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Northanger Abbey Pt. iii

“The visions of romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened” (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, 1012).

Catherine has just told Henry about her theory of General Tilney keeping his mother alive in the room/ or killing her. Henry called her out, and the result is Catherine’s awakening.

While the “awakening” here refers to Catherine realizing the extravagance of her assumptions about General Tilney, one could also argue that Austen also meant this in the sense that Catherine is awakened to the realities of society, namely the male patriarchal constructs within it. General Tilney represents the British government, but also the overbearing nature of male society in the eighteenth century. Catherine’s far-fetched fantasies about him are her trying to come to terms with the patriarchy, but she rejects the fantasies when confronted by Henry, the antithesis of the patriarchal normative. Catherine is then awakened to the reality: General Tilney is not like the gothic villains in her novels, but is still a patriarchal individual who views himself as the ultimate authority on everything in society, especially the women in his life. Catherine gives up her fantasies in lieu of reality-- where there are still villainous men, but in a less grossly obvious sense, and more in the subversive social sense, though she also realizes that not all men exhibit the same characteristics. 

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Northanger Abbey Pt. ii

“’My dear Miss Moreland,’ said Henry, ‘in this amiable solicitude for your brother’s comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on your own account or Miss Thorpe’s, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain Tilney?’“ (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, 988). 

This quotation comes from chapter 19. Catherine has just expressed her concerns to Henry Tilney about Isabella and Captain Tilney becoming too familiarly acquainted while Isabella is engaged to her brother, James Moreland. Henry, instead of trying to assuage her trepidation, challenges her thought processes on the matter.

I absolutely love Henry Tilney, he is by far the best of Austen’s male love interests, and I think it is because of his honesty with Catherine. He easily could have assured her there was nothing to worry about with Isabella and Captain Tilney, or said he would talk to his brother and tell him to leave. Instead, he gives her a new perspective, and challenges her thinking. She is still blinded by her loyalty to Isabella at this point, to admit Isabella’s flirtatious nature is not dependent upon Captain Tilney’s presence or absence. Catherine desperately wants to see the good in everyone, especially in her friends, but Henry calls her out, and gives her a reality check, essentially. He challenges her thinking throughout the novel, but this was the most memorable of those times for me-- it was apparent that he cares about Catherine and has her best interests in mind. He doesn’t try to shame her or make her feel stupid for her questions, but gives her an alternative way to view the situation. His desire for her happiness goes hand in hand with his desire for her growth-- he wants her to become an improved version of herself, and wants to be a part of the process. 

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Northanger Abbey pt. i

“’Have you ever read Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe?’

‘Udolpho! Oh, Lord! Not I; I never read novels; I have something else to do.’ 

Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologize for her question. . .” (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, 935). 

This quotation is from chapter seven of the novel, when Catherine is trying to make conversation while on a carriage ride with John Thorpe. She was bored of his droning on and on about his horses and his frustrations with women, so she ventured to discuss something of interest for her.

This conversation solidified my disdain for John Thorpe. Given the importance of literature and reading to Catherine and her character progression, I felt like Thorpe’s seeming repulsion with literature (and his lack of knowledge of female authorship), was a clear indication from Austen that Thorpe was one of the male antagonists. I was also struck by Catherine’s feelings of shame and her desire to apologize to him. She continues on this trajectory when she corrects him when he says Udolpho isn’t an Ann Radcliffe work, and feels regret because she doesn’t want to “mortify” him. This interaction and her reaction to it paints a clear picture of the gender roles of the time; women were to quietly harbor their opinions, were not to correct men if they were wrong, and men were the clear experts on all topics, even those they knew nothing about. Even though Catherine experiences some trepidation at correcting Thorpe, and at questioning what he’s read, she does it anyway, which leads me to believe she is going to continue on this trajectory of challenging the status quo by not allowing men to silence her thoughts. I already love Catherine, and can’t wait to see how she progresses in her societal and literary education. 

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Pleasure Derived From Objects of Terror

“Hence the more wild, fanciful, and extraordinary are the circumstance, of a scene of horror, the more pleasure we receive from it; and where they are too near common nature, though violently borne by curiosity through the adventure, we cannot repeat it or reflect on it, without an overbalance of pain” (Anna Letitia Barbauld & John Aikin, 521). 

This excerpt occurs when Barbauld is commenting on the human imagination and the appeal and draw to horror.

