Book Look: Lady Audley's Secret, by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

This isn’t by any means the most sensational of Braddon’s novels (her Trail of the Serpent, for instance, is much more infused with blood, menace, and general gothic yumminess) but it delivers plenty of entertainment for all that, while simultaneously managing to be a lot more thought-provoking.

Lady Audley’s “secret” is actually pretty tame by today’s standards, and is revealed early in the novel. The rest of the chapters then focus on how protecting her secret drives her to increasingly more sensational extremes, and the process by which her crimes are gradually revealed through a combination of investigation, coincidence, and plain bad luck. The “detective” of the piece is Lord Audley's nephew, a likeable but unapologetically lazy fellow who, over the course of the investigation, gradually becomes more decisive, proactive, and ambitious, a progression that readers of Braddon’s day would have found highly morally satisfying. The supporting cast includes a feisty cousin, a pair of scheming servants, smitten lovers, mad mothers, rascally husbands, and unprincipled fathers; the ambiance incorporates such satisfyingly gothic tropes as seedy inns, overgrown gardens, candlelit manor houses, and ominously unattended wells.

But Lady Audley is the true sensation of the story – the one non-stereotype among this host of sensational-fiction prerequisites. She’s beautiful, kind, and loving – but also sensual, greedy, scheming, and incredibly quick-witted … In other words, pretty much totally unlike any fictional female protagonist of the day. Her crimes, moreover, are relatively more manly (greed, self-preservation) than womanly (passion). It’s as if Braddon has deliberately set out to challenge the Victorian notion of women as either angels or whores by creating a villainess who possesses the qualities of both, and then posing the question: how do you appropriately judge and punish a woman whose crimes might be considered – if not justifiable – then at least understandable, predictable, if they were committed by a man?

In its original form, this was published as a serial, with new chapters released over time. This likely accounts for the structure of the tale, in which initial chapters stuffed with scandal and innuendo (designed to hook the reader) are followed by more meandering chapters in which the main investigation shares screen time with subplots involving blackmail and romance (designed to sustain interest), culminating in a denouement designed to deliver closure and satisfaction to the tale’s loyal readers. Except that “satisfactory” is a relative term in this instance, because Victorian literature doesn’t extend so far as suggesting “appropriate” consequences for a woman of Lady Audley’s innovations. Braddon’s solution at once challenges Victorian gender norms – especially the conventions that regard women as possessions, associate beauty with goodness, and hold women accountable to impossible standards of virtue and self-sacrifice - while simultaneously acknowledging the period’s legal and moral constraints.

In summary - if you're looking for over-the-top gothic horror, you may wish to give this a pass; but if you don't mind your sensational stories leavened by a bit of social commentary and seasoned with a generous measure of deliciously sly wit, then you've come to the right place.