Post by Christmas Chief on Jul 14, 2012 13:25:04 GMT -5
ASOUE is often tagged as a “gothic” series by booksellers, and with reason. Handler has frequently referenced in conversations his dark mindset and childhood want for gloomier books. In fact, an interview with Handler reveals the author’s relationship with the gothic genre as having started at a young age:
TBB specifically contains evidence of this sensibility.
~~~
Dark castles. Hidden passageways. Eerie winds. Distant shadows. Do these sound familiar? For the past two decades, the gothic genre has filtered into not only film and music, but also into many of the most esteemed pieces of literature. Children’s literature, more specifically, has proved itself particularly adaptable to the gothic sensibility. Children’s need for terror, their fascination with morbidity, and the adventurous spirit in which the gothic is written all contribute to the appeal this genre has to children. In The Bad Beginning, Lemony Snicket explores various gothic archetypes, plot techniques, and settings that shape the narrative in a unique way. But how gothic, exactly, is Snicket’s first novel? And how effectively are gothic influences integrated in the text?
Consider first the packaging of the book itself: several features of the novel’s corporeal presentation are highly reminiscent of the Victorian era. Deckle-edged paper gives the document an antiquated feel, while the paper-over-board format creates a sense of exoticism. This hybrid look is especially effective in bookstores, as it encourages patrons to explore the unusual appearance, leading the browsers to the book’s inner matter. The interior illustrations – namely the frontispiece, centerpiece, and end piece – also contribute to the atmosphere of the novel through dark shading and doorway-esque framing. The “dated” look the publishers give the series adds to its aura of antiquity and values of erudition. That is to say, the book is given a sophisticated, gothic exterior, and the story’s content does not thwart this impression. Helquist’s cover illustration is indeed quite gothic in manner: analogize the Baudelaires’ despondent expressions with Olaf’s silhouette, looming over the children. The predominant color surrounding Olaf is melancholy blue, an appropriate choice given the children’s miserable time with the antagonist and his home. Beyond the Baudelaires is the world the children leave behind: the colors are warm and the shapes simplistic, suggesting that while life outside their upcoming residence may not be ideal, it is certainly more appealing than the misfortune the children are soon to face.
Presentation aside, gothic mannerisms are additionally employed through Snicket’s frequent pleas for readers to ignore – or in some cases destroy – the book immediately. The novel’s success is a clear indication his appeals are neglected. Recall the opening line of The Bad Beginning: “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book” (1). However, the ending of Snicket’s first volume seems to hinge not on the presence of misfortune, but rather on the absence of its inverse. The Baudelaires are not admitted access to Justice Strauss’ favorable home, Olaf is not captured by the authorities, and there is no promise of hope for the children. Nothing is actively pursuing the protagonists; the darkness lies only in the intangible future. The line continues, “In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.” This, too, is in the gothic spirit. Gothic novels are constantly occupied with either terror (the threat of disaster) or horror (the disaster in progress). The book’s Dear Reader enacts the same principle. The extract is worded as such to give the work a “forbidden” element, pulling readers in by warding them off. Moreover, the message is intensely evocative of the “gothic counterfeit” trope, or a lighthearted fakery on the realism of a work. The fact Handler’s compositions are written under a pen name, as well as the incorporations of mock-documents in The Unauthorized Autobiography and the epistolary Beatrice Letters support the idea that A Series of Unfortunate Events was written with the gothic counterfeit in mind. Immediately, A Series of Unfortunate Events establishes its identity as a series more intellectual than its predecessors, and certainly darker.
