



Thomas Love Peacock
October 18, 1785 – January 23, 1866
Thomas Love Peacock was born in
Putting aside the question of the literary merits of his texts, Peacock’s works were known predominantly for their satire. Peacock’s comedy is often described as Aristophanic, or following in the tradition of the Greek playwright Aristophanes. The modern knowledge of Peacock’s life at various points in his personal history is often only accessible through his relationship with his contemporaries. He was in contact with many of the great minds of his age and despite living through various intellectual movements, his work remains very much independent of the signs of the times.
This short bit of background information was complied from both Thomas Love Peacock’s Wikipedia article and the Biographic & Critical Excerpts provided on the Thomas Love Peacock Society Website. The Society’s website also contains links to many of Peacock’s prose, verse and miscellaneous works, as well as fun goodies like songs that appear in Peacock works set to music by Society members, a list of uncommon words, quotations and reviews.
The Thomas Love Peacock Society was formed in 1996 to promote and study the works of Thomas Love Peacock and his contemporaries. The Society established its website in 1998 and held its first conference in
I’d like to take apart Shelley’s response to Coleridge’s review in the Prometheus Unbound preface because it clarifies how Shelley wants to view poetic process and tradition. He first summarizes the issue as “the degree in which the study of contemporary writings may have tinged my composition,” a flattering interpretation, given that Coleridge calls him “an unsparing imitator,” (1093). This immediately establishes Shelley’s divergent moral outlook on “mimicry,” which he believes innate to the poetic art (ibid). The poetic geniuses work within forms that are “the endowment of the age in which they live,” making the art and its intellectual movements a collective experience (ibid). This collectivity is reflected in his historical characterization of English literary traditions. Shelley’s period-oriented summary sounds very like other triumphalist progressive nineteenth-century histories: “we owe the great writers of the golden age of our literature to that fervid awakening of the public mind which shook to dust the oldest and most oppressive form of the Christian religion,” (ibid). To parse this sentence: “we,” the current collective, are indebted not to the writers in the golden age of “our” literature, but to “that fervid awakening of the public mind.” The responsible party is oddly given a passive role in Shelley’s sentence, further dodging problems of causation and authorship. The “public mind” fuses all the English into a single operating entity, a generalization that attributes some unifying intellectual feature to the people in that period. This “spirit of the age” concept, common to other nineteenth-century philosophies may have influence Shelley’s conviction that authors are ‘products of their time.’
It interests me that he emphasizes the conditions under which one writes and thinks to such a degree:
“the circumstances which awaken [capability] to action perpetually change. If England were divided into forty republics, each equal in population and extent to Athens, there is no reason to suppose but that, under institutions not more perfect than those of Athens, each would produce philosophers and poets equal to those who… have never been surpassed,” (ibid).
This statement again fails to fully elucidate the cause for genius work, implying in a quasi-scientific manner that if all the variables remain unchanged, tests should produce consistent results. He does not flesh out fully why these particular institutions encouraged such enduring work. Are there discernable characteristics inherent to the republican system or to city-state diversity that foster great thinkers? Shelley had an overt aversion to his contemporary institutions, so he could have planted this as social criticism. After all, “the great writers of our own age are… forerunners of some unimagined change in our social condition,” (ibid). Writers thus have an unusual awareness about the world in which they live, particularly its social aspects. Although Shelley says it is “a mistake to suppose that I dedicate my poetical compositions solely to the direct enforcement of reform,” it could still be argued that he finds change to be a writer’s duty (1094). He references contemporaries who will enact these mass periodical changes, “restoring” the “equilibrium between institutions and opinions,” (1093). Yet the individual is only a portion of “the cloud of mind” that “is discharging its collected lightning,” functioning as one brain and one action (ibid). Further, the successful poetic device is not new, but “has some intelligible and beautiful analogy with those sources of emotion and thought, and with the contemporary condition of them,” exactly what Prometheus Unbound attempts to accomplish by reworking a classical source-text (1093-1094). Although I am willing to accept the argument that the poet’s mind is reflective, “modified… by every suggestion which he ever admitted to act upon his consciousness,” I am unsatisfied by his silence about how and why circumstances affect the writer so supremely (1094). In a writing culture that worships individuals, process, and craft, it is difficult for me to accept a model that characterizes writers as passive vehicles impressed by their environment.
