Shirley, you don't mean that: A Review

A new year means a new trek through England, and I began my journey on the wild Yorkshire Moors. In British Literature, the Brontë sisters and the Moors are so frequently paired together that it is difficult to imagine one without the other. The two Brontë staples -- Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights -- paint a vivid, Gothic, and even romantic picture of this wasteland. But Jane and Cathy aren't the only Brontë heroines, and I decided that it was time to explore two lesser-known characters in an underrated and relatively unknown novel: Shirley.

The synopsis is fairly simple: wealthy heiress Shirley Keeldar takes up residence in her family home and quickly becomes friends with the rector's niece, Caroline Helstone. These two girls are passionately in love, unbeknownst to them and the rest of the world, with brothers. Shirley is in love with the elder brother, Louis Moore, who was her tutor. Caroline is in love with the younger brother, Robert Moore, the owner of a textile mill. When Shirley arrives, everyone assumes that she will marry Robert -- or one of the other countless suitors -- but she remains single. Both women struggle with loving men who cannot love them in return: Robert cannot love Caroline because he is financially unable to marry (except for money) because of trade restrictions hampering his business, and Louis cannot love Shirley because they are not equals in terms of their fortunes. It became obvious to me early on that both heroines would receive their happy endings, but the journey they took to get there and the depth of this novel is where its true beauty lies.

In a nutshell, Shirley is the story of two women trying to find a way to be with the men they love in the midst of war, class struggles, and family drama. Sounds almost like a Jane Austen novel, doesn't it? In a way, this novel and Austen's novels have a good deal in common. Shirley is Charlotte Brontë's only historical novel; it takes place in 1811, the same year that Sense and Sensibility was published. But once you get past the time period, sensible heroines, and witty characters, the differences become evident. One of the most interesting things about classics which are historical novels is that you get a feel for how that era was viewed during the author's life. In this case, we see how a Yorkshire woman writing in 1849 viewed the Napoleonic Wars and the industrial movement of the early 19th Century.

The good life: reading, drinking bourbon, and watching my husband work on the bike.

To me, the most breathtaking part of this novel is the history. Shirley takes place in a period of growing industrialization stunted by the war with Napoleon, and the subsequent riots within the working class: the Luddite movement. As the novel begins, Robert Moore struggles to keep his textile mill afloat. He seeks to combat this industrial depression by bringing in new machinery that will cut costs, allowing his mill to work more efficiently. The workers, many of whom are dismissed, strike back at Moore, and this struggle between employer and employees set the stage for the rest of the novel. While the Luddite movement was an integral part of domestic politics during the 1810's, it is easy to see where Charlotte is getting her inspiration. One of the quintessential characteristics of the early Victorian Era (and really, the 19th century throughout the Western world) is the struggles and consequential rise of the working class. The year before this novel was published, The Communist Manifesto sparked a revolution with its epicenter in Germany, rippling throughout the entire world. At the same time, Charles Dickens had been discussing the trials of the lower classes beginning in the 1830s until his death in 1870, and Elizabeth Gaskell, who is perhaps the most famous female British author devoted to exposing the working classes struggles, published her first novel just a year before Charlotte published Shirley. So Charlotte Brontë certainly had plenty of inspiration for a historical novel illuminating working class struggles.

Other characteristics of the novel also illuminate important influences on her life. The clergy play a huge role in the direction of the novel, particularly in the form of Caroline's controlling uncle/guardian. Charlotte delves into complex theological matters (a little too deep at times -- it's almost as overwhelming as Tolstoy with his 19th century Russian farming techniques) concerning both the Anglican church and the dissenters, which suggests that her clergyman father discussed theology with his daughters. She generally portrays the clergy favorably but, similar to Austen and her various fictional clergymen, still discusses their foibles at length. But probably the greatest inspiration developed during arguably two of the hardest years in Charlotte's life: 1848 and 1849. Charlotte was the middle of six children. Two sisters died as children, and the other three, Emily, Anne, and the only boy, Branwell, died between September of 1848 and May of 1849. With this knowledge, the characters of Shirley and Caroline are even more appealing to the reader as they are a direct reflection of the grief Charlotte felt. The character of Shirley is based on Emily, and when Caroline becomes so ill that she nearly dies, Charlotte writes the blissful, romantic ending that her sisters would never have.

