Taking a Closer Look at Book VI

While trying to decide what to blog about this week, I found myself drawn to Book VI of "The Female Quixote." I found our discussions in class on Friday (spurred by Dr. Hague’s questions) particularly interesting. I think we’d all agree that there’s never enough time in class to give each question the attention they deserve, so in lieu of a longer class I'd like to explore one of Dr. Hague’s questions a bit more. 

The third question on the handout from Friday asks: “What do you think of Henry Fielding’s assessment of Lennox’s novel?” In case you don’t have your handout in front of you, his assessment is as follows: 

 

[“it is indeed a Work of true Humour, and cannot fail of giving a rational, as well as very pleasing, Amusement to a sensible reader, who will at once be instructed and very highly diverted... tho’ the Humour of Romance, which is principally ridiculed in this work, be not at present greatly in fashion in this Kingdom, out Author hath taken such care throughout her Work, to expose all those vices and follies in her Sex which are chiefly predominant in our Days, that it will afford very useful Lessons to all those young Ladies who will peruse it with proper Attention."] 

By Fielding's account then, Lennox's novel is both entertaining and instructive.  Rather than leaving the assessment at that, however, Fielding claims that the novel works principally to ridicule romance, and that Lennox has taken great care to expose all the "vices and follies in her sex."  Fielding finishes his assessment by praising the novel as a useful sort of bible that will serve as a guide for young women, provided they read it the "right" way--taking to heart its moral "Lessons," rather than reading it simply for pleasure or diversion.

I wouldn't entirely disagree with Fielding's claim that Lennox's novel is at once entertaining and instructive.  However, the type of instruction that Fielding assigns to the novel is problematic.  His claim that Lennox has "taken such care throughout her Work, to expose all those vices and follies in her Sex," is an unvalidated one.  In fact, when held against Book VI, this claim doesn't hold water.

Book VI is nearly entirely made up of a false history that Sir George gives of himself.  He tells this "history" in a very romantic style, in the hopes of winning Arabella. Despite his efforts to sway Arabella by relating his acts of chivalry and love to her, his plan doesn't go the way he hopes (The heading for Book VI, chapter X foreshadows this outcome: "Wherein Sir George concludes his History; which produces an unexpected Effect").  The unexpected effect is that, rather than win Arabella's affection through his incorporation of the romantic notions that govern Arabella's every move into his own "history," she is turned off by what she views as a serious character flaw in Sir George: inconsistency.  

Consider Arabella's words: "Had you imitated the illustrious Heroes of Antiquity, as well as in the Constancy of their affections, as, it must be confessed, you have done in their admirable valour; you would now be either sighing in your Cave for the Loss of the generous Sydimiris, or wandering through the World in Search of the beautiful Philonice"(251).  In other words, Arabella is claiming that, had Sir George imitated the great romantic heroes in their constancy of affections as much as he had imitated their valour, he would still be either grieving the loss of Sydimiris, or still searching for Philonice.  Because of Sir George's "shameful inconsistency" (according to Arabella), his plan to win Arabella over backfires--not only turning Arabella off, but also pushing her farther into her romantic world.  Arabella claims that, had Sir George modelled his behaviour after the "Heroes of Antiquity," persevering in his affection, rather than letting such inconsistency rule over him, he would "arrive at their Glory and Happiness, that is the reputation of being perfectly constant" (251).  In other words, if Sir George had been constant in his affections like the heroes Arabella listed, he would have gained their happiness, as well.  

Now let's return to Fielding's claim, that Lennox has taken great care to expose all the "vices and follies in her sex." It is true that most of the novel revolves around Arabella's skewed view of reality because of her strict adherence to romantic ideals.  However, Arabella's adherence to a romantic code does not serve to expose the follies of women.  Rather, I would argue conversely, that Arabella's stubborn adherence to Romance as a model for behaviour--especially in Book VI--exposes the follies of men who exploit women in order to take advantage of them.  Rather than exposing the vices and follies of women, Lennox is pointing out (among other things) the limitations of female power in a society where a woman's fate is largely decided by men. 

Sir George's false history serves to perpetuate Arabella's condition by reaffirming her false reality.  However (though hyperbolic and ridiculous), Arabella's false reality actually allows her some agency in the novel.  Even though this romantic model for behaviour wouldn't likely afford the same kind of independence for a woman in real life during Lennox's time as it did for Arabella,  the novel does seem to be making the claim (in some small way at least), that for a woman to have complete agency requires a complete change in ideals. 

Contradictions in Addison’s "No. 10"

The last week or so, we’ve been exploring periodical literature from the 18th century.  One particular entry from Joseph Addison’s and Sir Richard Steele’s The Spectator, caught my attention.  While reading “No. 10” (written by Addison), I was reminded of a previous discussion concerning Defoe’s Moll Flanders.  Specifically, that writers before and after  Defoe’s time--as well as Defoe himself--were very concerned with prescribing how people should read their works (as we see in the preface of Moll Flanders). The belief was that there is, in fact, a right and wrong way of reading.  What caught my attention about Addison’s “No. 10,” is Addison’s concern--not with how people should read (though this preoccupation is certainly present) so much as who should be reading his work.

