The Innate Fear of Religion and Sex Within Gothic Novels

Gothic novels have been thrilling audiences for hundreds of years, making use of sublime imagery and setting that effectively invokes fear within the reader. When looking at The Monk, Lewis’ imagery is spellbinding when it comes to The Bloody Nun, “I beheld before me an animated Corpse. Her countenance was long and haggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The paleness of death was spread over her features, and her eye-balls fixed stedfastly upon me were lustreless and hollow.[1]” The use of supernatural imagery within Lewis’ novel is something that can be found within other gothic novels. It is a device that allows the author to enhance the plot, cloaking it within a darkening setting that helps to successfully invoke a sense of unease. However, another motif that Gothic writers employ in their pieces is religion. The concept of religion can have connotations of repression and control when looked at from a modern perspective, especially where women are concerned. This can be seen by the ‘rules’ women are given within certain religious scriptures, forcing them to put not only their God, but their husbands above themselves. Gothic expands upon the horrors that religion has in-sighted such as crusades, burnings and inquisitions – mirroring them back to the reader in order to provoke the sensation of dread, and how it can be entwined within every day life.

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One novel that explores the idea of the repression due to religion is The Monk: A Romance by Matthew Lewis, which is based predominantly within a church. The novel follows many storylines that soon weave into one, but the titular ‘monk’ (Ambrosio) holds the audiences’ attention for most of the story. Lewis’ writing takes the ‘pure’ architypes of monks and nuns and inverts it – causing the characters to not only give into their base urges, but, in the case of Ambrosio, to damn his soul, in order to save himself from death. This dramatic fall from grace is highlighted with the gross imagery of the monk’s rape of the innocent Antonia, after first drugging her. Ambrosio is able to justify every transgression that he commits, as he believes that not only could he be saved, but that Antonia should fall for him, “He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of help, cut off from all the world and totally in his power, Antonia should comply with his desires. The affection which she had ever expressed for him, warranted this persuasion: but he resolved that should she prove obstinate, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying her. Secure from a discovery, he shuddered not at the idea of employing force,[2]” the horrifying rape and murder of Antonia is startling. A holy man not only raping, but murdering an innocent woman, merely because he feels entitled to, is something that people throughout the ages  have feared. During the period that the novel was written, it can be assumed that the notion of a holy man (who had been brought up in the church since the age of two) could fall so far from grace would create an extra dimension of terror. However, within a post #MeToo world, the threat and fear of men like Ambrosio is all too real, which proves that Lewis has created a timeless piece of fear.

Another example of ‘holiness’ being subverted is The Prioress, who is seen as “viciously cruel in the name of virtue”[3] as she breaks several vows, poisoning a pregnant Agnes before locking her in a crypt to mentally and physically torture her. Lewis makes use of anti-Catholicism as a theme within The Monk highlighting the catholic faith as people who will believe anything, as can be seen as The Prioress uses tales to keep the nuns inline. Lewis uses horror during the scene in which The Prioress meets her demise – the scene feels almost suffocating as she is beaten to death. This imagery is arguably Lewis’ comment upon what should happen to those who practice Catholicism, or religion in general, given that during the period in which the novel was written, King George III (a devout protestant) was king of England. It was common in the 1700’s that the majority of the country would follow the religion of the monarch of the time.

Anti-Catholicism was rife when The Monk was being written, and the general feeling was spoken by William Blackstone, “[…]said of the Protestant dissenters would hold equally strong for a general toleration of them;[..]If once they could be brought to renounce the supremacy of the pope, they might quietly enjoy their seven sacraments, their purgatory, and auricular confession; […] But while they acknowledge a foreign power, superior to the sovereignty of the kingdom, they cannot complain if the laws of that kingdom will not treat them upon the footing of good subjects.[4]” it could be argued that Lewis wrote The Monk in response to the social climate surrounding Catholicism. This adds a sense of realism to the novel, which renown Gothic writer, Clara Reeve, believed was integral for creating a piece of Gothic fiction, as can be seen in her preface to The Old English Baron. In this, she writes, “[…] we can conceive, and allow of, the appearance of a ghost; we can even dispense with an enchanted sword and helmet; but then they must keep within certain limits of credibility: […]When your expectation is wound up to the highest pitch, these circumstances take it down with a witness, destroy the work of imagination, and, instead of attention, excite laughter. I was both surprised and vexed to find the enchantment dissolved[5],” Reeves’ ideals for gothic writing merges perfectly with Lewis’ novel, adding a true sense of terror to the piece. With the realism being expertly woven into both texts, the writing of the authors is elevated, thus creating timeless classics, however, Horace Walpole would disagree.

Walpole, who wrote the novel that ‘initiated’ the gothic genre, The Castle of Otranto, firmly believed that the gothic genre needed a fantastical element to it, in order to create a sense of dread within the reader. When reading Reeves’ work (which was a self-professed response to Walpole’s text), he wrote a letter in which he noted that the storyline was, “So probable, that any trial for murder at the Old Bailey would make a more interesting story[6].” This sparked an on-going debate within the Gothic community, as to whether or not realism truly has a place within the genre. Even within Lewis’ novel, realism and surrealism are blended expertly, with the very human-evil of Ambrosio, and the surreal ‘bloody nun’. It is arguable that Gothic novels need both real and surrealism in order to create an even balance.

