In previous blog posts, I discussed a sub-genre of novel called the “season” novel. This genre was invented by Thomas Skinner Surr in his A Winter in London (1806), which was such a huge mega-hit with its thinly-disguised portraits of real aristocrats and London celebrities, that many imitators followed, such as A Summer at Weymouth (1808) and A Season at Harrowgate (1817). This post is about A Winter in Bath, by an anonymous author, but I didn’t read this 1807 novel because it’s a “season” novel. A Winter in Bath deserves attention for a few other reasons:

• Adriana, the heroine, is troubled by the unwanted attentions of young Mr. Dawson, who is very much a John Thorpe (Northanger Abbey) type of character.
• The publisher, Benjamin Crosby, threatened to sue another publisher who brought out a book called A Winter at Bath at the same time, a dispute which spilled over to the newspapers and the review columns.
• A Winter in Bath is tied to the mystery over the authorship of The Woman of Colour, the unusual 1803 novel which features a “mulatto” heiress as its main character. More about that later.
• There is an Emma-like reference which might be interesting to Janeites. Mrs. Elton, the daughter of a Bristol trader in Emma, boasts that she has “resources within herself” which enable her to live in obscurity in the small village of Highbury. In A Winter in Bath, we have a minor character, Mr. Oakley. He was a prosperous Bristol trader who retires and moves to live like a gentleman in the country. But he misses his old life because he’s not interested in hunting or field sports and intellectually, he is: “[d]estitute of resources, with no taste for any intellectual or refined amusement….”
• This novel features a lesbian couple as minor characters. Have we got your attention now, modern academy?

    I've read almost one hundred novels of the long 18th century, I'd place this one higher on the list than many others... 

     ​I’ve been looking at novels with characters, mostly girls, who were illegitimate, such as Emma’s Harriet Smith. Harriet is the “natural daughter” of a prosperous tradesman, but scholar Lisa Zunshine notes that in novels of this era, “the overwhelming majority of temporarily displaced children” such as foundlings, were not only from good families, but were not illegitimate after all. These heroes and heroines would be "raised by strangers, leave her adopted family upon reaching marriageable age, go through numerous ordeals (during which she acquired an eligible suitor while retaining her chastity), and finally discover her true kin, reassert her legitimate status, and reestablish herself as part of her biological family.” 
     This has been the case in many novels, some of which I’ve reviewed here, including: Anna, or Memoirs of a Welch Heiress (1785), Fanny or the Deserted Daughter (1792), Edward or various views of Human Nature (1798), Glenmore Abbey (1805), and There is a Secret, Find it Out! (1808). Therefore, I wanted to check out the novel titled Eliza Willis or History of a Natural Daughter to see if Eliza really was a natural daughter, or the misplaced daughter of an Earl, as these foundlings usually turn out to be. And yes, Emily Willis discovers who her parents are, and they are both from good families. But--shocker!-- they never got married. Mom gave birth in secret and went on to marry someone else.
     This novel then, presents as its heroine a girl from the wrong side of the blanket, who must contend with being treated as being sexually available on account of her low status, who nonetheless is rewarded with a wealthy baronet for her husband. It is another entry into the genre of novels which center around chastity and reputation.

      When I finished Volume One of A Modern Incident, I was half-way through the novel and I still had absolutely no idea what was going on. No idea. So far we just had:
    Page after page of characters stammering out incoherent remarks (dashes and dots in the original):

• “Thy looks! –I feel them, --they will d---n me yet!”)
• “I cannot pray! –I will not—no—Hell is but reprobation—that is mine already—or will be soon --- ---- ---- --- --- Yet, --but him [Mr. Winstanley, that is] I now hate—I know him,--he knows not me,---no, nor my deeds.—One effort yet, to cool this burning fever, to ease this secret torture, --this---this—Oh, Mortimore! –Mortimore!—Thee!—this—and if I fail! –be they blasted in all hope, --and I!—dark perdition cover me for ever—ever--!”
• “Why Mrs. Courtney uttered such a frantic shriek, or what caused such violent emotion, the reader is left to imagine…”

    Page after page of characters harboring a secret:

• “the secrets of another are not my own.”
• "I have already told you... that I never mean to marry."

    And characters turning pale and rushing from the room:

• "With these incoherent and inexplicable words, he rushed with frantic impetuousity from their presence.”

    Perhaps a gothic novel aficionado would be familiar with the tropes and plot devices that baffled me and would figure out the Big Secret before it was revealed in the penultimate chapter, but I only persisted with the book because it was a quick read; a two-volume novel which had not been reviewed when it came out.
    And holy snapping turtles, this had some lurid stuff; at least, lurid compared to the decorous voice of Jane Austen. This has several same-sex teases, and an incest tease, and a ghost-who-turns-out-to-be not a ghost, adultery and seduction, along with forged letters and other skullduggery. Get your smelling salts out for this one.

     Welcome to the New Year, a time for clean slates. Virgin and unspoiled, as it were. I didn't plan this, but it looks like January will be devoted to novels that obsess on the theme of Female Chastity and Female Reputation, or as they called it, "Fame." In all of January's novels, the big page-turning question is: can the heroine preserve her virtue and/or will the heroine be able to clear her name after her virtue has been impugned? Reading a succession of these novels really brings home the emphasis put on female virtue in the society of the time. And of course, not only the Georgian/Regency era but before and after, up to the sexual revolution of the 1960's. Some novels, like this one, take up the question of illegitimacy as well.
    In my study of 18th-century novels, I don’t usually read Gothic novels because (1) they currently receive plenty of attention in academic circles and (2) I’m studying Jane Austen in the context of the conventions and tropes of the sentimental novel, not the gothic. But Glenmore Abbey popped up in my search results twice for containing some phrases which Austen satirically used. Remember how Mrs. Elton kept boasting about her “resources,” which would keep her occupied and entertained in the small village of Highbury? The same term appears in Glenmore Abbey. And twice, characters are offered the “balm of consolation” poured into “wounded bosoms,” à la Mary Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. Finally, Glenmore Abbey never received a review when it was published, and I like giving attention to such long-ignored books.
      But I'm not going to denigrate Mrs. Isaacs for writing with trite clichés, although she certainly does at times: “To do justice to the ruined towers of Glenmore, the pen of ancient romance should delineate the thick clustering turrets, the broken columns, the fallen pillars, and mouldering battlements, that frowned over the gloomy domain. It was extensive and had once been well cultivated, but neglect had rendered it a barren waste, and the high trees, around many of which the climbing ivy had entwined itself, were merely a resort for the seafowl and birds of prey… (etc.)”
     Let’s be fair, she’s probably writing for money, and she’s writing to a specific formula, in emulation of the very successful Anne Radcliffe—in other words she is ticking the boxes with a tale that includes mystery, suspense, a touch of the supernatural, and moral lessons...