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The Wanderer
As a unnamed woman, known only as The Wanderer (although later identified as Juliet Granville) flees the Reign of Terror to England, where she finds herself alone—friendless and without means—in a foreign land.
Focusing on the difficulties women faced in gaining the independence, The Wanderer was part of a new genre of literature that grew out of the tumultuous period following the French Revolution in which authors examined the events of the past through fiction. The last novel to be written by Frances Burney, The Wanderer took fourteen years to write and was influenced partially by the author’s time as an exile in France.
Focusing on the difficulties women faced in gaining the independence, The Wanderer was part of a new genre of literature that grew out of the tumultuous period following the French Revolution in which authors examined the events of the past through fiction. The last novel to be written by Frances Burney, The Wanderer took fourteen years to write and was influenced partially by the author’s time as an exile in France.
957 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1814
19 people are currently reading
1848 people want to read
About the author
Frances Burney
544 books439 followersAlso known as Fanny Burney and, after her marriage, as Madame d’Arblay. Frances Burney was a novelist, diarist and playwright. In total, she wrote four novels, eight plays, one biography and twenty volumes of journals and letters.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 40 reviews
November 11, 2014
This is quite possibly my favorite novel. Ever. I re-read it all the time. That said, it's my favorite novel for weird reasons. People who are not all that intrigued by eighteenth-century literature by and about women probably won't like this. People who are more interested in the blood and riot of war than in how discourses of domesticity and women's struggles align with political terrors of revolution would also not be interested in this book. It is a 900+ paged novel, so commit your time wisely.
For me, though, it was worth every page. The moments that seem slow or drawn out to many people are really some of the deepest moments of gender and political philosophizing that make this novel an absolute gem in its contribution to studies in Romantic and Revolutionary writing--all the more potent because Burney lived in France with her French husband during some of the more horrific acts engendered by Robespierre and company. This novel is entirely about the terrors of war as they are experienced at home and abroad; it moves from the political and public spheres and in the domestic spheres--away from the gore and belligerence of the battlefield to the callousness and violence of "polite" society in the drawing room. What makes this novel great is its consideration of how domesticity and tyranny both perform a sort of violence upon women--no matter which "shore" is deemed safer at the time, no matter which "home" a woman is under.
And, like most novels of war penned by men and women alike, this also has a love story. It's a rather daring one, at that--and the love triangle is between two women and one man, which is really quite extraordinary for novels of the period.
If you're a fan of other novels by Burney, this one has even more dramatic flair than Cecilia; more maturity and perhaps less humor than Evelina; and the hero, at least, is far more engaging than the one in Camilla. In short, it's thought-provoking and delightful. A lovely mix of rigorous intellectualism and satisfying romance. What's more, the stellar quality of Burney's writing shines through here. Read it and write a great review of it--or it will scream "leave me not to be massacred!"
For me, though, it was worth every page. The moments that seem slow or drawn out to many people are really some of the deepest moments of gender and political philosophizing that make this novel an absolute gem in its contribution to studies in Romantic and Revolutionary writing--all the more potent because Burney lived in France with her French husband during some of the more horrific acts engendered by Robespierre and company. This novel is entirely about the terrors of war as they are experienced at home and abroad; it moves from the political and public spheres and in the domestic spheres--away from the gore and belligerence of the battlefield to the callousness and violence of "polite" society in the drawing room. What makes this novel great is its consideration of how domesticity and tyranny both perform a sort of violence upon women--no matter which "shore" is deemed safer at the time, no matter which "home" a woman is under.
And, like most novels of war penned by men and women alike, this also has a love story. It's a rather daring one, at that--and the love triangle is between two women and one man, which is really quite extraordinary for novels of the period.
If you're a fan of other novels by Burney, this one has even more dramatic flair than Cecilia; more maturity and perhaps less humor than Evelina; and the hero, at least, is far more engaging than the one in Camilla. In short, it's thought-provoking and delightful. A lovely mix of rigorous intellectualism and satisfying romance. What's more, the stellar quality of Burney's writing shines through here. Read it and write a great review of it--or it will scream "leave me not to be massacred!"
June 17, 2017
Fanny Burney’s last novel, The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties was published in 1814, the same year as Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park, and Walter Scott’s Waverley. I think it’s fair to say that it has not stood the test of time quite as well as its year-mates. It’s a consummate example of a “loose baggy monster” novel, in Henry James’s brilliant phrase. I have quite a taste for long novels, but even I found myself losing the will to live at points as I doggedly trailed through its nine hundred or so loose baggy pages.
Curiously, though, having narrowly survived this experience, I feel quite pleased to have made the acquaintance of this monster. It’s certainly distinctive; and I can see why it has attracted much interest recently among feminist critics. The Wanderer of the title is a young woman whom we first encounter, in the novel’s dramatic opening scene, begging a place on a boat filled with English travelers fleeing France at the height of the 1792 Terror. She arrives penniless, friendless, and nameless, condemned to conceal her identity and story for reasons that remain a mystery for most of the novel: a “female Robinson Crusoe, as unaided and unprotected, though in the midst of the world.”
As the novel’s subtitle suggests, Burney uses this device to mount a fairly pitiless investigation of the predicament of women in Regency England. The Incognita, as she is known for much of the novel, is beautiful, gentle, mannerly, unassuming, and eminently willing to work for her living; yet without money or a fixed identity or a family to own her publicly, she is subjected to various kinds of abuse by practically everyone who meets her. Her attempts to find work, as a lady’s maid, a companion, a music teacher, a milliner’s apprentice, a piecework needlewoman, all end variously in disaster. She falls prey to a series of tyrannical or exploitative women, while trying to dodge endless more or less ill-intentioned male admirers (best name prize in the novel goes to one of these, the dastardly rake Sir Lyall Sycamore.)
Gentle readers, lest your tender hearts be afflicted too grievously by this report of the sufferings of the fair Incognita, let me hasten to reassure you that she does not languish without succour. Along with her countless predators and foes, she wins various supporters through her beauty and virtue, and even a highly eligible love interest, the chivalrous, respectful, and besotted Mr Harleigh. Another admirer, the ancient, gouty gallant Sir Jaspar Herrington, manages eventually to discover her identity, and triggers a sequence of events leading to the inevitable happily-ever-after conclusion.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this novel is its engagement with the French Revolution. Burney wrote the novel in France, where she spent the entire period of the Napoleonic wars living with her French soldier husband, Alexandre d’Arblay. The Revolution does not only form the backdrop of the novel, and have a leading role in the Incognita’s gradually revealed life history; it also inflects the moral and intellectual themes of the novel in various ways.
