghost. Thomas, despite a dearth of other options, walks away from the opportunity. He won’t be the guy holding the tattered coattails of the 19th century as it staggers into the sunset, thirty years late. Nor is he eager to shift from being an under-utilized under-butler to the jack of all trades, master of none (no staff, that is) that is what Sir Michael’s servant will have to be.

What will become of him? I find I’m more interested in learning his fate than almost anyone else’s—with, I think, one exception. Another underdog, of course. But we’re coming to her.

THE HOSPITAL BUSINESS

War! Bloodshed! Venom! Hats with feathers perched at indignant angles! For three episodes, we’ve watched Violet and Isobel duke it out over the question of the Great Hospital Takeover. Good for the village, or bad for the village? Here again, of course, we’re grappling with the question of progress: is change a force for good, or for destruction? Everyone has an opinion except Robert, who isn’t allowed more than two opinions a season and he’s already spent one on the matter of where Carson and Hughes should have their wedding reception. (He was wrong, of course.) I expect he needs to save his other Season Six opinion for naming a new dog. Surely he’ll have a new dog to name soon, no?

But back to the hospital. Poor Violet, losing her allies one by one. Now even Dr. Clarkson is wavering. Isobel was pretty hard on him this week, and now he’s rethinking his position. Maybe a merger isn’t a terrible fate for the village. It’s interesting that in none of these barbed conversations has the subject of Sybil’s fate come up—how if the family had listened to Clarkson instead of the Important City Doctors, she might still be alive. I would have expected Cora to be more suspicious of the Royal Yorkshire.

One thing is certain: Cora has elbowed her way into this fight (as I certainly hoped she would), and Violet’s not going to forget that in a hurry.

ROBERT HAS INDIGESTION

This got ten seconds of screen time and had me convinced a heart attack was imminent and would either delay the wedding or interrupt it. But no, he just needed to burp. Carry on.

SPRATT AND MRS. BUSYBODY

Mrs. Denker is gleeful to have some dirt on Spratt—his no-good nephew escaped from prison and Spratt helped him on his way. She covers for him when the constable makes inquiries, and Spratt knows it’ll cost him, sooner or later.

MARY, MARY…

…didn’t have much to do this week. Except make faces about Edith and be dressed down by her mother over the wedding plans, which I enjoyed. Cora calls her out for “bullying” Carson and Mrs. Hughes into having the reception in the Great Hall. Mary can’t fathom a situation in which her opinion isn’t the correct one (she’s more like her grandmother all the time) and is baffled—and a little insulted—by the suggestion that she might not understand all the nuances of a situation.

Then she completely misguesses the way her mother will feel about having Anna and Mrs. Patmore rummage through Cora’s closet in search of an evening coat for the bride-to-be. Cora, bursting in upon the unexpected trio in her bedroom, behaves very badly indeed, addressing them coldly and severely. I’m glad she had the face to apologize later.

ALL ABOUT EDITH

This is who I really want to talk about. I can never resist a good “Hey kids, let’s put on a show!” I cheered when she sacked the heinous editor; I crossed my fingers when she agreed to have a drink with Bertie; and I positively beamed when they hustled all night to put the magazine together. Come on, Edith. Unlike so many of the people around you, you have opportunity. You have options. You have a magazine, for Pete’s sake. And a flat in London! You’re a Muriel Spark character waiting to happen and I for one can’t wait.

CHARLES AND ELSIE CARSON

They did it. Whew. I really wasn’t sure it was going to be allowed to happen.

ENTER DOROTHY

Tom! I have nothing snarky to say. His return brings me one hundred percent delight, even his hokey ripped-from-the-Wizard-of-Oz line about having to go all the way to Boston to learn that Downton was his home.

Oooh, but does this mean Mary will have to share estate-running duties again? Or will Tom find something else to do?

As always, there’s so much more I could say. But I’m already late for the next thing. Chat away, my lovelies. Let’s pick it apart!

Masaaki Yuasa's fourth TV show wraps up in a fairly satisfying way with a briskly paced and nicely animated climax that brings emotional closure to the story with a cathartic showdown and thread-tying coda.

Peco and Dragon battle it out in a fierce match, and Peco's victory paves the way for a climactic showdown between old friends.

Peco blazes through the tournament, but his knee begins to act up, leaving his future in question. Only Peco, Smile and Ryuichi remain at the end.

Peco catches everyone off guard at the High School Championship Qualifiers with his newfound skills, skunking Kong in a reversal of the events of the previous championship.

Kaio finally tries to poach Smile, Peco gets into the National Training Center with a little help from the old lady, and we learn about coach Koizumi's storied past. This episode was largely devoted to character development, and finally brought into focus just what a complicated web of character interrelations Yuasa has woven out of the original source material, much as he did in Mind Game. There was no single major driving plot element, but rather various themes and plotlines gradually converging. By this point it feels like what we are seeing is more Yuasa than Matsumoto.

Half a year on from the events of the previous episode, it's a winter of the soul for the various protagonists. We see just how much has changed in the intervening months through the kaleidoscopic lens of one Christmas Eve.

Reading beforehand what this episode was supposed to be about, my mind completely went somewhere else. Steven’s at that age when boys want alone time for a very specific reason and while I was 99.9% sure Cartoon Network wasn’t going to go that far, I thought they’d at least allude to that idea of adolescence and growing up. Instead we dived into the real reason (sort of) that Steven wanted to be left alone, and dug a little deeper into the idea of his parental units via a room and a weird, very strange world created by said room.

Ryuichi Kazama continues his victorious streak with a singles win at the Youth Olympics, while Sakuma and Peco realize they aren't cut out for the sport after witnessing Smile's continued improvement. At the halfway point in the story, we seem to be in a transitional stage in which the relationships of the players to one another and their attitude towards the sport are changing. The episode didn't have much tension to it partly as a result of that. There was no strong driving narrative force. That made it one of the less memorable episodes so far.

The championship grinds on. After Smile’s defeat at the hands of Kong, the tables are turned and the elite players of Kaio Academy come out on top against both Kong and Peco. This episode was enjoyable if somewhat less tight feeling and less frantically paced than the previous episode. The quality was decent but for the most part on par with previous episodes, with only one standout animation scene. The episode’s animation, though not egregiously bad by any stretch, felt a little more rushed than usual. Like the last episode, the credits list 17 key animators. A long list of key animators is often symptomatic of deadline crunch rather than more and better animation, and that seems to be the case here. The same goes for the animation directors—they bring on more directors because an episode needs help getting finished on time. Where episode four satisfied was in the quality of the matches. Even when the animation wasn’t particularly outstanding, the matches were more deliberately directed than usual, which made them enjoyable to watch. Previous episodes showed the matches largely through virtuosic camera tricks that are Yuasa’s forte, and it made it hard to see the details of each player’s actions. Table tennis is such a quick and precise sport that without methodically depicting each player’s moves you lose its essence. This episode seemed to slow things down and let the player’s moves do the talking. For the first time in the show, it felt like you were actually watching a table tennis match. Remarkably, series director Masaaki Yuasa storyboarded again. It seems that he will be storyboarding every episode of the show (and delegating directing to another person) in order to maintain an even tone over the entire show and achieve exactly the effect he wants. This is a new approach for Yuasa, but I can see its appeal, and it seems something of a natural evolution in his approach. Kemonozume varied dramatically in directing style from episode to episode because Yuasa didn’t storyboard everything and granted his episode storyboarders/directors relative freedom to do their thing, but Kaiba and Tatami Galaxy both seemed incrementally more unified in tone. I find it hard to believe it’s a first, but off the top of my head I can’t think of a single other instance of an anime TV show storyboarded entirely by a single person. Even Future Boy Conan was co-storyboarded by Keiji Hayakawa. It is obviously a huge challenge for one person to storyboard every episode of a show on such a short schedule, and Yuasa is reportedly not the fastest of storyboarders to begin with, so I hope he manages to complete this challenge. The episode was neatly divided into two big matches: the first half between old schoolmates Sakuma and Peco and the second half between Kong and Ryuichi. This was followed by some scenes providing insight into the personal lives of Kong and Ryuichi that began to humanize them a bit. The first match was pleasing for its straight presentation and detailed depiction of movement, even though the movement wasn’t particularly dynamic. Sakuma’s string of increasing long lobs was amusing because it went on and on and on, reminding of the old adage—the more times you tell a joke, the funnier it gets. It was also revealing of his attitude towards the sport. Eclipsed as a kid by the charismatic Peco, Sakuma chose the scholarly path to patiently accrue the technical know-how to defeat his old rival. A humbled Peco cries on the steps of the stadium in the episode’s most heartbreaking moment. Incidentally, perhaps not coincidentally, the World Table Tennis Championships are currently underway in Tokyo. A recent listicle of athletes staring directly at ping pong balls was amusing but highlights the intense concentration required. I like how the close-up slo-mo shot of Sakuma serving in the first match captures exactly the same moment of intensely staring at the ball. The second match was quite different in style and tone. Obviously animated by the ever-amazing Yasunori Miyazawa in his patented eccentric style, it was possibly the show’s most delightful piece of animation yet. Right from the start you know Miyazawa is in the house, with that strange close-up of Ryuichi’s eye as he returns Kong’s serve. The ferocious Ryuichi is visually embodied by his namesake, a dragon hurling flaming dragon balls that shoot down Kong’s dreams of flying home victorious. Shots such as Ryuichi swelling into a giant, and his serve transforming first into lighting and then into a dragon, are classic Miyazawa. It’s great to see that Yasunori Miyazawa will be a regular in the show. Judging by the frequency of his appearances, he seems to be one of those animators who has the rare ability to produce his animation quickly while still making it interesting and full of personality. Animators like him must be a real asset in a situation such as this. Miyazawa’s shot in the opening is obviously the last shot of Peco chewing bubble-gum. His name was misspelled in the credits, in yet another indication of the rushed schedule. After the matches, the players go their separate ways. Kong talks with his coach on a bench outside in one of the series’ most touching scenes yet, while Ryuichi gets in the red sportscar of his beautiful cousin Yurie and drives off while his jealous teammates look on. This brings a close to the show’s first major dramatic set piece and leaves the young characters at different turning points in their table tennis careers. When Masaaki Yuasa adapted Robin Nishi’s Mind Game a decade ago, he opted to fill out the past of the various characters to give the story more heft. He has adopted a similar tactic here. I haven’t read the manga to be able to tell what is interpolated and what comes from the original, but the episode fills us in on personal details about Kong and Ryuichi in a style that is very reminiscent to the way we …

