So this week I read Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker, which, I'm gonna level with you, is one of my favorite books of all time. It is, of course, the most important vampire book ever written--the most famous, the most adapted, and the most beloved of the genre. It is so famous that we encounter the same problems with it as we did with Frankenstein: we know "the story" so well that we neglect the novel.
But the story of Dracula isn't quite what we expect it to be. Even Nosferatu, the first film adaptation (even as bootlegged as it was) changes, subtracts, and re-imagines what the novel is about. The vampiric "rules" as we understand them, don't apply to Dracula. So every time that he appears in later works, he must be dealt with; in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, he's adept a gypsy magic, in other works, he's just ancient.
There's a whole list of issues that Dracula brings up: the first, and arguably most accessible, is the issues with invasion and foreignness. We have the invasion of the Oriental danger--it's no accident that Dracula is from Eastern Europe, i.e., THE EAST--fought off by our stalwart and trusty Englishmen.
Then, we have issues of gender in Victorian, and arguably contemporary, society. Mina is ignored by the "big brave men" and finds herself under attack by Dracula--even though she's the one transcribing the damn novel.
Finally, we have issues of sexuality. The contemporary understanding of sexuality--Freud--leads the reader to some very awkward conclusions about Dracula's method of drinking--and sharing--blood. Mina's very erotically-charged encounter with Dracula makes for a lot of intellectual fodder.
All right, for serious lastly, Dracula remains one of the most pop cultural vampires. Why? The Victorians read the book as a purely adventure story, yet modern (and some contemporary) readers recognized the novel as a work of "literature". And even as the novel is read as literature, it enters the mainstream. Why? For one, it is a better telling of the Carmilla story (although, sadly, without lesbians), i.e., Overcoming the Monster. For another, Dracula's sexiness [even though he is sooo unsexy] calls out to both the Victorian sensibility and the Postmodern sensibility--that is, the era of Science is a fan of the un-scientific.
So, as a finale of sorts, next week, we will continue our exploits with Mina in Alan Moore's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (1999), which is a graphic novel starring many of our Victorian (and Gothic!) heroes,
Showing posts with label Frankenstein. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frankenstein. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
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 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.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Frankenstein, or Frankenstein is Totally the Scientist Guy
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) is at once many things. Widely considered the first Science Fiction novel, Frankenstein is also a Romantic discourse between from Shelley to her contemporaries as well as the first example of Kelly Hurley's abhuman (that is, the creature which is both human and nonhuman concurrently; the liminal figure of the wolfman, the vampire, and, arguably, Frankenstein's monster (192)) we encounter in the context of this course. Finally, the novel is inherently problematic given its appropriation into popular culture--most spectacularly through film.
As a science-y novel, the classification of Frankenstein as Gothicism is somewhat contentious. As Kelly Hurley remarks, science fiction can be, and frequently is, recognized as separate from supernatural occurrences (191). Nevertheless, like Radcliffe before her, Shelley's work fall directly into the previously defined weird--the hints that Shelley drops about the nature of Frankenstein's creation of Adam, our monster, clearly mark an impossibility. Even given our modern medical understanding, the return of life to dead tissue is an inherently rare or miraculous act--at the time of writing, even more so. Furthermore, the other aspects of the Gothic that Hurley uses to define it, as well as my own definition, include gloomy and dangerous settings, taboo, transformative, and transgressive themes, hyperbolic and suspenseful atmosphere (191). All of which, it happens, are contained in Frankenstein.