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Sexuality is rife within The Monk, the overtly sexual character of Matilda is the opposite of the pure Antonia. Not only does Matilda dress as a man, in order to get close to Ambrosio, but she also ensures that he is aware of her sexual desires toward him. This goes against the biblical ideal of how a woman should behave, as written by Matthew 6:33-34, “But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own[7].” This passage tells women to seek full happiness and guidance in God, rather than in others. This becomes integral within Lewis’ novel as it introduces the theme of sexuality, something prevalent within the Gothic genre, and in this case, introduces the downfall of the protagonist. Matilda’s sexual prowess leads Ambrosio toward his ultimate demise, after he learns that Lucifer has used Matilda as a pawn to gain Ambrosio’s soul, “Scarcely could I propose crimes so quick as you performed them. You are mine, and heaven itself cannot rescue you from my power. Hope not that your penitence will make void our contract. Here is your bond signed with blood; you have given up your claim to mercy, and nothing can restore to you the rights which you have so foolishly resigned.[8]” Lewis seamlessly blends the sin of sexuality and the devil together, inferring that due to the constricting nature of the Catholic religion, it is inevitable that men will fall into the clutches of the Devil.

The use of religion and sexuality within the Gothic is imperative, and is fantastically effective. As George Haggerty notes, “By placing this violence in the chapel of Otranto and suffusing the scene with the air of a religious sacrifice, Walpole makes a subtle connection between the heteronormativity of sexual violence and the patriarchal law of the father that Catholicism insists upon. “The following work was found in the library of an ancient catholic family,” Walpole tells us in the preface to the first edition of the novel, and “the principal incidents are such as were believed in the darkest ages of Christianity.[9]” This insight encapsulates how the climate of the time period in which these novels were written affected them, and how they can still be important within today’s society.

 

[1] Matthew Lewis, The Monk (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1976.)

[2] Matthew Lewis, The Monk (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1976.)

[3] Matthew Lewis, The Monk (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1976.)

[4] William Blackstone, Commentaries on The Laws of England (Bl. Comm. IV, c.4 ss. iii.2, p. *54)

[5] Clara Reeve, The Old English Baron (London: Printed for C. Dilly, 1780)

[6] Peter Cunningham, The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford

[7] Isaiah 22. 17; II Corinthians

[8] Matthew Lewis, The Monk (Boston: Twayne Publishers.)

[9] George Haggerty, https://www.erudit.org/en/journals/ron/2004-n36-37-ron947/011133ar/

A Monster Calls

Hello!

My first review will be upon A Monster Calls. Throughout the review I shall be referring to both the novel by Patrick Ness and Siobhan Dowd, and the film with Liam Neeson. I shall warn you now that there are spoilers ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I first read this book because I was (and still am) a huge fan of Patrick Ness, especially his Chaos Walking Trilogy (something I shall no doubt cover). I became so engrossed in the story that I finished the book within five hours of purchasing it. The artwork captivated me, as did the protagonist and his monster. So, you can imagine that I was petrified when I found out that a film was going to be made of this novel that I held so dearly, and so close to my heart. We all know how painful some adaptations from book to film can be. However, I was not disappointed. Liam Neeson was the perfect casting as The Monster, and Lewis McDougall was phenomenal as the protagonist, Conor.

If you have no idea about A Monster Calls, the story was thought up by Siobhan Dowd before she bequeathed it to Patrick Ness to continue writing after her death. The plot follows Conor, a boy dealing with his mother’s illness, and a recurring nightmare that eventually calls the titular Monster to visit him. The Monster promises Conor three tales, before he shall have Conor tell him a fourth. What ensues is a heartbreakingly painful illustration of Conor coming to terms with the end of his tale, and how he must tell his truths.

(I will warn you once more, real spoilers to come soon.)

There is a very good reason that I have chosen this as my first review. The pain that Conor goes through so closely mirrored my own when I lost my nan to cancer, that reading the book actually reduced me to sobbing mess. It was as though Dowd and Ness had delved into the very darkest recesses of my mind and printed it upon the pages before me. I felt that deep, resonating fear and pain that it was I who killed my nan; that, because I could not save her, I had condemned her. I had the recurring nightmare of desperately clinging to her hand as the world opened beneath us, using what little strength I had to try and keep her from falling. Fear kept me from seeing her, as facing her whilst she was so ill broke me. To see the illness spread across her skin made it all seem too real. Just as Conor saw his mother losing her strength, and the spark that was once there, I saw it leave my nan. A woman I loved more than anything, someone who was a second mother to me. But, like Conor, I just wanted that pain to end. I wanted the world to continue turning, and to continue as normal – which, of course, it did not. However, unlike Conor, I was not by her side when she passed. I did not get to say goodbye as I was miles away in London at the time she slipped from us. A Monster Calls meant so much to me at the time of reading because it served as a reminder that it wasn’t my fault. That she couldn’t be saved, and I, as a teenager, had no control over it.

The stunning artwork by Jim Kay merely adds to the beauty of this already perfectly crafted novel, allowing the world to become even more real within the mind of the reader. The film adaptation managed to incorporate this, as the scenes with the three stories told them through similar artwork – creating a striking difference between the stories being told, and the story Conor is living. At the end of the film, we see Conor’s mothers drawings are of the tales, thus giving us the initial inspiration for them.

The story is masterfully told, weaving the pain that Dowd must have felt as she dealt with the ever-growing realisation that it would be cancer that took her, with the pain everyone feels when they lose one that they love. However, please do not think that this novel is all doom and gloom, it isn’t. There are touches of wonderfully real humour in there, and moments so heart-warming that it reminds the reader that, yes, the pain is there, and it is real – but you are not alone. There is always someone with you, even if you are not necessarily a match on paper. There is a sense of realism within this novel that I think is difficult to find within fiction, especially when there are such fantastical elements within the piece.

I hope you have enjoyed my first review, and please let me know if there is anything you would like me to review! Have a wonderful evening.

LaurenReviews