So this week I read A Long Fatal Love Chase (1995) by Louisa May Alcott, famed writer of Little Women. In regards to this class, this novel is unique in many ways from the other novels that we're reading. First, it is an American novel, though American in the style of Henry James, and second, this novel was published for the first time in the 1990s.
In regards to other novels, however, Love Chase is hardly unique. There are great similarities to Jane Eyre in terms of the novels content--the criticism of the Byronic Hero, the theme of bigamy, and the feminism embodied by the protagonist. The constant flight and chase seems to parallel Jane's flight in the middle of her novel, as does the relationship with the priest (or the priest-like figure of St. John). There are, however, striking differences between the two novels. For one, this novel is a tragedy, ending in the death of our protagonist. There is no redemption allowed for the Byronic Hero--here, unlike Rochester, playing antagonist--and Tempest remains a selfish monster to the end. In this respect, Alcott seems to be calling on the characterization of Heathcliff--perhaps positing, in the way similar to fan fiction, "What if Jane had met Heathcliff instead?"
The striking feminism of the novel is also, at least partly, due to Jane's influence. For all the novel's faults, Alcott gives us an active, round protagonist that does things, rather than having things done to her. The constant leaving, the willingness to put principle over pleasure marks Rosamond as Jane's literary sister. This marks Rosamond as exhibiting characteristics of the Byronic Heroine: not content to be merely persecuted, as in Udolpho, nor locked away as a madwoman, even metaphorically, as in Jane Eyre. Rather, Rosamond occupies a characterization that mixes parts of the two, while adding a great deal of agency, much like, again, Jane does.
The religious aspect of the novel is also, arguably, more pronounced than in Jane Eyre. While Jane does believe in God, I'd be hard-pressed to call her a religious person, whereas a great deal of Rosamond's motivation is the belief that she should do as God would want. Rosamond acts from a religious impulse while Jane acts from one of personal pride. The equation of Tempest with a Satan figure, while fairly heavy-handed on the part of the author, underscores both Rosamond's motivation and the Gothic tone of the work.
All right, so next week we're reading two books: Polidori's The Vampyre (main character based on Byron) and le Fanu's Carmilla (lesbians! vampires!), and we return to the supernatural elements that have been rather under-represented since Frankenstein.
Showing posts with label Jane Eyre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jane Eyre. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Lady Audley's Secret, or The Byronic Heroine in the Madhouse
All right. We need to start by stating that Lady Audley’s Secret (1862) by Mary Elizabeth Braddon is one of the best novels I’ve read in the preceding year. Braddon has definitely earned her place next to the Brontes and Dickens, and the fact that she is under-read is a testament to the unbalanced nature of the traditional Western Canon. It is a fabulous read.
That said, the novel does remain problematic for multiple reason that call out for discussion. First of these is the treatment of madness. We haven’t much discussed madness in this blog heretofore, so we’ll need to become serious for a moment. The appellation of insanity has no place in the psychologist’s office; it is a meaningless, legal term that does not act as a true barometer of a person’s ability to interact on a societal level. That said, Lady Audley does exhibit several sociopathic characteristics which may have necessitated her confinement in the masion de santé; that’s as may be. But the way in which Braddon characterizes her confinement is incredibly problematic, i.e., that she must be sequestered in order to protect society; I’d like to see a man in a similar situation be so treated.
Furthermore, Lady Audley’s character reflects certain classic elements of the Byronic Hero; so much so that I feel it fully justifiable to call her a Byronic Heroine, along the lines of Jane and Cathy. She is devious, secretive, with a dark past, ravishingly beautiful, possibly or partially mad, a bigamist (Rochester) and finally sort of evil (Heathcliff). Her actions, meanwhile, are no worse than theirs are; none of them directly kill another, for example. The way that the text treats her, however, seems somewhat misogynistic.
That said, I’d be hard-pressed to call this work anti-feminist. Yes, we have woman as our antagonist [if we posit that Robert is our protagonist] but the language that Robert uses in regards to women, the fully-fleshed characterization of the women, and the neutrality that the narrator maintains while Lady Audley enters the madhouse, all speak to the (possibly half-hearted) feminist elements of the text. Yes, the treatment of women in this novel is incredibly complex.