The principal vehicle in the novel for the revolutionary theme is the strikingly eccentric character of Elinor Joddrel: an outspoken enthusiast for the Revolution, a feminist and an atheist. Initially the Incognita’s reluctant protector, Elinor turns into her love rival when she reveals her unconquerable passion for "noble Harleigh." Rejected by him in favour of the more conventionally feminine Incognita, Elinor conceives a grand plan of killing herself for love in his presence and expiring in his arms; and her various ingenious suicide plans punctuate the novel for quite a long tract, until even she becomes bored of the project. We see her last having an interminable set-piece debate with Harleigh about the immortality of the soul against the surprising background of Stonehenge.
Critics have seen Elinor as a caricature of Mary Wollstonecraft, and there may be something in that, though she seems at the same time a caricature of the excesses of Romanticism—a comic, female Young Werther, if that can be imagined, or a broader-brush Marianne Dashwood. The novel’s attitude to Elinor is complex. She is certainly positioned as wrong-headed in her ideas, with right belonging to Harleigh’s and the Incognita’s "sense," rather than her "sensibility," in Austen's terms. Her treatment is not unsympathetic, however; she is recognized as a person of unusual intelligence, and her revolutionary ideas are given a fair degree of space in the novel. I find myself agreeing with critics who feel that the novel’s political conservatism is not untroubled or unnuanced.
Well! I certainly seem to have found a lot to say about this novel, even though I’m not sure I’d recommend it to anyone not writing a PhD on English literature or detained in a prison cell with this as the only reading matter available. I suspect it may end up being one of those novels you don't exactly enjoy, but which lurk around in your mind more than some that you did.
Curiously, though, having narrowly survived this experience, I feel quite pleased to have made the acquaintance of this monster. It’s certainly distinctive; and I can see why it has attracted much interest recently among feminist critics. The Wanderer of the title is a young woman whom we first encounter, in the novel’s dramatic opening scene, begging a place on a boat filled with English travelers fleeing France at the height of the 1792 Terror. She arrives penniless, friendless, and nameless, condemned to conceal her identity and story for reasons that remain a mystery for most of the novel: a “female Robinson Crusoe, as unaided and unprotected, though in the midst of the world.”
As the novel’s subtitle suggests, Burney uses this device to mount a fairly pitiless investigation of the predicament of women in Regency England. The Incognita, as she is known for much of the novel, is beautiful, gentle, mannerly, unassuming, and eminently willing to work for her living; yet without money or a fixed identity or a family to own her publicly, she is subjected to various kinds of abuse by practically everyone who meets her. Her attempts to find work, as a lady’s maid, a companion, a music teacher, a milliner’s apprentice, a piecework needlewoman, all end variously in disaster. She falls prey to a series of tyrannical or exploitative women, while trying to dodge endless more or less ill-intentioned male admirers (best name prize in the novel goes to one of these, the dastardly rake Sir Lyall Sycamore.)
Gentle readers, lest your tender hearts be afflicted too grievously by this report of the sufferings of the fair Incognita, let me hasten to reassure you that she does not languish without succour. Along with her countless predators and foes, she wins various supporters through her beauty and virtue, and even a highly eligible love interest, the chivalrous, respectful, and besotted Mr Harleigh. Another admirer, the ancient, gouty gallant Sir Jaspar Herrington, manages eventually to discover her identity, and triggers a sequence of events leading to the inevitable happily-ever-after conclusion.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this novel is its engagement with the French Revolution. Burney wrote the novel in France, where she spent the entire period of the Napoleonic wars living with her French soldier husband, Alexandre d’Arblay. The Revolution does not only form the backdrop of the novel, and have a leading role in the Incognita’s gradually revealed life history; it also inflects the moral and intellectual themes of the novel in various ways.
The principal vehicle in the novel for the revolutionary theme is the strikingly eccentric character of Elinor Joddrel: an outspoken enthusiast for the Revolution, a feminist and an atheist. Initially the Incognita’s reluctant protector, Elinor turns into her love rival when she reveals her unconquerable passion for "noble Harleigh." Rejected by him in favour of the more conventionally feminine Incognita, Elinor conceives a grand plan of killing herself for love in his presence and expiring in his arms; and her various ingenious suicide plans punctuate the novel for quite a long tract, until even she becomes bored of the project. We see her last having an interminable set-piece debate with Harleigh about the immortality of the soul against the surprising background of Stonehenge.
Critics have seen Elinor as a caricature of Mary Wollstonecraft, and there may be something in that, though she seems at the same time a caricature of the excesses of Romanticism—a comic, female Young Werther, if that can be imagined, or a broader-brush Marianne Dashwood. The novel’s attitude to Elinor is complex. She is certainly positioned as wrong-headed in her ideas, with right belonging to Harleigh’s and the Incognita’s "sense," rather than her "sensibility," in Austen's terms. Her treatment is not unsympathetic, however; she is recognized as a person of unusual intelligence, and her revolutionary ideas are given a fair degree of space in the novel. I find myself agreeing with critics who feel that the novel’s political conservatism is not untroubled or unnuanced.
Well! I certainly seem to have found a lot to say about this novel, even though I’m not sure I’d recommend it to anyone not writing a PhD on English literature or detained in a prison cell with this as the only reading matter available. I suspect it may end up being one of those novels you don't exactly enjoy, but which lurk around in your mind more than some that you did.
October 13, 2018
The Wanderer was Fanny Burney’s last novel, and, in my opinion, her magnum opus. It was published in 1814, years after her third novel, Camilla (1796). She had started it soon after Camilla, but it was set aside when she turned to plays in order to earn more money to support her family.
There are so many superlatives I could apply to The Wanderer. It blew me away. Fanny Burney (or Madame d’Arblay, her married name) had an incredible mind. My edition was 873 pages long, 5 volumes and 92 chapters. Throughout that thick pile of pages, Mme d’Arblay sustained a mystery -- the identity and story of the Wanderer -- that kept me worried and intrigued to the last chapter.
It’s hard to say much about the plot without giving anything away; perhaps the greatest pleasure of this novel is knowing nothing at all about it, being surprised and breathless at every turn. That’s the way I read it -- and I loved it.
But I should share something to whet your appetite: The Wanderer cannot give her name to anyone; we immediately apprehend she is in danger when, in the first scene, she boards a boat fleeing to England from France during the French Revolution. The alternate title of the book is Female Difficulties, and that is likewise a very apt title. Because she is alone, she must support herself once in England. For a female, that was next to impossible -- very few careers were available, and those that were either did not earn much or were not in high demand. And any working woman was looked down upon.
Fanny Burney d’Arblay supported a cast of maybe forty realistic characters, from every spectrum of society -- and I do mean every. The Wanderer ended up in the city, in the country, in the seaside town; with the nobility, with the gentility, with the working class, with the peasantry. The scope of this novel was vast; the author had an outstanding grasp on that part of the world in 1793-94. Running throughout the story was a political commentary that was ahead of her time.