Charlotte's passion and dedication for the working class and the clergy are immediately evident to the reader, but the real gems are the characters. The heroines are two vastly different women with different needs and desires, and yet they are in virtually the same situation. Shirley's fierceness and philanthropy are reminiscent of Emma Woodhouse and Bathsheba Everdene. She is wealthy, and uses that wealth for good, but she needs a guiding force in her life -- just like these two women received in George Knightley and Gabriel Oak. Caroline, on the other hand, is timid and shy, yet loyal and persistent when it comes to the man that she loves, much like Fanny Price and Amy Dorritt. Nothing would deter these women from loving Edmund Bertram and Arthur Clennam, no matter their vices or foolish mistakes, and Caroline was no different. No matter how cruelly Robert Moore treated her, she knew her own heart and would not be persuaded otherwise. And yet, despite Caroline's sweetness and Shirley's wealth, they cannot achieve happiness on their own.

But despite Shirley's fierceness and Caroline's loyalty, these two heroines offer a striking contrast with Jane Eyre. Over the years, the Brontë sisters have become an icon for feminists. Jane Eyre certainly fits the feminist agenda as she declares: "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you." (Jane Eyre, Chapter 23) But the characters of Shirley and Caroline are the complete opposite. In fact, the last two chapters of this book discuss how these women are eternally tethered and domesticated to the men that they love -- whether their love is returned or not. Louis Moore is the "keeper" of Shirley, the one who tames her wildness. She says to him:

"Mr. Moore," said she, looking up with a sweet, open, earnest countenance, "teach me and help me to be good. I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and duties of property, but I ask you to share the burden, and to show me how to sustain my part well. Your judgment is well balanced, your heart is kind, your principles are sound. I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe you are conscientious. Be my companion through life; be my guide where I am ignorant; be my master where I am faulty; be my friend always!" (Shirley, Chapter 36)

In the following chapter, Shirley is seen submitting to her husband completely:

He was virtually master of Fieldhead weeks before he became so nominally—the least presumptuous, the kindest master that ever was, but with his lady absolute. She abdicated without a word or a struggle. "Go to Mr. Moore, ask Mr. Moore," was her answer when applied to for orders... In all this Miss Keeldar partly yielded to her disposition; but a remark she made a year afterwards proved that she partly also acted on system. "Louis," she said, "would never have learned to rule if she had not ceased to govern. The incapacity of the sovereign had developed the powers of the premier." (Shirley, Chapter 37)

What a blow to modern feminism! Surely, she can't mean that she "abdicated without a word or a struggle." In a world that condemns a woman sharing her wealth and power to her husband is scoffed, feminist icon Charlotte Brontë's heroine submits everything to her husband. Caroline is different in that she is poor with nothing to give, but she still submits everything to Robert. But I don't think this was Charlotte's point. These two women would not submit to just any man. Shirley will not submit to her tyrannical uncle's demand that she marries one of the wealthy suitors, but she does submit to the man who loves her ardently, tenderly, and wholly. She submits to the man who is worthy of her. Caroline submits to her uncle because he is her guardian, but she would become a governess before marrying and submitting to a man who was not her equal.

My adorable, late-night reading buddies.

Shirley does have a few flaws which are more a flaw of the time and modern literary expectations than a flaw of the novel. For one, Charlotte Brontë loved switching for entire pages into French. Since Robert, Louis, and Hortense Moore were all half-Flemish, they frequently switch between French and English in their dialogue. In 19th Century England, this would not have been a problem as French was commonly taught to the gentry. It was difficult to follow when it would switch back and forth between the two languages without giving a translation.

The other flaw is that the climax is so drawn out that it feels like something was missing at the end. It was a very difficult book to get into for the first half, but the second half flew by because it was filled with excitement. The climax spans almost 100 pages of the novel (out of 300) where you feel it must get resolved soon but the characters simply will not communicate their emotions. I think this is less of a flaw of the novel and more of modern expectations for a spectacular ending with explosions and passionate declarations of love. Technically this novel had plenty of both of those things, but I suppose it was a simpler ending than I expected from such a complex novel.

