Anonymity: A Secret History of English Literature

by John Mullan

A fascinatingly rich and entirely original study of why many of the greatest authors of English literature chose to publish their work anonymously.

We have forgotten that the first readers of "Gulliver's Travels" or "Sense and Sensibility" had to guess who their authors might be, and that writers like Sir Walter Scott and Charlotte Brontë went to elaborate lengths to keep secret their authorship of the bestselling books of their times. But in fact, anonymity is everywhere and no history of English literature is complete without it. Donne, Marvell, Defoe, Swift, Fanny Burney, Austen, Byron, Thackeray, Lewis Carroll, Tennyson, George Eliot, Sylvia Plath and Doris Lessing - all chose to conceal their names. Why was it so important to authors that they remain unidentified? What was it like to read their books without knowing for certain who had written them?

From the sixteenth century to the present, from Edmund Spenser to "Primary Colors," John Mullan explores how the disguises of writers were firsts used and eventually penetrated, how anonymity teased readers and bamboozled critics - and how, when books reviews were also anonymous, critics played tricks in return. With great wit and lucidity, "Anonymity" presents a new and engaging way of enjoying English literature.

Genres: History, Nonfiction, Literary Fiction, Research, Books About Books, Writing, Biography

374 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2007

About the author

John Mullan is a Professor of English at University College London. He was General Editor of the Pickering & Chatto series Lives of the Great Romantics by Their Contemporaries, and Associate Editor for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. A regular radio broadcaster and literary journalist, he writes on contemporary fiction for the Guardian and was a judge for the 2009 Man Booker Prize. John is a specialist in eighteenth-century literature.

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.

Reviews

[jcg · Rating 3 out of 5]

As John Mullen writes in the Epilogue, there is really no history of anonymity - there is no consistency in the reasons that authors choose to publish anonymously.

Well researched book, but tends to go into too much detail and gives us a lot more information than we need to understand the points Mullen is making - spending 8 pages on Hazlitt's Liber Amoris is a bit much. The book is bogged down in detail which turns what could have been an entertaining, interesting read into a slog.

Some interesting anecdotes, but doesn't really provide any insight into literature and the sub-title, A Secret History of English Literature, is mis-leading.

[Heather · Rating 3 out of 5]

It was good, but his voice is so much funnier in his speeches.

[Sarah Sammis · Rating 3 out of 5]

I spotted Anonymity: A Secret History of English Literature by John Mullan at the library right after I had been part of a couple interesting discussions on male vs. female authorship. What had come up in all the discussions was that it's not always easy to guess the sex of an author especially if the author is writing either anonymously or under a pen name. So in light of those online discussions, I checked out Mullan's book.

Each chapter covers a different reason for writing anonymously. The chapters include examples of authors who fall into the category being illustrated. There are lengthy notes and citations to back up the examples.

In fact I have to admit to being surprised by the scholarly nature of the book. The cover's light-hearted illustrations of all sorts of authors and the blurb in the dust-jacket set up an expectation of an informative but quick read. The book ended up requiring more time than I had budgeted.

Sometime when I have more time and I'm in the right mood to really think about the nature of authorship, pen names and anonymity, I would like to revisit the book.

[Tuck · Rating 3 out of 5]

fairly dry, but at times brilliant and entertaining fast history of not using your name in writing. all kinds of reasons you can imagine: propriety, custom, devilment, reviewing, danger, etc.. this has nice endnotes, bibliography, and excellent index.

[Thomas Goddard · Rating 4 out of 5]

What a wonderful overview of the uses of Anonymity. As well as an insight into the lives of many people who we all know used different names, but not always the why of the reason they did.

I loved reading about the people. Particularly William Sharp writing as Fiona MacLeod – which felt as if a feminine aspect of himself needed space to exist. That’s interesting!

Additionally, as John Mullan writes: ‘Anonymity is the sinful author’s means of holding himself in check.’

So it was fun to read the examples of times where authors used their writing as a weapon or in defence of something important with the power of their disguise.

It also got me thinking about the way the internet almost changed the whole game when it came to identity… unfortunately, Facebook happened and everyone decided to use their real identities again… which I think is a terrible shame. Anonymity allows you so much freedom. Hopefully not to hurt… but sometimes. But mostly it allows us to bypass our own internal critic and those feelings of panic attached to criticism of your ‘self’ by others. Liberation, it seems… exists in the space before judgement… something to ponder.