Consider these lines: “I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of Closets and Libraries, Schools and Colleges, to dwell in Clubs and Assemblies, at Tea-tables, and in Coffee-houses.” Here, it appears Addison is declaring that he wishes to take philosophy, a concept that is the privilege of scholars, or a select few, and take it out of confinement and bring it to the masses.  However, to dwell in clubs, at tea-tables, and coffee-houses is still the privilege of a select group of people.  I’m not trying to suggest that Addison’s aim purposely excludes lower class people, but there’s still a feeling that philosophy, though brought into these places, still remains a privilege that excludes the lower class, however genuine Addison’s aim toward inclusion.

Addison lays out specific instructions for reading his works in the domestic sphere as well:

“I would therefore in a very particular Manner recommend these my Speculations to all well-regulated Families, that set apart an Hour in every Morning for Tea and Bread and Butter; and would earnestly advise them for their Good to order this Paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a Part of the Tea Equipage.”  Notice Addison’s wording here: well-regulated families. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but well-regulated seems to be associated with families of propriety, as opposed to families that do not regularly take part in the “tea equipage.” The word equipage has both functional and ornamental implications, as well.  In some way, Addison seems to suggest here that his articles should be read or “served up” with as much ritual as the taking of tea, so that the purpose for reading is not purely for instruction, but for habit, or appearances, as well. 

The most direct audience that Addison addresses should read his writing is women: “But there are none to whom this Paper will be more useful than to the female World.”  Addison goes on to say, “I have often thought there has not been sufficient Pains taken in finding out proper Employments and Diversions for the Fair ones. Their Amusements seem contrived for them rather as they are Women, than as they are reasonable Creatures; and are more adapted to the Sex, than to the Species.”  What I like about these lines is that Addison seems genuinely sympathetic toward women.  He recognizes that not enough has been done to find employment for women, pointing out that society tends to judge them as women, rather than human beings.  It is this false classification that has driven women toward, as Addison later points out, the “toilet” and “adjusting of their hair,” as the principal employment of their lives.”  

Even though it is problematic for a man to claim that he has the authority to instruct women, Addison points out that women are unjustly trapped into roles that limit their potential, and that is to his credit.

Affectation Becomes Her...

I want to take a closer look at these lines from Canto 4 of Pope’s Rape of the Lock:

There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
Shows in her cheeks the roses of eighteen,
Practis’d to lisp, and hang the head aside,
Faints into airs and languishes with pride,
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show,
The fair-ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.

For the last week, these lines have captivated me more than any others from this poem.  Take a look at the first line. The word “affectation” means a deliberate pretense or exaggerated display, while the word “mien” means dignified manner or conduct. Pushing off of this, my re-wording of this line is something like, “There, exaggerated display, with a sickly dignified conduct.”  Though pretense and display are seen over and over in Pope’s poem, this is the most powerful example of “show” from all of the Cantos (in my opinion), because Belinda is not merely described as exhibiting these qualities.  Rather, she is show, and her name is “Affectation.” Through her ritual of grief, she has become the embodiment of her name. She is no longer Belinda, but Affectation, anthropomorphized.  

As her name purports, and her “sickly” dignified conduct conveys, she is well-acquainted with with the ritual of grief.  We see the manifestations of this as she practices the movements and motions of grief, hanging her head, fainting, and languishing. Notice that she sinks with “becoming woe.” This is such an interesting word choice here, because though “becoming” in this instance could mean increasing/swelling woe, or woe that keeps getting worse, it could also mean suiting, or enhancing the appearance of, so that the woe suits Belinda, or enhances her appearance as “Affectation.” Notice that she “wrapts” herself in a gown (not unlike her “becoming woe” that she wears) for “sickness and for show.” She is going through the rituals of grief simply for the sake of the ritual itself.  In other words, all this showiness works toward no other avail than to create her “sickly mien,” or dignified conduct. 

At first glance, it may seem that through her ritualistic behavior Belinda is merely resigned to living up to her new name.  However, that her “practis’d” actions only serve themselves, and therefore do not serve Belinda, we can conclude that her actions are not entirely of her own volition. Consider the last two lines of the above selection: “The fair-ones feel such maladies as these, when each new night-dress gives a new disease.” With each new night-dress put on by the fair-ones, a new “disease” will present itself, which will bring upon a malady, or desperate condition. Notice there isn’t an “if” in these lines, but only “when,” suggesting an inescapable fate. The fair-ones will inevitably fall. This is why the grief ritual is rehearsed over and over by Belinda.  She is one of the “fair-ones,” and she cannot escape her need for grief. She knows she will fall, like all fair-ones do. 

That Belinda goes through the motions of grief not for healing but for show reveals that she has resigned to defeat, and has become numb to the cause of it, so that woe is not something she feels, but merely adorns.