If the gothic “hooks” are what pull readers in, the gothic promise fulfilled is what keeps the readers reading. Snicket often satirizes and exploits conventions used in the gothic, a theme that affects the text from the very first scene at Briny Beach. The weather is described as “gray and cloudy,” foreshadowing the news to soon befall the oblivious orphans (2). In the same scene, fog obscures a figure, instilling a sense of suspense in the narrative. Klaus notes, “It only seems scary … because of all the mist” (6). Indeed, vapor is often used to give gothic novels a chilling feel. Take the following passage from Matthew Lewis’s The Monk, in which fog is employed as an element to spawn a sense of dread in the reader:
Consider, too, the cemetery-esque reproduction of the children’s visit to their destroyed home. Remnants of the Baudelaires’ old lives protrude from the ashes in the form of a grand piano, window seat, and brandy bottle (12-13). All three objects recall the dead to the children, and certainly the mansion itself broods with lifelessness. However, just as smog and darkness foretell tribulations, so true is the converse. Klaus’s hopes rise “along with the sun” when he discovers Olaf’s plot to marry Violet and secure the Baudelaire fortune for himself (95). Of course, Klaus’s optimisms are demolished when he finds Olaf has already thought ahead to put Sunny in a birdcage and use her predicament as blackmail, but this discovery only serves to further the perception that, no matter how hard the heroes try, the Baudelaires’ circumstances will never improve. Snicket’s settings are further developed when he juxtaposes Strauss’ pleasant home to Olaf’s decrepit one. The description, which has the building “sagged to the side,” with “bricks stained with soot and grime,” and a mere “two small windows” foreshadows horror and dismay (20-21). Once again, the negative depiction of Olaf’s home sets the stage for the Baudelaires’ experiences, as when it comes to Snicket’s settings, first impressions are often entirely correct. Furthermore, this portrayal is highly reminiscent of gothic architecture. Hanging towers, turrets, and trapdoors often feature as hiding places for gothic characters, and indeed Olaf is known to seclude to his tower for much of the day. The general decay of the house embodies the woe from which the Baudelaires suffer, confining the children to a physical and psychological darkness. While in classic gothic novels claustrophobia is often executed with literal chaining, imprisonment, or other forms of physical confinement, The Bad Beginning employs claustrophobic dread by confining the orphans to a single bedroom, and later the tower room, despite the house’s large interior.
In addition to gothic conventions tweaked for younger audiences, many of Snicket’s characters are apparently drawn from the archetypal gothic personality. That Snicket himself is an unreliable narrator – a characteristic found in such works as Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw – is an immediate indication of archetypes’ presence in the series. Although Snicket presents his work as a well-researched account of the lives of three unfortunate orphans, the fact he includes himself as a character in the work at all implies some aspects of the story may be subject to bias. Snicket’s villain is clearly also influenced by gothic sensibilities. Olaf is said to disappear during the day only to reappear at night, a depiction not entirely unlike Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Indeed, like Dracula, Olaf is repulsed by the Baudelaires’ Pasta Puttanesca, a recipe containing garlic. He yearns instead for bloody roast beef, and in fact, by the time the children serve the meal, the Puttanesca sauce is likened to a “vat of blood” (51). In true gothic manner, Olaf lusts after the virginal maiden - a phrase which here means “Violet Baudelaire.” Frequently throughout the text Violet is preyed upon by Olaf and other members in the acting troupe through unseemly touch and menacing words. Violet, the virtuous heroine, is coerced into marriage by the evil count. This sacred act is often sullied in gothic literature, and so it is here with Al Funcoot’s production of The Marvelous Marriage, or, as Klaus perhaps puts it more accurately, The Menacing Marriage (97). As the novel is geared toward children, the sexual undertones of Olaf’s aims are concealed beneath his desire for the Baudelaire fortune. Nonetheless, just as marriage is doomed from the start in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Ontranto, so it is doomed here by the virtuous heroine’s hand. Her left hand, more specifically, as Violet thwarts Olaf’s ambitions by signing the legal marriage document in her non-dominant hand. Violet further exercises her ability to improve conditions after one of Olaf’s henchmen switch off the lighting in the theater. The simile Snicket uses to describe Violet is perhaps one of the few nods to supernaturalism readers find in the book: “In the darkness, Violet looked like a ghost, her white wedding gown moving slowly across the stage” (157). This is a twist on gothic pretenses in that apparitions are typically introduced to incite fear; here, the apparition ends fear by finding the light. Violet’s other main attempt to play the courageous protagonist is in her efforts to rescue Sunny. Like Klaus discovering Olaf’s plan, Violet works by night, and the backdrop provides interesting challenges for the heroine. For instance, the night is still but with a slight breeze, and Snicket notes Violet must be silent so as not to attract attention (119). In the traditional gothic novel, wind is often used to suggest danger or peril, and indeed Violet almost gives up entirely when she imagines herself “swinging in the breeze, clinging to a rope made of ugly clothing.” Violet perseveres, though her efforts are for naught. Still, the strength the heroine exhibits remains an important facet of her character inherent in the gothic.
How well, then, is the gothic genre integrated into The Bad Beginning? Given the age group for which the novel is designed, it appears Snicket successfully merges gothic sensibility with juvenile desires. The settings, though dark, are intriguing, and the conventions well-incorporated. The characters, while extremely unlucky, are nonetheless believable and relatable. Although later novels in A Series of Unfortunate Events depart somewhat from the gothic tradition, The Bad Beginning starts the series off in an aberrant – the word “aberrant” here means “unique, and causing intrigue among readers” – direction.
~~~
Discuss.
KR: How do you come by your Gothic sensibility? Are you a fan of Gothic and/or decadent novels?
