Meanwhile, Caroline manages to captivate Lord Castleton, a wealthy but older nobleman. But we're just at volume 4 and there's another volume to go. More tribulations and misunderstandings follow.
    Volume 5 is padded out with a segment set in an old castle in Wales, where Caroline has been banished when her husband suspects her of infidelity. Caroline hasn't been unfaithful, but she has been vortexing -- that is, getting caught up in the London social whirl, losing money at the card table, flirting too much. A jealous rival, Miss Moreland, manages to plant suspicions in her husband's mind. While there, Caroline comes across an old manuscript which I've excerpted below; a gothic tale which is a complete break from the main narrative.
   With the help of the clergyman of the parish (what a coincidence, it's Mr. Griffith!), the misunderstandings are cleared up. Then everybody goes travelling. We have a travelogue about Wales and a digression on the poet Ossian. Finally we see Caroline--and basically everybody else--happy. Plus Miss Moreland gets religion and dies, and the evil Lady Harcourt gets her comeuppance but Caroline graciously forgives her.
    I do think Eleanor Sleath was playing with our expectations a bit when Caroline didn't end up with the handsome clergyman from Volume I.​ Is Sleath subverting the typical marriage plot? We don't even meet Lord Castleton until Volume 4 and he's not a young romantic hero. He is a bit of a hypochondriac and very strait-laced. He does learn however, that he is happiest when he is fulfilling his responsibilities to his tenants and to his fellow man.  Caroline wasn't really cut out for life as a clergyman's wife, so all's well that ends well.

    Just imagine if almost every book review you read included a mention of whether the book had a good moral lesson. That was the case in Austen's time, when novels were viewed with suspicion and concern.

     The chief criticism of novels was that:

• they were more thrilling than the real world, and therefore distracted people from the real world. 
• they were so romantic that they gave young people, especially young women, unrealistic ideas about love and life.
• they glamorized vice.

    For the next few posts, I'll look at these discussions from Austen's time, including some examples of how novels were portrayed in the novels themselves. And of course we'll visit Jane Austen's famous defense of the novel in Northanger Abbey.​  ​

 Before the advent of the modern novel, there were medieval romances ("romance" meaning some kind of epic, fantastical adventure), which were read and enjoyed by the upper classes.
    Novels as we understand the term emerged as a genre in English in the 18th century. By the time Jane Austen was old enough to read novels, they were widely available through circulating libraries, for which one paid a subscription fee. Books were much more expensive to buy as a percentage of household income than they are today. Austen's father acquired a large library and I have a feeling that books were his weakness.
   Of course the Austens' library was comprised of serious works, such as histories and essays. However, Jane Austen described her family as being "great Novel-readers and not ashamed of being so."
   In 1750, Samuel Johnson (Austen's favourite prose author) wrote an essay about the dangers of novels for inexperienced young people. He pointed out that this new and popular type of book was based on real life: "The works of fiction, with which the present generation seems more particularly delighted, are such as exhibit life in its true state.... it is therefore precluded from the machines and expedients of the heroic romance, and can neither employ giants to snatch away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring her back from captivity; it can neither bewilder its personages in desarts, nor lodge them in imaginary castles."
   Nobody, in other words, could mistake the old romances of knights and castles for real life, but, modern novels were different. Because they are based on real life, they might be mistaken for real life: "These books are written chiefly to the young, the ignorant, and the idle, to whom they serve as lectures of conduct, and introductions into life. They are the entertainment of minds unfurnished with ideas, and therefore easily susceptible of impressions; not fixed by principles, and therefore easily following the current of fancy; not informed by experience, and consequently open to every false suggestion and partial account."
     Austen was not concerned that she herself would be carried away by romantic novels. She enjoyed them, but laughed at them, and wrote parodies of them, as we know. When she visited London in 1796, she wrote jokingly to Cassandra, "Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted," a funny reference to the way that novels often contrasted country virtue with city vice.

   Just as novels were a new type of literature, literary criticism and book reviews were a new thing in the 18th century as well. Some important journals that carried book reviews included the Quarterly Review, the British Critic and the Monthly Mirror (which mostly covered plays). 
​   Playwright Samuel Foote, probably getting a bit of his own back, made fun of the critics. In his 1764 farce, The Liar, an irresponsible young man who has left Oxford to enjoy himself in London talks with his confederate Papillion, who is pretending to be his private tutor. Papillion describes some of the many jobs he's held in the past:​

     The real critics of Austen's day, as I mentioned, praised novels which set a high moral tone. Authors and their publishers often promoted their books on this basis. Some writers protested that they were not writing novels at all, but "moral tales." Fanny Burney opined that if a novel "illustrating the characters, manners, or opinions of the day, exhibits what is noxious or reprehensible, [the vices] should scrupulously be accompanied by what is salubrious, or chastening."
     And in their prefaces, they assured their readers that their novels were very moral. One author, for example, promised that his book Douglas, or the Highlander, was intended to "expose folly, vanity, frivolity and vice, and to do justice to wisdom and virtue." The preface of Constance explained the novel: “promulgates no doctrine that may not be received with advantage… it patronizes no vice, it rewards virtue, and it inculcates a truth, which it were to be wished abler pens would enforce, that a dominion over our passions is in all instances conducive to our happiness.” Jane West’s A Gossip’s Story was “intended, under the disguise of an artless History, to illustrate the advantages of consistency, fortitude, and the domestic virtues; and to expose to ridicule, caprice, affected sensibility, and an idle censorious humour.”
​   Jane Austen did not write prefaces for her novels, with the exception of Northanger Abbey, and that was an explanation about the long delay in publishing the novel. The preface is an opportunity to come out from behind the curtain and address the audience directly, but Austen did not avail herself of it.

   This social panic about the morality of novels has disappeared from public discourse, and the pervasive anxiety might seem quaint or even silly to modern readers. Today, novels are praised or disparaged on different grounds, and some have even been withdrawn by their authors and publishers. So perhaps we aren't so different from our ancestors in being anxious about the pernicious effects of novels.

 This BBC In Our Time podcast discusses the history of the novel. This HistoryExtra podcast discusses medieval romance.