Category Archives: City Mystery Novels

April 1, 2025 · 4:19 pm

Walt Whitman’s Lost “City Mysteries” Novel

I first heard of Walt Whitman’s lost novel, The Life and Adventures of Jack Engle, when I was writing my book Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides, which contained a chapter on City Mystery novels. It was then I discovered that Wikipedia had an entry listing City Mysteries novels, including this novel by Walt Whitman. I’ve been trying to read all the City Mystery novels (and even wrote one of my own, The Mysteries of Marquette), so I was curious about Walt Whitman’s novel, especially since I had never heard of him writing any novels. It turns out he wrote several stories and novels besides his famous poetry collection, Leaves of Grass. I am no Whitman scholar, but I am a City Mysteries scholar, so I had to read his lost novel.

The 2017 reprint by Iowa University Press of Whitman’s lost novel

The Life and Adventures of Jack Engle has a curious history. It was published in 1852 in the New York Sunday Dispatch in six installments. A relatively short novel of twenty-two chapters that runs just over a hundred pages in print, its short period of serialization is not surprising. What is surprising is that critics have labeled it a City Mysteries novel since most City Mysteries novels run 400 pages or more and were serialized for about a year or longer. The novel was serialized anonymously, and Whitman’s authorship was kept a secret and then forgotten until a graduate student, Zachary Turpin, saw an old advertisement for the novel and recalled references to Jack Engle in Whitman’s notebooks. Turpin’s introduction to the 2017 University of Iowa Press edition—the first time the novel was reprinted in 165 years—discusses his discovery in more detail.

Here, I will focus solely on the novel’s plot and discuss whether it is a true “City Mysteries” novel, a term Turpin doesn’t use in his introduction, although he notes it’s more a novel about social reform and compares it to works by Dickens—truly it feels like it was mainly inspired by David Copperfield, as I’ll discuss below. I’m not sure who first labeled Jack Engle as a City Mysteries novel, but it may be David S. Reynolds, a Whitman expert at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York, who was quoted in The New York Times (February 20, 2017) when the novel was republished, as stating, “This is Whitman’s take on the city mystery novel, a popular genre of the day that pitted the ‘upper 10 thousand’—what we would call the 1 percent —against the lower million.” This remark references a novel by George Lippard, who wrote The Quaker City (1845), America’s first City Mysteries novel. Lippard later wrote New York: Its Upper Ten and Lower Million, published in 1854, two years after Whitman’s novel was published. I wouldn’t fully agree with Reynolds’ definition of a City Mystery novel, but he is correct that such novels usually did depict the very rich and the very poor and the unfair class distance between them. Whitman’s novel is somewhat lacking in this respect, but it does contain the typical secrets and revelations common in most Victorian fiction and not limited to the City Mysteries’ genre. The novel’s short length, however, does not have multiple plots that allow for the larger overview of society and its classes.

The main character, Jack Engle, is an orphaned boy who doesn’t really remember his past. One day he wanders into the store of a milkman, Ephraim Foster, and ends up being adopted by Foster and his wife. When Jack is grown, Ephraim Foster brings Jack to Covert, a lawyer, to serve as an apprentice. There Jack meets Wigglesworth, the elderly office clerk, who hints to Jack he knows the truth about his origins.

In time, we learn Covert is the guardian to a young girl named Martha whose parents died when she was just one or two. Covert’s wife is a Quaker, which means she is kind, but Covert ironically turns out to be a villain. His name suggests he engages in covert behavior, keeping secrets concealed. By the end of the novel, Jack learns from Wigglesworth that Covert has kept quite a few secrets he has profited from.

Like all good Gothic and City Mysteries novels, a manuscript surfaces that tells the whole story, written in the hand of Martha’s late father. It turns out that Martha’s father (we are never told his name) was friends in his youth with Jack’s father. But Martha’s father prospered while Jack’s father remained a workman. As Martha’s father began to put on airs, Jack’s father started to make sarcastic and mocking remarks about him. This behavior continued when Martha’s father built a new house and hired a contractor. The contractor employed Jack’s father as one of the workers. One day, Martha’s father heard Jack’s father mocking him in front of the other workers. In anger, he hit Jack’s father over the head, killing him instantly. Martha’s father then went to prison where he wrote his confession—the manuscript Wigglesworth gives to Jack Engle to read. Martha’s father’s grief is so great that he dies the day of his trial. He has in the meantime altered his will to leave two-thirds of his estate to Martha and one-third to Jack to compensate Jack for the loss of his father.

Once Jack learns these secrets, he manages to get papers away from Covert that show how Covert has been withholding their inheritances from him and Martha. He and Martha flee New York to escape pursuit by Covert. After Covert realizes he’s in trouble since the papers are lost, he seeks refuge in Canada and is never heard from again. (A rather anticlimactic resolution to the plot in which no real justice is done.) Meanwhile, Jack and Martha have fallen in love, and at the end of the novel, they are married.

A series of other characters are involved in the plot, though they are of little real consequence. They include Inez, a dancing girl, who gives Martha shelter when she flees; Tom Peterson, who helps Martha and Jack escape; Calvin Peterson, a religious fanatic and Tom’s father; and two Jewish characters, Madame Seligny and her daughter Rebecca. Madame Seligny claims to be an émigré of the French Revolution, but she is actually Jewish and runs a gambling parlor. There’s a touch of anti-Semitism here, as is typical in Gothic novels of the time; gambling was deeply frowned upon by the Victorians as a transgression against God, so it’s not surprising a Jewess is the one involved in it rather than a Christian. (For more on gambling as a Gothic transgression, see my book The Gothic Wanderer.)

Does The Life and Adventures of Jack Engle qualify as a City Mysteries novel? I would have to say it is a wannabe City Mysteries novel that doesn’t quite make the cut. Nor am I convinced Whitman set out to write a City Mysteries novel. As I stated above, the novel feels more akin to Dickens’ David Copperfield than Eugene Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris, George W. M. Reynolds’ The Mysteries of London, or even the American George Lippard’s The Quaker City. Yes, we have a secret to be revealed, but that is the case in most Gothic novels. And while the novel is set in New York, it hardly gives us a representation of a large overview of society with characters from all the classes. Nor is there much sense of a criminal element or criminal underground other than Covert and a firm that seems to help him in his crimes. It is not a novel concerned with the poor, other than the brief time Jack is a poor child at the beginning. Nor does it have any sense of Gothic atmosphere. The city is not depicted as a scary place full of mystery. In City Mysteries novels, usually strange events occur that other characters don’t understand and they may even attribute to supernatural causes. Jack Engle fails to have this sense of mystery and suspense, which is akin to the more modern film noir.

What we do have is a first-person narrator, unusual in City Mysteries novels because of the multiple plots, who is our title character and narrates the story of his life. In fact, the novel’s subtitle is “An Autobiography: in which the reader will find some familiar characters.” Why the characters are thought to be familiar isn’t clear unless Whitman believes he’s depicting typical character types. The plot is similar to that of David Copperfield in that the main character ends up revealing crimes committed at the office where he works, only in David Copperfield, David works for Mr. Wickfield, and Wickfield’s employee, Uriah Heep, is the villain robbing the company and its customers; in Jack Engle, the employer, Covert is the villain. In David Copperfield, the villain Heep is romantically interested in Agnes, the daughter of his employer. In Jack Engle, Covert is not romantically interested in anyone—he’s married—but he’s willing to rob his ward like Heep robs Agnes’ father. In both novels, the title character/narrator helps reveal the crimes. In both novels, that same character also marries the young lady being wronged. Both novels are also “autobiographies” and tell the entire history of the narrator up to his marriage. The similarities are not exact parallels, and David Copperfield, being about eight times as long, has a much more complicated plot, but there are enough similarities for me to believe David Copperfield, published in 1850, just two years before Jack Engle, was a major influence on Whitman’s novel.

As is typical of Gothic novels, in Jack Engle, a crime has been committed that has been kept secret. As is also typical of the Gothic, the plot concerns family, revealing secrets about both Jack and Martha’s parentage. That Jack marries the daughter of the man who killed his father is a sort of generational healing and redemption for their parents, and while it doesn’t really resemble the plot of Wuthering Heights (1847), it has that sense of healing the past and restoring the status quo that occurs when the Linton and Earnshaw heirs, Hareton and Cathy, marry at the end of Wuthering Heights, while no one of the villainous Heathcliff’s lineage remains alive.

Overall, The Adventures of Jack Engle is a second-rate novel that fails to have a complicated enough plot to keep the reader in suspense. The secrets are presented in a way that does not invite the reader to be curious about the mysteries because they are laid bare too easily. Only after Wigglesworth tells Jack everything does he present the manuscript to Jack that reveals the secrets, but the manuscript is a dull read for the reader since we already know the secret. Whitman’s construction is consequently rather clumsy. A philosophical chapter of Jack wandering in a graveyard is also pointless and doesn’t advance the plot or develop the characters. Perhaps clumsiest of all, Whitman names the dog Jack, the same name he gives to his main character.

Nothing of genius or originality exists in Jack Engle. It is highly derivative of David Copperfield and other Victorian fiction while failing to be genre-specific enough to be considered a true City Mysteries novel or even an early detective novel. In short, it reveals that Whitman’s talents did not lie in fiction but rather in poetry. Still, it highlights what an influence Victorian Gothic fiction had on writers of the day since Whitman would try his pen at writing such a book—though probably more for money than a desire to write a great piece of literary fiction. The novel also adds to our understanding of Whitman as a man of various literary interests beyond just the poetry that has made him famous. Despite Jack Engle’s faults, it makes me curious to read Whitman’s earlier fiction works, Franklin Evans; or The Inebriate: A Tale of the Times (1842), which is a temperance novel, and The Half-Breed; A Tale of the Western Frontier (1846), a novel published more than half-a-century before Owen Wister’s The Virginian (1902), considered the first true Western novel.

