Northanger Abbey, chapter 3: "Oh, what a Henry!"

 Credit once again to Flo Minowa

 

Our heroine has yet to succeed at being a heroine by several metrics, but is also quite fun and engaging on her own terms. So who is she going to be paired up with: a hero straight out of a romance, or someone with a different kind of appeal?

What if the answer is “both”?

I suggest this because there is simply no one quite like Henry Tilney in all of Jane Austen’s works. Some might argue he has the common sense of Mr. Knightley, the kindness of Edmund Bertram, the steadfastness of Mr. Darcy. But I think Henry has something that no other leading man possesses in all of the Austenverse.

He’s, like, weird. Right?

Let me explain: Henry is not bad-weird. When he first meets Catherine, he’s neither inappropriate nor disrespectful, nor does he take her kindness for granted (note my subtle foreshadowing of another male character). Henry’s charming and funny and if I absolutely had to fault him, maybe he dispenses rather too much wit all in one go. He admits as much, imagining that Catherine would describe him as “a queer [sic], half–witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense.”

Indeed, a closer look at Henry reveals, I think, two sides of him—the teasing one and the gentlemanly one. Note in particular his behavior with women: when Mrs. Allen interrupts their conversation (rude!) with a fashion non-emergency, Henry talks to her about clothing material and agrees with her on points of style. She’s the most annoying character so far, and he takes the time to validate her concerns? Talk about a green flag.

But Henry’s sly strangeness, far from suffering from “half-wit,” serves as an important component of Northanger Abbey. When he exclaims things like, “Not keep a journal! How are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your life in Bath without one?”, what does that remind you of? Maybe … the narrator from chapter 2, who lamented that Catherine’s sister doesn’t beg for a blow-by-blow account of Catherine’s visit? Suggesting that Henry, in joking about the idea of Catherine writing for an audience, is on some level in on the joke with the narrator?

His approach, while fun, also confuses Catherine, who thinks that maybe he “indulge[s] himself a little too much with the foibles of others.” Henry notices her hesitation and tries to engage her, but Catherine doesn’t want to share this with him. It makes complete sense, despite her “strong inclination for continuing the acquaintance,” that she’d rather not risk insulting him. Henry winkingly assures her of his interest: “I am authorized to tease you on this subject whenever we meet, and nothing in the world advances intimacy so much.” Definitely the kind of attitude you would want from a romantic hero, although you wouldn’t expect him to say it.

Since “a young lady should [not] dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her,” (see the Shelf below) the narrator declines to say whether or not Catherine dreams of Henry that night. But with his teasing quips and kind approach, Henry has already proved—in only one chapter!—that even with his “foibles,” he’s dream-worthy. Will he continue the acquaintance on his side, or will his teasing come to nothing?

The Shapard Shelf: a master of ceremonies comes with each assembly room (here, the Lower Room) and one of his duties is to introduce the newbies to each other. Shapard points out that this conventional way of meeting “represents a further sharp contrast with the ideal novel heroine,” who usually has a more exciting meet-cute. He goes into interesting detail about the quote from The Rambler, that “no young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman’s love is declared,” explaining how young women were warned by conduct books at the time “to be guarded both in their behavior and in their affections toward men.” He also points out that Mr. Allen, by asking for information about Henry’s background, is “properly” fulfilling his role as guardian.