It was partly this political commentary that caused the 1814 reviewers to give The Wanderer poor reviews. Yes, that’s right; not everyone thought it was Fanny d’Arblay’s magnum opus like I do. Her comments on society -- for instance, the oppression of the poor and of women -- touched too many nerves for it to be popular. I would not say she was a feminist (at least not like Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women) or a radical, because she was not extreme; she excused no one, portraying equally the respective flaws of rich and poor.
Hmm … there are so many things to say about this incredible work, but I must limit myself. It includes some great theological discussions. Its many adventures sure make it appealing, though back then some dismissed it as “improbable.” Perhaps because it was not a Gothic novel people thought it should be as straightforward as Mme d’Arblay’s other fiction and as Jane Austen’s. After 1814, The Wanderer was not republished until 1988.
While I feel sorry for the generations that missed it, I’m so glad it’s available today. It’s joined my list of favorites. In one of my posts about Evelina, Fanny Burney’s first book, I had stated that Jane Austen was the superior artist, but Fanny Burney had some talents that went beyond her. The Wanderer shows its artist fully matured, at the top of her game, and -- while I can’t say she leaves Jane Austen behind, because when it comes down to it, comparing writers can be like comparing apples to oranges -- I see her now for what she was: a genius.
(from my blog, http://kelseysnotebookblog.blogspot.c...)
Oh, and one final note! If you read the World's Classics edition, do NOT read the introduction first. It gives away the whole plot. I am sooo glad I didn't read it first.
There are so many superlatives I could apply to The Wanderer. It blew me away. Fanny Burney (or Madame d’Arblay, her married name) had an incredible mind. My edition was 873 pages long, 5 volumes and 92 chapters. Throughout that thick pile of pages, Mme d’Arblay sustained a mystery -- the identity and story of the Wanderer -- that kept me worried and intrigued to the last chapter.
It’s hard to say much about the plot without giving anything away; perhaps the greatest pleasure of this novel is knowing nothing at all about it, being surprised and breathless at every turn. That’s the way I read it -- and I loved it.
But I should share something to whet your appetite: The Wanderer cannot give her name to anyone; we immediately apprehend she is in danger when, in the first scene, she boards a boat fleeing to England from France during the French Revolution. The alternate title of the book is Female Difficulties, and that is likewise a very apt title. Because she is alone, she must support herself once in England. For a female, that was next to impossible -- very few careers were available, and those that were either did not earn much or were not in high demand. And any working woman was looked down upon.
Fanny Burney d’Arblay supported a cast of maybe forty realistic characters, from every spectrum of society -- and I do mean every. The Wanderer ended up in the city, in the country, in the seaside town; with the nobility, with the gentility, with the working class, with the peasantry. The scope of this novel was vast; the author had an outstanding grasp on that part of the world in 1793-94. Running throughout the story was a political commentary that was ahead of her time.
It was partly this political commentary that caused the 1814 reviewers to give The Wanderer poor reviews. Yes, that’s right; not everyone thought it was Fanny d’Arblay’s magnum opus like I do. Her comments on society -- for instance, the oppression of the poor and of women -- touched too many nerves for it to be popular. I would not say she was a feminist (at least not like Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women) or a radical, because she was not extreme; she excused no one, portraying equally the respective flaws of rich and poor.
Hmm … there are so many things to say about this incredible work, but I must limit myself. It includes some great theological discussions. Its many adventures sure make it appealing, though back then some dismissed it as “improbable.” Perhaps because it was not a Gothic novel people thought it should be as straightforward as Mme d’Arblay’s other fiction and as Jane Austen’s. After 1814, The Wanderer was not republished until 1988.
While I feel sorry for the generations that missed it, I’m so glad it’s available today. It’s joined my list of favorites. In one of my posts about Evelina, Fanny Burney’s first book, I had stated that Jane Austen was the superior artist, but Fanny Burney had some talents that went beyond her. The Wanderer shows its artist fully matured, at the top of her game, and -- while I can’t say she leaves Jane Austen behind, because when it comes down to it, comparing writers can be like comparing apples to oranges -- I see her now for what she was: a genius.
(from my blog, http://kelseysnotebookblog.blogspot.c...)
Oh, and one final note! If you read the World's Classics edition, do NOT read the introduction first. It gives away the whole plot. I am sooo glad I didn't read it first.
December 8, 2007
Underappreciated. Wonderful depiction of the limited opportunities available to women in late Georgian society. Also, very interesting politically, as Burney engages directly with the French Revolution and its effect on both French and British society. Not as funny as Burney's earlier efforts, but still every bit as interesting and readable.
July 28, 2008
A mysterious woman travels from France to England during the French revolution. She relies on random acquaintences to support her once she gets there, but refuses to tell anyone her name, who she is or anything about her. The point: who in "good society" would be willing to help a nameless woman in distress? The answer: almost nobody, and even those who do assist her often have their own selfish reasons. A scathing indictment of British society, a French revolution mystery and a romance. An interesting supporting character is Elinor, who believes it is her right as a woman to kill herself if the man she loves does not return her affections!
June 14, 2010
A book filled with good intentions and characters who made me want to climb into the book for the sole purpose of slapping them.
September 29, 2021
I'm sorry to say that I've now read this 900-page tome two times. This is by far the worst Fanny Burney novel and I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. Please go read Evelina (or even Camilla) instead.
December 19, 2016
It is the time of the French Revolution, and a lovely young woman is in a pickle. She flees France for England, but is constantly “in the affright of pursuit, and the dismay of being exposed to improper pecuniary obligations.”
This was overly-long and sometimes tedious, but still an interesting romp through “female difficulties” of the late 18th century--constraints generated primarily from oppressive social customs.
Elinor, the antagonist (the character supposedly based on Mary Wollstonecraft), was given the best lines such as, ”I did not fall into the refining hands of philosophy, early enough to eradicate wholly from my mind, all dregs of the clinging first impressions of habit and education.” Also, “What amazing, unaccountable fools,’ she cried, ‘have we all been for these quantities of centuries!” Hard to argue with that one!
This was overly-long and sometimes tedious, but still an interesting romp through “female difficulties” of the late 18th century--constraints generated primarily from oppressive social customs.
Elinor, the antagonist (the character supposedly based on Mary Wollstonecraft), was given the best lines such as, ”I did not fall into the refining hands of philosophy, early enough to eradicate wholly from my mind, all dregs of the clinging first impressions of habit and education.” Also, “What amazing, unaccountable fools,’ she cried, ‘have we all been for these quantities of centuries!” Hard to argue with that one!
October 12, 2008
OK. This is loooooong. Has some interesting aspect: a bit of race stuff; husband's rights over an eloped wife; a 10-page or so philosophical discussion between two characters that is remarkably good, touches on many central points and shows Burney to be a worthy philosopher as well as novelist; connected with that, some frank discussion of atheism; some women's rights issues. But, did I say, it's looooooong. And there are just a few too many chance encounters.
