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The Rose and the Key
A beautiful young heroine-A cruel and unfeeling mother-A one-eyed spy-A mesmerist-A lunatic asylum. These are the perfect components for a Victorian sensation novel, and in The Rose and the Key, J. Sheridan Le Fanu weaves them into a thrilling Gothic mystery.
The terror builds slowly, as young Maud Vernon and her old cousin Maximilla enjoy a sketching tour through Wales. Ominously, they find themselves shadowed by a sinister one-eyed man. And when they return to Roydon Hall, Maud's home, things become yet worse. Her mother, the imperious Lady Vernon, seems to loathe her, and there are other concerns as well-a mysterious will, an intimidating man clothed all in black, and the satanic mesmerist Doctor Antomarchi. Le Fanu slowly unfolds his plot, building the mystery and suspence until the shocking climax, where Maud escapes her cruel mother to visit the home of the great Lady Mardykes, only to find that she has escaped one hell, only to enter one far worse!
This edition is the first to follow the original text, as serialized in Charles Dickens's weekly All the Year Round in 1871. Featuring notes, the text of contemporary reviews, and contextual documents such as a letter from Dickens to Le Fanu, this is the first-ever scholarly edition of the novel. Highlighting this edition is a groundbreaking new introduction by Frances Chiu, which argues for consideration of The Rose and the Key as Le Fanu's statement on the troubled relations between England and Ireland and calls for a reevaluation of his ideology and politics.
432 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1871
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About the author
J. Sheridan Le Fanu
1,376 books1,408 followersJoseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu was an Irish writer of Gothic tales and mystery novels. He was the leading ghost-story writer of the nineteenth century and was central to the development of the genre in the Victorian era. M.R. James described Le Fanu as "absolutely in the first rank as a writer of ghost stories". Three of his best-known works are Uncle Silas, Carmilla and The House by the Churchyard.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
July 4, 2017
There’s a Place for Us … Somewhere
I don’t know why but I simply do love this seemingly ramshackle way in which Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu concocts a novel – a lengthy exposition that apparently lead nowhere particular, introducing all sorts of characters that sometimes fade out of the story, dropping hints and red herrings without putting the reader’s nose into them, as Dickens would have done, employing a narrator that somehow is less than an omniscient narrator but then somehow is just that, leaving gaps at the most strange places and expecting us to fill them, and inserting little stories into his main story. You sometimes get the impression that Le Fanu wrote in a most erratic way, like other people doodle on a scrap of paper, but then, in the end, it all falls into place and you notice that the writer must have known all the time what he was doing.
Such a novel is The Rose and the Key, in which we are invited to root for the self-confident young lady Maud Vernon, who suffers from a cold-hearted mother that has never shown her any trace of love and always kept her at a distance. While she is on a holiday with her elderly cousin Maximilla Medwyn, Maud finds herself stalked by a mysterious one-eyed man, but thinks nothing much of it at the time. She also makes the acquaintance of a young man named Marston, who falls in love with her but whom she keeps at bay through her rather wilful and quirky behaviour. This wilfulness and her various quirks adopted on the spur of the moment are later made use of by her scheming mother to have her confined to a private mental asylum in order to get her out of the way and to further her own interests.
The story is rich in atmosphere and keeps the reader following Maud’s adventures with bated breath, although one cannot help wondering at how naively Maud walks into the trap that is set for her. The novel may also awkwardly be taken as hinting that forward and self-confident behaviour does not behove a young lady in that they may nourish suspicions about her mental soundness, but that only happens in the rare moments when the novel grants you some pause to think.
To top it all, there are also some passages of wry humour, like this one in which a professor (actually a madman who deems himself a scholar – but then, differences are hard to tell), who claims to have invented a perpetuum mobile, is accosted by a mad woman who thinks herself a duchess:
If you like Victorian sensation novels, and if you have a bit of patience to wait for Sheridan Le Fanu to prepare his ground and then start the chase, I think that The Rose and the Key will not disappoint you.
