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Archive for the ‘18th century’ Category


Opening scene: Henry-Mirabell (Luigi Sottile) and Charles-Witwoud (Brandon Espinoza)

A remarkable adaptation of William Congreve’s The Way of the World at the Folger. As part of the on-going women’s festival of plays in DC, Theresa Rebeck updated Congreve brilliantly and then directed it with bravura and panache. Very effective. Interesting for anyone who has read or seen Congreve’s play and equally great fun for anyone who has not. Strongly recommended

Witwoud: “Truths! ha, ha, ha. No, no, since you will have it. I mean he never speaks truth at all — that’s all. He will lie like a chambermaid, or a woman of quality’s porter. Now that is a fault. (Congreve, Act I)

Friends and readers,

Although it’s too late to get to this surprisingly apt and often funny-cruel adaptation of Congreve’s The Way of the World by the successful woman playwright, Theresa Rebeck, at the Folger (tomorrow night is the last performance), I write to say hurry out to see it if is is revived anywhere near where you live. You need never have read or seen Congreve’s The Way of the World, so thorough going and consistent is the adaptation, though if you have, the parallels and comparisons reinforce the bitter things that happen and are said in Rebeck’s play. They also show the timelessness of Congreve’s types and situations which seems so easily retrofitted in 2018. The lavish costumes (over-the-top priced shoes, handbags and accessories) reflect actual realities in shopping today. Rebeck’s wit is penetrating as her doubles for Congreve’s players enact the aimless luxurious self-centered lives of the 1% to be experienced in the Hamptons on Long Island.

Three out of four reviews give it high marks

for fitting into other smash hits she’s engineered and written

Nelsson Presley: “What’s a hard-nosed Hollywood survivor like “NYPD Blue” and “Smash” writer Theresa Rebeck doing inside the cool, Shakespeare-ghosted marble of the Folger Theatre?

Letting blue language fly in her update of the Restoration comedy “The Way of the World,” for one thing. William Congreve’s takedown of money-grubbing nuptials is being updated to the Hamptons in a voice that sounds like pure Rebeck: energetic, contemporary, funny and brutally honest about gender and leverage.

for screwball cynical farce:

Jayne Blanchard: “The characters in The Way of the World are pros at sniping and subterfuge and show us peons how snark can be done with style … In other words, it’s a bitch to be rich.

No one feels that more acutely than Mae (Eliza Huberth, grounded and gleaming with goodness), an American heiress who wears her $600 million fortune like a giant price tag on her head. Well-meaning and altruistic, Mae feels—and rightly so, the way she is treated by family and friends—that no one really sees her, only a bunch of dollar signs and zeros.

and a paradoxical feminism, appropriate for this play, part of a festival of women’s plays going on in DC:

Caroline Jones: “As the male characters trip over themselves in search of sex and money, the women reveal that they, in fact, hold the power in most situations. It’s an appropriate theme for the Women’s Voices Theater Festival, which celebrates the work of tenacious female playwrights from around the world … Thematically, it’s clear that Rebeck wants her adaptation to focus on the struggle between the haves and the have-nots. That idea comes through, but what makes the play fascinating is the relationships between the characters and the ways they abuse the people they love. Their desires, both long-term and temporary, are wrapped up in other individuals, something you don’t typically see in a comedy that includes regular uproarious laughter.”


Rene-Lady Wishfort (Kristin Neilsen) and her super-rich niece Mae-Millamant (Eliza Huberth)

What I enjoyed most was the superb comic-acting, which in a couple of cases is suggestive enough to make one feel sorry for the character. The brilliant timing, wild-letting go, and seeming unself-conscious self-expose of Kristin Nielsen as the lascivious aunt who is grieving for her loss of beauty and lonely is the power-house at the center. Truly funny soliloquies by Ashley Austin Morris, the desperately over-worked, rich-people worshipping and thieving waitress who is snubbed and taken advantage of, sometimes in a very ugly ruthless way — Mirabell is turned into an utter stud: Henry fucks every woman in the play and one of the men threatens to take her to the police unless she uses her Foible-like talent for manipulation to help him corner Mae-Millamant.


Henry oddly venomous as after fucking Ashley Martin Morris as the waitress-Foible

The critics above all write of Mae as effective, but I thought the part made her silly: she wants to give all her money to Haiti but seems to have no idea how to go about handling or keeping her money herself, much less disbursing it to anyone. After the terrific anger she displays at Henry, and she utters the most lines taken straight from Congreve that I recognized and some of the best in Rebeck’s play, she becomes blandness itself, almost a silent woman, saved for comic effect by her tasteless golden-hard wedding gown, which she keeps complaining is “too tight.”

For witty lines Rebeck did much better with the modernized Mrs Marwood, Erica Dorfler as Katrina, the ex-mistress (old-fashioned word but “previous love” doesn’t seem right either) of Henry, one of a trio there to needle the other characters. She gets some hard lines.


Erica Dorfler as Katrina-Marwood, Daniel Morgan Shelley as Lyle (a fop?) and Charles

I found myself remembering that in Congreve’s play Mrs Marwood was the bitterest and the most hurt of the characters: she has carried on adultery with male named Fainall, who has used, abused, and reproached her for betraying her friend, his wife; he hates being married, but she cannot bear that she has been “vicious” on his behalf and only gotten punishment for it (Congreve, Act II, lines 145-220).

Both Charles and Lyle are given wry lines reflecting on our world today: both are gay and would much prefer to go to bed with Henry, but that he prefers women. Not all of Congreve’s characters are transposed. The Fainalls (Mr and Mrs) are missing, and there is no fop (unless Lyle is meant to be), but there is a clown-fool: Elan Zafir as Reg, the bumpkin from the country is a Trump male type, crude and concerned to protect his manliness. When he goes to bed with Rene, he manifests intense distress lest she tell anyone.


Reg-Witwood is the one with the crass jacket and beer in his hand

All four didn’t have enough to do with the story of Henry’s quest for Mae and her money — unless that was the point. Much of the skilfull manipulation is done by Henry in a final battle with Rene over who knows more than whom and can therefore cheat and exert power over the other. As in Congreve’s play this one ends with a final duel of words and threats and compromises between Henry and Rene (Mirabell and Lady Wishfort). Some of the themes were startlingly apt for the year 2017: everyone lies and it’s asserted repeatedly there is no such thing as a truth that counts if you can shove it out of sight and delude others. Money conquers all.

Congreve it’s not. Nowhere as deep or thorough, or angry or pessimistic or deeply felt — or witty. But I hope it doesn’t disappear because it is more than a flippant rancid-stew. There is feeling now and again. Katrina or Mrs Marwood is really hurt when Henry escapes quickly after their night together and never phones. She is told by Charles (Witwoud) that men do not feel about phones the way women do. Other characters want someone to phone them back — this is not a group into texting though they walk around with cell-phones.

Most of the emotion is felt by snubbed waitress and the ridiculed Rene, who gives a final speech which would seem to contradict the whole play: Rene asserts what makes life worth while is devotion, relationships, loyalty, even love. This is not let to stand for too long, but it is part of the plot-design that what the heroine, Mae, wants is for the hero-stud, to be concerned for her feelings, truly in love with her, not to lie, and to be sexually faithful.

Ellen

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A portrait of Johnson’s biography of Richard Savage


Photo of Virginia Woolf and Roger Fry

“Could not biography produce something of the intensity of poetry, something of the excitement of drama, and yet keep also the peculiar virtue that belongs to fact — its suggestive reality, its own proper excitement ….” Woolf, “The Art of Biography”

Bayle’s Dictionary is a very useful work for those to consult who love the biographical part of literature, which is what I love most … Johnson, quoted by Boswell

Friends,

This past Thursday after reading away for weeks and weeks, I gave a working name for a paper for a volume of essays on Johnson: “Presences Among Us Imagining People: Samuel Johnson and Virginia Woolf’s Biographical Art.” Here is what I then came up with for tentative theses, plan or lines of argument. It’s a document to work from:

“Presences Among Us Imagining People: Samuel Johnson and Virginia Woolf’s Biographical Art.”

In histories, theoretical works on, and close readings of the art of biography, Samuel Johnson and Virginia Woolf have been credited with themselves writing, and having stirred others to write significant and transformative essays on and works of autobiographical and biographical art. The reactions of people who knew Johnson or Woolf or the circles of people in which they throve, or who read them early on, have been so strong that it has been a source of distress to scholars and fans alike that many readers’ perceptions of Johnson derive from Boswell’s Life of Johnson and not Johnson’s writing; or of Woolf from misogynist, politicized and ignorant distortions of Bloomsbury and not Woolf’s writing. As a presence among us, like many women and 19th century writers, Woolf has further suffered from the family biography and control (e..g., Quentin Bell’s biography), and films ranging from ambivalent to hostile towards a woman intellectual who killed herself (e.g., The Hours). The mission of this volume is to refute through his own writing the apparent misfit and caricatures of Johnson to post-modern, post-colonial minds.

