Addison and Steele play nice in sharing information.

Coming to a blog, er, right here and now, actually, we’ve got some thoughts after reading further selections from The Tatler and The Spectator, informed as well by the collection’s introductory material. At present, I’d like to consider Addison and Steele’s awareness of their readership, of a growing wealthy merchant group that sought guidance in finding a common identity and set of societal rules. In The Tatler and The Spectator, Addison and Steele offer a helping hand and a prescription for culture while ever companionably acknowledging their readers.

Writing under the guises of Mr. Bickerstaff in The Tatler and Mr. Spectator in The Spectator, Addison and Steele (along with their cohorts) do not assume the full interest of readers, but seek to cultivate it. From the start, they seem up front with their readers, laying out their purposes and aims—the general idea being, as Steele puts in The Tatler’s initial dedication, “to expose the false Arts of Life … and to recommend a general Simplicity in our Dress, our Discourse, and our Behaviour” (47). And in The Tatler, Steele promptly outlines exactly what will be found in the publication and how readers might navigate and use the content. From the start, then, he provides a strong but amiable sort of guiding hand, his attention geared ever-toward his presumed readers.

Addison and Steele also express a desire to tailor their publications to suit their readers, and claim to be indebted to their readership. A publication requires an eager public, and Addison and Steele are careful to make theirs feel a necessary part of the paper and its process, to emphasize their importance. Addison remarks in The Spectator, Number 10, “Since I have raised to my self so great an Audience, I shall spare no Pains to make their Instruction agreeable, and their Diversion useful” (88), and in Number 262 notes that the success of The Spectator, “does not perhaps reflect so much Honour upon my self, as on my Readers, who give a much greater Attention to Discourses of Virtue and Morality, than ever I expected, or indeed could hope” (98). In both—though the second might also be a bit of a backhanded compliment—Addison is careful to indicate a sense of obligation to the readership.

As with most other matters, Steele in The Tatler speaks frankly of the paper’s cost. Although the first issues of the paper were available gratis, Steele notes that he will soon be obliged to charge, explaining, “I cannot keep an Ingenious Man to go daily to Will’s, under Twopence each Day merely for his Charges; to White’s, under Sixpence; nor to the Graecian, without allowing some Plain Spanish, to be as able as others at the Learned Table; and that a good Observer cannot speak […] without clean Linnen” (50). In order to glean the talk of the town, in order to ferret out useful information for readers, observers found themselves darting among coffee-houses, and required some amount of money to participate properly in the discussions (for drinking in the congenial company of others, for instance, and so as not to appear slovenly). It seems, then, that information comes at a cost of both time and money. And so Steele and then Addison must charge a small fee for their printed word (or for words that may have been at least partially appropriated from others, snatched from the general discourse).

“a loathsome, infectious carcase, cloathed in an angelic garb”... That is, The Beggar’s Opera.

This week, we’re hitting up some 18th-century theatre with John Gay and The Beggar’s Opera, and I should like to dedicate a bit of space to examining the play’s reception. We have heard—would likely hear in any general introduction—that it was a popular piece. But what prompted this popularity? What drew viewers to The Beggar’s Opera? Was it sheer amusement, diverting songs, perhaps the biting satire? In considering such questions, I’ll be presenting bits of contemporary (or near-contemporary) accounts regarding the play, just to find some sense of what viewers desired, and what was perceived in The Beggar’s Opera.

Seems fair to begin by considering the tastes of the time. What manner of performances did people with money and time to indulge wish to attend, and what did they hope to find? Given the general taste for lavish and otherwise excessive display, attention may well have been given to more visual spectacles, to pleasing images rather than words and lessons. Indeed, Richard Steele noted in 1709 (writing in The Tatler) that ladder dances and other such “Buffooneries” (329) drew crowds more readily than plays. Steele lamented the fact that, “to please the People, [competing theatres] must entertain them with what they can understand, and not with Things which are designed to improve their Understanding” (330). Above all else, crowds sought unthinking diversion. Shows were to be enjoyed for entertainment rather than education; thought-provoking content (or even content that required just a bit of puzzling) seemed an unnecessary challenge, particularly when sheer spectacle could be found in the next theatre.

Aphra takes the stage? Wha-at?

As a sort of supplement to that last post....

After glancing at the dedicatory epistle in Oroonoko, I wanted to take a few moments to consider the authoress herself… Or, rather, a few recent perceptions of Ms. Behn. Certainly, she seems to’ve become quite the popular figure (“popular” being a relative term), a bastion of early feminine strength and achievement whose role as a spy adds a spice of intrigue. Ms. Behn has traveled a long route to reach her current status (the collection of reviews and references provided in the Norton edition help to land this point), tossed back and forth from designations of heralded authoress to shiftless wanton; for the time, at least, she seems largely to have landed on the positive side.

