Product Description

Northanger Abbey is both a perfectly aimed literary parody and a withering satire of the commercial aspects of marriage among the English gentry at the turn of the nineteenth century. But most of all, it is the story of the initiation into life of its naïve but sweetly appealing heroine, Catherine Morland, a willing victim of the contemporary craze for Gothic literature who is determined to see herself as the heroine of a dark and thrilling romance.

When Catherine is invited to Northanger Abbey, the grand though forbidding ancestral seat of her suitor, Henry Tilney, she finds herself embroiled in a real drama of misapprehension, mistreatment, and mortification, until common sense and humor—and a crucial clarification of Catherine’s financial status—puts all to right. Written in 1798 but not published until after Austen’s death in 1817, Northanger Abbey is characteristically clearheaded and strong, and infinitely subtle in its comedy.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #24220 in Books
• Published on: 2007-09-04
• Released on: 2007-09-04
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 256 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9780307386830
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
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Review
“Jane Austen is the Rosetta stone of literature.” —Anna Quindlen

About the Author
Jane Austen (1775—1817) was born in Hampshire, England, where she spent most of her life. Though she received little recognition in her lifetime, she came to be regarded as one of the great masters of the English novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter I

No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard—and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable independence, besides two good livings—and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as any body might expect, she still lived on—lived to have six children more—to see them growing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself. A family of ten children will be always called a fine family, where there are heads and arms and legs enough for the number; but the Morlands had little other right to the word, for they were in general very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features;—so much for her person;—and not less unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boys’ plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief—at least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she was forbidden to take.—Such were her propensities—her abilities were quite as extraordinary. She never could learn or understand any thing before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in teaching her only to repeat the “Beggar’s Petition;” and after all, her next sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not that Catherine was always stupid,—by no means; she learnt the fable of “The Hare and many Friends,” as quickly as any girl in England. Her mother wished her to learn music; and Catherine was sure she should like it, for she was very fond of tinkling the keys of the old forlorn spinnet; so, at eight years old she began. She learnt a year, and could not bear it;—and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her daughters being accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave off. The day which dismissed the music-master was one of the happiest of Catherine’s life. Her taste for drawing was not superior; though whenever she could obtain the outside of a letter from her mother, or seize upon any other odd piece of paper, she did what she could in that way, by drawing houses and trees, hens and chickens, all very much like one another.—Writing and accounts she was taught by her father; French by her mother: her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she shirked her lessons in both whenever she could. What a strange, unaccountable character!—for with all these symptoms of profligacy at ten years old, she had neither a bad heart nor a bad temper; was seldom stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones, with few interruptions of tyranny; she was moreover noisy and wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house.

Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her complexion improved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes gained more animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of dirt gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew clean as she grew smart; she had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father and mother remark on her personal improvement. “Catherine grows quite a good-looking girl,—she is almost pretty to day,” were words which caught her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look almost pretty, is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life, than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive.

Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her children every thing they ought to be; but her time was so much occupied in lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder daughters were inevitably left to shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful that Catherine, who had by nature nothing heroic about her, should prefer cricket, base ball, riding on horseback, and running about the country at the age of fourteen, to books—or at least books of information—for, provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at all. But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.

From Pope, she learnt to censure those who

“bear about the mockery of woe.”

From Gray, that

“Many a flower is born to blush unseen, “And waste its fragrance on the desert air.”

From Thompson, that

——“It is a delightful task “To teach the young idea how to shoot.”

And from Shakspeare she gained a great store of information—amongst the rest, that

———“Trifles light as air, “Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong, “As proofs of Holy Writ.”

That “The poor beetle, which we tread upon, “In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great “As when a giant dies.”

And that a young woman in love always looks ——“like Patience on a monument “Smiling at Grief.”

So far her improvement was sufficient—and in many other points she came on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets, she brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte, of her own composition, she could listen to other people’s performance with very little fatigue. Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil—she had no notion of drawing—not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover’s profile, that she might be detected in the design. There she fell miserably short of the true heroic height. At present she did not know her own poverty, for she had no lover to pourtray. She had reached the age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her sensibility; without having excited one real passion, and without having excited even any admiration but what was very moderate and very transient. This was strange indeed! But strange things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly searched out. There was not one lord in the neighbourhood; no—not even a baronet. There was not one family among their acquaintance who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at their door—not one young man whose origin was unknown. Her father had no ward, and the squire of the parish no children.

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about Fuller- ton, the village in Wiltshire where the Morlands lived, was ordered to Bath for the benefit of a gouty constitution;—and his lady, a good- humoured woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that if adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad, invited her to go with them. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all compliance, and Catherine all happiness.

Customer Reviews

My favorite Austen novel
I'd forgotten how much fun this novel is! Northanger Abbey was actually Austen's first completed novel as far as history knows, although it was published posthumously, long after her other works were published. It's really the funniest and most satirical of all her novels, and the gothic tomfoolery is what kills me. I just love it.

