The Function of the Masculine Voice in Northanger Abbey

Though feminist literary critics have just recently begun to theorize the existence of—and conflict between—“male” and “female” authorial voices, Jane Austen’s oeuvre serves as proof that the male voice had existed, and had perfected the art of “mansplaining,” before the birth of feminism itself. Having grown up with a church leader for a father and six brothers, several of whom joined the navy, it comes as no surprise that Austen so faithfully depicts in her work the condescending, pompous, distinctively masculine voice with which men tended to speak to women—even, at times, in the dialogue of her otherwise-swoonworthy love interests. Her fidelity to this tendency raises a question: Is Austen satirizing the toxic masculinity she faces in her life, or is the patriarchy so ingrained in social hegemony that her male characters collectively take on its voice? Further, from a feminist-critical perspective, does Northanger Abbey work to rebel against the straight, white, male literary canon, or does Austen merely embody this masculine voice to coalesce with that canon? Examining the behavior and voices of two significant male characters in Northanger Abbey—John Thorpe and General Tilney—reveals Austen’s insertion of such a strong masculine voice in her work as stemming from the strict Anglican-patriarchal sovereignty of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century England—yet, paradoxically, functioning to rebel against those values.

To begin with, John Thorpe’s voice is perhaps the loudest, most garrulous in Northanger Abbey, and it is obnoxiously masculine, but it works most prominently to highlight Catherine’s comparative silence as symbolic of the lack of women’s right to consent. The juxtaposition between John’s voracity and Catherine’s lack thereof is most evident when John coerces Catherine into riding alone with him in an open carriage, putting her at risk of scandal and a damaged image. He deceives her into believing that the Tilneys, with whom she had prior plans, had left town; he persuades her with the prospect of seeing Blaize Castle, ostensibly “the finest place in England” with “towers and long galleries” (97-98), using Catherine’s fascination by the Gothic against her. This manipulation in itself, especially of a young, naive, docile Catherine, speaks to the power dynamic between the two; by refusing to take her “no” for an answer, John forces Catherine to submit to his wishes.

Further, when Catherine learns that the Tilneys had not left, and in fact did intend to adhere to their plans, John’s behavior toward her plainly exhibits Catherine’s lack of autonomy in his presence: “‘Pray, pray stop, Mr. Thorpe. I cannot go on. I will not go on. I must go back to Miss Tilney.’ But Mr. Thorpe only laughed, smacked his whip…and drove on” (101). Not only does John completely ignore Catherine’s pleas, he laughs at her and exactly opposes her requests. He needs not utter a single word to indicate that her words are powerless against him. Not once in this interaction between the two, nor in several others, does Catherine fully consent to anything she is made to do. The implications of this scene can be applied to issues of greater import than being simply forced to take an unwanted trip; Catherine’s lack of the right to consent is representative of that of every eighteenth-century English woman: she who cannot consent to whom she marries, how her husband spends her money, or how he uses her body. Austen portrays this difficult truth of life as a woman in order to protest against it. Catherine gains autonomy only when she stands up for herself against further entreaties from John, with the words, “I cannot submit to this.…Let me go, Mr. Thorpe” (118-119) and finally silences him, silences the male dominion over women’s rights.

As an additional example, General Tilney’s strict and extreme control over his children is a manifestation of Austen’s disdain for the English marriage model and its inseparable entanglement with politics and economics—all of which were (and continue to be) male-centered institutions that deliberately excluded and subjugated women. The general utters few words in the novel, but his voice is omnipresent throughout. The Tilney siblings’ certainty that the general would “oppose the connection” between Frederick and Isabella due solely to her “want of consequence and fortune…independent of the objection that might be raised against her character” (252) exemplifies the strength of General Tilney’s patriarchal influence. There is an unspoken understanding that each of his children’s marriage decisions will be made by him alone, with no regard for the happiness of his children, and under one condition: that any prospective partner must have sufficient income and social class.

As such, General Tilney allows his son to consider Catherine for marriage only “under a mistaken persuasion of her possessions and claims,” having believed, led astray by an overstatement on the part of John Thorpe, that Catherine’s family made twice as much as they did (298). Then, sore from Catherine’s rejection, John retracts his statement to the general, grossly understating Catherine’s wealth. General Tilney thus ceases to regard her as valuable, and immediately turns her out of the house—an act of egregious disrespect and endangerment to Catherine (272). In allowing her heroine to be so humiliatingly spurned by the patriarch, Austen seems to reinforce the social standards that allow men to oppress women. However, Henry proceeds to defy his father for the first time in the story—and likely in his life—when he “steadily [declares] his intention of offering [Catherine] his hand” and promptly sets off to Fullerton to do just that (303). It is with Henry’s rebellion against his father, and consequent marriage for love rather than for money, that Austen silences the patriarchal voice and condemns its power.

In concluding these points, Catherine finally succeeds in becoming the “heroine” of her story: she wins the love of her “hero,” Henry, she defeats the “monsters,” John Thorpe and General Tilney, and, most importantly, she matures out of her need to be the “heroine” in the first place, despite the condescension she receives from the men in her life. Or, perhaps, she does so because she faces maltreatment from that collective masculine voice; if not given the chance, if not given the need to fight for her rights of consent and autonomy, Catherine would not have, in her way, won those rights. In writing the tyrannical male into Catherine’s story, Austen is not just reflecting the plight of women that she witnesses herself, but also displaying the ways in which other women readers—other Catherines—can and should rise against that plight. The narrator’s last address to her audience reads as such: “I leave it to be settled, by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience” (308). In saying such, Austen acknowledges the paradoxical messaging of Northanger Abbey and urges her women readers to recognize the hidden meaning, the call to action that she could not state in obvious terms: to raise their feminine voices, to drown out the masculine with their own.

Work Cited

Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey. London, John Murray, 1817, https://ia601608.us.archive.org/23/items/northangerabbey00austrich/northangerabbey00austrich.pdf.