The often-overlooked element of Romanticism in the novel, meanwhile, differentiate this novel and others from that of the Victorian. Likewise, the until-recently-overlooked Shelley make her very distinctive presence known in the novel. Her quotations of both Wordsworth and Coleridge meant that this novel acts as a discourse between her and her Romantic contemporaries. It cannot be overstated that Shelley was very much a player in the intellectual games of her time. The mark of the French Revolution, with its rejection of Christianity and its concern with the individual experience, permeate the novel. This is one of the least religious novels we've read thus far, yet, with Adam's reading of Paradise Lost, this book takes up the same kind of questioning that we found in Lewis--most obviously, what are the responsibilities that a creator owes its creation? Furthermore, the fact that we hear from the abhuman figure directly cannot be accidental, given the importance of democracy to the Romantic discourse as well as the failure of the French Revolution. This novel is one of the very few times that we hear the viewpoint of the abhuman--no one, for example, knows what Dracula is thinking. The moments where Shelley enters into the literary and intellectual discourse of her contemporaries points toward her novel's staying power.
The treatment of Frankenstein in film is, arguably, one of the most controversial aspects of the novel. Gone, on film, is the personal explanation from Adam's own mouth. In its place, the creation scene involving lightning that has so dominated popular culture. The 1931 version of the film with Boris Karloff is especially interesting in this regard. Not only is Shelley credited under her husband's name, Frankenstein and his confidant switch names, Elizabeth is no longer Frankenstein's adopted sister, and a school professor in the vein of Van Helsing is added. Even more fascinating is the Mel Brooks parody Young Frankenstein, if only because Frankenstein is twenty in the book. How much younger need he be? Arguably, the vast difference between these two versions mark a similar occurrence in the previous century on the stage. I would argue that the tendency toward parody returns somewhat to that ever-present theme of self-parody, brought on, no doubt, by the highly stylized elements of Gothicism. As one final comment, I find it interesting that, with the method of framing that Shelley uses, there is no neutral narrator voice--each of the narrators has an agenda. This is one of the main reason, I think, that the novel is so unfilmable as written.
Finally, the elements that Frankenstein contributes to Gothicism include, obviously, the mad scientist; the human-created monster; and, most likely by accident, the sequel-hook. All of these elements make their way into B-movies, if nowhere else. As one of the strands that binds Gothicism to the present, Frankenstein is a big one, only second to the popularizing of the vampire.
Newt week, I'll be discussing Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (1818), written well before this novel, but published as a contemporary.
Hurley, Kelly. "British Gothic fiction, 1855-1930". The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction. Ed. Jerrold Hogle. Cambridge UP. Cambridge, 2002
As a science-y novel, the classification of Frankenstein as Gothicism is somewhat contentious. As Kelly Hurley remarks, science fiction can be, and frequently is, recognized as separate from supernatural occurrences (191). Nevertheless, like Radcliffe before her, Shelley's work fall directly into the previously defined weird--the hints that Shelley drops about the nature of Frankenstein's creation of Adam, our monster, clearly mark an impossibility. Even given our modern medical understanding, the return of life to dead tissue is an inherently rare or miraculous act--at the time of writing, even more so. Furthermore, the other aspects of the Gothic that Hurley uses to define it, as well as my own definition, include gloomy and dangerous settings, taboo, transformative, and transgressive themes, hyperbolic and suspenseful atmosphere (191). All of which, it happens, are contained in Frankenstein.
The often-overlooked element of Romanticism in the novel, meanwhile, differentiate this novel and others from that of the Victorian. Likewise, the until-recently-overlooked Shelley make her very distinctive presence known in the novel. Her quotations of both Wordsworth and Coleridge meant that this novel acts as a discourse between her and her Romantic contemporaries. It cannot be overstated that Shelley was very much a player in the intellectual games of her time. The mark of the French Revolution, with its rejection of Christianity and its concern with the individual experience, permeate the novel. This is one of the least religious novels we've read thus far, yet, with Adam's reading of Paradise Lost, this book takes up the same kind of questioning that we found in Lewis--most obviously, what are the responsibilities that a creator owes its creation? Furthermore, the fact that we hear from the abhuman figure directly cannot be accidental, given the importance of democracy to the Romantic discourse as well as the failure of the French Revolution. This novel is one of the very few times that we hear the viewpoint of the abhuman--no one, for example, knows what Dracula is thinking. The moments where Shelley enters into the literary and intellectual discourse of her contemporaries points toward her novel's staying power.