While this week’s "Steven Universe" opened a lot of doors as far as characterization and parallels, it was simply okay. Mr. Pizza was comical relief but other than that you had to dig for the entertainment.

Tensions run high during the high school championships, and all eyes are on the showdown between Kong and Smile. The third episode jumps abruptly from Smile's training in episode 2 right to the championships, and to a Smile who has begun to gain the confidence to show his true potential.

This week's "Steven Universe" dived into the whirlwind that is the mindset of an insecure youth, so in that sense, it was similar to the episode “Lars and the Cool Kids.” At first, the episode didn’t really make any sort of impression on me. It took another viewing for me to grasp its depth—or at least theorize things in the whirlwind that in my own mind at 3am.

Determined to unleash Smile's potential, Coach Koizumi devises a relentless schedule of training that culminates in a death match pitting old veteran versus young hopeful. Smile's resistance finally cracks under the pressure, and he begins to get serious. Meanwhile, the appearance of a new rival - the tough-looking Ryuichi Kazama - sets the stage for a later showdown.

It’s been a few weeks but the last few times in Beach City we witnessed a lot of growth in the series. Steven had an anger revelation after he hung with the cool kids and really showcased the father-son relationship thanks to little Onion. Now we’re back and "Steven Universe" went and explored the maternal dynamic within their group after Pearl took a blade through the chest.

A recap of the first episode of Masaaki Yuasa's new series "Ping Pong."

There’s something about Steven’s dad Greg that doesn’t add up. Will we ever really know why Greg distances himself from his son? This week in “Onion Trade," we explored a dad’s horrible ability to remember things, witnessed Steven’s lack of male role models, and learned a lot more about Onion, a character who revealed quite a few new layers.

“So Many Birthdays” 
Written and Storyboarded by Raven M. Molisee and Paul Villeco. “Lars and the Cool Kids” Storyboarded by Lamar Abrams and Matt Braly. Usually I walk away from Steven Universe having laughed a little, often forgetting what had happened as soon as it’s over but if things continue to be like “Giant Woman” and “So Many Birthdays” this show could end up meaning something special to me. This episode’s theme was heavy on the idea of growing up and the end result was a great realization that everyone should take into consideration. Once again we start with Pearl and Amethyst arguing about something irrelevant. A smell lingers in the air, and the Gems and Steven stumble upon a five-year-old burrito (likely the cause of the stench) and an “old timey” picture of the Gems and Steven’s mother. This brings us all to wonder how old the Gems really are. Thankfully, the always-inquisitive boy asks. The Gems live a long time, but they don’t show signs of aging like humans although they can get hurt. Steven then has to badger on about their birthdays – Garnet admits that’s not something Gems do or care about. Much like Steven, I was appalled by that. He then pledges to throw them each a birthday party.  Each Gem got her own special day that ended as a failure, even though they’re all wearing Steven’s lucky birthday suit–a cape and crown. Amethyst doesn’t understand the concept behind piñatas and asks the question I think we’ve all wondered: “You had candy and you just didn’t give it to us?” Steven tries to step it up by performing as a clown for Pearl’s party and telling jokes. They go over her head and she cringes at the pie-in-the-face bit. When Steven proclaims Garnet’s will be the “ultimate birthday,” you think, yeah – this is where it’ll all turn around. Nope. Kazoo racers weren’t a hit because riding in miniature cars and playing kazoos doesn’t sound appealing to the Gems. Their hesitance towards celebrating their birthdays leaves Steven questioning if he’s too old to blow out the candles on his special day anymore. This mental breakdown was probably my third favorite moment in this series so far; the first one came in a previous episode (we’ll touch on that later) and the second was in this week’s again, later on. Anyways, his breakdown led to a very interesting result…  Walking through a fog both in reality and in his mind, Steven continued to question birthdays and growing up. As he did this, his gem glowed and he started to age. At first it was just simple puberty; four hairs on his upper lip, noticeable vocal changes and acne. As he came to a store and decided a job was what he had to get, he became a five-o’clock-shadowed man standing tall. By the time he got to Lars’ shop, he looked like George Costanza from Seinfeld. After being run out of the store due to a misunderstanding about his ‘birthday suit’…his aging process escalates from looking like his dad to grandpa status; Gandalf beard and all. He is returned to the Gems thanks to his lion. Yup, that lion from “Steven’s Lion” was back this week, but didn’t play an essential part other than party attendee before this point. The Gems always show concern for Steven when he gets himself into a pickle but this was the first time they showed an emotional concern rather than an instinct to save. This was probably because they had to face death. With Steven being half-human, his death was a possibility and actual fear swept over his three gal pals as they tried to reverse his aging by over-celebrating the birthday rituals they’d learned: piñatas, tiny cars, clowns, and pies. Pearl, in tears, while trying to complete the clown bit was a hilarious moment in a tense situation.  Steven’s age starts to fluctuate with his state of mind, going back and forth between a boy and a man. Turns out, you’re as old as you feel. This lesson was my second favorite moment and goes hand in hand with my first, which so happens to be from “Frybo,” the episode that played wonderfully after this week’s new one – both of those dealt with the essence of adulthood and the way it feels like it’s strangling you even when you’re years from it. One can only hope that this theme continues because as much as Pearl and Amethyst butting heads is entertaining, these episodes that capture Steven’s journey to manhood are way more interesting. Since “So Many Birthdays” was the best I’ve seen from Steven Universe, I didn’t expect much from what Steven and Lars had to offer when they encountered the so-called cool kids in “Lars and the Cool Kids.” It was just okay, and the best part was a tossup between Steven defending his mother and Lars bombing at being cool. The Gems and Steven come across a huge quarry of nasty moss growing out of control that Steven’s mother planted once upon a time. Pearl points out that Steven’s mom, Rose Quartz, always saw “beauty in everything, no matter how gross,” which also might explain why she was with Steven’s dad in the first place. You can refer to the opening credits to check out what he looks like if you’ve forgotten since we haven’t seen him for a long while. After Pearl produces some police tape to keep the humans out of the moss, we lose the Gems for the rest of the episode as Steven heads out on his own for lunch at Fish Stew Pizza. There he comes across a reluctant Lars and fails to engage him with a high five. Lars is trying to play it cool as he lurks in the parlor’s window staring in at the cool entourage he’d die to become a part of. There’s Jenny, an in-charge black girl who’s dad owns the pizza place. She’s surrounded herself …

Darling, I’m so glad you survived your time in the land of Prohibition.

(UK / DVD episode 8. Also, spoilers below.)