While The Adventures of Jack Engle holds no significant place in the history of Gothic fiction or the City Mysteries genre, it does provide insight into the publishing world of Whitman’s time and how he worked at his craft before he became, in the words of Allen Ginsberg, America’s “lonely old courage teacher.”

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Tyler Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and The Mysteries of Marquette: A Novel, plus many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at http://www.GothicWanderer.com, http://www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and http://www.MarquetteFiction.com.

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Filed under Charles Dickens, City Mystery Novels

Tagged as Charles Dickens, City Mysteries Novels, David Copperfield, The Life and Adventures of Jack Engle, Walt Whitman, Walt Whitman's lost novel, Zachary Turpin

January 5, 2025 · 3:06 pm

Long Overdue Biography of George W. M. Reynolds a Must-Read

Thank you, Stephen Basdeo and Mya Driver, for writing Victorian England’s Bestselling Author: The Revolutionary Life of G. W. M. Reynolds. This book, published in 2022, provides the first full-length biography of the man who may have been more popular than any other Victorian author, including Charles Dickens and William Harrison Ainsworth. While critics have long been dismissive of Reynolds and many literary scholars do not even know his name, a growing body of Reynolds scholars has been reviving his reputation. I have myself written numerous blog posts about his novels (links to some of them are included below), and I also wrote extensively about many of them in my book Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Literature, 1789-1897 (2023). Unfortunately, this new biography came out too late for me to use it as a resource in writing my own book, but I have read it with great pleasure, and it only makes me want to read more of Reynolds. Unfortunately, few of Reynolds’ novels have been printed in readable editions, so I have only so far read a dozen of his fifty-eight novels.

This biography fills in a lot of blanks about Reynolds’ life and even clarifies some misconceptions and fanciful stories about him, such as that he employed Thackeray while living in France or that he became a church alderman at the end of his life. More importantly, it shows how Reynolds developed and refined his views on the social problems of his day and how he was a true champion of the people in ways not even Charles Dickens could claim.

One aspect of the biography that particularly interested me was the discussion of Reynolds’ early life, his short stint in the military, and his life in France. The authors seem to have read almost everything Reynolds wrote, and they quote him frequently. In fact, Basdeo is a collector of first editions of Reynolds’ novels. Passages of Reynolds’ first book, The Errors of the Christian Religion Exposed, are quoted. His time spent in France is discussed, which led to his interest in French literature, his writing The Modern Literature of France, his translating several French novels, and his being inspired by French literature in writing his own fiction, such as his novel Robert Macaire.

While Reynolds’ fiction has always been my chief interest, I was also impressed by how Basdeo discusses why Reynolds was willing to change his views on important topics. Initially, Reynolds was pro-British imperialism, but in time, he became a champion for those oppressed by the British Empire. He was also against being a teetotaler, but after engaging in a public debate on the matter, he changed his mind and even went on to publish a magazine called the Teetotaler.

Reynolds’ role in the Chartist movement will especially be of interest to readers. We learn about his public speeches, his contemporaries’ opinions of him, including Charles Dickens and Karl Marx, and how he used his nonfiction publications to further the causes he believed in, such as bettering the situation of the working class and giving the vote to all men regardless of how much property they owned.

Basdeo discusses the significance of many of Reynolds’ novels, including The Mysteries of London, The Seamstress, and The Soldier’s Wife. I would have liked more discussion on some of the novels, especially my favorites like Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, Faust: A Romance of the Secret Tribunals, and The Parricide, but they are all mentioned. I should mention here that another wonderful book on Reynolds appeared recently—G. W. M. Reynolds Reimagined (2023) edited by Jenifer Conary and Mary L. Shannon. It includes essays discussing many of the novels, as well as Reynolds’ popularity in India, and his role as an employer with his workers. Those wanting more literary criticism beyond what Basdeo includes would do well to consult it because I feel every essay in it is excellent and it is one of the best books I have read in the last year. That said, Basdeo could not possibly discuss in detail every Reynolds’ novel and his discussions made me want to read all of those I have not read.

As an employer, Reynolds was also ahead of his time. Basdeo includes some information also mentioned in an essay in G. W. M. Reynolds Reimagined about how Reynolds annually hosted a mini-vacation for his employees including taking them on a picnic, a sort of employee appreciation day. As Basdeo notes, Reynolds used these events as a way to promote his own generosity in his magazines, but they still show he was ahead of his time in how he treated his employees.

Details of Reynolds’ family life are also discussed, including his marriage with his wife Susannah who was an author herself, and the growth of his large family, both children and grandchildren and what became of some of them.

A few special treats in the book worth mentioning include the large number of photographs in the center insert that show many of the illustrations and covers of Reynolds’ novels. The complete texts of all of Reynolds’ editorials for the Political Instructor (1849-50), transcribed by Mya Driver, are included in the back; they provide Reynolds’ opinions on politics, the Chartist movement, and European politics, especially in France. Dr. Rebecca Nesvet, a scholar of penny dreadfuls, provides the foreword, advocating for why Reynolds deserves serious attention from scholars. I could not agree more and join with Basdeo in wishing a publisher would come out with a scholarly series of Reynolds’ novels. So far, only Valancourt Books has republished a few of them, and most are difficult to find. Finally, a useful timeline of Reynolds’ life is provided.

No book is perfect, and I admit this biography has a few flaws, but they are insignificant beside the fact that it is the first biography about an author who deserves to be a household name along with Dickens. Among the shortcomings is no mention of French author Paul Féval, who wrote his own The Mysteries of London before Reynolds and may have inspired Reynolds to do the same. After all, Féval was the first to capitalize upon the popularity of Eugene Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris, which would go on to have many imitations (including The Mysteries of Lisbon, which Basdeo is currently translating into English). The book also has numerous typos and some awkward sentences, but hopefully as more information about Reynolds becomes available, the authors will come out with a second edition and correct these errors, which did not distract from my keen interest and pleasure in reading the book. Such faults are small compared to the significant undertaking and achievement it is to have written the first full-length biography of George W. M. Reynolds, who literally wrote circles around Dickens. I believe everyone, scholar or reader, interested in Reynolds will embrace this biography.

You can learn more about Stephen Basdeo and his work at his website: Reynolds’s News and Miscellany.

Victorian England’s Bestselling Author: The Revolutionary Life of G. W. M. Reynolds is available from Pen and Sword Books and most online bookstores.

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Filed under Charles Dickens, City Mystery Novels, Classic Gothic Novels, George W.M. Reynolds

Tagged as Charles Dickens, Chartist movement, City Mysteries, French literature, George W. M. Reynolds, Karl Marx, Mya Driver, penny dreadful, Rebecca Nesvet, Stephen Basdeo, Teetotaler, The Mysteries of London, Victorian England's Bestselling Author, Victorian Fiction, Victorian politics

November 22, 2024 · 2:03 pm

My New Novel, The Mysteries of Marquette, Just Published

I’m thrilled to announce the publication of my 25th book. This one is full of Gothic atmosphere and based on the Victorian City Mysteries genre, so I’m posting the press release here to share with all my fellow lovers of the Gothic.

For Immediate Release

Crime, History, and Mystery Make Tichelaar’s Newest Novel a Guilty Pleasure

November 22, 2024—Award-winning author Tyler R. Tichelaar has released his twenty-fifth book, The Mysteries of Marquette. A Dickensian-size novel of more than 800 pages, it takes place in Marquette, Michigan, in 1908. Modeled on the sensational Victorian City Mysteries genre (The Mysteries of Paris, The Mysteries of London, etc.), its intertwined sensational plots, overflowing with crime, mystery, and romance, will make it a favorite with fans of the detective, suspense, and historical fiction genres.

The story opens when Richard Blackmore, a Marquette real estate agent, receives a request from the personal secretary of the Marquis de Marquette to rent out the entire Hotel Superior for the summer. No one in Marquette ever heard of the marquis, but he turns out to be a distant relative of Father Marquette and eager to see the city named after his illustrious relative. Soon Marquette’s elite are all vying for invitations to the marquis’ masquerade ball.

However, Alice Melmotte, a telephone operator keen on eavesdropping, learns the marquis has interests beyond just vacationing in Upper Michigan. Before long, members from all parts of society find themselves unwittingly caught up in the marquis’ schemes. Others find themselves revealing secrets they have long repressed. And the marquis is not the only visitor to Marquette with an enigmatic past. Eliza Sidney arrives in disguise determined to solve a murder, and in the process, learn the truth about her mysterious parentage.

As secret after secret is revealed, the Queen City of the North is transformed into the Queen City of Crime. Is anyone whom they claim to be? Can anyone trust anyone? Mothers keep secrets from daughters. Wives lie to husbands. Men bamboozle the women they claim to love. Old friends blackmail each other, and nuns hide stolen treasures. Kidnapping, counterfeiting, prostitution, and even bloodshed will all be committed before the last of Marquette’s mysteries is solved.

Tichelaar, who has a PhD in nineteenth-century literature, has a fond place in his heart for such sensational fiction. “Our Victorian ancestors loved shocking and crime-ridden novels,” he says. “In fact, they invented the detective novel.” In addition, The Mysteries of Marquette is heavily based on local history. Counterfeiting was a major problem in the U.P. in 1908. Marquette’s first recorded ghost sighting happened at this time, and The Mysteries of Marquette provides a fictional explanation to that unsolved mystery. Most importantly, says Tichelaar, “The novel explores the emotional and psychological costs of crime on the innocent and how to survive in a chaotic and amoral world.”