The treatment of Frankenstein in film is, arguably, one of the most controversial aspects of the novel. Gone, on film, is the personal explanation from Adam's own mouth. In its place, the creation scene involving lightning that has so dominated popular culture. The 1931 version of the film with Boris Karloff is especially interesting in this regard. Not only is Shelley credited under her husband's name, Frankenstein and his confidant switch names, Elizabeth is no longer Frankenstein's adopted sister, and a school professor in the vein of Van Helsing is added. Even more fascinating is the Mel Brooks parody Young Frankenstein, if only because Frankenstein is twenty in the book. How much younger need he be? Arguably, the vast difference between these two versions mark a similar occurrence in the previous century on the stage. I would argue that the tendency toward parody returns somewhat to that ever-present theme of self-parody, brought on, no doubt, by the highly stylized elements of Gothicism. As one final comment, I find it interesting that, with the method of framing that Shelley uses, there is no neutral narrator voice--each of the narrators has an agenda. This is one of the main reason, I think, that the novel is so unfilmable as written.
Finally, the elements that Frankenstein contributes to Gothicism include, obviously, the mad scientist; the human-created monster; and, most likely by accident, the sequel-hook. All of these elements make their way into B-movies, if nowhere else. As one of the strands that binds Gothicism to the present, Frankenstein is a big one, only second to the popularizing of the vampire.
Newt week, I'll be discussing Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (1818), written well before this novel, but published as a contemporary.
Hurley, Kelly. "British Gothic fiction, 1855-1930". The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction. Ed. Jerrold Hogle. Cambridge UP. Cambridge, 2002
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Monk: A Romance, or Satan?!
So to start off this week's discussion of Matthew Gregory "Monk" Lewis's The Monk: A Romance (1796), we have an interesting fact: this novel was written while Lewis was still 19, in less than three months. Interesting, yes? Especially when you consider that, unlike the two previous novels of this course, The Monk has some very interesting (and literary) things to say. First, there's the very beginning of the novel; rather than haphazardly leaping into a death (I'm looking at you, Walpole!) the novel gives time to establish its characters before being horrible to them. Conversely, unlike Radcliffe's doorstopper, Lewis begins the novel right in the middle of the action--no Victorian wasting disease in sight.
Furthermore, we return to the authorial justification that we saw at the beginning of Otranto; this time, in the mid-book. Lewis whines about the difficulty implicit in writing a book--the way that each reader "judges" the quality of the work, etc--through Alphonso explaining the "thousand mortifications" that an author faces. This short passage of the novel is interesting in light of the self-parodying aspect of the Gothic novel.
I also found the treatment of the supernatural in this novel to be very interesting. Even given that the main (tragic?) hero is a priest (and minor characters act as clergy) the hugely Catholic nature of the novel is staggering. The Spanish setting is not incidental to this aspect of the novel, but the Bleeding Nun and Wandering Jew episode are extremely unexpected, given the previous two novels. Of course, they only act as a lead in to the arrival of Lucifer and the use of witchcraft later. They serve to strengthen the Suspension of Disbelief that is so necessary for a Gothic work (perhaps more so than other works?) to function--if ghosts, then Wandering Jews, if Wandering Jews, then Lucifer. What's very interesting to me is that there is no definite "good" supernatural to balance out the bad. If the Great Mogul is the Wandering Jew (and as the narrator doesn't comment to the affirmative, we merely speculate) then Jesus would logically have existed, but where is he? Where is the angel to lead away from temptation? The lack of the God side of the morality binary is certainly a play with the "morality tale" that Lewis is referencing--an interesting one, given the severity of the Catholicism.