DH: I came by my Gothic sensibility fairly honestly, with childhood viewings of Nosferatu and teenage obsessions with Anne Radcliffe and The Cure, and I enjoy a good Wilkie Collins novel to this day.
DH: I came by my Gothic sensibility fairly honestly, with childhood viewings of Nosferatu and teenage obsessions with Anne Radcliffe and The Cure, and I enjoy a good Wilkie Collins novel to this day.
TBB specifically contains evidence of this sensibility.
~~~
Dark castles. Hidden passageways. Eerie winds. Distant shadows. Do these sound familiar? For the past two decades, the gothic genre has filtered into not only film and music, but also into many of the most esteemed pieces of literature. Children’s literature, more specifically, has proved itself particularly adaptable to the gothic sensibility. Children’s need for terror, their fascination with morbidity, and the adventurous spirit in which the gothic is written all contribute to the appeal this genre has to children. In The Bad Beginning, Lemony Snicket explores various gothic archetypes, plot techniques, and settings that shape the narrative in a unique way. But how gothic, exactly, is Snicket’s first novel? And how effectively are gothic influences integrated in the text?
Consider first the packaging of the book itself: several features of the novel’s corporeal presentation are highly reminiscent of the Victorian era. Deckle-edged paper gives the document an antiquated feel, while the paper-over-board format creates a sense of exoticism. This hybrid look is especially effective in bookstores, as it encourages patrons to explore the unusual appearance, leading the browsers to the book’s inner matter. The interior illustrations – namely the frontispiece, centerpiece, and end piece – also contribute to the atmosphere of the novel through dark shading and doorway-esque framing. The “dated” look the publishers give the series adds to its aura of antiquity and values of erudition. That is to say, the book is given a sophisticated, gothic exterior, and the story’s content does not thwart this impression. Helquist’s cover illustration is indeed quite gothic in manner: analogize the Baudelaires’ despondent expressions with Olaf’s silhouette, looming over the children. The predominant color surrounding Olaf is melancholy blue, an appropriate choice given the children’s miserable time with the antagonist and his home. Beyond the Baudelaires is the world the children leave behind: the colors are warm and the shapes simplistic, suggesting that while life outside their upcoming residence may not be ideal, it is certainly more appealing than the misfortune the children are soon to face.
Presentation aside, gothic mannerisms are additionally employed through Snicket’s frequent pleas for readers to ignore – or in some cases destroy – the book immediately. The novel’s success is a clear indication his appeals are neglected. Recall the opening line of The Bad Beginning: “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book” (1). However, the ending of Snicket’s first volume seems to hinge not on the presence of misfortune, but rather on the absence of its inverse. The Baudelaires are not admitted access to Justice Strauss’ favorable home, Olaf is not captured by the authorities, and there is no promise of hope for the children. Nothing is actively pursuing the protagonists; the darkness lies only in the intangible future. The line continues, “In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.” This, too, is in the gothic spirit. Gothic novels are constantly occupied with either terror (the threat of disaster) or horror (the disaster in progress). The book’s Dear Reader enacts the same principle. The extract is worded as such to give the work a “forbidden” element, pulling readers in by warding them off. Moreover, the message is intensely evocative of the “gothic counterfeit” trope, or a lighthearted fakery on the realism of a work. The fact Handler’s compositions are written under a pen name, as well as the incorporations of mock-documents in The Unauthorized Autobiography and the epistolary Beatrice Letters support the idea that A Series of Unfortunate Events was written with the gothic counterfeit in mind. Immediately, A Series of Unfortunate Events establishes its identity as a series more intellectual than its predecessors, and certainly darker.
If the gothic “hooks” are what pull readers in, the gothic promise fulfilled is what keeps the readers reading. Snicket often satirizes and exploits conventions used in the gothic, a theme that affects the text from the very first scene at Briny Beach. The weather is described as “gray and cloudy,” foreshadowing the news to soon befall the oblivious orphans (2). In the same scene, fog obscures a figure, instilling a sense of suspense in the narrative. Klaus notes, “It only seems scary … because of all the mist” (6). Indeed, vapor is often used to give gothic novels a chilling feel. Take the following passage from Matthew Lewis’s The Monk, in which fog is employed as an element to spawn a sense of dread in the reader:
Coldly played the light upon the damp walls, whose dew-stained surface gave back a feeble reflection. A thick and pestilential fog clouded the height of the vaulted dungeon. As Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness spread itself through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him to move forward.
