12 July 2004 at 4:35 PM, post #203

Charlotte Temple, in which a depraved Frenchwoman leads astray a young British schoolgirl! It makes sense that Rowson's family were royalists--La Rue is like the American and French revolutionaries, whose opportunism and lack of filial piety set an example which ruined young impressionable peoples like the Irish.

Although Rowson is not shy in her censure of the weak and malleable seduced girl, I'd say there is a pretty strong cultural critique in this text. In The Monk and The Italian> and even The Power of Sympathy, I felt like blame lay with the individual woman who sacrificed her honor, and of course with the seducer. But here, Rowson makes Charlotte very sympathetic and explains that the impediment to her regaining an honorable life is the stigma of her position. She made a mistake, but it is society's fault that that mistake prove fatal. When Belcour suggests that she go to New York to associate with ladies, Charlotte says "Oh never! never! The virtuous part of my sex will scorn me, and i will never associate with infamy. No, Belcour, let me hide my shame and sorrow, here let me spend my few remaining days in obscurity, unkown and unpitied, here let me die unlamented, and my name sink to oblivion" (88). She IS warning young women, as is obvious, but underneath that I think she's pointing out the coldness and unChristianness of an unforgiving culture. Maybe I am giving her too much credit?

The structure is interesting (and a little heavy-handed) in that there is a virtuous couple, the Temples, a depraved couple, La Rue and Belcour, and a morally ambiguous couple, Charlotte and Montraville. On the Lucy Temple to La Rue continuum, where do our protagonists lie? ask the teen girl readers. Virtuous, but erring, I think, is the answer we're supposed to come up with. So, the cautionary tale can impact lives, since the reader probably considers herself virtuous, and having not yet made Charlotte's error.

22 June 2004 at 5:23 PM, post #193

I've just annotated an article about Ann Radcliffe and Latitudinarianism which has tainted my ideas about landscape imagery in The Italian, which I wanted to write about. So, here's a little bit of (interesting) unoriginality...Radcliffe was Latitudinarian, which is a branch of Anglicanism somewhere between deism or natural religion (the conclusion that God exists based purely on reason) and more Bible-based Christianity. The author of the article I just read, Mayhew, does a good job of making this seem relevant--I was particularly struck by his point that Ellena is never inspired to love God by church services. Her attention wanders. It's only observing nature from her little turret, and later during her flight from the convent, that she is inspired to love God. For more on this, see my fascinating and evocative annotation.

I was also struck by the lines: "Her very virtues, now that they were carried to excess, seemed to her to border upon vices; her sense of dignity, appeared to be narrow pride; her delicacy weakness; her moderated affection cold ingratitude; and her circumspection, little less than prudence degenerated into meanness" (211). I'm not sure how to treat this idea of excess: is this just Ellena's worry, or is Radcliffe trying to critique the socially repressive culture that requires Ellena's "sense of dignity?" YOU decide!

18 June 2004 at 4:18 PM, post #185

In terms of gender, I don't think Lewis is trying to make any point as concrete as we're tempted to look for. I think, rather, that the male-female relationships in the book are just his contemporary culture filtered through the lens of Gothic conventions. The women are passive objects, responsible for their own virtue (which is almost exclusively religious and sexual), and the men are actors who prove their virtue by valor. When one virtuous and beautiful maiden dies, you must simply become attached to another similar one, and entirely efface the memory of the first from your mind, because all women are interchangeable. The woman who cross-dresses sells her soul to Satan--there's the outcome of the one gender transgression I see. Yeah, I don't think Lewis really has much to say about gender; I bet he didn't even consider it an issue or theme.

Nonetheless, a twenty-first century rant: It was pretty amazing when Agnes apologized to the marquis at the end of the book, though. Because it was obviously her fault that they had sex... And then when Antonia died believing that death was best anyway because she couldn't live with the dishonor of having been raped. Argh!