Woolf’s biographies fall into the specifically modernist type of biography beginning most notably with Lytton Strachey’s ironic Eminent Victorians and Queen Victoria: a socio-psychoanalytic portrait written in aesthetically appropriate ethically invigorating forms true to the human experience of time. It need not follow the conventions for verisimilitude or literal documented supposed evidence, and her Flush and Orlando do not. The crucial feature of modernist biography is the recreation of convincingly particularized felt life in a documentable individual. Woolf was influenced by her father, Leslie Stephen’s interest in, writing about Johnson and the 18th century, and work as the editor and writer for the British Dictionary of National Biography. But in what Woolf writes in her life-writing and her journalism, it seems impossible to distinguish a sense of Johnson as a man apart from Boswell’s biography (especially “The Genius of Boswell,” “Saint Samuel of Fleet Street”). In his literary biographies, Johnson imagines their subjects through his encounter with his subject’s texts where time is irrelevant or timeless, while he takes what he can find out from others, from documents about their lived lives, and from specific political and cultural pressures, all to help account for the form these texts take. For Woolf also the life and personality of her subject is brought forth from their papers and environment, but she goes well beyond this consciously to take on board fictionalizing techniques and fantasy. Beyond this alignment and difference with and from Johnson, Woolf seems to have been influenced by Boswell and Johnson’s twin-tours to the Hebrides in her fiction; in To the Lighthouse Cornwall becomes the Hebrides.

Texts possibly to be discussed and examined: opening more general framing discussion from Johnson’s lives of Dryden, Pope, Milton, then for specific close reading The Life of Savage and the lesser known texts lives of Prior, Gray, and maybe Swift because there exist good modernist and portrait biographies for comparison; ending on how the lives as a whole cannot be regarded as literary history (too many important people left out), but can be seen as projecting the interconnection of politics in the era with poetry; maybe bring in fictional types in Johnson’s journalism in order to include women.

Turn to Woolf: texts possibly to be discussed and examined: opening more general framing discussion from her biography, Roger Fry, her Orlando (highly problematic as a literary life of Vita Sackville-West), then for specific close reading from Flush, her “Lives of the Obscure,” her Memoirs of Novelist (“Miss Joan Martyn,” “Mysterious Case of Miss V”). She argues fictional characters are more real and remembered more than non-fictional except in rare cases (like Boswell’s Life of Johnson) even if fiction is de-centered (Lighthouse, Jacob’s Room). We should read her fiction as autobiographical despite all the prejudice again this

[I’m not sure of the above: Maybe I’d do better in the central section just to analyze Life of Savage first and then her Roger Fry.]

Conclusion: Johnson alive, relevant to our age: his work can function as a good antidote against hagiography prevalent today despite all the supposed “interrogation:” he idolizes no one. He takes an ethical stand so often avoided in today’s academic literary study (candid talk about why this is so). Johnson keeps to strong standards of truth and is against acceptance of delusions & corruption (found in post-modern discussions of literary works, misled scholars, and fan groups). Woolf is crucial today, for she anticipates experiments in getting beyond impasses in biographical art: e.g., the aftermath life (Janet Malcolm on Sylvia Plath); the life made up of fragments; the quest biography; where the subject’s family or friends are obstacles and have held back letters. She is intensely aware how biography is a form of autobiography;he may be. Both respect serious literature of the past as a journey, an adventure, lending identity and meaning and distinguish it from trash, junk, and the mediocre.

Closure: She does seem very fond of him, and politically she is deeply of the left liberal anti-war anti-hierarchical, anti-colonial persuasion. A married lesbian. He seems to have great compassion for the marginalized, from a young boy who would have been a slave (whom he leaves his property to) and cats (much abused in the era), to at least an awareness (as a disabled person) of the place of disability in people’s lives, with affection for a number of women, e.g., Fanny Burney, Charlotte Lennox, Hill Boothby, Catherine Desmoulins (the latter two less well-known). He is fiercely anti-war (one of his Ramblers has a vulture teaching her young how to live by watching men slaughter one another), loathes debt-collectors and the unjust prison system of his age.

Why did I agree to do this? A friend asked me and for me this is not an unlikely pairing. I’ve loved both authors’ books and have been absorbed reading about them, their lives and work for many years now; like Johnson, the biographical part of literature is often what I love best.


Cover of the book I read in 2000s

First Johnson: as a graduate student I fell in love with Johnson as he presents himself in his writing. I took a course with Frank Brady (well-known scholar of Boswell, pupil of a once better-known scholar, Frederick Pottle), which turned out to be 3/4s Johnson and Boswell. My trip this past summer to the Scottish Highlands was partly prompted by reading more than 40 years ago now Johnson’s Journey to the Western Islands, together with its twin book, Boswell’s Tour of the Hebrides. In my later 20s I used to solace myself reading to myself one a night of Johnson’s Ramblers, Idlers, Adventurers. They inspirited, strengthened, helped me to accept life because after seeing it fully, Johnson did — ironically.


Reynolds’s famous portrait of Johnson supposedly devouring a book — he seems to have become blind in one eye when a toddler

Jim liked Johnson too and when he took an undergraduate course in 18th century literature to finish his B.A. here in the states in the 1970s (in order to go to graduate school in math), he wrote a paper he called “The War of Johnson’s Ear.” He tried to demonstrate Johnson had a good ear for poetical rhythm. The professor was not impressed and gave him a B :(. Jim hadn’t like the course: he had looked forward to reading Johnson and Boswell (as I had), Burke, Paine, Reynolds, great poetry (Goldsmith but also women poets) and novels and memoirs. Maybe a couple originally in French (Voltaire). Admittedly his view of the great works were shaped by an old canon. He was appalled to be given the marginalia of Blake in Blake’s edition of Reynolds’s treatise on art. He found himself reading Eliza Fenwick whose texts Jim found beneath contempt. There was Goldsmith, Christopher Smart and early Wordsworth. Maybe Burns and Cowper. No Crabbe. And he probably let the professor know what he had felt. In the mid-1990s I taught a selection of Johnson in a Penguin book (edited by Patrick Cruttwell) for a literary survey course at George Mason university (British Literature first half): my representatives of the era were Gay’s Beggar’s Opera and this volume of Johnson. I didn’t use an anthology. I said we were reading intensively not extensively.

Then in the early 2000’s I and a friend opened a list for Eighteenth Century Worlds @Yahoo, and among the books that sustained it through the life it had, were Boswell’s Life of Johnson (there is apparently a fan group for Johnson as he appears in or with Boswell), the twin-tour books, then Johnson’s Ramblers, Idlers, Adventurers, and a single volume selection of Fanny Burney’s diary and journals (part of their circle). On my own, I turned to Hester Thrale Piozzi then, her travel book, Clifford’s biography of her, then just immersed myself in Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s letters and poems — a member of a tangential world. I love to read and to write life-writing, letters, biographies. I would always go to the sessions on Johnson at ASECS and EC/ASECS. I’ve blogged on Johnson too.


The cover of the book I first read her in

That’s but one half of the diptych. My love for Virginia Woolf goes back to when Jim and I were first married and we used to take turns reading her letters and diaries aloud to one another in the evening (in Leeds where we didn’t even have a radio). Her Common Reader I read and remembered before that — in college. And before that for me in my later teens, The Voyage Out. He liked her too, and bought her essays and diaries — all the volumes, which I now possess in my library house. But even better or as much he read Leonard Woolf, the many volumed biography and novel — I read Glendinning’s magnificent biography on Leonard aloud to Jim on a long train trip. Teaching her brilliant anti-war, anti-patriarchal treatise, Three Guineas, in those same mid-1990s classes (the second half of British Literature where I also taught Elizabeth Bowen’s The Heat of the Day) taught me so much.


Vanessa Redgrave as Mrs Dalloway

It had been Woolf’s essays and life-writing that entranced me; but again in the 2000s, on another Yahoo list (Women Writers through the Ages) we had a Virginia Woolf summer and I listened to and read The Years and read her essays on early modern and 17th century people. Hooked once again. I went to Woolf sessions at all the MLAs I attended, even, with Jim by my side, a Virginia Woolf Society party — how daring of me. Since then I’ve belonged to the International Society, and get the yearly rich newsletter. For three years now I’ve been reading her on and off, begun again with on Wwtta, through Hermione Lee’s biography, posted about mostly on my Ellen and Jim have a Blog, Two. I’d go off and read the shorter of the works she analyzed. A year and a half ago, an OLLI course at AU took me through Mrs Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, A Room of One’s Own, books, and wonderful films & YouTube (Eileen Atkins). I just joined a Virginia Woolf list.

I love the short and long works, and this summer listened to, skim-read Between the Acts, just now finishing the deeply life-filled Jacob’s Room. I listen as well as read, and find Wanda McCadden’s cadences (her other name, Nadia May) emphasizes the more outward or dramatic aspects of the work: she does lose its peculiar combination of poignancy and comedy. It ought to be read as often as Mrs Dalloway. Jacob is a lover of the Greek classics: they are what he escapes from the modern world to, what paradoxically help him to understand at least one skein of the complicated life all around him. The feel of the text is captured in the lines of Patricia Fargnoli in one of her poems: “Life moves on like shadows of the windblown willows/to other lives …” Jacob keeps these beloved books in his room.

Jacob’s Room begins as a widow’s story. No where is this mentioned in the literature. Mrs Betty Flanders’ husband died in an accident years ago, leaving her with three children, one so young it cannot have been that many years. But we are made to feel her husband’s death happened a long while ago to her. She is in Cornwall for the holidays and writing a Captain friend, Barfoot (he’s married so safe) in Scarborough. There is a painter about whom Woolf writes in similar ways to what she says of Lily Briscoe, color, and lonely people who don’t fit in: Mr Steele. On the beach, a little later Mrs Flanders hears the waves, the ship — her husband died of an accident at sea. We are told he left her impoverished, but Woolf’s idea of poverty is different from some of us it seems. She has a nanny, doesn’t cook her own supper, doesn’t have to work for money. But she is at a great loss with these boy children, hanging from her….

