So as the last novel we read for my Gothicism course, we chose Alan Moore's graphic novel The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 1, which is a work rich with allusions to Victorian literature, and because of its employment of famous literary characters, there is a great deal of Gothicism floating around.
First, and most obviously, we return to the exploits of Mina Murray from Dracula, now divorced, disgraced, and employed by a shadowy branch of military service. She returns here as leader of the League, a collection of various heroes and villains from Victorian literature: Allan Quatermain, the Great White Hunter; Captain Nemo, Scourage of the Empire; Hawley Griffin, Invisible Man; and Dr Jekyll, with Mr. Hyde in tow. Mina is the leader because she "has experience with monsters," i.e., the abhuman and the Other. Each of her subordinates, with the possible exception of Quatermain, has something specifically Gothic about them.
Furthermore the overreaching plot, especially the confrontation with Moriarty, brings to mind the human Gothic that we found in Bleak House and Northanger Abbey; we are confronted with a perfectly ordinary man as the antagonist, while the Others and the abhumans become the heroes of the work; quite a turn around from Dracula.
The Chinese Devil Doctor, however, relates to the sense of Orientalist fears to the east that plagued England during the Victorian era, as well as the sense of foreboding that permeates Dracula. That we find ourselves constantly in opium dens, crowded sidewalks, underwater, underground, and in the bat-like aerial ship seems a very codified use of the urban Gothic's restriction of space; meanwhile, the constant crush of people in the city street reinforces that element.
All right, so that wraps up the blog for the time being. I hope to continue on this summer, as I've just received a copy of Dracula: The Un-Dead, which is supposed to be the official sequel to the classic novel. Thanks for reading!
Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Picture of Dorian Gray, or 'Twere Beauty, Killed the Beast
So this week, I read The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891), the only published novel of the great Oscar Wilde. Not only is it one of his most famous works, but a great many of his quotable quotes comes from this book, and the preface outlines his aesthetic and artistic theory. Nevertheless, for a work that defines art and beauty, the novel seems to be saying quite a few pointed things about Hedonism.
Dorian, of course, retains his outward, youthful appearance as his portrait shifts and alters with time, not only aging instead of Dorian, but also absorbing the ugliness that is the byproduct of sin. In removing the consequences of action, the portrait allows Dorian to act only in pursuit of pleasure, regardless of its effect on those around him. In doing so, Dorian both experiences the supernatural, Gothic element of the work, while allowing himself to become the abhuman figure--as monstrous inwardly as the portrait is outward.
Furthermore, though the novel contends that art must hide the artist to be successful, the underlying gay subtext of the novel leads me to conclude that Wilde is, in some ways, rather close to the surface. Not only does the adoration of Dorian by Basil and Harry seem at least homoerotic, the fact that the majority of lives ruined by Dorian are men cannot be overlooked. Even the description of Dorian's short friendships with other men calls to mind romantic interludes. The stereotypically dandyish behavior that Dorian exhibits doesn't help in this regard.
The novel is also greatly concerned with art and the meaning of art. Whether it is Wilde speaking directly in the preface, or the art theories espoused by Basil or Harry, or the vast differences between Sybil's acting abilities, the treatment of art as valuable for it's own sake is a foremost theme. Dorian's various obsessions in the midst of his societal prominence point toward the enjoyment of art for art's sake, rather than for a didactic or moralistic reason.
As for the Gothic, we again have the motif of the portrait showing the truth, something of a throwback to Otranto and the like. We have also an anti-hero figure; Dorian's slow, tragic fall, I would argue, prevents him from being a Byronic Hero. There is the supernatural element, coupled with a scientific reasoning. It is interesting that, as usual, the supernatural seems to come from a reality of angels and demons. We also have the corrupting influence of the city, albeit in a smaller dose than in Dickens. Rather than concerning itself with the horrors of the Victorian Age, the novel satirizes the upper class avoidance of the topic.
So next week, we'll be reading Dracula (1897), one of my all time favorite books, as well as viewing both Nosferatu and "Buffy vs. Dracula."
Dorian, of course, retains his outward, youthful appearance as his portrait shifts and alters with time, not only aging instead of Dorian, but also absorbing the ugliness that is the byproduct of sin. In removing the consequences of action, the portrait allows Dorian to act only in pursuit of pleasure, regardless of its effect on those around him. In doing so, Dorian both experiences the supernatural, Gothic element of the work, while allowing himself to become the abhuman figure--as monstrous inwardly as the portrait is outward.
Furthermore, though the novel contends that art must hide the artist to be successful, the underlying gay subtext of the novel leads me to conclude that Wilde is, in some ways, rather close to the surface. Not only does the adoration of Dorian by Basil and Harry seem at least homoerotic, the fact that the majority of lives ruined by Dorian are men cannot be overlooked. Even the description of Dorian's short friendships with other men calls to mind romantic interludes. The stereotypically dandyish behavior that Dorian exhibits doesn't help in this regard.
The novel is also greatly concerned with art and the meaning of art. Whether it is Wilde speaking directly in the preface, or the art theories espoused by Basil or Harry, or the vast differences between Sybil's acting abilities, the treatment of art as valuable for it's own sake is a foremost theme. Dorian's various obsessions in the midst of his societal prominence point toward the enjoyment of art for art's sake, rather than for a didactic or moralistic reason.