February 16, 2015
A gripping, long tale on the order of Clarissa, a book I grieved to finish, and so was happy to find another.
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November 27, 2020I don't know maybe Elinor from this would like Lorde's Melodrama, her story is basically The Sorrows of Young Elinor but, well, without all of that male angst, but there is plenty of that in this novel in case you were sorely lacking that in your REAL LIFE (!!!) and that's exactly what makes this novel such a difficult read, FEMALE DIFFICULTIES is the sub-title!! A real tragic doorstop, all of Burney's previous novels in one convenient binding, more or less, Burney takes from her ever rotating spice and herb rack that she's grown over the years and here at 50 (wow) she gives us in the good year of our lord 1814 a rival for Mansfield Park (which kind of walks all over this but oh, well!) - Burney is 'accidentally' feminist here, I don't think she fully understand the polemic and the politics to be in support of it, she became a bit of a recluse and just spent the rest of her years 're-writing' the history of her father, long-standing daddy issues, but Elinor's feminism are never contradicted and the lack of identity that Ellis/Juliet has for 900 pages, (even when Ellis, who is Juliet a Frenchwoman in 'disguise' of poverty but is 'worthy' because she can play the harp (how en vogue) is actually a LADY because why not that's a mystery you can read about on wikipedia!) supports this text as a Romantic romance novel of early 19th century feminism, because you know Burney likes 'happy' endings, so does Austen, but like where in Emma (Anya-taylor joy was better in Emma than in queens gambit checkmate Netflix) the whole thing about that novel is how Emma has done her thing to help everyone get married and has to face marriage herself and yeah Burney does that but in more of a bitter-sweet way that positions Ellis/Juliet as powerless and almost doll like because like in specifically Cecilia there is no way out really, it's a faux ending that is awful to read because it gives the modern reader no satisfaction (because the contemporary reviews slagged Burney off because of how 'progressive' Ellis/Juliet and Elinor are seen), and now a LADY she is just sort of left, with the hope of pushing through any and all DIFFICULTIES and it's really sad, she really has 'nothing' because she is made object to the tyranny of male authority and the prevalence of middle-class toxic masculinity and so Burney leaves us with two disappointed female leads because is that the real tragedy of life
January 5, 2021
Magnificent for its powerful depictions of what Burney terms “female difficulties,” also the novel’s subtitle. Burney’s heroine, a wanderer, struggles to survive and maintain her personal safety and dignity in a world inimical to women’s financial and moral independence. Persecutors abound. I loved how Burney used Gothic tropes to reinforce her protofeminist themes. This is firmly a “novel of sensibility with over-the-top displays of heightened emotion and many astonishing coincidences.The villains of this novel are masterfully drawn, but the good characters, namely the protagonist herself whose extreme “delicacy” becomes irritating, lack complexity. A supporting character, Elinor, is annoying for same reason I found Mary Hays’ Emma Courtney annoying: she is a repetitive zealot. The pacing of the novel is very slow when the action revolved around Brighthelmstone (i.e. Brighton until 1810), but picked up when Ellis travelled to the New Forest. Overall, not my favourite Burney, and I would recommend Charlotte Smith’s novels of the revolution and Hays’ The Victim of Prejudice and Wollstonecraft’s Maria; or The Wrongs of Women before this one, which could have been much shorter.
March 3, 2022
Oh boy it took me ages to get into this but I loved it when I did. It's gonna be impossible to recommend to anyone though because I think it's mainly of interest if you're already invested in 18th/early 19th century women's writing, literary representations of the French Revolutionary period, and depictions of the British class system. Which I am, so.
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February 5, 2024I had to DNF this about half way through. I thought I’d really like this but I just didn’t. The story was slow and more than half the book was just her being in debt because she wasn’t being paid for her music lessons that she was giving and yet instead of moving or trying to find another way to make money she just continued to live with people who repeatedly treated her poorly. I heard a lot of good things about this but it didn’t live up to the hype. For a book that was supposed to be feminist I found it surprising too that the main character had little agency at all and the other female characters were very unsupportive of her.
January 30, 2018
Burney's contemporaries criticized this book for its unwomanly interest in international and domestic affairs: she not only draws an unflattering portrait of cultured middle-class hypocrisy in England, but also meditates on the particularly vulnerable position of women under a tyrannical government (in this case, during the height of the Terror in France). The book is long (~900 pages) and contains much blushing, exclaiming, fainting, and tears. Perhaps a little too much to be wholly palatable by readers today...
October 30, 2018
This is the last novel Frances Burney wrote and, for some reason, the only one not currently in print which I think is a shame because for me this is the strongest of her novels (although not necessarily the easiest to read).
Published in 1814 (the same year as Jane Austen's Mansfield Park) but written more in an 18th century style and set mostly in England in 1793 against the background of the French Revolution, [The Wanderer] sets out how difficult it was for young women to survive at that time without the protection of a man or money (which generally also came from a man).
From a modern day viewpoint the book suffers from some repetitiveness in that Burney makes her heroine repeatedly try different solutions to her difficulties only to fail at each attempt but from an 18th/19th century perspective the point needed to be repeated. And whilst women now (thankfully) have more financial independence, the repeated themes of women being threatened by men, mistreated by men and doubted by men sadly felt all too relevant as I was reading this over the summer. So, not exactly a cheerful book despite the convenient 'happy' ending but I think an important one and one that deserves more attention (and an edition in print).
Published in 1814 (the same year as Jane Austen's Mansfield Park) but written more in an 18th century style and set mostly in England in 1793 against the background of the French Revolution, [The Wanderer] sets out how difficult it was for young women to survive at that time without the protection of a man or money (which generally also came from a man).
From a modern day viewpoint the book suffers from some repetitiveness in that Burney makes her heroine repeatedly try different solutions to her difficulties only to fail at each attempt but from an 18th/19th century perspective the point needed to be repeated. And whilst women now (thankfully) have more financial independence, the repeated themes of women being threatened by men, mistreated by men and doubted by men sadly felt all too relevant as I was reading this over the summer. So, not exactly a cheerful book despite the convenient 'happy' ending but I think an important one and one that deserves more attention (and an edition in print).
October 28, 2016
Reviewing fiction is always a little intimidating to me. After years of reading and writing non-fiction, I have a clear understanding of what I'm looking for and what will benefit others. But I have always read fiction purely for pleasure, and sometimes escape. I don't read it critically, so if I get caught up in the story or characters, I can't always analyze why I enjoy it. And truth be told, I don't really want to, until it comes time to review it. However, at 1000 pages, The Wanderer was long enough to get a pretty clear picture of what I liked and didn't like and at the same time a quick enough read that I didn't forget along the way.
