Sara on 19 July 2004 at 2:56 PM, post #213

Woo! Guess who forgot to respond to Charlotte Temple?

I think one of the most interesting things in this novel is the treatment of class and the likening of poverty to (as well as the coexistence with) sexual ruin. The female characters seem completely ignorant of "real" poverty: the good Mrs. Beauchamp "had never before beheld such a scene of poverty" (112) as when she goes to see the dying Charlotte, and Charlotte, despite her supposedly exemplary upbringing, "knew so little of the way of the world that she had never bestowed a thought on the payment for the rent of the house" (102) (please!). At moments like the latter, or when the Medusa-like landlady responds to Charlotte's "what will become of me?" by telling her to "go to the barracks and work for a morsel of bread; washing and mend the soldiers cloaths, an cook their victuals, and not expect to live in idleness on honest people's means" (103-104), I can't help applying a little 21st-century hindsight and wonder if, despite the villification of the speaker, the author is not on some level criticizing the complete inability of a woman of Charlotte's station to even conceive of living off her own industry instead of depending on a man. To Charlotte, the idea of working at the barracks (which, admittedly, might suggest prostitutoin) is even more horrifying than being turned out onto the street, and the near-Gothic horror of the image of working women is repeated when Montraville comes back to town and must pass their huts. The novels seems franticly fearful of what will happen if innocent young (female) things fall into the clutches of either seduction or poverty.

While Charlotte Temple's characters fear poverty, or (god forbid) work, above nearly all other things, the text also seems to frown on opulence and excessive displays of wealth. For example, when Charlotte's virtuous father first sees Lucy, her "simple attire" renders her "more irresistibly charming to such a heart as Temple's, than she would have been, if adorned with all the splendor of a courtly belle" (13). In Chapter V., Temple waxes on about the simple country life they will lead, even without much money. Later, the wicked La Rue (is her name some kind of pun?) lives in "splendor and affluence" (100), setting all the fashions and generally being decadent and irresponsible. The book seems to celebrate a certain kind of lifestyle which is quite leisurely, modest, rural, sees itself as relatively disadvantaged in comparison to affluent society and is completely ignorant of real poverty. Can we assume that Rowson's readers generally fell into this privileged "middle class" group, and that the readers might read a justification of their own class standing in the text?

Elisa on 19 July 2004 at 1:27 AM, post #212

I think we should meet in person to talk about style. I'd like to maybe draw a mock-page so I get a better idea of what the space and aesthetics will require from the style concerns. For example, it would be nice if we could make every 'short entry' appear similar in literal lateral length, you know, have the same screen presence ... but I just don't really *get* how that could work. It would likely require indeed, as Elizabeth thought, a single person going through all the entries and making decisions.

-e

Elisa on 19 July 2004 at 1:23 AM, post #211

on the interface for the bibliography entries, what do I do if I have a book that's been edited by more than one author?

----

Betsey and Elizabeth and I are in the midst of editing eachother's time line entries, and have some quick questions:

--would it be possible for you to create some sort of additional interface to enter specific days right near the place we enter the month? this way we could make the actual text entries more standard looking.

--is there a recommended maximum length for short entries? we were thinking three sentences, but then thought that might be too big.

--do political pamphlets go in the literature category? e.g., Rousseau?

--I (elisa) have several long entries where I directly quote three paragraphs from a source. Is that bad? And in shorter notes, if we are quoting/summarizing, we are supposed to name the reference in the text still, right?

thanks. -elisa, elizabeth, betsey

Elizabeth on 18 July 2004 at 10:49 AM, post #210

Chronology:
I agree with Betsey about the chronology thing. Her entry is a pretty good summary of what we talked about in our editing session. Another thing we also talked about was maybe having one person be a general timeline editor just to make sure that all entries are consistant in time and style. Other than that, I think that's all. The timelines look pretty good!

Bibliography:
I think this also is going pretty well. I was a little unsure at the beginning of the week exactly what to do with the bibliography, but then just assumed that it was just for more annotations. I'm also a little curious about the website and webpage component of the bibliography page. How are we supposed to find these sites and what kind of things would be good. Also, how do you annotate a website?

Ok, I think that's it. See you all tomorrow morning.

Betsey on 16 July 2004 at 5:03 PM, post #209

The chronology editing meeting was really helpful. Elisa, Elizabeth and I got together yesterday to work on it. It served as a good chance to discuss style issues and how strict we need to be on issues of consistency. We came up with a list of questions that might be helpful in discussing the chronology (that list is currently with Elisa or I would list some examples).

The editing session also made me think a little more about the specifics of the timeline layout. Do we want it to be in a sort of list form like the Eighteenth-Century Chronology and Jack Lynch's? We were curious about the layout because we weren't sure how much information constitutes "too much" for the brief description. I think we discussed the option of clicking the short description in order to read the lengthier description and see the sources. Is that right?

It might be good if we set up a time to discuss certain style points. Alternatively, we could just post some ideas/decisions on the journal page.

Elizabeth on 15 July 2004 at 11:37 PM, post #208

I'm interested in the almost complete lack of revenge in Charlotte Temple. In almost all the Gothic novels, revenge has played a pretty large role. If a character does something bad to a good character, it's almost certain that he will get his comeupance, either by direct actions or supernatural means.

So it's really interesting that in Rowson's novel, the worst characters fare much better than the heroine, Charlotte. Granted, Charlotte is far from perfect. However, despite her obvious flaw(s), she is definitely morally superior to most of the main characters we come into contact. La Rue, Montraville, and Belcour are all pretty despicable people. However, of the three, only one dies, and even he dies instantly (read: almost no pain, whatsoever) at the hand of one of the other guilty characters.

