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 As I have discussed in a previous blog, “truth,” which precedes “history,” implies that historical documents are not necessarily always the truth.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 Is this Behn’s criticism of historical documents, which tend to mask the presence of a narrator or subject telling the story in order to appear less biased?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. 

Collaboration and Openness in Professor Martha Nell Smith’s Talk on Editing

In the master’s class at Wayne State University, Professor Martha Nell Smith gave us personal insight on her experiences as an editor. I was mostly intrigued by two concepts Professor Smith discussed, that I see as key  terms in regards to where the humanities is headed: collaboration and openness.  

Professor Smith highlights the importance of collaboration in the editing process, including digital work. In producing digital archives, Professor Smith found herself working with other scholars; she noted how much she enjoyed doing so and even made sure to point out that most of her books are co-authored. Her likeness for collaboration possibly stems from her belief that the tools that scholars produce are not more important than the people who produce them. Respecting the hard labor and good work of editors is a good thing, and worshipping the tools they create is not. She takes a very humane approach to the editing process, making it known that as people get their hands “dirty” in messy archives, even the most principled editors will make mistakes. Professor Smith recalls a time when her own graduate student caught a mistake in one of her works. A second “pair of eyes” is fundamental then in the editing process. Collaboration is important because the more “eyes” you have, the more accurate the editing process will be. She calls editors “stewards” who owe it to readers, and those becoming acquainted with editing, to make the editorial process “transparent,” and not pretend to know things they don’t actually know. In her article, “The Human Touch Software of the Highest Order,” Professor Smith discusses the different attitudes towards editing. She insists that even with collaborative efforts, editors need not agree on every aspect of the process. She says, “Each can report what she sees and audiences benefit from multiple viewpoints”(Smith 14). This seems to make collaborative efforts appear more friendly rather than competitive. I think better works can be produced this way.

Alongside her discussion of the editing process, Professor Smith discussed her current work-in-progress, the Emily Dickinson archive.  Her goal is to create an archive that allows for an open “space of knowledge exchange for a networked world of scholars, students, and readers.” One of her aims is to make this archive open for public access. I especially appreciated her outlook on this project, one that does not see knowledge as restricted. Hardvard University has asked her to sell her archive and others urge her to make it a “closed” space. Professor Smith, however, argues that Emily Dickinson’s manuscript is already open because these matters are of public record. She simply doesn’t understand why access to Dickinson’s manuscripts should be restricted. I completely agree. Openness is a key value to uphold as the humanities becomes more and more “digital.” Scholars and non-scholars alike can contribute to the growth of knowledge.

The Beggar and the Player In John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera

What I found to be particularly interesting about John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera, is the inclusion of the Beggar, the fictional author of the play, and the Player as characters. These two characters appear in the beginning of the drama and reappear towards the very end, but within different contexts.

The Beggar and the Player are having a discussion in the introduction of The Beggar’s Opera. While they share this dialogue, they are at a distance from the play itself. Why would Gay create a fictional author? Is this his way of avoiding authorship should his contemporaries label him seditious? Would the Beggar and the Player’s exchange be performed on stage, or was it only meant to be read? I asked myself these questions but had trouble answering them. When I first read the exchange between the Beggar and the Player, I was under the impression that the play will adhere to conventions found in the operas. The Beggar makes this clear to the Player when he says, “I have introduced the similes that are in all your celebrated operas” and then goes on to explain some of these inclusions (41). At this point in the reading, I didn’t have the slightest idea as to what the initial dialogue’s purpose is. By the end of the piece, however, I felt I could answer some of my own questions.

By the end of the piece, the Beggar and the Player appear once more. However, they are no longer at a distance, but rather “enter” the scene itself (120).  By entering the scene, have they become characters in the play? It is in this scene that we learn about the Beggar’s authorial intention: to apply “poetical justice” to the end of his play in order to punish vice and reward virtue (120). He thus intended on executing Macheath. The Player, however, interjects and says, “Why then, friend, this is a downright deep tragedy. The catastrophe is manifestly wrong, for an opera must end happily” to which the Beggar complies (191).  Nonetheless, the Beggar makes it clear that had the play gone as he intended, “it would have carried a most excellent moral” (121).

The Beggar and the Player represent a tension existing in Gay’s contemporary society: wanting to abide by the traditional neoclassical features of a drama, and yet having to accommodate the literature to fulfill the public’s new interest. I don’t think Gay was going to simply end his drama within the conventions of an Italian opera without making it clear that he detests doing so. So, how can he do this without facing backlash from his contemporary society? He creates a fictional author, the Beggar.

By the end of the play, I was able to answer some of my initial questions. I was nonetheless left with many more unanswered. Does Gay’s ending imply that the audience’s expectations triumph over the author’s desire? By making the fictional author a beggar, is Gay hinting that the Beggar had no choice but to denounce poetic merit for the sake of making an income? Is the author a commodity then?