WRB—June 4, 2025

“intermittent immortality”

“The Washington Review of Books,” writes Mr. James of this period, “was not merely all right but was the dearest thing in the world.”

Links:

• In The New Yorker, an essay drawn from Adelle Waldman’s introduction to a new edition of Northanger Abbey:

  With so much in the book’s favor—a style that is trademark Austen, an appealing and ingenuous heroine, an equally appealing love interest in Henry Tilney, and an abundance of sly commentary on “the Novel” that ought to appeal to the kind of people who love Austen, i.e., to novel readers—why is Northanger not more appreciated? Why does almost no lover of Austen cite it as his or her favorite? The reason is likely bound up with the same quality that makes the novel so irresistible to those whose job it is to teach the history of the novel to young people.

  As a novel about novels, Northanger operates differently than Austen’s other books. When we read Mansfield Park or Emma, we interpret the world through the perspective of their heroines. We feel Fanny Price’s unease when she perceives her cousin Edmund’s feelings for Mary Crawford; we are made to feel Mary’s charm, to respond to her liveliness and good humor, even as we, like Fanny, see Mary’s unsuitableness to be Edmund’s wife. Our hands are as tied as Fanny’s when it comes to the question of what to do about it; whether we like Fanny or not, we are right there with her—her ride is our ride. Likewise, when we read Emma, we fall prey to the same misreadings as Emma. Having been made to see the world through her eyes, we, too, think Mr. Elton is in love with Harriet Smith; we, too, are shocked to find out that this is not so. In contrast, when we read Northanger Abbey, we don’t see the world through Catherine’s eyes; rather, we see Catherine through the narrator’s eye. That is, Austen isn’t merely talking to the reader about novels—she is also talking to the reader about Catherine, who is both character and device, designed to send up other heroines and showcase different kinds of folly.

  [I do know people who cite Northanger Abbey as their favorite Austen; as an inveterate defender of Mansfield Park I sympathize. Personally, I have never found Henry Tilney particularly appealing, and I attacked his ability to read novels (and defended Catherine’s) in WRB—May 14, 2025. Austen’s handling of that issue presages her much more involved games with the reader in her later work. —Steve]

• In Literary Review, Kate Loveman on the publication of Samuel Pepys’ diary:

  The version of Pepys’ diary eventually presented to the public was edited by Neville’s brother Lord Braybrooke. Braybrooke decided which parts of Smith’s transcript should be printed. The text he published was only a quarter of the whole. He was upfront with readers that he had made cuts. In his preface, he stated that, since Pepys was given to documenting “the most trifling occurrences,” it had been “absolutely necessary to curtail the MS materially.” Yet, once again, there was strategic silence at work here. In his preface, Braybrooke did not indicate that Pepys’ conduct had been at all objectionable or that parts of the manuscript were too obscene to print. This edition contained no references to bribe-taking and no “amours.” Braybrooke did not want to discredit Pepys’ good name or his own brother’s college.

  The final player in the publishing process, however, was not so committed to these objectives. The diary’s publisher, Henry Colburn, was selected by Neville and Braybrooke because he had produced Evelyn’s diary. He was also known as the “prince of puffers” thanks to his underhand advertising methods. Within days of the diary’s publication, a Colburn-owned newspaper offered an ostensibly impartial review, which recounted examples of court scandal from the edition. It then just happened to mention that the manuscript contained episodes relating to Pepys’ own behavior that “the reverend editor has with great propriety suppressed.” This statement was, on the face of it, intended to reassure purchasers as to the edition’s politeness. As was no doubt intended, however, it also incited speculation about which vices had been kept out of the published edition, and so increased the diary’s fame.

  [Just think of all the bribe-taking and “amours” I keep out of the WRB—in fact, outside of this newsletter those are my two main occupations. —Steve]

• In our sister publication in Hollywood, Madelyn Dawson interviews Sarah Manguso about her new book (Questions Without Answers, illustrated by Liana Frank, April):

  Teaching children how to write poems is easier than trying to teach them how to write novels, though some children do write wonderful novels (Daisy Ashford!). In his books about teaching poetry to children, Koch demonstrates, among other things, how to get out of the way of children’s creativity. It’s a great lesson for overly didactic teachers (and I should know).

  Being a mother has changed the way I think about both motherhood and artist-hood. Before I was a mother, I thought of my life as my very own masculine-coded hero’s journey. Now I raise my kid and I write, and I find both of those practices so much more interesting (and more heroic?) than the life I wanted when I was young.

  There’s a huge overlap between making art and raising a child—and there’s an overlap between making art and being a child. “My child could do that,” goes the old saw. Maybe so! But could you? This book captures the essence of that kind of art.

  [Children write poems. Teenagers write novels. After they grow up they start writing poems again. —Steve]

[The rest of today’s WRB has even more links to the best and most interesting writing from the past few days, as well as Upcoming books, What we’re reading, and going deeper on the state of criticism and other niche interests of mine in Critical notes. Today, from my desk and the desks of other WRB contributors:

• Madame Bovary, internet novel

• Rebecca West’s book about Henry James

• Grace on a Poem by Lewis Carroll and June

If you’re interested in any of that, and if you want to support the WRB in making the lifelong task of literacy not take anyone’s entire day, please subscribe below.

And if you’re already a subscriber, thank you very much. I appreciate it. Why not share the WRB with your friends and acquaintances? The best way to support us is by subscribing, but the second-best is by telling your friends about us. —Steve]