Pamela: Or, Virtue Rewarded

by Samuel Richardson, Peter Sabor (editor)

One of the most spectacular successes of the flourishing literary marketplace of eighteenth-century London, Pamela also marked a defining moment in the emergence of the modern novel. In the words of one contemporary, it divided the world "into two different Parties, Pamelists and Antipamelists," even eclipsing the sensational factional politics of the day. Preached for its morality, and denounced as pornography in disguise, it vividly describes a young servant's long resistance to the attempts of her predatory master to seduce her. Written in the voice of its low-born heroine, Pamela is not only a work of pioneering psychological complexity, but also a compelling and provocative study of power and its abuse.
Based on the original text of 1740, from which Richardson later retreated in a series of defensive revisions, this edition makes available the version of Pamela that aroused such widespread controversy on its first appearance.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, 18th Century, Romance, British Literature, Literature, English Literature

544 pages, Paperback

Published January 1, 1982

About the author

Pamela (1740) and Clarissa Harlowe (1748) of English writer Samuel Richardson helped to legitimize the novel as a literary form in English.

An established printer and publisher for most of his life, Richardson wrote his first novel at the age of 51. He is best known for his major 18th-century epistolary novel Sir Charles Grandison (1753).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_...

Reviews

[Orsodimondo · Rating 4 out of 5]

LA VIRTÙ RICOMPENSATA


Jean Étienne Liotard: La bella cioccolataia (1745 circa).

Il nome della collana curata da Aldo Busi è molto azzeccato per questo libro: “I Classici Classici”.
E infatti si tratta di un classico classico, tra i primissimi romanzi borghesi, scritti per andare incontro a una classe che stava diventando sempre più numerosa e socialmente “pesante”, importante. Quella borghese, per l’appunto. Basta cavalieri e donzelle e pulzelle e paggi e scudieri e… avanti la classe media, fino ad allora senza sua narrativa. Una classe pragmatica, più adatta alla prosa che alla poesia che ai poemi.
Ciò nonostante è ancora l’epoca delle differenze di classe abissali (che d’altronde non sono certo sparite due secoli e mezzo dopo) e la protagonista, la Pamela del titolo, è una cameriera al servizio di una famiglia abbiente, anche se non straricca. Quando muore la sua padrona, la signora al cui servizio personale è impiegata, Pamela teme d’essere licenziata, di dover far ritorno al focolare di mamma e papà – che non se la passano bene, hanno perfino qualche debito.
Tutto questo ci viene raccontato nella prima lettera.

Se non che il figlio della padrona, da sempre considerato uno scavezzacollo, si intenerisce e trasferisce Pamela al suo personale servizio. La giovane è grata e riconoscente: avrà modo di scoprire che non è tutto oro quello che luccica.


Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin: La governante (1739).

Daniel De Foe aveva già pubblicato il suo Robinson Crusoe (1719), e Pamela segue quel solco.
Classico è anche lo stratagemma di Richardson di volersi annullare, non definendosi autore ma solo curatore delle epistole recuperate. Come se fosse materiale autentico che lui si limita a diffondere.
E anche questo è comportamento altrettanto classico: il nascondersi dietro la presunta verità dei fatti per venire incontro a un pubblico che si crede cerchi storie vere (beh, esattamente come adesso, true crime e talk show pomeridiani insegnano).
In realtà direi che si tratti della ben nota questione della sospensione dell’incredulità: raccontami pure di dei ed eroi, di fate e maghi, di mondi alieni e multiverso, basta che io possa crederci.


Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin: La preghiera prima del pasto (1744).

Pamela ha sedici anni e bellezza irresistibile: il giovin signore le tenta tutte per sedurla, “costanti e ingegnosi attacchi”, ma alla fine dovrà cedere al suo volere e convolare insieme a nozze. Facendo di una servetta una nuova signora (proto femminismo? Mito di Cenerentola?). Non per niente il sottotitolo del romanzo recita: o la Virtù ricompensata.
E, come dicevo, il solco è quello di De Foe: non solo il Robinson Crusoe, ma ancora di più gli altri due romanzi, dedicati a Moll Flanders e Lady Roxana (1722 e 1724). Personaggi coinvolti in storie pepate, dove Vizio e Virtù si fronteggiano e scontrano, dove l’insegnamento morale (vero o presunto) è più facile da trasmettere.


Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin: La bambinaia (1747).

Richardson sa intrattenere, e divertire, scrive pagine “vibranti di sesso e conflitti di classe”, descrive
certi estremi psicologici con un livello di specificità mai raggiunto in precedenza.
Inserisce piacevoli variazioni, come quando Pamela scopre che le sue lettere a mamma e papà sono intercettata dal giovin signore, Mr B, e decide di continuare a scriverle sapendo che Mr B le leggerà, e perciò piega la narrazione a questo elemento.


Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin: Di ritorno dal mercato (1738-39).

I romanzi uscivano prima a puntate su varie testate. E questo spiega forse le dimensioni corpose del tomo, le tante pagine: pagine non sempre necessarie ed indispensabili, se è vero che in queste lettere Pamela piange almeno cinquanta volte, tra dolore, disperazione e gioia. Direi che la si può considerare un’anticipatrice delle telenovelas.
Per questo è possibile cominciare a leggere anche in corso di racconto senza sentire la mancanza delle ‘puntate’ precedenti: il riassunto è sempre a portata di mano e la situazione di base è semplice, e si ripete negli episodi.
Pamela ebbe un gran successo, fu subito tradotto in francese e anche in italiano, spinse Richardson a scrivere il sequel: svariati colleghi scrittori la presero storta, giudicarono e dichiararono il successo immeritato, con malizia e snobismo lo ritennero adatto alla “gioia di cameriere di ogni nazione”.
Rimane che Pamela è a suo modo una rivoluzione: il primo protagonista, per giunta di sesso femminile, che deve lavorare per mantenersi, trionfo del pensiero borghese. E anche l’analisi psicologica della protagonista è alquanto insolita e anticipatrice.


Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin: Donna che pulisce le rape (1738).

[Fionnuala]

The subtitle of Samuel Richardson's 1740 novel Pamela is Virtue Rewarded, and it is partly because of that subtitle and partly because the book slotted into the three-volume novel project I've had going the past few months, that I decided to read it. Richardson was a contemporary of the last author I'd read for that project, Henry Fielding, who was known to disagree with Richardson—in particular about the subject of 'virtue'.

Richardson's novel is a series of letters, mostly written by main character Pamela, and mostly addressed to her parents. In the letters, unlikely as it seems, every moment of her life is described in detail. She is a very beautiful fifteen-year old servant (we learn that because she reports everything everyone around her says) in the house of a wealthy landowner who, you've guessed it, is intent on stealing her 'virtue'. His efforts are recounted very minutely, and those sections of the book can only be described as titillating, though the author makes Pamela sound as if she's completely unaware of how titillating they are. To give an example, she describes to her parents how Mr B hid one evening in her bedroom, watched her get undressed, and then crept into bed beside her and began to fondle her breasts. Fortunately she had the happy knack of falling into a deep faint every time such things happened, and they happened often, so that Mr B (who appears to be a complete booby) thinks she's dying every time, and his lecherous plans are foiled. After many such episodes, and other even sillier ones, Pamela, still a virgin, marries Mr B, and lives happily ever after. Virtue rewarded.

What a farce, I thought as I read it, except that the author overlays the whole thing with such religious language and such constant sermonizing on the importance of preserving one's virtue, that his true intentions are hard to figure out. Was he being completely genuine in his message about virtue, I wondered. Did he realise he was making a fifteen-year old girl present herself as a sex object to the reader?

His contemporary, Henry Fielding, seemed to have had no doubts as to the ridiculousness and double standards of Richardson's book. In a novel he wrote in 1742 as a response to Pamela, and which is also written in the form of letters from a character called Pamela to her mother, Fielding makes clear just how much of a sham he thinks Richardson's book was. In Fielding's version, called Shamela, Pamela, who lost her 'vartue' years before, holds all the power. Her plan from the beginning, in collusion with her mother (who has taught how to fake unconsciousness), is to trap the wealthy Mr B into marriage, come what may. Vice is duly rewarded. And Mr B is given a full name by Fielding: Mr Booby!