Although a stand-alone novel, The Mysteries of Marquette incorporates many fictional and historical characters from Tichelaar’s previous nine Marquette novels, including Marquette founder Peter White and characters from The Marquette Trilogy. Tichelaar’s previous readers will enjoy insights into characters they thought they knew, and new readers will want to gobble up Tichelaar’s previous works.

Tyler R. Tichelaar, a seventh-generation Marquette resident, has received acclaim for his previous books. Narrow Lives won the Reader Views Historical Fiction Award in 2008. In 2011, Tichelaar received the Outstanding Writer Award in the Marquette County Arts Awards. Kawbawgam: The Chief, The Legend, the Man (2020) and Odin’s Eye: A Marquette Time Travel Novel (2023) were both named UP Notable Books.

The Mysteries of Marquette is available locally and in paperback and ebook editions from online retailers and Tichelaar’s website: www.MarquetteFiction.com. Retailers can order via Ingram at www.ingramcontent.com (ISBN-13: 979-8-9872692-2-0). Publicity contact: tyler@marquettefiction.com. Book review copies available upon request.

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Filed under City Mystery Novels, Contemporary Gothic Novels

Tagged as book-review, book-reviews, books, Chief Charles Kawbawgam, City Mysteries Novels, Father Jacques Marquette, fiction, Michigan mysteries, modern Gothic novels, mystery, The Marquette Trilogy, the Marquis de Marquette, The Mysteries of Marquette, The Queen City of the North, Tyler R. Tichelaar, UP Notable Books, Upper Michigan crime fiction, Upper Michigan detective fiction

June 21, 2024 · 2:53 pm

A Cry for Military Reform: George W. M. Reynolds’ The Soldier’s Wife

George W. M. Reynolds has received a lot of attention at this blog for the Gothic elements in many of his novels. While The Soldier’s Wife is not Gothic but realistic, it retains the sensationalism that marked Reynolds’ work, complete with manipulative villains and family secrets. While the novel, like most of Reynolds’ works, has received little critical attention, it is noteworthy as having been popular enough that soldiers in 1853 were banned from buying Reynolds’s Newspaper in which it was serialized from 1852-1853 (Knight p. 87). Because it is not well known, I will mostly offer a plot summary of the novel here and then some commentary on a few points of interest.

Plot Summary

The Soldier’s Wife begins in the year 1826 in the village of Oakleigh, which is owned by Sir Archie Redburn. We are introduced to Frederick Lonsdale, an orphan whose parentage is not known. He was raised by Mrs. Grant, who receives money from an unknown source to care for him. When the novel opens, Lonsdale is now a young man, and we learn Mrs. Grant has died in a fire in her cottage, thus erasing any chance that Lonsdale, who is a day laborer, will ever know the mystery of his birth.

Lonsdale is in love with Lucy Davis. Her father is bailiff for Sir Archie. Mr. Davis wants Lucy to marry Sir Archie’s son, Gerald. After Lonsdale has a run-in with Gerald, Gerald tells him he’ll never work for his father or any of his tenants again. Lonsdale is also disliked for spreading seditious ideas about how the poor are oppressed by the rich. As a result, Lonsdale has to leave town to find work, and he has difficulty finding it. Lucy promises to love him regardless.

Sergeant Langley now comes to town looking for recruits. He embellishes the joys of a soldier’s life and recruits the local barber, Mr. Bates, to help recruit men, giving Mr. Bates a referral fee for each new enlistee. In time, Lonsdale decides his best hope to support himself is also to enlist. He does so but has a forty-eight-hour period in which he can renege on the decision. When he tells Lucy he has enlisted, she convinces him to change his mind, believing they can run away and live on her savings. However, when Lonsdale tells Sergeant Langley his decision, he is arrested until he can pay the fine for reneging on his decision. Lonsdale, who thinks the barber Bates is his friend, asks him to collect money from his friends, but because Bates is getting paid by Langley, he arranges that the money doesn’t arrive in time; Lonsdale is then forced to stay in the army.

Meanwhile, Gerald Redburn has also decided to join the army. He is a weak, sickly, and immoral youth, but he will become an officer because his father can buy him the position. Before Gerald leaves, with Lonsdale now out of the picture, Mr. Davis invites Gerald to his home and encourages his interest in Lucy. Later, Mr. Davis forcefully tries to persuade Lucy to marry Gerald, despite her wanting to stay true to Lonsdale. Gerald goes to join the army but continues to correspond with Mr. Davis about arranging the marriage.

Bates now convinces Sir Archie to let him be in charge of the mail by moving the postal box to his barbershop. As the novel’s most interesting villain, Bates is completely unscrupulous, secretly reading the letters that pass through the postal box. In this way, he learns of Redburn’s interest in Lucy, and because he stays in touch with Langley, he tells him about the situation. Langley then taunts Lonsdale with news that Lucy will soon marry someone better than him. In despair, Lonsdale deserts and returns to Oakleigh.

Mr. Davis continues to coerce Lucy into marrying Gerald. After an emotional scene in which he warns her if she doesn’t do so, he will disinherit her and she will be a parricide because her disobedience will kill him, Lucy flees from the house only to find Lonsdale approaching it.

Lonsdale and Lucy leave Oakleigh, are secretly married, and then live under assumed names. He teaches school and she does needlework. A year passes and they also have a child, named Fred after his father. All is well until Lonsdale accidentally meets Bates in Carlisle. Bates is there supposedly investigating what happened to fifty pounds lost in the mail via his post office. (Of course, he stole and spent it.) Because he needs to come up with the money, Bates blackmails Lonsdale into giving him fifty pounds in exchange for his silence. After Lonsdale does so, Bates still tells Langley where Lonsdale is.

Lonsdale is arrested and court-martialed. He receives 500 lashes. Lucy goes to Colonel Wyndham to beg that Lonsdale be shown mercy, but when the colonel tries to seduce her, she leaves. The flogging scene in Chapter 19 is excruciating, and Reynolds clearly objects to the practice. Lucy remarks that England is not a Christian nation, its religion a mockery, and that the flogging is a Satanic deed. Lonsdale barely survives the experience, but he insists on receiving the full punishment in one bout, despite pieces of flesh flying off him and the onlookers feeling sickened. He then spends six weeks recovering in the hospital before resuming his soldierly duties.

Lucy finds lodgings near the military barracks and continues to take in needlework. Meanwhile, Gerald begins to harass Lucy and taunt Lonsdale. When the couple can no longer stand the abuse, Lonsdale deserts again. This time the couple and their child flee to Calais. However, via letters from Mr. Davis’ new wife, Kitty, Lucy learns her father is ill, so they return to England to see him. Lonsdale is instantly arrested and endures another flogging, but this time he is also branded. Reynolds, in Chapter 24, refers to the brand as a “Mark of Cain,” although Lonsdale is not a murderer like the biblical character, nor has he committed any real sin.

Meanwhile, Bates is accused by the villagers of reading the mail. Lonsdale, who realizes Bates must have read Lucy and her father’s correspondence, which allowed him to arrange for Lonsdale’s arrest, now seeks revenge by turning the authorities on to his illegal practices. Sir Archie has hired someone to investigate the mail situation, and they trap Bates in a manner that proves his guilt. When Bates is arrested and sentenced to being transported for fourteen years, Lonsdale gleefully sends him a letter stating he has now received his revenge. However, Bates ends up escaping and sends a letter to Lucy stating that he will never quit tormenting them. He then reveals to Lucy that Lonsdale has been branded under his right arm, which Lonsdale has kept from her (obviously Lucy is a Victorian who does not see even her husband’s naked arms).

As for Gerald, he decides since he couldn’t have Lucy, he will now seduce Mr. Davis’ young second wife, Kitty. What Gerald doesn’t know is that Mr. Davis has decided to let Gerald seduce her so he can divorce her because she is a spendthrift; then he can sue Gerald and receive money. While Gerald is flirting with Kitty, his parents are trying to arrange for him to marry Lady Adela, who is visiting them. When Davis begins legal proceedings against Gerald and resigns as Sir Archie’s bailiff, Lady Adela ends the relationship. Besides, she is in love with another, Reginald Herbert. Her mother opposes the marriage until Reginald inherits a relative’s property, and then they are married later in the book.

At this point, a mysterious stranger enters the novel who offers to help Gerald hurt Lucy. This stranger is the most Gothic figure in the novel because he looks like a monster. Reynolds takes great delight in sharing the character’s hideous looks, and each time he is reintroduced into the story, Reynold reminds us who he is but says he will spare the reader the grotesqueness of a description since they have read the description before. I won’t spare the reader. Here is the description in Chapter 30:

“Heavens, what a countenance! It was of a deep livid hue, marked with immense seams, as if it had been shockingly burnt in a fire, or had been seared with a red-hot iron. One eye was extinguished—that is to say, the sight was evidently gone, and the orb looked of a dull leaden hue like that of a fish that has been a long time out of the water. The other possessed the power of vision, but was all in flamed and red—the lashes were burnt off—and it seemed as if the pupil were set in a mass of congealed gore. A part of the nose appeared to be eaten away: the lips were swollen and puffed out to three times their natural size, looking larger than the mouth of any negro; and their hue was that of the slips of liver that are exposed for sale in cat’s meat shops. As before stated, this horrible object was clothed in the coarsest and most poverty-stricken manner; and his entire appearance was too disgusting—too loathsome—even to inspire pity.”

