Interior V. Exterior in Samuel Johnson's The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia

The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia by Samuel Johnson is the first “oriental” novel we read that does not focus on the physical descriptions of characters. We’re aware of what the Abissinian palace looks like, the way nature is illustrated, and even get descriptions of the different cities mentioned; however, the physical descriptions of characters is omitted. This was so fascinating to me, especially because this is a story written by an English author for an English audience, whose setting and characters are “oriental” or "different." I was expecting there to be focus on skin color, descriptions of dark eyes, and an overall attention to the “body” and erotics. Instead, we learn about the interiority of characters, their stories, feelings and intellectuality. The exteriority of characters is given little to no attention .

The first chapter of Rasselas is entirely devoted to the illustration of the royal family’s residence. It was “a spacious valley in the kingdom…surrounded on every side by mountains” and “From the mountains on every side, rivulets descended that filled all the valley with verdure and fertility” (43). This valley was “wide and fruitful” and “all the diversities of the world were brought together here” (44). The opening of this chapter only briefly introduces Rasselas and his siblings as royalty, also indicating that Rasselas is “confined” (43). The bulk of the story’s beginning simply acquaints us with the Nile, the palace, and the valley upon which the palace sits. The rest of the story highlights the vastness of cities visited, the greatness of pyramids, the beauty or dread of nature, etc.

As the second chapter’s title indicates, readers will be introduced to “The discontent of Rasselas in the happy valley” (45). When we first “meet” Rasselas, we learn that he is displeased with his life in Abissinia (45). We are instantly introduced to the interiority of prince Rasselas, his musings and observations of nature; yet we still have no inkling as to what he looks like. Our first meeting of Rasselas is entirely different from when we are first introduced to Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko. Oroonoko’s “Face was not of that brown, rusty Black which most of that Nation are, but a perfect Ebony, or polish’d Jett. His eyes were the most awful that cou’d be seen, and very piercing; the White of ‘em being like Snow, as were his Teeth. His Nose was rising and Roman, instead of African and flat” (Behn 13). The focus here is on the exterior qualities of Oroonoko, similar to Lady Mary’s descriptions of the Turkish women in The Turkish Embassy Letters.  Both Behn and Lady Mary seem to offer readers an ethnicity judgment, whereas Johnson is interested in the emotions of his characters. Behn and Lady Mary are interested in how their characters physically appear, whereas Johnson is interested in the physical confinement of his character and his desire to explore the “outside” world. His account of the interior musings of Rasselas in chapter 2 portrays this interest (Johnson 46-47).

When we first meet Imlac, for example, we learn about his travels, his moral views (including his disdain towards his father’s obsession with money), and his passion for poetry. When we read about the history of Imlac, we read about his experience with nature’s majesty and sublimity, which inspire his “poetical powers;” we learn about his encounters with the poets of Persia and his views on Truth and happiness (63, 65). There is no focus on his outward appearance; rather, we are introduced to his life experiences, and thus, his wisdom.

            Even when we are introduced to our first female character, Nekayah, Rasselas’s sister, we learn that she too is “equally weary of confinement” and “not less desirous of knowing what is done or suffered in the world” (72). We are not given a typical, sexualized description of the oriental woman as we were used to in Lady Mary’s Embassy Letters. Instead, Nekayah is an intellectual woman, who converses (or rather, debates) with men on topics like family, marriage, friendship, and happiness (88-98).  Aside from the few rare moments where “dress” is mentioned through the novel (in Pekuah’s narration, for example, pg. 111) in order to illustrate rank, the actual physical descriptions of characters is lacking.

Johnson chose an oriental setting as a backdrop for philosophical dialogue. This is a story about people who live far from England, and yet an English audience is forced to consider the interiority of these humans and not their outward differences. Is this Johnson’s way of humanizing people, who in the past were colonialized, objectified, sexualized and stripped of interiority?

I am also interested in the cover of our edition of Rasselas. It is a photograph of F. Holland Day by London photographer, Frederick H. Evans in 1901.  Day, another photographer, posed for Evans wearing an “Arab” costume he had purchased from his trip to Algeria. Interestingly enough, Evans was also a bookseller. I am interested in the editor choosing this particular photograph. I have two thoughts on the editor’s choice, and both contrasting. First, the photograph forces us to view the physical appearance of the subject, which is a different view from what Johnson’s writing offers (a view on interiority not exteriority). Second, the photograph nonetheless encapsulates Johnson’s choosing of an oriental setting as a backdrop for English philosophical thought. The photograph is of an English man in “oriental” clothing. I have no idea how to reconcile these two notions, but both still leave me confused of the editor’s choice.  

