Northanger Abbey, chapter 14: Reading Matters

Credit to palnk on Deviant Art

Catherine is able to keep her date with the Tilneys. No disruption from her brother and the Thorpes, “no sudden recollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to disconcert their measures.” Thank. God.

But now the question is, how does the day go? Is Cat going to be in over her head with the well-to-do, educated Tilney siblings? For all her simplicity, Cat has hardly ever seemed intimidated by them. Although to be fair, I think that’s a better reflection on the Tilneys’ personalities and demeanor. In fact, I can’t think of a better example of a pair of siblings in Austen’s work (at least, not in her finished novels), and to be honest, as I read this chapter, I kept comparing them with Austen’s most cynical pair.

Cat starts by sighing over Udolpho, then becoming embarrassed in front of the well-read Henry (see chapter 5). He assures her that he’s a fan of Ann Radcliffe and the novel genre: “The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” (He managed to read Udolpho in two days. Oh, to live in a world devoid of errand-running and social media.) Eleanor teases him for having been so engrossed in reading that he left her waiting in a park. He reminds Cat that, as someone who’s had about a decade’s start on her in terms of education, it makes sense that he’s read more than she has—histories and biographies as well as novels. His love of language carries him into a critique of the definition of “nice,” at which point Eleanor kind of rolls her eyes and tells Cat to just talk to her to avoid further weirdness. 

The discussion turns to nonfiction, of which Cat is not a fan: “The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all—it is very tiresome.” (Quick, let’s name some: Elizabeth I, Eleanor of Aquitane, Joan of Arc, Margaret of Anjou, Mary, Queen of Scots.) Cat struggles with the lack of life and adventure in these retellings. History has for too long been used as textbooks that “torment[ed]” her—“[T]o torment’ and ‘to instruct’ might sometimes be used as synonymous words,” she tells Henry. 

When the topic turns to art and drawing, Catherine is embarrassed that she doesn’t know anything about it. “A misplaced shame,” the narrator chimes in. “A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.” Of course, Cat isn’t aware of this advice, so ironically her eagerness to learn from Henry about drawing endears her to him all the more. (It also proves that being taught can be a rewarding experience, a lesson that I’d argue Cat needs to learn.)

Then the whole thing takes a sharp but hilarious U-turn when Cat announces that “something very shocking indeed will soon come out in London. … I shall expect murder and everything of the kind.” This baffles Eleanor, and I don’t blame her. However, Henry has experienced enough of Cat’s idiosyncrasies to know that she’s referring to a new horror novel that’s going to come out. “There must be murder,” he says, “and government cares not how much.”

I might return to this particular exchange later on. 

Henry sardonically chides Eleanor for her incompetence, but as Cat appears confused, Eleanor chides Henry for his “odd ways.” They go into an extended bit, both for Catherine’s amusement and their own, that is reminiscent of a comedy routine from the 20th century. After the Thorpes’ pushiness and rude behavior and James Morland’s bad attitude, this is a damn breath of fresh air. Every time Eleanor baits Henry and Henry responds in kind, you can feel the history and fondness between them. Cat accepts these “odd ways” readily: “[Henry Tilney's] manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must always be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as ready to admire, as what she did.”

When she gets home, she learns that the Clifton excursion went off without a hitch: they invited one of Isabella’s sisters, thus ensuring a veneer of propriety. Why this wasn’t an option before—why the Thorpe siblings tried to play tug-of-war with Cat a chapter ago—might have to do with Isabella’s aversion to her own sisters, or maybe John’s pursuit of Cat. She hopes they won’t hold it against her that she didn’t go. When did life in Bath get so anxious all of a sudden?

The Shapard Shelf: Henry mocks the dueling definitions of “nice” (the meaning was changing from “precise” to “pleasant” around this time). Shapard draws a contrast between “Henry’s scrupulousness regarding language” and “Isabella’s undiscriminating approach to it,” which reflects the different levels of sincerity in each character. Women being instructed to “conceal” their “well-informed mind[s]” was actual advice from etiquette books (excuse me while I convulse with repulsion). Finally, here’s some English history trivia: in Henry’s comical speech about “horrors in London,” he references the Gordon Riots of 1780, when civilians attacked government and Catholic properties over 5 days, resulting in a death toll of 300 and huge property damages.