What I do think Lewis is actively trying to critique is the Church. I am not sure whether this critique is intended for the Church in Spain only, or institutional Christianity generally. It's always fun to uncover corruption in the places thought most pure, but the extent to which Lewis' religious figures ALL turn out to be depraved is a little much. Clearly, monastic life is terrible and full of "ennui." Everyone who chooses it turns out to be evil, and those good young people who are forced into it are very unhappy. There are no illustrated instances of devoted and happy monastics.

The positive role of the inquisition, then, is confusing. The inquisitors are definitely creepy, but in this novel, they only serve justice (or attempt to) to those deserving. So, monks and nuns may tend toward evil, but the authority of the Spanish inquisition (what a show..) stands? I guess it could be an instance of unjust punishment dealt to those who have been unjust in their own dealings. Irony, that.

17 June 2004 at 5:20 PM, post #178

Sorry to refer to The Italian again, but the similarities between the situation of Antonia and The Italian's Ellena are ridiculous. I'll be interested to see how many characters and plot twists are Gothic conventions, and how many of Lewis' invention.

I enjoyed the little ironic speech the Marquis delivers to Theodore about the hardships of being a writer, or an "animal whom every body is privileged to attack" (185). Poor, persecuted young Lewis.

I am entirely refreshed by the humor. Not only Lewis' tone, but the humor of the voices of the characters themselves. It makes me feel better to know that perhaps not everyone was as bland and dry as some of the characters in the more morally-inclined works we have read.

It will be interesting to see whether the end of the book presents any lessons or moral conclusions. I'm really not sure where it's heading in that regard. More on that tomorrow.

16 June 2004 at 5:15 PM, post #173

The Monk is such excellent pulp! I am a little shocked, in my adjusted 18th century reader's mindset. Weren't people shocked? Deathbed debauchery, beauteous orbs... Was this read by fine ladies? I don't think Mr. Holmes would have included it on his list of recommendations. We still have our pulp novels today, but at a time when people didn't buy puffy-covered books in grocery stores, who read this? When did popular fiction get big, I guess is my question. Or wasn't this popular fiction at all?

I don't say "pulp" as an indictment. It's just so much more fun than the other things we've read that I wonder how it was regarded by the readers of The Power of Sympathy or even The Italian from the little of it that I read before.

It's interesting how viable the Church seems in this book as an alternative to any worldly problem. I wonder if people did become monks and nuns as often as is portrayed in this and other 18th century works, or if it cast the author in a positive light to assume such. Or perhaps it was just a commonly used tool to show the true extent of a character's virtue.

As to the end of Equiano, I was interested in the English scheme to return poor black people to Africa, and its failure. I wonder if this was the precedent for the Back to Africa movements in later America. I was also impressed that he attempted to be ordained by the Bishop of London. Truly, the possibility for the public life of a free black man in England seems to have been way, way beyond that in America at the time.

Lots of wondering in this entry.

14 June 2004 at 6:29 PM, post #167

I was struck by the extent to which Equiano's arguments against slavery are based on reason. They are extremely logical and ordered. For instance, on 126 when he bemoans the low value of a negro's life in the West Indies, he writes "Pray, reader, are these sons and daughters of the French planter less his children by being begotten on a black woman? And what must be the virtue of those legislators, and the feelings of those fathers, who estimate the lives of their sons, however begotten, at no more than fifteen pounds..." He wins the reader over with each successive point until it is difficult to disagree.

His descriptions of the African society he was born into are also extremely logical, worded so as to appeal to the rational 18th century European such as he himself turned out to be. For example, he describes customs of dancing that I'm pretty sure were thought barbaric, but he explains in detail the dances' virtuous meanings. More importantly, he measures the goodness of his original culture by European standards. He writes of the modesty of the women, the wealth, and cultivatedness of his kingdom, the power of the king and the warlikeness of the people. He sets himself and his stock apart from other African peoples by Christian standards applied in hindsight.

That probably made this narrative pretty appealing to the Europeans and Americans who read it.