Link to information on Evans's photos of Day: http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/f-holland-day-in-algerian-costume-4596

The Narrator/Reader Relationship in Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones

*I will refer to the narrator as “he” assuming (perhaps wrongly) it is Fielding himself.

            I am interested in the narrator’s relationship with the reader in Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones. The narrator in the novel is a conscious narrator who often directs statements to the readers in order to guide their reading.  The narrator sometimes pauses for a moment to ensure readers are reading “correctly.” The narrator teaches readers how to view certain situations or characters, but claims to keep a distance at the same time, allowing readers to discover meanings on their own. The narrator says, “though we will always lend thee proper assistance in difficult places, as we do not, like some others, expect thee to use the arts of divination to discover our meaning, yet we shall not indulge thy laziness where nothing but thy own attention is required” (534). The narrator is clearly distancing himself from past authors who were not active in leading readers through the story, while also making it clear he expects readers to pay attention. In the many instances where the narrator does speak directly to readers, it seems that he is guiding our perception of morality.

            At the start of Book X, the narrator places readers into two possible categories: “learned in human nature as Shakespeare himself was” or “no wiser than some of his editors” (453).  The narrator makes it clear that some of Shakespeare’s editors misunderstood Shakespeare and to ensure that readers do not fall into this category, the narrator proceeds to warn the reader from being biased against the work. Throughout this short chapter, the narrator informs readers that true talent is not in likening two characters, but in distinguishing them, and warns readers not to quickly assume that a character is bad just because the character is not “perfectly good” (453). The narrator’s presence is obvious in this novel; by guiding the readers, the narrator establishes himself as one who will teach the reader how to interpret the text (by cautioning them) while maintaining distance and allowing readers to make their own decision. It is important to keep in mind that the narrator is teaching readers how to read this new genre which we today call the novel, thus implying that as authors were experimenting with this new form of writing, they were nonetheless conscious of how readers will approach this genre. The relationship between the narrator and the reader is complex; this chapter begins with a harsher tone and ends a bit friendlier as is illustrated by the narrator’s initial calling of readers as “reptiles” and then ending the chapter with “friend” instead (455). The reader may now proceed with the history, but keeping in mind the narrator’s teachings.

            Another interesting moment where the narrator makes his presence clear is in the scene where Mr. Fitzpatrick finds Jones and Mrs. Waters in bed.  The narrator indicates that it is only with “shame and sorrow” that the narrator is “obliged to proceed” and give us details of the bedroom scene (457).  Knowing that it is with “shame” that the narrator gives us these details, as readers we are then expected to view this scene as shameful as well. The narrator shows up in the middle of the narration to ensure that our perception of a scene is similar to what the narrator intends it to be. What could the narrator want us to conclude as shameful, exactly? It is shameful that Jones is sexually involved with other women while claiming to be in love with Sophia, for example. Or perhaps the narrator is reminding readers that there exists a "proctor" within the reader/novel dynamic as well. Does this then cause readers to question their own morality? Whether this is the narrator’s intention or not, his presence implies he is there to teach the readers something.

            Moreover, the narrator makes clear his opinion on several characters in the novel, namely Sophia. When discussing her departure from her father, the narrator says “It is now time to look after Sophia, whom the reader, if he loves her half so well as I do, will rejoice to find escaped” (485). There are other instances where the narrator even defends Sophia and Jones from possible accusations (525, 452).

            The narrator makes his presence apparent in this novel. At times he pauses to ensure we have not misread anything, often directing us to the “truth,” and even stepping away from the scene to allow us to assess it. I think the narrator plays an active role because authors of the eighteenth century were still creating standards for this new type of genre that we today call the novel and want to ensure that readers learn how this new genre is to be read.

Marketing Novels as "History" in Henry Fielding's Tom Jones

History and truth are interesting aspects in Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones. There are a few places that I would like to look at as I investigate what Fielding means by history, how this affects “truth,” and finally, how this adds to our understanding of eighteenth-century print culture.