I connected to this excerpt because it communicates my feelings on horror precisely. The outrageous, not-so-realistic elements of horror are bearable for me, and even in some cases, enjoyable. I’ve found that I don’t find these instances of fanciful horror as striking or hard to stomach as realistic horror. Barbauld’s assumption that “we cannot repeat it or reflect on it, without an overbalance of pain” felt personal. When the veil between reality and horror becomes thin, almost invisible, I feel an intense desire to run the other direction. Plausibility is, in many respects, more terrifying than any number of demons, monsters, ghosts, and ghouls. When reading Barbauld, it became clear that horror functions as ultimate escapism, because not only is there the immersion that occurs in all art genres, but there is a suppression of emotion and feeling outside of fear. The fear is only palatable and tolerable when it exists so far outside the realm of reality, that it is impossible to draw comparisons to one’s life. Barbauld’s argument gave me a deeper understanding of and appreciation for horror and those that find pleasure, even comfort, in its dark embrace.  

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The Rape of the Lock pt. II

“Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. . . / Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, / And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire” (Pope; lines 90, 93-94; pp. 520). 

These lines are from Canto four of Pope’s “The Rape of the Lock.’’ Belinda is preparing for an internal monologue, followed by her outward speech to the Baron. She is outraged by the Baron forcefully cutting a lock of her hair and keeping it for himself. 

The image of Belinda with her hair unbound stayed with me during and following the reading. Not only does it symbolize her loss of virginity, chastity, and purity, but it represents her new identity-- one that was forced on her by the Baron. She is now a victim of rape, however, this image of her hair flowing unbound in tresses coupled with her dignified anger at the Baron reminded me of a woman untamed by society. In my reading, the Baron represented society forcing women into pre-determined roles to silence them. Belinda’s hair, while overtly representing virginity and “purity”, my twenty-first century lens lent me to view Belinda and her hair as a symbol for femininity, sexuality, and personhood. With this reading, I found that even in their individualism and femininity (unbound hair), women bear the mark of a male-centric society. Belinda’s hair was unbound because of the rape Belinda endured from the Baron. Belinda’s anger and unbound hair are a result of male ego and dominance, yet they are also symbols, if one chooses to interpret it this way, of a woman breaking free of the dominance, the misogyny, the silencing, against women. But even in that, Belinda is marked by those things because the Baron saw himself as entitled to Belinda’s body. All women can relate to these experiences: being silenced, harassed, assaulted, talked over, ignored, misrepresented-- all of these are devastatingly true to the female experience. In the face of these experiences, women, like Belinda, choose to unbind their hair, to become angry, and to speak up and out against toxic masculinity and men who feel entitled to the bodies of women. We use our circumstances as a force against our perpetrators, and that, to me, is demonstrated through Belinda and her unbound hair and anger. 

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The Rape of the Lock pt. I

“At this, the blood the virgin’s cheek forsook, / A livid paleness spreads o’er all her look; / She sees, and trembles at the approaching ill, / Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille” (Pope, lines 89-92, pp. 516-517). 

This excerpt is from Canto 3 of Alexander Pope’s “The Rape of the Lock.” In this scene, Belinda is playing a game of cards with the Baron and a host of other men, and loses. 

While the scene is from a simple card game, the language used by Pope connotes a deeper, more sinister meaning and tone. The descriptions of Belinda’s state of mind and appearance here act to foreshadow the rape that occurs shortly after. The strength of the language goes beyond the card game, or even Pope’s attempts at making light of the symbolic rape on the following page. As a female reader in the twenty-first century, I was struck by the image of a blood-stained virgin in these lines, especially considering the light-hearted circumstance of a game of cards. Of course Pope’s purpose in using the strong images and language is likely to garner a laugh at Belinda’s absurdity, or an eye roll at the “overly dramatic” nature of females. However, as a female, I felt myself empathizing with Belinda’s feelings of fear, nervousness, and embarrassment at her loss. Because, just like the Baron taking Belinda’s lock of hair is not simply that, the card game is not just a card game. It represents the war between genders, and women’s desire to be victorious over the socially constructed roles they’ve been placed in. So, Belinda’s loss of the game of Codille represents the loss of autonomy and rights experienced by 18th-century females. Or perhaps not the loss of, but rather a lack of those things since women never had them to begin with, just like Belinda was fated to lose the card game and her lock of hair; men had sole power, even over women’s bodies.

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“Press’d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides, / While the loud equinox its power combines, / The sea no more its swelling surge confines, / But o’er the shrinking land sublimely rides” (Charlotte Smith, lines 1-4, pp. 57). 

These lines are from Smith’s “Written in the Church-Yard at Middleton in Sussex.” The sonnet is dark in tone, as Smith writes of the graveyard in the Sussex church being washed away by the sea. 