This passage through time’s shifting lenses is itself quite fascinating. But there is another thought. What with the Norton-provided excerpts of Thomas Southerne’s adaptation of Oroonoko, in-class references to the ways in which the 18th Century saw stories transferred or adapted into diverse forms, and recollections of a play I happened to read last year, my thoughts turned to pondering recent theatrical adaptations of Behn’s life. Because, yes, while her own work continues to see the light of production, the allure of her life has prompted playwrights and production teams to make attempts at reviving Aphra (whether conjuring some associated spirit or symbol, or attempting to recreate the woman herself) on the stage.

So, to the plays. I won’t begin to claim that this is an all-inclusive list, with all of its, oh, four (well, five) examples. This is simply the selection I’ve thus far found. If you happen to know of any other pieces, please do tell… I’m curious, here, and would like to see the range of representations Ms. Behn has earned herself. (The question of “ why translate Behn and her work into this particular form and tale” lurking with each of these.)

The plays, then.

Or, – Liz Duffy Adams: Following Aphra from debtor’s prison to bedroom trysts, from one man’s arms into another woman’s and one close call into the next, Or, seems a regular rollick of a play, and appears to be the most widely known play depicting Behn (it has, at the very least, earned the lion’s share of web space). Adams draws parallels between the 1660s and 1960s, noting in an interview with Adam Szymkowicz (check out his blog for a veritable slew of playwright interviews, by the by) that “the Restoration period was humming with a kind of aesthetic/ideology that reminded me of the late 1960s.” Think on that one, for a moment… Oh, and why Aphra? In the same interview, Adams suggests that she “thought it would be fun to write about” Behn, who “seems to have had a genius for reinventing the world around her instead of adapting herself to it.” The piece was first produced by Women's Project in late 2009 (check out a review from The New York Times).

“Aphra Does Antwerp” – Liz Duffy Adams: The fun doesn’t stop with Or,…. Actually, it appears that Adams’ fun began with “Aphra Does Antwerp” (yes, I do intend to dwell on the title, thank you). In an interview with Women’s Project, Adams notes that this ten-minute play “set just before the events of Or, when Aphra was stuck in Antwerp on a spying mission that was going badly.” Written and produced in 2001, for the Women’s Project’s Playwrights Lab.

The Empress of the Moon – Chris Braak: The most recently written of the pieces listed here, The Empress of the Moon was produced in August of 2010 by Special Operations Executive, connected with Iron Age Theatre. Accounts indicate that the play involves an attempt at melding Oroonoko (oh, hey!) and The Rover, and Braak (or someone posting under his names) describes the piece as, “a mythic, epic ride into an imagined history, flirting with facts at a discreet distance.” For further information, read a bit more from Braak at his blog or check out a couple of less-than-awestruck reviews.

Love Arm’d: Aphra Behn and her Pen – Karen Eterovich: It’s 1682, and Aphra Behn has a lover to discard and issues to confront. This one-woman show apparently provides a retrospective look at Behn’s life (told by the woman herself, of course), woven with fragments of Behn’s work, and was first produced in 1994. For further information, wander over to the production’s website or check out this brief review.

The Spirit of Aphra Behn – Illona Linthwaite: Another one-woman show. A modern-day actress is hijacked by Aphra Behn's spirit. Complications ensue for about an hour. First performed in 1999, at the Edinburgh Festival, the piece has since seen several further productions. If you should be curious, take a look at the actress/author’s website, on which Linthwaite indicates, “I decided to create a piece that weaved [Aphra’s] own words with those of the fictitious Isabel. In this way I felt sure that I was speaking directly from her mind and heart.”

Perhaps not all the most stimulating-sounding pieces (not even stimulating in the majority, one might say… though could be fun to do so some comparing and contrasting of scripts), but interesting to see the ways in which Ms. Behn has set to work on some more theatrically inclined imaginations. Adaptation, it appears, continues ever apace.

Aphra the author and her introductory epistle.

And so we’ve encountered Aphra Behn and Oroonoko. This being a time of introductions—to this blog, this course, the workings and wiles of the 18th Century—I thought I might begin by considering Behn’s dedicatory epistle to Lord Richard Maitland. A bit of reading on the 18th-century publishing industry had me thinking on the various sections of a book (that is, any physical book), of the material that might be encountered before reaching the actual story. Indeed, a reader’s eyes (and judgment) may well be first drawn to this additional material, this supplement to the novella that may compose an integral part of the book and even inform the story itself.

