Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

Soooo when Horace Walpole initially published The Castle of Otranto in 1764, he passed it off as a translation of a newly discovered Italian novel (which is rather impressive I approve m8). He stated that his aim was to combine fantasy from the medieval romance with the reality in the modern novel to create the ideal narrative voice.

It initially struck readers because they were beguiled by its fantastical elements, but they turned against it when they found out about its actual origins.

This started a trend, with other ‘gothic’ things like Jekyll and Hyde and Dracula and Vathek. At the base level, there is a comparison between reality and the supernatural, a contrast between the rational and the irrational (largely through architecture and the past). The roles of the sexes also plays a significant part in the gothic novel, this genre emerging at a time where this view is questioned, if not challenged.

Northanger Abbey was written with the intention to be a parody of the gothic. However, does it unintentionally display gothic elements that characterise it as more gothic than a parody? Well, let’s consider the way in which Austen satirises the genre. She displays a particular use of bathos/burlesque, presenting the idea of the gothic as a fantasy and merely an extension of her heroine’s fanciful imagination. In this way, she asserts its classification as a parody, or a critique of the convention of the gothic novel.

  Could we deem it gothic in plot? There is a definite incorporation of the themes – the idea of the rational vs the irrational as well as in the sexual politics. Firstly, the novel challenges the ‘heroine’s’ belief in the irrational with her use of bathos – superficially this appears to rebuff the idea of the irrational. However, this plays on Cath Morland’s idea of ‘reality’ as she, a fervent reader of ‘horrid novels’, incessantly seems to explore the concept of the supernatural with her imaginative ‘observations’. To an extent both concepts intertwine, with Cath curiously questioning her finding of ‘an immense heavy chest!’ wondering ‘what it (could possibly) hold?’ and ‘why (it) should be placed here?’ and later when she discovers a Japanese cabinet that resembles one mentioned in Henry’s stories she hears 'hollow murmurs' and 'distant moans', almost providing her with reason to honestly believe in her wildly imaginative theories. While the third person narrator is satirical and mocking of this, almost in dramatic irony, it seems to be Cath’s reality, which almost echoes the tone of the gothic novel, whereby a number of, to the readers, clearly impossible situations befall the characters. Later, Austen’s assertion that ‘though to the larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance’ attests to both the view on the role of women at the time of the novel, as well as simultaneously endorsing the gothic focus on sexual politics. While Cath is introduced from the very beginning to be an unexpected heroine, her role as a female protagonist is somewhat lessened, almost likening her portrayal to that of the weaker female archetypes in gothic novels. This ‘ignorance’ is largely contrasted and hence highlighted by the typical scheming Austenian character of Isabella, who declares that ‘(Cath’s) penetration has not deceived (her, and that) that arch eye of (hers) sees through every thing’ to which  ‘Catherine replie(s) only by a look of wondering ignorance. This exchange is very Austen in the assumption that everyone is evil and scheming, and paired with the idea that ‘(Cath) followed (John) in all his admiration as well as she could’ because ‘to go before, or beyond him was impossible (for) his knowledge and her ignorance of the subject, his rapidity of expression, and her diffidence of herself put that out of her power’ and the fact that ‘she could strike out nothing new in commendation, but she readily echoed whatever he chose to assert’ only further propels the idea of Cath Morland as a weaker female gothic heroine.

  And as for the concept? Let us base this upon Walpole’s declaration that his new style of writing (the gothic) incorporated the fantasy of the romantic genre with the realism of the modern novel. In a way, this form is followed, at least superficially, as Austen allows Cath Morland her gothic fantasies, only to (realistically?) present it as mere figments of her imagination. However, could we argue that it leans more towards Walpole’s idea of the ‘modern novel’ as it has more roots in reality, in its existence as a (typically Austen) social commentary? This is perhaps suggested when Cath, realising that ‘among the Alps and Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no mixed characters…(but) among the English, she believed, in their hearts and habits, there was a general though unequal mixture of good and bad’ and that ‘nothing could shortly be clearer than that it had been all a voluntary, self-created delusion’, as Austen’s narrator appears to advocate more a more realistic portrayal of characters.

  Is it gothic in style? From the very beginning of the novel, Austen utilises the burlesque to mock what is seemingly the fixed form of the gothic novel, with her declaration that ‘No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.’ This initially appears to deny any possible comparison to the gothic style. However, a point to be considered about Northanger Abbey is its occasional lapse into the gothic form. This is exemplified when General Tilney orders Cath Morland out of the abbey when he finds out about her lack of wealth, typical of gothic villains who are generally interested in the wealth of the heroine, specifically Count Montoni, from the Mysteries of Udolpho, to whom she initially compares General Tilney. Whether or not this is intentional is unknown, and it remains to be decided if this, a slightly watered-down version of a gothic villain, is merely part of her parody of the gothic, or if it unconsciously echoes the gothic style in its parody of/social criticism towards the gothic. Essentially, while Northanger Abbey is both gothic as well as being a parody of the gothic, the main purpose is social commentary, as opposed to being either singularly a gothic novel or a parody.