I don’t know why but I simply do love this seemingly ramshackle way in which Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu concocts a novel – a lengthy exposition that apparently lead nowhere particular, introducing all sorts of characters that sometimes fade out of the story, dropping hints and red herrings without putting the reader’s nose into them, as Dickens would have done, employing a narrator that somehow is less than an omniscient narrator but then somehow is just that, leaving gaps at the most strange places and expecting us to fill them, and inserting little stories into his main story. You sometimes get the impression that Le Fanu wrote in a most erratic way, like other people doodle on a scrap of paper, but then, in the end, it all falls into place and you notice that the writer must have known all the time what he was doing.
Such a novel is The Rose and the Key, in which we are invited to root for the self-confident young lady Maud Vernon, who suffers from a cold-hearted mother that has never shown her any trace of love and always kept her at a distance. While she is on a holiday with her elderly cousin Maximilla Medwyn, Maud finds herself stalked by a mysterious one-eyed man, but thinks nothing much of it at the time. She also makes the acquaintance of a young man named Marston, who falls in love with her but whom she keeps at bay through her rather wilful and quirky behaviour. This wilfulness and her various quirks adopted on the spur of the moment are later made use of by her scheming mother to have her confined to a private mental asylum in order to get her out of the way and to further her own interests.
The story is rich in atmosphere and keeps the reader following Maud’s adventures with bated breath, although one cannot help wondering at how naively Maud walks into the trap that is set for her. The novel may also awkwardly be taken as hinting that forward and self-confident behaviour does not behove a young lady in that they may nourish suspicions about her mental soundness, but that only happens in the rare moments when the novel grants you some pause to think.
To top it all, there are also some passages of wry humour, like this one in which a professor (actually a madman who deems himself a scholar – but then, differences are hard to tell), who claims to have invented a perpetuum mobile, is accosted by a mad woman who thinks herself a duchess:
“’Well, Mr. Sidebotham, how goes on the perpetual motion?’ And raising her eyes, Maud saw the Duchess of Falconbury before her, smiling.
‘That is a question that answers itself,’ said the professor, slowly averting his face with upturned nose and a sublime sneer. ‘How goes on the perpetuum mobile? Why it goes on for ever? Ha, ha, ha!’”
If you like Victorian sensation novels, and if you have a bit of patience to wait for Sheridan Le Fanu to prepare his ground and then start the chase, I think that The Rose and the Key will not disappoint you.
November 9, 2008
I've read several of Le Fanu's shorter works including "Carmilla." I've had The Rose and the Key on my shelf for years. Looking for a spooky, Halloween read, I decided finally to read it. At first I thought the book was atmospheric but hardly scary. In fact, it wasn't scary at all until after about page 200. I enjoyed Le Fanu's descriptions enough to keep going--plus I was intrigued by the quote by James on the back cover that hinted that the book would suddenly get very creepy. The Master, of course, was correct! Le Fanu does suddenly yank shut the web he had been weaving from the beginning. However, there are no supernatural thrills here but rather the even more frightening realities of late 19th century life.
Up to page 200, the book would rate two or maybe three stars for its descriptions. The final part of the book earns it its fourth star.
Up to page 200, the book would rate two or maybe three stars for its descriptions. The final part of the book earns it its fourth star.
May 29, 2013
Very fun--country houses are secretly insane asylums, and mama's got the incestuous hots for her secret son. God I love the Victorians.
October 14, 2021
In this tale of suspense and mystery, Sheridan Le Fanu challenges the reader to discover the origin and goals of the conspiracy against Maud Vernon, who eventually finds herself imprisoned in an insane asylum. Though Maud is surrounded by unsavory characters of ill visage, this tale depends on the non-supernatural for its effects.
April 25, 2021
A slightly frustrating book. Le Fanu spends far too long noodling around before he gets to his point, and the ending feels much too hasty and rushed. But in between the noodling and the rushing is some really excellent juicy writing and a nicely-placed climactic build.
July 25, 2018
This novel takes a loooong time to get going. There are a lot of mysteries: a strange one-eyed man following our intrepid heroine; a mysterious and convoluted will and a fierce inexplicable hatred between mother and daughter.