Behn certainly seems to anticipate critical eyes cast over her dedication, as suggested by the opening line: “[T]he world is grown so Nice and Critical upon Dedications, and will Needs be judging the Book, by the Wit of the Patron […] ” (5). Not only is Behn aware that readers may peruse this introductory material, but she also recognizes that they may devour or ditch the book according to its patron’s character, and perhaps to what they find in the dedication.* Thus, the dedication becomes an opportunity to address and reassure readers. Behn certainly uses the epistle to establish her patron as “a perfect pattern of all that accomplish a Great Man” (6).

Yet there seems to be more at work in this dedication than a simple recitation of Lord Maitland’s virtues (covering the stretch of three pages in the Norton edition, the epistle is no brief blip). What does Behn seem to reveal about herself here? A closer look at the dedication discloses hints of Behn’s own aims in penning the account of Oroonoko, suggesting why she should have chose to make the story widely known and offering some sense of her role as author.

Consider first the traits that Behn praises in her patron. Expecting that others will judge the book by its patron and that readers will thus heed descriptions of Lord Maitland’s character, Behn may select descriptions that illuminate her own concerns. After all, if she must give space to praising him, if she has her readers’ eyes, why should she not work simultaneously toward her own ends? What, then, does Behn highlight? She cites Maitland’s “Knowledge” (6), noting particularly that he uses his intellect for “the Publick Good,” that he “hoard[s] no one Perfection, but lay[s] it all out to the Glorious Service of [his] Religion and Country.” From there, she lauds a “Greatness of Mind, that ingages the World” and an “admirable Conduct, that so well Instructs” that world. Indeed, Behn repeatedly emphasizes Maitland’s stalwart dedication to sharing his wealth of knowledge with others. Rather than revel in a clutch of secrets, gloating over privileged information, he opens others to new thoughts and views of life.

Is this not what Behn herself does (or might do) with Oroonoko? Drawn from the depths of her mind—whether culled initially through experience, encounters with travel narratives, or imagination—she offers images of life far from England, changes in view that may well have prompted contemporary readers to peer through unaccustomed lenses. (Admittedly, Behn doesn’t stray too far from convention, doesn’t risk frightening readers away with utter strangeness. If she offered alternative views, they weren’t entirely alien. It may be that she required some familiar-seeming foundation on which to guide readers into the story’s more challenging elements.) And while there is much of glory and romance in her story, with impressions of beauty to enthrall the mind, there are also moments of jarring harshness. Behn does not shy from conjuring betrayal and thrice-wounded trust, murder forced by the bounds of slavery, and she suggests hard-edged questions and scenarios that may ask for uncomfortable reflection (on, say, the frailty of oaths and religion, the cost of human bondage). Thus may Oroonoko—in an ideal situation—both delight and teach.

For Behn, then, it seems that the role of the author is to engage the world and to share the fruits of thought and experience, to provide a story for public entertainment and education. Recording a story, the author “giv[es] the World” (36)** an extraordinary (and, one might hope, informative) gift.*** Once written, this gift has simply to be set to print and distributed to its growing body of eager readers (“simply” being a less-than-earnest term, here, but we’ll doubtless reach the fascinatingly messy business of printing soon enough).

And with that, looks as if we’ve reached an end (of this beginning? hrn).

*Here confessing that I know little of the manner in which dedications were typically encountered and treated, how often read, how seriously taken. It is a point I’ve pondered, and an area I intend to investigate.

**Found mid-way through the tale of Oroonoko, a slightly fuller glimpse of the line reads “giving the World this Great Man’s Life” (36). While this does represent the story as an offering to the public, there is a tricky twinge, for it also indicates that Behn is offering Oroonoko, himself. (Granted the difficulty of speaking of the life of a man who may not have existed as anything more than scattered scraps.) Once again, Oroonoko’s life seems taken beyond his hands. Hasn’t the man’s life been passed around enough already? And taking a step back, what happens when a human’s personality is wound into a character in a book? Who claims ownership of that personality? And then, who claims ownership of personality, in any case, to what extent do we own ourselves? And, oh dear, I’m going down another rabbit hole. In any case. Another something (or couple of somethings) to think on.

***I find it interesting that in all of this giving, in all of this praise of patron and her novella’s subject, Behn downplays her own prowess and places herself at the service of all. This is marked more strongly still at the beginning and end of Oroonoko, itself…. Again, a matter for further thought.

Text Used: Behn, Aphra. Oroonoko. Norton Critical Edition. Ed. Joanna Lipking. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1997.

For an on-line edition of Oroonoko, check out this link.

A quick "hullo" and an introduction.

To be coming. This, as all else, is a work in progress.

The short of it? Consider these the attempted musings of a graduate student. Thrills are sure to come.