The man tells Gerald to call him Smith and he claims his appearance is the result of his being caught in a fire.

Lonsdale by this point has started drinking to cope with his miserable situation as a soldier. He begins coercing Lucy into giving him her money from needlework so he can buy liquor. She implores him to stop drinking, but he only drinks more. When he learns Gerald has tricked Lucy into going to a place where she will be ravaged by him, Lonsdale rescues her in time, but by striking Gerald, he gets into more trouble. Colonel Wyndham tries to hush up the matter since he’s had to borrow money from Gerald. Smith actually has manipulated this entire scene and seems like he is trying to hurt both the Lonsdales and Gerald.

Mr. Davis continues his suit against Gerald, which results in his wife returning to her family, the Colycinths. The court awards Davis 1,500 pounds.

Next, Lonsdale drinks away the money for his family’s Christmas dinner. He then tricks Lucy’s employers into returning the deposit she had to pay to receive needlework from them; of course, he drinks away that money also. Lucy is now unemployed. Lonsdale then gets into a fight in the barracks with Gerald, and when Sergeant Langley intercedes, Lonsdale accidentally rams a bayonet into Langley’s arm. At this point, Lonsdale is arrested. Because of his past desertions and current behavior, the court sentences him to execution.

Earlier in the novel, we were introduced to Gerald’s Aunt Jane, Sir Archie’s sister. She has repeatedly been nasty to Gerald, mocking him. Now she becomes so belligerent that the family thinks her insane. When Gerald tells the family that Lonsdale has been sentenced to death, Aunt Jane shrieks and faints. Mr. Colycinth, the village apothecary, is called in to see to her.

And now comes the revelation of the novel’s big secret. Mr. Colycinth is not the Redburns’ regular family physician, so he is not familiar with their home. He also has a grudge against the Redburns because Gerald’s attempted seduction of his daughter, Kitty Davis, has ruined her reputation. Now, upon seeing Aunt Jane, Mr. Colycinth realizes he has been in her room before. He then acts in an eccentric manner, counting his steps downstairs and out of the house as he leaves Aunt Jane’s room. He then asks to speak to Gerald, to whom he reveals his secret.

Years before, when Mr. Colycinth was a struggling young man starting out, he was called upon to attend secretly to a young lady who was ill. He was blindfolded and then driven about in a roundabout way in a carriage before arriving at the house. He then counted his steps as he was led up the stairs. He delivered a baby for a young woman who was veiled at the time. Upon seeing Aunt Jane’s room, and counting the steps again, Mr. Colycinth realizes he delivered Aunt Jane’s baby. It turns out Lonsdale is Aunt Jane’s son. The father is the Rev. Arden. Aunt Jane and the reverend did not stay lovers after that, but Rev. Arden arranged for the financial care of Lonsdale until Mrs. Grant died.

When Sir Archie learns that Lonsdale is his nephew, he feels great remorse for how Lonsdale has suffered at the Redburn family’s hands. He goes to London to try to obtain a reprieve of Lonsdale’s sentence. Even Gerald, with threats from his father, agrees to help Lonsdale. Sir Archie gets the reprieve and then gives it to Gerald, who hurries to stop the execution. However, later, Gerald’s corpse is found dead on the road. Reginald Herbert, the lover of Lady Adela, also finds the monster-faced Smith on the road, unconscious, and the reprieve on his person. Smith apparently murdered Gerald to stop Lonsdale from being saved. Reginald hurries to the place of execution with the reprieve but arrives too late.

Smith is now revealed to be the barber Bates. Because Bates swore revenge on Lonsdale, he stopped the reprieve from reaching him. We learn when Bates escaped before he could be transported, he intentionally changed his appearance by using vitriol on his face, only the results were worse than he had expected. Although now sentenced to the gallows, Bates shows no remorse, only gloating that Lonsdale is dead.

Sir Archie offers Lucy and her child a home since the child is his sister’s grandson, but Lucy refuses. Reginald and Lady Adela then offer Lucy a home, which she accepts.

The novel ends with a summary of what became of the characters. Lucy’s father dies in jail after his servant Sarah turns on him by revealing she gave false evidence at the trial. Mr. Colycinth is then able to get his daughter’s name cleared. Colonel Wyndham becomes a peer after a relative dies; he enters the House of Lords and continues to support flogging in the army. Sergeant Langley gets an inheritance, buys a public house, and becomes a drunk. Lucy inherits her father’s property but dies within three years. After her death, Reginald and Adela care for little Fred Lonsdale, but being a sickly child, he also dies in three years. Oddly, the novel tells us nothing of who inherits the Redburn property. Although Aunt Jane is full of remorse for the past, she outlives all of the rest of the family, so we can assume she is the last of the Redburn line.

The Soldier’s Wife is a rather depressing novel, and while realistic in the sense of it not having a nicely wrapped up happy ending, it is one of Reynolds’s less satisfying novels because the hero ends in misery. We want to see Lonsdale triumph in the end, but instead, we have a tale of how evil people destroy good people, though the evil mostly suffer from the repercussions of their actions in the end. Like in Hamlet, we are left with almost all of our main characters dead. That said, the novel never bores the reader, constantly keeping us wanting to learn what happens next, even if there is no overarching plot that drives the action forward.

Literary Devices and Influence

A few interesting literary devices and influences are worth discussing.

The first is the big revelation toward the end of the novel that Frederick Lonsdale is really Jane Redburn’s son. Doubtless, Reynolds was familiar with Henry Fielding’s novel Tom Jones (1749) and was inspired by the plot in creating the backstory for his main character. In Tom Jones, the titular character is the illegitimate son of Squire Allworthy’s sister, Bridget. The squire, like Sir Archie in relation to Lonsdale, is unaware of Tom’s origins because his sister never reveals the truth of Tom’s parentage. However, unlike Lonsdale, Tom grows up with his family, competing with Blifil, Bridget’s legitimate son and thus his half-brother (though he doesn’t know they are related). Lonsdale has to compete with his cousin Gerald in a sense for Lucy’s affections and respect in the military. Only late in the novel is Tom’s parentage revealed, and the same is true for Lonsdale in The Soldier’s Wife. Reynolds, however, transforms Fielding’s comic plot into a tale of misery.

Another interesting plot device is the role of letters in the novel, specifically how they are read by those who have no right to read them. This plot device goes back to Samuel Richardson’s epistolary novels in which letters are stolen by some characters to learn secrets about other characters. Reynolds used the device previously in The Mysteries of London where the London postal system cannot be trusted and postal employees read letters before sending them on to the addressees. Notably, Reynolds in this instance was inspired by the real-life scandal that broke when the Italian patriot Giuseppe Mazzini’s letters were steamed open by the British Post Office under the direction of Home Secretary Sir James Graham. Vital intelligence about an imminent uprising in Calabria was then communicated to the Austrian authorities that were occupying Italy, resulting in the arrest and execution of the rebel Bandiera brothers, which caused public outrage in Great Britain (Haywood p. 183). Given that Reynolds named his second son after Mazzini (Hackenberg p. 215), he clearly was inspired by this incident. Here in The Soldier’s Wife, Reynolds uses the letter device to allow one criminal character, Bates, to profit.

Bates is also partly inspired by a character in Eugene Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris (1842-3). When Reynolds has Bates uses vitriol to disguise himself and the result is worse than expected, he is borrowing from Sue’s character of The Schoolmaster who also uses vitriol to disguise himself with the same result (Hackenberg p. 214).

The novel was clearly written not only for entertainment but to try to enact reform in the military, especially in terms of flogging. Consequently, soldiers were banned from reading Reynolds’s Newspaper, in which the novel was serialized. That said, it did not seem to lead to any reform in the military that has been traced unlike some of the reform efforts that were inspired by Dickens’ novels. Beyond the efforts for military reform, the novel contains plenty of other social criticism. Most notably, in Chapter 35, when a political meeting is held in the town of Middleton, the soldiers are called in to keep the peace. Lonsdale feels guilty over having bayoneted one of the starving workers because they are protesting. The meeting itself has been called to protest what Reynolds refers to as the “fraud” perpetrated by the Reform Bill of 1832. That he does not clarify what the fraud was makes it clear his readers probably already knew why the Reform Bill was problematic from his perspective. Stephen Basdeo has argued that Reynolds believed the Reform Bill gave control of parliament to the aristocracy and moneyocracy (Basdeo p. 151).

One final point of interest I’ll raise may be a bit of a stretch, but for me, Mr. Colycinth’s secret mission to deliver Aunt Jane’s child recalls for me the scene in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities (1859) where Dr. Manette is called to treat two wounded people. Since Dickens’ novel was published six years after Reynolds’ novel, it is possible Dickens read The Soldier’s Wife and might have been consciously or subconsciously inspired by it, though Dickens would have never admitted it; comments Dickens made about Reynolds show he clearly disliked him and had his reasons for doing so. (See my previous blog posts on how Reynolds appropriated Dickens’ work by writing Pickwick Abroad and Master Timothy’s Book-Case.) That said, literary critics have hypothesized that Dickens probably read Reynolds and may have been influenced by his plot structure to change his own novel structure from Dombey and Son (1848) onward (Knight, p. 97, see below).