This was my first novel by Fanny Burney and I found it compulsively readable, but somewhat in the same way that a train wreck compels you to look. I don't mean that the book was a wreck, just that I couldn't quite figure out what made me return to it so readily. There are a variety of different characters, but several were infuriating, including the main character. Clearly the intention is to show the difficulties that a gentlewoman, alone with no resources, faces in the world. Our main character, the "Wanderer" doesn't even have the ability to fall back on a good name, because she has to keep her identity hidden. But the choices she makes often don't make sense to me. For example, she takes a position as a companion to an older woman, yet in spite of her beautiful singing voice and ability on the pianoforte and harp, she refuses to play when the woman has guests. Yes, the old woman is a tyrant, harpy is the word that comes to mind, but the wanderer's reduced circumstances require her to make some sacrifices to her pride. She also consistently, for over 800 pages, trusts the wrong people and doesn't trust those who clearly have her best interests at heart. Fortunately, those people don't give up on her.
There is one character that I think the book could have completely done without, Miss Arbe. She seems to serve only as a tormentor in the guise of a friend. In the third of five volumes, where Miss Arbe appears, the story seems to advance very little and I thought we would never find out anything about the big secret. Eventually, though, the background of our protagonist begins to come to light and the story moves on. She still infuriates by running away from anyone who could help her, but we begin to understand more of her fear.
I would like to have seen more growth in our main character. She seemed always to be the victim of her circumstances and society's expectations. The one character who had feminist sentiments and could have been an example of taking charge of your own life, is portrayed as ridiculous and mentally unbalanced. Although disappointing to me, perhaps this is precisely the opinion that Burney wanted to convey.
I thought the ending was great, although too pat and predictable for some people I'm sure. The action takes you right up to the end, so while the middle of the book seems unnecessarily drawn out, the conclusion is wrapped up pretty quickly. There are some great characters along the way and we find out what happens to them all. (I especially loved Sir Jasper.)
I will read more of Burney's work, although she's not for everyone. Definitely late 18th, early 19th century literature and sentiments.
This was my first novel by Fanny Burney and I found it compulsively readable, but somewhat in the same way that a train wreck compels you to look. I don't mean that the book was a wreck, just that I couldn't quite figure out what made me return to it so readily. There are a variety of different characters, but several were infuriating, including the main character. Clearly the intention is to show the difficulties that a gentlewoman, alone with no resources, faces in the world. Our main character, the "Wanderer" doesn't even have the ability to fall back on a good name, because she has to keep her identity hidden. But the choices she makes often don't make sense to me. For example, she takes a position as a companion to an older woman, yet in spite of her beautiful singing voice and ability on the pianoforte and harp, she refuses to play when the woman has guests. Yes, the old woman is a tyrant, harpy is the word that comes to mind, but the wanderer's reduced circumstances require her to make some sacrifices to her pride. She also consistently, for over 800 pages, trusts the wrong people and doesn't trust those who clearly have her best interests at heart. Fortunately, those people don't give up on her.
There is one character that I think the book could have completely done without, Miss Arbe. She seems to serve only as a tormentor in the guise of a friend. In the third of five volumes, where Miss Arbe appears, the story seems to advance very little and I thought we would never find out anything about the big secret. Eventually, though, the background of our protagonist begins to come to light and the story moves on. She still infuriates by running away from anyone who could help her, but we begin to understand more of her fear.
I would like to have seen more growth in our main character. She seemed always to be the victim of her circumstances and society's expectations. The one character who had feminist sentiments and could have been an example of taking charge of your own life, is portrayed as ridiculous and mentally unbalanced. Although disappointing to me, perhaps this is precisely the opinion that Burney wanted to convey.
I thought the ending was great, although too pat and predictable for some people I'm sure. The action takes you right up to the end, so while the middle of the book seems unnecessarily drawn out, the conclusion is wrapped up pretty quickly. There are some great characters along the way and we find out what happens to them all. (I especially loved Sir Jasper.)
I will read more of Burney's work, although she's not for everyone. Definitely late 18th, early 19th century literature and sentiments.
April 23, 2024
It's interesting to see that some reviewers think this is Burney's best book and others think it's her worst.
If you aren't already familiar with Burney's work, here's what you can expect: A well-bred, virtuous and sheltered young woman learning to navigate upper-class British society on her own. She faces financial difficulties and predatory gentlemen while struggling to maintain a spotless reputation. The novel makes a lot of observations on contemporary society and explores various moral/philosophical questions. Characters are frequently overcome with emotion - weeping, falling upon one another's bosoms, lifting their eyes to heaven, crying out and so forth.
This novel adds an interesting twist in that we're unaware of the heroine's identity throughout most of the book. I liked this because it made the heroine's struggles seem less arbitrary. Instead of the main character dealing with unending obstacles Just Because, there was a good reason for her challenges here, and it made the story seem more like an adventure and less like a soap opera.
I enjoyed The Wanderer much, much more than I enjoyed Cecilia and Camilla. Partly this is because the heroine was a lot more sensible than Cecilia and (especially) Camilla, whose problems were mostly due to her own stupidity. In The Wanderer, although the heroine is pretty inexperienced, she makes sensible decisions (within the context of the times and her particular situation) and you don't want to strangle her. Granted, some of those decisions are baffling from a 21st-century perspective, so you really have to be willing to put yourself in a Regency frame of mind.
Another big improvement in The Wanderer is its main love interest. In Cecilia and Camilla, the love interest starts out as a rational, sensible young man, but then turns into an overemotional basketcase as soon as he falls for the heroine. I thought Cecilia, in particular, should have kicked her suitor to the curb once he started drooling and panting all over her and trying to subvert her better judgment. In The Wanderer, the love interest does get a bit overwrought sometimes, but still manages to maintain his basic dignity and self-control.
Of course, given that this novel is five volumes long, you immediately know that the heroine's problems aren't going to be resolved for a very long time, and so it's best to settle in for the ride. As is obvious from the title, half the point of the book is to demonstrate the obstacles that women unfairly face, and the ways in which they are set up to fail. To that end, it takes the reader on a tour of the (very few) acceptable female occupations and the different facets of British society, along with the benefits and drawbacks of each way of life. I thought the journey was enjoyable and I was sad to have come to the end of the book.
If you aren't already familiar with Burney's work, here's what you can expect: A well-bred, virtuous and sheltered young woman learning to navigate upper-class British society on her own. She faces financial difficulties and predatory gentlemen while struggling to maintain a spotless reputation. The novel makes a lot of observations on contemporary society and explores various moral/philosophical questions. Characters are frequently overcome with emotion - weeping, falling upon one another's bosoms, lifting their eyes to heaven, crying out and so forth.
This novel adds an interesting twist in that we're unaware of the heroine's identity throughout most of the book. I liked this because it made the heroine's struggles seem less arbitrary. Instead of the main character dealing with unending obstacles Just Because, there was a good reason for her challenges here, and it made the story seem more like an adventure and less like a soap opera.