I see what Elisa means about utilitarianism in arguments like the one on page 122 which, after describing the living conditions of slaves in Barbados, points out that the life expectancy for a "negro" there is sixteen years, and calculates that disadvantage from the point of view of the slaveholder. I think Equiano occasionally turns to utilitarian arguments because they work for him, but in general, I think his rationality is purely calculated to be effective on the opinions of readers. I don't worry that his appeal to utilitarianism could be turned around to uphold slavery because at the most basic level, slavery is bad for the masses because it is a sin, and the masses will burn in hell for it. This is one conviction that strengthens as the narrative goes on: all of this is guided by God, and He will see that his "chosen vessel" receives his grace.

I can't help but point out that the same Christian doctrines are cited in Uncle Tom's Cabin as the thoughts that keep abused slaves docile until the release of death.

10 June 2004 at 6:07 PM, post #152

Brackenridge's Captain says "It is a disagreeable thing for a man to be laughed at, and there is no way of keeping one's self from it but by avoiding all affectation" (526). Basically, never try anything you were not born into or have not practiced before. That seems so counterrevolutionary to me! For a writer who believes in The Rising Glory of America, where is the spirit of rising up against obstacles? If the original revolutionaries had not "affected" the right to break away from England, or rather the capacity of individuals to do so, American independence would never have been conceived. I know the Captain means his statement on not so grand a level, applying it to occupations fit and unfit for a statesman, but this thinking still seems elitist.

I was waiting for the irony, to see that the Captain was a Falkland-type figure, but he leaves the scene as a weary truth-teller, and the people go back to what he deems an ill-advised choice to elect a weaver to office.

Brackenridge does point out that "the people are a sovereign, and greatly despotic; but, in the main, just" (530). So, he does support the system, but advises the people to pick a qualified candidate. I guess what bothers me about this excerpt is not Brackenridge's opinion that educated men should represent the people, but his characterization of the people as unthinking and uncritical, easily swayed by the Captain from one candidate to the next, but in the end, stubborn and irrational.

As I write that, I realize that might not be such a bad description of "the people." hmmm...

Also, I wonder what kind of contemporary response there was to Phillis Wheatley's poetry. As a young slave to a seemingly kind family, it's not surprising that these poems are full of converted Christian gratitude and English classical references. But I wonder if there is any recorded response to her on the part of other slaves. I sort of doubt it, but if so, that would be particularly interesting.

09 June 2004 at 5:21 PM, post #142

Reading some of these documents reminded me that I do really respect some of the ideas of the founding fathers. In particular, I am impressed with Jefferson's articulation of freedoms. "..therefore to declare this [religious freedom] act irrevocable, would be of no effect in law, yet we are free to declare, and do declare, that the rights hereby asserted are of the natural rights of mankind, and that if any act shall be hereafter passed to repeal the present or to narrow its operation, such act will be an infringement of natural right" (443). I find it impressive that he includes in the text of this act the possibility of its being repealed, and the right of future Americans to take such action. That seems to me an example of true freedom of speech: to place before the scrutiny of a power-holding public your deepest beliefs, even in a time when the public is likely to approve them.

Jefferson's prose is great. Adams was tiresome to slog through after Jefferson's wit. In his First Inaugural Address, Jefferson's humility and deference to the people and to his advisors is also refreshing, be it truth or oratorical art. (ack, did I just use 18th century English diction..) He even goes so far as to apologize in advance for human mistakes he knows he will make. I'd like to see Bush do that, please.

Just a note on Paine's comparison of Deism and Christianity: he totally leaves out the idea of faith. He compares them based on the supremacy of proof, by which standard, of course Christianity falls short. That's silly. Did theologians of the 1790s argue that Christianity was rational, I wonder? Because then, if Paine were responding to other arguments of proof, this would be more substantial.

08 June 2004 at 4:54 PM, post #139

endings!