Proving it has its priorities firmly in place, this episode starts with the VIPs: the Very Important Pigs. Look at ’em, up and drinking, fat and sassy! Oh, what a relief. I’m only sorry we never got to meet that dastardly fellow, the Negligent Pigman. After the great trough catastrophe, Tom and Mary have decided to offer sturdy Mr. Drew, whose devotion to Yew Tree Farm has proven his mettle, the job of Keeper of the Pigs.

Let’s just take a moment to savor this: Downton Abbey is full of grown men and women who require another adult’s help to change clothes three times a day, but Mr. Drew can be trusted to tend these somewhat delicate Pigs and FARM AN ENTIRE FARM. In fact, he’s so reliable that Edith is eyeing him as a potential foster father for her child. (She’ll be talked out of that by Aunt Rosamund, but that comes later.) For once I’m not making fun of the show; I think this is a pretty realistic depiction. I have no doubt that Mr. Drew is fully capable of running his farm and tending the Pigs. And while Mary has shown that she can do a hard night’s work in an extraordinary circumstance (and even elegantly scramble an egg afterward), it’s amusing how different the family’s definition of “farming” is from Mr. Drew’s. When Mary and Robert speak of “farming Downton themselves,” they mean making plans and hiring people to carry them out. When Mr. Drew speaks of farming, he means getting up at 4:30 in the morning to check on the Grantham Pigs before milking his own cow.

A recurring theme throughout the four seasons of this show has been how much happier the upstairs crowd is when they have some real work to do. During the War, we saw Edith blossom as an aide to the recovering soldiers (and, later, as a newspaper columnist), and Sybil grew from a restless cause-seeker to a woman who found real satisfaction in her nursing duties. We began this season with Mary and Isobel in zombie states, six months after Matthew’s death. The spark came back into Mary when she was nudged into taking an interest in the management of the estate, and Violet basically applied a bellows to Isobel, dumping the problem of Carson’s down-and-out former friend in Isobel’s lap, fanning the embers of her do-gooder zeal back into the fire she runs on.

We’ve seen it with Cora, too, this season: so many scenes in which she looks absently up from a book, smiles benignly, and does nothing of consequence—she has seemed more like an amiable ghost than a person whose actions have any effect on the world. This week, Cora was zooming around in a whirl of bazaar preparations, and although her somewhat vapid remarks seemed designed to elicit eye-rolls from her family as well as the audience, the truth is that organizing an event on the scale of that one is a mammoth undertaking. If you tried to assign me that job, I’d run away with the Pigman. I appreciated Tom’s insightful “beast of burden” remark near the end of the episode, his recognition of how hard Cora had toiled over the bazaar. I still found myself wanting to roll my eyes at everything Cora said—I’m serious when I say I think the script wanted me to—but Tom’s right. We very seldom see Cora at work, but she does work. There are parts of her job she could do a great deal better; she’s been only superficially aware of Edith’s misery and Rose’s mischief all season. But she organized a mighty impressive bazaar, and I’m glad Tom gave her her props.

But I’m jumping ahead. This week saw the Dowager Countess back on her feet, poking Isobel with her customary relish. She drags Isobel in to help entertain Mary’s godfather and seems mildly surprised to see the distinguished widower taking an interest in our Mrs. Crawley. Lord Merton walks Isobel home, totally spaces that her son has died, and sends a gorgeous flower arrangement in apology. Did anyone catch his rank? I’m not sure I see Isobel remarrying (she’s too easily irritated), but it would be pretty funny if she married into a higher rank than Violet’s.

Through Violet, we learn that Uncle Harold is mixed up in the Teapot Dome Scandal, which I think a lot of us suspected, given the timing and the hints. So far, this plotline has had little effect on the Downton main players except to remove Robert and Thomas from the scene for a couple of episodes. Frankly, we needed a rest from both of them. Thomas’s absence has allowed a nice little relationship to flourish between Miss Baxter and Molesley, who is absolutely astonished to see himself through Miss Baxter’s eyes. She envies him his lifetime in a community that, in her words, respects him and likes him. Molesley, after sinking just about as low as he could go—reduced to digging roads and begging for a footman’s job—has finally encountered someone who doesn’t view him as the ultimate sad sack. It’s quite sweet.

Violet’s other occupation this week is to ferret out the truth about Edith, and to respond with deep understanding. Rosamund has tipped her mother off that Edith “needs cherishing,” and when, shortly afterward, Rosamund makes a sudden visit to Downton to announce she’s taking Edith to Switzerland for several months—to improve her French—Violet does the math. If she tsk-tsks Edith, we never see it. Instead, she offers to pay Edith’s travel expenses. Edith is not exactly happy about the plan—it kills her to think she won’t be any part of her baby’s life—but she’s relieved not to have to tell Cora she’s pregnant, at least.

Another round of Alfred Drama sets the kitchen crowd fluttering once again, but mostly only because no one wants Daisy know what’s going on. Since the tactic Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes apply to Hiding Things from Daisy is to make alarmed faces at her every time she walks into the kitchen, Daisy susses out the truth pretty quickly. Alfred has written to propose to Ivy; Ivy has turned him down; and now Alfred is going to swing by Downton to say goodbye forever. Mrs. Patmore sends Daisy off to visit her father-in-law, Mr. Mason, to spare her the pain of watching Ivy break Alfred’s heart one last time. But Mr. Mason persuades Daisy to go back and say a real goodbye to him, leaving “nothing jagged, nothing harsh” between them. This is probably the wisest advice anyone’s ever given Daisy, whose heart is full of jagged edges, and she carries it out so gracefully that for the first time we have hope she may not turn out a bitter, sharp-tongued shrew. Mrs. Patmore’s heartfelt praise afterward (“I couldn’t have been prouder if you were my own daughter”) clearly touches Daisy. Actually, Miss Baxter’s words to Molesley apply very much to Daisy as well—in her eleven years at Downton she has developed quite a supportive (if sometimes overzealous) network of friends, whether she realizes it or not. Including Mr. Mason, who is basically a more talkative Matthew Cuthbert. Daisy, like Molesley, is luckier than she realizes. Perhaps someday we’ll see her realize it.

Charles Blake and Evelyn Napier announce they’ll be ending their prolonged stay at Downton, both of them leaving their hearts at Mary’s feet. (Mary fails to notice Napier’s and accidentally kicks it under the sofa, where it will lie forgotten until 1941, when a young London evacuee will discover it and it to his collection of birds’ eggs and owl pellets.) Before Charles goes, however, he jumps another notch in Mary’s esteem by demonstrating his undaunted willingness to do that which most Downton upstairs folk quail from: he voluntarily holds Baby George, and even seems to like it. First Pigs, now babies. (At Downton we don’t uppercase babies; that might make them think we’ve remembered they exist.)

To make sure Mary is well stocked up on attention before her suitors depart, Tony Gillingham sends word that he’s going to stop by for the night. For Anna, this is terrible news: it means another encounter with Tony’s valet, Mr. Green—and another opportunity for Mr. Bates to put two and two together about the identity of her rapist (but he’s already done that math, hasn’t he). Anna, distraught by the prospect of Green’s return, finally reveals to Mary that he was her attacker. Mary is horrified and wants to notify the police, but Anna swears her to secrecy. If Bates learns the truth, he’ll kill Green and hang for it; of this everyone in the know seems quite certain. Because obviously, Anna’s rape is All About Bates. I’m sorry, I’m so disgusted with this entire narrative thread.

Including the way every major scene involving Bates (all season) seems to take place in the bootroom—the site of Anna’s attack. Green is the villain, but it’s Bates we see here, over and over, making his sinister, brooding faces. It’s here Bates badgers Anna about Green’s return: “And Mr. Green? He’ll be coming back? Have you gone off him? You liked him so much when he first came.” WE GET IT, BATES. Don’t be a monster. But Green will arrive, and Anna will go tharn at the servants’ table, sickened by his presence, and Bates will ask leading questions about where exactly in London Green lives, furthering Anna’s torment. I miss first-season Bates. Season 4 Bates is worse than Thomas. At least Thomas doesn’t pretend to be anything but self-serving.

Tom and Isobel go to Thirsk, the small town six miles from Downton, where Tom spies Rose caressing Jack Ross’s cheek in a restaurant. Back home in the village, Isobel and Tom (who spend a lot of time together this season; it’s quite sweet) bump into Sarah Bunting, village teacher, the young woman Tom met at the political meeting last week. This was my favorite scene of the week, because of the way Isobel rushes to speak up on Tom’s behalf when he won’t. He’s a keen political thinker, she informs Sarah, unafraid to question his own beliefs. Tom’s been in such existential turmoil lately, it was nice to see Isobel characterizing it in a way he might be able to make his own peace with. Isobel gives Sarah Bunting a stamp of approval too: “She knows her own mind”—a quality Isobel appreciates in everyone except Violet.

