| This blog explores social attitudes in Jane Austen's time, discusses her novels, reviews forgotten 18th century novels, and throws some occasional shade at the modern academy. The introductory post is here. My "six simple questions for academics" post is here. |
Bing AI image CMP#193 The "novel-reading miss": Ellen and Julia (1793)
The next few books, I think, all mention novel-reading, if only in passing. In her famous defense of the novel in Northanger Abbey, Austen wrote of the novelists who disparage novels in the pages of their own novels, "joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust."
Here is a prime example: Sensible Julia “selected such books only as could improve, and admired no characters, but such as placed virtue in its most amiable light, and was equally free from the absurdities of romance, or the pernicious follies delineated in modern Novels." Her sister Ellen grows up reading novels and wants to be a romantic heroine.
That's a big reason why I am reading and sharing information about these forgotten books--the fun of connecting them to Austen and placing Austen's works in the context of the time they were written. Scholar Susan Allen Ford, speaking on the Jane Austen Society podcast, speaks of the pleasure of finding relevant items in other novels: "I was always making little discoveries... They certainly give you an insight into Austen's playful mind... You can read Austen forever without knowing any of this, but once you do, it just adds these extra layers of complexity but also extra layers of pleasure."
Ellen and Julia is a novel full of unrealistic coincidences and several incredibly fortunate inheritances, but the message of the novel is supposedly: beware of the insidious effects of novel-reading, or you’ll end up like Ellen!
The novel is typical in that a slender narrative is stretched out with unconnected and lengthy backstories--in this case, the backstories of fairly minor characters. (This technique is known as the "inset narrative, more about that below).
These backstories have a moral purpose because they illustrate some fault or vice and the miserable consequences thereof...
The next few books, I think, all mention novel-reading, if only in passing. In her famous defense of the novel in Northanger Abbey, Austen wrote of the novelists who disparage novels in the pages of their own novels, "joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust."
Here is a prime example: Sensible Julia “selected such books only as could improve, and admired no characters, but such as placed virtue in its most amiable light, and was equally free from the absurdities of romance, or the pernicious follies delineated in modern Novels." Her sister Ellen grows up reading novels and wants to be a romantic heroine.
That's a big reason why I am reading and sharing information about these forgotten books--the fun of connecting them to Austen and placing Austen's works in the context of the time they were written. Scholar Susan Allen Ford, speaking on the Jane Austen Society podcast, speaks of the pleasure of finding relevant items in other novels: "I was always making little discoveries... They certainly give you an insight into Austen's playful mind... You can read Austen forever without knowing any of this, but once you do, it just adds these extra layers of complexity but also extra layers of pleasure."
Ellen and Julia is a novel full of unrealistic coincidences and several incredibly fortunate inheritances, but the message of the novel is supposedly: beware of the insidious effects of novel-reading, or you’ll end up like Ellen!
The novel is typical in that a slender narrative is stretched out with unconnected and lengthy backstories--in this case, the backstories of fairly minor characters. (This technique is known as the "inset narrative, more about that below).
These backstories have a moral purpose because they illustrate some fault or vice and the miserable consequences thereof...
Welcome to Cumberland, enjoy your exile
The first forty pages of Ellen and Julia give the backstory of Mr. and Mrs. Woodville, the parents of the sisters. Mr. Woodville was a wealthy young man who squandered his estate in gambling. Bitter and poor, he retires to a remote home in the north of England, to recoup what income he can for his two daughters, the beautiful but moody Ellen and the sweet-tempered Julia. (Ellen quite understandably, is annoyed about being a lovely teen-aged girl forced to live in complete isolation in the countryside.)
While ambling around a nearby abandoned Abbey, the girls discover a tunnel leading to a secret underground apartment, where they find a genteel woman on her deathbed. Mrs. Danvers fled, just like their father, to this remote spot to atone for her wrongdoings. Mr. Woodville’s backstory warned against being careless with money; Mrs. Danvers warns about frivolity and infidelity. She has hidden underground ever since, dying of remorse and (presumably) Vitamin D deficiency. Upon her death, the Woodvilles contact the local curate, Charles Evelyn, who is the first young gentleman either girl has ever seen or spoken to. He's handsome, intelligent, courteous, and poor.
Shortly afterwards, Mr. Woodville suddenly commits suicide. His death releases his long-suffering widow and daughters from living in the middle of nowhere. They first travel to the family mansion which Mr. Woodville had leased out, to make arrangements for handing it over to the next male heir. The estate, apart from a reasonable cash inheritance for the girls, goes to Lord A-- (that's how his name is given in the book) who (small world!) is the same Lord A— who deprived Charles Evelyn of a long-promised clerical living. That's why Charles is stuck in the back of beyond, serving two remote parishes for a pittance and barely able to support his widowed mother.
Ellen, understandably, is ecstatic about the prospect of being seen and admired in society: “she already anticipated conquests, adventures, duels, and many other strange and unnatural events, such as are too often retailed in those dangerous publications [novels], that poison the minds of young inexperienced girls, and embitter their future days.”
