Friday, February 19, 2016

martyrdom for the pleasure



Fanny Burney’s Evelina wishes that the people she doesn’t like would leave her alone and that is the dominant tone in the novel, more than anything else, the subject of its most constant inventions. The introductory essay that comes with my edition (Edward A. Bloom, 1968) talks about an educational development that she undergoes, Bloom writing, “Like any education, hers is cumulative, with virtue and self-awareness directed to social fulfilment,” but I reckon I am not convinced, the word education is wrong in this context, she is not Austen’s Emma of 1815, or even Betsy Thoughtless of 1751, she has not been confronted with a body of wisdom that transfers her by increments from a child into an adult, the city-knowledge that she obtains is patchy and functional – don’t go down that dark walkway in Marybone Gardens – but the longing to go there did not need to be conquered and chastised – she never had a desire to go – Betsy Thoughtless had to learn not to but Evelina Annville would always rather not – I would rather not is her self-awareness and it is in place from the beginning to the end – not taught, no, fundamental, consistently reiterated (eg, at her first London ball, Vol. 1, letter XI; in her reluctance to accompany Madame Duval, Vol. 1, letter XXI; in the fact that she "wished extremely to shew" Mr Macartney that she was not part of the group, Vol. II, letter XIV; in her avoidance of Tom, Vol. II, letter XXIV; she is impressed when Lord Orville refuses to participate, Vol. III, letter III; her discussion of the Orville note, Vol. III, letter XVI, etc), and the people around her ignore it. “Can you then,” they say, “refuse me the smallest gratification, though, but yesterday, I almost suffered martyrdom for the pleasure of seeing you?” and so, sabotaged, she puts up with their wheedling, periodically trying to make them stop – "I entreat you never again to to address me in a language so flighty, and so unwelcome," she says, and rises to go, but Clement Willoughby "flung himself at my feet to prevent me" – scenes like that are repeated: the wheedling person is Sir Clement, or it is Polly, or Mr Smith or Mr Braughton "demand[ing]" "Why so?" when she ("looking alarmed") tells him that a thing "is utterly impossible," and then Madame Duval chimes in at her, "Ma foi child, you don't know no more about the world than if you was a baby" – so the group does that vulgar thing anyway, and she has to be involved, "I would rather have submitted to the severest punishment  – but all resistance was in vain" – it is not Evelina that the author wishes she could train to virtue, it is everybody else – cos they are hopeless – “I find all endeavours vain to escape any thing which these people desire I should not ...”


9 comments:

  1. A lot of readers believe in the myth of progress, and look for transformative journeys in everything they read, judging the quality of the novel by the success of the journey, etc. I like a writer who'll engage with ideas of experience without having to drag "improvement" into the mix.

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    1. There's a journey, but I don't think it's the kind of learning-journey that the introduction sees. The heroine's self has nothing to do with her "social fulfilment." She's not socially fulfilled because her natural father won't acknowledge her existence. Also she needs to realise that she is in love with Lord Orville, and that he wants to marry her. But she doesn't have to become much wiser or more knowledgeable for either of those things to happen. Time goes by, there are some melodramatic scenes, and everybody comes around.

      It's closer to a Cinderella story. If she has a message to the reader it's not, "Life will present you with lessons and you should learn from them," it's, "Be moral, don't bend, and you will prevail."

      But she's really doing it for the character portraits.

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    2. A completely respectable position for an author to take.

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    3. I'm reading Burney's second book now and her faith in dialogue and characters has virtually eliminated the usual plot devices. There's a suggestion that Cecelia might end up marrying one of the men sooner or later but that's not where the book is focussed. It's as if the form of Burney's letters and journals (which are both very, very character driven: she saw characters everywhere) has been invited in to reshape her fiction.

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  2. one source on wiki said francis bacon invented the concept of "progress", but i vaguely remember that it was coined by a french person in the 18th c. i noticed in my early years that society has a secret force that it uses to make people act in accordance with society's "rules". it's difficult to play outside the box. now i surmise that that may be an example of jung's "collective unconscious" because the enforcers don't seem to notice that the demands are not based on behavioral criteria, but just on what others "think"... i suppose it's the old war between individualism and tribal loyalty/action... tough to be oneself!

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    1. When I go from reading Burney to reading about Burney I see the representation of those social peer-pressure forces perform a sudden flip, and the monster-people who won't leave the heroine alone in Evelina become plain, puzzled individuals who wonder why she has to react with a "drooping Air" whenever they try to talk to her. It's a sort of odd whiplash.

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    2. it's kind of like a boxing match when a left jab misses and the antagonist falls down; not that i like boxing; i think it's a brutal waste of time and energy...

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  3. sometimes a post acts like a decaying atom, with particles spinning off in every direction: only one of the interesting bits of umbagollah's contributions...

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    1. I genuinely can't imagine a more flattering description than 'decaying atom."

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