Continuation of
study hall this post.
I began the last post with Austen's allusion to Samuel Johnson in
Mansfield Park. In context, the reference comes from Fanny's time at Portsmouth, when she compares Portsmouth vs Mansfield to Johnson's take on marriage vs celibacy—that is, that while marriage has some pains, celibacy can have no pleasures. (Portsmouth = celibacy and Mansfield = marriage in this analogy. Analyze away!) His line comes not from his poetry, but from
Rasselas, a "prose fable."
I would ... not call it a fable, though I'm not sure what I
would call it. My professor talked of it as a proto-novel: it has relatively distinctive characters, episodic adventures tied into something approximating an over-arching plot (though without appearing interested in an actual dénouement—it doesn't so much conclude as stop), more or less characteristic dialogue, and a major theme. The theme, of course, is Johnson's favourite topic (and/or pet peeve): the proper way to pursue happiness.
However, the characters are very, very thinly drawn, serving more as vehicles for the discussion and reflection than anything like credible human beings. The prof says we don't really get that level of sophistication and psychological realism until Austen, though I think we do see it in drama from the Renaissance onwards. But prose, yeah, iffy, though there are still some compelling characters.
Like! FANTOMINA, GUYS. She has maybe three personality traits, but they are all
amazing. It's about a woman who would be a genius superspy in another time, but in her own, wastes her talents on this douchebag that she's completely obsessed with. We've got to assume he's really good in bed, as 1) his name is Beauplaisir and 2) he shows no attractive personality traits, and the actively repellent one of discarding every woman he gets entangled with as he quickly bores of them.
Spoiler:
every single one of those women is Fantomina. It's not her real name. She's a lady who keeps disguising herself as different women to catch his interest, without ever being caught. This happens over and over again because, well, her superspy talents are wasted on this asshole. She would have just kept on going, with every indication that she would have succeeded indefinitely, if she hadn't gotten pregnant. Boo. There's a pretty great scene when Fantomina is finally pressured into revealing the identity of her lover, and when Beauplaisir is like "umm I'm pretty sure I would know if I'd dishonoured a lady," Fantomina's like "welllllll as it happens I seduced him under multiple disguises and he never realized he was fucking the same woman. My bad!" And then they're like, um, it seems weird to punish this guy for being stalked by a superspy ~of lust.~
Anyway, back to the less entertaining but more thoughtful fable thing. Not a real novel—or short story/novella—but inching closer. (I still miss the richness of Renaissance drama, though. Now THOSE are characters. Sometimes. *squints at Volpone*)
RIGHT. JOHNSON.
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