She continually moves from inward presence to inward presence and by so doing uncovers a real feeling of living life which includes sex bought from prostitutes by our hero. Many of the presences come from utterly different classes in different areas of life. We also experiencing Jacob in a large variety of social worlds and deeds. Suddenly too the narrator will go into deep dream time on the place where the narrative has settled and allude way back in time so it becomes a movement through centuries, deep history embedded in people today One aristocratic lady likes such-and-such food because her ancestors have been enjoying it since their death, this partial recreation. The novel of manners or social life is left far behind.

Jacob’s Room is as decentered as unheroic as Roger Fry as de-centered as The Waves, Between the Acts. While we can believe in Jacob, he is just a center knob in a wheel where all the spokes — all the many living presences and places come out of. I just love how he loves and thinks in terms of the Greek classics. This morning I listened to how Woolf manages to bring in tandem a sense of a desperately homeless (near) prostitute trying to get into the house where Jacob lives and other street people and the people at a party he went to — when he came home he thought how delightful to be with 10 new people (themselves beautifully captured), and we find a long reverie on the books at the British library, all by men, Jacob is spending his evening’s reading.

3/4’s through I began to worry about Jacob. I’ve read somewhere that he dies at the end — perhaps that’s why people say (carelessly) this book is about her brother. Jacob is the central node of the book, but it is in space equally about many people whom he comes across and spends time with. Especially women who are vulnerable. I am so touched with those women Jacob goes to bed with — this is indicated discreetly. They are the models paid to strip naked by his friends or at the Slade: ignorant, even dumb, without a chance in the world for respect or security or comfort. Prostitutes. His mother, the widow, whom the book opened with hardly goes any where in her life, hardly meets anyone outside her narrow class sphere and local area.

By near the end of the book Jacob has fallen in love with a married woman he meet while touring, but he has not connected deeply with anyone (not her either). He is not married. It’s hinted people think he’s homosexual and he writes to a male friend Bonamy. I can’t see any other ending but death. Probably in World War One. The book takes place just earlier. At the end of The Voyage Out Rachel dies. In the middle of To the Lighthouse Mrs Ramsay dies, and in the last third we are told of three other deaths of characters who meant something. I wonder if anyone has written about this urge to death in Woolf’s novels — probably, this one seems the saddest of all. We cherish this character as we are told his close friends do. Others say he is the best person they ever met. He never hurts anyone. He has truly intelligent (sceptical) attitudes towards politics. Acts with compassion and courtesy. The book is about life itself as a stream of feeling; she feels equally intense over say a crab or some other creature endlessly trying to say jump over something and it cannot.

I even managed The Waves (just) using a reading aloud on CDs (I couldn’t have managed without Frances Geater). This morning I began a second reading of her biography of Roger Fry, this time in the superlative edition by Diane Gillespie.


Fry’s portrait of Virginia Woolf — they were at times very close

I’ve lots of wonderful reading ahead: other “modern biographies,” more on visual art, portraiture. I use the titles Dr and Mrs for fun — that’s how he is known popularly and what she was called, how addressed in her lifetime.

So now I will listen to Boswell’s Johnson read aloud (unabridged), from Librivox, which I have put here, with a hope of reading/listening to it late at night — if the MP3 of the same work there called The life of Samuel Johnson (unabridged) read by Bernard Mayes doestn’t work well in my car.

Ellen

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My soul is sick with everyday’s report of wrong and outrage with which the earth is filled — William Cowper (anticipating Alice Oswald, Simone Weil, Iris Murdoch and Anne Carson below)

Friends and readers,

This week on Janeites, the subject of Austen’s knowledge and use of the Latin and Greek classics in her novels came up. What I discovered as a result of looking at women’s translations and adaptations of the classics then and now, and what the age of sensibility and romance poets said was on the one hand, a continual turning away from the violence, a love of the Horatian ideal of retirement and friendship, and on the other how these older classics even if individuals enjoy them, love translating them, are used to separate and stigmatize women, lower class people (by excluding them) and teach forms of elitist. No fault of theirs this latter.

Diane Reynolds had bought Mary DeForest’s slender self-published kindle book, Jane Austen Closet Classicist, where (like several other writers recently) claims to uncover a secret of hidden Austen, this time finding a systematic use of stories from the classical pantheon into novels “by, for and about women.” We had been talking of intertextualities in Austen, and enthused by the idea I went to see what in the consensus handbooks/companions, Margaret Anne Doody, Alan Richardson (“Reading Practices” in Todd’s JA in Context) and Chapman had to say. Alas, they could not find any quotation from the Latin or Greek classics in any form, no sense of enjoyment in the one citation in one of her letters Jan 24, 1809) where she writes of “Homer, and Virgil, Ovid and Propria que Maribus,” thus associating the two major writers with an Eton grammar, and thereby boys’ lessons which maybe she shared in with her brothers. The one reference in her novels is indirect, the statement in Northanger Abbey where she decries the mindless and unfair praise of pseudo-scholarship and learning in snippets from much-respected non-fictional male texts on comparison to disdain for novels, especially those by and for women. The one reference to learning in the novels is the absurdity of the way the Bertrams’s girls boast of their “knowledge” to Fanny: they know “the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a great deal of Heathen Mythology.”

The trembling Pilot, from his Rudder torn,
Was headlong hurl’d; thrice round, the Ship was tost,
Then bulg’d at once, and in the deep was lost.
And here and there above the Waves were seen
Arms, Pictures, precious Goods, and floating Men.
The stoutest Vessel to the Storm gave way,
And suck’d through loosen’d Planks the rushing Sea.
From Dryden’s Aeneid

It so happened that at the same time I was reading in Dryden’s wonderful translations of Virgil (The Aeneid, the Georgics) and from Homer, and some of the medieval and Renaissance poets, my favorites once upon a time, The Flower and the Leaf (visionary faery poetry), Palamon and Arcite (from Chaucer). I was reading James Winn’s great biography of Dryden as part of a project where I was reading Samuel Johnson’s Lives of the Poets, comparing these to other biographies and critical studies (his life of Gray against David Cecil’s and Edmund Gosse’s, his life of Swift against Victoria Glendinning’s, his Pope against Peter Quennell’s and Maynard Macks’). It was sad or hard to think that Austen had never enjoyed Dryden’s Virgil, or Pope’s Iliad, or another of the many translations and imitations from the classics in the era, at least two by a woman, Madame Dacier’s Homer and Sapphic lyrics (Dacier read Greek). And Anne Finch did many, though from Petrarch, and French author’s translations of the Latin and Greek

Leauing my Soul, and this forsaken air
With darknesse cover’d, and with black dispair,
I by the rising streaks of Cynthia’s light,
My greifs bewail, and dread th’approaching night . . .
My soul, till morning, thus her anguish shews,
When soft Aurora cheerful light renews.
— From Finch’s translation of a Petrarch sonnet

From her Tasso:

. . . . Thyself may’st be
Transform’d into a Flame, a Stream, a Tree;
A Tear, congealed by Art, thou may’st remain,
‘Till by a burning Sigh dissolved again
(Reynolds’s edition of Finch, p 117, lines 61-54)

I was also thinking about how Johnson’s biographies of these male poets (Dryden, Pope) relate to Virginia Woolf’s, both highly innovative in their era, on the cusp of significant change, Johnson into psychological analysis, character creation through finding the life of the poet in his work, Woolf through reading biography as an imaginative subjective art, no longer a commemorative pious family product, but inextricably bound up with the historical period in which the individual lived. (Woolf too when she writes of these male classics Latin or Greek texts, like Austen, tellingly, rarely, domesticates them; there is often an old woman on the scene carrying sticks, e.g., in Orlando her book, and then Sally Potter’s movie too).

To return to biography, we can see the first two steps of this biographical history, in which Johnson and Woolf partcipate, epitomized in the biographies of Austen: first the nostalgic family exemplary impressionist type, in the memoir of his Aunt Jane by her nephew; then the Bloomsbury portrait type in the early 20th century by the gentlemanly David Cecil:


This older edition (mid-century) shows how classical forms are associated with Austen’s 18th century

The third step or phase is of art, part fiction, sticking to facts still is first seen in Elizabeth Jenkins and more recently Claire Tomalin and David Nokes. Appropriately the thrust into fictionalization Woolf suggests biography must turn to (from Nigel Nicholson, in her own “Lives of the Obscure”) is found most graphically in films, with Gwyneth Hughes’s Miss Austen Regrets (2008), basing her script on Nokes’s apprehension and portrait of Austen in her letters.


Olivia Williams as Austen writing on her desk on a bench in the garden, a probably invented scene

Diane wrote she was interested in how (according to DeForest), Austen “upended the heroic, epic tradition and made love and domestic concerns central—seeing this not as a deficit but actually a positive—a subversive positive, an assertion of the equal or greater importance of the realms of relationship and domesticity. The minor poets didn’t background or submerge or subordinate war and conquest and heroism by mistake or because they were bad writers or limited, says DeForest, but because they consciously wanted to show that these ‘grand’ things were less actually important that what is usually called the ‘small stuff.'”

Mnesius rolled in sand Thrasius lost in silt
Ainios turning somersaults in a black pool
Upside down among the licking fishes
And Ophelestes his last breath silvering the surface
All that beautiful armour underwater
All those white bones sunk in mud
And instead of a burial a wagtail
Sipping the desecration unaware.
–Like Virginia Woolf and Samuel Johnson too Oswald values the obscure people shattered and thrown away meaninglessly

I thought of how later 20th century women poets rewrote the Iliad as an fierce anti-war poem, Alice Oswald’s Memorial: A Version of Homer’s Iliad (a small hardback): it’s made of up paragraphs of all the people who died, with surrounding poignant descriptions. The original’s horrific violence is brought out. And Simone Weil’s The Iliad or The Poem of Force, which I own in French, with her commentaries on her translated verses and James P.Holoka’s English commentary and translation following hers (it’s a critical edition published by Peter Lang as a paperback).

