Mrs. Radcliffe: Mysteries of Udolpho, Romance of the Forest, & more

[Extollager]

This thread ought to attract a few Chronsfolk, who've delved into the traditional "Gothic" novel, of which Ann Radcliffe (1764-1823) was perhaps the most accomplished exponent.

I confess that the most I've managed thus far was the reading of perhaps a third of Mysteries. However I'm pretty sure that, at least, J. D. Worthington has read extensively in Radcliffe's novels.

My favorite artist, Samuel Palmer, and his friends enjoyed Mrs. Radcliffe's romances when they were young, and there's a story of them setting off for a long walk by night to go to some neighboring village where they hoped to get hold of one of her books.

Some stir of conversation about her books might get me to pick up the one I started and persevere with it!

 

[Extollager]

...Actually I read more like 2/3 of Mysteries... maybe try to finish it!

 

[j d worthington]

Well, with the exception of Gaston de Blondeville, I've read each of them at least twice, some three times. That particular book, I've only read once, though now that it is fairly easily available in an attractive edition, I may finally get myself a copy (I own all the rest).

Mrs. Radcliffe's work is... not for everyone. It is very much of its time, influenced by a variety of things which were going on in literature at that point, including the translations of the Arabian Nights tales into European languages, and the very popular travelogues, which often provided very piquant views of other places and people. Then there is the philosophical novel; the epistolary novel; the sentimental novel; the burgeoning interest in folklore and fairy tales; the discussions concerning the conflict between the growing fields of science and established religion and conservative philosophies; the growth of interest in all things antique, especially of the middle ages or thereabouts; the influence of architectural theories on other aspects of art, including literature; and, of course, the sort of thinking which led to that magnificent essay by Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, which in turn became a major influence on the Gothic and later supernatural fiction fields.

In other words, I think that, as with most writers who either came from or adhered to an older tradition in which literature went far beyond simply intending to entertain, and instead addressed what the writer saw as genuinely important questions about what it means to be human and the nature of the human experience, the more you bring to her works, the more you are likely to enjoy them and derive from them; including different levels of pleasure from repeated readings. Udolpho, for instance, is for many an almost unreadable book in part because of its length and in part because of the very nature of its writing, which seems to modern readers diffusive and rambling, almost incoherent. Yet to read it from an entirely modern set of expectations is to rob oneself of a truly rich and rewarding experience in her examination of human perception and emotion and what a difference they make in our experience of the world. She deals in how we often deceive ourselves, either favorably or apprehensively, and the consequences of that self-deception; while at the same time she addresses the cruelties and fundamentally flawed nature of human beings in their interaction with each other, and even with their own inner selves. Hence, for example, Schedoni takes on multiple dimensions, becoming much more than a villain before the end of The Italian, eliciting a certain sympathy and understanding without sacrificing one whit of the horror and loathing we feel toward him because of his vile beliefs and actions. She is also, as many including Lovecraft have noted, supremely powerful in weird suggestiveness, the adumbration of an atmosphere of breathless expectation of the overwhelmingly unknown and terrifying. But in order to experience this, one must be open to a much older approach to writing than most of us are accustomed to these days. Once one can make that -- admittedly sometime rococo -- adjustment, then I think her works become worlds of wonder, terror, beauty, sublimity, and provocative thought. They also, not incidentally, open one up to an appreciation of a variety of artistic forms which often are quite forgotten today, and add to the experience of the art of such as John Martin and Salvator Rosa and their congeners.

 

[j d worthington]

Well, with the exception of Gaston de Blondeville, I've read each of them at least twice, some three times. That particular book, I've only read once, though now that it is fairly easily available in an attractive edition, I may finally get myself a copy (I own all the rest).

Mrs. Radcliffe's work is... not for everyone. It is very much of its time, influenced by a variety of things which were going on in literature at that point, including the translations of the Arabian Nights tales into European languages, and the very popular travelogues, which often provided very piquant views of other places and people. Then there is the philosophical novel; the epistolary novel; the sentimental novel; the burgeoning interest in folklore and fairy tales; the discussions concerning the conflict between the growing fields of science and established religion and conservative philosophies; the growth of interest in all things antique, especially of the middle ages or thereabouts; the influence of architectural theories on other aspects of art, including literature; and, of course, the sort of thinking which led to that magnificent essay by Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, which in turn became a major influence on the Gothic and later supernatural fiction fields.

