Friday, January 19, 2007

Haywood's Fantomina: Youthful Ignorance Unrestrained

A Simple Reflection

By completing Fantomina before reading any of the introductions or supplement articles, I was able to attempt understanding how readers in 1725 may have initially reacted. Of course, I can't deny that I already have preconceived notions regarding eighteenth-century literature: it can be wordy, strict social customs depending on class, race and so forth. However, Fantomina fascinated me throughout the entire story. Not only is the story material itself rather provocative for the mid-1720s, it's pretty stunning even in today's "anything goes" western society.

I imagine Haywood had some pretty harsh feelings towards most men. Certainly in the time of frequently handwritten words (instead of text messages) and mandatory social courtesies, I believe she might have thrived on the idea of people working the Victorian system to their advantage or unintended disadvantage as in the case of Fantomina herself.

As the story unfolds, I immediately gathered from the narrator's tone that young Fantomina wanted to be able to flirt, but her social class blocked that. Her curiosity couldn't be satiated without taking on a disguise and holding her prized affections for Beauplaisir. When the man's true intentions are perceived, Fantomina takes on more disguises as if to experiment with him while also trying to fulfill her growing desires for him. The whole self-orchestrated circus ends abruptly for her upon her mother's arrival and later: the baby girl.

In particular, I enjoyed the names used for the characters in Fantomina. They are fun with both phonetic and descriptive purposes. Beauplaisir can be broken up into two French words: beau-beautiful, plaisir-to like, or be liked. The name Widow Bloomer made me crack up, all I could think was, "Mrs. Bloomer, yep, hope she can bloom well for Beauplaisir". Of course, I could be completely mistaken but I wouldn't be surprised if, after further research into Haywood's style, I find that she purposely played with certain words or names to increase awareness of her writings' intentions.

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Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Haywood and Behn-revisionist history?

Having finished "Fantomina" and Oroonoko, I understand why Janet Todd's introduction to Behn's novel cautions the reader against interpreting Behn's work through a postmodern viewpoint. Approaching either work from a postfeminist, postcolonial viewpoint leads the reader to adopt a skepticism that obscures what is valuable in both readings.

For example, I had difficulty reconciling the ending of "Fantomina" with the assertion that Haywood's protagonist is exercising an unusual amount of freedom. As a consequence of Fantomina's affair(s) with Beuplaisir, she is left with an illegitimate child. It would seem to me, the postmodern reader, that despite the arguable "freedom" she had enjoyed, it is Fantomina and not Beauplaisir who is left with the consequences of their illicit affair.

In the beginning of "Fantomina," Haywood describes the young lady as having "distinguished Birth, Beauty, Wit, and Spirit" (Haywood 227). Her gifts seem to be doing her little good, as she can only use them to their fullest extent after abandoning her identity as a well-born noblewoman. By rejecting this identity and adopting one of a lower-class prostitute (although possibly higher-class within the caste system of prostitution at the time), Fantomina is free to exercise all of her attributes in pursuit of Beauplaisir.

Haywood makes several generalizations regarding the nature of men and women, of whom Beauplaisir and Fantomina serve as a sort of embodiment. Haywood writes that "he (Beauplaisir) varied not so much from his Sex as to be able to prolong Desire, to any great Length after Possession: The rifled Charms of Fantomina soon lost their Poignancy, and grew tasteless and insipid" (Haywood 233). Fantomina is then still the pursuer, as she employs several different ruses in order to continue enjoying the attentions of Beauplaisir. Fantomina has "constancy," as Haywood puts it. She is unable to be satisfied with anyone but Beauplaisir, while he is the exact opposite, constantly craving novelty and growing quickly tired of Fantomina's various disguises.

In the end, however, it is Fantomina who is packed off to the convent, although if the footnote is to be believed, that might not be such a bleak fate, and possibly more of a vacation.

Behn's Oroonoko presented me with the same quandary. How am I, the modern reader, to reconcile Behn's description of Oroonoko as seemingly possessing both the best attributes of European and "savage" cultures, with the fact that he himself caused the enslavement of many of the characters introduced later in the story?

In the character of Oroonoko, it seems that Behn has created a hybrid of what she considers the best qualities of both cultures. Oroonoko is well-learned and articulate, with courtly manners, but also has a sort of Edenic quality that Behn attributes to those living in the "state of nature" that she finds the natives in. Even his appearance, as described by Behn, has a sort of hybridity to it, blending attractive European features with a "perfect ebony or polished jet" (Behn 15). Interestingly, the picture on the cover of the Penguin Classics edition of Oroonoko looks nothing like this description.

However, it seems to be this nobility of character that is Oroonoko's downfall, as he makes the mistake of taking the ship's captain, and later the governor, at their word, with dire consequences.

Behn presents a series of contradictions. Oroonoko is so noble as to be unfit for slavery and to make those who have befriended him question the institution entirely; yet he has enslaved prisoners himself.

Behn and Haywood present a considerable challenge to the modern reader. Is Fantomina really exercising freedom, given that she bears the consequences of her affair? Can Oroonoko be read as an indictment of slavery if the titular character keeps slaves himself?

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