So you have to linger on the social interactions among the various denizens. It takes a while to get names straight since there are almost as many characters as in a Dostoevsky novel. There are serious characters, brooding presences, possible lovers and a bit of comic relief (the latter provided mainly by an Irish priest prone to facetious giggling).
Underneath the buttoned-up exteriors (of people and buildings), secrets and emotions seethe, often breaking out in unexpected moments. The romance isn’t like the wild, physical amorous affair you find in Harlequin novels. But there is quite a lot of passion and true love wins the day—but not until the heroine undergoes a terrible test of her fortitude.
The epilogue falls into facile, trite, where-are-they-now statements, a typical authorial attempt to wrap up the ends of various characters. I feel the book could have done without it since it’s such a novelistic cliché. But it’s a minor complaint. If you can immerse yourself in the prose and slow-burning tension, the story builds to a satisfying conclusion.
So you have to linger on the social interactions among the various denizens. It takes a while to get names straight since there are almost as many characters as in a Dostoevsky novel. There are serious characters, brooding presences, possible lovers and a bit of comic relief (the latter provided mainly by an Irish priest prone to facetious giggling).
Underneath the buttoned-up exteriors (of people and buildings), secrets and emotions seethe, often breaking out in unexpected moments. The romance isn’t like the wild, physical amorous affair you find in Harlequin novels. But there is quite a lot of passion and true love wins the day—but not until the heroine undergoes a terrible test of her fortitude.
The epilogue falls into facile, trite, where-are-they-now statements, a typical authorial attempt to wrap up the ends of various characters. I feel the book could have done without it since it’s such a novelistic cliché. But it’s a minor complaint. If you can immerse yourself in the prose and slow-burning tension, the story builds to a satisfying conclusion.
March 16, 2013
Изпитвам силно влечение към тъмните текстове писани преди век-два, от достопочтени господа или прикрити дами с нечисти помисли, създавайки забранени истории за скритите страсти на съвременниците си. За съжаление подобни книги често страдат от прекомерна мудност, считана от някои за твърде внимателно изграждане на образите и прекалено обстойно въвличане в действието. Шеридан определено страда от подобни лоши навици, които правят писанията му меко казано трудни за четене, особено ако умът на читателя е от заетия тип и разполага с достатъчен брой алтернативи с привидно повече потенциал за четивност. Според мен силата на Фану е в кратката форма, където разливането и неяснотата на действието придават мистичен, но не и отегчителен облик на текста, а дългите му романи изискват наистина специфични емоционални условия у четящите го, каквито към момента не намирам. Изникнала от нищо любов, властни майки, месмеристи, лудници, зловещи отмъщения и болни съзнания – все хубави неща, които импонират на мрака в мен, но толкова разлети и изгубени, че лигата на отегчението протече от ума ми и не ме допусна да харесам за пореден път една прекрасно звучаща готическа приказка. Но няма да се предам, и ще продължавам да очаквам Фану да ме очарова с нещо несрещнато и непреведено.
November 24, 2009
This is the quintessential slow-paced gothic novel. The Arno ed. is a 3vol. blue leather folio.
November 13, 2023
This summer I picked up a copy of J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s not particularly well-known novel The Rose and the Key, and I figured it would make good spooky season reading once I’d finished rereading Carmilla. And apart from the bit where partway into the month I developed a severe case of Not Being Able To Focus On Anything, For Reasons, it was! The Rose and the Key is nowhere near being a masterpiece like Carmilla, but it’s still got some enjoyable 19th-century gothic nonsense going on. You’ve got your high-spirited but isolated young woman protagonist, some sinister religious zealots–pious in public, vicious in private–a whole host of gently ridiculous village character types, some star-crossed loves and family feuds, and, once the actual action gets rolling, that most sinister of Victorian institutions, the madhouse. (OK, most Victorian institutions are sinister, but the madhouse is a big one in gothics.)
The pacing is very nineteenth-century–slow and meandering in a way that modern writing isn’t allowed to be anymore, at least up until about halfway through, then the pace picks up considerably. The ending felt a bit rushed to tie everything up in a neat little bow. I personally didn’t mind the slow beginning, as I like meandering Victorian setups; I didn’t love the rushed ending although at that point I’d been reading the book for so long I was grateful to get to the end.