I read about a quarter of Shamela but the funny thing is that Fielding's Vice Rewarded theme began to annoy me as much as Richardson's Virtue Rewarded one. Fielding seemed to be saying that women are invariably setting snares for men and never say what they truly mean. But perhaps Richardson's hypocritical tale had just exasperated Fielding so much that he decided to be completely outrageous in his response to it.

In his novel, Tom Jones, which I had read just before Pamela, Fielding took a much more reasonable approach to the virtue/vice theme. His hero in that book never claims to be virtuous but he has no serious vices either. And if he's rewarded in the end, it's because of him being in the right place at the right time—as it often turns out in life. And none of the women characters are anything like the mother and daughter duo in Shamela but they are not like Richardson's Pamela either. They are just normal and credible women of their time.

…………………

While reading Pamela, I was reminded of the plot of a famous book, written one hundred years later. There were several strong parallels:
Mr B has a love child, whose mother lives in Jamaica;
Pamela, in her desperation to flee his house, says she doesn't care where she ends up, even if it is at the bottom of a wet ditch, on the wildest common in England;
then she meets a parson who is prepared to marry her and leave his current life;
Mr B invites society ladies to his house, implying he will marry one of them, confusing Pamela as to his feelings for her because, in the meantime, she's fallen in love with him.

Yes, all of that reminded me of the plot of Jane Eyre—with the huge difference that Charlotte Brontë made Jane not beautiful, not ridiculous, and not overly religious.
And she made Mr Rochester not a complete booby.

[Ellie Hamilton · Rating 5 out of 5]

I get this won't be for everyone but it's just my type of book x Does anyone know anything similar? The first half was one of the strongest books I've ever read X big twist and dotted with hints of lived on prosperity of 'Pamela' x

[Antonomasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Maybe I'm from another planet (okay, now I've got the Julian Cope track in my head). Most readers and Eng Lit students can't stand Pamela, but I found much of it a page-turner. One morning, in an hour and a half, I read more of Pamela than I had read in a week from slogfest The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford.

As a kid I used to obsessively re-read a couple of books of saint stories; this foundation must be one reason that I found readable in Richardson what many find unutterably tedious. Pamela Andrews' personality, piety and ordeal is of a piece with any literal hagiography of martyrs. There are zillions of academic studies out there on Richardson, and unfortunately I haven't taken the time to search them comprehensively before writing this post - but there surely have to be some tracing a genealogy from Foxe's Actes and Monuments and the like. Unlike the Catholic martyrs I used to read about, (some of whom were also being imprisoned and pressured into marriage by wicked impious men, or, probably, sex but these were kids' books) Pamela's immediate reward isn't heaven and Jesus - nor the nice young vicar whom contemporary readers think would be a far more suitable and less risky husband for her - but a giant leap up the social and financial ladder in her post- wars of religion Protestant capitalist world. Her work ethic is rewarded. This absolutely doesn't mean I see her as a grifter and gold-digger along the lines of Henry Fielding's spoof Shamela. Nope, I totally believe Pamela, and the premise of the other book even makes me a bit cross. It's that 18th century England was a mercantile world where triumph meant material advancement and improved social status, not spirituality and self-denial of a sort idolised during the middle ages and sometimes the Reformation. The economy has changed significantly - but the social role of women has barely altered; on a symbolic level, a woman has the same old very limited choices of means to get ahead, even if some other aspects of society are different.

An odd point in the novel's favour, for me, was its repetitiveness. If most long books were this repetitive, it would take me less time and energy to read them. The repetition was also proportionally more interesting to me because of the age of the book: like Robinson Crusoe, which I read a couple of months before, it showed the English novel at a rudimentary stage, and also what (at least some) people valued in the early- to-mid 18th century. For instance, it was more religious than the image of 18th century England in late 20th- early 21st century pop culture, all bawdy banter and big wigs. (However, Pamela's bawdiness is not always immediately obvious; the novel was considered almost pornographic, not just for scenes like Mr B's invasion of Pamela's bedroom, but for things like the angle at which, in an earlier chapter, she fell on the floor. Something so subtle that, now, almost no-one would highlight it as erotic, bar the creators of online GIFs of - usually male - actors.)

As I've said before in a few reviews of classic novels, I love being able to get primary-source social history in such a readable format, and seeing how it was woven into people's lives. It sure beats 300- year-old newspapers. Though sometimes its presence is partly unspoken - instead knowing the history helps make sense of the story. It's in things like Pamela's quandary about escape. She isn't anxious for no reason, she has as much to fear outside Mr B's house as inside, with high crime rates, the prevalence of footpads and highwaymen, and the likelihood of hanging under the Bloody Code if he were to accuse her of stealing if she fled. She can't be sure of finding safety anywhere. Pamela may be fiction, but the least realistic content is really the later part of the story. The first half or so is one of a tiny number of engaging primary texts I've ever encountered that show in detail what it was like being at the sharp end of pre-industrial aristocratic power, before there was any real hope of legal comeback against it. Most of what has survived was by people higher up the social scale than Pamela, or Samuel Richardson's family of origin. Contemporary readers often blast Pamela because the author was a man writing a woman who embodied and propagated clichés of her time - but the heroine is also a working-class protagonist written by an author from a working-class background. e.g. It is entirely plausible that Richardson heard among his family and friends women talking about hardening their hands for (domestic) work, and men too, as his father was a carpenter and Richardson himself a printer. One of the novel's main themes and arguments is that Pamela, a working-class young woman, has a moral worth equal to the upper classes -on the one hand, politically revolutionary thinking; on the other, obvious in Christian doctrine - and she stubbornly continues to insist on this despite great stress, threats, captivity, gaslighting and other trickery, and a near-absence of social support.

It is possible that I liked Pamela, and Pamela herself, as much as I did simply because I read the 1801 text, as found in the Penguin Classics edition. Readers of critical editions of classics will be familiar with the nerdy 'note on the text' about authorial revisions and different editions, rarely of real import to anyone outside academic literature study. Pamela seems to be one of the exceptions: there are dozens and dozens of revisions for the 1801 edition which can, when put together, substantially change Pamela's manners and motivations, and sometimes other characters' too. They make it a more coherent and genteel text. (For certain values of coherent and genteel which were already old by the time Jane Austen - known to have read Richardson - was writing.) They make Shamela look outrageous in its disbelief in Pamela, caricaturing her as a wily gold-digger (though I am writing this post #metoo, and perhaps I wouldn't have used as strong a word as 'outrageous' ten years ago). If I'd known about the extent of the differences I'd have got the more expensive Oxford World's Classics edition, which uses the original published text of Pamela. Its critical material is also more recent than Penguin's and the introduction is by Thomas Keymer, whose intros to Tom Jones (great) and Robinson Crusoe (good but not great) I'd read earlier in 2019; I'd also thought I should go for a bit of variation and not read Keymer yet again. On the whole I thought Margaret Doody's intro to Pamela, dating from way back in 1980, had held up pretty well, and it was refreshing to see feminist topics discussed without hackneyed contemporary buzzwords, but with similar underlying meaning.

The psychology in the first half or so of the novel is compelling and observant, with numerous details about how Mr B gradually closes the net on Pamela, invading her mind and space, and about her increasing discomfort and alarm. I found it fascinating and convincing as a portrait of how a person with secure attachment, who is also deeply religious, might respond to this abuse. Pamela's relationship with her parents is fascinating as part of the history of childhood and the family. It seems to put the lie to ideas that all families of the past / this era were authoritarian. She may be fictional, but such relationships surely needed to exist to some extent then for it to be possible for Richardson to write one. Pamela's ongoing communications with her parents and their support of her as an autonomous being (in not insisting she must marry, even in a straitened situation where it seems the best way out) exemplify parents as a secure base. They are mostly excellent parents, apart from the one sad line where Mr. Andrews said he would have had to disown his daughter if she had become a courtesan (one suspects he actually might not have in practice), and the degree of their class-based deference to Mr B late in the novel is rather worrying. Would they try to be there for Pamela if she needed to leave him? (But the novel tries to exclude the possibility of that happening.)

