Take a photo of a barcode or cover
These 4 stars are vEry generous. I would perhaps rate the first volume of this book a full 5 stars, but the second volume 1 or 2 stars. I know that doesn't average out correctly but we shall ignore that.
The moral message of this book – that if an underage girl can "guard" her "virtue" and resist a sexual predator in a position of power whilst simultaneously managing to remain respectful and deferential, she will be "rewarded" by his "converting" and marrying her! – is disgusting, terrible, nope, nope, I hate it. The fact that this holds some sort of reputation as the first morally respectable (on that account) English novel is all the more disturbing. God forbid we credit the female novelists prior to Richardson whose saucy books could not enter the canon in the way his did. It is nonetheless interesting that this was considered so scandalous (which of course secured its popularity) and had to be censored in the mid 18th century. I guess there are some slightly suggestive passages, but... no, not really much sauciness for a desensitised modern reader.
So, why the four stars??? I really enjoyed the first volume of 'Pamela' and the way it makes use of its epistolary form. Ah, the immediacy of Pamela's letter-writing directly after each new thing in the sequence of events unfolds! It was so tangible, so emotionally tense, and therefore genuinely quite readable (despite the 18th century verbosity) for the first chunk. We often know exactly where Pamela is writing the letter, how much time she has for "scribbling" before some one might interrupt her and even read and intercept the letters (which happens multiple times!). We are made acutely aware of the materiality of the paper and ink that she must secretly hoard away in her "closet". We sometimes share in Pamela's worries about getting the letters to her parents when she is imprisoned. The letters become a fictional prop, a part of the plot, and yet they also constitute the form of the novel that the reader has access to. Of course, Richardson did the typical evasive thing of pretending he found these real letters and only edited them, adding a preface and an expository afterword.
Volume two. Pamela's "virtue" is "rewarded", and clearly this is not fun for a modern feminist reader. Not only that, but the vibrancy of the narrative diminishes, and all the things that were masterful about the epistolary form deteriorate. Once Pamela is no longer imprisoned, perversely her letters are no longer compelling, because she does not need them to occupy herself and internally relieve her anxieties, and the correspondence with her parents (and thus the reader) need no longer be illicit and secretive. And there's just a load of waffle about the marriage arrangements that could have been cut out! Even if we were to suspend our disbelief and follow along with the "moral conversion" of Mr. B into a loving husband, there is no textual substance to guide us in this. Lots of Mr. B before, lots of Mr B. after, but literally no narrative development of the supposed change itself!
Something I noted down early in my reading was my appreciation for the centring of Pamela's voice and her experience of the abuse rather than elevating Mr. B's "passion" to the narrative focus. Obviously this does not hold up much by the time you get to the end of the novel. And Richardson is a male writer, putting parabolic words in a female character's mouth, so there is no way of ignoring that problem. My ratings do not represent my agreement with authorial intentions, or even my enjoyment of the book. I have a lot of interest in this text and its influence, and I will not be reading Richardson's 'Clarissa' any time soon, but I will definitely be reading Henry Fielding's 'Shamela' and Eliza Hayward's 'Anti-Pamela' (both parodies).
The moral message of this book – that if an underage girl can "guard" her "virtue" and resist a sexual predator in a position of power whilst simultaneously managing to remain respectful and deferential, she will be "rewarded" by his "converting" and marrying her! – is disgusting, terrible, nope, nope, I hate it. The fact that this holds some sort of reputation as the first morally respectable (on that account) English novel is all the more disturbing. God forbid we credit the female novelists prior to Richardson whose saucy books could not enter the canon in the way his did. It is nonetheless interesting that this was considered so scandalous (which of course secured its popularity) and had to be censored in the mid 18th century. I guess there are some slightly suggestive passages, but... no, not really much sauciness for a desensitised modern reader.
So, why the four stars??? I really enjoyed the first volume of 'Pamela' and the way it makes use of its epistolary form. Ah, the immediacy of Pamela's letter-writing directly after each new thing in the sequence of events unfolds! It was so tangible, so emotionally tense, and therefore genuinely quite readable (despite the 18th century verbosity) for the first chunk. We often know exactly where Pamela is writing the letter, how much time she has for "scribbling" before some one might interrupt her and even read and intercept the letters (which happens multiple times!). We are made acutely aware of the materiality of the paper and ink that she must secretly hoard away in her "closet". We sometimes share in Pamela's worries about getting the letters to her parents when she is imprisoned. The letters become a fictional prop, a part of the plot, and yet they also constitute the form of the novel that the reader has access to. Of course, Richardson did the typical evasive thing of pretending he found these real letters and only edited them, adding a preface and an expository afterword.
Volume two. Pamela's "virtue" is "rewarded", and clearly this is not fun for a modern feminist reader. Not only that, but the vibrancy of the narrative diminishes, and all the things that were masterful about the epistolary form deteriorate. Once Pamela is no longer imprisoned, perversely her letters are no longer compelling, because she does not need them to occupy herself and internally relieve her anxieties, and the correspondence with her parents (and thus the reader) need no longer be illicit and secretive. And there's just a load of waffle about the marriage arrangements that could have been cut out! Even if we were to suspend our disbelief and follow along with the "moral conversion" of Mr. B into a loving husband, there is no textual substance to guide us in this. Lots of Mr. B before, lots of Mr B. after, but literally no narrative development of the supposed change itself!
Something I noted down early in my reading was my appreciation for the centring of Pamela's voice and her experience of the abuse rather than elevating Mr. B's "passion" to the narrative focus. Obviously this does not hold up much by the time you get to the end of the novel. And Richardson is a male writer, putting parabolic words in a female character's mouth, so there is no way of ignoring that problem. My ratings do not represent my agreement with authorial intentions, or even my enjoyment of the book. I have a lot of interest in this text and its influence, and I will not be reading Richardson's 'Clarissa' any time soon, but I will definitely be reading Henry Fielding's 'Shamela' and Eliza Hayward's 'Anti-Pamela' (both parodies).