Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

*contains spoilers*


In 1803, Jane Austen finished her first novel for publication, and was paid £10 by Benjamin Croft & Co. for her hard work. Unfortunately, this novel sat unpublished by Croft for six years, and, on asking in a very strongly worded letter whether they had lost the first manuscript and, if so, would they like a second, Croft offered to return the original for same price they had paid for it six years before. Unfortunately, Austen was at this time in some financial difficulty, and could not afford to buy back the manuscript – instead, she decided to turn her attention to finishing the other novels she had begun since then: Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and Emma (you may have heard of them). The novel which remained unpublished until her death in 1817 is the one about which I am writing now – Northanger Abbey – and was thankfully bought back from the publisher after the success of the three previously named works made that endeavour possible. In 1818, a full year after her tragic death, Jane’s brother Henry published a folio of her works and revealed the writer’s true identity (she had been publishing her novels under a pseudonym until then), and spoke very movingly about his sister’s nature: her wit, her intelligence, and her religious devotion in a now famous foreword. This alone is worth a read if you can spare the time.


This introduction will, I hope, be more than enough to encourage you to buy and enjoy this wonderful work – but if it does remain unsuccessful, I shall do my very best to persuade you with what I now have to say. As you can see from my previous blog post, I moved on to Northanger Abbey from a quite serious and Realist novel, Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady, so on reading the first chapter of Northanger Abbey I relished the first taste of Austen’s deliciously sarcastic wit on my tongue as I read aloud certain fragments to friends. As a starter, Austen is quick to lash out in defence of the novel in an example of a discussion where some gentleman or other mocks a lady for her interest in the form; ‘”And what are you reading, Miss ---?” “Oh! It’s only a novel!”…or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed…in which…the liveliest effusions of wit and humour are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.’ This defence is appropriate because this text itself is really a book about books – this theme drenches each action and motive, each character and setting. If someone doesn’t like novels, or undermines the notion of books and stories and learning, it is to their character’s detriment. And rightly so, I say!


I mentioned Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady earlier, and it only feels right for me to point out something glaringly obvious that brings the two together: both begin as novels of courtship and society, and both end swamped in Gothic imagery – and both are also split down the middle into two volumes, one for each respective approach. As Catherine, our heroine, discusses with her suitor Henry on the way to the titular Northanger Abbey the Gothic mysteries she loves so dearly (a passion which he shares, thus qualifying his inherent virtue and good character), she ends up becoming swallowed by the convention, seeking plots of murder, deceit and betrayal in the Gothic setting where none exists. Eventually, Austen uses speech marks to denote Catherine’s fragmented inner narrative voice fictionalising all the goings-on around her, as though Northanger were in fact the very setting where Ann Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho (one of the many Gothic mysteries cited by our heroine) all took place; ‘”This lengthened absence, these solitary rambles, did not speak a mind at ease, or a conscience void of reproach.”’ Catherine is the narrator of her own interior Gothic novel, and eventually it shatters any hope of her being able to enjoy being with the Tilneys during her stay. It is, nevertheless, an act of creation that one cannot take away from her; something that Catherine and Miss Austen both share.


I shall have to stop there, but if you want what Austen usually offers and more, please do try this mildly flawed and yet vividly colourful tapestry. And do get stuck into the introductions and forewords that your particular edition might offer, either before or after reading, as it’s a rewarding process. And let me know your thoughts!

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