Dear Serial Readers,
You'll notice I added two images taken from the Feb. 1865 installment in The Cornhill. Typically there is a full-page drawing by George du Maurier before the first page of the installment, and then an embellished first letter of that installment. The drawing pertains to a scene in the segment--in this case "First Impressions" pictures Molly and Cynthia (although Cynthia's beauty is difficult to read here, although her greater height is evident). Du Maurier was a regular cartoonist for Punch and provided illustrations for serials until he himself turned to fiction--he illustrated his 1894 novel Trilby (which was serialized in Harper's Weekly).
If nothing else, the drawing does accentuate a moment in the installment, in this case "first impressions" between these step-sisters. While there were plenty of hints to suggest these girls might not be compatible, it seems that they are establishing a bond of affection (rather than the competition that has been set up, and perhaps will enter later into the plot). I found Cynthia most appealing in her appreciation of Molly. She also is wiser than her own mother, but (as Julia pointed out with the inversion of roles) perhaps that's not saying much!
This portion of the novel again reminded me of the popular sensation novels of the day, although different too in Gaskell's toned-down "every-day" version. First, Osborne's "secret" marriage and all the allusions to France (sensation novels almost always turn on a secret marriage or illegitimate birth or sexual liaison of some sort, and France is the prime location in Victorian novels for licentiousness). Then Cynthia enters, and my "first impression" is that she resembles a sensation heroine with her "power of fascination" and her "power of adaptation" (shades of Darwinian evolution here) and her flexible morals--my favorite line is when she tells Molly, "I must be a moral kangaroo!" This phrase rings nicely with Eliot's depiction of Lydgate as "an emotional elephant" (and I agree with Betsy about Mr. Gibson's obtuseness, much like Lydgate's in Middlemarch). Cynthia is an appealing character to me not only because she admires Molly, but also because she does have some self-awareness (in contrast to her mother) and a sense of humor too about her shortcomings.
And about suspense: it's evident there's some history between Cynthia and Preston. Could there be another secret marriage or secret engagement? Clearly Preston is keen on Cynthia, but her mother wants her daughter to marry up into the squire's family--hence Mrs. Gibson's interest in Osborne for Cynthia. Yet Gaskell allows for the dramatic irony here since we we know at least one secret marriage will thwart that desire, and if not, why then, there would be a bigamy plot, another staple of popular sensation novels! Preston is seeming more like a melodramatic villain to me--before, several characters sniffed at his class pretensions, but this time the narrator also finds him suspect and conniving. More suspense, but not the page-turning variety?
I've mentioned links to Middlemarch, and Julia suggests that Gaskell might have Eliot's earlier novel Silas Marner in mind too in her portrait of the two Hamley brothers. I should mention another possible companion text, a very interesting short story about two brothers--"Brother Jacob"-- by Eliot that appeared in this same magazine in July 1864, so just two months before the first installment of this novel.
Next week: chapters 21-23.
Serially yours,
Susan
4 comments:
As Susan said, I could also see this seemingly boring everyday life story is beginning to be strewn with sensational plots such as secret marriages and other sexual liaisons with the appearance of "heroic" figures of Osborne and Cynthia. While Molly had always wanted to contact with a "love-story," this rather came as Osborne's "concealed romance" to her.
In relation to the novel's suspense, I wonder if these sensational figures and plots brought in these chapters make readers more at suspense about what to come. All seemingly realistic novels are always driven by sensational plots at bottom. In Middlemarch, too, there are lots of sensational plots interwoven along with more serious and tone-downed realities.
So I wonder if Victorian realist narratives would hold any suspense for readers without these sensational plots lying at bottom.
I was struck by Cynthia too, especially by the narrator's comments on her character (p. 226 in the Oxford paperback). Cynthia is charming and self-aware, but, as we're warned, she's "not remarkable for unflinching morality." There's certainly quite a bit to like about her (especially in comparison with her mother), but I think we're supposed to be a little suspicious of her too.
This makes me think about the narrator's perspective. We don't know everything about these characters, even if we can make some pretty good guesses. But we do know more than Molly, who seems much less aware of Cynthia's less admirable qualities. I think part of the interest in this novel is discovering what's coming next, and another part is enjoying how perceptive we are compared to our protagonist, who's a little more trusting than those of us who can see the writing on the wall with those dubious characters (they've even been exposed to France, after all!). It seems like that balances between suspense and knowledge in a really interesting way.
I have been reading through the posts of the last two weeks about how the suspense works, and what joshuataft says in this last post resonates with me; I get great pleasure out of being smarter than Molly--some of that is joy at my narrative skill, but part also is pleasure at Molly's innocence and generosity.
I have also been thinking that in some novels the suspense is all about plot: who stole the money? Will this couple every get married? Who killed the vicar? Will the opium dealer be stopped? But in others it's more concerned with character--at least, that's my current hypothesis. So, will the hobbyhorse become ethical and upright? Will Mrs. Gibson really make Mr. Gibson stop eating cheese, or will she lose some of her selfishness in the relative ease of her new life? And yes, plot issues of course matter, but that's not what is really driving the suspense. I *do* feel suspense at this novel, and I *do* want to know who O. is married to, but I'm also enjoying spending time with the characters, mostly Molly, and enjoying watching her change and grow. I do think a sense of friendliness with characters keeps a lot of people reading, and reading from book to book in contemporary series such as the Grafton murder alphabet series.
By the way, as of the end of Chapter 20, I feel certain that Osborne is married to Cynthia. I think she used to have a thing with Preston, but it's over.
And in terms of the way the narrative is shaped, I'm also interested in how unpleasant Mrs. Gibson is and how painful a life with her would be with Molly, yet I find the tone of the narrative verging on--just verging, not quite reaching--burlesque at Mrs. G. So I never feel overwhelmed by sympathy for Molly or worry about her. It keeps my feelings light as I also get to engage in the full range of plot challenges Molly experiences. That may be partly why plot suspense doesn't develop into cliffhanger status, at least not yet.
It's interesting to look at the pictures from the book and see how Molly develops visually from the girl in very young and plain clothing to the more sophisticated and adult woman.
I've been reading feverishly to catch up. In Ch 20 the exchange between Molly and C on goodness creates suspense enough for me to keep reading. It begins with C comparing her ability to love with M's, and disclosing what must once have been for her hard-won insight about mothers and daughters. "I don't think love for one's mother quite comes by nature," she says. She's aware of how socially unacceptable such a statement is. "Don't condemn me." M shares some of her own struggle with being good, which reminds me of her conflict in Ch 11 between being herself or losing herself "trying to do or be as other people like." After we think the topic of goodness has been dropped in Ch 20, C returns to it, and reveals her wound, which centers around her mother. "Somehow I cannot forgive her for her neglect of me as a child when I would have clung to her." Truth unvarnished, for someone who doesn't consider herself bound to it. M tries coaxing her into a softer stance with "oughts." "But don't you see," C replies, "I have grown up outside the pale of duty or oughts. Love me as I am, sweet one, for I shall never be better." Is this foreshadowing? How will their individual struggles with goodness develop through the story? To what consequence?
Post a Comment