The treatment of women, meanwhile, is ambiguous at best. Each female character acts more as a device--Antonia, our persecuted "heroine"? She's one-note in her innocence, which eventually kills her. Matilda? transvestic witch. Interesting on paper, but her all consuming love of Ambrosio is essentially her entire characterization. Oh, and she's Lucifer's emissary. A seductive Eve figure. Leonella? Flighty, vain gossip. Interestingly, the character Agnes, for me, read as more of a heroine figure, given that the main narrative is a morality tragedy. However, she's a pregnant nun who wants to marry Alphonso. In fact, the best female characters seem to be Elvira and Marguerite--but only for the way they are treated by men. I can believe a 19 year old boy wrote this novel.
The way that The Monk influences its literary children--its contribution to the Gothic tropes--are fairly numerous. The evil priest character is nearly ubiquitous after this point. The lack of divinity is also apparent--a Gothic universe is one of an uncaring (or at least un-intervening) God. Ambrosio's contribution to the Byronic Hero is almost immeasurable, though I would more likely characterize him as Villain Protagonist. Also: a Gothic novel with some actual literary merit? I would say so. The questioning aspect of the novel--is there a god?--definitely allows for a more nuanced interpretation of the work.
So, next week, I'll be reviewing Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Frankenstein (1823). Published in France! And I'll also look at the Hammer Horror version of Frankenstein and how it relates to the actual novel.
Furthermore, we return to the authorial justification that we saw at the beginning of Otranto; this time, in the mid-book. Lewis whines about the difficulty implicit in writing a book--the way that each reader "judges" the quality of the work, etc--through Alphonso explaining the "thousand mortifications" that an author faces. This short passage of the novel is interesting in light of the self-parodying aspect of the Gothic novel.
I also found the treatment of the supernatural in this novel to be very interesting. Even given that the main (tragic?) hero is a priest (and minor characters act as clergy) the hugely Catholic nature of the novel is staggering. The Spanish setting is not incidental to this aspect of the novel, but the Bleeding Nun and Wandering Jew episode are extremely unexpected, given the previous two novels. Of course, they only act as a lead in to the arrival of Lucifer and the use of witchcraft later. They serve to strengthen the Suspension of Disbelief that is so necessary for a Gothic work (perhaps more so than other works?) to function--if ghosts, then Wandering Jews, if Wandering Jews, then Lucifer. What's very interesting to me is that there is no definite "good" supernatural to balance out the bad. If the Great Mogul is the Wandering Jew (and as the narrator doesn't comment to the affirmative, we merely speculate) then Jesus would logically have existed, but where is he? Where is the angel to lead away from temptation? The lack of the God side of the morality binary is certainly a play with the "morality tale" that Lewis is referencing--an interesting one, given the severity of the Catholicism.
The treatment of women, meanwhile, is ambiguous at best. Each female character acts more as a device--Antonia, our persecuted "heroine"? She's one-note in her innocence, which eventually kills her. Matilda? transvestic witch. Interesting on paper, but her all consuming love of Ambrosio is essentially her entire characterization. Oh, and she's Lucifer's emissary. A seductive Eve figure. Leonella? Flighty, vain gossip. Interestingly, the character Agnes, for me, read as more of a heroine figure, given that the main narrative is a morality tragedy. However, she's a pregnant nun who wants to marry Alphonso. In fact, the best female characters seem to be Elvira and Marguerite--but only for the way they are treated by men. I can believe a 19 year old boy wrote this novel.
The way that The Monk influences its literary children--its contribution to the Gothic tropes--are fairly numerous. The evil priest character is nearly ubiquitous after this point. The lack of divinity is also apparent--a Gothic universe is one of an uncaring (or at least un-intervening) God. Ambrosio's contribution to the Byronic Hero is almost immeasurable, though I would more likely characterize him as Villain Protagonist. Also: a Gothic novel with some actual literary merit? I would say so. The questioning aspect of the novel--is there a god?--definitely allows for a more nuanced interpretation of the work.
So, next week, I'll be reviewing Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Frankenstein (1823). Published in France! And I'll also look at the Hammer Horror version of Frankenstein and how it relates to the actual novel.
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