In other words, I think that, as with most writers who either came from or adhered to an older tradition in which literature went far beyond simply intending to entertain, and instead addressed what the writer saw as genuinely important questions about what it means to be human and the nature of the human experience, the more you bring to her works, the more you are likely to enjoy them and derive from them; including different levels of pleasure from repeated readings. Udolpho, for instance, is for many an almost unreadable book in part because of its length and in part because of the very nature of its writing, which seems to modern readers diffusive and rambling, almost incoherent. Yet to read it from an entirely modern set of expectations is to rob oneself of a truly rich and rewarding experience in her examination of human perception and emotion and what a difference they make in our experience of the world. She deals in how we often deceive ourselves, either favorably or apprehensively, and the consequences of that self-deception; while at the same time she addresses the cruelties and fundamentally flawed nature of human beings in their interaction with each other, and even with their own inner selves. Hence, for example, Schedoni takes on multiple dimensions, becoming much more than a villain before the end of The Italian, eliciting a certain sympathy and understanding without sacrificing one whit of the horror and loathing we feel toward him because of his vile beliefs and actions. She is also, as many including Lovecraft have noted, supremely powerful in weird suggestiveness, the adumbration of an atmosphere of breathless expectation of the overwhelmingly unknown and terrifying. But in order to experience this, one must be open to a much older approach to writing than most of us are accustomed to these days. Once one can make that -- admittedly sometime rococo -- adjustment, then I think her works become worlds of wonder, terror, beauty, sublimity, and provocative thought. They also, not incidentally, open one up to an appreciation of a variety of artistic forms which often are quite forgotten today, and add to the experience of the art of such as John Martin and Salvator Rosa and their congeners.

 

[j d worthington]

Well, with the exception of Gaston de Blondeville, I've read each of them at least twice, some three times. That particular book, I've only read once, though now that it is fairly easily available in an attractive edition, I may finally get myself a copy (I own all the rest).

Mrs. Radcliffe's work is... not for everyone. It is very much of its time, influenced by a variety of things which were going on in literature at that point, including the translations of the Arabian Nights tales into European languages, and the very popular travelogues, which often provided very piquant views of other places and people. Then there is the philosophical novel; the epistolary novel; the sentimental novel; the burgeoning interest in folklore and fairy tales; the discussions concerning the conflict between the growing fields of science and established religion and conservative philosophies; the growth of interest in all things antique, especially of the middle ages or thereabouts; the influence of architectural theories on other aspects of art, including literature; and, of course, the sort of thinking which led to that magnificent essay by Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, which in turn became a major influence on the Gothic and later supernatural fiction fields.

In other words, I think that, as with most writers who either came from or adhered to an older tradition in which literature went far beyond simply intending to entertain, and instead addressed what the writer saw as genuinely important questions about what it means to be human and the nature of the human experience, the more you bring to her works, the more you are likely to enjoy them and derive from them; including different levels of pleasure from repeated readings. Udolpho, for instance, is for many an almost unreadable book in part because of its length and in part because of the very nature of its writing, which seems to modern readers diffusive and rambling, almost incoherent. Yet to read it from an entirely modern set of expectations is to rob oneself of a truly rich and rewarding experience in her examination of human perception and emotion and what a difference they make in our experience of the world. She deals in how we often deceive ourselves, either favorably or apprehensively, and the consequences of that self-deception; while at the same time she addresses the cruelties and fundamentally flawed nature of human beings in their interaction with each other, and even with their own inner selves. Hence, for example, Schedoni takes on multiple dimensions, becoming much more than a villain before the end of The Italian, eliciting a certain sympathy and understanding without sacrificing one whit of the horror and loathing we feel toward him because of his vile beliefs and actions. She is also, as many including Lovecraft have noted, supremely powerful in weird suggestiveness, the adumbration of an atmosphere of breathless expectation of the overwhelmingly unknown and terrifying. But in order to experience this, one must be open to a much older approach to writing than most of us are accustomed to these days. Once one can make that -- admittedly sometime rococo -- adjustment, then I think her works become worlds of wonder, terror, beauty, sublimity, and provocative thought. They also, not incidentally, open one up to an appreciation of a variety of artistic forms which often are quite forgotten today, and add to the experience of the art of such as John Martin and Salvator Rosa and the

 

[Ray McCarthy]

Jane Austen mocks these in Northanger Abbey?

Certainly I'm curious.

 

[Extollager]

Jane Austen does poke fun at people who get caught up in Gothic romances, and, I suppose, at the romances themselves, although Northanger Abbey is the only one of Austen's completed adult novels that I've read just once, with that was in 1987. It would seem that readers of Northanger Abbey should have read one or more of Radcliffe's romances or the like before reading the satire. (In the same way, I continue to hold off on reading Don Quixote in part because I have not yet read one of the Renaissance epics that Cervantes was parodying. I'd like to to have read Ariosto's Orlando Furioso first.)

Thanks, J. D., for the remarks on Radcliffe. I have resumed reading Udolpho.

