Monday, February 22, 2010

Style in Crusoe and Pamela

In Robinson Crusoe and Pamela, it is particularly interesting to track how conscious the authors are of engaging in this new form. Since other forms of literature had their roots well established in classical tradition, they did not have to defend their style in-text. However, when something different arises in the field of literature, it seems that they cannot have value in and of themselves, without first defending that value tooth and nail.
The physical act of writing, and the awareness thereof, is so heavy in both of these iconic novels that some unintended consequences arise. The author must make their first-person narrator show that they are writing down these words, or else the words must have happened out of midair. In most contemporary novels with a first person narrator, the story is told without any mention of the fact that it is being written down, let alone the experience of writing it down being critical to the plot of the story. It becomes too problematic, as one can see in both Robinson Crusoe and Pamela, that it can interfere with the progression of the story (which most likely accounts for the fact that most authors now ignore it entirely). In Robinson Crusoe he runs out of ink and cannot journal day by day, which in terms of the plot of the story shifts from extremely specific copying to broad summaries of years or even an entire decade. In Pamela, she must depend entirely on opportunities to write in order to tell her story at all. She cannot orally tell the story to us, because Richardson has to account for the fact a reader is reading words printed on a page. For almost every single letter, Pamela must justify the time lapsed between letters, the reason for writing, and the emotions felt towards the specific reader (mother, father, Mr. B, or Mrs. Jervis). As she becomes unable to write letters to her parents, she turns to writing letters that will not be sent, or a diary style. Even the act of writing it down is a question of validity or plausibility for the novel at this time.
The unintended consequence of this style is that a story MUST be written in the past tense, and told AFTER the storyteller has had time to see the whole consequences, alter the memory in their mind, or justify their own actions. Why can we depend so willingly on the memory or truthfullness of Crusoe or Pamela as distanced story tellers? Even the act of writing down a memory will in some way alter the true experience. In Defoe's other blockbuster novel, Moll Flanders, the author must show that Moll is writing down her story at the end of the life. But with fifty years of distance from the onset of the story, just as with Crusoe, how reliable of a narrator can they be? It would be like listening to the crazy ramblings of a grandparent about "when I was your age," knowing full well that a majority of the story is exaggerated, fabricated, or about someone else entirely. I'm not saying that is what is going on in these novels, but the necessity for an author to show that the story is being written down, and making that experience plausible, in fact makes it fantastic and less believable because the narrator is always telling the story after it happened and they had time to think about it. It makes a character like Moll Flanders less sincere about her moral rehabilitation, Crusoe less credible about his intense work ethic, and Pamela less righteous in comarison to every other character. I mean, if a sixteen year old girl was ranting to you about a highschool senior who had a crush on her or a fight she had with her caddy friend, wouldn't she always make herself out to be the angel and the opponent into the devil? But if you witnessed the events, you might see that Pamela was making herself out to be different then she truly was. Perhaps Pamela was leading Mr. B on from the start, and Mr. B was the one resisting for the duration of the plot. Perhaps Pamela was the one who laid traps for Mr. B and hid in the closet until he fell asleep and then molested him. All I'm saying is that the style of always needing to tell a story retroactively, as a defense for the validity and plausibility of encountering a story in print, in fact undermines the credibility of the storyteller.

1 comment:

  1. Allow me to play devil's advocate for Pamela:

    She might be only sixteen and, as you say, liable to alter her experiences in order to show herself in a better light; but she's also much closer to the events she's recording than either of DeFoe's protagonists, who are writing far after the events occurred. If for that reason alone, I think we may consider Pamela's narratives having more veracity.

    Granted, to now go against that proof, Pamela is writing to her parents... and who isn't going to smooth over incidents they might not want their parents to know?

    But the same can be said for Crusoe. He's been alone on a island for nearly thirty years... I have no doubt there's some things he's not going to mention to the general populace of England.

    Which I suppose brings me to my ultimate point: You forgot to mention the Editor. There's always one, be it Crusoe or Moll fifty years later, or the anonymous narrator that interjects between packets of Pamela's letters. It is this person, known or unknown, that we should really be questioning. After all, how are we to know they are presenting all the evidence or have not tweaked the letters/journals/what-have-yous to their own purposes?

    But this is highly theoretical. Can we really claim a fictitious novel as more or less true? Or more or less believable?

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