Transformation

by Anne Jubuisson

Transformation. I’ve thought for a long time about what that meant for me. To become, to transform intosomethingotherthan…. intosomeonebetterthanwho Iaminthismoment. IthinkmyTRANSFORMATIONisto

T urn into her, the person I want to become, which I can’t do without

R eflecting and being

A ware of the things about me I’d like not to repeat; to

N eglect the constant pessimistic voice in my head, and to stop

S haming myself of who I used to be…there’s no point in that. For once I

F orm a plan; I will be

O perating dierently. I’ll

R epeat the good things and LET GO of

M y mistakes. TRANSFORMATION is also the

A bility to

T ap into, and

I nteract with my future self, to be

O pen to criticism, to ocially LET GO of

N egativity.

Mytransformation… thatisshe.

How ‘Bad’ Books Birth Better Literature: An Analysis of Ros’ Irene Iddesleigh and Theis’ The Eye of Argon

By Stefanie Cappozzo

The arts, when approached in an academic setting, distinguishes itself from other forms of study for being more concerned with interpretations of life’s truths than the truth itself. It would appear that there are no objective rules in art, but that is not the case. In particular, literature is an art form with explicit rules, like grammar. However, people also have an implicit sense of how a story should unfold. It is rare, but not unheard of, that these unspoken notions converge to determine the universal verdict of a text’s quality. Amanda McKittrick Ros was an Irish author who became a cultural phenomenon starting in the late nineteenth century. Socialites held dinners in her “honour,” where they would recite passages from her 1898 novel Delina Delaney to mock its flowery prose (Loudan 52). Fifty years later, writer C.S. Lewis would challenge members of his literary discussion group The Inklings to read aloud from Ros’s 1897 novel Irene Iddesleigh for as long as possible without laughing (Carpenter 225-26). The unintended humour of Ros’s circumlocutory writing and melodrama is what grabbed the attention of many at the time of its publication (Gorman and Mateer 78-9). Jim Theis’s fantasy novelette The Eye of Argon, first published in 1970 in The Ozark Science Fiction Association’s fanzine (OSFan), has also garnered an infamous reputation for its ornate and choppy style. As in the case of Irene Iddesleigh, reading The Eye of Argon without laughing became a game, often played at science fiction conventions (Weinstein 7). Through an analysis of the texts’ weaknesses in narrative structure, character development, and their use of literary devices, I will argue that comparing these dierent works can bring about a deeper understanding of what distinguishes literature as a skilled art form, and thus that they are just as deserving of the attention that other texts receive in academia.

TheOriginsofStorytellingandNarrative

Aristotle’s Poetics (c. 335 BCE) is considered the origin of Western literary criticism (Castaldy[1]). In the text, he states that tragedy “is an imitation, not of men, but of an action and of life,” and emphasizes the importance of dividing plot into a beginning, a middle and an end (Aristotle 9-10). Inspired by Aristotle’s narrative model, German novelist Gustav Freytag wrote Technique ofthe Drama (1863), which further dissects the notion of plot. He asserts that dramas have five distinct parts: “[an] introduction, rise, climax, return or fall, [and] catastrophe” (Freytag 115). The book includes a diagram that labels these components on sections of a pyramid, with the climax being the middle point (115). Three scenic movements also weave the plot together; the most important being, for our intents and purposes, the “exciting force,” or the hero’s motivation to act which triggers the rising action (121).

AnAnalysisofIrene Iddesleigh

Written in the late nineteenth century, Irene Iddesleighcontains thematic elements that are commonly found in Victorian literature. The main focus of the story is Irene’s marriage to Sir John Dunfern. He is a nobleman, while she is an orphan of low birth who is adopted by Lord and Lady Dilworth. The couple’s relationship is flawed; within the span of one chapter, Dunfern transitions from a man who “never yet had entertained the thought of yielding up his bacheloric ideas” (Ros 14) to being struck by “his first hopes of matrimony” (20) after seeing Irene at a party at Dilworth Castle. It is revealed that she never wanted to marry the nobleman and has been writing to her beloved tutor, Oscar Otwell, about eloping with him (78). Dunfern responds to Irene's infidelity by locking her in one of his mansion’s many unused rooms, called a “room of death” (85). After a year of imprisonment, she is able to escape with the help of Oscar and her maid Marjory Mason. This series of events provides ample material for commentary about social hierarchies and women’s independence, which were pressing issues in the Victorian era (Comstock[2]), but these topics are never addressed. Irene is met with nothing but derision for her actions, being called a “wretch of wicked and wilful treachery” (180) by her son and implored by Oscar to “cast [her]self at the feet” (158) of her captor and apologize for betraying his love.