I enjoyed The Wanderer much, much more than I enjoyed Cecilia and Camilla. Partly this is because the heroine was a lot more sensible than Cecilia and (especially) Camilla, whose problems were mostly due to her own stupidity. In The Wanderer, although the heroine is pretty inexperienced, she makes sensible decisions (within the context of the times and her particular situation) and you don't want to strangle her. Granted, some of those decisions are baffling from a 21st-century perspective, so you really have to be willing to put yourself in a Regency frame of mind.
Another big improvement in The Wanderer is its main love interest. In Cecilia and Camilla, the love interest starts out as a rational, sensible young man, but then turns into an overemotional basketcase as soon as he falls for the heroine. I thought Cecilia, in particular, should have kicked her suitor to the curb once he started drooling and panting all over her and trying to subvert her better judgment. In The Wanderer, the love interest does get a bit overwrought sometimes, but still manages to maintain his basic dignity and self-control.
Of course, given that this novel is five volumes long, you immediately know that the heroine's problems aren't going to be resolved for a very long time, and so it's best to settle in for the ride. As is obvious from the title, half the point of the book is to demonstrate the obstacles that women unfairly face, and the ways in which they are set up to fail. To that end, it takes the reader on a tour of the (very few) acceptable female occupations and the different facets of British society, along with the benefits and drawbacks of each way of life. I thought the journey was enjoyable and I was sad to have come to the end of the book.
January 26, 2010
Miss Ellis (Juliet) journeys to England from France and finds herself at the mercy of strangers due to a loss of her purse as she travelled over. She comes from Family, but refuses to name them as she is being pursued by an evil "Citoyen" from France who has married her for her money.
She travels along and lives with several different families meeting Elinor who is desperately jealous of her because Harleigh is in love with her. Her aunt, Mrs. Maple who is always terrible to her because she is a "Wanderer". Mrs. Ireton who treats her as a servant and belittles her constantly as she thinks she is a "nobody" and so on and so on.
By the end, she is revealed to her family - her brother and sister Lady Aurora and Lord Melbury who have been her friends all along. She marries Harleigh and saves the Bishop who has been her long protector who was kidnapped by the evil French "husband". He is killed by the revolution in France for disobeying even their laws.
She travels along and lives with several different families meeting Elinor who is desperately jealous of her because Harleigh is in love with her. Her aunt, Mrs. Maple who is always terrible to her because she is a "Wanderer". Mrs. Ireton who treats her as a servant and belittles her constantly as she thinks she is a "nobody" and so on and so on.
By the end, she is revealed to her family - her brother and sister Lady Aurora and Lord Melbury who have been her friends all along. She marries Harleigh and saves the Bishop who has been her long protector who was kidnapped by the evil French "husband". He is killed by the revolution in France for disobeying even their laws.
April 21, 2016
It took me days of near constant reading, but I finished it at last.
Be prepared for:
A heroine that calls many a Mary-Sue to mind.
Characters that are vastly exaggerated in their respective good- or badness.
A plot reminiscent of a telenovela in its proportions, its many twists and turns and ultimate predictability.
Language that is the closest to Jane Auten's perfection I have seen so far.
Loving it despite its flaws.
Be prepared for:
A heroine that calls many a Mary-Sue to mind.
Characters that are vastly exaggerated in their respective good- or badness.
A plot reminiscent of a telenovela in its proportions, its many twists and turns and ultimate predictability.
Language that is the closest to Jane Auten's perfection I have seen so far.
Loving it despite its flaws.
Read
February 10, 2013I had to stop listening to this one on audio because the adventures of the heroine were so painfully drawn out--I wanted to see the resolution, but I read it so I could get there more quickly. Although I think that Burney is a fantastic writer in some ways (and in some genres), I am pretty sure that this will be the last of the Burney novels I read.
February 10, 2015
As is typical of books written in the 1800s, this book was wordy. However, having said that, it was a good story. It gave you a good view of the status of women & how they were treated by all class levels.
March 8, 2021
Unnecessary plotlines, slightly annoying main character - classic Fanny Burney, loved it :)
April 30, 2016
The Wanderer is, quite possibly, the worst book I have ever read. It does not work on any significant narrative level. Its characters, especially its main character, are stupid beyond comprehension. Its narrative is so drawn out with completely needless subplots that it feels like a 200 page novel squeezed into 900. Its dialogue is outright terrible (in fact, a printing/editing error late in the book reveals that the author changed what had been meant as third person omniscient descriptions into dialogue by merely throwing quotes around sentences and changing proper names to pronouns...when you can interchange your descriptions of conversation with actual dialogue, there's something drastically wrong with how you write dialogue). The book is so laughably bad, it's mostly interesting to see that the original reviewers got the book right, and those rediscovering it now are so largely wrong.
The novel begins interestingly enough with the main character running out and begging passage on a smuggling vessel that is bringing a cross section of English people from France at the outset of the French Revolution. The quality of the novel never really takes off and its style feels wrong from the beginning. The main character, the Incognita as she is known at the beginning, is not just the main character, she's out point of view character. The author goes into the Incognita's head for more than 90% of the novel. With that narrative trick, we should be exposed to information that she knows, even if she's trying to keep it from other people. If the author just wanted to cheat a little bit, the character would have referenced names, places, and events out of context for the audience but would have had meaning to the character, providing us with actual hints as to her background and motives. These secrets, the events that precede the beginning of the book by a few days, are not revealed until page 800. It is a lie of narrative technique. Getting past that (accepting the fact that the author is purposefully keeping information from the audience without any real reason other than she wants to), the audience can accept the lack of knowledge if the reveal is particularly juicy (we've abandoned high art and have begun to expect potboiler level writing at this point), but the secret the Incognita is holding is...*SPOILER*...so easily swept away that when our main character, Juliette is her real name, reveals this secret to Sir Jaspar, a kind old man who has tried very hard to help her since he first met her, he literally laughs at her because it's so easily overcome. Juliette was forced into a "marriage". When the French Revolution swept through her part of France, the agent of Robespierre in the area discovered that Juliette had rich relatives in England (more on that narrative disaster later) and, without a priest, any form of religious ceremony, or even Juliette's consent, laid claim to her as his wife. No court in England or France would ever consider that a marriage, but Juliette doesn't reveal this to people who like her and want to help her until after her "husband" has crossed the Channel to England, tracked her down, and gotten expelled from the country. So much of this book would never had happened if she had just told her story in the boat from France to the people in the boat, much less to the people, including Lady Aurora, who immediately love her the second they meet her.
Which leads me to the other characters. There are three types of characters that Juliette meets: Those that immediately love her, those that immediately hate her, and those that try to help her but grow frustrated with her when she refuses to help herself. Those that love her immediately are all of the male characters and Lady Aurora, a fifteen year old girl who is a daughter of the aristocracy. Those that hate her are all women, generally middle class. Those that try to help her are also a couple of women, but they grow so frustrated with Juliette at her refusal to help herself that they turn from her. If you were going to take a lesson about gender from this book and how it deals with people of different sexes, you'd say that women are largely either stupid or awful and men are just lovely. I don't think that's what Frances Burney wanted to get across, but that's what comes across.