“Monday, March 13. Shelley and Clara go into town. Stay at home; net, and think of my little dead baby. This is foolish I suppose; yet whenever I am left alone to my own thoughts, and do not read to divert them, they always come back to the same point – that I was a mother, and am so no longer.” (40).
Her entries sometimes are very brief and sometimes her thoughts about her baby are mixed together with things that she does that day. Another entry I found interesting was this one:
“Sunday. Mar. 19. Dream that my little baby came to life again; that it had only been a cold, and that we rubbed it before the fire, and it lived. Awake and find no baby. I think about the little thing all day. Not in good spirits.” (41).
Later on when she talks about Clara’s death, she says even less: “On Thursday [September 24], I go to
So, I have it checked out right now but I’ll check it back in after a couple of days if anyone wants to read it.
On another note, I found this website that might be useful that has a lot of links to authors. It’s written by Jack G. Voller, a professor at Southern Illinois University: http://www.litgothic.com/index_fl.html
References:
Ed. Jones,
After Monday’s lecture, I was interested in learning more about Mary Shelley’s relationship with her father, both personally and intellectually. I read a few articles from books in the library, and it seems that there has been some debate about whether Mathilda was autobiographical or not, and whether this has pertinence. The earliest article I read, published in 1988, followed in the feminist tradition Gina mentioned, using extensive biographical information to draw conclusions not only about the novella, but Mary Shelley herself. “Fathers and Daughters, or ‘A Sexual Education’” from Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her Fiction, Her Monsters says in Mathilda: “Mary Shelley projects and displaces her deepest and most ambivalent feelings toward her father,” (193). The novella becomes Mary Shelley’s “pure wish-fulfillment” and “fantasy” as Mathilda “embodies Mary Shelley’s most powerful, and most powerfully repressed, fantasy: the desire both to sexually possess and punish her father,” (194-195). As for this temptation to analyze the author, I am in agreement with Betty T. Bennett, who argues “the assumption that a female writer must personally experience a subject to write about it suggests that Mary Shelley was also a murderer or a warrior or lived in America or drowned at sea, as did the central characters in her other novels,” (Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley: An Introduction, 51). Diagnosing Mary Shelley, the long-dead individual, from print materials (letters, novels, journals) makes me uncomfortable because this evidence does not seem enough to prove that these were her intentions, conscious or unconscious. Though one could be swayed by Godwin’s dismissal of Mathilda’s “disgusting and detestable” subject matter or Mary’s confession to a friend in an 1834 that she had an “excessive & romantic attachment” to Godwin as a child, interpreting her book as a revenge fantasy misses the more interesting connections between this father and daughter (Mary Shelley: Her Life, 254-255).
In “Frankenstein, Mathilda, and the Legacies of Godwin and Wollstonecraft,” published in 2003, Pamela Clemit similarly acknowledges and dismisses the psychological analyses of her critical predecessors.
“The autobiographical format of Matilda… together with its emotionally intense language, has traditionally led critics to read the work as an uncontrolled expression of Mary Shelley’s psychological anxieties following the deaths [of her children] in September 1818 and June 1819… yet to read Mathilda merely as an expression of psychic crisis is to overlook her self-consciousness as a literary artist. The exploitation of autobiographical material and the use of a self-dramatizing, histrionic narrator are established features of the Godwinian novel,” (37).
Clemit here refers to Godwin’s interest in “sincerity,” enacted not only by his novels, but also in Memoirs of the Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, which “shocked rather than liberated… [and] provoked widespread hostility from the conservative press,” (27-28). Sincerity and frankness are employed and critiqued, according to Clemit, during Mathilda’s confession scene. “When her father continues to resist her entreaties, [Mathilda] exclaims, ‘You do not treat me with candour,’ invoking the Dissenting principle which formed the moral underpinning of Godwin’s notion of the duty of private judgment,” (39). This becomes a critique when private judgment and sincerity lead not to improvement, but “in the breakdown of community, and, finally, death,” (39). The failure of sincerity and “Godwin’s belief in the individual’s duty to exercise his or her talents in pursuit of the general good…may suggest the limitations of utopian social theories in the face of individual suffering,” (40). While Clemit uses biographical information in her analysis, it is largely to indicate Mary Shelley’s influences, through her journal.