 

[Extollager]

J. D. mentions "the very popular travelogues, which often provided very piquant views of other places and people." Let me urge consideration of this point with regard to Mrs. R's books and other books too. One attractive thing about such books is their time machine function. When you read any old novel, of course, you get an element of the time machine, but I think this element is often enhanced in travel writing, or in travel-related passages in novels. In such writing, the author not only records sights and sounds from a particular time-and-place, but also typically compares and contrasts what he or she observes with things at home. This can provide illumination for the home-world too. And often the writer isn't concerned with characters and plot and so is able to work up the description and narration for their own sake. J. D. makes a good point about how such writing also may help us to appreciate period painting more, too. I mean, even just the covers of some paperback editions of Radcliffe introduce us to artists we might not otherwise encounter, such as Carl Gustav Carus. This art can be liberating for people like me who absorbed a lot of familiar commercial art in our day, with all the selection and emphasis characteristic thereof. Isn't this great stuff?

A thread for the discussion of travel writing:

https://www.sffchronicles.com/threads/540732/

 

[Ray McCarthy]

It would seem that readers of Northanger Abbey should have read one or more of Radcliffe's romances or the like before reading the satire.

I must say I was a little amazed to discover that unlike the book quoted in the No 1 Detective Agency, the titles that Austen's characters discuss all seem to be real.

The complete titles and authors of these books are:

• Castle of Wolfenbach (1793) by Eliza Parsons. London: Minerva Press.
• Clermont (1798) by Regina Maria Roche. London: Minerva Press.
• The Mysterious Warning, a German Tale (1796) by Eliza Parsons. London: Minerva Press.
• The Necromancer; or, The Tale of the Black Forest (1794) by 'Ludwig Flammenberg' (pseudonym for Carl Friedrich Kahlert; translated by Peter Teuthold). London: Minerva Press.
• The Midnight Bell (1798) by Francis Lathom. London: H. D. Symonds.
• The Orphan of the Rhine (1798) by Eleanor Sleath. London: Minerva Press.
• Horrid Mysteries (1796) by the Marquis de Grosse (translated by P. Will). London: Minerva Press.

These novels, with their lurid titles, were once thought to be the creations of Austen's imagination, [according to Wikipedia] but research in the first half of the 20th century by Michael Sadleir and Montague Summers confirmed that they did actually exist, and stimulated renewed interest in Gothic fiction. All seven were republished by the Folio Society in London in 1968, and starting in 2005 Valancourt Books has released new editions of the first six titles, with Horrid Mysteries due out in 2015.

I was sure she mentioned Mrs. Radcliffe: Mysteries of Udolpho, but perhaps I'm mistaken or it's a different book I've read that the characters discuss Mrs Radcliffe and Udolpho.

 

[j d worthington]

No, Ms. Austen didn't have Radcliffe in mind; "Mother" Radcliffe was still thought quite highly of at that point, and her books were models of a particular school of writing at its best. What Jane Austen went after were the plethora of mediocre and below Gothics, which were enormously popular (including the "Seven Horrid Novels" list you post)... potboilers before there was such a term, and already in the first years of their appearance beginning to show the incestuous habits the Gothic novel was beginning to take on, which resulted in the entire school becoming so inspissated and hidebound that it made itself moribund and remained scorned for nearly two centuries after.

Incidentally, as I've remarked elsewhere, I've read that set of "horrid novels"... they were brought into print in a limited edition by Sir Devendra P. Varma, long the leading light of scholarship on the Gothic tale (his The Gothic Flame remains one of the most noteworthy discussions of the school ever written) published as "The Northanger Novels". To the best of my recollection, they have now been reprinted in trade paperback as part of the Valencourt line:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valancourt_Books

(Having looked at the link, my memory is confirmed right off.)

The majority of these are not actually bad (save, in my opinion, for The Necromancer and Horrid Mysteries which, while having their moments, were on the whole quite dreadful and almost unreadable), though they were at times a bit too drawn-out. The exception to this was The Castle of Wolfenbach, which almost qualifies as a novelette, and is written with a strong sense of tongue-in-cheek (it seems to me, anyway). The others I quite enjoyed too, and all had their good points, as opposed to, say, the vast majority of those brought out by the Minerva Press at the time. (Yes, I've read some of those, as well. Some were simply atrociously bad; others uneven, presenting moments of truly worth with a superabundance of plagiarism, nonsense, and simple boredom. Even so, Shelley was not above plagiarizing even from these in his two Gothic romances....)

If you wish a fairly adequate representation of the mid-range Gothics, look up Zofloya; or, the Moor, by Charlotte Dacre, which was a heavy influence on Shelley's two works. There are moments of brilliance there, but as a whole it is very much the form at, if not its worst, certainly its most insipid. (I own a rather attractive edition of another of her novels, The Children of the Abbey -- another one Lovecraft lambasts in Supernatural Horror in Literature -- and it, too, suffers from the same problems. Still, it's an interesting oddity and I rather like having it on my shelves....)

 

[Extollager]

Dostoevsky said: "I used to spend the long winter hours before bed listening (for I could not yet read), agape with ecstasy and terror, as my parents read aloud to me from the novels of Ann Radcliffe. Then I would rave deliriously about them in my sleep."

Dostoevsky's Gothic Blueprint: the Notebooks to The Idiot | www.darwin.cam.ac.uk