"Blarden," said Ashwoode, in a voice low and husky with agitation, "she'll never consent--you can't expect it; she'll never marry you."
"I'm not talking of the girl's consent just now," replied Blarden.
-- from The Cock and Anchor (262)
Spoilers!
I previously read J. Sheridan Le Fanu's last novel, Willing to Die, for the Classics Club, and now have the chance to review his first, The Cock and Anchor (1845). Unlike his more well-known thrillers and tales of terror this is a historical melodrama, set in the early 1700s and subtitled "A Chronicle of Old Dublin City," which was generally thought to be written under the influence of Sir Walter Scott. Le Fanu does, though, already show a flair for the atmospheric trappings of
stormy nights, ruined mansions, sinister strangers, and "nature's beautiful decay" (18) that
he would develop in his later masterpieces.
The romance of young Edmond O'Connor and Miss Mary Ashwoode hits a snag when her aristocratic father decides to marry her off to someone wealthier. Complications continue to develop, centered generally around the Cock and Anchor inn, and drawing in various Dubliners, even Jonathan Swift (yup, that one), who turns up in a cameo to be sarcastic and explain that "what I hate I hate entirely" (117).
As in the works of Wilkie Collins, many of Le Fanu's novels show how women in his time, even the rich and privileged ones, were legally at the mercy of men. They supposedly don't need real rights because they're under the protection of husbands or fathers, but frequently those very men are the ones they need protecting from. Here, Miss Ashwoode is put into a situation of quintessentially Gothic danger by the actions of her father and, even more, her deep-in-debt brother, who memorably muses "Ten to one I blow my brains out before another month. A short life and a merry one was ever the motto of the Ashwoodes" (216).
Most of the characters are thinly sketched, especially the central lovers. They're attractive, she's sweet, and he's noble, but there isn't much else to them. This is very unlike future Le Fanu heroines, like the fully developed Maud of Uncle Silas, and the young women of "Carmilla," who've indelibly influenced generations of vampire fiction on page and screen.
To be fair, though, this book does give us the amazing Flora Guy. When I was reading this, I tweeted my amazement to a friend: "I'm reading a novel from 1845 that's a historical melodrama with some Gothic leanings. The heroine was imprisoned by the villain, and I assumed that her love interest would rescue her. But nope! She's saved by a barmaid who was hired as a servant, who plans and orchestrates an escape. So: awesome."
And yes, it is!
There is, unfortunately, also a Jewish moneylender named Mr. Craven, so, oy vey. Reading 19th-century novels is definitely an exercise in appreciating progress where you find it.
Unlike some of the other lesser-known Le Fanu novels, this one is available in a beautiful Valancourt Books edition, with plentiful footnotes, a lengthy introduction, and an appendix including contemporary reviews.
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