But that's how this different, and why it is such a splendid work of art. The story flows better than many of its contemporary novels. Charlotte paints a realistic picture instead of trying to make it overly romantic. It isn't Gothic like Wuthering Heights, or dreary like Dickens, or pastoral like Hardy -- but it does incorporate many of these elements into the story to give you a realistic picture. And it is truly a beautiful picture filled with love and loss and longing. Charlotte was able to weave a story that kept the magic of the Moors while adding a painfully realistic romance and a historically accurate fictionalization of the early labor movement. There are so many more details in this novel which I did not discuss, but all of them add volume and character to this already brilliant novel. Why this novel was not more popular, I will never know. But what I do know is that it rekindled my love of the Brontë sisters' works.

And feminists, next time you claim an authoress as your poster child, make sure she doesn't have any skeletons in her closet -- like Shirley.

The Mystery of Charles Dickens... um, I mean, Edwin Drood: A Review

Every summer I start reading my yearly Dickens novel and I wonder "will this novel be better than the others?" Sometimes, as was the case with Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby, the answer was that there are Dickens novels worthier of the reader's time. More often than not, my conclusion is that Dickens is a genius and deserves all the praise that he gets. In my mind, none of Dickens' novels could ever compare with Bleak House and Little Dorrit, and frankly they will always be the Dickens standard for me.

Upon beginning The Mystery of Edwin Drood about a month ago, I struggled with Dickens the same way that I always do. It normally takes me the first hundred pages or so to get into the style and language, and gradually enjoy the novel more as the pages pass. The problem with Edwin Drood is that there isn't much beyond the first hundred pages; Charles Dickens never had the luxury of finishing this novel. He died in June of 1870, halfway through writing Edwin Drood.

The main plot can be boiled down to a single sentence. Edwin Drood disappears, presumably murdered, but the clues surrounding his disappearance are scarce. It is unusual that a Dickens novel can be so concisely summarized, but all the clues that Dickens gives us, before and after Edwin's disappearance, all points toward the culprit. Of course, there is much more to the story than just the murder -- it wouldn't be a Dickens novel without characters' fate being interwoven.

But here's the most amazing thing about this novel: even though Dickens never finished it, I can speak with absolute certainty on who murdered Edwin. That's the fantastic thing about Dickens. Not a single paragraph is unnecessary in a Dickens novel; every character and every minute, over-detailed description has a unique, crucial purpose. (All of this is even more amazing when you realize that Dickens submitted his novels for publication in installments before he even finished them. He couldn't go back and add a little detail here and there to make everything connect.) Almost before Edwin even disappeared, I could have told you who was going to kill him and where his dead body could be found. The murder scene was never described, but all the clues are clearly visible for the reader to piece the puzzle together. But what is even more amazing is that you don't realize that you're being handed pieces to the puzzle until you really sit and think about it and everything falls into place. Suddenly, the chapters about the opium house, the odd old woman, and the cathedral crypt are not as seemingly random as they seem. And when the last pieces of the puzzle are put into place, the picture on top is nothing less than astonishing.

Upon finishing Edwin Drood, I sent my best friend a text something to the effect of "Charlie died at a really inopportune time." This novel had the potential of being his best novel, in my opinion, but nobody knows word-for-word how it would have ended. But upon considering the "seemingly random" details, I realized that he finished enough of the novel that it isn't as "inopportune" as one might think. There are minor details which are up for speculation, like whom marries whom, but for the most part he answers all the important questions. Had he died a chapter sooner, a major detail would have been left unaddressed. Of course, it would have been nice to read more but death can only be controlled on the pages of fiction.

This is why Dickens is a literary genius. How many authors can weave such a masterful tale, let alone leave it unfinished but gift the audience with all the clues that they need? He says nothing definitely, and yet he doesn't need to. His manner of laying out a novel and stating the facts allows the reader put two and two together on his own. That, I believe, is a remarkable achievement. Dickens uses the reader's intelligence to his advantage, and solves the mystery without even finishing the book.

