This is the granddaddy of English Gothic
novels, set in Spain in the era of the Inquisitions, and tremendously
influential on Decadent-Romantic literature and everyone from Byron to Poe. It was also hugely popular among general
readers. It wasn’t literary artistry
that people responded to, though; it was The
Monk’s relentlessly heady tone and its mix of lurid elements involving the
erotic, the subversive, and the blasphemous.
The notion that humanity is hopelessly at the mercy of forces both
natural and supernatural would have a huge influence on Romanticism and, later,
the Surrealists. The doomed hero of the
book is Father Ambrosio, an idealistic, eloquent and handsome young priest whose
weekly sermons draw great crowds of admirers.
He is oblivious, of course, to the fact that he is not necessarily just
an effective instrument in God’s hands, and that his flock is mostly comprised
of repressed women who swoon at his mellifluous voice and boyish good
looks. One day his eye is caught by a
quiet but striking novice named Rosario, whose beauty is so alarming to
Ambrosio that, after very brief moral qualms, he falls madly in love, making
the boy his apprentice and constant companion.
It is only when Ambrosio is on the verge of seducing Rosario that the
boy unveils himself fully and reveals that he is really a girl, Matilda, who
disguised herself in order to gain entry into the abbey. The fact that the boy is now a girl does
nothing to dampen Ambrosio’s lust and they begin a mad and potentially
scandalous affair. In time, Ambrosio’s
ethics dwindle to nothing as he becomes Matilda’s slave and she becomes the
puppet-master of his evil deeds, which he must resort to in order to preserve
his reputation. There are several other
plots connected to the story too, but I found the business about the priest’s
corruption most fascinating. The
supernatural stuff is a little hard to take, and seems strangely unnecessary in
a tale so filled with purely mortal wickedness.
Equally, the divine punishment in the novel’s deus ex machina climax is just as out of place as it is in Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, a bow to social
demands of the day. Interestingly, when
Luis Buñuel co-wrote a screen adaptation of The
Monk, he discarded the ending entirely in favor of one much more
appropriate though no less outrageous.
Instead of Ambrosio lying broken-bodied on a pile of rocks while being
picked at by birds, Buñuel has him rewarded by being elected Pope.
No comments:
Post a Comment