I have written extensively elsewhere about Dickens’ sources in writing A Tale of Two Cities. (See my books The Gothic Wanderer and Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides). I think the possibility exists that in The Soldier’s Wife, we have another source that scholars have ignored. Mr. Colycinth’s description in Chapter 39 of how he was led blindfolded to a secret location to deliver Jane Redburn’s child and rendered unable to reveal the secret because he was blindfolded recalls to me the scene in A Tale of Two Cities (Book the Third, Chapter 10) where Dr. Manette reveals how he was taken to a mysterious location to treat some people who were wounded.

Dr. Manette is not blindfolded, but he is not told who his clients are, only that they are people of quality. He ends up treating a man and his sister who have been mistreated by the Evremonde brothers, one of whom is a marquis. They try to pay him for his services, but he refuses. Later, under a false ruse, the Evremondes arrange to have Dr. Manette kidnapped and imprisoned in the Bastille. The scenes are not overly similar, but the secrecy of the situation and the fact that both include a medical man makes one wonder if there could be an influence.

Overall, The Soldier’s Wife is a fascinating contribution to Reynolds’ overall oeuvre. I wish it were better known and a scholarly edition would be produced of it and of all of Reynolds’ many amazing novels. Reynolds’ studies are still in their infancy, so I look forward to reading more of his novels, blogging about them, and reading other critics’ commentary on them. I will add that the recent excellent collection of essays, G.W.M. Reynolds Reimagined (2023) (two of the essays are sources for this blog post), is worth reading to learn more about Reynolds and his amazing body of work. One of the authors, Stephen Basdeo, has also written his own excellent post on The Soldier’s Wife at https://reynolds-news.com/2021/07/01/g-w-m-reynolds-soldiers-wife-stephen-basdeo/

Sources:

Basdeo, Stephen. “‘One of the Bastards of the Mountain’: George W. M. Reynolds’s Red Republican and Socialist Ideology.” G.W.M. Reynolds Reimagined: Studies in Authorship, Radicalism, and Genre, 1830-1870. Eds. Jennifer Conary and Mary L. Shannon. New York, NY: Routledge, 2023. p. 146-64.

Hackenberg, Sara. “Sisterhoods, Doppelgangers, Republicans: Reynolds’s Radical Mysteries.” G.W.M. Reynolds Reimagined: Studies in Authorship, Radicalism, and Genre, 1830-1870. Eds. Jennifer Conary and Mary L. Shannon. New York, NY: Routledge, 2023. p. 205-27.

Haywood, Ian. “George W.M. Reynolds and the Republic of Europe.” G.W.M. Reynolds Reimagined: Studies in Authorship, Radicalism, and Genre, 1830-1870. Eds. Jennifer Conary and Mary L. Shannon. New York, NY: Routledge, 2023. p. 181-202.

Knight, Stephen. “Two Mid-Nineteenth Century Popular Radical Novelists: G.W.M. Reynolds and Wilkie Collins.” G.W.M. Reynolds Reimagined: Studies in Authorship, Radicalism, and Genre, 1830-1870. Eds. Jennifer Conary and Mary L. Shannon. New York, NY: Routledge, 2023. p. 82-100.

Reynolds, George W.M. The Soldier’s Wife. Philadelphia, PA: T. B. Peterson and Brothers, n.d. Reprinted by Legare Street Press.

Tichelaar, Tyler R. The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, 1794-Present. Ann Arbor, MI: Modern History Press, 2012.

Tichelaar, Tyler R. Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, 1789-1897. Marquette, MI: Marquette Fiction, 2023.

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Tyler R. Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at www.GothicWanderer.com, www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and www.MarquetteFiction.com.

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Filed under City Mystery Novels, Classic Gothic Novels, George W.M. Reynolds

Tagged as A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens, flogging in the military, George W.M. Reynolds, Henry Fielding, military reform in Victorian England, stolen letters, The Reform Bill of 1832, The Soldier's Wife, Tom Jones

June 12, 2023 · 5:24 pm

George Lippard’s The Mysteries of Florence: A Hot Mess of Medieval Murder and Mayhem

After reading The Quaker City (1845) by George Lippard (1822-1854), which I blogged about earlier this year, I was intrigued to find at Amazon a novel titled The Mysteries of Florence by Lippard. I was surprised an American author would choose a foreign city as the subject for a city mysteries novel. However, it turns out The Mysteries of Florence is not a city mysteries novel at all. The first city mysteries novel was Eugene Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris (1842-3), and that was the work Lippard was imitating in writing The Quaker City. However, The Mysteries of Florence was probably written or at least begun before Sue began or finished The Mysteries of Paris, so the novel could not be influenced by the city mysteries genre. Further investigation revealed the novel was retitled from its original title The Ladye Annabel, or The Doom of the Poisoner: A Romance by an Unknown Author.

The Mysteries of Florence, published by Good Press, 2022, is a retitled copy of George Lippard’s *The Ladye Annabel* (1844)

Who changed the title, whether for the ebook version I read published by Good Press in 2022 or an earlier edition, I do not know. But the novel is not at all aligned with the city mysteries genre, which is always set in a contemporary urban setting. Instead, The Ladye Annabel, as I’ll refer to it going forward, is set in medieval Florence circa 1200. The date is not given, but we can estimate the time period because the Count of Albarone in the novel has been on crusade with Richard the Lionheart, who died in 1199. The novel’s style is more akin to that of Mrs. Radcliffe, especially her earlier works like The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne (1789) or even Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), given its medieval setting. It is also mostly devoid of anything supernatural, with believed supernatural events later explained rationally, as was Mrs. Radcliffe’s method. That said, the novel contains plenty of seeds that would point toward Lippard learning his craft and later developing his masterpiece, The Quaker City.

According to Emilia de Grazia’s 1969 dissertation The Life and Works of George Lippard, The Ladye Annabel was Lippard’s first full-length novel. He published it anonymously, and to divert criticism, he claimed it was based on an ancient chronicle. The novel was serialized beginning November 29, 1843 in the journal Citizen Soldier; Lippard was its editor (p. 112). This conflict of interest explains his decision to publish the work anonymously, since he was then free to praise it and claim a large sum of money—$350—was paid for the rights to print it. It was later published in book form in early 1844 (p. 125).

Lippard actually wrote four works (per Wikipedia) before The Quaker City. I have not read them, but I would consider The Ladye Annabel, because of its flaws compared to the mature The Quaker City, a work all the more remarkable because Lippard was only twenty-three when it was published. He was only twenty-one when he began publishing The Ladye Annabel.

I consider The Ladye Annabel as juvenilia because the plot is weak and largely predictable, but mainly because some of it is not well developed. The book goes in directions we don’t expect at times and then gives us information we should have known much earlier. Sometimes the book suffers from wordiness and lack of clarity, yet there are some stunning moments.

The plot is rather complicated because of the large cast of characters. It begins when we are introduced to the Castle of Albarone near Florence. The castle has been owned for centuries by the Counts of Albarone. The current count, Julian, has just returned from Crusade where he served with Richard the Lionheart. He has a wife and a son, Adrian. He also has a brother, Aldarin, who is a scholar of the occult mysteries and the villain. Aldarin has a daughter, Annabel.

Early in the novel, Aldarin poisons his brother and frames Adrian for the murder. He does this so he can become count and marry his daughter, Annabel, to the Duke of Florence rather than have her marry Adrian, whom she loves. Aldarin also seeks to become immortal. He has been working on a formula for twenty-one years that will make him immortal, and he is just days away from completing his experiment when he murders his brother. Not long after, the eastern sage Ibrahim arrives to tell him the final secrets he must know to become immortal. But Ibrahim is really a monk in disguise, Albertine, who is part of the secret order of the Monks of the Holy Steel. He has befriended Adrian, but in disguise, he tricks Aldarin into believing he is helping him. In the end, Aldarin’s efforts fail, though for a short time he believes he is immortal. Eventually, he dies but proclaims he will still be part of the “Awful Soul” and live forever in spirit form. His ashes are spread throughout the earth by the wind so that he is unable to regain physical form.

Aldarin is definitely the most interesting figure in a novel filled with undeveloped characters. He is very much a typical Gothic wanderer, one seeking immortality and wealth, a Rosicrucian transgressor centuries before Rosicrucianism was founded, and while he does not specifically discuss the elixir of life and the philosopher’s stone, those are what he seems intent on. He is interested in esoteric knowledge, having traveled to Palestine with his brother on crusade and there acquired occult knowledge. Of course, in the end, his quest is his downfall; his eagerness for knowledge to become immortal is what allows the protagonists to trick him.

The only other character of any real interest is the monk Albertine who leads the Order of the Holy Steel (or Monks of the Holy Steel), and we get the sense he is manipulating events behind the scenes, though it is not always clear what his motives or processes are.

Oddly, Aldarin dies at the end of Book 3 but the novel goes on with Book 4, in which we catch up mainly with what happened to Adrian after being arrested by the Duke of Florence for parricide. The Duke, who is Aldarin’s conspirator, plans to have Adrian murdered so he can wed Annabel. However, the Duke ends up tricked by Albertine and meets his own death. Adrian is supposedly murdered but is actually only drugged and buried alive in a coffin. The most powerful scene in the novel occurs when Adrian dreams while drugged that he awakes a century later to join a dance of the dead. He sees skeletons dancing in the tomb, including that of Annabel, whom he dances with.

Following his dream, Adrian tries to escape from the tomb. He has been locked up for days and is ravenous, and he is also surprised to find his arm wounded and bleeding. To nourish himself, he resorts to sucking his own blood. He also hears the groans of another, the man sent to kill him and who had wounded him but found himself also locked in the vault. Adrian does not save this man, but refreshed by his own blood, he gains the strength to figure out how to escape from the vault.