It’s clear that I prefer the non-personal analytical approach to the “psychobiographical” one employed in Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her Fiction, Her Monsters (194). Though it makes me uncomfortable to pin down something so slippery as an unconscious Freudian intention, articulating psychological intimacies has the potential to be interesting, if not open to an objective (thus morally justified) proof. “Fathers and Daughters, or ‘A Sexual Education’” was most novel in its arguments for Mathilda as social commentary. For example, the chapter points to a portion in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, which noted that women “were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone,” (198). Given this relationship formula, the divisions between bride and child are broken down, and this bourgeois “generational hierarchy… produces father-daughter incest,” (199). It’s considerations like this one that I think bring something unique to interpretations of this text.
Works Cited:
Anne K. Mellor. “Fathers and Daughters, or ‘A Sexual Education’” in Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her Fiction, Her Monsters. (
Pamela Clemit. “Frankenstein, Matilda, and the legacies of Godwin and Wollstonecraft” in The Cambridge Companion to Mary Shelley, edited by Esther Schor. (
Betty T. Bennett. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley: An Introduction. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998).
The previous post focuses on the life of William Godwin, briefly mentioning the influence of Mary Wollstonecraft. Therefore, I suppose it is suitable to look at her life, works, and launching of early feministic thought.
In our text, there is a small biography, hinting at Wollstonecraft’s relationships with her sister, friends, fellow authors and artists, and subsequently, with William Godwin. In terms of marriage, the text notes that it is interesting that they married, especially because of their proclaimed thoughts on marriage and its relation with identity and bond.
In Wollstonecraft’s life, literature had become something of a constant and she came to depend on it in order to express her frustration and overall disturbance with women’s social and political position at that time (mainly the latter half of the 18th century). Her essays concentrated on her disapproval of the male-dominated system that had a history of running
Looking at a few sites, the History Guide does a nice job organizing her works as well as giving her credit in her efforts to “bridge the gap between mankind's present circumstances and ultimate perfection.” Her French Revolution knowledge is also mentioned. In 2002, the BBC did a special on Wollstonecraft entitled “Mary Wollstonecraft: A Speculative and Dissenting Spirit.” Janet Todd’s in depth exploration of her life and her influences is fascinating because it brings to light new ideas of Wollstonecraft’s reason behind her writing. Her traveling brought about a different understanding of the way that the world worked, inspiring her to write about these injustices – mainly on the injustice of women’s rights and their inferior place in society.
http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/wollstonecraft.html
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/empire_seapower/wollstonecraft_01.shtml
Mary Wollstonecraft’s legacy is one of debate, but ultimately helping to define the root of published feministic thought and dispute.
Although the point is debatable, the production of William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge's Lyrical Ballads is considered by some as the beginning of the Romantic period. The end of the period is said to be around the mid 1800s, but it can be (and has been) argued that the Romantic period is continuing even today. The Lyrical Ballads turned away from the era's accepted topics of poetry, and moved toward a humanistic approach verging on existentialism--one argument of the continuation of the Romantic Period. The following is a great example:
The Tables Turned: an evening scene, on the same subject (by Wordsworth, composed probably 23 May 1798)
Up, up, my friend, and clear you looks!
Why all this toil and trouble?
Up, up my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you’ll grow double!
The sun above the mountain’s head
A freshening luster mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ‘tis a dull and endless strife;
Come hear the woodland linnet —
How sweet his music! On my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.
And hark, how blithe the throstle sings!
And he is no mean preacher;
Come forth into the light of things,
Let nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless —
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which nature brings,
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things —
We murder to dissect.
