Dear Serial Readers,
Kari wrote last week that she was disappointed there's no sex, quite a surprise for a novel laced with sensational plot elements (secret marriages, multiple engagements, blackmail). I was amused because to me, perhaps over-seasoned in the codes of Victorian language, there's sex aplenty! True, no graphic accounts of bodies naked and entwined and in spasms. But I suspect that Gaskell's contemporary readers would've understood the depths of Cynthia's transgressions by those repeated solitary encounters in the woods (which Du Maurier's illustration spotlights), the exchange of the promise of her body in marriage for money (and the sideways allusion to prostitution, the commerce of sex that was a big big topic in Victorian culture), her rather careless enjoyment of many men (Roger, Mr. Coxe, Preston, and now the marriage offer from Mr. Henderson) drawn to her (sensation heroines as bigamists or as having clandestine affairs), and then her education in France--a culture symbolizing to British Victorians a hotbed of sexual license for women!
This episode especially focuses on Cynthia's propensity to attract men in the form of FOUR proposals, as well as her "Jilting Jessy" behavior. One comment I found especially intriguing is when Cynthia replies to her mother's warning that she'll end up old maid, she says, "I sometimes think I am the kind of person of which old maids are made!" Typically the Victorian "old maid" or spinster stereotype is sexlessness, but I think Cynthia is suggesting otherwise--her inability to love someone despite her evident sexual attraction. In any case, Gaskell casts a different light on spinsterhood cliches, especially through the character of Lady Harriet, Molly's great champion in the slander scandal of this installment. I suspect that Cynthia can only redeem herself by marrying Preston in the end, that her behaviors suggest that she has has as good as shared a bed with him! But alas, as Kari notes, no obvious sex here. But you have to imagine something beyond those layers of clothing, or the gaps between the surreptitious trysts in the lonely lane! That Molly's reputation is tainted for those two brief encounters with Preston adds more fuel to the signifying fire of Cynthia's clandestine meetings with and engagement to Preston.
The illustration for this installment is, alas, sideways in the margin here--it shows Lady Harriet asking Preston a few questions as she determines that Molly has taken the heat for Cynthia's indiscretions. Lady Harriet is a gem--and delightfully portrayed in the BBC adaptation. The small drawing inserted into the text of the installment's first chapter shows the moment when Mr. Gibson grabs Molly's arms and hurts her as he demands to know why those rumors have been circulating about her. I thought the moment was disturbing--the suggestion of Mr. Gibson's physical violence--and it's highlighted in the magazine image. I vaguely recall a moment in Gaskell's first novel Mary Barton that suggests a father's physical abuse of his daughter.
In this issue of the magazine, there's also an article in this Oct. 1865 issue titled "Maori Sketches" by "Miss Morris." I had just read some fascinating scholarship on Charlotte Yonge's The Daisy Chain (1856) and learned that some of that novel is set in New Zealand. Perhaps "Maori Sketches" might have formed a provocative travel piece alongside Mrs. Gibson's brief mention of Roger in "unhealthy" and "savage" and "cannibal" Africa.
Maybe because "Serial Readers" is a kind of digital book club, I was especially interested in the brief mention of the Hollingford Book Society at the start of the installment. This local book society is an attempt to circumvent the higher subscription fees and selection of books (a form of censorship, some writers complained) of the large scale circulating libraries like Mudie's in London (with subscribers all over England). Grinstead, the Hollingford bookseller, acts as the local agent and manager for the society. It's also interesting that Gaskell makes clear that some members of this society do not actually read books, but are members for the social prestige, "a test of gentility" rather than desire for education or love of literature. Once again, Gaskell shows that books have multiple uses. As the town's "centre of news and gossip" the book society members are implicated in the spreading of the scandal about Molly and Preston, gossip that makes clear the harm of hasty or careless reading of events.
Please take a moment to vote again for our next selection, and then I'll announce that decision next week! Only two more episodes left of this delicious novel! Next week: chapters 51-54. What will happen? Will Osborne rally or die? Will his secret wife and child be disclosed as Cynthia's secret has come out? I suspect we'll be getting more of the Hamleys soon. And will Molly's steadfastness be rewarded when Roger returns (if he does)? Will Cynthia marry Preston or Henderson, or neither one?
Serially yours,
Susan
7 comments:
Well, I'm not sure I said I was *disappointed* at a lack of actual sex! I guess I had read 19th-century novels where the sensation heroine had a baby or other slightly more obvious signs of desire and intercourse. But I love hearing their is sex aplenty, even though I still don't see it. I know so little about this time period, but I still don't see much desire for physical contact or much evidence that it has developed in any of Cynthia's relationships except with Mr. Preston, and there it seems rather curtailed. I see *so* much concern about privacy and being alone with someone--is privacy necessarily aligned with sexual activity at this time? Or is privacy alone enough of a problem?
Cynthia seems so strongly to need to be liked, but she doesn't seem to need to be touched. Is that typical of Victorian novels, that the women aren't as desiring as the men? Or am I missing something there? She's not sexless like a spinster--she's endlesssly attractive, but she doesn't seem interested even in the wealth someone such as Mr. Henderson can give her let alone other aspects of marriage--just to have a moderately secure life and to be admired by whomever she is with.
I am reading an introductory literary theory book, and in its summary of Foucault it talks about how 19th-century talk about sex was part of inculcating "private virtues," virtues that don't need to be observed by the eyes of others to be upheld. The phrase "private virtues" just struck me in relationship to this book, as I reread several parts such as the gossip and was so struck by the consistent discussions of public and private and how they correlate to discussions of matrimony--and it took me back to the calf love in the early chapters, the desire of that foolish red-headed man for Molly that set so much of this plot in action! Certainly Molly embodies private virtues, no matter where she is or who's around. Indeed, there a number of intriguing scenes with Molly alone that would be interesting to connect to public scenes.