From Weil Englished:

…violence obliterates anybody who feels its touch. It comes to seem just as external to its employer as to its victim. And from this springs the idea of a destiny before which executioner and victim stand equally innocent, before which conquered and conqueror are brothers in the same distress. The conquered brings misfortune to the conqueror, and vice versa.

And

…war effaces conceptions of purpose or goal, including even its own “war aims.” It effaces the very notion of war’s being brought to an end. To be outside a situation so violent as this is to find it inconceivable; to be inside it is to be unable to conceive its end. Consequently, nobody does anything to bring this end about.

There’s also a brilliant graphic novel about Iris Murdoch’s use of the classics to overturn a patriarchal order (by Brian Nicol, see Her Moral Depth). One of the changes and transformations Samuel Johnson comes up against is the older neoclassic male-centered ideals and satiric norms of poets like Pope and Prior were being replaced by a poetry of sensibility, and romance and private agons found in Collins, Byron, Cowper, with Crabbe attacking the hierarchical establishment as ferociously unjust.

Austen does give us a sense of how she felt about these classics in the fragmentary two passages I cited and described above: she looks upon the classics as school texts and men’s scholarship out of an acute awareness of her body, gender, class — as a woman stigmatized. Is this imposition on women still true. Yes. Woolf reminds us in A Room of One’s Own of a history of public schools and libraries, universities women are excluded from without special permission, men’s luxurious clubs. From the 16th through early 20th century the classics and learning Latin and Greek functioned to segregate upper class men (gentlemen) from all other men and men from women. A rare woman poet to show a sense of the culture is Mary Wortley Montagu in her satires and Horation retirement poetry.

Give me Great God (said I) a Little Farm
in Summer shady, & in Winter warm
where a cool spring gives birth to a clear brook
by Nature slideing down a mossy Rock
Not artfully in Leaden Pipes convey’d
Or greatly falling in a forc’d Cascade
Pure & unsully’d winding throu’ ye Shade.
All bounteous Heaven has added to my Praier
a softer Climate and a purer Air.

Our Frozen Isle now chilling Winter binds
Deform’d by Rains, & rough wth blasting Winds
ye wither’d Woods grown white wth hoary Frost
by driving storms their scatter’d beautys lost
The Trembling birds their leaveless coverts shun
And seek in distant Climes a warmer Sun
The Water Nymphs their silenced Urns deplore
Even Thames benumb’d a River now no more
The barren Meadows give no more delight
by Glist’ning Snows made painfull to ye Sight ..
The opening of Montagu’s Constantinople

We see in men’s novels of the 18th through 20th century they use Latin tags — a rare women to use these is Elizabeth Gaskell (she went to very good all girl dissenting academies). Nancy Mayer pointed out that at the end of the 18th century Erasmus Darwin advised women they were allowed to read the classics, and urged them to read translations. Nancy provided the list offered to women: Horace, Ovid, Cicero, Virgil, Sailust, Terence, Phaedrus, Persius, Nepos, Pliny, Juvenal, Justin, Cato, Tibullus. It omits some beautiful poetry (Propertius) and the Greek anthology (also translated very early and part of the background of 17th century lyrics by poets like Cowley and Anne Finch). Upper class or genteel women’s substitute for learning Latin or Greek was to learn French; in the later 18th through 19th century we find them learning Italian (reading Dante while stirring soup); George Eliot went further and learned German when German Bible studies came in.

Texts function in a habitus, a context. The original immediate ones matter, are felt too. Shakespeare presents a picture of himself as a boy in school learning his Latin grammar (Merry Wives of Windsor). Dryden did all his translation in the last ten years of his life to make ends meet. Once William & Mary were in, he was out as a Stuart person. No more plays to be produced for him. His pension taken. So these beautiful verses are the product of hard desperation- and an ability to escape. He was escaping to the world of The Flower and the Leaf in his Fables ancient and modern. Anthony Trollope did not go to university and created his own self-esteem in how good he had been at Latin as a boy in public schools (where he was otherwise disdained for not being able to pay his fees, having shabby clothes) and late in life turned to Horace (we see this in his Old Man In Love). Horace was also a class marker for him that meant he belonged.

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A photo of Remedios Varo, escaped from the horrors of WW2 to Mexico (with her beloved cat)

Can we empathize with Austen’s sense of exclusion? Not quite. Looking at individual cases, we find that the spread of public schools has disseminated these texts with their wisdom, beauty, terrifyingly human stories. And yet exclusionary practices carry on, partly because the classics are seen as “not useful” and “hard.” Also they too emerge from particular and often anti-intellectual contexts in the US and social and racial conflicts.

On Janeites Catherine Schmick Janofsky who today holds an advanced degree in the classics and archaeology (they go together today) provided details of her younger years and when she taught in schools. “My junior high in Arizona, a school with maybe 200 students, offered Latin and Greek. I was in heaven. Alas, we moved home to San Diego when I was a sophomore and the school of 3000, Patrick Henry, did not. I took three years of German and continued through college. I had to wait til college at SDSU to continue. I majored in Latin. Latin, German, and Greek studied at one time makes for an interesting year. Classical archaeology at that time demanded it, two ancient, one modern. I took Spanish and Latin in grad school, in preparation for a royal dig in Belieze.” Then as a teacher in a charter and in a public school, children were taught Latin and this made them feel part of an elite. The public school children may not be able to eat (free lunches to the poor are now cut) but they could decline verbs and be part of an elite. Ironic human experience. Surely ambiguous — the child is being taught to reject its own background. So however good the texts might be in themselves, the context is teaching elitism and valuation of private schools poisons the public.

Diane Reynolds wrote that when her parents moved the family to where the children could go to a better school, she hoped for Latin but “the list of classes only meant that a class had been taught or might be taught again, not that it was currently on offer. My high school not only didn’t offer Latin, it didn’t offer German. I took French, which I had already started, and Spanish, the only other possibility. I picked up some reading German in college—two semesters worth—just enough to pass PhD language exams, which was why the course existed. And took Old English in graduate school and Hebrew in my Mdiv. (I tell my students, Jane Austen novels are not written in Old English, as they insist!) I suppose my point is to lament the general dearth of teaching foreign languages in this country. It really is a loss. I also find that taking just a few semesters of a language, at least for me, is not enough: it simply doesn’t stick without longer exposure.”


Alice Neel, a painting of Isabel Bishop (mid-20th century American artist) arriving at the studio

My story: as with Diane, in most schools I went to in NYC in the 1950s or 60s the two languages on offer were French or Spanish. Spanish was taken by the large numbers of Spanish speakers, and French lingered on as an instrument for college, and thus elite learning. Richmond Hill High School where I went was an unusual school for actually offering Latin. I heard that was dropped not long after I left — it used to have a good reputation as a public school (when humanities were valued). German classes in my experience are offered where there are German immigrants: again it’s a kind of cheat: the child is not extending his language or culture base. In Richmond Hill we did have Italian classes because there was a population of Italian people in Richmond Hill itself.

Fast forward to the 1990s in Virginia, in TC Williams High School, on offer are French, Spanish, and Latin, a lot of Latin, at least one Latin class for every hour of the day. How is this? I was one among many parents who put their kids in Latin classes in order to stream them automatically with other kids going to college. If you took Latin, you were streamed automatically into academic type classes. Who would take Latin? very few black kids (there were some), hardly any hispanic (one a class maybe). There were separate vocational streams in TC. There were also streams for AP.

How this happens? here are not that many classes for each subject. Say you are in AP English, it’s given but once a day, and so all taking that begin to have schedule which resembles others. Let’s say 50% of them take Latin — it was not as big as that. The largest number of language classes were in Spanish because of a sizable hispanic population in Alexandria. Izzy is Aspergers Syndrome (or Autistic Level 1) and I protected her from bullying, stigmatizing and cruelty (disabled children are mistreated) by putting her in Latin; she did love it from a young age: she read Edith Hamilton at 8 and had books of mythology and was keen on Latin because of her father. We what was the social result of her taking Latin. Laura, our older girl, was having bad difficulties too: as a pretty and sexy-looking girl, she was harassed (damned if you do and damned if you don’t), and she fought back by hitting someone hard with a book. She got into trouble, was shamed. Putting her into the Latin classes automatically put her in different classes from these thug boys and nasty girls. Other parents knew about this so in TC Williams at the time there was not only a Latin teacher, but two assistant teachers and Latin was taught every hour of the day; in the junior high at the time which took a population from Old Town the Junior High Latin was given four times a day.


Front Page (there is a 1966 reprint available on Amazon)

I was told most of these children did not go on for Latin in college. My two daughters did — and that is the family background. I’ll begin telling of this family background with a description of a family book owned by Jim, which I’m now told is called a “pony.” A slang name again suggests a coterie with its own inner language. It’s a fat Aeneid first published in 1882 and reprinted in the US in 1952 by the David McKay Company in New York. This one is a volume from a set of books called Classic Interlinear Translations; this one for the Aeneid (one volume of The Works of P. Virgilius Maro.” It’s described as a “interlinear translation, as nearly literal as the idiomatic difference of the Latin and English languages will allow, adapted to the system of classical instruction. Combining the methods of Ascham, Milton, and Locke by Levi Hart and V. R. Osborn. For each line of the Aeneid as Virgil wrote it, there is one beneath where the Latin is rearranged as an English sentence. And beneath that an English translation. This was Jim’s book in England (so it traveled across the pond) in the later 1950s, which he used in a local public (=private) school. Laura has said since Dad’s book made her very popular in college. She never let it out of her sight; when others used it they had to sit next to her. Izzy took it to Sweet Briar.

