My
life has for several years been a theatre of calamity. I have been a
mark for the vigilance of tyranny, and I could not escape. My enemy has
shown himself inaccessible to intreaties and untired in persecution.
My fame, as well as my happiness, has become his victim. Every one, as
far as my story has been known, has refused to assist me in my distress,
and has execrated my name. I have not deserved this treatment.
William Godwin's novel Caleb Williams was originally titled Things As They Are, which
is admittedly a strange title for a fictional book. Godwin, a
18th-century radical writer and philosopher, believed that his fiction
spoke to fundamental truths about the operation of the class system in
the England of his day, and while that might have been so, the Gothic
improbabilities and overblown melodrama of Caleb Williams make the title even stranger.
Caleb
is a servant in the household of Ferdinando Falkland, a wealthy
landowner who is renowned but depressive and withdrawn. Another servant
informs him that Falkland was once cheerful and sociable, but a
conflict with another squire, named Tyrrel, took such a toll on him that
his character was forever changed. Godwin devotes a full third of the
novel to this story. Tyrrel, Caleb learns, was so jealous of Falkland's
eminence and popularity that he endeavored for years to destroy him.
Falkland's behavior in account is comically noble--at one point he just
happens to be in the right place to save Tyrrel's beloved cousin Emily
from a deadly fire--but all that ends when Falkland is put on trial for
Tyrrel's shocking murder. Falkland, being noble and well-loved, is
acquitted of the crime, but Caleb notices inconsistencies in the story
that suggest Falkland may have been guilty after all.
Caleb's
curiosity gets the better of him, until he essentially goads his master
into confessing. Though Caleb insists he will remain silent, Falkland
persecutes him doggedly throughout the rest of the novel, falsely
charging him with theft, condemning him to prison, and generally making
his life miserable. Caleb's counter-accusation of Falkland only serves
to make his crime more notorious, because Falkland's nobility protects
his reputation. Caleb, having escaped from prison, finds he has become
an infamous criminal.
It seems as if Godwin has set up a
classic tale of vengeance, but Caleb only desires to be out from under
Falkland's persecution. In fact, the most interesting element of Caleb Williams is
Caleb's insistence throughout his ordeal that Falkland remains
essentially good, and his unwillingness to accuse his former master
except when he feels there is no other recourse. The novel wears its
social program on its sleeve in a way that often seems preachy and
didactic, especially a long section describing prison life, peppered
with footnotes directing the reader to firsthand accounts of the English
prison system. But Godwin's depiction of a man who has so thoroughly
absorbed the dictates of social inequality that he prefers suffering to
exposing his master to infamy is its strongest commentary.
Unfortunately, it cannot salvage Caleb Williams' ragged
plot. The resolution in particular is extremely unsatisfying--after
fleeing Falkland's persecutions for 200 pages, Caleb's solution is to
accuse Falkland a second time, but like, harder. This scene has
an elegant reversal to it--instead of denigrating Falkland, Caleb
somehow manages to force a confession from him through adulation--but
Godwin fails to explain why this scene couldn't have taken place months
before.
I read this novel for a class I'm taking on
19th-century literature, so that's a lot of what I'll be posting over
the next few months. One thing I'm noticing about the century as a
whole: They thought abstract nouns were awesome. (Fortitude,
depravity, sensibility...) Apparently we didn't decide that "show,
don't tell" was a maxim of writing until the 20th century. It might be a
long semester.
3 comments:
I remember really loving Caleb Williams and then feeling really tired by the end. However, I still enjoy that feminist mom + anarchist dad = Frankenstein. Probably my love for Frankenstein and the idea of Shelley's DNA is what kept me going through both her mom and dad's books.
We have to read one of Wollstonecraft's novels next (Either Maria or Mary, I forget which). Generally, what I've seen of her writing has been more interesting and vibrant than what I've seen of his.
Among the many, many damning anecdotes about Godwin in Muriel Spark's biography of Mary Shelley is the story of how Mary was forced to remind Leigh Hunt to be careful how he addressed his letters to Godwin: “Pray put W.G. Esq., since the want of that etiquette annoys him. I remember Shelley’s unspeakable astonishment when the author of Political Justice asked him half reproachfully why he addressed him ‘Mr.’ Godwin.”
This sensitivity somewhat undermines his thesis in CW, I feel.
The Spark biography is terrific, by the way, and offers ample evidence in support of the theory that Godwin was a bastard.
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