Northanger Abbey or, if Radcliffe had been Intentionally Funny

Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (1818) is something of a jump backward in time for the purposes of this blog. As most Austenophiles are aware, this was the first book she ever completed, but it would remain un published until her death. So, throwing ourselves backwards, we find that in one way, Austen's work is a contemporary, and indeed response to, The Mysteries of Udolpho. Nevertheless, Austen's genius, which we'll discuss momentarily, and her perfection of the novel form ties her work more closely to Victorianism, due to the Realist style in which she writes. Austen simply belongs next to Charles Dickens.
The discussion of this novel as part of this course is somewhat problematic. Not only is this the only overtly parodic novel we're discussing, but categorizing this as a true Gothic novel is almost impossible. One of the major reasons that this book can be seen as lacking Gothicism is Austen's Realism. The weird that has been present in each of the previous novels--even, to an extent, in Radcliffe's work--is totally absent from this book. This partly due to Udolpho's scientific explanation of every strange occurrence. Writing directly in response, Austen gives her explanation for the strange happenings (what few there are) immediately; there is no black veil for Catherine to obsess over. Rather, her "mysterious document" is explained almost as quickly as it is introduced. Austen is directly parodying Radcliffe here-rather than inspiring terror at the unknown, Austen is more interested in satirizing the thought process that Catherine follows. The whole overblown style of Gothicism is incessantly mocked.
Nevertheless, by introducing us to Catherine, by subsuming Gothic works like Udolpho and The Monk and the Northanger horrid novels, Austen both enters a metatextual discourse about what it is to be a novel and incorporates elements of Gothicism. Rather than playing them for tragedy (or drama), as the other Gothic writers do, Austen instead plays them for comedy. Indeed, she's beginning here a fine, long tradition of parodying the Gothic--a trend perhaps most apparent in the treatment of Frankenstein as a text. Even though the laundry bill is quickly resolved, and General Tilney is innocent of murdering his wife, the fact that Catherine attempts to understand her surroundings through theorizing about the Gothic means that we, the audience, tend to do the same.
Another fascinating element of this novel is the narration. Obviously, with Austen and her free indirect speech, such a comment is superfluous; however, the ways in which the narrator here skewers the tropes that make up not only Gothic but all novels marks the beginnings of Austen's genius. As one of the greatest writers in the history of English, Austen is the perfecter of the novel--a genre which remained still nebulous in her time. The vast differences between Walpole and Austen do not properly convey that it's only been thirty to forty years difference in their publishing. Indeed, her perfect understanding of how a novel works--for example, writing about Catherine, plain, middle-class, with parents, rather than some beautiful orphan princess, and making it above all funny--must have contributed to her skill as an author.
Now, as for elements that this book adds to Gothicism, I can name two. First, we've already discussed the major element of parody that remains present in Gothicism up to the present--Rocky Horror, Young Frankenstein, Vampires Suck---but parody is not something that confines itself to Gothicism. Rather, the various elements that make up the Gothic (most obviously the weird) are simply ripe for parody, because they are incredibly ridiculous things that take themselves, at least mostly, seriously. Second, the blending of the Gothic with other genres, I think, has something to owe this book. This is Austenian Realism at its finest, yet it is also a Gothic novel. We'll encounter similar genre-blending in future books; we'll also see how other genres steal elements from Gothicism as part of writing a novel. In some respects, because so much of the novel's creation is indebted to Gothicism, it is difficult to find novels that don't contain something Gothic about them.
So, for the next two weeks, I'll be reading Bleak House (1852-53) by Charles Dickens, because Dickens is long-winded.

The Mysteries of Udolpho, or Emily's Fainted. Again.

“Terror and Horror are so far opposite that the first expands the soul, and awakens the faculties to a high degree of life; the other contracts, freezes and nearly annihilates them .... And where lies the differentce between horror and terror, but in the uncertainty and obscurity that accompany the first, respecting the dreading evil?" (Radcliffe)
So begins my discussion of The Mysteries of Udolpho, perhaps the quintessential Gothic Horror novel. Published in four volumes by Ann Radcliffe (called the Queen of the Gothic and the Stephen King of her own time) in 1794. I begin with this quote not only because it is from Miss Radcliffe, as she is affectionately known, but also because her distinctions between terror and horror continue to inform discussion of the Gothic, even to this day. Udolpho is filled to the brim with terror--that is, the emotional response solicited by the unknown and the unseen. The most obvious example is in the black veil that Emily, our persecuted heroine, lifts--Radcliffe refuses to describe what's hidden underneath until the end of the novel, which facilitates a fear of the unknown in her reader.


Udolpho is also filled to the brim with what I want to call the weird. There is absolutely nothing of a supernatural nature in the novel: everything that seems supernatural is perfectly (and rationally!) explainable. This is in obvious contrast to Walpole before, and most Gothic writers after. But there's plenty of weird to go around--secret passages, foreign armies, mysterious scientific phenomena, odd religious rituals, and a healthy dose of superstition. This aspect of the novel is especially important, given later developments in the Gothic--there's nothing explicitly supernatural in works like We Have Always Live in the Castle, after all.


Udolpho is also long, in contrast to its Gothic siblings. This is partially due to its time frame, of course: the eighteenth century novel was full of experimentation because the novel as a genre was one giant experiment. Therefore, it's no surprise the immense influence that the Picturesque has on this novel as well--gloriously purple-prosed and meticulously descriptive, the novel is an excellent travel-book, like many of its contemporaries. As such, the plot seems a bit wanderous, very Cervantes-esque in its lack of clear rising and falling action. Rather, the novel reads much more like real life as opposed to the conventions of what modern readers expect from a novel. That said, the four different volumes do seem to contain more coherent conflicts, separate from each other. In some ways, Udolpho reads like a quartet of novels, rather than a single one.
The characterization by Radcliffe, furthermore, is definitely a step up from Walpole. No longer simply caricatures, the depth that Radcliffe has managed to convey is surprising, given the very plot-driven (or rather life-driven) feel of the novel. Each character is fairly unique--there is no replacing of one woman for another like is capable in Walpole. The Persecuted Heroine makes a much more solid appearance in this novel as well. Given the similarities, and vast differences, between Jane Eyre and Emily, it seems fairly obvious that Charlotte is writing back to Radcliffe with her novel. The nature of the characters, however, continues to follow the fairy-tale like archetypes that Walpole uses. The Persecuted Heroine is our Virgin, of course, but we also having the loving (and dying) father from Cinderella, the wicked step-mother from Snow White, and the overbearing, dangerous male from Bluebeard. It does seem interesting to me one, that Montoni is a clear villain, given his near Byronic characterization, and two, that Valancourt has his own brush with corruption and darkness. The seeds of Rochester are clearly in the making.
All right, so next week we'll be discussing The Monk (1796) by Matthew Gregory "Monk" Lewis, which shares many things with this week's novel. It was apparently written in only ten weeks, so who knows what it will be like.


Cheers!


Radcliffe, Ann. "On the Supernatural in Poetry." New Monthly Magazine, volume 16, number 1. (1826), pp. 145-152.