The moral to this story is don't judge a book by it's cover. Or in this case, don't ignore The Mystery of Edwin Drood because Dickens died before finishing it. This is, without a doubt, one of Dickens' greatest accomplishments as an author. Despite the fact that we only have half the story, it deserves to be on the list of great Dickens novels because it was left unfinished and it is still perfection. He didn't need 800 pages to create a masterpiece like he did in Bleak House. He only needed 250 pages to simultaneously produce a masterpiece and the greatest cliffhanger of all time. Only Dickens could have made a mystery out of a mystery novel.

One more stop in Reading Europe 2016. Back to the Continent!

Nicholas Nickleby: A Review

My second stop in Reading England 2015 was Nicholas Nickleby. For the last six years, I've read a Dickens novel over the summer/fall, and I believe that this exercise stimulates my mind. Why Dickens? Because Dickens is difficult to read. He wrote in a language different from what 21st century readers are accustomed to, and his plots are so complex that sometimes missing a sentence can cause confusion. But at the same time, this is why Dickens is one of the most beloved authors in British literature. His novels address social issues in Victorian England, yet have something for everyone -- romance, mystery, crime, and adventure.

Nicholas Nickleby is no different than other Dickens novels in that regard. Recently widowed Mrs. Nickleby arrives in London with her two children, Nicholas and Kate, to beg her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, for financial assistance. Mr. Ralph Nickleby places his nephew in a position as a teacher in a boy's school in Yorkshire. Nicholas soon discovers that the school master, Mr. Squeers, is a harsh employer who fails to properly feed and clothe the boys placed in his care. After a confrontation where Nicholas beats Mr. Squeers "till he roared for mercy", he seeks employment elsewhere - first in the theatrical company of Mr. Crummles and then for the Brothers Cheeryble. Of course, the story ends happily, as every Dickens novel does: Nicholas finds happiness in life and love, Kate finds love and stability, and Mr. Ralph Nickleby and Mr. Squeers are both punished for their crimes.

This is not one of Dickens' best novels, but Dickens wrote nothing inferior. The twisted plots and characters keep the reader guessing throughout the entire novel. This novel did not succeed in intertwining the characters as well as his other works (Bleak House will always win that competition) but it is still filled with intrigue and adventure. Where Dickens did succeed is creating unique heroes and villains. Calling Nicholas "hot headed" is an understatement; most protagonists in classic literature are rational individuals. And normally the hero is fighting the system, whether harsh employers or the legal system, but Nicholas' self-proclaimed nemesis is his uncle.

Starkly different from the novel, the film adaptation is horrible. I bought it on DVD at the beginning of the year in preparation for finishing the novel. Charlie Hunnam (Sons of Anarchy, Crimson Peak) and Romala Garai (Emma 2009, Atonement) are two of my favorite actors/actresses, plus add Anne Hathaway and Jamie Bell (TURN, Jane Eyre 2011) into the mix and of course it will be fantastic! *shakes head miserably* The only adaptations I've seen that are worse than this one are some of the 80s and early 90s Austen adaptations. The acting wasn't bad; Charlie's acting style was a bit unrefined, but it was also toward the beginning of his acting career. (And he didn't have his fake American accent, which was the best part.) The travesty, as in all period dramas, was the omission of the bulk of the second half of the novel. The plot-line followed the novel relatively well throughout the first half of the movie, but somewhere in the second half the writers decided that they needed to cut something out and opted just to ignore half of what occurred. I fully understand that making a 800 page novel into a two hour movie is difficult, but the writers could have omitted some of the minutia in the beginning instead of failing to include the last few hundred pages of the novel.

My conclusion is this: read the book and watch the adaptation but don't expect a lot. Nicholas Nickleby shouldn't be your first choice when choosing a Dickens novel, but any Dickens novel is better than no Dickens at all. The last stop in Reading England 2015 is Lancashire for Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell!