The image of the moon and sea as a combined destructive force in the opening lines of this sonnet are vividly painted by Smith. Her melancholy demeanor is mirrored by the raging sea, breaking free of its confines to wash away the Sussex graveyard. The word “sublimely” in line four stood out to me as a representation of the sea’s sheer magnitude and power. It functions as the protagonist of the sonnet, taking on a mind of its own as it “sublimely rides” the land, which in turn, shrinks. As I read these lines, it became apparent that the sea might be a representation of depression and melancholy- the sea spills out of its confines and boundaries and forces itself onto the land, similar to the way melancholy and depression seep into every facet of one’s life, without concern for maintaining order or boundaries. Additionally, in my reading, the sea represented the internal struggle of women in the long 18th century to break free from societal expectations and gender roles. This sonnet spoke to me the most out of all of them because, while it provides a clear image of the sea washing away the graves in Sussex-- something tangible-- it also functions as a metaphor for a number of societal struggles if one chooses to read it that way. The images in this sonnet break boundaries and confines, similar to the sea within the lines. 

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“I cannot comprehend his meaning, unless, in the true Mahometan strain, he meant to deprive us of souls, and insinuate that we were beings only designed by sweet attractive grace, and docile blind obedience, to gratify the senses of man when he can no longer soar ton the wing of contemplation” (Mary Wollstonecraft, “The Prevailing Opinion of a Sexual Character Discussed” 227). 

Wollstonecraft challenges the male-centric opinions of female conduct. Here, she is challenging John Milton’s characterization of Eve as being formed of “softness and sweet attractive grace” (227). This essay challenges social constructs of female obligation to male desire and male gratification.

If I did not love Wollstonecraft before this (which I did), I adore her now. She challenges the notion that females are subservient to males, and only exist to please the man. It was a bit startling to be reading this as a twenty-first century female and still see the need for Wollstonecraft’s blunt rejection of society’s expectations for females. I felt like this could easily have been written today, given the cultural climate. This was one of my favorite excerpts from the chapter because of Wollstonecraft’s challenge of Milton, which in turn, is a challenge of the biblical language that suggests women are the “weaker sex” or simply exist in “docile blind obedience” as Wollstonecraft writes. I was invigorated, empowered, and inspired by the straightforwardness of Wollstonecraft’s language and pointed critique of social constructs, that unfortunately still exist in some sense today. Wollstonecraft goes so far as to say Milton’s language suggests women are deprived of souls, which in today’s society can translate to individuality. A sense of individuality for a female is not merely a desire to “overpower the male” as many anti-feminists say, but rather a desire to have a soul, to exist apart from male opinion and desire, and to be wholly a person on one’s own. Wollstonecraft is my new feminist hero. 

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“Women, if taught, would be as bold and wise / As haughty man, Improved by art and rules; / Where God makes one, neglect makes twenty fools” (Anne Ingram, Viscountess Irwin, “An Epistle to Mr. Pope,” 651). 

Ingram’s epistle is in response to Alexander Pope’s “Epistle 2. To A Lady,’’ a presumptuous piece on “the woman problem.” This excerpt comes from lines 34-36 of Ingram’s epistle, and addresses the lack of education women received in the late 18th century. 

These were my favorite lines in Ingram’s epistle, because they were so pointedly addressing the social inequality of women at the time. Pope argues that women are focused on their appearance, and are essentially vapid and unintelligent. Ingram’s response intelligently calls him out and reminds him that women are not given the same luxuries and opportunities as men-- they are not educated, but if they were, they would be bold and wise. I loved how she called men “haughty”-- it was so apt for his presumptuous writing about women. Where Pope was juvenile and hung up on irrelevant customs, Ingram makes intelligent jabs that are resonant because of the truth behind them. She proves Pope’s assumptions about women wrong through her response, while also addressing the inconsistencies between men and women’s rights. Pope’s complaints about women all stem from lack of education and opportunity and Ingram draws his attention to the hypocrisy of his claims; women would not be who he describes them as if the haughty men would afford them the opportunity to become educated. She rightfully calls out the neglect of the female population and makes a fool of Pope while doing so. 

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"It purges from our inward sight the film of familiarity which obscures from us the wonder of our being. It compels us to feel that which we perceive, and to imagine that which we know” (P.B. Shelley, “A Defense of Poetry,” 881). 