I can see Pamela being a tough read for undergrads who have not long left, or worse, are still stuck living in, abusive homes. Not only is Mr B's terrorising of Pamela a deeply effective portrait of intrusive types of abuse (as opposed to neglect, or occasional random rages), but the reader also has to see alongside that how some young people have parents who are their closest confidantes, and who are a refuge for them (albeit constrained here by the limits of legal system against entrenched aristocratic power). And it's not just isolated scenes that may be disturbing: all this is continual over hundreds of pages; it's a long time for someone to spend on stuff like this if they are finding it stressful. I've never been wholly persuaded before about exemptions in classes for this sort of thing, and have a couple of Four Yorkshiremen-style stories of my own. But I can now easily imagine at my age if I were a tutor, letting some student skip Pamela if they were finding the early chapters too much for a reason like this. And if they are serious about scholarship, would suggest they try it again many years later when they've thoroughly processed everything. If you are not disturbed by it on a deep level, there can be a soapy, telenovela kind of compulsion to the narrative, with its (metaphorically) moustache-twirling villain and saintly young heroine. This is a book that belongs more with trashy yet addictive bestsellers than with high literature. (Incidentally, too many covers for Pamela, like this edition, make the mistake of not showing Mr B as young and attractive - his appearance is a powerful, but usually silent, element in Pamela's inner emotional drama.)

In the second half, the psychology can seem questionable. Pamela is adored and accepted by the local gentry. Shortly afterwards, I even found a real-life example showing the absurdity of this, in The Housekeeper's Tale: in 1825 an elderly squire, Sir Harry Fetherstonhaugh, married a young dairymaid. Mary Ann, the former dairymaid, and her younger sister - who took up residence with the household - were shunned by some nobility for the rest of their lives and had a limited social life. Pamela is unusually beautiful, pious and intelligent, but the steamrolling power of the class system is evident elsewhere in the novel (the powerlessness of anyone to stop Mr B abducting her; the Andrews' deference to him) so there's no real reason to think it wouldn't have also had some effect here, regardless of her personal qualities.

At first, I couldn't quite fathom why the book went on for so long after the wedding. But how sceptical were 18th century readers that someone like Mr B would change? Even if they did also accept the developing conventions of romance fiction. Were these extra chapters about showing that he did? Something I read (unfortunately I can't now track it down) suggested that the narrative doesn't leave Pamela before she is financially provided for, and legally agreed to have a degree of independence. Any contemporary reader with a modicum of knowledge about abusive relationships will be sceptical that Mr B would change so quickly. Even the 'reformed' Mr B is by 21st century standards, controlling, much of it in ways that seem characteristic of his time; however his requests to read Pamela's private letters, a continuation of the surveillance he previously put her under, are deeply unpleasant, and some 18th century ladies would have resisted this. I am fascinated by the impossible intersection of history and psychology (one can't go back hundreds of years to research and interview people to see how they would fit contemporary paradigms or perhaps need different ones) and wonder if there is anything in the idea that because Mr B's most abusive behaviour towards Pamela was more normal and more socially sanctioned, it is possible he was less psychologically disturbed in an underlying sense than someone behaving in the same criminal way in modern Britain - and because of that, it would be somewhat easier for him to change than one would expect from the contemporary person. Other ways of living and behaving, based on Christian piety, were highly visible in his time and provided a ready model to follow. One plus to the later chapters was the character's, and therefore Richardson's, surprising proto-psychotherapeutic attention to the way Mr B's and his sister's behaviour had been shaped by their childhood, and the implication that he needed to unlearn this to change - just as Pamela continually ascribes her own morality and strength of character to her parents. However, I also can't forget one of my all time favourite books, Anne Brontë's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848) which is, in part, a counterblast to over a hundred years of post-Pamela popular romantic fiction suggesting that if a good young woman marries a rake he will change.

Entirely unexpected amid the novel's psychological intensity was the hilarious (to me) farce in a couple of late chapters when Mr B's furious sister comes to stay. The long scene between her and Pamela exemplified the sort of barbed banter associated with recent popular ideas of the 18th century (e.g. in Sally Potter's film of Orlando) and gave Pamela as a character a delightful new dimension, as she comes out with lines like (to the sister's foppish nephew) ‘Tinseled toy!’ said I, (for he was laced all over) ‘twenty or thirty years hence, when you are at age, I shall know how to answer you better. Mean time, sport with your footmen, and not with me.’ Perhaps one should take more seriously the later scenes between the sister and Mr B, but for me her futile obstreperousness brought to mind Basil Fawlty.

I'm not going to recommend Pamela, as it's abundantly clear that most contemporary readers dislike the book and/or find it outright objectionable. However, there are a few of us, maybe often those who were or are the students whom tutors asked if they'd thought about postgrad, who find it interesting, even enjoyable in a way. The widespread dislike of the book can bolster this, encouraging readers to approach it with low expectations; with low expectations, one may sometimes be pleasantly surprised. (For certain values of pleasantly.)

(Read Nov-Dec 2019; reviewed Jan 2020.)

[Lobstergirl · Rating 1 out of 5]

"O Sir," said I, "the English tongue affords not words, or at least I have them not, to express, sufficiently, the shittiness of this novel. Teach me, dear Sir," continued I, and pressed his dear hand to my lips, "teach me, some other language, if there be any, that abounds with more noxious terms; that I may not thus be choaked with meanings, for which I can find no utterance."

[Emma · Rating 1 out of 5]

Reader, I hated it.

[Maddie]

2/17 Guilty Pleasures Module

Nah, mate, I am not here for emotionally abusive relationships with dominant/submissive roles. This is the 18th century 'Fifty Shades' and I hated literally every page. Can't wait to talk about it in class, though!

[Ashley · Rating 2 out of 5]

If scholarship were based solely on quality, Pamela would have been lost to the ages a long time ago (and good riddance), but unfortunately for me, scholarship is also based on influence, and this stupid book, despite being extremely poorly written, repetitive, and didactic in all the wrong ways, is one of the foundation texts of English Literature. For a hundred years afterwards, you were either a Pamelist or Anti-Pamelist. (I would have been an Anti-Pamelist.)

Are you ready for this? Here is the entire book:

Pamela: I am virtuous and noble and also beautiful! Leave me alone!
Mr. B: But you are so young and beautiful, I must have you!
Pamela: I would rather die than be ruined!
Mr. B: THAT MAKES ME WANT YOU MORE!
Pamela: I WOULD RATHER DIE!!!!!!!
Mr. B: If you get any more beautiful and desirable and unattainable, I don't know if I will be able to refrain from raping you, and that makes me cranky.
Pamela: I am an important symbol of class and gender inequality!

[Later]

Mr. B: So, do you want to get married and stuff?
Pamela: Okay!

No joke, you guys. And the second volume, a sequel Richardson wrote after the public went insane, isn't even worth mentioning, it's so godawful boring.

[Roman Clodia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pamela is one of those books that always has to appear on undergraduate courses on the history of the novel because it was so influential but it is undoubtedly a book which hasn't stood the tests of time well and which is a difficult book for us to read today. Told in epistolary form, it tells the story of Pamela, a servant girl, pursued obsessively by her master who hides in cupboards, gropes her , assaults her and oh so nearly rapes her until they finally get married...!

So, ok, the story itself might be pretty offensive to us today and the method of telling is frequently repetitive, but it does tell us quite a lot about the culture, gender relations, and role of literature of the time in which it was written. Realism wasn't necessarily what Richardson was aiming for, and neither is the sort of psychological dimension which appears in the C19th alongside the growth of scientific pyschology.

So this is very much a book which you have to take on its own terms - it certainly won't be for everyone but does have a strange kind of vitality and energy of its own.

[Lucinda Elliot · Rating 3 out of 5]

Two and a half stars, because I always give generous ratings. This story unfortunately romanticises abuse and rape. If this hadn't been written two hundred and fifty years ago, I'd give it one star for portaying a woman marrying her would be rapist.

Samuel Richardson’s reputation, for so long as bad as it could be among critics, has in recent decades had something of a revival. This is generally among literary scholars, as the length of his works is enough to put off all but the most geekish or courageous of readers (count me among the said geeks). These days, the subtlety of his characterisation, and the complex significance of his use of incident, are now discussed as avidly as once were the scorn and disgust aroused in readers by his self serving Puritanical morality.

Typically awkward, I think this is a loss, because I fully agree with Coleridge’s conclusion about Richardson’s work:

‘I confess it has cost, and still costs, my philosophy some exertion not to be vexed that I must admire, aye, greatly admire, Richardson. His mind is so very vile, a mind so oozy, so hypocritical, praise mad, canting, envious, concupiscent.’

Richardson's writing has a compulsion which one feels has got little to do with literary value, or the creation of sympathetic characters, believable situations, or strong writing.

