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Jimmy Butts

Indelicate Jokes: Burney’s Comic Violence as a Rib to the Gothic

The Gothic novels of the 18th century do not seem to lend themselves to comedy.

However, while there are early novels that are blatantly comedic—such as Tom Jones—

one may find humor in unexpected places, like the Gothic, but a parallel to the comedy

that may be found in Gothic novels may also be found elsewhere, namely in the violent

humor of Fanny Burney’s Evelina. According to critic, Waldo S. Glock, “All critics

acknowledge Evelina, to be highly entertaining, especially as a comic satire on bourgeois

vulgarity and conceit” (129). Still, while many scholars like Glock have discussed

Burney’s humor as being entertaining and satirical, an understanding of Evelina’s comic

significance upon the evolution of the novel as a form have been somewhat limited.

Burney’s unexpected, violent kind of humor is not without influence. Burney’s comedy

attends to the social circumstances informing many other novels written not long after her

first publication, particularly regarding feminine anxieties, and particularly informing

what would come to be known as the Gothic genre. The Gothic genre seeks at its heart

the concept of the sublime as defined by Edmund Burke in 1757, and according to critic

Anne K. Mellor, “This concept of the sublime promoted by eighteenth-century

theorists… is distinctly, if unwittingly, gendered. The sublime is associated with an

experience of masculine empowerment” (85). Thus, while Gothic writers embraced the

violence of the sublime at the end of the century, Burney employs the same “masculine

empowerment” in her comedic novel—showing the danger that existed for women

towards the end of the 18th century.

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Burney writes of a young girl finding romance in the new domestic circles in

which she finds herself, yet she also includes violently comic moments upon her female

characters—comedy of which the women in the novel seem ignorant. However, the

violence of the comedic attacks verge upon misogyny, prior to the attacks on women that

would occur in later Gothic works, including Burney’s own works, Cecilia and The

Wanderer. One of the most prominent Burney scholars, Margaret Anne Doody, in her

seminal biography, alongside other scholars, has begun to call Burney’s later novels—

while previously written off—Gothic texts. She calls Cecilia “one of the first novels to

introduce Gothic symbolism” (147) and mentions, “Burney had had some tendency

toward the ‘Gothic’ in here writings, as can be seen in Cecilia” (182). Additionally, The

Wanderer as well as Burney’s later plays are often noted for their Gothic sensibilities. All

of this is not to say that misogynistic humor in the Gothic or in Evelina is a new

phenomenon found only in the 18th century novel, but that the surprising appearance of it

in texts like Burney’s in 1778, or in later Gothic texts such as Matthew Lewis’s The

Monk published in 1798, are inextricably tied to the gender anxieties that arose alongside

the heightened role of women in the household during this period. While Burney was

writing after the first true Gothic novel was published in 1764—that is Walpole’s Castle

of Otranto, her masculine sense of humor would influence the Gothic writers as that new

form rose to its zenith with Lewis’s publication. Hence, this paper will examine the

connections in Burney’s violent humor to Lewis’s text, which contains its own violent

humor in addition to its true moments of visceral sublimity. Lewis knew of Burney’s

work, and Burney even saw one of Lewis’s later Gothic plays, The Castle Spectre in 1798

(Doody 291). These examples, then, reveal the contextual interactions of gender tensions
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and Gothic tendencies, which Burney and her contemporaries shared concerning the

vulnerability of women at the close of the 18th century.

As stated earlier, the Gothic seems to be influenced by this early violent comic

play developed by writers like Burney. In this strain of violent, masculine humor, Gothic

novels introduce not only grotesque physical attacks upon the women lurking within the

novel’s pages, but comedic verbal attacks as well. Hence, the intensely masculine verbal

and physical play that exists in these early novels works to manage the new tensions that

arose alongside the primacy of domestic life, the new roles of women, and their

vulnerable roles as readers, although Burney’s Evelina predates the misogynist violence

and humor which arises in the Gothic genre.