Lady Aurora. There is a trope in English literature from this period that the main character, who is poor, works through their troubles as best they can, developing character along the way, only to discover that they have a rich relative out there somewhere who is willing to throw money at them. It only happens after the character has developed into some kind of maturity. The best example of this is in Jane Eyre where Jane learns of her rich relative and refuses to take his money, insisting on making her own way in the world, and succeeding. That trope is alive and well in The Wanderer, except that Juliette knows of her rich relatives from the beginning of the book (although this isn't revealed until about page 750...that writing style), and spends the entire book hoping and wishing that they will find out on their own and take her in. Which leads me directly to Juliette's character: I don't think I've ever read such a passive character as Juliette.
She refuses to actually push her own case forward and she mostly just runs away. The reason Sir Jaspar learns of her family situation at all is because Juliette's friend from France tells him. Juliette reveals the truth of her marriage after her husband has caused such a scene in England that he gets deported. Whenever she is active, she's forced into it, but most of the time she sits, tries to be quiet, and waits for someone else to fix her problems for her before running away. That's right...she runs away for a few hundred pages near the end. Instead of going to people she knows can help her and revealing her secrets, she runs away. I got excited when I reached this part because I thought that she'd be active for once, excited until I realized that her activity was purely in the service of inactivity...maintaining the status quo of her situation. The status quo being that her husband was now in the country looking for her. She made no effort to change that (she had no plan on how to get rid of him) she just tried to hide in the English countryside, keeping the situation as it was. She ends up being saved through coincidences that would make James Fenimore Cooper blush.
On top of all of this narrative, character, and stylistic bumbling, this book was marketed, at the time, as a political novel. It's not...at all. It deals with the French Revolution (published more than ten years after it ended) but only in very small fits and spurts. Maybe 5% of this monstrosity actually deals with the revolution at all. 5% of a 900 page novel is 45 pages. The rest has nothing to do with politics and is, at best, a huge misfire of satire on English manners, customs, and personalities.
In the end, I cannot fathom how someone sits down with this book and enjoys it. It's poorly and dishonestly written with awful dialogue, shallow characters who don't grow, a ten page philosophical discussion about life after death that I would have considered deep in 9th grade but never since, and an infuriatingly slow pace. There is literally nothing to recommend in it. I forced myself to finish the book because I knew that I wanted to write this review with some authority.
The novel begins interestingly enough with the main character running out and begging passage on a smuggling vessel that is bringing a cross section of English people from France at the outset of the French Revolution. The quality of the novel never really takes off and its style feels wrong from the beginning. The main character, the Incognita as she is known at the beginning, is not just the main character, she's out point of view character. The author goes into the Incognita's head for more than 90% of the novel. With that narrative trick, we should be exposed to information that she knows, even if she's trying to keep it from other people. If the author just wanted to cheat a little bit, the character would have referenced names, places, and events out of context for the audience but would have had meaning to the character, providing us with actual hints as to her background and motives. These secrets, the events that precede the beginning of the book by a few days, are not revealed until page 800. It is a lie of narrative technique. Getting past that (accepting the fact that the author is purposefully keeping information from the audience without any real reason other than she wants to), the audience can accept the lack of knowledge if the reveal is particularly juicy (we've abandoned high art and have begun to expect potboiler level writing at this point), but the secret the Incognita is holding is...*SPOILER*...so easily swept away that when our main character, Juliette is her real name, reveals this secret to Sir Jaspar, a kind old man who has tried very hard to help her since he first met her, he literally laughs at her because it's so easily overcome. Juliette was forced into a "marriage". When the French Revolution swept through her part of France, the agent of Robespierre in the area discovered that Juliette had rich relatives in England (more on that narrative disaster later) and, without a priest, any form of religious ceremony, or even Juliette's consent, laid claim to her as his wife. No court in England or France would ever consider that a marriage, but Juliette doesn't reveal this to people who like her and want to help her until after her "husband" has crossed the Channel to England, tracked her down, and gotten expelled from the country. So much of this book would never had happened if she had just told her story in the boat from France to the people in the boat, much less to the people, including Lady Aurora, who immediately love her the second they meet her.
Which leads me to the other characters. There are three types of characters that Juliette meets: Those that immediately love her, those that immediately hate her, and those that try to help her but grow frustrated with her when she refuses to help herself. Those that love her immediately are all of the male characters and Lady Aurora, a fifteen year old girl who is a daughter of the aristocracy. Those that hate her are all women, generally middle class. Those that try to help her are also a couple of women, but they grow so frustrated with Juliette at her refusal to help herself that they turn from her. If you were going to take a lesson about gender from this book and how it deals with people of different sexes, you'd say that women are largely either stupid or awful and men are just lovely. I don't think that's what Frances Burney wanted to get across, but that's what comes across.
Lady Aurora. There is a trope in English literature from this period that the main character, who is poor, works through their troubles as best they can, developing character along the way, only to discover that they have a rich relative out there somewhere who is willing to throw money at them. It only happens after the character has developed into some kind of maturity. The best example of this is in Jane Eyre where Jane learns of her rich relative and refuses to take his money, insisting on making her own way in the world, and succeeding. That trope is alive and well in The Wanderer, except that Juliette knows of her rich relatives from the beginning of the book (although this isn't revealed until about page 750...that writing style), and spends the entire book hoping and wishing that they will find out on their own and take her in. Which leads me directly to Juliette's character: I don't think I've ever read such a passive character as Juliette.
She refuses to actually push her own case forward and she mostly just runs away. The reason Sir Jaspar learns of her family situation at all is because Juliette's friend from France tells him. Juliette reveals the truth of her marriage after her husband has caused such a scene in England that he gets deported. Whenever she is active, she's forced into it, but most of the time she sits, tries to be quiet, and waits for someone else to fix her problems for her before running away. That's right...she runs away for a few hundred pages near the end. Instead of going to people she knows can help her and revealing her secrets, she runs away. I got excited when I reached this part because I thought that she'd be active for once, excited until I realized that her activity was purely in the service of inactivity...maintaining the status quo of her situation. The status quo being that her husband was now in the country looking for her. She made no effort to change that (she had no plan on how to get rid of him) she just tried to hide in the English countryside, keeping the situation as it was. She ends up being saved through coincidences that would make James Fenimore Cooper blush.
On top of all of this narrative, character, and stylistic bumbling, this book was marketed, at the time, as a political novel. It's not...at all. It deals with the French Revolution (published more than ten years after it ended) but only in very small fits and spurts. Maybe 5% of this monstrosity actually deals with the revolution at all. 5% of a 900 page novel is 45 pages. The rest has nothing to do with politics and is, at best, a huge misfire of satire on English manners, customs, and personalities.