In fact, after ploughing through ‘Pamela’ 'Pamela in her Exalted Condition, ‘Clarissa’ and part of ‘The History of Sir Charles Grandison’ I can safely state that Richardson is devoted to purple prose.

Unfortunately, this may be why – with his favourite theme being that of female virtue besieged - in an age discovering ‘sensibility’, so many of his inner circle of toadying admirers and literary advisors were women. They wished to explore the ‘female sphere’ of the emotive that this male writer was prepared to take seriously in his writing, and in their enthusiasm for this they seem to have blinded themselves both to the inadequacies of his verbose, florid style and the dismal limitations of the sort of respect for women offered by his Puritan convictions.

It is intriguing that in their discussions, they often employed much the same arguments that are used today in defences on the literary value of the romance novel. In fact, current writers on the value of the romance novel take a stand against the ‘anti-Pamela-ists’ precisely because they define ‘Pamela’ as the first romantic novel.

Richardson wrote two hundred years before Freud’s discoveries of sexuality and the unconscious laid bare the source of his appeal, already hinted at by Henry Fielding and Eliza Heywood. In D H Lawrence’s words, he offered voyeuristic ‘Calico purity and underclothes excitement…Boccacio at his hottest seems to me less pornographic than ‘Pamela’ or ‘Clarissa’.

If this seems wonderfully biting, then the critic V S Pritchard in ‘The Living Novel’ goes further:

‘Prurient, and obsessed by sex, the prim Richardson creeps on tiptoe nearer and nearer, inch by inch…he beckons us on, pausing to make every sort of pious protestation, and then nearer and nearer he creeps again…’

This is hilarious, and very apt.

Another critic, Frank Bradbrook in his essay on Richardson ‘The Pelican Guide to English Literature’ remarks trenchantly, ‘Pamela is sentimental and obscene; its obscenity is a direct result of its sentimentality.’

I have to agree with these criticisms, which makes me into an ‘anti Pamela-ist’. But I am even more of an ‘Anti Mr B-ist’ I don’t think Richardson’s heroine is alone in a hypocrite. Mr B is even more of one than Pamela.

Regarding Pamela’s hypocrisy, as soon as her master offers to marry her, he ceases to be a villain in her eyes, and she never asks for an explanation or apology for his abusive treatment of her. In elevating her to his own status, Squire B has put his late mother’s lady’s maid under such a sense of obligation that he can only be her ‘beloved Master’ even if he did attempt to rape her at least once, and sexually assaulted her on numerous occasions.

As for M B’s hypocrisy, apart from his absurd earlier outrage that she has dared to defy him and write accounts of his attempts on her, there is his later astounding self complacency. He is supposed to have undergone a moral metamorphesis triggered by reading her journal. One might think that this would have made him a little confused and diffident about himself, and the value of his opinions. Far from it. As soon as he gives up his attempts on her and decides to marry her, he suddenly shows an incongruous tendency to express pompous views about marriage and a wife’s duty.

Here he is clearly Richardson’s mouthpiece. Still, the contrast between this new persona, and his former behaviour as a self confessed rake, are frankly ludicrous.

The revival of Richardson’s reputation seems to have been partly promoted by the writings of the US academic Mark Kinkead Weekes, and in particular his 1973 book ‘Samuel Richardson: Dramatic Novelist’.

I found Kinkead Weekes’ book intriguing, though I disagree with his conclusions, while I found the parts which defend both heroine and the anti hero Mr B in ‘Pamela’, not only unconvincing but downright offensive to women readers.

It has to be said in Kinkead Weekes’ defence, that this book was written in 1973, when the views about the depiction of sexual violence against women in novels was very different.

It is an intriguing thing that Kinkead Weekes considers the scheming unrepentant Lovelace – the rapist anti-hero of ‘Clarissa’ – as a very evil man. But Mr B, by dint of his facile reform is another case altogether.

In ‘Pamela in her Exalted Condition’ Richardson was later to have Mr B deny that his first seeming attempt on Pamela, where he leaps out of a closet, climbs into bed with her and the housekeeper,and thrusts a hand down her bosom was an atempted rape, and indeed, it is hard to see how he would have contemplated carrying one out in front of Mrs Jervis. However, that piece of punishment through sexual assault is ugly enough, and later in the novel, he does carry out a genuine rape attempt.

Kinkead Weekes goes on to say of Mr B’s second attempt (also made in the presence of another woman, this time the wicked housekeeper Mrs Jewkers: she holds Pamela down, as do the prostitutes in ‘Clarissa’; Richardson did seem to have a rather odd thing about exhibitionist rapes)

‘The final attempt does begin with the intention of rape, though for revenge and subjugation, not desire- but it continues in stubborn pride, unwilling to give in to fear of wrongdoing, and trying hopelessly to salvage something. …It is the last kick of B’s pride, brought remorselessly to face its consequences in the ‘death’ (Pamela has a fit) of the girl he loves. The result is tenderness, and there is no need for B’s subsequent change to seem surprising.’

I see; readers have been told that they are not ‘reading carefully’ if they find his subsequent reformation abrupt and unconvincing. We are also told repeatedly that Pamela is not a hypocrite for accepting such a man when he changes to making ‘respectable’ offers of marriage.

‘It is open to the critic to say that it is immoral to love a man who has behaved like B, even if he seems to have made a break with his past, and that it is immoral to be able to blot out that past in a forgiveness excessive enough to rank repentant sinners ‘in the rank of the most virtuous’/ Only, if that is what we want to say, let us say it clearly, in awareness of what saying it implies. Let us not, on the other hand, talk too much about the jewel market.’

What I would say in response to that, is that of course, Pamela should have forgiven such a man as Mr B. But that she should not have married him.

Strangely enough, Kinkaed Weekes thoroughly endorses Clarissa’s combining forgiveness of Lovelace with an absolute refusal to marry him. While it might be argued that this is because Lovelace never really repents, he says he does. He is willing to marry Clarissa, believing that will put matters right.

I see very little moral difference between the two rapist anti heroes, save that the first is less of a compulsive schemer, and more of a hypocrite, who decides he will obtain more pleasure in joining Pamela in ‘innocent pleasures’ with her as his servile worshipper, and in going about the country giving tedious moral lectures to the neighbours than in jumping out of closets to thrust his hand down her bosom.

Tastes change, I suppose…

[Bee · Rating 1 out of 5]

I highlighted every instance of emotionally manipulative behaviour on Mr. B's part. This was just horrendous. I honestly can't wait to talk about it in seminars because I this was not romantic one bit.

[Amy · Rating 2 out of 5]

It took me over 7 months, but I finally did it. I survived Pamela.



Allow me to save your precious time:

Pamela, The Short-ish Version:
Pamela: I am a virtuous maiden!
Pamela's parents: PAMELA. GUARD YOUR VIRTUE.
Servants: PAMELA. GUARD YOUR VIRTUE.
Pamela: I must guard my virtue!
Me: Whoah, chillax, dudes. She's like 15. Stop making a big deal out of her virginity. What's the worry?
Young Lord: I will take Pamela's virtue!
Me: Ah, that's the worry.
Young Lord: * repeatedly makes attempts at Pamela's virtue *
Pamela: I must stay strong!
Young Lord: You're pretty. You must be a slut.
Young Lord: * dresses like a servant girl and sneaks into Pamela's bed *
Young Lord: I will have you!
Pamela: * repeatedly barely escapes with her virtue *
Servants: Oh no! GUARD YOUR VIRTUE.
Pamela: SOME HELP WOULD BE NICE. Woe is me!
Servants: He's our master. What would you have us do? GUARD YOUR VIRTUE.
Pamela's parents: If you lose your virtue, we, like, aren't ever going to talk to you again.
Young Lord: * makes more attempts at Pamela's virtue *
Young Lord: The servants like you. Somehow you have fooled them all into thinking you are not a slut!
Young Lord: * kidnaps Pamela and locks her away in another house *
Pamela: Alas! Poor me! For I can do nothing! But above all I must preserve my virtue.
Pamela's parents: If you lose your virtue, we still won't ever talk to you again.
Young Lord: * makes more attempts on Pamela's virtue *
* this goes on for about 300 pages *
Young Lord: Well, Pamela! You've resisted me. You must be virtuous. I will marry you.
Young Lord: * under his breath * Haha! Yeah right, slut. I'm going to pretend to marry you but not really.
Pamela: I heard that. Woe is me!
Young Lord: No you didn't.
Pamela: Yeah I did. I think maybe I will kill myself instead of giving up my virtue. Woe is me!
Young Lord: Wow, you must really be virtuous.
Pamela: Ya think? Woe is me!
Young Lord: Okay, you can go home now.
Young Lord: JK, I want to marry you for real now. I'm sick and can't leave my bed for love of you.
Pamela: What a coincidence! I love you too! But I am so beneath you!
Me: How is there still 30% of this book to go?????
Young Lord: Beneath me in rank and wealth but not in virtue!
Me: Duh, you freaking kidnapped her!! Pretty sure you have no virtue. The cow has more virtue than you.
Pamela: If you marry me, I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you for showing such kindness.
Me: HE KIDNAPPED YOU.
Young Lord: Let's get married tomorrow.
Pamela: Oh! But as a virtuous maiden, the thought of giving up my virginity fills me with shyness! Let's push it off.
Young Lord: Must we?
Pamela: Just for two weeks.
Young Lord: Two weeks is sooooooooo long.
Pamela: But I'm so shy!
* This goes on for some time *
Pamela's Dad: I am here! If Pamela is still virtuous, she can come home with me. If not, I never want to speak to her again.
Pamela: I'm getting married!
Pamela's Dad: Cool beans! In that case, have fun, kiddo. Bye. Oh, by the way future son-in-law, thanks for the money!
* Pamela and Young Lord finally freakin' get married *
Me: Why is there still 20% of this book to go???
Young Lord: Now, Pamela, I shall tell you all the ways you must act and behave to make me a good wife.
Pamela: I love my master so! I will do all you say.
Young Lord: Always be happy and dress nice and never contradict me or point out my faults or ever talk about my faults to anyone and always tell everyone what a great guy I am.
Pamela: But these are all exactly what I most wish to do!
Young Lord: You make a great wife.
Pamela: Oh! I do not deserve your compliments! You are too good! Too kind!
Me: Have we just all agreed to forget about the kidnapping? Attempted rape? etc. etc.?
* insert long and boring plot point about Young Lord's older sister who hates Pamela but then comes to love her when Pamela takes her side in an argument *
Young Lord: PAMELA. How DARE you take my sister's side over mine! You shall leave this house without me.
Pamela: Oh! Don't make me! I will never not take your side in an argument again.
Young Lord: Oh, okay. You're forgiven. I guess I can be a bit temperamental. We all have our faults, right?
Pamela: Oh! But you have none! You are so kind, generous, good, loving, noble!
Me: ...
Pamela: By the way, you wanted to see all my letters to my parents and friends. Can I mail this one?
Young Lord: How come you only sign it with your first name?
Pamela: It seemed too presumptuous to assume you would let me take your last name!
Young Lord: By golly, I like this humility in you. Go ahead and use it.
Pamela: You are so kind, generous, good, loving, noble!
Me: WHY IS THERE STILL 10% OF THIS BOOK TO GO??????
Young Lord: Oh, btw, remember that one time when I tried to take your virtue?
Pamela: Oh yeah, why?
Young Lord: Well, once I did the same thing to another girl, but she gave up her virtue and gave me a daughter. And...surprise! Here is the daughter.
Pamela: Oh! I love her above all things! Let me keep her!
Young Lord: Uh...maybe. Or we could just leave her at the boarding school...
Young Lord: We could have our own kids...
Pamela: Oh! Don't speak so vulgarly!
Pamela: Um, dare I ask what happened to your cast off lover?
Young Lord: Well, I tried to make her my lover again but she fled to Jamaica. Aren't you thrilled? You don't need to worry about competition.
Pamela: I feel kind of bad for her. Had she not succumbed to temptation, she would still have her virtue, like me!
Young Lord: You behave so nobly! How I love you!
Pamela: And I love you!
Author: I shall now endeavor to tell you what each character means.
Author: * goes into exhaustive description about what moral lesson each character represents *
THE END
Me: * gags repeatedly *

There. I spared you lots of angst. I know this book represents a turning point in literature and I know I shouldn't expect twenty-first century views of womanhood in a book written in the 1700s but honestly, Pamela was such a pushover! The Young Lord was a jerk! Her romance far too fast!
However, these faults do not belong entirely to 1735, and actually sound a lot like complaints I would make about a modern day romance novel. So I guess some things really do never change.
Two stars in recognition of the mark this book made on literature. But unless you need to read it for school or absolutely love insufferable, self-righteous main characters in unhealthy relationships, spare yourself.

[Sotiris Karaiskos · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some of the 18th century books are particularly dislikeful to the modern audience because they consider them to be overly emotional, conservative that they have a particular didactic tone and that their writers for the most part simply do preaching, denouncing the immorality of their time. In this book, however, similar criticism has also been made in his era. It was, of course, a particularly popular book, but at the same time it was a target of very strict criticism that ended in ridicule.

The truth is that in this case the accusations are based on fact as the main purpose of the writer through his story is to pass moral lessons, showing, in fact, that in the end virtue is always rewarded. The didactic tone is diffused on all its pages, until it finally reaches the point of showing the reader exactly how to interpret what he has read. Beyond that, however, I found in it a particularly intense social critique and analysis of class differences. The book's heroine does not simply resist temptations by making ethical decisions, ignoring the financial reward, is called upon to face the pressure of a rich man who has the ability to use his wealth and the influence he has in society to force her to succumb and become his mistress, losing her dignity forever. This social critique continues in the second part where her reward for her behavior is a rich marriage, and there we see the enormous social difference facing the hostility of relatives and friends who point to the inappropriateness of this relationship, thus revealing the perceptions that prevailed in this era on social classes.

Of course the truth is that the author makes this criticism in a rather subdued way without reaching the bottom, choosing to confine himself to the emotional side and the weight that the heroine feels under such conditions. After a first part more emotionally intense, where the author describes in a very nice way our heroine's anxiety, this subtlety makes the story lose its momentum. In this way the opportunity for this book to be more than just an ordinary romantic story is lost. Of course for readers who are more concerned with the history of literature retain its usefulness as we see things that we find later in other writers. So in the end, to make the addition, we have an interesting story that illuminates some aspects of the time that was written and is showing us a bit of the evolution of literature. That is why I must be lenient though I confess that in many places I just read it to finish and write this review.

Κάποια από τα βιβλία του 18ου αιώνα είναι ιδιαίτερα αντιπαθητικά στο σύγχρονο κοινό γιατί τα θεωρούν υπερβολικά συναισθηματικά, συντηρητικά, ότι έχουν ιδιαίτερα διδακτικό τόνο και ότι οι συγγραφείς τους στο μεγαλύτερο μέρος τους απλά κάνουν κήρυγμα, καταγγέλλοντας την ανηθικότητα της εποχής τους. Σε αυτό το βιβλίο, όμως, ανάλογη κριτική είχε γίνει και στην εποχή του. Ήταν, φυσικά, ένα ιδιαίτερα δημοφιλές βιβλίο αλλά παράλληλα ήταν στόχος πολύ αυστηρής κριτικής που κατέληγε στον χλευασμό.

Η αλήθεια είναι ότι σε αυτή την περίπτωση οι κατηγορίες έχουν βάση καθώς ο συγγραφέας έχει ως κύριο σκοπό μέσα από την ιστορία του να περάσει ηθικά διδάγματα, δείχνοντας, μάλιστα, ότι στο τέλος η αρετή πάντα ανταμείβεται. Ο διδακτικός τόνος είναι διάχυτος σε όλες τις σελίδες του, Μέχρι που στο τέλος φτάνει σε σημείο να επιδεικνύει στον αναγνώστη πώς ακριβώς πρέπει να ερμηνεύσει αυτά που διάβασε. Πέρα από αυτό, όμως, εγώ βρήκα σε αυτό ιδιαίτερα έντονη κοινωνική κριτική και ανάλυση πάνω στις ταξικές διαφορές. Η ηρωίδα του βιβλίου δεν αντιστέκεται απλά στους πειρασμούς παίρνοντας ηθικά σωστές αποφάσεις, αγνοώντας την οικονομική ανταμοιβή, καλείται να αντιμετωπίσει την πίεση ενός πλούσιου που έχει τη δυνατότητα να χρησιμοποιεί τον πλούτο και την επιρροή που έχει στην κοινωνία για να την εξαναγκάσει να υποκύψει και να γίνει ερωμένη του χάνοντας μία για πάντα την αξιοπρέπειά της. Αυτή η κοινωνική κριτική συνεχίζεται και στο δεύτερο μέρος όπου η ανταμοιβή της για τη συμπεριφορά της είναι ένας πλούσιος γάμος και εκεί βλέπουμε η τεράστια κοινωνική διαφορά να αντιμετωπίζει την εχθρότητα συγγενών και φίλων που επισημαίνουν το αταίριαστο αυτής της σχέσης, αποκαλύπτοντας έτσι τις αντιλήψεις που επικρατούσαν εκείνη την εποχή για τις κοινωνικές τάξεις.

Βέβαια η αλήθεια είναι ότι ο συγγραφέας κάνει αυτή την κριτική με μάλλον υποτονικό τρόπο χωρίς να φτάνει στην ουσία, επιλέγοντας να περιοριστεί στη συναισθηματική πλευρά και το βάρος που νιώθει η ηρωίδα κάτω από τέτοιες συνθήκες. Μετά από ένα πρώτο μέρος περισσότερο συναισθηματικά έντονο, όπου ο συγγραφέας περιγράφει με πολύ ωραίο τρόπο την αγωνία της ηρωίδας μας, αυτή η υποτονικότητα κάνει την ιστορία να χάνει τη δυναμική της. Έτσι χάνεται η ευκαιρία για να είναι αυτό το βιβλίο κάτι περισσότερο από μία συνηθισμένη ρομαντική ιστορία. Βέβαια στους αναγνώστες που ασχολούνται περισσότερο με την ιστορία της λογοτεχνίας διατηρεί τη χρησιμότητα του καθώς σε αυτό βλέπουμε πράγματα που συναντάμε αργότερα σε άλλους συγγραφείς. Οπότε στο τέλος, για να κάνω την πρόσθεση, έχουμε μία ενδιαφέρουσα ιστορία που φωτίζει κάποιες πτυχές της εποχής που γράφτηκε δείχνοντάς μας ένα κομμάτι της εξέλιξής της λογοτεχνίας, Για αυτό πρέπει να είμαι επιεικής αν και ομολογώ ότι σε πολλά σημεία απλά διάβαζα γιατί έπρεπε να το τελειώσω και να γράψω αυτήν την κριτική.

[Ange · Rating 2 out of 5]

*2.5 stars

[La Lettrice Raffinata]

50 SHADES OF MR B.

A chi crede che la James abbia sconvolto il mondo della letteratura con la famosa trilogia erotica “Cinquanta sfumature”, consiglio di dare una chance a “Pamela” per potersi ricredere. Oltre 250 anni fa, Richardson già scriveva di padroni tiranni alla ricerca di serve per soddisfare i propri sordidi desideri, con tanto di contratto da “mantenuta” proposto alla fanciulla in questione.
Ad evidenziare la differenza tra i due romanzi (almeno in questo aspetto, per il resto non c'è confronto) sono principalmente le protagoniste femminili: da un lato abbiamo una giovane donna cedevole e sottomessa, pronta a sottoscrivere un accordo a dir poco umiliante solo per poter mantenere la relazione con l’amato, dall’altro una ragazza che a dispetto dell’età e dei miseri mezzi a sua disposizione non si lascia persuadere e non scende mai a compromessi contrari alla sua morale. Dovrebbe far riflettere che la seconda sia Pamela, creata dalla penna di Richardson nel lontano 1740.
Il romanzo narra le vicende di una giovane di bell’aspetto, innocente ed ingenua, che involontariamente attira le attenzioni del nobiluomo presso cui lavora come domestica. Il libertino signor B. tenta con ogni mezzo di sedurre Pamela, prima con dei doni all’apparenza disinteressati, poi con un rapimento dalla pianificazione diabolica, dopo ancora con l’audace proposta di diventare la sua amante fissa dietro laute gratificazioni materiali ed infine con il progetto di un finto matrimonio.
Grazie all’aiuto di alcuni fedeli amici ed al suo inaspettato coraggio -che tiene ben nascosto dietro un temperamento dolce-, Pamela riesce a svincolarsi da queste trame ed ottenere alla fine la giusta ricompensa per la sua virtù.
Seppur molto diluita nelle oltre 600 pagine del volume, la vicenda è costellata di ostacoli che metteranno a prova l’indole della protagonista; come già accennato, Pamela riesce a farsi valere, a dispetto dei continui pianti e svenimenti, ed ad imporsi con carattere, rimanendo comunque onesta ed educata. La sua capacità di dire e, soprattutto, scrivere cosa pensa degli altri personaggi fornisce al lettore una visione parecchio critica rispetto alla classe nobiliare dell’epoca; visione con ogni probabilità propria dell’autore.
Gli altri personaggi ci vengono presentati sempre filtrati dalle parole e dalle emozioni di Pamela, quindi in un’ottica molto soggettiva. Questo comporta delle descrizioni a dir poco altalenanti, a partire dal signor B. che passa dall’essere un vile e crudele manipolatore, a un munifico e cortese gentiluomo; la stessa cosa vale per Lady Davers, monsieur Colbrand e la signora Jewkes, per citare i casi più evidenti.
Il romanzo si struttura in due parti: la prima è composta inizialmente dalle lettere scambiate tra Pamela e suo padre, per poi continuare con il diario della protagonista rivolto sempre ai suoi genitori; nella seconda si ha la continuazione del diario, nel quale sono spesso riportate altre missive. Rispetto alla prima, la seconda parte risulta più lenta e prevedibile, almeno fino all’entrata in scena di Lady Davers, ma concede ampio spazio al divertente personaggio di Sir Simon.
Per le tematiche trattate e per le caratteristiche della protagonista, quello che per noi oggi è un romanzo bigotto e morigerato, nel ‘700 era ritenuto innovativo, tanto originale da guadagnarsi parodie e plagi.
Lo stile di Richardson è abbastanza scorrevole, seppur le frequenti ripetizioni tendano ad appesantire la lettura. Da ammirare la fedeltà al registro narrativo scelto, resa forse più agevole dai trascorsi lavorativi dell’autore.
L’edizione italiana di Mondadori presenta un’ottima traduzione, nonché un’introduzione molto utile al fine di ottenere un quadro generale sulla genesi del romanzo. Consiglio di sbirciare anche la biografia dell’autore, mentre la lettura della sezione “Contenuti” è assolutamente da evitare per non incorrere in spoiler.

[Lady Tea · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rating: 3.7 / 5

In a way, I suppose it is almost impossible for a modern audience to truly appreciate Pamela--there are simply too many outdated themes and ideals in the story for it to ever be well-received in the 21st century. However, that being said, I do also think that people judge it too harshly, as well.

After all, Samuel Richardson wasn't writing for a 21st century audience--he was writing for the audience of his time and in his social class and, as the book was a best-seller, apparently he succeeded. True, Richardson himself may have been a patriarchal prig, and it's obvious that he doesn't understand what real women are like at all--and, in fact, I don't think any male author can take on an authentic female voice, no more than a female author succeeds at taking on an authentic male voice--but that's seriously besides the point.

The point is that, for its time and in its context, Pamela isn't a bad novel. Sure, it gets rather boring at one point--more specifically, as soon as Mr. B stops being a creeper and Pamela just keeps gushing on and on about how in love she is--but the first volume is pretty good in terms of writing and plot. Sure, I may not agree with a heroine equating her "Virtue" as being worth more than her life, and literally going into fits of epilepsy to get away from it, and of course the whole "marrying your (almost) rapist" plot is something that no modern-day woman would agree to, but...

BUT.

For its time and in just the writing style alone, I was able to get through it, and by goodness if that isn't worth something for a book so far from my interests!

I'm just saying to cut the author some slack in the appropriate historical context, that's all, and don't have a presentist view--and for those of you who don't know what that is, it's a historian term for those who judge the past by the viewpoints and morals of the present, with the conclusion that it just doesn't work and you can't view history that way.

[Anne (In Search of Wonder) · Rating 3 out of 5]

2.5⭐

I have never had such difficulty rating a book before! I have never had so much fun reading such a terrible book before.

Because it was fun reading: except for a few sections towards the end that were a bit of a slog (tbh I skimmed those portions), this kept me reading. Even though I already knew the basic storyline and how it would end, I wanted to see how Richardson would make it happen. I was also thoroughly enjoying writing snarky comments (it looked like I was intelligently annotating, and maybe there was a tiny bit of that, but mostly I was just being snarky) in exchange with the characters throughout the book - that was fun. Speaking of snarky comments, our heroine Pamela was queen of the zinger for a good two thirds of the book... Then she gets all mushy, gushy, and "I'll obey every word you say because I am so grateful that God gave me such a wonderful and amazing husband!" 🤢 I'm not even a feminist and I was irritated.

Anyway. It was fun reading BUT it's an awful plot line, the characters are one-dimensional, the storytelling is verbose and repetitive, the dialogue is effusive, and overall it was just incredibly clumsy.

Good on Richardson, though, for highlighting the value of a servant girl and her virtue, and for shining a spotlight on the double standard of morality prevalent amongst the nobility. That felt actually quite daring, or at least fresh, for that day and age at least. There are some seemingly revolutionary ideas in equality and the like given the time and place in which this book was set, so kudos to him for that.

[Sam Goodale · Rating 1 out of 5]

The most horrible, awful, terrible book I’ve ever read. Absolutely nothing happens. Pamela talks about her virtue and Mr. B assaults her then Pamela falls in love with him for no reason the end. I cannot believe I lost time to this book. It might’ve been fine if it were satire. But it’s not. It’s so bad, please stay away from this book.

[Lina · Rating 1 out of 5]

(TRIGGER WARNINGS for this book: Attempted rape. Sexism. Slut-shaming. Victim-blaming. Mother-infant separation.
TRIGGER WARNINGS for this review: Mentions of rape and attempted rape. Mentions of slut-shaming and victim-blaming.)





Samuel Richardson's Lessons for Young Girls and Society at Large:

1. Rape is the fault of the woman. No exceptions. But the man who executes or attempts it should feel a little bad. Just a little. And then marry his victim.

2. The hymen is the woman's only virtue. Without it, she's just some hussy who should leave the country.

3. You can't say "virtue" often enough.

4. No one in the peerage could possibly object to a man marrying his mother's servant so long as the servant-girl has VIRTUEVIRTUEVIRTUE, straw for brains, does anything that he says and worships the ground that peers walk on and recognizes that she is born from lowly and will always remain lowly. No exceptions.

5. Except when her parents aren't originally hard labourers, but only had to become so due to their stupid sons and are actually educated and religious and worship the ground the peers walk on.

6. No servants could ever or would ever object either, and they do not exist when they aren't busy worshipping the grounds the peers walk on.

7. A wife must obey her husband in all that he says, even and especially when he is being a whiny crybaby with mood swings and MANPAIN, OH THE MANPAIN, ALL THAT MANPAIN!!!

8. When said husband had a child with another woman out of wedlock, the woman is at fault even and especially when he took advantage of a situation engineered and pushed by her mother.

9. Likewise, it is the woman that must leave the country and her child to go to Jamaica, pretend to be a widow and repent for her sins, because she is the only one at fault, no exceptions.

10. As the father, he has every right to lie to his own child and only be interested in educating her to sell her into marriage so that she'll fetch a good prize.

11. His wife, because she has more virtue than those other sluts, gets to play mother to his child even though the child's real mother is still living.

12. When attending church, everyone will love this husband and wife, especially the wife for her virtue and her goodness, which is unrivalled in all of humankind, because she's better than those other sluts who got raped or whatever.

13. Also, you can't ever go into too much detail about who gets how much money from this woman of virtue.

14. You can also never go into too much detail about other people remarking about this woman's virtue.

15. Also, hate and consequences and accusations of social climbing do not exist.

16. Unless you are educated enough to go down on your knees before any peer and Richie Rich, you have no virtue and do not deserve adulation.

17. But in the end, everyone will recognize your virtue so long as you have a ring on your finger because humans never have opinions. Ever. No exceptions.

18. Marriage is the best you can do in your life if you have a vagina. If you have a penis, you should also want marriage, because then you don't act like such a buffoon all the time (because you get sex regularly).

19. Motherhood is sort of important. But don't worry, all mothers are dead, don't visit you or repent in Jamaica.

20. Class distinctions do not exist.

21. You really can never say "virtue" often enough.

22. When you manage to not get raped, you have earned riches and fine clothes and love and admiration.

23. You can not get raped if you try hard enough.

24. Pamela is a name.

[Boadicea · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a book that I somehow chanced on in my quest for good pre-loved books at my favourite haunt, an old corrugated iron agricultural barn re-purposed as a bibliophiles' treasure cave. I hadn't been prepared to enjoy it, not being either an English major or a prior enthusiast of 18th century English literature. After all, it only scores a measly 2.79 on the great GR rating scale!

However, what I can say, is that this is a blast! It's funny, provocative particularly the 1st volume, a rough diamond and all the better for this. It's scathing in its depiction of the class attributes of the Enlightenment period in England; and excoriating in descriptions of the attitudes towards servants, particularly women and the licence to freely abuse employees without legal redress, because the landed gentry controlled the legal system.
Whilst I can see people upset by these customs today, this was a book written 280 years ago and needs to be read, in my estimation, with those in mind.

People describe its length but it only took me a day and a half to get through, I really struggled to put it down. As an epistolary novel told through letters, with a few voices only, it's repetitive but, like that elderly relative or neighbour, all the more truthful because of it.

Whilst reviewers have queried the authenticity of a 15 year old lady's maid spoiled by the attentions firstly of her female employer, then his son, her resolute rejection of his impolite and unwelcome advances makes me advocate for his simple device. It was a novel intended to discuss morals, psychology and spirituality, and is all the more authentic. Whilst Pamela remains the heroine, whilst it would appear that she capitulates, it's actually her aggressor who alters the most and becomes her disciple, for want of a better word.

For a debut novel written by a printmaker in late middle age this is stunning: his mastery of the intricate customs of conversation between the classes, the age gap reflected in her father's letters relative to Pamela's: all this leaves me in awe of his command of the subject. That it was a bestseller immediately and drove other literary responses such as lampoons, as well as fan clubs which modified further editions so there was less breast fondling, for example, amuses and impresses me, (think focus groups and Book Clubs).

Whilst there are flaws, these are largely to be found in the 2nd volume, which was, apparently, a sequel that was not initially planned by the author but precipitated by the threat of imminent sequestration by other authors. It's more lugubrious and platitudinous, to my mind but still features an escape from a furious sister-in-law that has me chuckling some months later!

So, this was a surprise 5* read and has had me searching for a 2nd hardback edition, so I can lend my paperback Penguin Classics edition, derived from the 1801 version, out without remorse. This edition has an Introduction by Margaret A Doody, which is, I think, the most useful discussion of this book.
If you missed her thoughts, or want to know more, this is the link to a recent article that she wrote on the subject.

https://www.bl.uk/restoration-18th-ce...

[Rachel Lu · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pamela is the textbook example of Stockholm’s syndrome. If you look up the DSM-5, she’s literally in there. Poor Pamela went from loathing her assaulter to marrying him and worshipping his wonderfully generous qualities.

I am torn though because Pamela was extremely progressive for its time. Written in the 18th century, Pamela follows a young servant girl (I think she’s 15 so there’s a weird age gap there too) who is pursued by her dead mistress’ son, Mr. B. After being rejected by Pamela multiple times, Mr. B resorts to attempting to assault her, hiding in closets, cross-dressing as a maid and even kidnapping her in order to have sex with her. However, Pamela valiantly resists, even attempting to take her own life rather than be raped by him. Abiding by her own moral standards (virtuousness), Pamela, a servant girl, is able to repudiate Mr. B, a landowner. Her refusal to yield to him represents a challenge to the existing social hierarchy and class in power. Pamela does eventually marry Mr. B but only on her own terms: Mr. B must reform and adhere to her moral standards, rejecting his previous aristocratic, libertine ways. After their marriage, everyone ends up loving Pamela, praising her virtue and beauty. Pamela essentially rejects aristocratic ideology for middle-class values.

And, Pamela (both book and character) is FUNNY. Though Pamela would never be allowed to disrespect her superiors, because she is doing so in the name of God and purity, Pamela insults everyone scathingly. The gal does not hold back.

Unfortunately, Part II was a let-down in comparison. Eager to please, servile and humorless, Pamela is simply not the same person. Mr. B basically controls her and tells her how she can be a good wife and not eager him.