In The Monk, women are certainly treated violently, but are also the subjects of

masculine ridicule and humor, even while female readers comprised the bulk of the

audience of these Gothic novels. The Monk contains some horrifyingly disturbing

attacks upon women. Ambrosio rapes and kills his sister, Antonia, and Prioress is

trampled underfoot by an angry mob because she is accused of poisoning a pregnant nun,

even the tale of the Bleeding Nun involves her betrayal and murder by an unrequited

lover. The Gothic, with its dark themes and horrifying scenarios, seems an odd place for

humor. Yet the Gothic’s tensions and intense moments of shock value almost necessitate

certain moments where the tensions are relieved through humor. Because women were

the main audience of the Gothic, they became the victims of the plots’ attacks, and the

subject of its humor. For instance, in Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto published before

Evelina, the evil male villain Manfred states midway through the novel, “I am no more to

be moved by the whining of priests than by the shrieks of women” (62), a comment that
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is both funny and dark, and has its unusual place in the Gothic novel. While Evelina is

both reacting to texts like Otranto and speaking to The Monk, the latter seemed to take

the same comedic aspects that Burney employed to alleviate some of the sexual tensions

that arise naturally out of the Gothic genre.

One contemporary critic Susan Fraiman in her essay “Getting Waylaid in Evelina”

cleverly underscores the way that the novel Evelina handles gender roles by revealing the

brutality of the men and the bondage of the women as presented in Burney’s text. She

abhors the scenes of male violence such as Captain Mirvan’s rough play in ambushing

Madame Duval’s carriage, calling the text of Evelina, “an ugly, gang-banging kind of

male bonding” (464). However, Fraiman’s reading seems to ignore the crucial fact that

Burney is writing a comedy—which includes violent humor—as a woman, which

undermines the gender roles in far different ways than Fraiman’s reading only begins to

uncover. In fact, the tensions between what Burney as the author seems to portray as

comical, humorous moments in which the women in her novel wince, move Burney away

from being a wholly feminine writer, shading her comedy as intrinsically masculine.

Doody argues, “Burney is truly innovative in doing what no English woman novelist

before her had done—writing not only a novelistic comedy,” but that “She seizes a

‘masculine’ mode of comedy, largely derived from the public medium of the stage, wraps

it up in the ‘feminine’ epistolary mode, and uses the combination for her own purposes”

(48). Burney’s masculine comedy lends itself to influence upon the masculine spectacle

that would later exist in the Gothic. Both of these stances may be explained by a theory

of humor called Superiority Theory.

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Superiority Theory postulates that humor works because the audience is allowed

to associate with a superior position, with a victim as its target, which works because the

viewer is outside the space of vulnerability. Thomas Hobbes theorized on this philosophy

of humor in his work, Human Nature, during the century before the novel began to arise

as an art form. He concludes, "that the passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden

glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by

comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly," and he discusses the

“grimace” of “laughter” in The Leviathan. Hence, the brutal humor of Evelina towards

women seems to present an ideology founded upon the basis that women suffer from

some infirmity, some inferiority, to be scoffed at. The brutal attacks upon women, and

the grimacing faces of men, later in the Gothic would reflect these same assumptions.

Essentially, then, Burney is handling an issue that concerns the degraded state of women

in society; hence, while she must attack them in her text, she is silently recording the

tensions and anxieties which women faced during this time.

Burney’s comic novel functions from the stance of superiority theory. If dunking

refined women in the mud may be crude, it allows the viewers to gain a stance of

superiority, which bleeds into the superiority felt in gender differences. An example of

this appears at the beginning of the novel where Evelina is in a position of humorous

vulnerability, failing in societal manners. Similarly, Captain Mirvan’s tricks in the novel

are funny to the uninjured viewer, unless that viewer becomes sympathetic with the

victim, which Burney works hard to prevent. Nonetheless, Susan Fraiman’s female bond

with Duval has unabashedly aligned her with the victim, whom Burney endeavors to

make obnoxious. Still, Mirvan’s trickery takes up a significant space in the novel—
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particularly at the end of volume one with the mock-robbery, which reverberates into

volume two with Duval’s reaction, and finally at the close of the third volume to close the

book with a comedic end.

An appreciation for Evelina’s comedy actually, and necessarily, challenges the

reader to accept the violence of the males as humorous. Certainly, Burney’s comic novel

still involves the serious aspects of 18th century class and gender codes, but the narrative

also treats these codes with gleeful disregard. The vulgarity of the humor seems to spring

from a strange infatuation on Burney’s part with introducing crudity into the midst of

refined society. Similarly, the Gothic genre would declaim the delicacies and reason of

the Restoration age for spectacle and “the sublime,” as first outlined by Edmund Burke.