The Standard for a Forgotten Genre: A Review

In today's modern culture where classic literature is largely ignored, the literature that shaped the 18th and 19th centuries have been shelved at the back of the library, forgotten with no hope of rekindled interest. High school and college students may read a few classic pieces such as Shakespeare and Dickens, but beyond that, many popular works of the last few centuries are lost to time. Even as a History major, I only read a handful of classic pieces during my college career, and now one of my primary goals is to compensate for my lack of literary diversity.

In my mildly educated opinion, one of the greatest forgotten genres is Gothic romance. This isn't a single author who is lost to time, but a handful of authors who would have rivaled Stephanie Meyers, J.K. Rowling, and Suzanne Collins in their day. These were popular authors and popular books which the gentry would have raved about on Twitter and Facebook and written fan fiction about the plight of the heroine if the internet existed 200 years ago. But these authors lost their popularity with the passage of time, just like most modern authors will lose their esteem eventually, too. In fact, these authors have lost so much of their popularity that, while their novels are still in print, one can't easily walk into Barnes and Noble and pick up a copy of the book. The novel has to be special ordered, or ordered off Amazon. Two of my Gothic novels, including the one which this review will discuss, came from a stack of free books at my college's library. (I was going to see a professor directly after finding these, and expressed my excitement about finding the books for free, which I expected the professor to share my excitement, but only provoked a blank stare.) So as you see, the libraries don't even want to keep Gothic novels around, most likely to make room for more popular novels!

Not all Gothic novels have been forgotten. In fact, I would surmise that the vast majority of people have heard of individual novels before they have heard of the genre of Gothic romance. The overarching label of "Gothic literature" can be extended to include Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, Northanger Abbey, Wuthering Heights, and Dracula, and even Nathaniel Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe are even thrown into this genre occasionally. Everyone has heard of (most of) these novels, I am sure, if only because of film adaptations of the original novels. Modern film producers love to exploit Gothic literature because of the allure of the dark, haunting feeling of the mid-19th century. A primary example of this is the upcoming film produced by Guillermo del Toro, Crimson Peak, starring Tom Hiddleston, Charlie Hunnam, and Mia Wasikowska. (Del Toro actually described this movie as a "Gothic" romance, much to my excitement.)

With all these Gothic novels being adapted for film, why do I call Gothic romance a "forgotten genre"? Because the first Gothic novels, primarily the ones written in the 18th century, have been gathering dust as they sit on the shelves. So, since my life goal is to rebel against modern culture and trends, my most recent literary conquest was the first Gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole.

Before I delve into a discussion of Otranto, I want to define the elements that comprise Gothic novels. Gothic novels traditionally occur during the Medieval Era, although recently the Gothic label has increasingly described the Victorian Era. As a traditionalist, I consider a Medieval setting as a primary tenant of a Gothic novel, which excludes most 19th century authors from this genre. Gothic novels normally occur in a desolate castle, monastery, or similar setting, and includes supernatural elements and unexplained, mysterious occurrences, a villain intent on projecting his desires on those around him, an imprisoned heroine who receives the brunt of the villain's wrath, a hero who embodies the Medieval chivalric ideal and saves the heroine, and a romance between the hero and the heroine that will almost definitely be forbidden by the villain. So the basic elements are eerie castles, ghosts, oppressive men, distressed females, forbidden or lost love, and lots of violence.

Gothic novels are the equivalent of modern horror novels, with Medieval tones (chivalry, ghosts, monks, etc.) The Early Modern Era, the time period which Walpole, Radcliffe and Lewis lived, was a clash of the Medieval and Modern ideas. This transition period prompted revolutions in France, Britain, and America, and laid the pathway for the Industrial Revolution among other foundations in the modern world. Perhaps one of the greatest achievements of the Early Modern Era was the disillusionment of Medieval superstition, and authors such as Radcliffe in The Mysteries of Udolpho consciously strive to aid this disillusionment by explaining the supernatural occurrences.

