Transimperial Negotiations and Cultural Anxieties from the Sensation Novel to the Adventure Story

The sensation novels of the 1860s expressed the anxieties of the age, challenged realism, and sought to revive wonder. Within the transformations of modernity, these novels were read and exchanged across the British Empire. Sensation fiction mixed romance and realism and its sensational elements reflected modern tensions and concerns. Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret probed the sources of violence, the cultural measures of sanity, and underscored the transgressions of an oppressed female figure in her search for freedom. Wilkie Collins’s Woman in White likewise challenged cultural certainties, as he observed the expanding popular reading audience. The rise of the adventure story within the imperial designs of colonization expressed a sense of mystery and an encounter with otherness that is interrogated here.

Playing Cute: Sensation Villainy and the Aesthetics of Small Things in The Woman in White and Lady Audley’s Secret

In Our Aesthetic Categories (2012), Sianne Ngai defines ‘cute’ as an aesthetic ‘preoccupation with small, easy to handle things . . . an aesthetic that celebrates the diminutive and the vulnerable’. Although Ngai identifies the cute as a predominantly twentieth-century phenomenon, and one which is inextricably bound up with the mass-market commodification, even eroticization and fetishization of the cute object or person, it is difficult to imagine a literary character more enamoured with ‘small things’ – from tiny, sugary confections to his menagerie of pet mice – than Wilkie Collins’s Count Fosco, or a character who so perfectly conforms to the definition of the cute commodity itself as ‘appealing specifically . . . for protection and care’ than the ‘childish, helpless, babyfied’ Lucy Audley in Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret (1862). This article reads Count Fosco and Lady Audley through the characteristics of cuteness to better understand the aesthetic and economic dynamics of their villainy, and to establish for the twentieth-century phenomenon of cuteness identified by Ngai a discernible genealogy in the specific conjunction of print culture, theatricality, commodification, and physical sensation that we now recognize as the sensation fiction of the 1860s.

Alternative Visions Of Crime And Community In Wilkie Collins' The Woman In White And The Moonstone

When T. S. Eliot described Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone (1868) as the “first and greatest of English detective novels” (413), he could not have predicted the number of writers who would take issue with his brief phrase. While some have embraced Eliot’s adjectives (Bisla; Hennelly), others have critiqued the “first” and “greatest” descriptors, identifying Collins’ predecessors (Duncan; Klimaszewski), and contemporaries who offer The Moonstone some competition for the title of “greatest” (Smillie; Thomas). Still others have taken issue with defining the novel as “English,” due to its anti-Imperialist critiques (Narayan; Roy). Following in the footsteps of scholars such as Tamar Heller and D. A. Miller, the descriptor I choose to trouble in this essay is “detective.” Though The Moonstone inarguably contains a detective character, and a complex mystery that is indeed solved through detection, I argue that, especially when viewed in conjunction with Collins’ earlier novel The Woman in White (1859), Collins should be understood not as establishing the conventions of the detective novel to come, but as working against the tide of a developing genre which became increasingly police- and law-focused. Rather than valorizing the police detective or reifying the justness of the legal system, these novels articulate a vision of crime and justice outside of the boundaries of law and policing, one markedly different from the “detective” genre Eliot credits Collins with founding.

Alternative Visions Of Crime And Community In Wilkie Collins' The Woman In White And The Moonstone

When T. S. Eliot described Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone (1868) as the “first and greatest of English detective novels” (413), he could not have predicted the number of writers who would take issue with his brief phrase. While some have embraced Eliot’s adjectives (Bisla; Hennelly), others have critiqued the “first” and “greatest” descriptors, identifying Collins’ predecessors (Duncan; Klimaszewski), and contemporaries who offer The Moonstone some competition for the title of “greatest” (Smillie; Thomas). Still others have taken issue with defining the novel as “English,” due to its anti-Imperialist critiques (Narayan; Roy). Following in the footsteps of scholars such as Tamar Heller and D. A. Miller, the descriptor I choose to trouble in this essay is “detective.” Though The Moonstone inarguably contains a detective character, and a complex mystery that is indeed solved through detection, I argue that, especially when viewed in conjunction with Collins’ earlier novel The Woman in White (1859), Collins should be understood not as establishing the conventions of the detective novel to come, but as working against the tide of a developing genre which became increasingly police- and law-focused. Rather than valorizing the police detective or reifying the justness of the legal system, these novels articulate a vision of crime and justice outside of the boundaries of law and policing, one markedly different from the “detective” genre Eliot credits Collins with founding.

Understanding the Victorian Unfeminine

My project traces concepts of the unfeminine from Wilkie Collins’s sensation novel The Woman in White (1860) to Victoria Cross’s New Woman fiction in Six Chapters of a Man’s Life (1903). Both texts feature female characters who defy Victorian standards of femininity. Marian Halcombe of The Woman in White is regarded as “ugly,” with “almost a moustache,” yet Walter Hartright (the narrator) admits to the “rare beauty of her form” when he meets her. Marian is also extremely intelligent, using her wits and courage to help protect her half-sister. The unnamed male narrator of “Theodora” from Six Chapters of a Man’s Life meets a similar female character (Theodora), who also has a mustache and looks “like a young fellow of nineteen.” Nonetheless, Theodora is highly educated, even advocating for sex for sex’s sake. Though Theodora is unconventional in her appearance and character, the narrator grows more attracted to her. In defiance of their conventionally unfeminine physical and mental characteristics, both women are regarded as striking by their male narrators. I examine these characters’ unfeminine appearance and heightened intelligence in combination with their radical desirability, suggesting that parallels between Marian and Theodora establish a firm connection between these two Victorian genres as they construct concepts of attraction and the “unfeminine” woman.