The Columbia History of the British Novel

novels whose narrative resources they incorporated and whose cultural space they sought to occupy. They simultaneously absorbed and erased the novels they would supplant.

The new novel reorients rather than banishes spontaneous reader identification; now a morally improving emulation is promoted. When, in The Progress of Romance, Hortensius complains that Richardson's epistolary novels 'have taught many young girls to wiredraw their language, and to spin always long letters out of nothing,' Euphrasia defends the cultural value of studying and imitating Richardson over the «studies» of an earlier generation: 'Let the young girls… copy Richardson, as often as they please, and it will be owing to the defects of their understandings, or judgments, if they do not improve by him. We could not say as much of the reading Ladies of the last age… No truly, for their studies were the French and Spanish Romances, and the writings of Mrs. Behn, Mrs. Manly, and Mrs. Heywood [sic].' In order to serve as an antidotal substitute for the poison of novels, the elevated novels of Richardson and Fielding had to be founded in an antagonistic critique and overwriting of the earlier novels of Behn, Manley, and Haywood. This elevating novel brought a new disposition of pleasure and value to its readers. But the novel's rise is not a spontaneous or organic development. On the contested cultural site of novel reading at mid-century, it is, as the Marxist critic John Frow suggests in a different context, not so much the old that has died, but the new that has killed.

Sublimating the Novel by Telling Its History

The successes of Pamela (1740), Joseph Andrews (1742), Clarissa (1747–1748), and Tom Jones (1749), as well as the many imitations they provoked on the market, helped to countersign the elevated novel as a significant new cultural formation. But such validation also depended upon those critics who grasped the possibilities of this new kind of fiction and sought to describe its signal features, cultural virtues, and history. This project often required inventive critical strategies. By rescuing the elevated novel from the general cultural indictment of novels, the early literary critics and historians I have cited-Samuel Johnson, Francis Coventry, Clara Reeve, and John Dunlop-made their texts supplements to the project of elevating the novel.

For Johnson, a critical intervention on behalf of the new novel meant -7- arguing, by way of response to the recent popularity of Tom Jones and Roderick Random, in favor of the «exemplary» characters of Richardson over the more true-to-life «mixed» characters of Fielding and Smollett. In a pamphlet published anonymously, 'An Essay on the New Species of Writing Founded by Mr. Fielding' (1751), Coventry follows the basic procedure Fielding had devised in the many interpolated prefaces to Joseph Andrews and Tom Jones: he transports critical terms and ideas developed earlier for poetry, epic, and drama to the novel. But Coventry goes farther. Just as Aristotle modeled the «rules» of tragedy upon Sophocles, and early modern French and English critics defined the rules for epic through criticism of Homer, Coventry made Fielding's work the template for the «species» of writing he had 'founded.' As the 'great Example' and 'great original' for 'future historians of this kind,' Fielding's work provides the terms for a new inventory of neoclassical «laws»: 'As Mr. Fielding first introduc'd this new kind of Biography, he restrain'd it with Laws which should ever after be deem'd sacred by all that attempted his Manner; which I here propose to give a brief account of.' In his 'word or two on the modern state of criticism,' Coventry bewails the decline of criticism from earlier epochs (from Horace to Pope), quotes and corrects the modern scorn for critics, and inveighs against the partisanship discernible in the reception of new plays. Coventry's way of posturing as a critic-he is unctuous, defensive, and yet arrogant-is the very antithesis of the imperious law-givings and definitive pronouncements characteristic of Fielding's narrators. But both styles of address suggest there is as yet no preestablished cultural vantage point or institutionalized discourse for the criticism of novels.