Adrian is soon reunited with Annabel. They are wed and crowned Duke and Duchess of Florence, but as the novel closes, the sky grows dark and Annabel hears a mysterious voice she recognizes as her father’s. He says all is now fulfilled since his daughter is Duchess of Florence. Annabel then says to Adrian:

“The corse, Adrian, the corse of my father—where doth it rest?”

“It hath no place of repose on earth,” was the solemn answer. “Given to the invisible air, the mortal frame finds nor home, nor resting place in sacred chapel, or in wild wood glade; but mingled with the unseen winds, floating in the atmosphere of heaven; on, and on forever wanders the earthly dust of the Scholar, denied repose on earth, refused judgment by heaven, condemned to the eternal solitudes of the disembodied spirit; on, and on it wanders seeking companionship with the mighty soul of Aldarin!”

The novel ends with an invisible voice saying, “It is finished.”

This odd ending plays off Christ’s last words after he is crucified. However, Aldarin is a reverse Christ figure. He has also become spirit like Christ, but he remains a Gothic Wanderer figure akin to the Wandering Jew since his earthly dust continues to wander.

The Ladye Annabel has many faults, its greatest being its clumsy structure and dragging on too long. Once Aldarin dies, the reader expects a quick resolution that is not provided, and yet the most powerful moments occur in Book 4.

Another fault is Lippard’s failure to foreshadow properly or give us reason for events in the proper place. For example, not until Chapter 10 of Book 4 are we informed that Florence has experienced bloodshed for three years, which is why the Monks of the Holy Steel formed—so they can overthrow the Duke. It is rather late then to tell us the Duke has been a bad person for years since we only see him acting in an evil manner because he wants to wed Annabel.

Given that the novel was renamed The Mysteries of Florence, it does not live up to the level of mystery one might expect. We almost always know the characters’ motives and actions with few surprises along the way. There were a few, such as when Aldarin reveals to the page Guiseppo that he is his illegitimate son only to get him to stab the returned crusader Geoffrey the Longsword, and then have Guiseppo learn that Geoffrey is his real father. Fortunately, Geoffrey is saved from Guiseppo’s dagger by a piece of the True Cross he keeps on his person.

Another fault of the novel is that it is only in the footnotes that Lippard starts to suggest, and then well into the novel, that he is working from an ancient manuscript and retelling the story. He references a “Romancer” in the beginning of the book, but it is not clear there that the Romancer is his source for the story.

George Lippard, a friend of Edgar Allan Poe, died at thirty-one after writing more than two dozen books.

Such flaws are why I consider the novel Lippard’s juvenilia. A more accomplished author would have gone back and revised as they developed the story or would have planned it out better to begin with. Of course, part of the problem is the novel’s serialization, which prevented Lippard from rewriting earlier scenes, but that is all the more reason to have a strong outline worked out to write from, though in all fairness, even more accomplished serial writers like Sue, Dumas, and Dickens made things up as they went along.

Regardless of its faults, The Ladye Annabel is a very readable book, and while its plot is fairly complicated, it is not overly long, taking only about ten hours to read, compared to the typically one-thousand-page-plus city mystery novels. Fans of Lippard will want to read it to see the author of The Quaker City learning his craft. Truly, given the novel’s flaws, the far more polished The Quaker City is all the remarkable for being written immediately after The Ladye Annabel.

I remain astonished that I only recently learned of George Lippard, given his popularity in American literature at the time. Partly, his obscurity may be due to his untimely death at thirty-one, partly because his extremely popular sensational works were considered not really literature by later literary critics, but he was the friend of Edgar Allan Poe, who praised his work. I can understand that Poe’s works are shorter and, therefore, more accessible to students in American literature survey classes, but frankly, with a few exceptions, I’ve always found Poe’s works somewhat boring and lacking in purpose. Furthermore, Poe usually had European settings for his tales while Lippard was more revolutionary by using American settings—The Ladye Annabel being the one exception. I look forward to reading more by the author of The Quaker City, perhaps the greatest novel written between Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans (1826) and Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter (1850).

I also hope to learn more about Lippard. Unfortunately, no full-length biographies or published studies of Lippard exist. Emilia de Grazia’s 1969 dissertation The Life and Works of George Lippard appears to be the most complete critical work on Lippard. It can be downloaded online. Like George W. M. Reynolds and many other nineteenth-century authors of Gothic and city mysteries novels, Lippard deserves far more attention than he has received. According to Wikipedia, he wrote more than two dozens books, an enormous achievement for someone who died of tuberculosis two months before his thirty-second birthday.

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Tyler Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at http://www.GothicWanderer.com, http://www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and http://www.MarquetteFiction.com.

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Filed under City Mystery Novels, Classic Gothic Novels

Tagged as city mysteries genre, crusades in literature, Edgar Allan Poe, George Lippard, The Ladye Annabel, The Mysteries of Florence, The Quaker City

March 26, 2023 · 2:51 pm

The Mysteries of Lisbon: A Film of Portuguese Author Camilo Castelo Branco’s City Mysteries Novel

I have written extensively at this blog about the city mysteries genre, which began with Eugène Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris. Sue’s novel inspired a plethora of imitations, including Paul Féval’s The Mysteries of London (discussed in my book Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature), George W. M. Reynolds’ The Mysteries of London, Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, and George Lippard’s The Quaker City. Authors around the world wrote novels in a similar vein and often with the same title pattern. However, until recently, Portugal’s contribution to the genre, The Mysteries of Lisbon, was almost unknown to the English-speaking world. That changed in 2010 when Chilean filmmaker Raúl Ruiz filmed the Portuguese novel as Mistérios de Lisboa. The film is available with English subtitles at Amazon Prime.

Mistérios de Lisboa is based on the 1854 novel Os Mistérios de Lisboa by Camilo Castelo Branco (1825-1890). Unfortunately, Branco’s novel has never been translated into English, although scholar Stephen Basdeo announced on his blog in 2022 that he is in the process of translating it. Since I have not read the novel, this blog post will only discuss the film.

Ruiz’s Mysteries of Lisbon, like the city mysteries novels that came before it, is a convoluted tale filled with individual characters who tell their backstories, many of which are a bit on the sordid side. Unlike the novels of Sue, Reynolds, and Féval, however, the film, and probably the novel, do not provide a cross-section of characters from the upper and lower classes but focus solely on members of the Portuguese and French aristocracy and nobility. The plot is not difficult to follow, even with reliance on the subtitles, but it is complicated enough that I imagine the novel has more subplots than the film offers since the novel was published in three volumes and runs more than 600 pages, although the film itself runs approximately 270 minutes.

The plot centers around a young boy named João who attends a school operated by Father Dinis. Unlike the other boys at the school, João does not have a last name and knows nothing about his parentage. After another boy bullies and assaults him over his unknown parentage, João becomes ill and loses consciousness. He wakes in a sort of delirium to discover the mother he has never met has come to visit him. The visit is short, but it causes João to question Father Dinis about his mother. In time, he learns she is Ângela de Lima, the Countess Santa Bárbara. However, her husband, the Count, is not João’s father. João has grown up thinking Father Dinis may be his father, but the priest assures him otherwise and will only tell him his father was an honorable man and that he died two days after João’s birth. In time, we learn João’s father was Pedro da Silva. Father Dinis arranges secret visits between João and his mother, but these are threatened by Count Santa Bárbara’s displeasure over her having contact with the boy. She has been locked up and mistreated by her husband for years, plus he has been carrying on an affair with a woman named Eugénia. Eventually, she leaves him to be with her son.

The count now spreads rumors about Ângela, but when Father Dinis goes to confront him, he finds him dying. Father Dinis then arranges for Ângela to visit the count at the count’s request because he wishes for her forgiveness. He dies before she arrives, but he leaves her a letter and she forgives him. The count leaves Ângela his fortune, but she rejects it and enters a convent. For João, her decision to enter the convent is heartbreaking because he has only just begun to know his mother, and now he feels he is losing her.

In flashbacks, we then learn the backstory of João’s birth. Ângela’s father, the Marquis of Montezelos, had been against João’s parents’ proposed marriage. Instead, he arranged for her to marry the Count de Santa Bárbara. After Ângela gave birth to João, she was told the child died, but the count gave the child to a gypsy named Knife Eater with orders to have it killed. However, Father Dinis, who was not yet a priest, paid Knife Eater for the boy and then secretly raised him, even changing his identity to that of a priest. Meanwhile, Knife Eater used the money he received to become a rich man.

Returning to the story’s main timeline, Knife Eater has adopted the identity of a Brazilian named Alberto and entered Lisbon society. Rumors surround Alberto, from him being a rich slave trader or a pirate to being a spy for Dom Pedro (the first Emperor of Brazil who first fought for Brazil’s independence and then invaded Portugal and for a brief time was king). Women faint over Alberto, apparently because he is so masculine, powerful, and sexy. Men challenge him to duels and die by his hand.

Meanwhile, Father Dinis, who has been keeping João’s birth a secret, discovers the secret of his own birth. When the Count Santa Bárbara died, Friar Baltasar da Encarnação gave him last rites, at which time he and Father Dinis met for the first time. Instantly, the friar realizes Father Dinis is his son. The friar reveals to Father Dinis that he was once Álvaro de Albuquerque, who seduced and fell in love with the married Countess de Vizo. They ran away together to Italy where she died while giving birth to Father Dinis. Álvaro was grief-stricken over her death and his sin. Feeling unable to raise his child, he gave it to a friend to raise; when that friend died, the child was passed on to a French nobleman to raise. This nobleman in time would die at the guillotine during the French Revolution. The young Father Dinis grew up to fight in Napoleon’s army under the name Sebastião de Melo.