This excerpt of “A Defense of Poetry” appears toward the end of the essay. Shelley argues that poetry bridges the veil between the known and unknown, the familiar and unfamiliar. In an earlier paragraph, Shelley states poetry “marries exultation and horror, grief and pleasure, eternity and change” (881). The marriage between the “irreconcilable” is further defined when Shelley discusses poetry as an allowance to feel our perceptions and imagine our knowledge.

For Shelley, the lines are blurred between what poetry is and what it is not. There is a non-quantifiable aspect about poetry for Shelley that is so resonant and compelling. I was most struck by the concept of familiarity as keeping us from “the wonder of our being.” Similar to Keats’ notion of negative capability, Shelley believes poetry exists in the realm of the unknown and unexplored, not the knowledge. There is a striking contrast for Shelley between perception and knowledge; one is felt, the other imagined, but neither exist in logic. Shelley’s description, or rather defense, of poetry reminds me of the sublime. Like the sublime, poetry goes beyond the depths of reality and what is known. It is “the wonder of our being.” There is strong sense of reverence and awe in the way Shelley defends poetry, similar to the reverence conflated with the sublime. Both poetry and the sublime surpass knowledge and the film of familiarity, instead, they are part of the infinite unknown; both exude feelings of reverence, fear, and the strongest emotion beyond human comprehension. 

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 “The excellence of every Art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with Beauty & Truth” (Keats, ‘To George and Thomas Keats’ 1016).

Keats wrote a letter addressing his brothers George and Thomas. He uses the letter to explain the notion of negative capability-- a term Keats coined and is widely known for. This excerpt occurs near the beginning of the letter where Keats begins to qualify the meaning of negative capability. 

For Keats, the disagreeables are not only the unsavory aspects of life, but the presence of logic and science. Art therefore, is the absence of logic and reason, and is instead, as Keats writes here, intense and deeply rooted Beauty and Truth. The subtitle of the letter is ‘Negative Capability,’ which is the notion that true artists live in mystery and the unknown without searching for reason and logic. Excellent art is the result of negative capability, and can only exist when the artist resides in openness and possibility. Keats’ reliance on negative capability as the driving force for excellent Art piques my curiosity about how he would react to the current state of the world. We are certainly residing in a state of unknown, of mystery with little sense of true logic-- it is chaos. Would Keats implore Artists to use this time and space to create, to be inspired, to seek Beauty and Truth apart from logic and fact? I think Keats would see the current world as an opportunity for Art to emerge stronger because of the state of absolute uncertainty. One final thing that struck me about negative capability was the disconnect Keats draws between Truth and logic/fact-- Beauty is synonymous with Truth, but facts are not Truth, according to Keats. Truth here, functions as a more relative concept than a tangible, quantifiable concept.  

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“Though nothing can bring back the hour / Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; / We will grieve not, rather find / Strength in what remains behind; / In the primal sympathy / Which having been must ever be; / In the soothing thoughts that spring / Out of human suffering” (Wordsworth, The Immortality Ode, 177-184, pp. 352).

Wordsworth spends the length of the poem musing on immortality and human suffering. In these lines, he provides readers with a beacon of hope and a call to push forward amidst difficult circumstances.

Given the current state of the world and our lives right now, these lines were a source of comfort for me. I felt an intimate connection to Wordsworth’s language and his call not to dwell in grief, but to find strength in what remains. I got lost in this poem because of how deeply it resonated with me— it felt as though Wordsworth was speaking directly to me through the poem. The idea that suffering is temporary, and that, while it is painful right now, there will be “soothing thoughts” springing from the pain at some point. This is one poem of Wordsworth’s I was not familiar with, but it now has a deep, resonant, and profound place with me. I have already revisited this poem multiple times since reading it the first time. It is beautiful that something written centuries ago, can still be relevant and so meaningful to the modern-day reader. Wordsworth is my favorite Romantic poet.

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“For we are so constituted by nature, that we are ever prone to compare ourselves with others; and our happiness or misery depends very much on the objects and persons around us. On this account, nothing is more dangerous than solitude” Goethe, Sorrows of Young Werther, 40).

Werther is writing to Wilhelm— he has just arrived at the Prince’s estate.

I found it interesting that Werther noted the human tendency of comparison. For some reason, I have always associated this notion with modern-day society, but never considered that, although earlier societies did not have social media or platforms that constitute comparison, it is a universal trait all humans, regardless of time period, exhibit. It was a neat thought process for me, because I then considered how humans are all connected by our inner tendencies, desires, and decisions. We share similarities in our responses to life circumstances and to the people around us, even if separated by time and social standing. Additionally, I found the commentary on the dangers of solitude to be aptly timed. In this very strange reality of isolation and social distancing, it is comforting to know that at the basic level, we are all connected, even if it is by negative tendencies.