But such an anchor for the articulation of the novel was developing. Written thirty-five years later than Johnson's or Coventry's criticism, Reeve's Progress of Romance (1785) composes what seems to be the first scholarly literary history of novels in English. Within the term romance Reeve comprehends not only the Greek romance, the medieval romances (in both verse and prose), and the seventeenthcentury heroic romance; she also goes backward to the epics of Homer and forward to the 'modern novels' of France and England. The inclusion of Homeric epic in the category of romance is a classification dubious enough to have been rejected by virtually every subsequent literary historian of the novel; but it gives Reeve's protagonist, Euphrasia, a way to refute the high-culture bias of her polemical antagonist, Hortensius. In addition, by developing the term romance into a global -8- category inclusive of fictional entertainments produced over a vast expanse of 'times, countries, and manners,' she uses the historicist horizon of her study to develop an indulgence that protects the now unfashionable romances as well as the modern novels under contemporary attack. The literary history and criticism of the English novel that has developed over the two hundred years since Reeve's text-from John Dunlop and Hippolyte Taine to Ian Watt and Michael McKeon-inevitably comes to be implicated in the task Richardson and Fielding seemed to set going in England: that of securing an elevated cultural address for the novel.

We can begin to grasp the broader cultural uses of literary history by attending to the way John Dunlop introduces his ambitious three-volume History of Fiction: Being a Critical Account of the Most Celebrated Prose Works of Fiction, from the Earliest Greek Romances to the Novels of the Present Age (1815). In order to articulate the general cultural value of fiction over history Dunlop quotes Lord Bacon:

Fiction gives to mankind what history denies, and, in some measure, satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance:… Fiction strongly shows that a greater variety of things, a more perfect order, a more beautiful variety, than can any where be found in nature, is pleasing to the mind. And as real history gives us not the success of things according to the deserts of vice and virtue, Fiction corrects it, and presents us with the fates and fortunes of persons rewarded or punished according to merit. And as real history disgusts us with a familiar and constant similitude of things, Fiction relieves us by unexpected turns and changes, and thus not only delights, but inculcates morality and nobleness of soul. It raises the mind by accommodating the images of things to our desires, and not like history and reason, subjecting the mind to things.'

By appealing to Bacon on the value of fiction, Dunlop not only invokes the authority of a major British thinker but also neatly hurdles almost two hundred years of wrangling over the morally dubious effects of taking pleasure from fiction. By using the general term fiction for his history of romances and novels, Dunlop encompasses the polemical terms of the debate he would nonetheless inflect and recast. Eighteenth-century defenses of the novel (from Congreve and Richardson to Fielding and Reeve) usually engage a set of polar oppositions still familiar to us: the novel is to the romance as the «real» is to the 'ideal,' as fact is to fantasy, as the probable is to the amazing, as the commonplace is to the exotic, and so on. Fiction is developed by Dunlop as a third term that -9- can at once finesse and reconcile these polar oppositions. Fiction does this by becoming art, delivering 'a more perfect order, a more beautiful variety' than 'nature.'

Through Dunlop's use of Bacon, Renaissance and Romantic aesthetics meet in a justification of fiction that is, finally, psychological. Through fiction, the reader is no longer «subject» to things, nor disgusted with 'a familiar and constant similitude of things.' Instead, fiction «relieves» and 'delights,' and 'raises the mind by accommodating the images of things to our desires.' The cultural efficacy of fiction comes from its successful gratification of the reader's pleasure. Dunlop's translation of Bacon assumes yet reverses the anxiety about the reader's pleasure that had motivated earlier condemnations of the novel. When Dunlop glosses Bacon's emphasis upon 'delight,' it becomes apparent that the pleasure Dunlop promotes is quite different from the pleasure that novel readers had been accused of indulging. Instead of obsessive, personal, deluded, erotic pleasures, we are called to soft and social ones: 'How much are we indebted to [fiction] for pleasure and enjoyment! it sweetens solitude and charms sorrow… ' These pleasures improve and uplift the reader, by taking him or her into an elevated social and emotive space: 'The rude are refined by an introduction, as it were, to the higher orders of mankind, and even the dissipated and selfish are, in some degree, corrected by those paintings of virtue and simple nature, which must ever be employed by the novelist if he wish to awaken emotion or delight.' Having confirmed its beneficial effect, Dunlop can confirm the novel's rise from its earlier disreputable cultural position:

This powerful instrument of virtue and happiness, after having been long despised, on account of the purposes to which it had been made subservient, has gradually become more justly appreciated, and more highly valued. Works of Fiction have been produced, abounding at once with the most interesting details, and the most sagacious reflections, and which differ from treatises of abstract philosophy only by the greater justness of their views, and the higher interest which they excite.

Dunlop's description of his project helps us to apprehend the broader purpose of his literary history: to