Louis Durpé claims that, in literature, “what is uniquely Romantic…is that the person has become a question to himself.” Here, Dupré is essentially saying that Romantic literature is introspective. That is to say, it endeavors to plumb the depths of the human psyche and see what new insights might be gleaned. But we are specifically interested in not just Romantic, but rather Gothic literature. So in what way does Gothic literature treat the person as “a question to himself?” How does it endeavor to explore the human psyche? The obvious answer is fear. Now, that sounds simple, perhaps too simple (too broad) so let us expound. Perhaps a better way to phrase it would be something more like this; Gothic literature examines a core aspect of human psychology, that is, what frightens us and why? Now let us be clear here. This is not meant to be taken as “what sort of monsters frighten us?” But rather something more akin to the idea of, what is it about frightening things that makes them frightening?
In order to explore this idea we will examine a number of actual works of Gothic literature to see what conclusions can be drawn. To begin, let us start with Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Young Goodman Brown”. It is a story about a man who leaves his wife, Faith (an obvious allegory), at home to journey into the forest (a classic symbol of sin and evil in “Puritan” literature) for a rendezvous with Lucifer. While engaged in this expedition he makes a series of disturbing discoveries.
As it turns out, he is not the only person on an unholy pilgrimage that night. As he travels he encounters or witnesses pastors and goodwives and all manner of people from his village all making the same trip for the same dark purpose. At one point the devil draws his attention to one such group of fellow travelers, “he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplary dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin.” (Hawthorne 114) This encounter seems to corroborate the Devil’s story that he “[had] a very general acquaintance here in New England.” (113) But beyond that, the Devil even shakes Brown’s faith in his own family. The young Goodman attempts to decline the Devil’s invitation for a stroll and conversation by saying, “My father never went into the woods on such an errand, nor his father before him.” (113) But the Devil cuts him off to correct him, saying, “I have been well acquainted with your family…that’s no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that brought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled in my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village in King Phillip’s war.” (113) At first Goodman Brown doesn’t seem to wholly believe him, but at the very least it certainly plants a seed of doubt, as Brown responds by saying, “If it be as thou sayest…I marvel that they never spoke of these matters, or verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England.” (113) The fact that Brown is so quick to doubt his forebears indicates that perhaps the Devil does not so much plant a seed of doubt, as he nurtures one which is already present. In her essay “The Depths of Allegory in Hawthorne’s ‘Young Goodman Brown’”, Laurie Anne Jacobs points out an interesting connection between Hawthorne’s story and the historical context in which it resides. Particularly, that of the Salem witch trials. Jacobs pinpoints the setting in time, “The time period is established with the description of Goodman Brown as the son of a man who fought in King Phillip’s War…fought between 1675 and 1676, and a son would have been of marrying age by the early 1690s. The Salem witch trials were in the year 1692, and the story is likely set just before this date.” (Jacobs) This placement of the story into its historical context reveals a good deal. For one thing, Brown certainly alludes to this when he says of his father and grandfather, “the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England,” (113) but this was true in general of Puritan society, as it was a theological one and those lacking in faith were not to be tolerated. However, the Salem witch trials were a period of the utmost mistrust, paranoia, and suspicion. It was literally a witch hunt. Neighbors turning against neighbors, wildly speculative and unfounded accusations, and mob killings were the order of the day. This mistrust, which is pervasive in the story, points to a deep seated human fear, a fear comprised of doubt. The sort of fear that causes a man to question the motives of his neighbor. A fear which at its core causes interpersonal relationships (and as a result society as a whole) to fall apart. What makes this so deeply troubling? Man is, by his very nature, a social animal. It is nearly impossible for man to exist without society. Thus it makes perfect sense that something which is so fundamentally threatening to the fabric of society would be so deeply troubling and frightening to us as human beings. In this way, Hawthorne happens upon a part of the answer to the question that is man.
But let us shift focus now to the work of another Gothic author. Here we will examine E.A. Poe’s “the Raven”. In this poem, Poe probes the depths of sorrow and madness. As the poem opens we see a man suffering from the loss of his love, Lenore, and seeking solace from his library, “vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore” (Poe, 422). A faint knocking on his door ultimately reveals itself to be a wayward raven (once the man finally works up the courage to investigate his late-night “visitor”). The narrator’s suffering, coupled with his hesitation and fear regarding a simple knock at his door, reveal a somewhat less-than-sound mental state. When the bird finally gains entrance it squawks a solitary word, “Nevermore”. Throughout the poem, this is the only line of dialogue which the Raven ever expresses, keep that in mind. The narrator initially deals with the bird in a rational fashion, assuming that it was the lost pet of a master from whom it had learned only that solitary word.
Yet as the poem progresses the narrator begins to converse with the bird and draw deeper and deeper meaning from its responses (again, keep in mind that the only word ever spoken by the Raven throughout the course of the poem is “Nevermore”). By the end the narrator has come to see the bird as his own supernatural, eternal tormentor. But the otherworldly nature of this bird is highly questionable at best. Poe is known for having a penchant for the use of unreliable narrators, and what is this poem’s protagonist if not unreliable? We have already established the questionable mental state of the narrator as the poem opens, and by the end we’ve seen him arrive at completely irrational conclusions based off of the presence of a bird which only ever says one word. It is not the Raven which convinces him of the dire situation that he is in at the end, but rather it is he who convinces himself. However, this is done in such a meticulous and subtle fashion that the reader hardly notices it. Unless a thorough reading is conducted it may well appear that supernatural forces are at play. This subtle transition is no accident. In his essay “On Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’”, Dana Gioia reports that, “Poe claimed [that]… ‘The Raven’ emerged from a delicate and conscious process that progressed ‘with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem.’” (Gioia) While Gioia goes on to refute Poe’s claim (about his own work), Poe’s explanation actually makes a great deal of sense when the unreliability of the narrator is taken into consideration, an aspect which Gioia fails to address.
It is certainly worth noting, perhaps even must be noted, that “The Raven” contains at least one double meaning, or rather double interpretation, of sorts. Not only that, but a double interpretation that intertwines with itself. Not only is there the creeping mental degradation of the narrator, but there is also the symbolism present throughout the poem, but particularly embodied in the Raven. The Raven who symbolizes the narrator’s everlasting grief over the death of the woman with whom he shall be reunited “nevermore”. This is especially obvious in the final stanza of the poem, “And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting…And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!” (425) Thus as the narrator makes the final descent into madness, the Raven becomes, to him, the embodiment of his grief. It is that grief which Poe is chiefly exploring here. The idea that grief can have such an everlasting and deeply significant (mind-altering even) effect on the human psyche is in a way an explanation of the fear of loss, and Poe’s portion to the answer of the question of man.
Gothic literature, as with other Romantic literature is deeply introspective. Yet what makes Gothic literature unique is that it is both willing and able to plunge into the deepest and darkest regions of the human mind and condition in its search for answers to the man’s question of himself.
Works Cited
Gioia, Dana. “On Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’” www.danagioia.net [Online]
Available 04/28/15
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. Young Goodman Brown and Other Tales, © 2008, Oxford University
Press. Great Clarendon Street, Oxford.
Poe, Edgar Allan. The Portable Edgar Allan Poe, © 2006, Penguin Group. New York, NY
Jacobs, Laurie Anne. “The Depths of Allegory in Hawthorne’s ‘Young Goodman Brown’”