I think Rowson has two main reasons for this complete avoidance of revenge in her novel. First, when you take into account the many times Rowson addresses her reader as her "dear young readers" (54), it's seems that she'd be pretty keen to avoid any scenes of gore or vice, in order to protect these gentle young women. However, more importantly, one of the main themes of Charlotte Temple seems to be that forgiveness, friendliness and "disinterested" charity are the highest of all virtues and can do wonders in saving what look to be lost souls. These things are the only reasons La Rue and Montraville do so well, and the lack of the availability of friendship is the main reason Charlotte perishes so miserably.

To conclude, it's interesting that Rowson, and American writer, seems to be so convinced of her character's ability to be saved and forgiven. In the most idealistic and positive views of Rowson's young country, this is exactly what one can find in America: a constant ability to start over and a lack of judgement of the faults of years or generations past.

Elisa on 14 July 2004 at 1:45 PM, post #207

I don't think Sarah is giving Charlotte too much credit. I do think the novel wants us to sympathize with the titular character and condemn both the seducer and the society which birthed that seduction.

That's not to say, however, that Charlotte shows much spunk. We must still be treading water before that waterfall point in the development of such novels when women start finding their own place and securing an education for themselves, etc. etc.

I know there's literature out there about the emaciated female body in literature of this time period. I'd like to know more about the trends and ramifications and extensions of all these portrayals of the 'fallen' woman wasting away into skeletons. If I have time, I might do this. Rowson's descriptions of Charlotte toward the end are quite ghostly/ghastly/haunt/gaunt.

Rowson certainly does focus on the, um, aesthetics of poverty and the onlookers situation. With all those poor visits and voyeuristic backfires--e.g. Mrs. Beauchamp fainting away when she sees Charlotte near the end.

And hey, did Charlotte really choose? She faints before consenting or refuting, and then wakes up to find herself on a boat with Motraville.

Erik on 13 July 2004 at 4:35 PM, post #206

Justin on 13 July 2004 at 10:01 AM, post #205

Charlotte Temple, published in 1791, is an interesting literary phenomena. With the publication of Gothic novels rising steeply in 1788, Rowson would have been familiar with the emerging style. While Charlotte Temple certainly does not belong exclusively to the Gothic, certain elements in her narrative seem to be either responding to or feeding off of the new popularity of the genre.

To start at the very beginning, the complete title of the novel is Charlotte Temple: A Tale of Truth which is inherently cogniscent of the questions of validity that arose with the Gothic. The emergence of the narrative play, of authors trying to make the reader question narrative liability forces Rowson to define her novel under those terms. In her story, we will not change narrators, we will not find ourselves in layers of narration (in fact, as I will touch on later, the one narrative move removes a layer) and the title makes it clear that there will be no frame.

The title conjures up an apparent contradiction in Rowson's work. Charlotte Temple never happened, but at the outset she's purporting that it be a tale of truth? I believe that Rowson's mobilizing Walpole's ideas regarding psychological realism in order to justify her subtitle. Did this really happen to a girl named Charlotte Temple? No, but it could have, and moreover, if you're a woman, it could happen to you. Truth, here, signifies plausibility.

Chapter 28 is an interesting moment in the book. It is a subversion of the Gothic narrative play. If one argues that the addition of layers of narration in the Gothic novel obfuscate validity, then their removal will only reinforce it. Rowson removes her characters and takes a moment to address the reader, the most direct form of narration available to an author. Even when one writes a story involving characters, the reader must interpret what the characters say in light of how they have been constructed. Here, Rowson takes a second to try to explain why all of her good characters have fallen and the evil have risen (Montraville married well, so did La Rue, Charlotte got evicted) in a pre-M.G. Lewis justification for how she's portrayed the moral state of things. On the last page of chapter 30, Rowson does it again. "I hope, Sir, your prejudices are now removed in regard to the probibility of my story? Oh they are. Well then, with your leave, I will proceed" (148). This time, however, she takes on the role of the reader and agrees with herself that her story is probable. A more direct way to influence the reader: tell them exactly what they say.

Betsey on 12 July 2004 at 4:40 PM, post #204

I found Charlotte Temple to be a novel difficult for a modern reader. Novels about fallen women can be that way I suppose. Charlotte, partly because she is fifteen years old, is depicted as completely naive and helpless. She is punished for her actions while Montraville goes on to marry a woman of wealth and live out his days. Certainly, he is sometimes “subject to sever fits of melancholy” and regrets his actions which led to the ruin of Charlotte but he is free to move on. He feels remorse which may be why he doesn’t die a miserable death like everyone else but he is perhaps the most responsible for Charlotte’s fate and suffers the least.

We may not like any of the characters but we are meant to pity some. Charlotte lacked any significant chance to make a decision for herself. This makes readers see her as retaining a shred of virtue even though she has fallen into ruin. Despite the remnants of virtue and her relative innocence in the matter, Charlotte repents up until her death and blames herself more than anyone else. She even tells her parents that if she has a son, they should not tell him who his father is “lest in wishing to revenge his mother’s injuries, he should wound the peace of his father” (81).

Why is it important to include the background of Charlotte’s parents. These histories are usually left out of novels but Rowson made a point to include the tale of Mr. Temple and Lucy. Is this just to show what kind of people they are and to show that they value love and virtue more than money.

I also wonder why Rowson found it necessary to address the readers directly. Mostly she addresses her readers as if they are young ladies, gaining a moral lesson from her novel. However, near the end she speaks to men to explain a more technical issue. “I hope, Sir, your prejudices are now removed in regard to the probability of my story” (106).

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