While there is some period-typical British bullshit I think that overall the themes explored here retain a certain amount of relevance–pious hypocrites using their public respect, wealth, and incomprehensible paperwork to hurt those who they ought to care for; the vicious neglect and cruelty that can be hidden within materially well-off families; the pathologization of teenage girls’ behavior and emotions; medical and especially psychiatric abuse; the way people rationalize their own terrible behavior. It’d be nice if that stuff was as dated as the way the characters talk and the way they construct their social calendars, but alas.
Overall this is the sort of mediocre novel I prefer when I’m reading mediocre novels these days, because I don’t want to read brightly colored “beach read” type things due to being a dour weirdo, but I will fully admit it’s a fairly mediocre novel. It’s not quite as wackily bad as Varney the Vampyre or The Beetle, and it’s not as genuinely good horror as Carmilla or Dracula or any of the things that have become proper literary classics, but it has its moments and I had a perfectly decent time reading it.
Originally posted at Star-crossed Vernons.
The pacing is very nineteenth-century–slow and meandering in a way that modern writing isn’t allowed to be anymore, at least up until about halfway through, then the pace picks up considerably. The ending felt a bit rushed to tie everything up in a neat little bow. I personally didn’t mind the slow beginning, as I like meandering Victorian setups; I didn’t love the rushed ending although at that point I’d been reading the book for so long I was grateful to get to the end.
While there is some period-typical British bullshit I think that overall the themes explored here retain a certain amount of relevance–pious hypocrites using their public respect, wealth, and incomprehensible paperwork to hurt those who they ought to care for; the vicious neglect and cruelty that can be hidden within materially well-off families; the pathologization of teenage girls’ behavior and emotions; medical and especially psychiatric abuse; the way people rationalize their own terrible behavior. It’d be nice if that stuff was as dated as the way the characters talk and the way they construct their social calendars, but alas.
Overall this is the sort of mediocre novel I prefer when I’m reading mediocre novels these days, because I don’t want to read brightly colored “beach read” type things due to being a dour weirdo, but I will fully admit it’s a fairly mediocre novel. It’s not quite as wackily bad as Varney the Vampyre or The Beetle, and it’s not as genuinely good horror as Carmilla or Dracula or any of the things that have become proper literary classics, but it has its moments and I had a perfectly decent time reading it.
Originally posted at Star-crossed Vernons.
September 27, 2018
Typical of LeFanu's novels. It can ramble at times, but overall a very good Victorian mystery story with memorable characters and rich in atmosphere.
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January 14, 2021Tedious Victorian Frustration.
October 12, 2021
An excellent read probably my best Sheridan la fanu book I would highly recommend great story I would read again
August 25, 2025
The Rose and The Key transported me back in time, to the opulent yet restrictive upper-class Victorian society, where women, no matter their rank, can fall victim to being locked away in an asylum.
I came across this novel while reading 'The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980.' Since there are so few articles and information on the treatment of women in asylums in the 1800s, research has relied on Victorian novels that cover this subject. Published in 1871, Le Fanu describes how a young (and sane) woman is tricked into her admission to a secret asylum, masked as a friend's beautiful, holiday mansion.
A rather strange tale, it held me in its grip. Expect one-eyed spies, rolling Welsh hills, lies and secrets, romance, mesmerists, and details of a mad-house (that reminded me of Alice in Wonderland at times).
I came across this novel while reading 'The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980.' Since there are so few articles and information on the treatment of women in asylums in the 1800s, research has relied on Victorian novels that cover this subject. Published in 1871, Le Fanu describes how a young (and sane) woman is tricked into her admission to a secret asylum, masked as a friend's beautiful, holiday mansion.
A rather strange tale, it held me in its grip. Expect one-eyed spies, rolling Welsh hills, lies and secrets, romance, mesmerists, and details of a mad-house (that reminded me of Alice in Wonderland at times).
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews