Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded (original 1740; edition 2009)

When I read classics, it's not all about just reading them. I'm also really trying to discover what's made them classics. I want to know why people like them so much. And I can usually figure something out; that's why I end up with so many five star reviews. But this? This piece of shit escapes me.

The first half is entertaining enough, as the vaguely-named Mr. B---- kidnaps a servant and tries to steal her titular virtue. There are dastardly schemes and narrow escapes, and he makes a good villain, as does the vile Mrs. Jewkes, his accomplice.

Around halfway through, as plots and threats have failed to pierce Pamela's iron hymen, he changes his strategy: the carrot instead of the stick, so to speak. And Richardson has laid enough clues to make us suspect the wolf can't change his ways, so there's some suspense as we wait to see what new depths he's sunk to, and whether Pamela will escape with her virtue intact. (Not that the title leaves us much in doubt.) But then...

nothing happens. It turns out he actually has changed his ways, and the last 300 pages of the book is nothing but them batting their eyes at each other. "Oh sir, you are so kind and pleasant, I shall never grow tired of you!" "But it's only your dear, sweet virtue, my beloved, that has made me into this paragon of spousely excellence!" "Oh, but it's only your excellence that makes me love you with such virtue!" "But if it weren't for your virtue, I fear I should never have become such a prince of love!" Leave aside the fact that his prior behavior has been so criminal that it's utterly impossible to feel anything but horror that she ends up marrying him; the bigger problem is how fucking tedious it is.

Don't misunderstand me here: nothing else happens. Nothing. That's it, on and on, for hundreds of awful pages. There are parts of Atlas Shrugged that are better than the latter half of this book. It sucks so hard, man. I'm so sad that I read it.

So why is Pamela on every list of 18th century British novels that's more than three books long? One theory is that I'm the peanut gallery and the book is good. Another is this: Richardson was a rich and influential printer, and he engineered a media blitz (this did happen); the result was such a blockbuster that future generations have just kept assuming the prior ones must have seen something in it. (Yes, that implies that your great-grandchildren will study Avatar in their History of American Cinema classes, despite Avatar being a fucking stupid movie.) All I can do is promise you that this vicious cycle ends with me.

Do not read this book. ( )

This volume ends with the writer's summary of which points each type of reader should have picked up from the main characters' trials and tribulations.
There is a second volume that I gather continues describing the new life Pamela finds in the course of this novel, but the introduction for this edition written in 1914 by George Saintsbury says: "He [Richardson] had better not have done it", so I think I'll leave well enough alone.
And to be honest, the first half of this first volume was much better than the second half.

The story starts out with a gripping plot, a fast pace, excellent writing. I flew through the pages, wanting more, more, more. These are the pages where all the drama is.
Some of the themes have a modern feel to their presentation.

Begin Spoiler:
Sexual harassment dynamics haven't changed over the centuries, that's clear. Pamela faces the same 'choices' any modern woman faces when the head of the company decides he likes her pretty face and won't take no for an answer.
The difference between modern woman and Pamela is that modern woman can press charges at the local police office whereas Pamela can't.
Help from her colleagues then? Nope. Some don't believe her, some look the other way, some say he didn't mean to do so, and some are on his side.

Pamela next finds herself Mr. B's captive in his second house. She is guarded by an evil Mrs. Jewkes. Mr. B. waits patiently at his Bedfordshire estate till Pamela gives in to his wishes.
At this point I believed Mr. B. to be something of a psychopath.
And was sure his patience wouldn't last long, which indeed it doesn't. He decides to pay a visit to hasten Pamela's downfall.

But lo and behold, the beast seems to have emotions, and turns kind and decent all of a sudden.
And even though Pamela refuses the very generous 'mistress contract', he continues to be so.
Pamela even starts to like him, which did not surprise me since she was after all set up perfectly to start suffering Stockholm Syndrome, and she is overjoyed when the squire finally proposes marriage for real.

The explanation given for the squire's bad behavior is that he was set no limits as a child, he was spoiled and never learned to brook refusal. Power corrupts then, unless your name is Pamela and you have had Mr. and Mrs. Andrews as your parents, teaching you the power of goodness and virtue.
End spoiler

The second half of the book is a beautiful study of goodness, virtue, remorse, redemption and how they may affect your day to day life. Also very nice, but not what a modern reader would expect as a nice climax to an exciting tale. ( )

Start to finish: badly-written, moralising drivel. If this book hadn’t been as influential as it had been, this would probably have received my lowest rating. It did however prove inspirational to many in its time. I’m sure the world is a better place for it. Absolutely.

Pamela is a woman who sincerely believes that the best way to resist emotional and sexual abuse from her employer, Mr B., is to believe the best about him. She seems oblivious to the fact that he is an unrepentant predator nor to the fact that by not removing herself from the situation, she contributes to both the cause and result of what must be, oh, three quarters of the novel.

But after being a despicable lecher for most of the book, he suddenly turns over a new leaf and she, dim girl, decides that this is satisfactory and ends up marrying him. They settle down happily and she begins to work on his acquaintances and friends, sorting their debased lives out as well through her pious example. And then, suddenly,

right at the end, just when you think things are going to continue in the same vein they have for over 300 pages, absolutely nothing happens.

Oh, dear. Now I’ve spoiled it for you.

I thought this was a poor book from beginning to end. At the very least, this is misguided rubbish by a man who had absolutely no idea what it was like to be a vulnerable female in a male-dominated society where women’s needs came slightly lower down the scale than those of the family dog. To suggest that women who found themselves subject to compromise from the likes of Mr B., could simply hold fast to their virtue and defeat evil is naive at best and downright dangerous at worst.

And it’s written in the most laborious and over-elaborate style conceivable. Things happen but the whole thing is so drawn out you feel like nothing does. It’s epistolary, which is an entirely pointless structure which I don’t think a single author has ever pulled off to their credit.

So, I’ve read it to save you the bother. Go and find an author who can write a moral tale without sermonising and leave Richardson for lit. buffs to analyse. ( )

Story time: in the second year of my undergraduate, I was assigned Richardson's Pamela and Milton's Paradise Lost around the same time. I surveyed Paradise Lost with more than a little skepticism; blank verse poetry, the not-so original story, a preface lasting fifty pages, and footnotes that consumed three-quarters of the page - a slog if I ever saw one. I quickly pushed it to the bottom of my reading pile, favouring the seemingly more accessible Pamela. After all, it presents as a proto class comedy, a potential comedy of manners, and certainly more engaging than the Fall of Man. How wrong preconceived notions can be. I count Paradise Lost among my favourite texts, and as for Pamela... not so much.

Full review: http://for-the-reading.blogspot.ca/2012/09/pamela-samuel-richardson.html

What better way to spend your time than reading the fictional letters of a self-pitying beacon of supposed morality that marries her potential rapist? Finishing this book made me feel like I had accomplished something massive. ( )