Our insight into the character of Robert, meanwhile, labels him as less of a Byronic Hero and more akin to a Pathetic or Anti Hero. I mean, the narrator has no compunctions about calling out his shiftlessness or laziness, yet he is fully prepared to act when given a good enough reason. Braddon has a talent for characterization.
All right. Next week, we’ll be discussing Louisa May Alcott (of Little Women Fame) and her work A Long Fatal Love Chase (1866/1995).
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Bleak House 2, or the Victorian Horror
All right, so to continue from last week, we're discussing Charles Dickens's work Bleak House and the ways in which it forms a part of the Gothic canon. We're a day late because I'm currently in New Orleans, so please bear with the (somewhat) lessened reading experience.
I think, again, that the major underlying theme of Dickens's work is the necessity of taking responsibility; rather than foisting problems onto other people (Skimpole/Tulkinghorn), other circumstances (Richard), or the past (Lady Dedlock), Dickens is encouraging his readers to take action instead of remaining passive about the social problems that plague them and others. This is, of course, Dickens's M.O.; indeed, part of the issues that keep Bleak House from being a Great novel is the obviousness of Dickens in the text--he is never far from the surface of the novel.
Nevertheless, the urbanization of the Gothic that is present in this novel has a direct tie to our modern understanding of the genre. Not only does the Urban Supernatural genre exist in its own right, the increased industrialization of the West means that the physical isolation felt in the early Gothic works is paired with an isolation in an urban setting: not alone, but lonely.
Furthermore, the Victorian elements of the novel--the discussion of the issues of industrialization especially--point toward the understanding of the Gothic as arriving from the horrors of the everyday. Dickens simply skips making a supernatural metaphor in order to examine real-world problems. This is similar to the Brontes' exploration of patriarchy, given that the supernatural elements arguably play side-line or ancillary roles in Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Rather than using the Gothic as a metaphor, Dickens is using it as figurative language--more along the lines of a literary mode than a genre. Dickens uses the rhetorical Gothic as an attempt to emphasize the horrors of reality.
This approach is clear in the death of Krook by spontaneous combustion, arguably the most (if not only) supernatural event in the book. Rather than focusing on the event or describing it in detail, however, Dickens only gives us the aftermath and its consequences. This is probably the exact opposite of what "Monk" Lewis would have done; rather than writing a story about the Gothic, Dickens uses the Gothic as a lens to explore the social order.
So next week, we'll be reading Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon.
I think, again, that the major underlying theme of Dickens's work is the necessity of taking responsibility; rather than foisting problems onto other people (Skimpole/Tulkinghorn), other circumstances (Richard), or the past (Lady Dedlock), Dickens is encouraging his readers to take action instead of remaining passive about the social problems that plague them and others. This is, of course, Dickens's M.O.; indeed, part of the issues that keep Bleak House from being a Great novel is the obviousness of Dickens in the text--he is never far from the surface of the novel.
Nevertheless, the urbanization of the Gothic that is present in this novel has a direct tie to our modern understanding of the genre. Not only does the Urban Supernatural genre exist in its own right, the increased industrialization of the West means that the physical isolation felt in the early Gothic works is paired with an isolation in an urban setting: not alone, but lonely.
Furthermore, the Victorian elements of the novel--the discussion of the issues of industrialization especially--point toward the understanding of the Gothic as arriving from the horrors of the everyday. Dickens simply skips making a supernatural metaphor in order to examine real-world problems. This is similar to the Brontes' exploration of patriarchy, given that the supernatural elements arguably play side-line or ancillary roles in Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Rather than using the Gothic as a metaphor, Dickens is using it as figurative language--more along the lines of a literary mode than a genre. Dickens uses the rhetorical Gothic as an attempt to emphasize the horrors of reality.
This approach is clear in the death of Krook by spontaneous combustion, arguably the most (if not only) supernatural event in the book. Rather than focusing on the event or describing it in detail, however, Dickens only gives us the aftermath and its consequences. This is probably the exact opposite of what "Monk" Lewis would have done; rather than writing a story about the Gothic, Dickens uses the Gothic as a lens to explore the social order.
So next week, we'll be reading Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon.
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.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
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.
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.
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