Back in the present, Alberto has married Eugénia, former mistress of Count Santa Bárbara. He finds himself being stalked by Elisa de Montfort, a widowed French duchess. She says she is bent upon revenge, and eventually tells Father Dinis her story. Alberto had negotiated with her to have sex with her and finally she had agreed. After their liaison, Elisa kept coming back each night for more sex, gradually falling in love with Alberto and wanting to return the money he paid her. For Alberto, it is all a game and about the chase, so when she begins stalking him, he wants nothing more to do with her. Now she has come to Lisbon to try again to return the money he paid her. Her efforts cause Eugénia discomfort, although she knows Alberto has a sordid past. Elisa, however, also wants revenge. She allowed her brother Artur to believe Alberto wronged her. Artur had attacked Alberto, who killed him in self-defense, but Elisa blames Alberto for her brother’s death.

Father Dinis now reveals to Elisa that he knew her mother. In the middle of Father Dinis’ story, Alberto bursts in. Elisa tries to shoot him, but earlier, Father Dinis had removed the bullet from her gun. Alberto then tries to strangle Elisa, but he stops when Father Dinis calls him Knife Eater and he apparently fears Father Dinis will reveal his origins if he commits the murder.

After Alberto leaves, Father Dinis finishes his story, telling Elisa of how he had once been in love with her mother, Blanche, but that Blanche had loved his best friend, Benoit. Benoit was an aristocrat while Father Dinis was a bastard child, so he knew he could not compete with Benoit for Blanche’s love. Then Father Dinis and Benoit save Colonel Lacroze from a firing squad during the Napoleonic Wars and befriend him, only to have him begin an affair with Blanche. Dinis is very jealous, but Benoit is more jealous. When Lacroze is called back to service, Benoit does not tell Blanche, so she does not come to say goodbye to him and then he intercepts Lacroze’s letters so that she thinks he has forgotten her. In the end, Benoit convinces her to marry him. Meanwhile, Dinis leaves, unable to endure Blanche and Benoit’s happiness. Later, Lacroze commits suicide from heartbreak that Blanche has abandoned him. When Blanche learns Benoit lied to her about Lacroze abandoning her, she is deeply hurt, and soon she claims she is speaking to Lacroze’s ghost. Blanche then dies in a fire, which Benoit may have set.

We now return to João, who has grown up, adopted his father’s name of Pedro da Silva, and become a poet. When he sees Elisa, he falls in love with her. Elisa tells him how she was wronged by Alberto and that her brother was murdered by him, so João goes to Alberto to challenge him to a duel. They fight with swords, but when neither is wounded, they plan to switch to pistols. First, however, Alberto reveals he has known João since he was a baby and tells him of how he nearly killed him but sold him to Father Dinis. Alberto also explains that Elisa’s brother’s death was an accident and the result of self-defense.

The film becomes confusing here. After Alberto leaves the site of the duel, João takes over as narrator, stating how he feels lost and talked down to, as if he is just João again rather than Dom Pedro da Silva as he now styles himself after his father. The film actually shows him shooting himself after Alberto leaves, but he is apparently only wounded and does not die. João now feeling his life makes no sense, runs away from his past, but he knows that is impossible. He travels randomly (like a true Gothic wanderer) and ultimately goes to Tangiers. He seems to be pursued by the representatives of Alberto, who wishes to return to him the sum of money Father Dinis had given him for his life, but João does not want the money.

João finds an inn in Tangiers and there becomes ill. As the film ends, we see him dictating his memoirs to an African servant, discussing how he has never really known who he is and he sometimes wonders if his whole life has been a dream since the moment he lost unconsciousness and first saw his mother in his delirium. The ending is very existential and also the kind of melancholic ending typical of Romanticism. It would not be going to far to liken João’s existential angst to that of Frankenstein’s Monster.

While the film seems focused on realism most of the time, it also tends to deconstruct the illusion of reality in subtle ways. Supernaturalism is suggested when Blanche claims to be speaking to Colonel Lacroze’s ghost. In other scenes, the camera shows characters not walking but appearing to glide through a room like one might expect in a modern-day vampire film. Numerous interesting camera angles and camera tricks are used. At one point we see a filled teacup upside down. The suggestion of illusion is emphasized by the miniature play theatre that João’s mother gives to him soon after they are reunited. Several of the various storylines have moments where the characters are depicted as paper figures in the play theatre, suggesting that someone is manipulating the story and characters, or perhaps they are all part of João’s imagination. Less understandable oddities include Eugénia hiding under the furniture for no perceivable reason unless she fears Elisa. Alberto and Eugénia also have a servant with some sort of mental disability that causes him to be in perpetual motion as if running in place. The viewer notes all these oddities, but they do not fully register or make sense until the end when João suggests everything in the film may just have been a dream. They then suggest they are the oddities one encounters in dreams that do not make sense in the real world.

The film makes no references to Eugène Sue or any other author of the city mysteries genre, but at one point, when Pedro (formerly João) is told by a friend how Elisa’s brother died in a duel for her, he can’t help remarking that it is like a plot out of a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, which shows the filmmaker and probably Branco was aware of the Gothic tradition and Mrs. Radcliffe’s works.

Truly, there is little about the film that is similar to The Mysteries of Paris. Yes, some of the characters have multiple identities and there are numerous interconnected plots, but we also have a string of counts and marquises without any of the social justice themes of Sue and Reynolds’ novels with their depictions of the lower classes. All the characters in Mysteries of Lisbon are upper class or connected to them. If the novel was influenced by earlier city mysteries novels, I suspect the influence came from Féval’s The Mysteries of London, since in that novel the protagonist, the Marquis de Rio Santo, is an Irishman who earns a Portuguese title of nobility and seeks revenge against his English enemies. Another influence may be Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, in which Edmond Dantès becomes the fabulously wealthy count who seeks revenge on his enemies. Alberto’s story is similar to both characters in that he gains great wealth and has an air of mystery about him, including rumors about his past and being a seducer of women like Rio Santo. However, Alberto is not set on revenge toward anyone but rather has Elisa set on revenge against him.

If there is a link to Sue’s novel, Stephen Basdeo suggests it lies in Father Dinis, who like Sue’s Prince Rodolphe, is a dispenser of justice, or at least one who tries to save others. He stops Alberto and Elisa from murdering each other, saves João from being killed as a child, saves the life of Colonel Lacroze, though it backfires on him, and brings forgiveness between the Count and Countess Santa Bárbara. His multiple identities are like those of Rodolphe, Edmond Dantès, Rio Santo, and many other characters in city mysteries novels, and he can be equated to Jean Valjean in Les Misérables, itself influenced by the city mysteries genre, in the way he tries to right wrongs.

That said, much of the novel may be autobiographical. Branco, like João, was an illegitimate son. His father was a younger son of a provincial aristocrat family. His father was impoverished because of the strict laws of primogeniture in Portugal at the time that meant the family property and fortune would have gone to the eldest son. Branco ended up orphaned at a young age, and after being raised by three aunts, like João, at age thirteen, he was sent to a seminary where he was educated by priests. He studied theology and considered becoming a priest, even taking minor holy orders, but later decided to devote himself to literature. Therefore, he must have had insight into Father Dinis’ soul. He was also well-equated with the upper class’ licentiousness and crimes. He was arrested twice, the first time for digging up his first wife’s body, and the second time for committing adultery with Ana Placido, a Portuguese novelist, who later became his second wife. In 1885, he became a member of the aristocracy when he was made a viscount for his contributions to literature. This honor is not surprising since he was probably the most prolific Portuguese author of all time.

The Mysteries of Lisbon is the only novel in the city mysteries genre to have been filmed, unless one counts the various film versions of The Count of Monte Cristo. The film won many awards, and despite the subtitles and its extreme length, it is a worthy depiction of a city mysteries novel. I hope more films of the city mysteries genre will be made, and in English. Meanwhile, I look forward to reading the novel when it is translated into English.

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Tyler Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at http://www.GothicWanderer.com, http://www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and http://www.MarquetteFiction.com.

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Filed under Alexandre Dumas, City Mystery Novels, Classic Gothic Novels, George W.M. Reynolds

Tagged as Alexandre Dumas, Ana Placido, Camilo Castelo Branco, city mysteries genre, Dom Pedro, Eugene Sue, George Lippard, George W. M. Reynolds, Paul Feval, Portuguese nobility, The Mysteries of Lisbon

March 7, 2023 · 2:17 pm

The Quaker City: America’s First City Mysteries Novel

On this blog and in my new book Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, 1789-1897, I have written extensively about the City Mysteries novel genre, which began with French author Eugène Sue’s blockbuster The Mysteries of Paris (1842-1843). Sue’s novel inspired a chain of novels ranging from two novels of the same title, The Mysteries of London, one by French author Paul Féval, one by George W. M. Reynolds, and then numerous more imitations from authors around the world.

An illustration of George Lippard as a young man

In the United States, the city mysteries genre was first taken up by George Lippard (1822-1854), although he shied away from copying Sue’s title, naming his novel The Quaker City, or The Monks of Monks Hall. It was issued in monthly parts from August 1844 to May 1845. Its circulation began after Féval began serializing his novel, and so it is possible it was somewhat inspired by it, but it was completed before Reynolds began his novel. The Quaker City would be extremely popular and lead to many more city mystery novels in the United States, including Ned Buntline’s The Mysteries and Miseries of New York (1848), written under the pseudonym Edward Zane Carroll Judson.

While similarities exist between Lippard’s novel and those of Sue and Féval, the reader, especially an American reader knowledgeable of American literature and particularly antebellum literature, is bound to be struck by what a very American novel it is in its themes. All the Gothic trappings of Sue, Féval, and Reynolds are here, but the novel’s setting in the United States makes the concerns over the criminal world and immorality all the more relevant because they threaten not only society and domestic happiness but the very ideals upon which the American Republic was based. Throughout the book, Lippard decries how Philadelphia, the Quaker City (Lippard appears to have coined the name), and setting of the novel, no longer reflects the ideals of the American Revolution. Lippard plays on scenes like Washington crossing the Delaware to have a criminal pursued on the river to have revenge taken upon him. In a terrible vision, another character foresees the destruction of Philadelphia, with Independence Hall standing in ruins and in the sky written in flaming letters the words: “WO UNTO SODOM.” The novel then serves as a warning to the American people of where the Republic is headed, mourning the lost ideals of the Founding Fathers and even having the President replaced with a king in the vision of the future. As a result, its exposure of crime and vice and its calls for reform make it the first muckraking novel in the United States.

A summary of The Quaker City’s plot would be difficult to follow, but like his city mystery predecessors, Lippard provides multiple storylines, each of which surrounds some crime or attempted crime ranging from abducting innocent women or bamboozling them into fake marriages to adultery to characters disguising themselves to con others and religious deceivers.

Throughout, Lippard pays homage to other great Gothic authors. He makes reference to Ainsworth as a master of plot and references both Dickens and Bulwer-Lytton. That much of the novel’s action takes place in the fictional Monk Hall may be a nod to Matthew “Monk” Lewis. It is surprising Lippard makes no references to Sue or Féval since at least the former, and probably both, inspired his work. He dedicates the book to Charles Brockden Brown, America’s first Gothic novelist who was from Philadelphia and set his novel Arthur Mervyn there. He also references James Fenimore Cooper, but notes that critics complain that more people in the United States read Ainsworth than Cooper, and he defends Ainsworth in the process. Surprisingly, he avoids mentioning his own American Gothic contemporaries, Edgar Allan Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne. Lippard was himself a good friend of Poe’s, and while the novel was published before Hawthorne wrote The Scarlet Letter and his other novels, Lippard must have known Hawthorne’s short stories since Poe reviewed them. Based on The Quaker City, it surprises me that Lippard is not a household name along with Poe and Hawthorne, for his novel is more thoroughly plotted and complicated than anything either of them wrote, and if he is not the equal in style and depth to Hawthorne, I feel he exceeds Poe in his greater vision of society and he keeps the reader in suspense without the boredom Poe too often creates.

Literary critic and historian Stephen Knight, in his chapter on the novel in The Mysteries of the Cities, notes that many critics have dismissed Lippard, but such critics have not really read him. The novel is actually wonderfully plotted and Lippard is a master of pacing, something in keeping with the writing of Ainsworth, as well as Sue, Féval, and Reynolds, and far exceeding the plotting and pacing of anything Dickens had achieved at this point in his career. That the novel was written by Lippard when he was only twenty-two to twenty-three years of age is remarkable, and really gives him genius designation with other brilliant young authors like Mary Shelley. By comparison, Dickens did not write The Pickwick Papers until he was twenty-five and it is a nearly plotless book. Furthermore, because Lippard wrote quickly, his work has been seen as inferior, but in my opinion, it just adds to his genius that he was able to keep so many plot strands straight and weave them together so effortlessly. Anthony Trollope also wrote quickly but only because he dedicated himself to daily writing. Nor should a novelist be decried for writing a novel in a year when it takes another author three years to do so since we cannot know how many hours of writing and contemplative thinking about the novel took place within either time frame.

A few plot points and characters from The Quaker City deserve mention. The novel begins a few days before Christmas when two men go to see a fortune-teller and are told that one of them will die by the other’s hand at the hour of sunset on Christmas Eve. The novel unfolds from there as these two seeming friends discover that neither is who the other thought and one greatly wrongs the other, leading to the dramatic murder scene on the Delaware River, said to be based on a true murder case in Philadelphia.

Another notable character is Devil-Bug. This depraved criminal is illiterate, unintelligent, and mostly the slave to superior criminals, yet he is perhaps the closest thing the novel has to a main character. As Stephen Knight notes, he is almost the reverse of Eugene Sue’s hero Rodolphe, who is a prince in disguise. Devil-Bug is not moral, but he is haunted by his past, continually seeing the ghosts of those he has killed. He also once was in love and had a daughter who was lost to him. By the end of the novel, we will learn not only what became of his daughter, but he will manage to save her and see her happy and prosperous, a marked contrast to how Rodolphe is unable to save his daughter, who ultimately dies of shame because of her past. Devil-Bug is also the character granted the vision of the future in the novel.

Perhaps the most interesting character for me, however, is Signor Ravoni. Did I not know that this novel was published before Alexandre Dumas’ Joseph Balsamo (1846-1848), I might have thought Ravoni was inspired by Dumas’ sorcerer character because Ravoni is also a sorcerer and has the same mesmeric abilities as Balsamo. However, as Stephen Knight notes, more likely Ravoni’s name is a play on Zanoni, the Rosicrucian hero of Bulwer-Lytton’s Zanoni (1842). Like Zanoni, Ravoni claims to have lived a long life—two centuries. He is a voice of atheism in the novel, wishing to rid the world of the old religions and replace it with a religion of man for man, which may sound like a sort of religion of reason akin to the Goddess of Reason during the French Revolution. However, he intends to use his new religion to gain power over other men, and to do so, he uses supernatural powers, attempting to resurrect the dead to win over followers who claim they will worship him if he can do so. He manages to bring about a faked resurrection, and he also mesmerizes a young woman, holding her in thrall similarly to how Svengali will hold power over Trilby half a century later in George du Maurier’s novel Trilby. The scenes where Ravoni is worshiped by his followers in a mass meeting also eerily reminds me of scenes in the Swedish version of Dracula, Powers of Darkness, where Draculitz tries to create a new world order. In the end, Ravoni is stabbed and dies, but not before he gets his followers to promise to carry on his new religion and he appoints a successor. (I discuss these novels by Dumas and Bulwer-Lytton and Powers of Darkness in Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides.)

The Ravoni plot does not get introduced into the novel until the fifth of the six books, and it is not as closely tied to the main plots as it might be, but it is interesting for its religious message that seems anti-Christian, anti-religion, and pro-man if not pro-reason, wishing to raise man from the groveling servitude that religion often places him in, and yet Ravoni is a type of hypocrite in wishing to be worshiped like a god. It is also telling that American culture has always been highly religious due to its Puritan roots, ironic given the novel is set in a city founded by Quakers. The role of religion in the novel needs far more attention by future critics.

While my interest in The Quaker City is primarily in its Gothic elements, it is worth noting that like Sue, Lippard was a voice of reform and one who spoke out for the poor and downtrodden. He mocks those ready to send off missionaries to Hindoostan when there are outcasts at home who know nothing of the Bible. He also shows the sad state of racism in the country, some of the characters finding it a lark to burn down negro churches or abolitionist headquarters and create race riots. He is not afraid to speak out against the many wrongs that afflicted American society in the 1840s, even if those wrongs also gave him fodder for creating his novels.

The Quaker City was a phenomenal success in its day. It was the best-selling novel in America until the publication of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in 1852. It sold 60,000 copies in the first year and at least another 10,000 in the following decade per Wikipedia. According to Stephen Knight, in London, Lloyd, the leading low-level publisher, republished it, much reduced and sensationalized, as Dora Livingstone (1845) (Dora is the adulteress character in the novel), and the German popular writer Franz Gerstacker translated it as Die Geheimnisse [“The Mysteries”] von Philadelphia (1845), taking credit as the author. In America, it spawned numerous more city mysteries novels.

As for George Lippard, he had published five previous books and would go on to publish at least twenty more before his untimely death in 1854 of tuberculosis. A list of his works is available at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Lippard. Not listed, however, is The Mysteries of Florence, which is available at Amazon and was published under his name. I intend to explore that novel and other works by Lippard in the future, along with several other city mysteries novels.

Lippard, in my opinion, deserves a prominent place in early American literature alongside fellow novelists Charles Brockden Brown, Cooper, Poe, and Hawthorne. Few scholars pay much attention to him today, but for more information on The Quaker City, I recommend Stephen Knight’s The Mysteries of the Cities which discusses not only Lippard’s novel but several other city mystery novels. Two books about Lippard’s life and writings I have not read but hope to explore are Roger Davidson’s George Lippard and R. Swinburne Clymer’s George Lippard: His Life and Works. References to Lippard can also be found in biographies of his friend Edgar Allan Poe.

While I have mostly focused on British and French Gothic works at this blog, American Gothic literature was alive and well in the nineteenth-century, though mostly overlooked today. Certainly, it deserves far more attention beyond the works of Poe and Hawthorne. I will try to remedy that in some of my future posts.

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Tyler Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at http://www.GothicWanderer.com, http://www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and http://www.MarquetteFiction.com.

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Filed under Alexandre Dumas, Charles Dickens, City Mystery Novels, Classic Gothic Novels, Dracula, George W.M. Reynolds

Tagged as American Gothic literature, Bulwer-Lytton, Charles Brockden Brown, Edgar Allan Poe, Eugene Sue, George Lippard, George W. M. Reynolds, mesmerism, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Paul Feval, Philadelphia, The Quaker City or The Monks of Monk Hall, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides, Zanoni

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