In the end, I cannot fathom how someone sits down with this book and enjoys it. It's poorly and dishonestly written with awful dialogue, shallow characters who don't grow, a ten page philosophical discussion about life after death that I would have considered deep in 9th grade but never since, and an infuriatingly slow pace. There is literally nothing to recommend in it. I forced myself to finish the book because I knew that I wanted to write this review with some authority.
April 10, 2024
This book gives a detailed overview into the thoughts and social perceptions of a noble woman in the 18th century. The interest of the book for me lies mainly in learning what thoughts different situations inspire in the characters. It is very interesting from that point of view and if you too find the thought of listening to someone from that era think interesting, you may find merit in the book. If you aren’t interested in those thoughts, you should probably avoid the novel, which leads me to the bad parts about it.
This is a badly plotted novel, and throughout, it contains a number of frustrating issues. It relies on endless and ridiculous coincidences from beginning to end. The plot is weak, because although the root cause of the conflict within the novel is plausible, the protagonist’s reaction to that conflict is infuriating. Upon a chance for action, she either does nothing or runs away. The protagonist is constantly presented with opportunities to resolve her various conflicts but is so incapable of leading her own destiny that she does nothing every time.
The other problem with this novel that will turn off most people is that it is unnecessarily long. It’s over 900 pages and for at least 65% of it, very little of interest happens. The dialogue of many characters is huge and it’s tempting in many cases to skip these massive monologues because all we’re getting is the author herself word-vomiting her own views on philosophy, politics, ethics and morality. Then there’s the needless repetition of different situations and the meandering into side stories. Even 75% of the way into the novel, the author is still introducing many new characters and creating new storylines, dedicating several chapters to them.
This is a badly plotted novel, and throughout, it contains a number of frustrating issues. It relies on endless and ridiculous coincidences from beginning to end. The plot is weak, because although the root cause of the conflict within the novel is plausible, the protagonist’s reaction to that conflict is infuriating. Upon a chance for action, she either does nothing or runs away. The protagonist is constantly presented with opportunities to resolve her various conflicts but is so incapable of leading her own destiny that she does nothing every time.
The other problem with this novel that will turn off most people is that it is unnecessarily long. It’s over 900 pages and for at least 65% of it, very little of interest happens. The dialogue of many characters is huge and it’s tempting in many cases to skip these massive monologues because all we’re getting is the author herself word-vomiting her own views on philosophy, politics, ethics and morality. Then there’s the needless repetition of different situations and the meandering into side stories. Even 75% of the way into the novel, the author is still introducing many new characters and creating new storylines, dedicating several chapters to them.
September 27, 2025
873 pages of pure bananas-bonkers insanity. Our sentimental heroine, Juliet, arriving on the scene unnamed and in blackface (!!!), turns out to be a very white heiress to thirty thousand pounds, and, constrained by propriety, the most delicate scruples, and a slightly overwrought sense of personal honor, can only ever run away from the various men who want to seduce, rape, or otherwise possess her, including the hero. Over the course of the novel, Juliet finds herself abducted in the carriages of not one, but two, baronets; locked into various rooms, summer houses, and peasant huts (including by the hero who prevents her from leaving the scene so often I lost count); trafficked against her will to Stonehenge for a picnic with a titled lunatic; and involuntarily antagonized by every single elite woman she meets — it turns out, our deserving Juliet is helped only by those she’s related to or who want to be related to her by marrying her. Everyone else hates her guts because people are jealous of Juliet’s goodness and grace and moral superiority, don’t you know? (Don’t get me started on the love triangle with our revolutionary atheist feminist Elinor who ends up trying to shoot herself in a church because the hero is crazy for the heroine.) The whole novel is a sequential obstacle course through which our angelically harp-playing beauty has to pass, as passively as possible, to arrive in prosperous marriage with the equally passive, though crazy wealthy, moralistic, and incessantly speechmaking, Harleigh. A reverse Cinderella plot with a final dizzyingly asymptotic upswing, The Wanderer celebrates high-born propriety as the thing that gets you through life. Finis.
March 21, 2023
So, the premise here was interesting and suitably gothic for my tastes, but Juliet, as a heroine, was kind of exhausting. Shes a lot like Fanny Price, objectively. She's always the most virtuous and kind of stuffy, even, I think, by her own time periods standards. In Juliet's case, I kind of understand this, because she spends so long without anything else that I think holding onto her extremely lofty principles and decorum are basically all she has that is keeping her sane.
However, I could have done without hearing the word glided for every single time she walked anywhere, I get that its probably supposed to convey that she was like, the most elegant and everything, but come on. She has feet.
Additionally, I feel like we need to talk about Elinor. The most extra personality in the novel, Elinor has basically decided that if she cant have Harleigh, she'll kill herself, and, by bonkers logic, that it is her immutable right that she get to kill herself in his presence. Objectively, Harleigh just wants this woman to leave him alone, and he kind of resents her for toying with his brother, which is fair?
Anyways, there were some interesting ideas but I think Juliet was kind of frustrating.
However, I could have done without hearing the word glided for every single time she walked anywhere, I get that its probably supposed to convey that she was like, the most elegant and everything, but come on. She has feet.
Additionally, I feel like we need to talk about Elinor. The most extra personality in the novel, Elinor has basically decided that if she cant have Harleigh, she'll kill herself, and, by bonkers logic, that it is her immutable right that she get to kill herself in his presence. Objectively, Harleigh just wants this woman to leave him alone, and he kind of resents her for toying with his brother, which is fair?
Anyways, there were some interesting ideas but I think Juliet was kind of frustrating.
March 25, 2023
Margaret Anne Doody, in her introduction to the 1991 Oxford Edition of this novel (originally published in 1814) comments "A novel is thus, by implication, an 'intellectual survey of the present times', and novel-writing is thus an historical and political activity". And that is what makes this novel worth the time to - if not read - to read about.
Not Burney's best. Frankly, I found this book painfully slow and at least 500 pages too long. It was written over a period of 14 years, so there's also a disjointedness in the characters' development over its 900 pages which I disliked.
Not Burney's best. Frankly, I found this book painfully slow and at least 500 pages too long. It was written over a period of 14 years, so there's also a disjointedness in the characters' development over its 900 pages which I disliked.
October 2, 2020
I didn't have very high expectations regarding this novel considering the bad reviews it received at the time of its publication... And I was dreading its length (about 900 pages). I must say I enjoyed it tremendously, and surprised myself wanting to read it anytime of the day! The characters are very well delineated, and the criticism of the society of the time subtle.
October 8, 2020
I will start with saying I am glad I read it. There is an excellent book buried within those 900 odd pages. But just too much repetition and coincidence as well. How much easier would Ellis's life have been if she had given a false name and said her entire family had died in the French Revolution?
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