The Castle of Otranto includes all the elements of oppression, romance, and supernatural occurrences discussed above. According to Walpole, a dream inspired him to write Otranto, and the novel was published in 1764. He published it, falsely, as an Medieval Italian novel written between the 12th and 13th centuries and printed in Italy in 1529 which was rediscovered, translated, and published. Walpole's style is straightforward; he is not descriptive about the characters or surroundings. He tells the story without embellishment. The only frustrating part of this book was Walpole's omission of paragraphs and quotation marks. Paragraphs may last for two or more pages, and the lack of quotation marks makes differentiating between speakers difficult.

The Castle of Otranto begins the morning ofthe marriage ceremony between Conrad, the heir of the Castle Otranto, and Isabella, the daughter of the Marquis of Vicenza. But Conrad never arrives at the altar; outside, he is crushed by an enormous helmet that fell from the sky. After Manfred, the Prince of Otranto, observes that his only son and heir has been killed, he remembers a prophecy stating "That the castle and lordship of Otranto should pass from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it." (p.17) He plans to divorce his current wife, Hippolita, who has been barren for many years, and marry Isabella. When Isabella hears of Manfred's plans, she announces that she does not wish to marry him and flees from him. She is aided by a peasant boy as she escapes through a trap door and takes refuge at the church. Manfred finds the peasant boy, named Theodore, sentences him to death for helping Isabella escape, and locks him in one of the rooms in the castle. That evening, he talks with Matilda, the daughter of Manfred, through the open window and Matilda is smitten by the chivalric young man. As Theodore is about to be executed the following day, the local friar, Jerome, recognizes Theodore's birthmark and declares that Theodore is his son. Manfred forces Jerome to choose between his son and Isabella, but before he can decide, knights from another realm arrive and demand to see Isabella. The knights and Manfred race to go find Isabella and Matilda, meanwhile, frees Theodore. Theodore arrives to defend Isabella and wounds one of the knights. The wounded knight then reveals that he is Isabella's father. They rush back to the castle, where he begins to recover, and Frederic, Isabella's father, and Manfred agrees to Frederic's marriage to Matilda in exchange for his marriage to Isabella. Manfred begins to suspect that Isabella is consorting with Theodore, he sneaks into the church and stabs Matilda, who he thinks is Isabella. Shortly before Matilda dies, it is discovered that Theodore is the true heir of Otranto. Matilda's death fulfills the prophecy, and Manfred lives in sorrow for the rest of his life. Theodore takes the throne and marries Isabella because she is the only one who understands the loss of Matilda.

It is a melodramatic story with a somber ending, but Walpole drives home his point: the sins of the father affect the sins of the children. (p. 7) The wicked (Manfred) must pay for their sins, and the good (Theodore) will succeed. Walpole also introduced marriage for love in the romance between Theodore and Matilda. While they never married, they clearly wanted to, and in the end Theodore could only marry because Isabella understood his pain. But this notion of love was a new concept (compared to arranged marriages) and it is a concept that would gradually take hold more and more through the 19th century. Morally and romantically, it is a good story. But Walpole's success isn't in his morality or his literary style. Quite frankly, Walpole isn't very accurate. The only Medieval element is his portrayal of Theodore as a chivalric "knight in shining armor." The tale as a whole is clearly Early Modern. But he is a clever and skilled writer, so his historical inaccuracies (in a time before extensive historical scholarship and research) may be overlooked.

Walpole's success is what he created. Very few authors have the ability, let alone the creativity, to create an entirely new genre. Even fewer authors have the ability to create a genre with such a broad impact. Gothic novels were huge in the Regency Era, and many 19th century authors, such as Austen, were influenced heavily by Gothic novels. Before Walpole, nothing compared to this type of novel, and his novel set the tone -- the standard -- for future Gothic novels. He spawned an entirely new idea, an idea which still influences culture today.

So if you like horror or mystery novels and are looking for something a little different, I highly suggest delving into Gothic romance. While authors such as Walpole and Radcliffe are forgotten in most literary circles today, their works are just as much of classics as Austen, Bronte, and Dickens, and infinitely more original and clever than modern authors.

Walpole, Horace. The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story. Edited by W S. Lewis. Oxford World's Classics. Oxford England: Oxford University Press, 1998.