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“Observe a man in his natural, isolated condition; consider how ideas work, and how impressions fasten on him, till at length a violent passion seizes him, destroying all his powers of calm reflection, and utterly ruining him” (Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther, 31).

Albert and Werther are discussing suicide, and Werther is attempting to convey to Albert the nature of suicide as a condition of the human mind— not something to be downplayed or cast aside as merely an unwise decision.

Werther’s understanding of the human psyche and the often burdensome nature of life, is made apparent through the musings he shares with Albert. For Werther, emotion is not a trivial matter, and can lead to destruction and ruin. This whole conversation struck a nerve within me; I felt a strong sense of connection to Werther’s assertions that suicide is a last resort, desperate attempt at finding relief from emotional turmoil. To me, Werther seemed to have a grasp on how the human brain works, which is so interesting, given how unpredictable his emotions and responses have been up until this point. I feel like Werther is speaking from experience— his emotions seem like “violent passion(s)” at times, so I wonder what will befall him as the novella progresses.

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“Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power / Have piled: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle, / A city of death, distinct with many a tower / And wall impregnable of beaming ice” (Shelley, Mont Blanc, 103-106, pp. 787).

Shelley describes Mont Blanc in a subliminal manner; here, the mountain has become sinister and dark. These lines come from stanza 4 of the poem.

The language of Mont Blanc is stunning, but these lines were particularly powerful to me. They evoked feelings of isolation, fear, and inspiration for me. The personification of Frost and Sun elevates the reader’s sense of Mont Blanc and provides a deeper engagement with the subliminal nature of the landscape. These lines pulled me into a reverie as I imagined the foreboding image of Mount Blanc and the sheer vastness it holds. The sublime was tangible in these lines- as if I were staring at its structure towering over me.

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“But oh! That deep romantic chasm which slanted / Down the green hill athwart a cedar cover! / A savage place! as holy and enchanted / As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted / . . . And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething” -Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Kubla Khan 12-15, 17; 465).

Kubla Khan is both an internal reflection and a manifestation of a dream Coleridge had. This particular passage is appears near the beginning of the poem, after the description of Kubla Khan. The poem begins with beautiful imagery before entering into the dark contents of Coleridge’s psyche.

The first time I encountered Kubla Khan was two years ago in British Literature II. I don’t think I fully grasped the deep sense of what Coleridge was attempting to do with this piece and the disclaimer that it is a fragmentation of a fully realized poem. Regardless of whether or not the claim is true, this passage stood out to me as the turning point in the piece; the point at which the poem moves from Coleridge’s classical, beautiful imagery, to the “other thing,” Kubla Khan represents. From my understanding, the romantic chasm serves as a metaphor for the human psyche/brain and the often deeply disturbing elements it houses. The description of the chasm as romantic is reminiscent of external appearance and how individuals tend to present themselves with their best foot forward, even though internally, there are multitudes of crises threatening to choke out the “pleasure-dome.” For me, the passage represents depression, especially the “chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,” and “a savage place!” Coleridge’s descriptions evoke feelings of despair masked by an external presence of happiness and joy. Having done research about Coleridge, I know there were moments in his life where he battled depression, which makes the construction of Kubla Khan more meaningful and relatable.

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“Man’s perceptions are not bounded by organs of perceptions; he perceives more than sense (tho’ ever so acute) can discover” (RP Blake 127).

Blake’s ‘There is No Natural Religion [b],’ is a commentary on the notion that perception is limited and humans are finite in their thinking and being.

This first line in the rebuttal to the first portion of ‘There is No Natural Religion,’ is something I pondered for much of the day after reading it. The notion that perception is not contained to human sense, nor is it static. Blake suggests perception is explorative; an endeavor that increases with experience and learning. It reminds me of the informal debate we had in class regarding the acquisition of knowledge/learning (whether it is confined to experience, or infinitely acquired over time). This discussion of finite/infinity, constraint/freedom, perception/reality, organs & sense/discovery & exploration is, in my opinion, an integral aspect of the Romantic era; one that I find immense pleasure in ruminating over. Blake’s suggestion that perception is not limited made me consider my own perceptions and how they’ve matured as I’ve learned (explored and discovered!) new forms of thought and broadened my cultural awareness. With this in mind, I agree with Blake; perception can change and is not bound by senses or natural organs. I think there is a fine balance between nature and nurture; one cannot exist wholly without the other which seems to be what Blake may be suggesting in ‘There Is No Natural Religion [b].’