The first forty pages of Ellen and Julia give the backstory of Mr. and Mrs. Woodville, the parents of the sisters. Mr. Woodville was a wealthy young man who squandered his estate in gambling. Bitter and poor, he retires to a remote home in the north of England, to recoup what income he can for his two daughters, the beautiful but moody Ellen and the sweet-tempered Julia. (Ellen quite understandably, is annoyed about being a lovely teen-aged girl forced to live in complete isolation in the countryside.)
While ambling around a nearby abandoned Abbey, the girls discover a tunnel leading to a secret underground apartment, where they find a genteel woman on her deathbed. Mrs. Danvers fled, just like their father, to this remote spot to atone for her wrongdoings. Mr. Woodville’s backstory warned against being careless with money; Mrs. Danvers warns about frivolity and infidelity. She has hidden underground ever since, dying of remorse and (presumably) Vitamin D deficiency. Upon her death, the Woodvilles contact the local curate, Charles Evelyn, who is the first young gentleman either girl has ever seen or spoken to. He's handsome, intelligent, courteous, and poor.
Shortly afterwards, Mr. Woodville suddenly commits suicide. His death releases his long-suffering widow and daughters from living in the middle of nowhere. They first travel to the family mansion which Mr. Woodville had leased out, to make arrangements for handing it over to the next male heir. The estate, apart from a reasonable cash inheritance for the girls, goes to Lord A-- (that's how his name is given in the book) who (small world!) is the same Lord A— who deprived Charles Evelyn of a long-promised clerical living. That's why Charles is stuck in the back of beyond, serving two remote parishes for a pittance and barely able to support his widowed mother.
Ellen, understandably, is ecstatic about the prospect of being seen and admired in society: “she already anticipated conquests, adventures, duels, and many other strange and unnatural events, such as are too often retailed in those dangerous publications [novels], that poison the minds of young inexperienced girls, and embitter their future days.”
Charles Evelyn listening to Mr. Hammond's lengthy backstory. Bing AI Image Middle-aged Man sneaks around with naive girl
Lord A— is a rake and the unsophisticated Ellen is a sitting duck for him. She falls for his "love-can’t-survive-the-shackles-of-marriage" ploy and they run off to Paris.
Mrs. Woodville and Julia chase after them but make it no farther than London where Mrs. Woodville falls ill with shock and horror. An acquaintance of Lord A--, young Lord Meanwell (yes really) and his sister Lady Susan befriend the stricken pair. Lord Meanwell’s housekeeper Mrs. Norris kindly finds them respectable lodgings. When Mrs. Woodville dies of a broken heart, Julia goes to live with Lady Susan. Lady Susan, while attractive, widowed, and witty, is a genuinely decent person; she's not like Austen’s Lady Susan.
Meanwhile, back in nowheresville, Charles Evelyn stumbles across another (our third!) repentant hermit who fled to the same neighbourhood to atone for his wrong-doing. Mr. Hammond’s backstory, which he relates to Charles, goes on for 44 pages and would take a full hour to listen to. I skimmed it, but the gist is, he believed some false friends and unjustly accused his best employee and his wife of cheating on him. He discovers his mistake too late.
These backstories are drawn together when everyone ends up in or near London. Charles conveniently inherits a baronetcy from an eccentric uncle. A minor female character, Miss Chancely, inherits an East Indian fortune from another long-lost relative, and unaccountably, Julia falls in love not with Charles Evelyn but with Lord Meanwell. No reason is given for why she prefers one kind, handsome, virtuous, eligible, rich man to the other, and I was rooting for Charles. He manages to transfer his undying affection to Miss Chancely.
Lord A— is a rake and the unsophisticated Ellen is a sitting duck for him. She falls for his "love-can’t-survive-the-shackles-of-marriage" ploy and they run off to Paris.
Mrs. Woodville and Julia chase after them but make it no farther than London where Mrs. Woodville falls ill with shock and horror. An acquaintance of Lord A--, young Lord Meanwell (yes really) and his sister Lady Susan befriend the stricken pair. Lord Meanwell’s housekeeper Mrs. Norris kindly finds them respectable lodgings. When Mrs. Woodville dies of a broken heart, Julia goes to live with Lady Susan. Lady Susan, while attractive, widowed, and witty, is a genuinely decent person; she's not like Austen’s Lady Susan.
Meanwhile, back in nowheresville, Charles Evelyn stumbles across another (our third!) repentant hermit who fled to the same neighbourhood to atone for his wrong-doing. Mr. Hammond’s backstory, which he relates to Charles, goes on for 44 pages and would take a full hour to listen to. I skimmed it, but the gist is, he believed some false friends and unjustly accused his best employee and his wife of cheating on him. He discovers his mistake too late.
These backstories are drawn together when everyone ends up in or near London. Charles conveniently inherits a baronetcy from an eccentric uncle. A minor female character, Miss Chancely, inherits an East Indian fortune from another long-lost relative, and unaccountably, Julia falls in love not with Charles Evelyn but with Lord Meanwell. No reason is given for why she prefers one kind, handsome, virtuous, eligible, rich man to the other, and I was rooting for Charles. He manages to transfer his undying affection to Miss Chancely.
