THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
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their social class and education, proved particularly receptive to an easily assimilated, but morally serious, ‘realist’<br />
literature. If heroic prejudices were gradually rejected in the theatre by self assured metropolitan audiences permeated<br />
by commercial, professional, and ethical codes of value, so the English novel appears to have developed in response to<br />
a demand for a new kind of literature which emphasized the significance of private experience. It cannot be argued<br />
that the central characters in the novels of the first half of the century are drawn exclusively from the middle classes,<br />
but few are aristocrats and none are monarchs. Tyranny and murder are domesticated; usurpation is replaced by<br />
disputes over title-deeds, entails, and codicils; courtship and marriage become affairs of the heart not of the state, and<br />
the death-bed enters the English novel as death on the battlefield exits. Even the panoply of the funeral, a major<br />
concern of Richardson’s dying Clarissa, is democratized.<br />
Defoe’s long experience of the vagaries of official censorship and the book-trade clearly stood him in good stead<br />
when he began a vigorous new phase in his career with The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson<br />
Crusoe in 1719. The earlier stages of his career are marked by abrupt twists and entanglements which took him from<br />
his respectable origins as a Presbyterian tradesman in London, through an active espousal of the doomed rebellion of<br />
the Duke of Monmouth and the more propitious cause of William of Orange, to employment as a government spy. His<br />
first literary success, The True-Born Englishman (1701), an anti-xenophobic plea for the acceptance of a foreign king<br />
and his Dutch friends, was overshadowed by the reaction to the transparently ironic pamphlet The Shortest Way with<br />
the Dissenters (1702). Having attempted to win sympathy for his Dissenting co-religionists, in a particularly volatile<br />
political atmosphere, with the hyperbolical argument that Dissenters should simply be exterminated, Defoe found<br />
himself the immediate object of state persecution. His pamphlet was publicly burned and its author imprisoned and<br />
exposed in the pillory. After a period as founder of, and chief contributor to, the thrice-weekly newspaper The Review<br />
(from 1704), he became an undercover agent for the Government, monitoring Scottish responses to the proposed<br />
Union. This Scottish episode provided material both for his Tour and for his History of the Union of 1709. Robinson<br />
Crusoe differs from most of Defoe’s earlier works in that it represents private moral zeal rather than a public plea for<br />
reform; propaganda it may be, but its emphasis is on spiritual rather than on political justice. Robinson Crusoe ‘of<br />
York, Mariner’ gives over only some two-thirds of his narrative to his life on his desert island, but the account of<br />
those twenty-eight years forms the most compelling section of his memoirs. He is an ideal choice of narrator given the<br />
extraordinary nature of his experiences. Crusoe is ‘of good family’ and because of his sound education ‘not bred to<br />
any trade’. His decision to go to sea is an act of rebellion, determined on in defiance to both his mother<br />
[p. 304]<br />
and his father, and from it he traces his withdrawal from grace and his embarkation on the slow, painful redemptive<br />
journey back to a state of grace. Although Crusoe’s self exploratory time on his island, his cultivation of the land and<br />
of his soul, and his later imposition of his codes of belief and action on Friday, have frequently been interpreted as a<br />
fictional enactment of the processes of European colonization, his story has both a particular and a more universal<br />
application. When his island is ‘peopled’ by Friday and by Friday’s father and a Spanish sailor (both of them rescued<br />
from the cannibals) Crusoe thinks of himself as a king with ‘an undoubted right of dominion’, an ‘absolute Lord and<br />
Law-giver’. As such, however, he establishes a principle which many contemporary Europeans would have regarded<br />
as offensively radical: a ‘Liberty of Conscience’ which tolerates pagan, Protestant, and Catholic alike. It was not a<br />
principle that was fully established in contemporary Britain. More significantly, Crusoe’s earlier heroism is that of the<br />
ordinary human will pitted against an alien environment; as far as he can, he brings his surroundings under his<br />
rational and practical control not as a proto-colonist but as a lonely exile. He records his experiences and his<br />
achievements meticulously, even repetitively, because he is logging the nature of his moral survival. He is the<br />
methodical diarist delighted both by his own resourcefulness and by his awareness that a benign God helps those who<br />
help themselves.<br />
Crusoe’s Further Adventures, published later in the same year, do not live up to the promise of the earlier volume.<br />
Defoe’s cultivated ease in exploiting the first-person narrative form, as an imitation either of a journal or of<br />
confessional memoirs, is, however, evident in the flood of fiction he published between 1720 and 1724. Both The<br />
Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders (1722) and The Fortunate Mistress (generally known as<br />
Roxana) (1724) have much-abused, belatedly penitent, entrepreneurial women as narrators. Moll, born in prison,<br />
zestfully and practically recounts her dubious liaisons with husbands, lovers, and seducers, and her progress through<br />
thievery to transportation to Virginia and final financial and emotional happiness. Hers is a difficult, but none the less<br />
upward, social and moral progress which contrasts sharply with that of the demi-mondaine heroine of the Abbé<br />
Prevost’s Manon Lescaut (1731). If Moll’s memoirs somewhat awkwardly suggest a rather too meticulous retrospect<br />
on a period of personal disorder, those of Roxana reveal a duller process of self description. Roxana declines from<br />
respectability, partly through the disgraceful treatment meted out to her by the men on whom she relies, partly<br />
through her own, highly selfish, sense of self-preservation. When she announces in her Preface that ‘all imaginable<br />
Care has been taken to keep clear of Indecencies and immodest Expressions’ we sense not only the impact of her