Back home, Tom takes his uncomfortable Rose secret to Mary. (Best moment of the week: his absolute panic when Mary asks why he isn’t in tails for dinner. After all, Granny’s coming. Poor Tom.) Mary takes the Rose news in stride—it wasn’t a total surprise to her, after all, since she caught them making out weeks ago. She’ll deal with it.

At dinner that night, the main course is We’re All in Love With Mary, with a side of Thinking Is a Dangerous Occupation. Tony’s been rambling around Scotland having epiphanies while Charles and Mary were being perfectly splendid at rescuing Pigs. In the morning, Tony confesses to Mary that he has broken his engagement with Mabel, not that Mabel knows it yet. Mary still can’t promise to marry Tony, however, she’s “not on the market.” Honey, this season you are the market. Next morning, her trio of admirers departs, leaving the ladies behind to debate the best collective noun for suitors, while Mary smiles serenely and pretends to be annoyed.

Regarding the matter of Rose’s suitor, Mary plays a more active role. Rose declares she’s going to marry Jack Ross, they’re totally in love and also it will really upset her mother. Mary immediately makes plans to go to London the next day, where she will pay a visit to Jack Ross and put the kibosh on the wedding plans. Now, this is a show that thrives on making high drama out of mild events (“Alfred’s coming for a visit? BATTLE STATIONS, EVERYBODY!!”), but then we’ll have a storyline that might conceivably be expected to generate some theatrics, and it’s defused in the most mellow fashion, over a cup of tea. Jack thinks Mary is underestimating Rose’s mettle, but no worries, he’ll call off the engagement anyway. He loves Rose and doesn’t want her to have to face the societal censure she’ll incur by marrying a black man. Sorry, Rose.

Anna is spending the night in London with Mary, freeing Bates to head off to York on mysterious errands of his own. Mary lunches with Tony Gillingham, swatting away a few more declarations of undying devotion, including the news that Tony has broken his engagement to Mabel, who by all accounts is as good a sport as Jack Ross. But Mary’s real purpose in meeting Tony is to ask him to fire Mr. Green, no questions asked. Naturally, Tony agrees. Mary says jump, you jump. (But would Charles Blake jump? I’m not so sure. I think he’s a better sparring partner for Mary. Sigh, I miss Matthew.)

Tom happens upon Sarah Bunting, stranded by the side of the road with car problems. She’s surprised to learn Lord Grantham’s son-in-law is actually out on estate business—she assumed it was a figurehead position—not to mention that he knows his way around a car engine. Tom fills her in on his past. This makes Sarah “take a kinder view of the family”—she doesn’t generally “warm to their type.” “I don’t believe in types,” says Tom. “I believe in people.” So now I want to run off to America with Tom.

Back at Downton, look who’s in the bootroom! It’s Bates, being secretive about what he did in York all day. “This and that.” He’s not even trying to put on a front for Anna anymore. He’s been a total Mr. Hyde this whole episode. Dear Julian Fellowes, this is why my husband won’t watch the show with me anymore.

The day of the bazaar arrives, sunny and beautiful. Look—a miracle! There’s Mary holding baby Geo—nope, wait, she’s handing him back to Nanny. Whew, I thought the earth was going to crack open there for a second. Rose pouts to Mary about her nixed engagement; Molesley, basking in Miss Baxter’s admiration, trounces Jimmy at a game of Ring the Bell; and menfolk converge upon the Downton women from all directions. Robert’s back! Tony Gillingham’s back! Charles Blake is back! Sorry, Edith, no one here for you. Have some ice cream.

Robert’s return is wreathed in smiles. Actually, the way Edith lit up in genuine joy when she saw him was very touching. Even Mary smiled, like a real smile that showed teeth, and the sight was so startling I realize how seldom we’ve seen her that way. Cora and Robert have a reunion as loving an affectionate (and, yes, cornily written) as their parting last episode. The warmth between these two has been given a lot of screen time this year.

His mission was successful; Uncle Harold is saved. We’ll get to meet him next week in the final episode of the season. (And since he’s played by Paul Giamatti, I can’t wait.)

Lord Gillingham brings less cheerful news. I’m sure we were all shocked (shocked!) to learn that his valet, Mr. Green, is dead. Stumbled and fell into traffic the day before. Mary still won’t tell Tony why she wanted him to fire Green, and I’m sure he doesn’t suspect anything when she immediately walks over to Anna and tells her the news. That’s about when Charles Blake shows up, and Mary pulls him aside to ask his advice about turning in a man you suspect of committing a crime you personally believe was a very good crime to commit. Charles says he’d keep quiet, which is what Mary is hoping he’ll say but is a reaction that makes very little sense. Who can answer a hypothetical like that? What kind of crime, Mary? There’s a pretty big range of possibility there. Charles, I thought you had more gumption.

Anna murmurs to Bates that she wishes she knew what he’d been up to the day before. He says, “You know me, when I do a thing I like to have a very good reason for doing it”—which is TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS AT ALL. You’d think his time in prison would have taught him how to cover his tracks better.

Of course Robert’s return means Thomas is back, too. He sidles up to Miss Baxter and starts picking for secrets—always with the everlasting secrets—but Molesley nips at him and escorts Miss Baxter away. Anticlimactic return for Thomas.

Now all that’s left is for Mary’s suitors to proclaim their determination to wait as long as necessary for her frozen heart to melt in one direction or the other, and let’s all raise our glasses to the best bazaar in Downton history, or least since Violet was in charge.

My previous Downton Abbey recaps are here.

“You do realize even Alfred gets more screen time than you do?”

(UK / DVD  episode 7. Also, spoilers below.)

Telegram! Robert has been summoned to America by Cora’s Horrible American Mother to assist Cora’s Impossible American Brother. There’s a scandal involving oil and a Senate committee who may or may not be favorably impressed by a titled brother-in-law, because nothing says respectable like an impoverished English earl who snaps up an American heiress to save his estate, and then loses her fortune on bad investments.

Bit of a flurry over the notion that Bates must accompany Lord Grantham to America. (I love how it’s always “America.” Last season, when Shirley Maclaine arrived to out-shout the Dowager, she referred to her home as “America” 100% of the time. You have to wonder if Julian Fellowes has ever chatted with any Americans long enough to discover that if you ask us where we’re from, we don’t name our country; we name our state. Unless you’re a New Yorker, in which case you name your borough.)

Anna puts on a brave face for Bates, but sobs in the hall. Mrs. Hughes takes the case to Lady Mary, who puts on her best stone face and insists she would like to help, but she “must know the facts.” What is Mrs. Hughes to do? She reveals Anna’s secret, and Mary marches straight to her father and orders him to take Thomas to America instead of Bates, wearing that exact same stone face and saying, “I can’t explain it. If I could you’d agree with me.” I actually burst out laughing at this, despite the graveness of the subject matter. It’s so Mary. She expects her father to jump when she says jump and take her word that jumping is the gentlemanly thing to do in this circumstance. But by golly, nobody’d better expect her to take any request on faith.

All right, then, it’s settled, Bates stays, Thomas goes,  Mary has a moment with Bates (“It wasn’t your fault, Bates. It wasn’t Anna’s, but it wasn’t yours, either”), and—HOLD ON EVERYONE, THE PIGS ARE COMING!

I absolutely love how every time anyone in this episode says “Pigs,” it starts with a capital letter.

Pig interlude over, we can go back to bidding Robert farewell. My second shout of laughter came at Cora and Robert’s parting scene. This dialogue—

“Oh darling. I do think your going to rescue my hopeless brother is an act of real love, and I cherish you for it.”

“That’ll keep me warm as I cross the raging seas.”

“Good. Now kiss me.”

—are you kidding me? We’ve left Melrose Abbey and entered John-and-Marsha territory. I can’t decide if Fellowes is punking us or what.

Thomas is looking forward to his report from Miss Baxter when he returns. Only Thomas could make an abundance of verbal italics come off as sinister. Molesley, loading the suitcases into the car with humble, gloved hands, overhears the italics and furrows a brow in concern.

Robert has tender words for Poor Edith, leaves Rose in charge of “fun,” chides Mary for being preoccupied, is too preoccupied to notice his mother is about to keel over, and admits he’s going to miss his dog Isis most of all. The post-war years have not been kind to Robert.