Mr. B: Pamela, you can go outside but I would prefer it if you stayed inside. But obviously you can do whatever you want. It’s up to you.
Pamela: Okay, I’ll stay inside.
Mr. B: Oh, wonderful Pamela!! Devout and obedient and full of discernment! I knew you would use your good judgement. This is why I’ll continue to give you options that clearly aren’t options because if you don’t listen to me then I will get extremely upset.

Stuck between 2.75 stars and 3 stars.

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

I do try to keep in mind when I read a book this old that conventions were very different in its time, on many levels. I do think there is a certain charm here (though the characters are a bit flat) and some nice passages. However, I do have to object to the length as a first thing. I have no problems with long books and have read many much longer that I wouldn't trim a word of, but that is not the case here. The only reason I object to a 500 page book from Mr. Richardson is that he only had material for about 150 pages. For god's sake, the novel really ends on about page 350 and there are only some minor conflicts after that, when there are conflicts at all. Also, even granting the different in times and values, can I really expect Pamela to wed a man who once tried to forcibly rape her even though he repents later? God-fearing as she is, should she ever ally herself with a man who was that wicked even when he is her master? I think there are a few points beyond what I am willing to extend to ol'd Samuel. As I said before, it has a certain charm...but beyond that it is strange to me that this is considered such a major work.

[willowbiblio · Rating 1 out of 5]

“What a world we live in! for it is grown more a wonder, that the men are resisted, than the women comply.”
—————————-
Well, the streak of no one star reads had to end sometime in 2024. I was not expecting to dislike this quite as much as I did, but here we are.

It was overly verbose, more so than just style of the 1740’s. The inner dialogue of Pamela often was circular in logic and came to no real conclusions.

The whole premise of this book was men in power suck, but also if you successfully resist being violated by them for long enough, then they just might marry you, which should make you the happiest woman who ever lived. Because you fall in love with them while living in the house they kidnapped you to, at 15 years old.

I got close to just DNF’ing this so many times it was shocking, because I opt to skim and call it done 99.9% of the time.

I suppose what I learned is that at this time in history many believed virginity was the only thing of value about a woman. That this was so divisive indicates the morals and tastes were not a monolith, and I do appreciate the historical significance of this being the first known instance of a book spawning merch sales.

[Andi · Rating 1 out of 5]

DNF at 87 pages. Couldn't do it. I didn't go in expecting a pleasure read; I wanted to read this book because it is Historical and Important and referenced in like everything ever written on romance novels and a lot of things written about novels in general, so I figured it would be A Good Thing To Have Read. But oh, wow, is it annoying. Other reviewers have already sufficiently detailed the deficiencies in the plot (tl;dr: the same things keep happening over and over again, and Pamela just keeps being shocked, shocked, I say, when Douchey McCreepface keeps acting like a douchey creep). I'll also add that the premise of it all being Pamela's own letters, and specifically the subsequent lack of dialogue markers, makes it annoyingly difficult at some points to keep track of who is talking and when. In the end, I've read enough to get the flavor, and I've looked up the plot summary so I know what happens, and that's good enough for me. Life's too short to waste on books you don't like.

[K. · Rating 2 out of 5]

I read this a few years ago so my memory of the story is a bit hazy...but, if I concentrate really hard, I do remember, faintly, wanting to bash my head in while deriving whatever pleasure I could in imagining hitting Pamela in the face with a bat jutted with razor blades...I don't know, like I said, it was a while ago.

This book is mostly about a young girl who faints, throws herself in agony upon the feet of one Mr. B, exclaims "I am unworthy!" every two pages all the while trying to escape sexual harassment.

Its called Pamela: Or, Virtue Rewarded and Richardson does indeed reward his young, naive but oh so stalwart protagonist with a happy ending of a marriage to a wealthy nobleman - who is also an almost rapist and a convicted abductor.

This girl has no idea...

[Brigi · Rating 1 out of 5]

Me, during 90% of the novel:



If I hadn't had a course on the 18th century, I probably would have never ever touched this book, not even with a ten-foot pole. I did tolerate it after we discussed it in class, and then when I had to write an essay about it, but it still creeps me out. I'm convinced Pamela suffered from Stockholm Syndrome, otherwise I can't freaking imagine why she would marry the creep who tried to rape her several times. :/ Awful job, Richardson! Awful!!!

[luisa · Rating 2 out of 5]

i did not like it. at all.

[Brian · Rating 4 out of 5]

First published in 1740 this is the story of Pamela Andrew’s. Pamela is a poor young girl who becomes the servant and companion of an elderly, kindly and wealthy woman. When the woman dies Pamela becomes the servant of the woman’s son, who is known only as Mr. B in this book. Mr. B soon falls into an obsessive love for Pamela, sexually harasses her, eventually kidnaps her, tries to rape her, and otherwise tries to pressure her into becoming his mistress. There ensue some unexpected plot twists. This is an Epistolary Novel mostly consisting of Pamela’s letters her parents.

The characters are extraordinarily complex. Pamela, for one is a combination of sweet and meek in some contexts and also can be a tough young woman with unbending morals who is capable of sustaining both psychological and physical abuse. Other characters are also multifaceted. The novel has flaws; it seems too long and becomes repetitive at times. My version was 629 of fairly dense pages. I would also note that at other times the plot was gripping and suspenseful.

There is a lot of social commentary here regarding wealthy upper classes versus the poor and lower classes. Often the upper classes are shown to acting reprehensibly in the face of the mostly virtuous lower classes. In this regard the book seems ahead of its time. There is also a lot here about virtue, duty, and obligation.

Those accustomed to reading books that were written later, particularly 19th century British literature, might be surprised how less conservative this book as compared to later writers like Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, or Anthony Trollope. Here, characters use vulgar language, women get into physical altercations and sexual relations are both talked about and implied.

Despite some flaws, this is a fine novel with compelling characters, plot, and themes.

[Herdis Marie · Rating 1 out of 5]

Why oh why did I never review this?

Seriously, the ONLY virtue (pun intended) of having tortured myself by reading this in its entirety is that it allows me to complain about it to anyone who will listen.

Anyway, brief summary: Pamela is a fifteen year-old maid who is servant to the wealthy and exceptionally lecherous Mr. B. Mr. B wants Pamela. Like, major league wants her. But Pamela is the most virtuous thing that ever did exist, so his plentiful advances are duly spurned. One would think that Mr. B, being wealthy and lecherous, could find other ways of dealing with his lechery than constantly pestering his clearly unwilling maid, but no. Pamela, for her part, is so bloody virtuous that she quite literally falls into fits when Mr. B tries to force himself on her.

Anyway, long story short, she marries him.
I know.
What the fuck, right?

Now, you'd think some of this might be vaguely interesting to read about, but any and all tension and suspense are somehow magically zapped right out of this. Possibly because not only is this a book about virtue (possibly the most boring subject in existence), it is also written in epistolary form.

Yup. That's right. The entire bloody thing is told through Pamela's letters, mostly to her parents.

Really, you don't need to read this, though. The entire plot is right there in the title. It's a story about Pamela, whose virtue is rewarded. Though the merits of the reward are, well, subject to discussion.

Fun story, though, this book actually had, like, an insanely huge fanbase. They made Pamela tea sets. TEA SETS. And I know it's entirely wrong (particularly given my vocal loathing of this book), but I WANT ONE.

[Cornflower · Rating 3 out of 5]

"A fine sporting-piece for the great, a mere tennis-ball of fortune".
So does the young maidservant Pamela perceive herself having been carried off and confined by her wilful and impetuous master, Mr. B., whose designs on her are nothing if not dishonourable.
And yet, the assertive Pamela in her "sweet simplicity.. honest artlessness...and amiable humility" shows a strength of character and a virtue which will indeed be rewarded in the end.
Richardson's revolutionary novel, written in the epistolary style, features a posturing hero/villain and an educated servant unwilling to settle for the lesser sexual morality expected of her class. As Mr. B. ultimately realises that "..her fine person made me a lover, but it was her mind that made me an husband", so this richly comic, melodramatic but sharply critical tale of the misuse of power, freedom and social status shows the emotional shift from fear and dislike of ill-usage to affection and concern, and from actions willed by force to those motivated by love.
All ends happily for Pamela and Mr. B., and ultimately the reader can sigh in relief and rejoice with them at their good fortune.