I am interested in the large and obvious struggle between truth and chivalry throughout Caleb Williams. Generally, Williams regards truth as subordinate to the rules of chivalry and honor, keeping Falkland's secret despite the suffering that his secret causes him. Pretty straightforward. But the two endings seem to present two different possible outcomes of that struggle: truth triumphs in the original ending, and chivalry triumphs in the ending that we read within the text. Falkland says on page 381, "Is truth then entitled to adoration for its own sake, and not for the sake of the happiness it is calculated to produce? Will a reasonable man sacrifice to barren truth, when benevolence, humanity, and every consideration that is dear to the human heart, require that it should be superseded?" But nobody takes Falkland to heart anymore, so we feel like if Falkland's on the honor side and Williams is on the truth side, we're for truth.

BUT, in the in-text ending, Williams ends up devaluing the truth (having put himself in a position to finally express it, regretting his actions to that effect). Here he tells the truth, it is finally effective, and he turns into a Falkland-esque morose old gentleman, feeling himself his benefactor's murderer (which is totally ridiculous, even in the context of Williams' morality)

I like the second ending better--it seems more in keeping with the rest of the novel. Why should the truth suddenly sway minds in one last hearing? Why should Williams' sincerity change Falkland's mind, who has done things so reprehensible as to make him seem not misled yet still benevolent, but really, really, really mean? The narrative pounds into our heads the futility of honest and honorable conduct to save a common man from the wrath of a gentleman. I wish it didn't suddenly get all gushy at the end and reneg on what I perceive to be a major theme by making Falkland out to be on ok guy.

But I also found the in-text ending emotionally satisfying, so maybe that's a worthwhile tradeoff....?

07 June 2004 at 5:17 PM, post #134

I am so glad that the first book was only a set-up for true corruption. I have no further complaints about the politeness of the tone, since it was obviously intended to be a highly mediated portrayal of Falkland. Dirty, dispicable Falkland.

The second book lets us see a lot more of Godwin's critique of English justice, I think. Especially starting on page 266, in what seems like a direct appeal to the reader to face the oppressive, Bastile-like (Bastilian?) nature of the English jails and the corruption of the judicial system. Then, on page 321 in the beginning of the third book, I was struck by the thief's reasoning against giving up his admittedly evil occupation. The English justice system perpetuates the thief's condition by not allowing any change in treatment of the reformed criminal. Williams muses here and in other passages on the separation he feels should exist between a man as he exists at present and that man's past offenses.

More and more, it seems that every man of high rank is corrupt or else malleable, like Mr. Forester, and that the honorable characters, such as Mr. Raymond, are of lower class. I wonder if Godwin will throw another twist into the ending in that respect, since I am now confident that he recognizes the stereotypes he draws.

It feels like one of Godwin's main purposes in this novel, as far as I have read, is to show the extent to which justice does not only lie in the (flawed) law, and the extent to which, in a society that prizes honor and reputation, the wealthy create whatever kind of justice they see fit for whomever they decide might deserve it.

04 June 2004 at 5:26 PM, post #128

I'm not the first to point out that Godwin's portrayal of Falkland is complicated. I would assume from Godwin's other writings that he is setting up Falkland for a fall which might show us the practical failings of the traditionally chivalric figure. Right now, he is the most admirable character, and his qualities have brought him respect from Italians and neighbors alike. He's a bit ridiculous, rescuing damsels from burning buildings. But our narrator tells us that something bad is coming...

So, we have Falkland's chivalry, morality, learnedness and grace pitted against Tyrell's physical strength, abuse of wealth, vengefulness and selfishness. Godwin is not really working the grey areas. This could turn towards irony or it could remain heavy-handed and moralizing.

I enjoy the specificity of the language, but I notice here more than in a book like Jane Eyre which, according to my memory, employs similar diction, the extreme politeness of the narrator. Even in the case of Tyrell, I don't feel like I'm hearing his secret thoughts. I want the dirt. These people couldn't possibly be so demure. Or could they?