Enough of science and of art,
Close up these barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
Wordsworth's writings heavily influence "Western" literature. If you click here, this site provides many links to Romantic Literature: lectures, scholarly articles, readings and the like. In the section "Poets on Poets" you can hear recitations. Hearing the poems of Romantic Poets adds another dimension to their beauty. At the same site you can listen to Rachel Blau DuPlessis reading William Wordsworth's poem "Composed upon Westminster Bridge, Sept. 3, 1802"
When reading the two syllogisms of Blake’s that we read (No Natural Religion and All Religions Being One), something that jumped out to me was what struck me as a great number of connections to the East Asian philosophy of Taoism. The Marriage of Heaven and Hell struck me in the same way. After searching a little bit online, I found this is a connection that has been explored before, though to what depth I couldn’t say. Anyway, I thought I’d just point out a couple of connections that I found. The texts being used are a work of Chuang Tzu (Discussion on Making All Things Equal) , a taoist writing around 4th century BCE (more at the wikipedia site (yes, it’s wikipedia, but it’s a fine introduction)) and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.
First up is Plate 4 of Marriage
THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL
All Bibles or sacred codes, have been the causes of the following Errors.
1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul.
2. That Energy, called Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, called Good, is alone from the Soul.
3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies.
But the following Contraries to these are True.
1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that called Body is a portion of Soul discerned by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age.
2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy.
3. Energy is Eternal Delight. (pg xvi)
This is clear an echo of a sentiment of Chuang Tzu’s
The hundred joints, the nine openings, the six organs, all come together and exist here [as my body]. But which part should I feel closest to? I should delight in all parts, you say? But there must be one I ought to favor more. If not, are they all of them mere servants? But if they are all servants, then how can they keep order among themselves? Or do they take turns being lord and servant? It would seem as though there must be some True Lord among them. But whether I succeed in discovering his identity or not, it neither adds to nor detracts from his Truth (pg 38).
In both these statements, the authors are saying that humans cannot be divorced from their bodies. Just as Chuang Tzu urges we cannot find the seat of consciousness, Blake argues that our bodies are “portion[s] of Soul.”
The conflation of two things usually viewed as separate is one of the most important themes of both of these works. Chuang Tzu presents one of the most effective images on the problems that arise with making clear distinctions between two things:
Everything has its "that," everything has its "this." From the point of view of "that" you cannot see it, but through understanding you can know it. So I say, "that" comes out of "this" and "this" depends on "that" - which is to say that "this" and "that" give birth to each other. But where there is birth there must be death; where there is death there must be birth. Where there is acceptability there must be unacceptability; where there is unacceptability there must be acceptability. Where there is recognition of right there must be recognition of wrong; where there is recognition of wrong there must be recognition of right. Therefore the sage does not proceed in such a way, but illuminates all in the light of Heaven.6 He too recognizes a "this," but a "this" which is also "that," a "that" which is also "this." His "that" has both a right and a wrong in it; his "this" too has both a right and a wrong in it. So, in fact, does he still have a "this" and "that"? Or does he in fact no longer have a "this" and "that"? A state in which "this" and "that" no longer find their opposites is called the hinge of the Way. When the hinge is fitted into the socket, it can respond endlessly. Its right then is a single endlessness and its wrong too is a single endlessness. So, I say, the best thing to use is clarity (pg 39).
And, much more succinctly,
What is acceptable we call acceptable; what is unacceptable we call unacceptable. A road is made by people walking on it; things are so because they are called so. What makes them so? Making them so makes them so. What makes them not so? Making them not so makes them not so. Things all must have that which is so; things all must have that which is acceptable. There is nothing that is not so, nothing that is not acceptable (pg 40).
This is a belief very evident in Marriage as well. Blake praises
Blake, William. The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.
1975.
Tzu, Chuang. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. Trans. Watson,
Complete works found at these sites, for convenience.
http://www.terebess.hu/english/chuangtzu.html
http://www.gailgastfield.com/mhh/mhh.html
***
2 And she being with child cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered.
3 And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.
4 And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and did cast them to the earth: and the dragon stood before the woman which was ready to be delivered, for to devour her child as soon as it was born.
***Whilst Burke's thought has never lacked interpreters, on the whole understanding has been attempted without the persistence of historical insight and the strength of conceptual grasp required to do justice to him. Hence he has suffered an ironic fate for one who urged breadth and precision of thought. That is to say, he has figured as the spokesman for a very limited number of points. This type of treatment began in the nineteenth century, when Burke was invoked as an antidote to the confidence of the French Revolution by liberal thinkers who prized its principles, saw their narrowness, and required a sense of historical development to situate them properly.