Lost Souls, Poppy Z Brite

I had to read this book for English, one day, and I must say I don’t much like gothic novels or commercial fiction influenced by them.

To begin with, I guess you could say that Poppy Z Brite successfully manages to incorporate the gothic into this novel with its romantic egotism and horrific squeamish aspects.

I guess you could even describe it as poetic.

I must admit that it’s a good composition, but that’s about all the compliments I’m going to give Lost Souls.

When I first picked up the book, I thought it was very pretty. The style is immediately sensory and visceral, primarily visual and gustatory – but there is too much of it. A good word to describe it would be ‘indulgent’, as the writer seems to focus in on beauty and eroticism.  This could be exemplified by the power play – things are always described from the perspective of the perpetrator and never the victim, never the subject of abuse, unless it is self-inflicted, in which case it just appears autoerotic, and the whole thing reads like a sick fantasy.

I think it’s quite accurate to say that the narrator seems to have forgotten the story – Poppy Z Brite has a tendency to name-drop pretty words, to the extent that she forgets her direction, and her ‘fancy mad-lib’, while adding to the surreal, trancelike aura is weak and almost childish in its seeming attempt to impress. For example, in the beginning of the book, in her description of the French Quarter at Mardi Gras, she elaborates that ‘the liquor flows like milk’. She later repeats this epithet in her epilogue fifty years later, but the epic simile is weak and only makes it sound as if she has run out of words. Cheap.

The sense I get from the novel is of whiny, pretentious teenage angst wrapped in layers of purple prose. I find how Poppy Z Brite revels in making all her characters the outsiders, the ‘rejects’, exceptionally cutesy and, naturally, annoying. Half the time, her attempts to add to the atmosphere are simply irritating. For example, once Steve and Ghost see a ‘mysterious’ Cartesian sign on a car wash that serves no purpose.  And then they decide to drive up a hill, to ‘see the stars’. Such trash.

And oh my, the characters are so flat that using them as a slide would only cause negligible friction. I’m sure you understand why it is difficult to sympathise with: a) teenage characters who whine about their parents not understanding them, b) stereotypical bastards who don’t care what havoc they wreak on others’ lives, c) his mindless cronies, and d) girls who live for the attention of guys they barely know – that’s another thing that annoys me about the book: I’m in no way a feminist and I don’t claim to be the best of daughters, but Poppy Z Brite just irritates me with how she puts down women and parents. It just strikes me as childish, which is pretty funny, because I really doubt that it was her intention to sound like a confused child.

Furthermore, I don’t understand why all her characters are gay and paedophilic and incestuous. I was bored, so I looked her up, and in her website I found a question the reply to which made her look extremely childish. In her FAQs someone asked why she wrote about gay characters, and she rebutted this by asking why other people wrote about straight characters, claiming to connect with these gay ones more. Well. I normally wouldn’t see that as a problem, except for the fact that every-fucking-body in your novel is bisexual. I think that’s a little unrealistic. Just a little.

Superficially, it reminds me of Francesca Lia Block in its pretentiousness and shallowness and indulgence, which I think is ironic as Poppy Z Brite is said to find her ‘loathsome’. How does she resemble Francesca Lia Block? Well, firstly you have the pretentious names: Nothing, Weetzie Bat, Ghost, Witch Baby, Zillah, My Secret Agent Lover Man…&c. Exhibit A. You can also see that their writing – let’s say Lost Souls and Weetzie Bat – came from the same place. The tone is trancelike, dreamlike, surreal, spoken in a childish and lost and uncertain voice, and you get the both of them telling you to live in the moment. They’re written in completely different styles though, besides the postmodernism and the fact that neither sound very much like they know what they’re talking about – Francesca Lia Block makes up things as she goes along, trying to sound hip and cool and modern as possible, while Lost Souls is just a jumble of pretty words, arguably more pretentious than Weetzie Bat.

You couldn’t really compare Lost Souls to Interview with the Vampire – it’s like comparing Twilight to Frankenstein: it doesn’t quite work out. But let’s just conclude that none of these mentioned authors have much style or even simply any writing ability and go to sleep, before I get so annoyed by all this crap and end up stabbing someone.