I loved Miss Browning's out-spoken statements against matrimony--and if you *must* get married, please be open and public about it or at least keep your clandestine meetings truly secret! I also love Mrs. Goodenough's opinion refusal to think poorly of Molly, and her assertion that Molly, if she has secret meetings, just has an odd taste, similar to Mrs. G's desire to pick her own gooseberries (which yes, does sound sexual to me!).
I'm just interested in how the secrecy works, and the novel's clear critique of all secret, hidden agendas. I'm also interested in how the fact that Osborne is so secretive is entirely linked to money in the minds of those who are suspicious--or perhaps a wee bit of debauchery, but he is certainly never accused of "losing his character" as Molly is by the Misses Brownings. Clearly there is a sexual component, but it seems to me that under all the secrets, there isn't really any sex. I still think that's the *fear* but I don't see that it has happened, or at least not much. And here, "character" seems to be determined totally by the gossips, not really by any actions.
I did love Harriet's intervention, her complete openness with Preston and then her complete discretion with Molly--she doesn't tell Molly what she's doing, but it's all in public and completely open.
I also loved the Book Society and Sir Harry's inconsiderate ordering of too many books on Farriery.
Susan, please don't pick a book on farriery for our next text, okay?
Here's the comment I inadvertantly removed:
Thanks Kari! I'm reconsidering my exuberant reading, perhaps my overreading, of sex in the novel! I think you're right about Cynthia and her disinclination to be touched, her passivity to the lovemaking that comes her way. She reminds me of George Eliot's Gwendolen Harleth in this respect. And of course she constantly mentions that she's unable to love in part because of the lack of parenting or maternal affection she received. Still, the unchaperoned girl in the lonely lane with an older (ie, experienced, worldly) man does suggest something.
All I know is, Kari’s “gooseberries” comment made me laugh out loud. Thank you.
Molly does seem almost saintly. I’m not talking sex now, but in moments like the one in this installment, when she changes what she’s about to say to Mrs G out of deference for the not-so-endearing woman’s health. This takes spine, as does her occasional impertinence, which always seems perfectly timed, perfectly proportioned to the moment and person. I see spine in her kindness because I was taken with and appreciated what Josh said, in the previous installment, regarding Molly’s goodness being her source of strength. Maybe my comment says more about my limits than about Molly’s capacity, but, at seventeen, she’s unusually empathetic, other-centered, and fundamentally kind—not to mention strong.
I wish I’d kept note of all the times Gaskell awes me with her insight into human nature. Seems an idiotic thing to say, I know. What else would novelists be about? Still, sometimes her honesty cuts so close to the bone I wince, admiringly. She lays herself open with this little throwaway: Lady Harriet: “People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people’s minds as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.”
I was also interested in the scuttlebutt on people who were members of the Book Society for reasons of prestige, rather than a love of books. The modern cultural parallel, in my city at least, might be found, or used to be, among supporters of, say, the symphony orchestra, who purchase season tickets for reasons of social standing (desire to support the orchestra financially notwithstanding), rather than their love of music.
For me, when I hear Miss Browning's comments about "clandestine meetings between young mena nd young women" as well as her strict views on matrimony, it so reminds me of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's elopement with Robert Browning and their secret marriage. An interesting connection between the fictional name and the real name, at least.
Another interesting thing about naming in this installment was the way Mrs. Gibson was called "Clare" by the upper class folks at the Tower. She is still "Clare" to everyone in the Tower even despite her changed situation as Mrs. G. and she seems to accept such naming (or assumed intimacy), but I felt a little bit sorry for her when she was scolded by Lady Cumnor for her presumably inappropriate dressing code. So the issues of class hierarchies in terms of dressing and naming here. Just a few fragmentary thoughts!
I also thought the Book Society scene was interesting. I wonder if maybe we overstate the "novels as popular entertainment" bit if there's also the cultural capital of a book club? Of course, I suppose we don't know what they were reading. But maybe this is a marker of a highbrow novel readership starting to emerge?
I'll be interested to see what happens to Cynthia. She seems to be earning a little more sympathy than the gossips would be inclined to give -- since we've seen her fondness for Molly and her moments of perceptiveness. But she did drag Molly through a lot of extra trouble, and it seems like Roger might not be thrilled to hear of this (even if we know where things are going with that ...).
Like Susan and others, I picked up on the eruption of gendered violence in this installment, with Mr. Gibson's rough confrontation with Molly and Preston's cruel oppression of Cynthia (and Molly, for that matter). Even Lady Harriet is the victim of her father's scolding for asserting her power against Preston with questions that "went too far." What was even more interesting to me, though, were the moments (which some of you have mentioned) when the gendered nature of violence breaks down. "Clare" is the victim of a kind of violence when scolded by Lady Cumnor about her clothing, and Molly is a victim of her female companions' social snubbing, not to mention Cynthia's withdrawal of love at the very end of the installment. In the latter cases the violence is not physical--no hand grabbing, etc.--but it seems just as painful, if not more so. The last paragraph of Chapter 50, with Cynthia's "hard, metallic voice" telling Molly "I cannot bear the feeling of your being there" seemed to collapse the distinctions between violence, too, by conflating a sense of touch or "feeling" (as Kari noted!) with emotional "feeling" (or lack thereof).
For me, Gaskell's last paragraph made me ponder and reflect on the content of the installment but also left me really, really wanting to find out what will happen next!
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