The Mysteries of Udolpho: A Ghost Story That Turned Out to Be a Novel About Women's Rights
(The Scariest Monster Is Patriarchy)
One of the earliest Gothic novels, The Mysteries of Udolpho feels like a visit to the factory where all Gothic tropes were first manufactured: a persecuted heroine, a gloomy castle, ghosts of the past, family secrets, and so on. The only problem is that everything still seems to smell of fresh paint; the parts haven't even been packaged yet, let alone assembled into something truly coherent.
Ann Radcliffe hardly seems concerned with questions of plot structure or narrative economy. In 1794, she is simply enjoying the Gothic atmosphere, paying little attention to why she needs so many characters or why most of her plot threads lead nowhere.
The story revolves around Emily St. Aubert, a young woman whose father has died. Unable to inherit his property, she falls under the guardianship of her aunt and her aunt's husband, who take her to a remote castle and effectively keep her imprisoned there.
The skeleton of the plot is actually quite simple, yet Radcliffe manages to pile onto it so many mysterious, absurd, intriguing, and oddly charming elements that the audiobook runs for 37 hours (yes, I spent an entire week listening to it!). And if you approach the novel as a student of early Gothic fiction, it was probably worth it.
Radcliffe clearly wanted to write something mystical and romantic. What she ended up writing, however, is a novel about why feminism is necessary.
Watching the way Emily's older relatives treat her, you realize that young women were not considered full human beings for a very long time. And the real horror does not come from evil forces or the ghosts supposedly lurking in the castle. What is genuinely frightening is how many times Emily could have been sexually assaulted simply because some man decided he no longer wished to protect her. Her safety depends entirely on the goodwill of whichever man currently has authority over her—and on nothing else.
That is genuinely terrifying.
The only character whose antics I consistently enjoyed was the heroine's stalker, Count Morano. He is responsible for introducing a delightful dose of horny chaos into the narrative.
And no, his attempts to become a demonic Gothic lover fail completely. Morano is, at heart, a ridiculous character. He is not frightening, not tragic, and not particularly dangerous—just incredibly persistent.
I now have a fanfiction idea in which Morano attends classes taught by Orlok, Dracula, and Heathcliff on tragic seduction and dark charisma.
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