James Edward Austen-Leigh and Austen’s brothers were part of the male culture that read Latin — it made them superior to lower class men too, they were gentleman. My husband had many years of Latin in a public school as a day boy (wearing a different colored shirt so as to stigmatize him). Yet as an man he was fascinated by the history of the period as many of those who have such backgrounds. He had been taught manners and how to negotiate with middle class people in conferences. But his original context was the canning, caned when he didn’t do it right, buggery, suffering (the boys had had to stand in the pouring rain one day ruining their clothes as limousines ferrying MPs slid by). He still had the left over signs of welts in his palms from when he was struck with a hard stick in the hand hard. He was supposedly being lifted into another class by this training. Right. Still He could be amused by Winnie-the-Pooh in Latin – I still have that his copy of that book.

Years later when Izzy returned from Graduate school with her MLIS and was having brutal time getting a job, and becoming utterly isolated, she started at George Mason at night taking senior level BA courses and graduate for no credit or just a pass, so she would be people. And for the first 5 terms she took Roman history and yet more Latin classes. Alas, the 11 people she me and were with her for all that time lost out at the 6th term. Mason abolished the Latin and Greek or classical department because they said there were not enough students. They pretended not to and said they were merging just Latin with the Italian department because the Italian teacher (just one – -see the state of foreign language learning) could also teach latin. Izzy went on for 2 more terms at night and there was not one class offered. All 11 people who had been known to one another, sort friends, broke up. One of small tragedies of budget cutting. We have just seen a repeat of this in Fairfax county in disabled services where the people are deeply in need of the social environment and contact and pleasure.


My other Aeneid

As to myself I took 2 and 1/2 years of Latin in college (Queens, CUNY, I got there by two buses and livd in a rent control apartment in Kew Gardens) and got to the point where I could read simplified Latin texts. I used this groundwork later in life to pass an exam in medieval Latin for my Ph.D. (we had to pass two tests for an advanced level of language or 3 for a beginner or reader’s level). So I passed a beginner in Latin, French and Italian. Many years after this while translating Vittoria Colonna’s poems, I tried to read Renaissance Latin by one of Vittoria Colonna’s cousin, a treatise in which he was supposedly commending women and her as the great example of virtue. It dripped with condescension, and that it was in Latin made it unavailable for women to read. It’s claimed she read Latin but I’m no sure. I’m skeptical of all claims of women reading Latin in the Renaissance unless we have some proof. She wrote an Italian mixed with Spanish and never refers to a Latin text she read. Veronica Gambara by comparison translated a Latin poem and wrote a poem herself in Latin. But my real knowledge such as it is comes from translations and I enjoy translations and translating as such and enjoyed the different ones as a result of the translator. I knew Allen Mandelbaum who was a teacher in my graduate school and took and read his translation of Dante (as well as The Aeneid) and I have some good memories of this time – mixed as everything is too — each has its context and history.


Still l’ecriture-femme: women interested in home, domestic setting, a travel book in time

Izzy today enjoys reading Mary Beard, her Christmas present last year was Beard’s SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome, this year Pompeii: The life of a Roman Town. She doesn’t like the Aeneid herself, much prefers Horace to other Latin texts. She remembers Pliny the Younger whose letters seem to have charmed her. For me Confronting the Classics is a favorite book, in which I’ve stuffed paper essays by Beard from the TLS. I do not ignore Beard’s upper class antecedents and her present prestigious position at Oxford. That’s why she has her “A Don’s Blog on the TLS website. I own Anne Carson’s strange book of grief over her brother’s death, Nox, through a translation of Catullus’s poem on his brother’s death with many pages from other books (meaningful to her and him) and papers cut out and pasted into a series of accordion like pages. My favorite classics are the translated texts I’ve mentioned

I seem to have traveled a long way from Jane Austen and the classics. I’ve been exploring how the classics function in two friends’ lives and lives I know best today, how class, gender, monetary circumstances, local culture and our individual natures shaped how we understand and remember what we read and how these texts function for us. All this connects back to Austen — if only to say how long this stigmatizing of women and lower class people has been going on. And along the way I’ve shown how men and women have translated and responded to this poetry, these stories. I end on the poet thought the greatest of Austen’s period, Pope, his original Epilogue to his two last Horatian-Juvenilian satires: peculiarly apt for today’s times once again.

Vice now in charge.

In golden chains the willing World she draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws:
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead!
Lo! at the Wheels of her Triumphal Car,
Old _England’s_ genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragg’d in the dust. his arms hang idly round,
His Flag inveted trails along the ground.
Our youth, all liv’ry’d o’er with foreign gold,
Before her dance; behind her crawl the old.
See thronging millions to the Pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son.
Hear her black Trumpet thro’ the land proclaim,
That ‘Not to be corrupted is the Shame.’
In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow’r,
‘Tis Av’rice all, Ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be slaves.
See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves.
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore.
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
On crimes that scape, or triumph o’er the law;
While Truth, Worth, Wisdom, daily they decry —
‘Nothing is sacred now but villany.

Yet may this Verse (if such a verse remain)
Show there was one who held it in disdain.

Ellen

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A depiction of a party at Joshua Reynolds

nine men around a table set with fruit and decanters, served by a black page; Johnson on the left talking to Edmund Burke, with Boswell, Reynolds, who holds a trumpet to his ear, Garrick, Pasquale Paoli and Charles Burney, sitting and listening; Warton sitting at the end of the table to right, whispering something to Goldsmith; a Japanese screen on the right, curtains, a miniature portrait to left and a portrait bust to left; Reynolds’ pictures of Puck (Mannings 2142) and the Infant Academy (Mannings 2092) hanging on the wall; after James E Doyle; with semi-filled letters. 1848

Friends and readers,

It hasn’t been as long as it feels since I wrote the first of two blogs on the recent EC/ASECS conference at Howard University. A hacking attack on my website intervened, but all’s well for now. I here combine a report on the later afternoon panel of the first day, a session of readings, and the presidential address on the second day with a talk given at the Washington Area Print Group (a book history group) at the library of Congress because the subject (Samuel Johnson) was the same as the panel. I can offer the gist only of most of them.


Opie’s Samuel Johnson

Back to Friday afternoon, November 3rd. The chair was Anthony Lee. The first two speakers emphasized the modernity of Johnson. In “Samuel Johnson and Samuel Beckett: Like-minded masters of existential emptiness,” Thomas Curley suggested that Beckett and Johnson shared a fellow feeling, were intellectual soulmates even though Beckett was an atheist, and Johnson argued forcefully for holding to his Christian faith. While Beckett was at Trinity College, he was helped to find his voice by research into and reading of Johnson’s attachment to Hester Thrale. Beckett explored 23 sources, filled 3 notebooks, altogether 200 pages. In Beckett’s letters he talks of Johnson as madly ineffectually in love with Hester Thrale and insecurity. The 1930s saw ground-breaking psychological studies of Johnson, but, as Beckett conceded, there is no evidence for his specific belief that Johnson was also impotent. Krapp in Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape is a Johnsonian character who lives his life by way of tape recordings who looks at himself as a failure in life and is eager to be gone. I thought of David Nokes’s biography of Johnson where Nokes argues that Johnson lived with a deep sense of having failed himself in life.


Samuel Beckett

Greg Clingham’s paper was on Johnson and the Argentine writer, Jorge Luis Borges. Borges had a deep love for English; he read Don Quixote in English, loved Shakespeare, Whitman, Emerson, also Victor Hugo (presumably in English translation?). Gregg discussed how scholars of Borges ignore Borges’s attraction to Johnson and how Johnson’s name appears and re-appears in Borge’s conversations. Maria Kodama, his personal assistant for many years whom he married functions like Boswell, and appears to get in the way of scholarly work. Borges saw so much of himself in Johnson. Borges was especially interested in how impossible it is to fix language, and poetic meditative texts. So is Dictionary Johnson though the language he uses to describe these linguistic phenomena is different (see below).


Jorge Luis Borges

Then Brian Glover spoke a contrarian view while Anthony Lee attempted to find common ground: Glover insisted Johnson is not at all modernist, “not our contemporary.” He began with theories about print culture where it’s suggested that digital communication returns us to silent orality, talk. The famous first Boswell scholar, Frederick Pottle, attempted to make Boswell into a vast publishing venture, turning Boswell’s very contemporary talk style into print, beginning in 1967. Brian told us the familiar stories of the finding of the papers and the early history of book collecting, and presented the men as belonging to a culture of white male homosocial dreams where they were to live life together through building a library.


Formal portrait of James Bowell by George Williams

Anthony Lee’s paper was then about how there has been a slow overturning of stereotypes of Johnson (he’s naive, bigoted) and the various scholars gradually revealed views towards women, colonialism, politics that anticipate the later 20th century. Technology has had an impact. Yet Johnson resists modernity too; like T.S. Eliot he might be seen as an Anglican high culture modernist and connect to what is found in Bloomsbury writers and artists. Tony quoted passages from Idler No 60, Leslie Stephen, and Boswell: in the first Johnson is satirizing literary criticism of the close reading type (Dick Minim), in the second Stephen shows Johnson in his chair talking consciously happy and enjoying himself like some Socrates providing more deep thought than many many printed passages; in the last Beauclerk’s curious denial that Johnson was religious: Johnson seldom went to church and when he did, he appeared not to pay attention to most that was happening or said (like Hogarth’s Idle Apprentice).