As soon as he drives off, Violet admits to Isobel that she feels ill. Isobel offers to help her home, but “that is the very last thing I would want.” Which means, of course, that Isobel’s help is the very only thing she’s going to get for the rest of the episode. She comes down with a nasty case of bronchitis, Isobel gamely volunteers to nurse her round the clock, the doctor makes eyebrows, Cora and Mary stand three feet away from the bed on their one and only visit to Granny during the whole episode, and Violet is every bit as mean to Isobel in her fevered delirium as she is in her highest spirits. Last week, the volley of barbs between these two characters was the funniest part of the episode, even if their scenes did have COMIC FILLER written in Sharpie across the top of every page. But this week, ugh. We get it. They annoy each other, they need each other, they have each other’s backs as long as they can grumble about it. Now give me back my Lady Sleuths show, please?

(Violet’s arch “Oh, goody goody” at the end of the episode was almost worth the price of admission, though.)

Mary spars with Charles Blake: he’s frustrated by the stubborn helplessness of the owners of “these failing estates,” and she’s shocked, SHOCKED I TELL YOU, by his suggestion that God isn’t weeping to see aristocrats losing hold of their lands.

Wait, did someone say Pigs? Even better! PIGMAN! There’s a Pigman, and he’s been hired! For the Pigs!

Tragedy strikes the servants’ hall: Alfred wants to stop in for a visit. Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes are Highly Alarmed, because undoubtedly his presence will reignite the Daisy/Ivy feud—you know, the one that never actually ceased, because it would kill Daisy not to mutter darkly in Ivy’s direction every five minutes. To prevent the reignition, the senior servants whisper plans back and forth through several scenes. I don’t know why they’re whispering; Ivy and Daisy can’t hear them anyway over all their feuding.

Anyway, the grand plan is to tell Alfred there’s flu at Downton and he must stay at the inn, lest he jeopardize his cooking course. I mean, this is one elaborate lie. Carson has to waylay Alfred right off the train and divert him to the inn, and stay and have a drink with him, and foot the bill. Back in the kitchen, Daisy hears Alfred isn’t coming and rips right into Ivy, fueled with fresh ammunition because obviously Alfred doesn’t want to return to the place where his broken heart is buried. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore, listening to the warfare, congratulate themselves on having prevented it.

Later, Alfred will pop in anyway, flu be damned. More sniping! The End.

Mary has a heart-to-heart with Evelyn Napier about why Charles Blake seems not to like her. Since Napier’s heart is a timid little rabbit thumping away in his genteel breast, the closest he can come to proposing to Mary (which we all know he’s been wanting to do since the year the Titanic went down) is to tell her Charles Blake thinks he, Evelyn, is blind where Mary’s concerned. Mary’s not listening anyway; she’s still puzzling over the news that Blake finds her “aloof.”

She pesters Anna on this point: Moi? Aloof? “Do you want me to answer truthfully, or like a lady’s  maid?” replies Anna, which is entirely too honest for Mary’s comfort. Mary immediately turns the subject to Anna’s secret, which she knows Anna knows she knows. Anna is not ready to talk about it, not to anyone, though she admits to being relieved there is “honesty between us again.”

Stop the presses, THE PIGS HAVE ARRIVED. Oh, but Mary missed it. It seems she was busy standing a safe distance from her grandmother’s bed at the time. Never mind, she can see them tomorrow.

Edith and Rose go up to London, each with her own secret plans. Rose wrangles permission to visit some Totally Respectable Friends, and is next seen floating down the river in a boat with Jack Ross, the jazz singer. He seems pretty level-headed about the future prospects of this relationship, but Rose is all, “Oh shut up and kiss me.” John! Marsha!

Edith’s secret is, of course, much graver. Aunt Rosamund ferrets the truth out of her: Edith has scheduled an abortion. This was a pretty touching scene: Edith’s anguished cry, “I’m killing the wanted child of a man I’m in love with and you ask me if I’ve thought about it” strikes home with Rosamund, who announces she’s going with her to the appointment. Once there, a heartbroken Edith confesses that she can’t bear the thought of being an outcast all her life, as will certainly be the case if she tries to raise a child born out of wedlock. She has always, always been the odd man, even (or especially) in her own home. She can’t let herself become some “funny old woman” living in isolation, endlessly gossiped about and received by no one. But then she hears another patient sobbing, and she changes her mind. Perhaps she can’t bear to be an outcast, but neither can she go through with the abortion. Rosamund takes her home, and we don’t yet know what Edith’s fate will be.

Rose pitches a dainty fit at the news she’s going back to Downton sooner than anticipated, and that’s about it for Rose this week.

But she gets more screen time than Tom, who is mostly busy around the fringes playing chauffeur, dog-watcher, and Greeter of the Pigs. But he does show up at the political meeting Isobel urged him to attend, and winds up sitting next to an amiable young woman—after both of them are singled out to embarrassing effect by the politician at the podium. I assume we’ll meet this new friend again? Here’s hoping.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PIGS?! I mean, the suspense has been something awful. Come on, Downton, you promised me Pigs.

Mary and Charles decide to wander out to visit the famous Pigs after dinner, still wearing their fancy dress. (Obviously. One mustn’t underdress for Pigs.) It’s a long walk, but no one gets chilly in a beaded dinner dress in England in the evening, and high heels are perfect for strolling across damp fields. At last we meet them, the marvelous Pigs. But oh no! Where is the Extremely Reliable Pigman? Off celebrating his lucky station in life, no doubt. And if you thought the Alfred situation was tragic, brace yourself: these Pigs are Not Doing Well At All. They’ve knocked over their water trough, and the brutal English sun has baked them to the brink of death.

Cue the special Pig Music! With no time to lose, Charles springs into action. Mary will not sit idly by and watch this loathed fellow save Her Pigs all by himself. It’s nice that there are four water pails so ready at hand. The two of them work tirelessly long into the night, saving the Pigs with carefully apportioned swallows of water. And it’s a well known truism of television that a rich woman never looks lovelier than when she is tastefully smeared with mud (preferably with a lock or two of hair wisping down), so down Mary must go, flop-bott. Charles looks upon her with new eyes, and when, having delivered salvation to her beasts, Mary laughs her throaty laugh, Charles is a goner.

Sorry, Tony Gillingham. Who by chance arrives the next day! But first Ivy has to stumble upon Mary and Charles in the kitchen at the crack of dawn, enjoying well-deserved scrambled eggs and glasses of Carson’s best wine. But no one’s at all suspicious of shenanigans, because Mary Wouldn’t Behave that Way. Well, except for that one time her foreign lover died in her bed and she had to drag his corpse down the hall, but come on. Bygones.

Mary does look genuinely delighted to see Tony. Her face softens and she’s very warm with him, and only jabs him once about Mabel. Seems Tony and Charles are old war buddies. Napier shuffles nervously: oh dear, more competition. It’s sweet the way he thinks he’s actually in the running.

But along with Tony Gillingham comes his valet, the rapist. Mrs. Hughes confronts him: I know who you are and what you’ve done. Green tries to pass it off as if Anna was drunk and willing, but of course Mrs. H. isn’t buying that. Now, here’s the part that confused me. He thanks her for not telling Bates he was the attacker—so he seems to have some inkling that Bates will kill him (probably literally) if he finds out. And yet a few minutes later, there Green is at dinner with the servants, spouting loudly and pointedly about how, on his previous visit, the opera singer was “screaming and screeching as if her finger was stuck in a door” and he escaped her performance by coming downstairs. He knows Bates knows that’s when and where Anna was raped. He’s just begging for revenge. He should have taken Mrs. Hughes’s advice to “stop playing joker, and keep to the shadows.” Because now Bates is looking murder at him, and the Melrose Abbey soundtrack tells us there is danger ahead.

But I very much fear I’m never going to find out what became of the Pigman.

My previous Downton Abbey recaps are here.

“Look, I’m as unhappy about this storyline as you are.”

SPOILERS BELOW.

So here we are at episode 5—that’s episode 6 by UK reckoning, or if you’re watching via Amazon—more than halfway through the season. And if I have realized anything during these past few weeks, it’s that I would pay good money to watch a show featuring Isobel Crawley as a village sleuth—a sort of “indigation-fueled ” Miss Marple (to borrow Violet’s excellent phrase) minus the knitting—solving local crimes in between rounds of barbed exchanges with her crotchety relation. The whole Young Peg plot was a predictable throwaway, really—he’s a thief! no wait, I’ve been sitting on the paper-knife this whole time—but it allowed for some of the most amusing dialogue and face-making of the season. (And some champion bell-ringing on Violet’s part.) Game, set, match to the Dowager, indeed. Did you catch the stink-eye Isobel shot the good doctor at that remark? Coming to take his staunch loyalty for granted, are we?