As for the Gothic, we again have the motif of the portrait showing the truth, something of a throwback to Otranto and the like. We have also an anti-hero figure; Dorian's slow, tragic fall, I would argue, prevents him from being a Byronic Hero. There is the supernatural element, coupled with a scientific reasoning. It is interesting that, as usual, the supernatural seems to come from a reality of angels and demons. We also have the corrupting influence of the city, albeit in a smaller dose than in Dickens. Rather than concerning itself with the horrors of the Victorian Age, the novel satirizes the upper class avoidance of the topic.
So next week, we'll be reading Dracula (1897), one of my all time favorite books, as well as viewing both Nosferatu and "Buffy vs. Dracula."
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Bleak House, or Fog. Fog. Fog fog fog. Fog? Fog.
All right. Bleak House (1852-53) is a novel that was published in serial by Charles Dickens. Recently named Dickens's best work by Time Magazine, Bleak House is the first literary reference to the Urban Fog of London, and is so massively complex (and long!) that I shall be spending two weeks on it.
The sheer number of times that Dickens repeats the word "fog" when first describing London requires comment; the fact that this is the first time in literature that London is described with the Urban Fog only adds to the importance of the moment. Here, Dickens is using the Gothic mode--normally confined to the countryside--in order to describe the cloying and claustrophobic atmosphere that clings to London, like a fog. This atmosphere reflects the main core of the novel--the destruction of lives caused by the Chancery court. Indeed, Jarndyce, near the end of this week's reading (to chapter 30), says that it would be better to die than to become involved with the Chancery suit.
Allan Pritchard, meanwhile, remarks that Bleak House's gothic elements have been largely overlooked until very recently. This is incredibly interesting to me, and Pritchard evidently, given the title that Dickens eventually chose. Rather than "In Chancery" Dickens chose "Bleak House," following the Gothic convention of naming houses and naming books after houses. I had noticed this in relation to Northanger Abbey, in relation to The House of Udolpho--indeed, in relation to Wuthering Heights. By choosing this title, Dickens clearly marked this novel as Gothic, intentionally or not.
Of the characters that Dickens creates--brilliant, of course, so we'll take that as read--the sheer evilness of Skimpole was enough to turn my stomach. I almost lost my suspension of disbelief because the other characters fail to see it. While his actions seem at least neutral thus far, the claiming of childhood at his age, and his unwillingness to become an adult, leaves me in mind of a sociopath, at its most extreme. More mildly, an apathetic person can be read as the most evil of people, given that even people, or characters, marked "evil" believe themselves to be good. Skimpole is amoral, and thus evil.
Esther Summerson, meanwhile, is Dickens's only female narrator. Her story is thus far fascinating, if only because she attempts--or says she attempts--to chronicle the lives around her, but manages instead to chronicle her own. She is clearly related to Jane Eyre--who is published previously--yet her future romance (I write the blog, so I cheated a little) seems to reject the ordinary Gothic version. Her relationship with Lady Dedlock, furthermore, seems to play on the fairy tale nature of her childhood, raised by a wicked stepmother figure, but our persecuted heroine seems to be less persecuted as we move along.
So next week, we'll finish up our discussion, and be taking this blog on the road.
The sheer number of times that Dickens repeats the word "fog" when first describing London requires comment; the fact that this is the first time in literature that London is described with the Urban Fog only adds to the importance of the moment. Here, Dickens is using the Gothic mode--normally confined to the countryside--in order to describe the cloying and claustrophobic atmosphere that clings to London, like a fog. This atmosphere reflects the main core of the novel--the destruction of lives caused by the Chancery court. Indeed, Jarndyce, near the end of this week's reading (to chapter 30), says that it would be better to die than to become involved with the Chancery suit.
Allan Pritchard, meanwhile, remarks that Bleak House's gothic elements have been largely overlooked until very recently. This is incredibly interesting to me, and Pritchard evidently, given the title that Dickens eventually chose. Rather than "In Chancery" Dickens chose "Bleak House," following the Gothic convention of naming houses and naming books after houses. I had noticed this in relation to Northanger Abbey, in relation to The House of Udolpho--indeed, in relation to Wuthering Heights. By choosing this title, Dickens clearly marked this novel as Gothic, intentionally or not.
Of the characters that Dickens creates--brilliant, of course, so we'll take that as read--the sheer evilness of Skimpole was enough to turn my stomach. I almost lost my suspension of disbelief because the other characters fail to see it. While his actions seem at least neutral thus far, the claiming of childhood at his age, and his unwillingness to become an adult, leaves me in mind of a sociopath, at its most extreme. More mildly, an apathetic person can be read as the most evil of people, given that even people, or characters, marked "evil" believe themselves to be good. Skimpole is amoral, and thus evil.
Esther Summerson, meanwhile, is Dickens's only female narrator. Her story is thus far fascinating, if only because she attempts--or says she attempts--to chronicle the lives around her, but manages instead to chronicle her own. She is clearly related to Jane Eyre--who is published previously--yet her future romance (I write the blog, so I cheated a little) seems to reject the ordinary Gothic version. Her relationship with Lady Dedlock, furthermore, seems to play on the fairy tale nature of her childhood, raised by a wicked stepmother figure, but our persecuted heroine seems to be less persecuted as we move along.
So next week, we'll finish up our discussion, and be taking this blog on the road.
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