Northanger Abbey, chapter 26: The View From Woodston

A theme separate from Gothic romance parody that is emerging in this novel is the over-reliance on others’ assertions of reality. For example, for James Morland, the eventuality of Isabella Thorpe’s engagement to Captain Tilney is inevitable. And his assertion is given authority by the other Tilney siblings and Cat—despite the fact that neither Isabella nor Captain Toxic Trait have declared an engagement publicly.* Cat’s so worried that she (again) asks Henry to intercede on behalf of the assumed couple in an effort to soften the blow for them when they announce the engagement to the general.

On which point Henry speaks logic when he says, “[My brother] must tell his own story.” Finally, some common sense.

As the announcement fails to pass, General Tilney is unencumbered by the idea that his eldest son has promised himself to a lower-born woman of no title. He’s still focused on showing off Northanger and Henry to their best advantage for Cat’s benefit. Henry has to head off to his living again for parish duties et al, only this time he was practically ordered there by his father, who wants Henry to host a dinner for them. The general at first is vague about when they might visit Woodston, but in the next breath he’s checking his schedule and calculating the precise day he expects a table to be ready for them. This temporarily upsets Cat, who completely missed the part where the general issued his order, but Henry has taken it as such. Here, with this miscommunication, we return to the other emerging theme of Cat taking people at their word when she should not. Henry is used to his father’s contradictions, whereas Cat still has trouble keeping up with them. 

During Henry’s absence, however, an amazing thing happens: Cat discovers she’s not enamored with Northanger Abbey any more. What with her anxiety about James’s broken heart and Eleanor’s low spirits when Henry is away, “the abbey in itself [is] no more to her now than any other house.” Now, Cat values “the unpretending comfort of a well–connected parsonage” and starting to build up expectations about Woodston. This kind of reads like transference, I grant you—Woodston usurping the abbey in her imagination. But I think an important note is that her interest in Woodston comes not from having read about livings in fiction, but from who already lives there: Henry is a reality for her, although the fantasy of ending up with him is still a fantasy.

And just how much does Cat love Woodston and Henry’s parsonage house? So much that she accidentally starts disagreeing with General Tilney when he criticizes it. “[T]he general seem[s] to think an apology necessary for the flatness of the country, and the size of the village,” but Cat is impressed by its size and landscape. She feels bad for disagreeing with him, and even worse, becomes aware of the general’s intentions in encouraging her complimentary view. Having entered Henry’s house, Cat finds the parlor to be “the most comfortable room in the world,” but when prompted by the general, “she [is] too guarded” and can’t speak her mind. Hilariously, the general takes offense at this—“I believe there are few country parsonages in England half so good,” he sniffs. At which point Henry changes the subject (luckily Cat doesn’t clock the general’s harrumphing being directed at her).

The general’s overall behavior in this chapter veers to odious as he attempts to extract admiration from Cat. Previously I’ve compared him to Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins, but now he also reminds me of … get ready … Henry Crawford. I know it might seem like I’m picking on him, but General Tilney’s brand of charm has a presumptive quality that I associate with the Crawfords. Take for example what he says when Cat, unprovoked, raves about the adjoining cottage on the property: “You like it—you approve it as an object—it is enough. Henry … [t]he cottage remains.” Cat even reacts with the same kind of embarrassment Fanny Price shows when faced with Crawford’s flirtations (it takes a walk around the gardens for her to calm down). It’s really hard to unsee once you’ve seen it!

And even weirder, the general is so satisfied with Cat’s overall response to Henry’s parsonage that he’s the happiest his children have ever seen him: “They had seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his own.” What’s brought all this on? Well, that’s the actual mystery of Northanger Abbey, and we will be discovering that anon. For now, as they leave for the abbey, Cat’s heart is aflutter: “could she have felt equally confident of the wishes of [Henry Tilney], Catherine would have quitted Woodston with little anxiety as to the How or the When she might return to it.”

Shapard Shelf: Henry is going into Woodston “to attend the parish meeting,” which “would determine [local] policy … as well as the tax rates imposed on parishioners.” Since Henry is “part of the elite” of the principality, he needs to be there.

 *Why yes, I am in fact getting intense flashbacks from Marianne and Willoughby’s non-engagement debacle.