As for the rest of them, there’s a lot of stasis going on. Edith keeps getting caught crying in corners, and Robert and Cora express much sympathy but then immediately turn their thoughts to other topics. The conversation between the two of them in the bedroom that one night was amazing. They each uttered one sentence about “poor Edith” and then swept immediately on to Cora’s brother Harold’s mysterious predicament.

Of course, if they knew what Edith was really crying about, they’d be talking of nothing else. Our predictions about last week’s doctor visit in London were confirmed: Edith is expecting. Now what? And still no news of Michael.

Speaking of Uncle Harold, Robert’s had bad news of him in a letter, some scandal he’s involved with; seems Harold is “in a fine fix” and has “backed a lame horse” and when Robert starts trotting out strings of clichés I always want to hug him. Life’s brisk changes are endlessly perplexing to him and he takes such comfort in well-worn phrases, poor dear.

And now the Downton aristocrat-farmers are going to try their hand at pigs! Oh, I do hope one of them breaks loose and wanders into Violet’s house, and Isobel has to solve the mystery of The Mud on the Carpets.

Thomas continues to badger Baxter for upstairs secrets. She picks up a whiff of Rose’s birthday plans for Robert, but not the specifics, only that a secret exists. This, of course, drives Thomas to immediately suspect all manner of diabolical deeds brewing in the minds of his employers. (The most diabolical of all, apparently, being possible layoffs. He’s so far off-base, so needlessly dramatic, that it would be comical if it didn’t seem a rather hamhanded attempt to inject some tension into a house that is actually running pretty smoothly at the moment.)

Having been tipped off that Mrs. Hughes is in on the secret, he tries to pry it out of her, and she has so much private entertainment in stringing him along (“I’m a woman of mystery if ever there was one”) that I’ve decided to cast her in my No. 1 Downton Ladies’ Detective Agency show. I’m thinking an 80s-style montage for the opening credits, what do you think?

Anyway. Big news in the kitchen: Alfred gets a letter of acceptance to the cooking school, after all. Daisy, whose glee at his having been rejected spurred her to break servants-hall protocol and (gasp) serve him the first scone, is once more downcast, and bitterly angry at Ivy (as usual). But it was nice to see Daisy rally, there at the end, and give Alfred a genuinely sweet goodbye. Also, that was a lovely pie crust she was rolling out.

Jimmy takes Ivy on another date—to see Rudolph Valentino in The Sheik—and then tries to get fresh with her afterward. Ivy’s having none of it. Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore and Mrs Hughes console Ivy, and then Daisy bites her head off again, and Mrs. Hughes says Ivy had it coming. Rough night for Ivy.

Anna and Bates are each struggling, one tearful, one sinister and brooding, to cope with life after Anna’s rape. I’m fed up with Bates; he’s being just awful. If you must brood, do it where she can’t see you, for Pete’s sake. In an attempt to “make new memories,” they go out to dinner at a hotel, where they meet the maître d’ from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. (Snooty? Snotty.) Fortunately, Cora (the Sausage King of Downton Abbey) come to their rescue, effortlessly tying the mortified host in knots. That was enjoyable. It was nice to see Cora have something to do, for once.

(Tangent: I’m dying to know what books she’s been reading all season. She reads constantly. Are they books from the Downton library? Are they new and popular novels from town? It’s killing me.)

Of course, one fancy dinner can’t erase the pain Anna and Bates are in. Whisperings of their unknown troubles reach Baxter’s ears, who relates them to Thomas reluctantly and for no good reason. I mean, I know that Thomas is holding some kind of leverage over Baxter’s head, but that doesn’t mean she had to tell him that specific scrap of gossip if she didn’t want to. I assume the tension between them is going to boil over soon, and perhaps we’ll find out what dark secret Thomas is holding over Baxter’s head. But Baxter doesn’t seem terrified; really she just comes off as weary of the whole game. Which must be frustrating as all get-out for Thomas.

Lovely moment between Mary, Tom, and Isobel in the nursery, reminiscing about how they all fell crazy in love with their lost spouses. It was touching and sweet, and Isobel is so wonderful when she lets her soft side show: “Well, aren’t we the lucky ones.” Beautiful.

Though I did want to pinch Isobel a little when she declined the chance to hold baby George because he wouldn’t know who “this funny old lady was.” See, you have to actually interact with babies once in a while if you want them to know you are, Grandmama.

(I’m wondering how Cora will feel about being assigned “Granny.”)

Molesley, upon learning that Alfred is leaving after all, reappears with hope in his heart—that footman position may be beneath him, but it’s better than digging roads—and Carson smacks him down quite ruthlessly. Doesn’t matter if you’re scrubbing toilets at Downton, you’d jolly well better be excited about it. So off slumps poor old Mose once more, but Mrs. Hughes intercepts him and before you can say “One lump or two,” she’s got the whole matter sorted. (Proving again that the housekeeper holds the keys to everything at Downton, including Carson’s heart.) She hires Molesley to serve tea to the servants. Violet accepted the news that her grandaughter ran off with the chauffeur more calmly than Carson reacted to the sight of Molesley in a kitchen apron. OH FINE, you can be a footman.

Robert, upon realizing propriety says he should call Molesley “Joseph” now, suffers a minor heart attack at his birthday dinner. Fortunately his mother is there to breeze right over it. Molesley he is, and Molesley he shall remain. Which is a pity, because his name is surprisingly hard to type.

But before we get to the birthday dinner, we must meet Mary’s new sparring partner. Evelyn Napier has arrived with his boss, the handsome Charles Blake, who lands immediately on Mary’s bad side. (Which is generally where Mary prefers her love interests to be.) Charles, it seems, has been dispatched by Lloyd George’s government to survey failing estates—not with an eye toward assisting their struggling owners, as Mary had assumed, but in order to assess the likelihood of food shortages. So: Mary dislikes Charles, Charles dislikes Mary, Napier is seated way at the opposite end of the table, and I’m thinking it’s just as well Tony Gillingham went ahead and proposed to poor old Mabel.

Well, Rose’s big birthday surprise has the desired effect: the Downton crowd both upstairs and down are staggered by the jazz band, especially Mr. Ross. But they rally quickly, make a few earnestly patronizing statements about what a decent fellow Ross seems to be, and the upstairs crowd demonstrates some genuine enthusiasm during the dancing. Isobel, never one to miss an opportunity to moralize, points out to Tom (who has spent the episode continuing to ponder emigration to America) that if jazz can happen at Downton, why, anything can, and so he oughtn’t to give up on the family quite yet. Tom smiles at her with that sweet expression of his that says, “I’m way too polite to argue with you, but seriously, you don’t really think they’re going to let me date anyone here, do you?”

There’s one more surprise in store for Mary, who catches Rose making out with Jack Ross downstairs after the party. Mary, who abhors a scene, backs quietly up the stairs and calls out a warning to give the lovebirds a chance to jump apart, and then politely ignores the guilt written all over Rose’s face during the ensuing conversation about the band’s bill. Mary walks back up the stairs looking troubled, and there’s our Melrose Abbey exit music.

Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go set fire to the abbey and dance round it painted with woad and howling.

My previous Downton Abbey recaps are here.

After the high drama of last week, this episode proceeds at a more subdued pace—right up until the final scene, which comes off like a promo instead of a scene: Previously on Melrose Abbey. But truly, there wasn’t a whole lot of Melrose in the house this time around. The most shocking development was that Mary voluntarily spent ten minutes in the nursery with baby George.

We open in a somber mood: Bates walking alone and lonely from the cottage, Anna in silent misery in the maids’ room, covering her fading bruises with powder. When she finds Bates waiting for her in the passage downstairs, she’s short with him: “I don’t know why you always wait for me. There’s no need.” He tries to answer with the old warm smile, but when she rebuffs him again, he shifts into that forceful, almost angry tone that makes him seem more like the bully his first wife claimed he was rather than the gentle Bates we fell in love with along with Anna. Of course we’ve seen, more than Anna has, his tough side; we know how he was able to take care of himself in prison. I’m wondering, this season, if Julian Fellowes wants us to harbor doubts about whether or not Bates really was innocent in the matter of Vera’s death, after all. In response to Anna’s sudden and unexplained distancing, Bates slips quickly into a stern countenance. He doesn’t plead with her to explain so much as order her to.

The tense exchange is interrupted by the new lady’s maid, Miss Baxter. Time for this week’s Newfangled Gadget! What will Mrs. Patmore make of Baxter’s electric sewing machine? At least she needn’t worry that it will replace her in the kitchen. (Hold onto your corset-strings, Mrs. P.; before the evening’s over, Lady Cora will ambush you with a refrigerator.) A nice moment with Daisy: When Miss Baxter offers her a try at the machine, we get the first smile we’ve seen out of that girl all season.

And Mrs. Patmore may not be a futurist (loved that line) but she’s forward-thinking enough to encourage Alfred’s dream of attending the cooking school at the Ritz. “Hope I’m not inciting a revolution!” she sings out, sounding for all the world as if she wouldn’t mind if she did. Daisy is giving Albert cooking lessons—and demonstrating her own competence as she does, though she seems unaware of it. It’s nice to see how far she’s come in her profession, given how little she seems to have matured emotionally these past ten-odd years.

Miss Baxter seems off to a good start, wooing Cora with orange juice because she’s heard Americans like it. She is friendly and likable, and though we learn soon enough that Thomas has landed her this job because he wants a spy both above and below-stairs, Miss Baxter doesn’t seem like a schemer. I’m sure Thomas will put the squeeze on her soon, and we’ll see how she reacts under pressure, but for now, I’m rooting for her.

***

Isobel, at the good doctor’s prompting, takes a young villager under her wing, securing him a position as the Dowager Countess’s undergardener. This is a minor subplot, introducing a bit of tension between Isobel and Violet, which always makes for good dialogue. Violet lands some of her pointiest blows in recent weeks, seeming to revel in the open (but oh so genteel) warfare with her do-gooder relation. “I wonder your halo doesn’t grow heavy. It must be like wearing a tiara round the clock!” And now a letter opener’s gone missing, and my guess is it would positively make Violet’s day to see Isobel humbled by having put forward a thief. Isobel, despite having been pressured into recommending Peg by the doctor in the first place, climbs to the highest heights of her high horse at the very suggestion. It’s to these actresses’ credit that they can ratchet this rather banal storyline into some of the sharpest comedy of the episode.

***

Meanwhile, in Affairs of the Estate: an aged tenant has died and since he hasn’t paid rent in a long time, his heirs are to be evicted. But his son, Mr. Drew, an earnest man of middle age, pleads with Lord Grantham to let him take over the farm.

“Our family has farmed at Yew Tree since the Napoleonic Wars. Surely that’s got to mean something.”

“It means a great deal to me,” Robert replies, promising to see what he can do—meaning, see if he can talk Mary into letting the man renew the lease. Interesting to see how helpless Robert already feels when it comes to decisions regarding the estate. Just a few weeks ago he was tsk-tsking over the idea of Mary having any involvement at all, and now he’s all furrowbrowed over the prospect of approaching her for permission.

Later, Mr. Drew visits Robert in the house. He speaks frankly, with dignity: he can’t pay the arrears right away, but “we’ve worked this land in partnership with the Crawleys for centuries.” This resonates with Robert. He offers to lend Mr. Drew the back rent out of his own pocket, so that the estate books may be brought clear.

When Mary hears that her father wants to give the lease back to the Drews, she’s a bit peeved. Robert makes an earnest case for the partnership—that word again.

“If we don’t respect the past, we’ll find it harder to build our future,” he says at dinner, prompting a comic reaction from his mother, who finds it too fine a sentiment: “The one thing we don’t want is a poet in the family.” It’s become impossible to know when Violet is serious, and when she’s just trolling. A chauffeur she can adjust to, but a poet? Horrors. “The only poet peer I’m aware of is Lord Byron. And I presume we all know how that ended.”

As for Mr. Drew, it seems even Cora is in his corner, pointing out the moral (not legal) obligation to work with him. I enjoyed Tom’s reaction to Mary’s prodding. He’s on the farmer’s side, of course! “I haven’t abandoned all my socialism.” Tom continues to struggle with questions of identity—bit of a Pygmalion thing going on—but for the most part the family whisks past his mental turmoil. They’ve welcomed him into their inner circle and it’s baffling to them that he might not feel at ease there in the long run.

By the end of the episode, Mary and Tom have discovered Robert’s secret loan to Mr. Drew. Mary is heartened by Robert’s confidence in the man, and by his kindness. Echoing her father’s expression, she remarks to Tom that the incident tells her they are “in partnership with a good man.” Mary doles out compliments sparingly (just ask Edith), so this was a nice little beat.

***

Meanwhile, Mr. Carson (mightily pleased with his cleverness) has decided to kill two birds with one stone by offering Alfred’s job to Molesley, should Alfred get into the cooking school. Woe to Molesley for not responding with groveling gratitude. His hesitation offends the dickens out of Carson, who seems to take relish in rescinding the offer when poor Alfred gets a rejection letter. Molesley’s reaction to the bad news is rather hilarious. “You’ve missed your chance.”—(shrugs) “As I generally do.”

But wait! Alfred’s in, after all! Will Molesley get another chance? Will he grovel to Carson’s satisfaction this time? Will the tide ever turn for this longsuffering Eeyore?

***

And back we come to Anna and Bates. I was bothered by the two bootroom scenes. Isn’t that where the rape occurred? It’s horrible to have Bates looming over Anna in such a disagreeable way, there in the very site of her attack, his tone never gentle, earnest, or imploring, but rather stern and grim. He’s reading her sudden coldness as an indication that she no longer loves him, and his reaction to that seems to be primarily anger (not anguish) because she won’t tell him what he did wrong.

When he eavesdrops on her conversation with Mrs. Hughes, he gets a glimmer of understanding that maybe he hasn’t trangressed after all. First chance he gets, he transfers his hostile interrogation to the housekeeper.  If she won’t spill Anna’s secret, he’ll have to leave Downton immediately. He’s playing hardball, and it works. Mrs. Hughes reluctantly explains. He guesses the culprit but Mrs. H. denies it, even (under his relentless inquisition) swearing on her mother’s grave. She’s a staunch and generous soul, that Mrs. Hughes.

Alone in the hall, Mr. Bates breaks down and sobs. But before long he’s back in the bootroom, confronting Anna—and again with the menacing edge, for the first part of the conversation. He confirms Anna’s worst fears: “If it was the valet, he’s a dead man”—forcing poor Anna into the terrible position of having to defend Green, lest Bates go hunt him down and wind up back in jail.

Because of all this menacing on Bates’s part, the tearful reconciliation didn’t move me the way I think it was meant to. Bates’s words were touching, and he sounded sincere— “Why do you talk of shame? You are made higher to me and holier because of the suffering you have been put through. You are my wife, and I have never been prouder or loved you more than this moment”—but I was too bothered by his prior behavior to be melted by this speech. I’m glad, at least, that he and Anna are reunited, if not recovered. Bates’s parting words to Mrs. Hughes at the episode’s close make it clear recovery is a long way away. And that scene, as I suggested above, struck me as completely superfluous to actual plot. There’s no reason Bates needs to glower at Mrs. Hughes and tell her the matter isn’t over and done with. If he’s harboring revenge plans, what point is there in troubling her with them, except to milk a bit of drama out of the ending? 

***

Odds and ends:

• No letters for Edith, who still hasn’t heard from Michael. All right, gang: do any of you have guesses about what’s become of him? Her doctor visit suggests tempests ahead.

• Tony Gillingham is engaged to Lucky Mabel, but I wouldn’t order their wedding gift just yet.

• Looks, it’s nice Mr. Napier, last seen shaking his head in regret over having lost Mary’s attention to his Turkish friend in season one. (I presume we all know how that ended.) He’s still carrying a torch for her, obviously. But, oh, poor Evelyn. “It’s lovely to see you looking so…lovely.” Mary requires a more witty bantering partner than that. He’s in Yorkshire on government business: he’s involved with an assessment of the estates in the area and manages to wrangle an invitation for himself and his boss to stay at Downton for the duration. Hasn’t he learned not to invite competition?

• “Mrs. Patmore, is there any aspect of the present day you can accept without resistance?” “Oh my lady…I wouldn’t mind getting rid of me corset.”

• Tom: “Made me face the fact that I’m living where I don’t belong.”
Edith: “Welcome to the club.”
Mary: “Oh, stop moaning.” Boy, when she told Edith (after Sybil’s death, was it?) that they were never going to be friends, she wasn’t kidding.

• Cousin Oliver Rose has an idea for Robert’s birthday party. Gee, I wonder what ::coughjazzbandcough:: that might be?