In my own life anonymity has been very important. My own identity as a person is in constant flux because of my condition. As such, I’ve been many different names to many sets of people. My writing especially is accredited to many names. I hold to this because I do not want my ‘self’ to pollute the work. I think it is enough to be approximate. I prefer that the reader pays it little consideration; or, ideally none at all, to the author.

Back to John Mullan’s quote: I consider myself a ‘sinful author’ in so far as my efforts are human and therefore manifestly flawed. I find writing easiest when I can hover above the shoulder of the character writing and adjust as we go. Never too much of myself in my work, but not too little either.

I am thankful that we live in an age when identity is moving beyond the restrictive confines of the shape of the body. We’re growing to accept more nuanced expressions of self. I still feel that there is a core of people who want only to read what they deem ‘knowable’, but I think we will always have those people. Additionally, I think that we’ve taken a backward step since the early days of the internet. We seem to have been Facebooked into a space of clear identity rather than the initial handles that helped us start the path towards new expression. Now we’re confused… Wanting to pin ourselves as someone, but being naturally mercurial in nature it doesn’t fit well.

But then my names are only ever slight jumps aside from my daily self. I tend not to stray into the territory of exploiting marginalised backgrounds. But, of course, that is a subjective statement. What do we mean, and is it always kind, to prescribe marginalisation to a group?

The Reverend Toby Forward writing as Rahila Khan, both swapping gender and race much to the ire of Virago publishing in 1987… Taking a perspective that he felt similar to his lived experience. He empathised with the struggle of the fictional Rahila, the construction, but it kicked a hornets nest when Virago saw their ass and realised they’d blindly elevated a voice based only on their eagerness to publish for social credit and kudos.

And sometimes a change of name will be helpful even to the most established writers. Doris Lessing is the example used in the book but it is also a trick famously employed by J K Rowling. They changed their name to see if they could be equally successful in a different genre without the aid of their established career. They took a chance of the fact that they’d never be entirely sure if they were successful because of who they were or because of the writing. J K’s novel flopped. Now she did it again, choosing crime, but it stands… Lessing was more successful but not AS successful as she already had been.

So many things to think about when it comes to a name. A really interesting read.

I’d definitely recommend this one if you are a writer. It will give you a lot to consider.

[Hubert · Rating 5 out of 5]

Impressively researched monograph about the various reasons writers, readers, and critics required, requested, and imposed anonymity upon their works. Sometimes authors ensured that their anonymity descandalized their standing within their communities. But sometimes anonymity was afforded the general public, even if their literary societies knew of the real authors. Gender issues abound as well. Most critically, publishing under anonymity incriminating and vitriolic materials particularly against powerful bodies (e.g. kings, princes) would prevent them from persecution, sometimes by torture and death.

The writing, as others suggested, is at times gnarly and hard to read. But don't worry about the specific details on first reading, and enjoy and delight in Professor Mullan's literary foray into the variety of most fascinating practices involved in helping written works remain anonymous.

[Kristina · Rating 4 out of 5]

The fear of being known is a deep wound that needs to be healed. Writing anonymously or pseudonymously sounds appealing until the most egregious words have been thrown out in libel that can’t be taken back. It reeks of a lack of faith when you hide in order to say what you aren’t brave enough to voice in public.

Now, there are some philosophical points that I would go deeper in my study of literature; specifically, the Confessions chapter brought to mind St. Augustine’s own story which was reminiscent of the examples featuring Rousseau and De Quincey (which I don’t think are spoilers). Luxuria was a cross between Lust and Vainglory if I remember correctly.

[Niamh Dyson · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read for uni - good info about the history of anonymity in English literature, a bit anecdotal but useful :)

[Jenny Roth · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book tells the forgotten stories of publishing in the Victorian era. People lied about their identities and published "memoirs" left and right -- in fact, that was part of the fun of reading and gossiping in literary circles. In the era of "A Million Little Pieces," this lends quite an interesting perspective to the whole concept of artistic license. Recommended to any fan or scholar of 18th- and 19th-century English literature.