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Kate Winslett as Marianne in a scene from the 1995 Sense and Sensibility (not in the book at all)

Mid-Saturday morning was to have been a keynote address; the speaker was ill, and three people talked from published books in her stead. Juliette Wells has written a book on Austen which includes a section on how early American readers felt about her through what Wells finds in their marginalia. Basically it seems Austen’s novels did not appeal to these ordinary readers. One reader was very glad when she finished Emma; another called Emma a silly book; readers are responding to a character in the book without any sense of the author’s presence or irony or stance towards the character. Mr Knightley is “tolerable” but Emma “intolerable. Frank is a “sneak;” Mrs Elton a “vulgar common woman.” Wells suggested that the earliest readers of Austen did not care for her books.

In a discussion afterwards, her assertion that Austen wasn’t liked by her earliest readers was questioned. She immediately backtracked and said of course British readers liked Austen; she is just talking about Americans; then questioned on her assertion about Americans in general, she backtracked again. It is hard to prove anything by the marginalia of a few chance comments in books by readers who are not thinking in any clear way about what they are reading. Listening to her I recognize what I often see in on-line groups’ postings about how they read books. I’m also not surprised that Austen’s satire was not appreciated by these few readers. There is a desire to sentimentalize Austen — seen in today’s movies: that urge has played a large role in popular Janeite re-vamping and reversing of the core meanings of Austen’s texts.

Beth Lambert and Eugene Hammond returned us to reading John Radner’s book on Johnson and Boswell’s friendship. Beth showed us how by careful analysis of key interactions in small seemingly unimportant uncrucial documents about and between Boswell and Johnson over a period of time, John pulled out a truthful depiction of a complex relationship. Eugene picked passages from Johnson’s letters to Hester Thrale, which he used to discuss the art of biography. How can one go deep into a personality and re-create a living presence in a book.


Jonathan Swift by James Bovard

After lunch Eugene got up again to give the presidential address, which was on his books and years of research on Jonathan Swift. His perspective was our own time of 2017 and the (now so clearly seen) dangerous decline of serious studies in the humanities, in academic subjects which teach people about their history, their culture, the political and art worlds they live in. We need to teach what counts as documentary evidence, how to use it, and how we live today in an international community. First he told about his career, and how in high schools he found how necessary it was to teach students to go outside narrowly framed issues and texts. He studied Swift’s texts and life and worlds for 25 years. That nowadays we are confronted with disrespect for a life thus lived. He then in effect overturned many stereotypes of Swift (as an embittered misanthrope, a social isolate &c); I wish I could have stayed for Eugene’s paper later in the afternoon asking whether Swift hated his relatives. Early on Eugene discovered Swift’s fundamental mistrust of religion used in the public sphere, his strong anti-colonialist streak. At the end of the talk Eugene described Swift’s specific milieus, the people he was surrounded by in Ireland. As a boy he was cut off from his nuclear family, and persuaded Esther Johnson to come to Ireland to live near him. Eugene then went through Swift’s works: A Tale of a Tub (the outsider perspective), Gulliver’s Travels, his attempts to persuade the English gov’t to give money to rebuild churches; once in Ireland the Draper’s Letters objecting to the English ruthless exploitation of Catholic Irish people. Swift founded a hospital. Most delightful of all was the way Eugene went over the Journal to Stella: a wonderful misnamed diary where we find how very particular acts and laws influence Swift’s and his friends’ lives intimately. Swift had many friends who left poems dedicated to him, one wrote a life. Eugene ended on a story told by Swift of his grandmother.

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Mary Melliner as Jenny Diver and Roger Daltry as Macheath (1987 BBC Beggar’s Opera, directed by Jonathan Miller)

As I wrote in my first blog, I was unhappily not able to stay for the later afternoon sessions of this second day. I was a member of the Molin panel (for the literary prize for fine graduate students’ papers) and would have listened to Courtnee Fenner’s “My dear pretty Jenny:” The Blackening of Jenny Diver in John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera and Polly: an Opera, as she was one of those who submitted a proposal to hand in her paper for the context. I particularly regretted not being able to attend the panel on Defoe. At lunch I had sat next to Joseph Rudman who gave one of the Defoe papers. He told me he remembered Jim and about conversation he had had with Jim at another luncheon about physics and Richard Feynman. Joseph worked as a physicist and professor for many years before turning to literature. His paper was on “the Rothman Group’s stylistic study of Defoe’s contribution to Robert Drury’s Journal.” He also told me about how he was reviewing one of the volumes of the new Cambridge edition of Shakespeare: like those for Richardson and Austen, enormously over-annotated sumptuously produced volumes. It seems large amounts of annotation do not necessarily produce a lucidly-presented work. Also that the latest fashion in Shakespeare scholarship is dissolving his canon and now 18 works hitherto attributed to Shakespeare are being contested as only partly by him or not at all. Joseph said it was clear some of these people had not gone back to the original studies of the printing of the Folio. What he had to say was more interesting and suggestive about our profession today than many papers. He was very witty and I enjoyed talking about Jim with him.

But this lacuna gives me room to end this second report with another paper given by Tony Lee at the Washington Area Print Group on a later Friday afternoon, November 17th (a couple of weeks later). He spoke on paratexts and intertextuality in Rambler No 2 and Johnson’s Dictionary. As I wrote in my blog-essay for Sarah Emsley’s Jane Austen series on Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, “For there is nothing lost, that may not be found: Charlotte Smith in Jane Austen’s Persuasion, Tony’s paper was suggestive about intertextuality (you need only have tiny texts to bring in wide layered meaning); here I go over how this relates in his view to mentorship (we can be mentored by texts) and paratexts (the prefaces).

Tony first said in his view Johnson’s Rambler (208 periodical essays) constitutes his greatest wholistic literary single literary work. Rambler No 2 looks at the dangers of looking into futurity using classical mottoes from Addison and Steele. The translation by Elphinstone in the essay suggests that “fond fleeting hope” is destroyed by looking ahead with anxiety; we are “defeated” before we try to fly. Meditations on mottoes like these led Johnson to read Pope out of their perspective in superior poetry. In the same way Dryden can be said to have mentored Pope as Pope studied Dryden in his original and translation writing. Dryden was also an important person for Johnson who quoted Dryden 157 times in his Dictionary. Tony then traced densely saturated quotations (mottoes) to allusive sources.

One example of genealogy: Johnson did not like John Gay’s Rural Sports(1713) and uses lines from it to define words (despeople) hostilely so that if you are diligent enough to search out the source texts, you can begin to read Johnson’s dictionary as a repository of Johnson’s creative life and thinking.

Oil painting on canvas, River Landscape, with Fisherman, and distant Ruins of an Abbey, manner of George Smith of Chichester (Chichester 1714 – Chichester 1776) and John Smith (Chichester 1717 – Chichester 1764).Tall tree in foreground; river runs across the centre of the picture. A fanciful ruin of slender Gothic arches on an eminence at right. A fisherman seated on near bank.

After a while all literature begins to become entangled. Tony said Pope may be said to have been mentored by Statius, a Silver Age poet. Johnson himself is thus deeply grounded in the past as he contemplates how to look at the future. Tony then quoted the familiar statement of T.S. Eliot on how tradition is central to the development of an individual talent to its highest degree and ended by quoting Herman Meyer (from The Poetics of Quotation in the European Novel) that “the charm of quotation emanates from a unique tension between assimilation and dissimilation.” The writer may make the other person’s texts their own in their book and link these to a new environment but these quotations remain detached and hold onto original meaning too. In my blog I suggested that Austen entangles Smith’s texts and her very life into Persuasion, but remains detached from these (as she does from the quotations from Byron and Scott, which themselves don’t change). Tony believes that Johnson was aware of these intertextual relationships as he read, though he would not use the language we do so not have quite the same concept.

This theory is particularly appealing to me who have lived much of my life apart from social groups and feel I was mentored by texts too, especially in my 20 years of translating poetry. I didn’t use the word, mentorship, but it’s what I meant when I described how I came to my theory of translation as I was translating the poetry of Vittoria Colonna and Veronica Gambara. See my on-line essay on translating.

As this is an Austen blog, I should add I think Austen was “mentored” by many authors this way — how else could she reach them, and several are strongly influential on her work, e.g., Shakespeare, Johnson, Cowper, Burney, Radcliffe, Smith, the French memorists. She never met just about any of these people and yet their thoughts and attitudes taught her much. the point is so often made how Austen chose not to go to a party where Madame de Stael was said to be. She didn’t need to. She had Delphine and Corinne on her shelves, and then in her mind. What could she have gotten by a social interaction in such an environment that could compare to communing with these books.

So ends my conference and lecture reports for the year 2017.

Ellen

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Anne Hathaway as Jane Austen reading and writing outside a cottage (Becoming Jane, 2007, scripted Kevin Hood, Susan Williams, directed Julian Jarrod)

Dear friends and readers,

I have over the years written several blogs on Christmas, mentions and uses by Austen in her novels (see especially her perception of Christmas in the novels) and the films adapted from them. In brief here is a sample:

Sense and Sensibility: The Miss Steeles “were prevailed on to stay nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private balls and large dinner parties to proclaim its importance.”

Pride and Prejudice: Caroline Bingley’s cruel letter to Jane ends: “I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings.”

Mansfield Park: Mary Crawford : “Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?” (she doesn’t believe that for a minute)

Emma (chosen from the long sequence): Mr. Weston: “At Christmas every body invites their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather.” (Mr Weston’s benign unsubtle view is not agreed with …)

Northanger Abbey: ‘Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim. Catherine knew all this very well; her great aunt had read her a lecture on the subject only the Christmas before; and yet she lay awake ten minutes on Wednesday night debating between her spotted and her tamboured muslin, and nothing but the shortness of the time prevented her buying a new one for the evening.’

Persuasion: “Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrove were the little Harvilles, whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the Cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was a table occupied by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper … the whole completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in spite of all the noise of the others. Charles and Mary also came in, of course … Mr. Musgrove made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and sat down close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but from the clamour of the children on his knees, generally in vain …”

You may skim the whole lot swiftly here.


Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth supposed reading Jane’s letters the winter after the Christmas visit of the Gardeners (who took Jane off to cheer her up, 1995 P&P, scripted Andrew Davies, directed Simon Langton)

*****************************

Tonight I went through her letters and an overview for the first time in a couple of years brings home to me once again, how much is missing. For some years and phases of the year we see a regular rhythm to the letters, say two or three journal-style over two or three days will repeat itself, and then nothing. Major events not noted because they don’t occur on the days of the letters left to us. As to mentions of Christmas or the weather, one can conjecture that if a group of balls, dances, parties, dinners are all occurring between the last week of December and first of January they might be related to a holiday and there is a feel of regularity of occurrence at this time of year, but I found but no mention of Christmas itself (the word) and it is itself a reference to a general time when someone is expected to return to where the Austens are living (Southampton). It’s almost surprising this lack of reference to Christmas in the letters; yes a majority were destroyed, even so if you read what’s there I could find but two mentions specifically.

This is the slim matter I gleaned; there is much more matter in these letters but I pulled only that which could conceivably relate:


Anna Maxwell Martin as Cassandra reading one of Jane’s letters (2007 Becoming Jane)

No 14, Dec 18-19, 1798, Tues-Wed; Tues, Dec 18, Steventon: “I enjoyed the hard black Frosts of last week very much, & one day while they lasted walked to Deane by myself.” (4th ed, p 27)

No 15, Dec 24-26, 1798, Mon-Wed; Dec 24, Mon, Steventon: Frank is in Gibaltar, she has returned from Manydown, her mother “does not like the cold Weather, but that we cannot help,” there has been a ball, but that it was for Christmas is never said. She does write: “I wish you a merry Christmas but no compliments of the Season.” Cassandra has danced away at Ashford, there was to have been a dinner at Deane the night she is writing this sentence, “but the weather is so cold that I am not sorry to be kept at home by the appearance of Snow.” There is no other mention of the holiday or weather (4th ed, pp 31-32)

No 17, Jan 8-9, Tues-Wed, 1799; Tues, Jan 8, Steventon: “a Ball at Kempshott this evening” … she had told Cassandra that “Monday was to be the Ball Night,” but no such thing.” Elizabeth has been very cruel about my writing Music; — & as a punishment for her, I should insist upon always writing out all hers and for her in future.” “I love Martha better than ever, & I mean to go & see her if I can when she gets home.” How there was a dinner at “Harwoods on Thursday, & the party broke up the next morning,” she shall be “such a proficient in Music by the time I have got rid of my cold, that I shall be perfectly qualified in that science at least to take Mr Roope’s office at Eastwell this summer … of my Talent in Drawing I have given specimens in my letters to you, & I have nothing to do but invent a few hard names for the Stars … ” Of a party at Manydown, “There was the same kind of party as last year, & the same want of chairs. — there were more Dancers than the Room could conveniently hold, which is enough to constitute a good Ball at any time.” She was not “very much in request –. People were rather apt not to ask me till they could not help it” … But no mention any of this specifically for Christmas nor the weather (4th ed, pp 34-36)

No 29, Jan 3-5, Sun-Mon, 1801; Sat, Jan 3, Steventon: What is “uppermost in my mind” is “you often wore a white gown in the morning, at the time of all the gay party’s being with you.” They visited Ash Park last Wednesday, “went off in a come-ca way; we met Mr Lefroy & Tom Chute, played at cards & came home again … ” This is letter is about what is happening at home because they are moving to Bath (providing for servants) and all the plans and doings about where they will live … (4th ed, p 69)

No 61, Nov 20, Sun, 1808; Sun Nov 3, Castle Square (Southampton): Mary Jane Fowle will “return at Christmas” with her brother.” Second and last use of the word in the collection that I found (4th ed, p 161)

No 63, Dec 2-28, Tues-Wed; Tues Dec 27, Castle Square: Eliza “keeping her bed with a cold … Our Evening party on Thursday, produced nothing more remarkable than Miss Murden’s coming too …. ” she “sitting very ungracious and silent with us … The last hour, spent in yawning & shivering in a wide circle round thefirst, was dull enough — but the Tray had admirable success.” She is talking of the food they ate, which by association leads to “Black Butter do not decoy anybody to Southampton.” No mention of any of this having anything to do with Christmas (4th ed, p 166)

A truly sparse amount of references. The novels give a sense of traditional parties, dances, festivities, rituals — as if in writing to the world she had to give such references and notice. Everything we read in other documents shows there were such, and from the early 16th century on we find such descriptions in diaries, journals, verse, documentary records. In the 1790s we begin to find references to Christmas a ritual of family getting together and a feeling of deep missing out if you don’t have such, if you live far from home (see for Southey’s Written on Christmas Day, 1795), from which I quote a passage here

I do remember when I was a child
How my young heart, a stranger then to care,
With transport leap’d upon this holy-day,
As o’er the house, all gay with evergreens,
From friend to friend with joyful speed I ran,
Bidding a merry Christmas to them all.
Those years are past; their pleasures and their pains
Are now like yonder covent-crested hill
That bounds the distant prospect, indistinct,
Yet pictured upon memory’s mystic glass
In faint fair hues. A weary traveller now
I journey o’er the desert mountain tracks
Of Leon, wilds all drear and comfortless,
Where the grey lizards in the noontide sun
Sport on the rocks, and where the goatherd starts,
Roused from his sleep at midnight when he hears
The prowling wolf, and falters as he calls
On Saints to save. Here of the friends I think
Who now, I ween, remember me, and fill
The glass of votive friendship …
Thus I beguile the solitary hours
With many a day-dream, picturing scenes as fair
Of peace, and comfort, and domestic bliss
As ever to the youthful poet’s eye …

And since in her novels, Austen characteristically tells only as much as is needful for her story in her novels, except for the scenes around Christmas in Emma, which themselves occur because the Knightley family gets together at Christmas (the way people do today), what emerges is the satiric nature of her work: most of the references are half-mocking, fatuous hypocritical meretricious behavior at Christmas is what she registered first just the way she registers this for musical concerts (when people pretend to understand and be ravished by music) or romantic poetry, except this time in the few cases of characters who can really feel sincerely: Marianne for music and poetry, Elinor for drawing, Fanny for pictures, Jane Fairfax for music, Mr Knightley for sitting over a fire, Anne Elliot music and poetry, Catherine Morland reading, but nothing for Christmas. Perhaps she did have distaste for what she saw come out of the holiday customs specifically, humanely speaking.

Comparatively, to cite a few other authors, while Trollope also dislikes all the hypocrisy and commercialism arising from Christmas, he has stories where there is quiet thematic use of Christmas attaching to it true charity or kindliness of spirit when rightly observed. Because of the strong distaste for ceremonies of lies here (and elsewhere in his fiction), I have never made a Christmas blog about his work that I can recall, but perhaps this year I’ll break that non-pattern and write about the nature of what Christmas stories he gets himself to write, and the ones that work well. A 20th century novelist who wrote a famous series of novel set in the 18th century uses Christmas regularly: the close of the Poldark books show Christmas as practiced in the 18th century Cornwall had a meaning for him. Tonight I quote Tennyson from In Memoriam where he has grieved so for the loss of a beloved friend expresses feelings somewhat like mine this morning:

Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess’d the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:

The yule-log sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

As in the winters left behind,
Again our ancient games had place,
The mimic picture’s breathing grace,
And dance and song and hoodman-blind.

Who show’d a token of distress?
No single tear, no mark of pain:
O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?
O grief, can grief be changed to less?

O last regret, regret can die!
No -– mixt with all this mystic frame,
Her deep relations are the same,
But with long use her tears are dry.

**************************

In going over Austen’s letters and then my blogs on the novels, and in context of the eras nearby, what I am again impressed with, is what is easy to find in the novels registered through many pictures in the films is Austen writing of letters, reading, writing, and dramatic uses of letters (far more than books). As my four stills chosen quickly and somewhat at random revealed — from a supposed biographical movie I have discussed hardly at all here.


Olivia Williams as a mature Austen writing Persuasion (Miss Austen Regrets, 2009, scripted Gweneth Hughes, directed Jeremy Lovering)

Ellen

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John Radner (1939-2017)

Friends,

Christmas is upon us, and I’ve yet to transcribe my notes on this year’s early November EC/ASECS conference, held at Howard University! I did not stay at the hotel but took the Metro each of the three trips (one evening, two days) so I arrived a bit late and left earlier than usual. We had our usual Thursday evening (Nov 2) of reading poetry aloud with a reception of drinks and snacks. It was the first time I had been to Howard University and I walked around campus too. I have about two blogs worth of papers and readings to tell of. This first one is on the first three sessions of the first day. The theme of the conference was “Capital culture and cultural capital.” I’d have loved to give a paper on Anthony Trollope’s stay in DC and his thought-provoking description of the city and surrounding environs during the civil war (including Alexandria and near where I live) but he’s not eighteenth century ….

I arrived on Friday morning, November 3rd, in time to participate in the tribute to John Radner (9:00 to 10:15 am). He was a great scholar who devoted his life to study and teaching, with his central interest in Johnson and Boswell. Last year as a culmination of a life-time of reading and thinking he published his book, Johnson and Boswell: A biography of a Friendship. He taught at George Mason for many years where I knew him. His office was across the hall from mine and we frequently talked during a few years when we were both there at the same time. He was an active and long-time member of EC/ASECS and also taught at the OLLI at AU where I teach too nowadays.


Joshua Reynolds, Samuel Johnson (intensely reading)

The tribute consisted of four papers read aloud and talked through by four close friends of John’s. Each paper had a theme dear to the heart of Johnson and/or Boswell. Ann Kelly was just finishing hers on her first trip to the Hebrides, with her children, commemorating John through how Johnson and Boswell’s have text stirred her (and many others) into visiting the Hebrides islands, and making friends there. Henry Fulton who has just published a massive biography on John Moore used an incident where Moore and Johnson came together through a poem by Helen Maria Williams. The poem was given to Burke, Burke shared it with Moore as did Reynolds who then showed it to Johnson. Henry’s point was to show the connections between these people whom John had been so engaged with over the decades. Linda Merians then spoke: John knew more of Johnson than anyone. Walter Jackson Bate who wrote the great biography of Johnson was John’s mentor. She talked of how John empathized with both Boswell and Johnson, and wrote of how each thought “I am never with this man without feeling better and rendered happier.” Melancholy united Boswell and Johnson who had a deep fear of breakdown. Beth Lambert whose biography is on Burke spoke of the failed friendship of Burke and Boswell. They remained aware of one another is as far as it got, Boswell transgressed by using some private confidence; Burke’s Irishness made him more sensitive to spreading gossip which could be turned against him. Burke in turn doubted Boswell was “fit” (not smart enough) for their weekly clubbing. In each case the speaker talked of his or her memories of John. It was a very touching hour.


Fanny Burney by John Bogle (detail)

The panel I was chairing, “Portraits of Frances Burney” came after a short coffee break (10:45-noon). Kaitlyn Giblin’s paper, “To nobody belonging, by nobody was noticed:” Navigating the bounds of Feminine Authority and Female Authorship in Burney’s Evelina. Kaitlyn examined the depictions of motherhood in Evelina; Caroline, Evelina’s mother, is not married and thus her daughter has no identity. Her very existence is to be hidden. Evelina gains some status when she is revealed to be her mother’s daughter, but she knows a seachange only when she marries. Mr MacCartney’s story fits into the same trajectory: he too needs legitimacy, recognition, acknowledgement. Kaitlyn’s paper fit into the rebellious but 18th century Johnsonian figuring of a public reasoning Burney. Noello Chao’s “The Arts and Indifference in The Wanderer” produced a different sort of portrait. Noello made the unexpected point of the price artists have to make when they practice their art. Her spirit is annihilated when she does practice because she is not appreciated and feels profoundly divorced from herself as she tries to play in front of others wholly alien to her. Burney presents the failure of art to inspire or make others feel meaningful; Juliette feels little pleasure or solace in what she is doing; she cringes because she has to sell herself. The novel is about the hidden costs of producing art. We also see how limited are the choices upper class women are given; susceptible to assault and invective. High continental forms do not satisfy; instead Stonehenge with its ancient natural space offers calm and a quiet place to feel herself. Burney does not reject labor but wants it to have a chance to be meaningful.

Lorna Clarke’s paper, “Juvenile Productions in the Burney Family” She discussed her discovery of the early writings of several members of the Burney family. They were an artistic group living in a vibrant atmosphere, in a sophisticated London culture with professional and amateur theatrics around them. It was wonderful to listen to Lorna’s enthusiasm as she described these works; they did resemble the Brontes in how they invented a magazine and shared their writing, inspiriting one another. They drew frontispieces, made indexes, were imitating published books. The experience (as practised by these children) was educational socially; they think of their audience. Lorna then read passages to show how these works are funny, nervy, uses legends; there is a 34 stanza ballad the children seek freedom as their narrators find their voice. They incorporate violence meant to be funny; and also have blood baths at the end of a tragedy. Sophia Elizabeth produced her own anthology; we know Frances wrote a novel about Caroline, mother of Evelina. The vividness of her style is there in the earliest of her journals. You can see gender at work. The figure of Persephone is used for melancholy and romance. There is ambiguity about being a writer. One of the children writing died relatively young after a period as a governess. There are also letters.


William Hogarth, The Graham family (children)

The papers had been so interesting, full of details and varied there was much talk afterward (as moderator I didn’t get to write it down so have no details). Several questions on the Wanderer and attitudes towards art in Burney’s family. Lorna seemed to have made us all want to peruse these juvenilia far more than I have ever wanted to read the Brontes’s famous tiny-lettered children’s lurid romances (until recently when in another context I heard a paper quoting from these, showing that in there are more passages than one might expect which anticipate their adult novels). I was reminded of the March family in Little Women who produce a Christmas number (a reflection of the Alcott family); the Austens, much older, wrote a periodical which had circulation among adult readers.

We adjourned for lunch and I went with two friends to a nearby Asian fusion restaurant where we had good talk and food.


Charlotte Ramsay Lennox (1730-1804)

For the first session of the afternoon I went to Eleanor Shevlin’s panel, “Collection, Curation & Classicism.’ It had a miscellany of papers. Hilary Fezzey talked about autism in the heroine of Charlotte Lennox’s Female Quixote and Hugh Blair’s letters. Her argument was an interesting and worthy one, as her point seemed to be how neurotypical (as she called the non-autistic) people are treated as a norm which all others have to be like. Which is unfair. People who are autistic may be said to lack social capital. She said that from Hugh Blair’s letters we can see he was socially very awkward, dressed differently, lived a wholly interior life, did not follow social “rules.” He had no sense of social inhibition where he should have been inhibited; seemed very innocent to others. He was married for a time. She felt the explanation for Arabella’s obtuseness and obsession with later 17th century heroic romances was that she is meant to be autistic. Even if Lennox would not have used that term, Hilary seemed to feel Lennox meant to describe autism as a type of person. She does not pay attention to other people, has no idea of social conventions, and the novel condemns her at the end.

Sylvia Kasey Marks’s paper was on the 20th century great playwright, Arthur Miller and the 18th century forger, Henry Ireland. She discussed them as both appropriating the work or understood persona and style of someone else. In the early phase of his career Miller wrote radio plays, and some of these are dramatizations of someone else’s novel. She demonstrated that in Miller’s case we see him consistently change his original to fit his own vision. Unlike Ireland, Miller was not trying to find a new space in which he could create something unlike what others were writing at the time. He was building his career and operating within a considerable group of constraints (which include pleasing the audience). Sylvia told the whole sad story of Ireland, including a conflict with his father, and how we may see popular attitudes towards Shakespeare in some of Ireland’s writing.


Arthur Miller when young (photograph found on the Net)

Bill Everdell gave a detailed historical paper, excellent, on “the evangelical counter-Enlightenment.He discussed the relationship between ecstasy and doctrinal fundamentalism in 18th century Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. He was exploring powerful social and psychological currents in the era. He went into the more learned treatises, attitudes towards self-determination, equality, passion, calmness. I couldn’t begin to take down the details.

There was not much time for discussion afterward so I was not able to register the serious doubt I had about analyzing a character in a novel according to 20th century diagnostic criteria in watered-down ways. I know from experience before someone is diagnosed for autism, they are interviewed and must have 2 characteristics out of six sets of them on six sheets of paper. Arabella is a naif figure in a Quixote satire. Hugh Blair’s self-descriptions are closer to possibility as he was a real complex person but we’d have to have more evidence from others. People did attempt to ask about Miller and also the Islamic Enlightenment.

More on the later afternoon and Saturday in my second blog.


George Morland (1763-1804), study of a cat

Ellen

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Amanda Root as Anne Elliot walking among the autumn leaves (1995 BBC Persuasion, scripted Nick Dear, directed Roger Michell)

Dear friends and readers,

I am chuffed (proud, happy) to say two new essays on Charlotte Smith by me are now available from the power and liberty of the Internet. The first is my essay for Sarah Emsley’s new series of blogs, “Youth and Experience: Northanger Abbey and Persuasion,” due to start December 16th. Mine is one of two previews;

“For there is nothing lost that may be found: Charlotte Smith in Jane Austen’s Persuasion

The other is by William Hutchings, Honorary Research Fellow at the University of Manchester, UK, “A Sense of An Ending: Persuasion and Keats’s “Ode to Autumn.”

It will be seen both of us chose to dwell on the autumnal aspects of Austen’s Persuasion and how she uses or provides an analogy for autumnal poetry by two contemporary or near contemporary poets. Thus Sarah put ours on her blog before Austen’s birthday in order to be seasonally on time.

I am writing this separate linked-in blog since I want to make sure there is no misapprehension about the four years worth of blogs on this site about Jane Austen’s letters and the Austen papers. The blogs came out of a group read we did on the two Austen lists (Austen-l and Janeites) several years. It was my idea to do the letters slowly, one a week. However, what insights emerged were a “hive” effect, the result of all of us putting our collective heads together to close read and add our own bits of knowledge and insight—and sometimes clashing on who Austen was as a person. It was a wonderful experience.

The second is on Charlotte Smith in a different or wider vein: I’ve decided to put my paper on “The Global Charlotte Smith: migrancy and women in Ethelinde and The Emigrants on academia.edu where it may be read now. It is also timely in a different way: for its political perspective on women and emigration.


A photograph taken in Oxford, Wytham Woods this November 19, 2017 by a friend

Ellen

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