• Mostly I want to talk about that awesome moment when Violet says to Isobel, “Nobody cares as much about anything as you do” and then chortles to herself for the next ten minutes. That laugh was amazing. You could fill an entire episode with Maggie Smith chuckling over her own witticisms and I would watch it on repeat.

I once read a scathing review of my book Little House by Boston Bay in which the reviewer lambasted me for utterly mischaracterizing events in a small Massachusetts village during the Revolutionary War. The reviewer was something of an expert on the Revolution and was openly disgusted with my apparent ignorance. Such-and-such would not have happened during the War for Independence, he declared, did not happen. And he was right: because, you see, Boston Bay does not take place during the War for Independence. The novel is set in 1814, some thirty years after the end of the Revolution, during the War of 1812. The reviewer, it turned out, disliked my book because he thought he was reading an entirely different book.

It struck me this week that I’ve been doing the same thing with Downton Abbey. I’ve been mentally classifying it as the same kind of smart, probing period drama as the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice, when really what it is is a beautifully dressed Melrose Place. It is, I think I can confidently say, the most gripping and linguistically clever Melrose Place I’ve ever seen. But it’s never going to be Pride and Prejudice, in which every tiny morsel of plot supports the primary narrative and themes. Here we will have characters stride in, devastate a life or two, and stride back out into the credits, serving purposes more dramatic than transformative.

I’m trying to make my peace with this, trying to stop expecting a bite of orange when I sink my teeth into an apple.

And so we say goodbye to Braithwaite, that “manipulative little witch,” as Thomas called her, and to Lord Gillingham as well. Ah, Tony, we hardly knew ye. Mrs. Hughes dispatched Edna as effortlessly as she would have swatted a fly. (And just as viciously. “I’ll tear the clothes from your body and hold you down”—good heavens! Since that’s exactly what happened to Anna last week, this remark is in rather bad taste.) It’s interesting to note that Mrs. Hughes is the real mover and shaker of this season so far, the catalyst of events in the lives of Isobel, Carson, and now Tom. I’m fully expecting her to be the eventual force of reconnection for Anna and Bates. Perhaps not; Anna is generally her own catalyst, but I can’t imagine Mrs. Hughes will be able to watch this painful distancing go on for long without interfering in some small way.

But I’m not quite ready to talk about Anna yet.

I liked Lord Gillingham quite a lot and I thought Mary’s scenes with him were her finest of the season so far—the layers of her emotions each distinct and apparent. Affection, wistfulness, regret, ache. But it was too soon, too soon, for us to root for that romance, and in the end, her gentle refusal felt entirely familiar. We’ve seen Mary in this moment before. The only fresh note was when her calm mask cracked, her eyes filled with tears, and she spoke of how Matthew fills her brain and she isn’t ready for that to change, isn’t ready to mentally leave him. That was a raw, honest moment, but still the whole story arc left me feeling like I’d been strong-armed back onto a roller coaster before I’d caught my breath from the last looping ride. Also, now I have to think about Tony being sad and stoic out in the world somewhere, making the best of a life with poor Mabel.

Will everyone please stop bumping into Isobel in the graveyard? We get it, she’s there a lot. One tombstony encounter would have been sufficient to make the point (and I’m certain we’re going to see another proposal before the season’s out—I only hope we don’t have to watch another regretful ‘I’m terribly sorry but no’).

At the Lotus Club—why on earth didn’t Tom or Tony go rescue Rose sooner instead of sitting there watching that drunken Bullock slobber all over her? Oh that’s right, it was to contrive a moment—and a very sweet moment it was—between Rose and the singer. Well, it could have been much less clumsily contrived. Now the question is, will Mr. Ross be dispatched brokenhearted in the next episode a la that nice young farmer, or is he the next Tom Branson/Michael Gregson?

Speaking of Michael, it’s remarkable how the bold, modern Edith shrinks back into her chastened, pre-war self the moment Rosamund raises an eyebrow in her direction. But then I think Edith has a lot of uncertainty about this very unorthodox path she’s walking. At least her aunt doesn’t underestimate her, the way everyone else persists in doing, year in, decade out. “Edith’s as mysterious as a bucket”—oh, come on. (I forget who said it—Mary? Cora?)

I’ll leave the tortured Kitchen Love Rectangle to the rest of you. Still wondering why Daisy chooses to stay at Downton in misery rather than go be mistress of her very own farm. If ever a woman needed a change of scenery, it’s that one.

As for Anna and Bates…I don’t know. I’m so unhappy about this story arc that I find myself just hoping it’ll all be resolved quickly, and then I feel sick, because of course that’s the point. What happened to Anna can’t be ‘resolved quickly,’ can’t be neatly wrapped up in a three-episode arc. It’s 2014, and rape should not be Melrosed.

I did watch an interview with Joanna Froggatt, who plays Anna, discussing her confidence in Fellowes and her feeling that the storyline is not gratuitous (i.e. not being played for drama only). I appreciate her thoughtful comments (here’s the link if you can’t see the video below), and I want to say I think Froggatt is doing a beautiful job of conveying Anna’s pain and trauma. But. But. Something still isn’t sitting right with me, and it’s what I talked about last week: the decision to create a rift between Anna and Bates before her trauma. His sharpness and jealousy, the suggestion that Anna was being a bit flirty with Mr. Green. Those two writerly decisions (and always, always with this show, we come back to the very visible hand of The Writer, who is meant to be invisible) are so wrongheaded they undermine whatever sensitive or unflinching exploration of a very real trauma they are striving to create.

I’m also bothered that Anna’s trauma is becoming Bates’s trauma as well—or no, it’s not that exactly, it’s the way he did kind of bully her with his “I will find out.” Bates is being written all wrong this season, period.

Well, Carson’s being written rather wonderfully, I’ll give Melrose Abbey that much. He wins best line this week: “I always think there’s something rather foreign about high spirits at breakfast.” Oh, the layers of disdain he piles into the word ‘foreign’!

So who’s your pick for the next lady’s maid? A return of Miss O’Brien? She’s not that old. I’m trying to remember what ‘older’ women Thomas knows…

It's been a long time since I've discussed an issue of The Horn Book here (I couldn't even find the last post when I "reviewed" one), but the March/April issue was particularly good, I thought. Think of today's offering as being like a Downton Abbey or Walking Dead recap but without Maggie Smith or whatever it is that's on the Walking Dead.

Okay, this was a theme issue on weird-as-- , or, rather, "the odd, the marginalized, the independent, and the otherwise nonconforming among us." Within those essays, I particularly liked Two Writers Look at Weird by Polly Horvath and Jack Gantos. I also liked Something Wicked by Christine Taylor-Butler. I read that when I was young, too. Have I ever told you about my Uncle Mickey and his trunk full of paperbacks, from which he pulled some Ray Bradburys and handed them to me? Sigh.

Enough with the trip down Memory Lane. The Jack (and Jill) Be Nimble interview with Mary Cash and Jason Low was terrific. Painlessly showed me the world of the original independent publishers, as in small publishing companies that aren't owned by conglomerates or shareholders and can thus function without  committees and group thinking.

The Price of Truth by Eugene Yelchin is a great memoir of his youth reading in the police state that was the Soviet Union. Here is a true story on top of his true story: Yelchin mentions a poet, Osip Mandelstam, whom he says was censored by the Soviets and had his papers destroyed. His wife memorized his poetry and years after his death, dictated it so it could be written down. Hours after reading this in The Horn Book article, I heard the Mandelstam story again on On Point. Seriously.

Liz Burns, who I kind of know in that blogger-knowing-blogger way, wrote Reading: It's More Than Meets the Eye  a well-done piece about providing books for the print disabled.

I don't know Elizabeth Bluemle, but I've been to her bookstore, the subject of her article, When Pigs Fly: The Improbable Dream of Bookselling in a Digital Age.

And there are more articles, of course, and then the reviews. I'm delighted I got a chance to recap this issue before the next one arrives, which should probably be next month, only a few weeks away, right?

I love Wil Wheaton; and I love that he understands the dislike felt towards Wesley "original Mary Sue" Crusher.

Wheaton is recapping Star Trek: The Next Generation over at TV Squad. If you've ever watched ST:TNG, this is must read material.

So far one of my favorite lines is: "Q is really like a stupid Internet Troll; he makes some stupid accusation against Picard, Picard refutes his argument with logic and reason, and Q just changes the terms of the argument, all the while enjoying the attention he's getting."

And the behind the scenes comments! Oh, pure geek joy.