Thus the Gothic at the closure of the century would function as a declamation, or a satire,

on the culmination of the refinements of 18th century society.

When the Captain does indeed pretend to ambush Madame Duval with Evelina in

the coach, merely as a witness, the humor of the novel makes use of this superiority

theory of humor from a misogynistic perspective. Surprisingly, Burney’s comedic

moment here consists of a woman being bound, gagged, dragged through the mud, and

tied to a tree. Hence, its violent relation to Gothic texts needs little more explanation.

Yet, the mock-robbery scene mixes humor with this violence. For example, in one

moment there are lines such as, “the other mask came up to the chariot-door, and, in a

voice almost stifled with laughter, said, ‘I’ve done for her!—the old buck is safe” (121).

However, the humor is either somewhat thrown off—or possibly meant to increase—at

the fury of Madame Duval, who, somewhat melodramatically by Evelina’s account, “with

frightful violence, she actually beat the ground with her hands” (121). Hence, there
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exists a juxtaposition of laughter and anger—comedy and terror. Significantly, though,

Burney seems to despise Duval’s pride and hotheadedness almost as much as Captain

Mirvan does, calling her his Madame French. The description of Duval after she has

been drenched or dragged through the mud is equally ridiculous—

“She was covered with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible, for

the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road, were quite

pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge, made so frightful a

mixture, that she hardly looked human” (122).

Here, Duval’s image is reminiscent of a clown, beaten and bedraggled—and Burney slyly

—almost as slyly as Captain Mirvan—belittles the woman who places too much stock in

her delicate place in society.

However, this moment is still meant to be funny, and here is the disconnection

from Fraiman’s argument. The trick played by these two men, Captain Mirvan and Sir

Clement, is both humorous and darkly disturbing, and it is strange then that Burney

includes these disturbing scenes in her comedic narrative. Fraiman, who is as outraged

by the masculine teasing as Madame Duval herself, writes of “the runoff of anger

produced by this narrative, too great for the comic story to absorb” (470). While

Burney’s novel might not have been able to contain the tensions of her gender within the

confines of a comedy; the Gothic would indeed respond with outright violence and terror.

Women were at this time at the mercy of men—and here Burney presents the woman’s

plight in terms of humor, where later women Gothic writers, Anne Radcliffe for one,

would portray violence towards women without the trope of humor to alleviate those

tensions. Thus, while Fraiman suggests that Burney bears a young, innocent confusion
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with her sex, another conclusion may be that Burney is intentionally breaking apart

feminine codes by ravaging their delicacy. Essentially, Burney makes a commentary on

the role of women in society by writing from a masculine perspective, that is,

intentionally an anti-feminine one, and breaks outside of the prescribed roles for herself

as a writer.

While Mirvan’s laughter in the novel is from his stance of superiority, Evelina’s is

certainly a result of anxiety. According to at least one critic, Susan Staves, it seems as

though “Evelina’s predominant emotion seems to me to be an acute anxiety which is

painful, real, and powerful” (368). Indeed, Evelina’s social anxieties as a woman reflect

the anxieties that Burney must have felt as a women penning women—and writing to

men. While Evelina’s anxieties lead to social fears, Burney’s seem to lead to social

attacks. Staves furthers her point by stating that, “Delicacy is in part like virginity”

(373). In Evelina, and in Gothic works, the subversive attacks by men upon women are

in part an attack upon their “delicacies”—and the reason that unmarried women in

particular are attacked is due to the social tensions that arise when the women are

inaccessible to men sexually. Hence, old women, young unmarried women, and servants

in particular become the victims of such attacks.

Interestingly, there is a similar ravaging of women in The Monk, as our Gothic

example for comparison, when Don Raymond captures a servant Dame Cunegonda, ties

her and gags her. In addition, Theodore, Don Raymond’s servant, had experienced

frustrations with Dame Cunegonda, so the novel reads,

“Cunegonda’s captivity entertained him beyond measure. During his abode in the

Castle, a continual warfare had been carried on between him and the Duenna; and
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now that he found his Enemy so absolutely in his power, He triumphed without

mercy. He seemed to think of nothing but how to find out new means of plaguing

her: Sometimes He affected to pity her misfortune, then laughed at, abused and

mimicked her; He played her a thousand tricks, each more provoking than the

other.” (152)

The treatment of Cunegonda, an unmarried servant, so closely parallels the treatment that

Mirvan bestows upon the unmarried old Madame Duval that it seems evident that violent,

but laughable spectacle lies near the themes of these two very different novels. The

moments of spectacle within both novels are carefully constructed portrayals of

melodrama—these melodramatic moments create sexualized tensions that lend

themselves to humor as relief.

In The Monk, the novel begins with a humorous depiction of the church and its

parishioners. The narrator relates, “The Women came to show themselves, the Men to

see the Women” (7). This comic play with gender appears on the first page of the novel,

introducing the ridicule of women as objects in the novel. In this line, the men are

voyeurs, looking upon the women as objects to either be possessed or attacked for their

resistance to possession.

Later in the first chapter of The Monk riddled with comic lines, the narrator again

is the source of a derogatory rejection of women’s place as having any authority.

Leonella, who is Antonia’s nurse in the novel, is old and above marrying age. The two

“Gallants,” Don Christoval and Lorenzo, have flirted with Antonia and her nurse at the

church service. Lorenzo is intently interested in the young and beautiful Antonia, so Don

Christoval pretends to woo the old and unappealing Leonella. Later, Leonella is glorying
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in Don Christoval’s having kissed her hand, although the novel notes “that Lorenzo with

difficulty repressed his inclination to laugh” (23). Leonella asks of Antonia, “did you

observe the air of passion with which He kissed it?” (34). However, Christoval had not

kissed her hand out of love as Leonella presumes, and Antonia, by the narrator’s

observance, “drew conclusions from it somewhat different from her Aunt’s” and “was

wise enough to hold her tongue” (34). The humor of Leonella’s “ugly woman” position

continues throughout the novel. Here, again, women are chastised if they are not

potential wives or bedfellows.

The narrator follows the previous scene with still another derogatory joke on

women’s capabilities. He jokingly commemorates the moment, noting that because

Antonia was wise enough to hold her tongue, he teases, “As this is the only instance

known of a Woman’s ever having done so, it was judged worthy to be recorded here”

(34). Here, the narrator maligns the delicacy of women through an act of delicacy

enacted by Antonia. Even though she remains silent here, the narrator jibes women for

their lack of quietude, mingling the masculine desire for innocence and the desire for

sexual empowerment over women.

Since women were evidently expected to hold their tongues, Burney seems almost

impressively bold in a frankness that predates Antonia’s silence. Gina Campbell explores

Burney’s tenacity and boldness in the midst of this period of women’s quietude, offering,

“Since eighteenth-century notions of modesty required women to be reticent or even

silent, for a woman to publish was to define herself as immodest” (433). Doody explores

a scene where Mirvan tells Madame Duval, “hark you, Mrs. Frog, you’d best hold your

tongue…if you don’t… I shall make no ceremony of tripping you out of the window”
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(43). Doody comments, “Mirvan regards physical assault on a woman under the guise of

jest as a sublime source of social pleasure. He wants to add injury to insult—literal

injury” (52). The connection, then, seems apparent to the silenced Antonia of Lewis’s

Gothic, and the physical attacks of Evelina—both done out of comedy, but influenced by

the ideology of the sublime. Interestingly, while the humor of the novel in its violence is

intensely masculine, the moment that Evelina laughs in public, she is also made the

victim in the verbal play during a conversation between Lord Orville and Mr. Lovel. The

text reads, “no sooner did Lovel begin his complaint, than she was seized with a fit of

laughing, first affronting the poor beau, and then enjoying his mortification” (29). To

which Lovel responds gaily, “Ha! ha! ha! why there’s some genius in that, my Lord,

though perhaps rather—rustick” (29). Here at the one moment when a women is allowed

to laugh at a man, she is derided for it, and jokingly called a rustic.

In yet another similar moment of fun had at the expense of Leonella in The Monk,

a gypsy tells her fortune and chides her character, much in the same way that the men of

Evelina chide Madame Duval’s character. The gypsy says of Leonella, “You are now so

old,/ Good Dame, that 'tis already told:/ Yet for your money, in a trice/ I will repay you

in advice./ Astonished at your childish vanity,/ Your Friends all tax you with insanity,/

And grieve to see you use your art/ To catch some youthful Lover's heart.” (37). She

continues by undermining her age, beauty, and lack of morality. After the gypsy’s

humorous warning for Leonella, “The audience rang with laughter during the Gypsy's

address; and--'fifty one,'--'squinting eyes,' 'red hair,' --'paint and patches,' &c. were

bandied from mouth to mouth.” (37) Indeed, the old Leonella, unwed and lascivious

becomes the dupe of many of the novel’s attacks. Certainly the earlier, but more subtle
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attacks on women in Burney’s novel set the precedent for these later attacks in Gothic


Later in the novel, when Ambrosio is attempting to gain access to Antonia’s cell

to rape her, he is forced to listen to a ridiculous story presented by Jacintha, Antonia’s

waiting maid. Jacintha melodramatically claims that Antonia’s mother Elvira as a ghost

says things such as, “Oh! That Chicken’s wing! My poor soul suffers for it!” (324). Here

Jacintha is not violently made to be the object of humor, though she is meant to be seen in

a derogatory light, since she is made to be seen as ignorant and ridiculous. She too is

somewhat unmarriable and, again, it is because of this fact that she becomes the object of

humor in yet another novel that deals with the tensions in the domestic realm. Jacintha

was to have wed a young man named Melchior Basco, but now she says, “I am a lone

woman, and meet with nothing but crosses and misfortunes!” (326). Evidently, for these

18th century novelists, unmarried women face trials, which from the stance of superiority

theory, can become comedic to the audience, even if the audience is an unmarried


Yet another comedic attack occurs upon unmarriable women in Evelina in the

scene where Mr. Coverly and Lord Merton settle a gambling dispute “by a race between

two old women” (243). The race is certainly a pitiable spectacle and brings in physical

violence and humor to a culmination. Evelina relates the spectacle, writing, “the scene

was truly ridiculous; the agitation of the parties concerned, and the bets that were laid

upon the old women were absurd beyond measure” (257). The duplicity of the two

gambling men, Coverly and Merton, does indeed lead to physical harm for the old

women for their own entertainment, invoking that sublimity of terror and male
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empowerment that runs throughout these texts rife with gender tensions. The ridiculous

scene is comical, but satirical as well, for the women are injured. The text plainly

describes the vulnerability of the women: “the poor creatures, feeble and frightened, ran

against each other, and neither of them able to support the shock, they both fell on the

ground” (257). The humor, then, in Evelina points to the visceral quality of women at the

power of brutal men, and one doesn’t know whether to laugh or to turn away in disgust at

the grotesqueness of the scenes. The same is true of the attacks in Gothic scenes where

spectacle overwhelms the audience with a feeling of the sublime, which is that masculine


Male violence in Burney’s comedy is not, however, limited to women alone. At

the end of volume three, the treatment of the fop, Mr. Lovel, mirrors Captain Mirvan’s

treatment of Madame Duval. Interestingly, the foppishness of Mr. Lovel makes him a

male victim, yet also essentially effeminate. Of note is that Burney’s father, Dr. Burney,

expressed distaste for this particular scene. He wrote in reaction to his daughter’s new

novel, “I have been excessively pleased with it; there are, perhaps, a few things that might

have been otherwise,--Mirvan’s trick upon Lovel is, I think, carried too far, there is

something even disgusting in it” (353). Although, Burney’s father seems to have no

scruples about Mirvan’s other comedic attacks. Thus, even the trifles of the novel relate

to larger social issues, which would later sprawl into the Gothic genre and can be made

sources of great humor and great spectacle.

Contrary to Burney’s taste in humor, the exquisitely feminine Evelina is largely

silent regarding the humorous aspects of the novel, though she becomes the source of

some laughter in her early misunderstandings of the rules governing social manners, or
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when she is picked up by a pair of prostitutes. Similarly, Lord Orville, heroic and

humane, is the quieting source of gravity in the novel. He quiets the room in their

democratic moment of trying to find a means for Lord Merton and Mr. Coverly to settle

their quarrel, and quietly suggests that Captain Mirvan remove his monkey at the end of

the novel. Mirvan uniquely then becomes a tool for Burney to introduce coarse,

masculine joking in the novel, in spite of his lack of appeal. Evelina says of him at her

first introduction, “Captain Mirvan is arrived. I have not spirits to give an account of his

introduction, for he has really shocked me. I do not like him. He seems to be surly,

vulgar, and disagreeable” (31). Mirvan’s vulgarity aligns him with the villainous men of

the Gothic, though he is more lighthearted during a time when the terror of the sublime

had yet to overwhelm the subject of the novel’s form.

Yet Mirvan does not take all of the credit for the humor of this novel. Yet another

character who adds to the novel’s wit is Mrs. Selwyn, whose quick repartee with the men

certainly presents a stronger feminist stance than usually seem to appear in the 18th

century. Indeed, Mrs. Selwyn’s quips offer further lightness and comedy to the text with

great one-liners like, “don’t be angry with the gentleman for thinking, whatever be the

cause, for I assure you he makes no common practice of offending in that way” (326).

Here the woman finally gets her jab in at the men, allowing Selwyn to hold a unique role

in these complicated social tensions. Nevertheless, Mrs. Selwyn’s character is not wholly

feminine, for according to Evelina’s description of her, “She is extremely clever; her

understanding, indeed, may be called masculine; but unfortunately her manners deserve

the same epithet; for, in studying to acquire the knowledge of the other sex, she has lost

all the softness of her own” (224). Hence, we see the same indelicacy here portrayed in
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a female character, allowing Burney to further push against the expectations of the 18th

century’s socialized gender roles. Even the one woman who responds to the men’s

comedic attacks becomes a part of the search for male power in the novel. Selwyn is

single and vulnerable to attack, yet uses male tactics—wit and ridicule—instead of

female modesties to respond to male attacks.

Ridicule, indeed, seems an appropriate medium for 18th century comedy, a time

when all social attention was paid to proper manners in each situation. The very

acceptance of the masculine violence of the 18th century by this novel upturns the genteel

reader’s expectations and shows how dangerous Burney was in her understanding of her

times. If indeed the text is following the pattern of the Comedy of Manners, then her

subversion of 18th century characters in their socially assigned roles certainly follows the

tradition of “inappropriate” humor. Indeed, the tensions of this violent comedy work well

for the 18th century novel with all of its socialized informing because the 18th century

individual was so concerned with appropriateness, or manners—male and female alike.

For a novel bearing such serious issues as Evelina’s birth and fate, it certainly

paints a blithe portrait of 18th century customs and social interactions. The novel ends

with an impressively sustained repartee among most of the cast as a lighthearted

dénouement. Evidently then, Burney seems to have, what Doody, and probably Fraiman,

would at least call a masculine sense of humor, but let us think of it as a revolutionary

feminine one. Like Mirvan, Burney’s humor carries its own duplicitous purpose. Burney

is not attacking women—she is attacking the delicacies that have been imposed upon

them by 18th century mores. Meanwhile, Lewis presents women as objects of attack,

particularly when they are unavailable for marriage. His commentary on the rise of
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domestic situations seem to reinforce the anxieties that Burney is presenting, although

Lewis makes no excuses for using women violently and mockingly to show his point.

As to where these connections take these texts, and took Burney herself, more work

needs to be done. Burney’s works have only begun to be uncovered once again by

scholars such as Doody, Campbell, and Staves. Still, she certainly was influenced by and

influenced the Gothic—even if she did not influence Monk Lewis himself, she certainly

allowed her early Gothic interests to shade her later works, and spoke at an early stage to

a form that would arise after the publication of her first successful work.
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Works Cited

Burney, Frances. Evelina. New York: W. W. Norton & Co, 1998.

Campbell, Gina. “How to Read Like a Gentleman: Burney’s Instructions to Her Critics

in Evelina.” Evelina. Ed. Stewart J. Cooke. New York: W. W. Norton & Co,

1998. 431-453.

Doody, Margaret Anne. Frances Burney: The Life in the Works. New Brunswick, NJ:

Rutgers UP, 1988.

Fraiman, Susan. “Getting Waylaid in Evelina.” Evelina. Ed. Stewart J. Cooke. New

York: W. W. Norton & Co, 1998. 454-471.

Glock, Waldo S. “Evelina: The Paradox of the “Open Path.’” The South Central

Bulletin 39.4 (Winter 1979): 129-134.

Lewis, Matthew. The Monk. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Mellor, Anne K. “Domesticating the Sublime.” Romanticism and Gender. London:

Routledge, 1993. 85-106.

Staves, Susan. “Evelina: or, Female Difficulties.” Modern Philology 73.1 (May 1976):


Walpole, Henry. The Castle of Otranto. London: Grey Walls Press Limited, 1950.