The early days of the novel can be seen as experimental. Eighteenth-century novelists were exploring novel writing, as is evident by the array of “layers” we find in novels of that time. What did authors want to write about? How did they go about writing it? What I am drawn to is how so eighteenth-century novelists desired to write the “truth” even though their readers are aware that what they are reading is a fiction. Before I discuss Tom Jones, I would like to draw our attention back to Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko. Behn’s title page reads, Oroonoko: or the Royal Slave. A True History. As I have discussed in a previous blog, “truth,” which precedes “history,” implies that historical documents are not necessarily always the truth. This would give Behn reason to emphasize that the history she is telling is in fact true. Is this Behn’s criticism of historical documents, which tend to mask the presence of a narrator or subject telling the story in order to appear less biased? Perhaps Behn is implying that literature is more truthful than history itself. In all cases, Behn is interested in stressing truth as basis of her novel. 

Like Behn, Fielding also calls his work of fiction a “history.” The full title to Tom Jones reads, The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. Since we are interested in print culture this semester, I think it’s important to pay some attention to how the title page is set up. Having looked up several title pages from the various editions of Tom Jones (Google image search!), I found that the word that begs the most attention is HISTORY. “History” is printed at the top of the page in big, bold letters. Thus, the publisher sees value in this word. As we are learning this semester, publishers make conscious decisions on what to print and how to print it. Readers will see the title page and will be instantly drawn to the word “history.” In choosing this particular layout, what can we infer about the publisher’s assumption about eighteenth-century readers? Are readers more likely to be drawn to a story that claims to be a history, thus a “true account” of Tom Jones? Will readers then take the book more seriously, even with its satirical approach? Will this book sell better if it is marketed as a history?

Not only does the publisher emphasize the word “history,” but so does Fielding in his contribution to George Lyttelton. He says, “To you, sir, it is owing that this history was ever begun,” and “Again, sir, without your assistance this history had never been completed” (3). Fielding is not only stressing his gratitude to Lyttelton, but is “again” emphasizing that Tom Jones is a “history.” Further down the page, Fielding says “Lastly, it is owing to you that the history appears what is now is” and even ends the preface referring to himself as “master” of “the following history” (3). I think that as he expresses his gratitude towards those who have aided him, Fielding is also marketing his work as a history.

Returning back to my early discussion on experimentation within the novel, I think it is interesting to consider how authors and publishers wanted to market novels. By marketing novels as histories, publishers and authors tell us something about eighteenth-century culture. I think we can assume that eighteenth-century readers value "truth." How this truth manifests itself differs across eighteenth-century novels, as is evident in Behn's approach to history as opposed to Fielding's approach. Behn questions history as a source of truth, thus elevating fiction, while Fielding claims to be writing history and entirely avoids the mention of "fiction." Nonetheless, there is still this shared desire for truth in fiction, regardless of how the work is marketed, which I find totally fascinating. Fielding even professes his own limitations and illustrates his honesty as an author when he tells readers not to “expect to find perfection” in his work (6). After all, claiming perfection would only devalue Fielding’s attempt at marketing his work as history or truth. 

"Whores and Cheats": Alexander Pope’s reference to Lady Mary in The Dunciad

With all of the various references and allusions in Alexander Pope’s The Dunciad, I thought it was most appropriate to focus on the couplet pertaining to the “Lady Maries” (Pope 136).

From our brief discussions in class, we learned that Alexander Pope and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu were acquaintances. What began as a friendly relationship between the two, turned into a hostile association where both authors insulted one another through their writing. This is exemplified in Book II of Pope’s The Dunciad:

                        To him the Goddess: ‘Son! thy grief lay down,

                        And turn this whole illusion on the town:

                        As the sage dame, experienced in her trade,

                        By names of toasts retails each battered jade;

                        (Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris

                        Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Maries); (II 131-136).

What is this connection between the Monsieur and the Duchesses and Lady Maries? How have these women wronged the Monsieur? Is he referring to Lady Mary? Aubrey L. Williams in, Pope's 'Duchesses and Lady Mary's', quotes Pope’s annotation to the couplet that appeared in two of the 1735 editions of The Dunciad:

This passage was thought to allude to a famous Lady who cheated a French wit of 5000 pounds in the South-Sea year. But the Author meant it in general of all bragging Travellers, and of all Whores and Cheats under the name of Ladies (Williams 360).

I couldn’t help but laugh upon reading Pope’s annotation. He doubly distances himself from the text and annotation when he says, “the Author” instead of “I.” His first statement is obviously directed towards a specific Lady, Lady Mary, who as Williams discusses, had “financial relations” with a Monsieur Remond. Williams says, “The first statement in Pope’s annotation certainly relates to what is known or suspected about M. Remond’s adventures with Lady Mary” (Williams 360). By claiming that he does not allude to a famous “Lady,” Pope ironically alludes to a famous Lady! This is especially obvious in his added, unnecessary explanation that this Lady “cheated a French wit,” thus, targeting Lady Mary’s relationship with M. Remond. Pope’s second statement contradicts his first when he claims that he’s actually being “general” when he says “Lady.” Then, of course, he adds in “Travellers.” If this wasn’t obvious to 18^th century readers (considering Lady Mary was “famous” for her traveling), I don’t know what is!

