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Book review
Jane Austen and Narrative Authority
By Tara Ghoshal Wallace
Palgrave, Houndmills, 2001
Reviewed by Pamela Nutt
Who is telling the truth? This is a book about how
Jane Austen’s fiction is to be read. Wallace argues that getting to the
truth behind the narratives is not merely a task for the characters within
the narrative. Rather, in Austen’s mixed narratives, it is primarily a
task for the reader.
Readers familiar with Jane Austen’s novels know
the importance of discerning the truth, particularly as the characters
themselves learn truths about themselves and about others. We recognise that
Northanger Abbey presents conflicting levels of fiction, Sense and
Sensibility deals with painful struggles to recognise truth, Pride
and Prejudice with lies too readily believed, Mansfield Park with
hidden truths, Emma with deception and self-deception and Persuasion
with liberating truth. Wallace’s critiques ask readers to question not
only the characters and their perceptions of what is true, but also the
narrative voice itself.
Wallace begins her argument with an examination of
the fallible narrator of Lady Susan, whose main character is a woman
‘whose great skill is manipulating the world’s opinion as she struggles
to control representation of both self and the world’. In the movement
from epistolary form to third person narrative, Wallace believes that Austen
does not introduce a voice which is to be any more trusted than the voice of
the letter writer and that, in fact, ‘the narrator herself has been
corrupted by her heroine.’ The reader, then, must become involved not
merely in discerning what Austen says, but in testing out this narrative
voice as well.
In discussing Northanger Abbey, Wallace uses
the power that Henry Tilney has over Catherine’s thinking (‘Henry Tilney
must know best’) to demonstrate the power that an authoritative narrator
can exercise over an ‘insecure reader…(who is) eventually made captive
to the narrator’s will’. But the triumph of the narrator does not
guarantee truth. By identifying and dissecting the voices in Northanger
Abbey, Wallace demonstrates the limitations of each – the
sentimentality of Isabella Thorpe, the parodic discourse of Henry Tilney,
the prosaic domesticity of the Morlands. Austen’s demand is quite openly
that readers participate in the creation of the narrative.
In Sense and Sensibility also, where Elinor
is generally seen as the voice to be trusted, Wallace argues that ‘there
are so many clues about (Elinor’s) disappointments, her thwarted desire
for influence, her anger at those who ignore or trivialise her pain, that
the reader must interpret rather than accept her view of the world’. Thus
the process of judging must be ‘open to critical scrutiny’. This
scrutiny reveals for Wallace the struggle of female authoring ‘in a world
that offers no solutions’. The narrative voice which is shown to produce
right judgements is not necessarily free from prejudice.
Pride and Prejudice is examined by asking
what it is that blocks access to the truth. Wallace examines the silences in
this novel in an interesting way, demonstrating that ‘silences are never
neutral’. Silences of contempt, discretion or affectionate consideration
can all generate the wrong sort of narrative and can lead to false readings
as much as speech does. Thus both characters and readers need to ‘puzzle
out the truth from inconsistent data’. Whether the whole truth is
discernible is problematic.
Mansfield Park represents, for Wallace a
dystopian setting that is not set right by either authoritative or
persuasive discourse. In fact, the novel represents the failure of such
discourses. Neither exemplary behaviour nor argument can change those who
resist change. How does this impact on the power of the narrative voice?
Mary Crawford’s comment (‘I do not pretend to set people right, but I do
see that they are often wrong.’) exemplifies for Wallace Austen’s
pessimism about the power of right thinking and right saying to generate
action. This is a problem for the narrator, not merely for the characters
within the narrative.
Emma, Wallace argues, both privileges
narrative authority and sometimes urges readers to resist, to read against
the grain, to challenge any voice that claims to be authoritative. Emma,
both a reader and narrator of fictions, is also a text to be read by other
characters. In reading Emma, we find that even the most closely
scrutinised text can be misinterpreted and ‘the inept reader’ will get
it wrong. The undiscriminating belief of a narrative denies what is demanded
of a reader: the power to speculate. Even Mr Knightley’s authority and
judgements are queried on the basis of gender bias.
Persuasion also demands much of the reader,
warning them to beware ‘excessive confidence’. Both the reader and Anne
read confidently because of previous knowledge of ‘text’ – one knows
Wentworth and the others know how to read an Austen text. Yet even Anne’s
reading of Wentworth is faulty at times. How, then, can narrative be trusted
to guide us through the complexities of text? Wallace sees Persuasion as
moving towards the author’s ‘open engagement’ with the reader. Austen
is presenting herself as an author who, like the reader, cannot know the
world but as one who may speculate with authority.
The source of narrative authority has been shown to
be complex. Wallace has argued with a clear understanding of contemporary
literary theory and theorists (especially Reader Response theories). She
engages with texts fully and in interesting ways and with critics over the
last 50 years. The bibliography is extensive and the text makes reference to
writers familiar to members of JASA, both as critics and individuals. I
found the chapter on Emma the most clearly argued and that on Mansfield
Park the most unsettling.
On an admittedly trivial level, I am intrigued by
the claim on the back cover that ‘This book has been produced using the
latest digital technology…’ Such up-to-date technology surely should not
have printed a text in which lines of print sometimes diverge from the
horizontal and individual words at times slant oddly. The book is, however, an interesting addition to the
debate about how Jane Austen’s novels are to be read and how the
complexities of narrative authority are to be dealt with.
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