It is dicult to discern what Ros was trying to convey about the characters in Irene Iddesleigh because none are given Freytag’s “exciting force.” They do not have motivations of their own besides those that are dictated by the plot. For example, when

Irene and Oscar move to New York, the tutor squanders the money he acquired from selling his home in England. He gets a job at a public school to earn the money back, but eventually resigns due to his alcoholism (151). Oliver’s intemperance makes him abusive and he hits Irene (152). These behaviors were never hinted at in Oscar’s letters or earlier appearances. Rather than being “under the compulsion of some part of the action” (Freytag 267), he is made into a plot device. It is impossible for this narrative to make any observation about the human condition because the characters function as tools rather than an imitation of mankind. They cannot change; they can only bend to the plot’s will. This is an indication of the novel’s weak structure. Unlike what is illustrated in Freytag’s pyramid, there is no gradual incline towards a climax. Instead, Ros bombards the audience with several major events in rapid succession. As Irene is met with more tragedies, the probability and necessity of these events decreases, thus decreasing what Aristotle would call the “magnitude” of the story’s action (Aristotle 10). In sum, Irene Iddesleigh neglects the foundations of Aristotle and Freytag’s definitions of narrative, relying on a slough of hardships to convey emotion rather than storytelling.

Ros’s novels have also received substantial criticism for their ornate prose which “fails to convey clear thought” (Gorman and Mateer 82). This is due to the author’s excessive use of alliteration and conceptual metaphors. In the book’s opening paragraph, she writes:

Cast your sympathy on the chill waves of troubled waters; fling it on the oases of futurity; dash it against the rock of gossip; or, better still, allow it to remain within the false and faithless bosom of buried scorn. Such were a few remarks of Irene as she paced the beach of limited freedom, alone and unprotected. (Ros 9)

It is unclear what her comparison intends to communicate. Beaches are often vast, which makes them a strange choice to symbolize constraint. Furthermore, to be alone and unprotected implies that Irene does have freedom. If she is by herself, then there is nobody to stop her from doing as she chooses. Ros’s propensity for alliteration is made evident in this passage, especially with the line “false and faithless bosom of buried scorn.” While alliteration is a good tool for “creat[ing] some sort of emphasis” (Clark 56), it can be distracting when overused. Ros’s descriptions of common actions often contain the same flowery awkwardness. A character does not go to bed, she “put[s] herself in a position to guarantee slumber” (Ros 109); a man does not die, he “resign[s]” from his “worldly career” (155). While her writing is a testament to her broad vocabulary, Ros’s artistic choices only make her vague narrative more dicult to follow. A close reading of Irene Iddesleigh makes the complexities of “good” stories become more apparent. The reader can sense what components of Ros’s narrative are missing or lacking, making them aware of the structural precision present in all renowned writing. Therefore, the act of critiquing a weak text can instill an appreciation for literature as a skilled art.

HowThe Eye of Argon Compares

Although The Eye of Argon and Irene Iddesleigh were written for very dierent audiences, both received similar critiques and infamy, which calls attention to the universality of fiction’s implicit rules. The fantasy novelette does little to introduce its protagonist, Grignr the barbarian, his backstory, or any of the settings he travels through. The reader is given the names of locations like Gorzom and Crin (Theis 28), but no expository details are oered about these places. Likewise, all that readers are told about Grignr is that he is fleeing Crin after soldiers “were leashed upon him by a faithless concubine he had wooed” (28). He is given no depth as a character; he is violent and sex-crazed because that is who Theis writes him to be. Grignr gets into several physical altercations throughout the story, all of which he handles with ease. From “loping o the confused head of his senseless tormentor” (29) to murdering all of his shaman captors with a single ax (41), the reader is never given the opportunity to question whether Grignr will be strong enough to defeat a foe. The repetitive battles that occur throughout the story are characteristic of what Aristotle would describe as an episodic plot (Aristotle 12). He considered this kind of structure meandering, as the longer the sequence of events is extended, the less probable or necessary it becomes (12). Reading about how Grignr is always able to overcome the enemy parallels how Irene is constantly faced with tragic events; eventually, the reader can predict how such stories will proceed and stops caring.

Like Ros, Theis finds unique ways to describe common nouns. Blood becomes “crimson droplets of escaping life fluid” (Theis 27) and determination becomes “a store of renewed vortexed energy in [Grignr’s] overwrought soul” (35). However, what makes Theis’s writing style an object of ridicule is not his word choices, but their purposelessness. One is able to imagine blood; there is no reason to shroud the concept in mystery. By analyzing Theis’s turns of phrase, the reader gains an awareness of the eort that goes into producing vivid but also meaningful texts.

Conclusion

Irene Iddesleigh and The Eye of Argon have rightfully earned the negative criticism that they have received. Both fail to adhere to storytelling’s traditional form, which results in weak character development and an overreliance on ornate prose to engross the reader. However, engaging with these works at a scholarly level can be rewarding, since it brings about a deeper understanding of narrative form and a greater appreciation for authors who exhibit a mastery of storytelling. Irene Iddesleighand The Eye ofArgon function as anti-classics; they are iconic examples of how not to write which have the potential to shape literary history in their own way.