Williams suggests a different reading. Although she claims that Pope’s first statement “certainly relates to what is known…about M. Remond’s adventures with Lady Mary,” she then suggests there is some truth to Pope’s second statement about the couplet. She says, “the meaning of the lines, at last part of the meaning, must have been…quite ‘public’ in the poet’s time” (306). She states that three years before The Dunciad was published, the reference to “Frenchmen,” “Duchesses,” and  “Ladys” appeared in an anonymous work titled A View of London and Westminster: or, The Town Spy…By a German Gentlemans. This work discusses “Frenchmen,” “Duchesses,” and “Ladys” the context of the brothels near Drury Lane. Williams claims that “It was easy for Pope to associate the Lady and the Frenchman with the situation existing off Drury Lane to which his lines refer” (361). Thus, Williams believes that Pope may in fact be telling the truth when he claims not to have had a particular person in mind.

I think that his annotation is enough proof that he did indeed have Lady Mary in mind. Especially since we are aware of their turbulent relationship as is illustrated in their writings. Even if we were to give Pope the benefit of the doubt, he still claims that his couplet references ALL “cheats” who call themselves “Ladies.” And since he essentially tells us that Lady Mary cheated a Frenchman “of 5000 pounds,” he has thus situated her among the “general” circle of “Whores and Cheats” anyway!

Williams, Aubrey L. "Pope's 'Duchesses and Lady Mary's'." Review of

English Studies: A Quarterly Journal of English Literature and the English Language 4.16 (1953): 359-61.

Coffeehouses and the shaping of Male Identity in Brian Cowan's The Social Life of Coffee

In The Social Life of Coffee, Brian Cowan highlighted an interesting cross between masculine identity and the English coffeehouse. He claims that in The Spectator and The Tatler, Richard Steele and Joseph Addison set forth ideals of a masculine coffeehouse. Men in 18^th century London used coffeehouses to prove their masculinity; coffeehouses were also venues for which effeminate men were ridiculed for their primary interest in “self-display.” These “fops,” “beaus,” and “mollies” were not only criticized for their “self-display” and interest in feminine matters, but also because they did not contribute to the political, business, and cultural discourse of the coffeehouse. Joining in on this discourse was an expectation of coffeehouse “manners.” There was a fear that coffeehouses were becoming places that catered to “cheap gossip and egotistical self promotion” (Cowan 233).  It seems to me that coffeehouses dictated “proper” masculine discourse, and those who strayed from this discourse were not masculine enough, or were simply too female.

Effeminacy, newsmongering, obsessions with fashion, novelty, and self-display, were frowned upon. Coffeehouse patrons feared that there was a “misuse of the public sphere” (235).  Addison and Steele envisioned the public sphere as a “forum for urbane but not risqué conversation” (237).  They wanted to differentiate the “male” public sphere from the “female” private sphere. Thus, “male coffeehouse manners” became a popular concern of the day. In their periodicals, Addison and Steele were popular commentators on proper male behavior. How men behaved in coffeehouses was indicative of how masculine their identities were.

The idea that coffeehouses were so prominent in shaping male identity fascinates me. My research tends to focus on female identity as set forth by the pressures of society, and how conduct books, magazines, or novels of the time aimed to teach women how to behave. We can think of Steele and Addison’s periodicals as doing the same thing. Cowan says that even within “the Spectator’s accounts of female coffeehouse workers…the object of reform was not the women, but the men” (244). Addison and Steele used the coffeehouse as a venue for exploration of 18^th century male ideals, and then commented on the behaviors of men within those coffeehouses. Their periodicals take the shape of male conduct manuals that differentiated proper from improper behavior, and set forth proper topics to be discussed in public spaces. Cowan comments that Addison and Steele’s periodicals created awareness to “masculine failings” (245).

But why was it so important to dictate proper behavior within a coffeehouse? If we think about coffee shops today, it would be difficult to answer this question. But in Addison and Steele’s contemporary society, the London coffeehouse represented the larger, British public sphere. Male identity was representative of a larger, British identity.