Consider, too, the cemetery-esque reproduction of the children’s visit to their destroyed home. Remnants of the Baudelaires’ old lives protrude from the ashes in the form of a grand piano, window seat, and brandy bottle (12-13). All three objects recall the dead to the children, and certainly the mansion itself broods with lifelessness. However, just as smog and darkness foretell tribulations, so true is the converse. Klaus’s hopes rise “along with the sun” when he discovers Olaf’s plot to marry Violet and secure the Baudelaire fortune for himself (95). Of course, Klaus’s optimisms are demolished when he finds Olaf has already thought ahead to put Sunny in a birdcage and use her predicament as blackmail, but this discovery only serves to further the perception that, no matter how hard the heroes try, the Baudelaires’ circumstances will never improve. Snicket’s settings are further developed when he juxtaposes Strauss’ pleasant home to Olaf’s decrepit one. The description, which has the building “sagged to the side,” with “bricks stained with soot and grime,” and a mere “two small windows” foreshadows horror and dismay (20-21). Once again, the negative depiction of Olaf’s home sets the stage for the Baudelaires’ experiences, as when it comes to Snicket’s settings, first impressions are often entirely correct. Furthermore, this portrayal is highly reminiscent of gothic architecture. Hanging towers, turrets, and trapdoors often feature as hiding places for gothic characters, and indeed Olaf is known to seclude to his tower for much of the day. The general decay of the house embodies the woe from which the Baudelaires suffer, confining the children to a physical and psychological darkness. While in classic gothic novels claustrophobia is often executed with literal chaining, imprisonment, or other forms of physical confinement, The Bad Beginning employs claustrophobic dread by confining the orphans to a single bedroom, and later the tower room, despite the house’s large interior.
In addition to gothic conventions tweaked for younger audiences, many of Snicket’s characters are apparently drawn from the archetypal gothic personality. That Snicket himself is an unreliable narrator – a characteristic found in such works as Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw – is an immediate indication of archetypes’ presence in the series. Although Snicket presents his work as a well-researched account of the lives of three unfortunate orphans, the fact he includes himself as a character in the work at all implies some aspects of the story may be subject to bias. Snicket’s villain is clearly also influenced by gothic sensibilities. Olaf is said to disappear during the day only to reappear at night, a depiction not entirely unlike Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Indeed, like Dracula, Olaf is repulsed by the Baudelaires’ Pasta Puttanesca, a recipe containing garlic. He yearns instead for bloody roast beef, and in fact, by the time the children serve the meal, the Puttanesca sauce is likened to a “vat of blood” (51). In true gothic manner, Olaf lusts after the virginal maiden - a phrase which here means “Violet Baudelaire.” Frequently throughout the text Violet is preyed upon by Olaf and other members in the acting troupe through unseemly touch and menacing words. Violet, the virtuous heroine, is coerced into marriage by the evil count. This sacred act is often sullied in gothic literature, and so it is here with Al Funcoot’s production of The Marvelous Marriage, or, as Klaus perhaps puts it more accurately, The Menacing Marriage (97). As the novel is geared toward children, the sexual undertones of Olaf’s aims are concealed beneath his desire for the Baudelaire fortune. Nonetheless, just as marriage is doomed from the start in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Ontranto, so it is doomed here by the virtuous heroine’s hand. Her left hand, more specifically, as Violet thwarts Olaf’s ambitions by signing the legal marriage document in her non-dominant hand. Violet further exercises her ability to improve conditions after one of Olaf’s henchmen switch off the lighting in the theater. The simile Snicket uses to describe Violet is perhaps one of the few nods to supernaturalism readers find in the book: “In the darkness, Violet looked like a ghost, her white wedding gown moving slowly across the stage” (157). This is a twist on gothic pretenses in that apparitions are typically introduced to incite fear; here, the apparition ends fear by finding the light. Violet’s other main attempt to play the courageous protagonist is in her efforts to rescue Sunny. Like Klaus discovering Olaf’s plan, Violet works by night, and the backdrop provides interesting challenges for the heroine. For instance, the night is still but with a slight breeze, and Snicket notes Violet must be silent so as not to attract attention (119). In the traditional gothic novel, wind is often used to suggest danger or peril, and indeed Violet almost gives up entirely when she imagines herself “swinging in the breeze, clinging to a rope made of ugly clothing.” Violet perseveres, though her efforts are for naught. Still, the strength the heroine exhibits remains an important facet of her character inherent in the gothic.
How well, then, is the gothic genre integrated into The Bad Beginning? Given the age group for which the novel is designed, it appears Snicket successfully merges gothic sensibility with juvenile desires. The settings, though dark, are intriguing, and the conventions well-incorporated. The characters, while extremely unlucky, are nonetheless believable and relatable. Although later novels in A Series of Unfortunate Events depart somewhat from the gothic tradition, The Bad Beginning starts the series off in an aberrant – the word “aberrant” here means “unique, and causing intrigue among readers” – direction.
~~~
Discuss.