No.

03 June 2004 at 1:51 PM, post #116

I love Blake's heaven and hell. It is fascinating how logically Blake's redefinition of good and evil ("Good is the passive that obeys Reason, Evil is the active springing from Energy") creates an attractive Hell. He has taken Paradise Lost and removed the most vital element: the supremacy of God. Milton's Devil is supposed to be attractive, but then you're supposed to realize that his logic and attributes are meaningless in the light of his defiance of an all-knowing, all-powerful God. But if man created God, as Blake tells us here, and then forgot that "all deities reside in the human breast," what's to stop us from gravitating toward the energetic and sensual, going to Hell and liking it.

Wollstonecraft might have disagreed.

"The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship." That Proverb of Hell is the exact opposite of Godwin's take on society. Take that, Godwin. I feel like these Proverbs are almost a test of the reader's understanding of Blake's attractive Hell--can you see the virtue in excess, pleasure, society, energy, acting on desires, etc. If so, you are open-minded. "The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water and breeds reptiles of the mind."

I wonder to what extent the Proverbs and the really extreme stuff are an exercise or a strategy to support the Hell idea, and to what extent Blake actually supports this morality. In fact, it seems so very radical that I wonder if I have missed some framework or speaker who claims authorship of the crazy bits. Is this what Blake really thinks?

I'm not sure what it's going to mean for the world that in the end of America a Prophecy energy prevails, America triumphs, and the five gates of Heaven are melted. Does this mean that Heaven is no longer an option for anyone? Don't British people still want to go? Is it possible to eliminate an option like that when religious and all reality is based on clouded or unclouded human perception, as Blake says in burst of Plato? Perhaps the melting of the gates means that the Revolution will be as good for England as it is for America; that all will be brought closer to understanding that passive Reason is not the holiest faculty of man.

Wollstonecraft might have disagreed. Again.

02 June 2004 at 4:13 PM, post #110

It's really interesting how Wollstonecraft, and then again Blake in Visions writes of the denial of woman's intellectual potential and the limiting of her faculties to the senses. Sara and Elisa and I were discussing in Mears how difficult it is to find a division like that in modern thought--how the intellect or "rationality" is no longer thought of as such a concrete thing to be molded or neglected as Wollstonecraft makes it out to be. From the reading I've done, the rational/animal binary was pretty commonly referred to...I wonder when it was that people began to really blur the distinction, write poetry honoring the sensual, and such.

Reading the Blake right after the Wollstonecraft strengthens my opinion that Wollstonecraft is extremely smart. Blake muses poetically about sexual freedoms and the relationships between men and women, and I'd imagine he got away with it without too much opposition or shock because he did it in a poem (Is this so?). But Wollstonecraft, who knew she would have to defend every point, manages to couch her argument in the idea that it is impossible to prove or disprove woman's inferiority because she has never been observed in an unsuppressed condition. Smart.

I am surprised at Godwin's super radical view of the family. I knew he was radical..but..whoah. The kind of total social restructuring that he's talking about here, whereby children are communally raised and regarded, monogamy thrown out, and a partiality or favoritism encouraged in public affairs, must have seemed pretty weird to the average British person of the 1790s. Are there strong arguments against "Political Justice," or did this document even reach the public, and not just the Godwin Wollstonecraft dinner party crowd?

02 June 2004 at 2:33 PM, post #107

technology!

computers!

the interweb!

02 June 2004 at 2:25 PM, post #104

look at this bunny.

02 June 2004 at 2:19 PM, post #98

List of high quality short animated africa-pertinent musical features.

1. this is spectacular.
2. all others.

02 June 2004 at 2:11 PM, post #85

RED! RED!

puke green.

and this was the color of my childhood bedroom.

02 June 2004 at 1:52 PM, post #71

Super exciting experimental entry
And more

Link!

02 June 2004 at 1:51 PM, post #68

Super exciting experimental entry
And more

Link!

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