A brief plot summary is that the story's protagonist, Catherine, is invited to spend some time in Bath with some family friends, where she meets the characters that will carry out the various themes in the story, namely two sets of siblings: Isabella and John Thorpe, and Frederick and Eleanor Tilney. A recurring theme any Austen fan will recognize is that of first impressions and innocence giving way to deception and misunderstandings, as a young, naive Catherine finds that her dear new friend, Isabella, is not quite who she at first appears to be, and that all kinds of scheming and plotting are going on behind Catherine's guileless back - based mostly, of course, on gross misconceptions that will cause all manner of ruckus down the road.

The real jewel of this book in particular, though, is the hysterically funny and affectionately rendered spoof on the gothic suspense novel genre that was in its heyday during this period, a la' Radcliffe, Burney and Walpole. Anyone familiar with The Castle of Otranto, The Mysteries of Udolpho or any of the other gothic classics will really appreciate the humor. I absolutely love the gothic suspense novel in all its forms, so I get a huge kick out of it. The scene between Frederick and Catherine in the carriage on the way to Northanger Abbey where he teases her mercilessly (merciless because she's only about 2% sure she's being teased and is 98% wide-eyed with horror) about the abbey's dark corridors and hidden passages is so funny it makes me laugh out loud every time. Catherine's discovery that the abbey is decidedly un-haunted, sadly lacking in cobwebs and absolutely devoid of gothic gloom is even more amusing.

There's a love story here too, and in fact a triangle or two, and as with all of Austen's stories, all's well that ends well. Wonderfully soothing balm for the Austen-starved soul, and secretly my favorite of her books (I usually lie and say Mansfield Park is my favorite. Sometimes Pride & Prejudice. Or even Sense & Sensibility. All lies. Northanger Abbey is it, hands down).

A Delightful Read!


The heroine in this novel is Catherine Morland, who is just an average girl with straightforward manners and not an ounce of pretension; yet, she has an outrageously vivid imagination. This is cleverly and Austen-intended, I believe, to purposely deviate from the conventional heroines of the times.


The story begins with Catherine joining a friend of the family, Mrs. Allen, for a vacation at her home in Bath. Her days are filled with socializing, taking walks and especially spending time at the `Pump- room', where she meets the rather hard-edged Henry Tilney. Catherine's simple, yet direct and opinionated responses and approaches in conversation lead her to distancing Henry for a while.


Realizing that she has feelings for him, Catherine begins to wish she could see Henry again and does everything possible for that to happen. Meanwhile she befriends Isabella Thorpe who shares her passion for books and poetry. As the two become inseparable, Catherine feels close enough to Isabella to tell her all about her feelings for Henry Tilney...


In fulfilling her dreams of being with Henry, Catherine's journey evolves through a fiasco of events revealing true personalities, feelings and deceptions. Other important characters that help bring this about involve John Thorpe, Isabella's brother, who is full of mischief and schemes. As well, Catherine's brother James, is one who has a love-story of his own to mourn over as his sister begins to put all pieces of the puzzle together. Just to add to life's intricacies, Henry and Catherine become at odds about a dilemma, caused mainly by Catherine's imagination. The couple's difficulties do not stop there as problems get compounded by family misunderstandings.


Confusion of events? You bet. This story is filled with the ups-and downs of young love, anxious situations and very comical moments. Catherine was a girl before her times, which makes situations heartening as well as endearing and perfectly understandable. I gasped, laughed and truly enjoyed this Jane Austen novel. It's the perfect introduction to the author's subsequent masterpieces.

Satire of Romance Novels
I had not thought of Austen as a satirist prior to reading Northanger Abbey. Within the first chapter the author addresses what the book is not - a gothic romance, thought it is fashioned similarly, and named similarly. Austen points out the heroine's father did not lock up his daughters, there was no lover of unknown origin, (something Emily Bronte uses years later in Wuthering Heights), and the heroine's mother does not warn her of the seduction of barons. Rather, when the teenage heroine, Catherine Morland, leaves for a resort town to stay with neighbors, everything is done "with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather consistent with the common feelings of common life..." 6. With the contrasts Austen makes to the typical gothic romance she conveys the message that life is not like the popular novel.

Austen makes some straight forward comments in Northanger Abbey, without irony. Throughout the book she comments on novels, a rather new and popular form in the late 18th century. The novel, evidently, was looked down on, but was also a guilty pleasure. A person would suggest reading Milton or Pope or Addison, but would condemn books by Anne Radcliffe. Even novelists would do this. But Austen, as narrator, would not. She does, however, illustrate problems for those who read such novels, as the character Catherine experiences. Catherine is disappointed that Northanger Abbey isn't ancient nor dark nor in ruins. She is terribly mistaken in her perception of General Tilney, suspecting he has imprisoned his wife in the Abbey, based on what she had read in novels. I'm not sure if all statements of judgment are ironic or not.

The satire is strong only in a few chapters of the book. Otherwise it is something of the standard Austen work, with characters pairing up according to society's expectations, then finding out they are mismatched. Though no one may expect Catherine to be a heroine, she is a very good character, practical, sociable, yet refraining from coquetry, earnest. The book tells of her maturation through the age of courtship.