Julia always behaves impeccably and considering that she can’t be more than eighteen, she is quite impressive when she confronts Lord A— when he briefly returns from Paris to London. She tears a strip off him for taking advantage of the naïve Ellen. “For shame, for shame, do not seek to palliate your crimes… you knew she was a poor unprotected female, no father, no brother, to call you to account; you was by affinity and choice the man who ought to have preserved her from insult, from degradation, and from infamy. Would a man of honour… steal an unsuspecting young woman from her friends, carry her from the country with persons the most improper in the world for companions… and give the finishing blow to the existence of that excellent parent whose sole happiness and comfort was centered in her children? These, my Lord, are facts that cannot be controverted, no sophistry can overcome such glaring proofs of deception and cruelty, nor can fashion, gallantry, or libertinism, justify such detestable actions.”
Lord A— is so impressed that he goes back to Paris and marries Ellen to make her a respectable woman.
Lord A— is so impressed that he goes back to Paris and marries Ellen to make her a respectable woman.
Mullan on the inset narrative
I was re-reading John Mullan's book, How Novels Work, and he discusses the inset narrative. An early example comes in Fielding's Tom Jones, where Tom and his servant Partridge meet the Man on the Hill, who tells them his tragic backstory "[o]ver the course of a night, and five chapters of the novel." Mullan says the "inset narrative" was "once common in novels, but now rare."
Mullan adds, "Such insertions run counter to our expectations that a novel have a formal unity. They are remnants of pre-novelistic prose fiction, where--as in Cervantes' Don Quixote--any overarching narrative contains a miscellany of individual stories. The habit lingered on into the nineteenth century and is alive in early Dickens."
I was re-reading John Mullan's book, How Novels Work, and he discusses the inset narrative. An early example comes in Fielding's Tom Jones, where Tom and his servant Partridge meet the Man on the Hill, who tells them his tragic backstory "[o]ver the course of a night, and five chapters of the novel." Mullan says the "inset narrative" was "once common in novels, but now rare."
Mullan adds, "Such insertions run counter to our expectations that a novel have a formal unity. They are remnants of pre-novelistic prose fiction, where--as in Cervantes' Don Quixote--any overarching narrative contains a miscellany of individual stories. The habit lingered on into the nineteenth century and is alive in early Dickens."
About the author
Eliza Parsons (1739-1811) turned to writing novels after the death of her husband, a turpentine-distiller and business man. Her father was a wine-merchant. She was from the merchant class, although like other novelists she wrote of baronets and East India nabobs. She had eight children. She is the author of two of the "horrid "novels Isabella Thorpe recommends to Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey: The Castle of Wolfenbach (1793) and The Mysterious Warning (1796).
Of Ellen and Julia, the reviewer said: “When the immoral tendency of some novels, and the romantic turn of many others, are recollected, it may appear in some sort meritorious that a work of this kind is entitled to the bare praise of affording a temporary amusement, without leaving any injurious impression on the reader’s imagination [but this novel] possessed something more than this negative merit. It is well adapted to inculcate on young minds several lessons of prudence and virtue.”
I found the extended backstories to be tiresome, and the narration, especially in the second volume, plods along. People came and went, visiting back and forth for tea and dinner, as the various aspects of the plot unfolded. But Mrs. Parsons herself was modest about her work: "I Trust, Tho' Perhaps Deficient in Wit and Spirit, Are at Least Moral and Tend to Amend the Hearts." Kudos to her for picking up her pen at age fifty to support her family.
Previous post: The Unfortunate Gertrude Next post: Ellinor, whose beauty is her curse
Eliza Parsons (1739-1811) turned to writing novels after the death of her husband, a turpentine-distiller and business man. Her father was a wine-merchant. She was from the merchant class, although like other novelists she wrote of baronets and East India nabobs. She had eight children. She is the author of two of the "horrid "novels Isabella Thorpe recommends to Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey: The Castle of Wolfenbach (1793) and The Mysterious Warning (1796).
Of Ellen and Julia, the reviewer said: “When the immoral tendency of some novels, and the romantic turn of many others, are recollected, it may appear in some sort meritorious that a work of this kind is entitled to the bare praise of affording a temporary amusement, without leaving any injurious impression on the reader’s imagination [but this novel] possessed something more than this negative merit. It is well adapted to inculcate on young minds several lessons of prudence and virtue.”
I found the extended backstories to be tiresome, and the narration, especially in the second volume, plods along. People came and went, visiting back and forth for tea and dinner, as the various aspects of the plot unfolded. But Mrs. Parsons herself was modest about her work: "I Trust, Tho' Perhaps Deficient in Wit and Spirit, Are at Least Moral and Tend to Amend the Hearts." Kudos to her for picking up her pen at age fifty to support her family.
Previous post: The Unfortunate Gertrude Next post: Ellinor, whose beauty is her curse
| Scholar Karen Morton has written a biography and critique of Mrs. Parsons: A Life Marketed as Fiction: An Analysis of the Works of Eliza Parsons. Valancourt Books, 2011. |
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