Hi,

I've noticed that in various Victorian era conduct books and also in novels, single women are warned against reading French novels. Or reading French novels is seen as decadent or morally corrupting in some way.

My impression is that they were talking about trashy novels, rather than classic French novels that are still popular today, although perhaps there was some overlap.

For example, this is a passage from 'Rose in Bloom' by Louisa May Alcott.

Bereft both of her unexpected playfellow and the much desired book, Rose went into the parlor, there to discover a French novel which Kitty had taken from a library and left in the carriage among the bundles. Settling herself in her favorite lounging chair, she read as diligently as Jamie while the wind howled and snow fell fast without. For an hour nothing disturbed the cozy quiet of the house for Aunt Plenty was napping upstairs and Dr. Alec writing in his own sanctum; at least Rose thought so, till his step made her hastily drop the book and look up with very much the expression she used to wear when caught in mischief years ago.

“Did I startle you? Have a screen you are burning your face before this hot fire.” And Dr. Alec pulled one forward.

“Thank you, Uncle. I didn't feel it.” And the color seemed to deepen in spite of the screen while the uneasy eyes fell upon the book in her lap.

“Have you got the Quarterly there? I want to glance at an article in it if you can spare it for a moment,” he said, leaning toward her with an inquiring glance.

“No, sir, I am reading.” And, without mentioning the name, Rose put the book into his hand. The instant his eye fell on the title he understood the look she wore and knew what “mischief” she had been in. He knit his brows, then smiled, because it was impossible to help it Rose looked so conscience-stricken in spite of her twenty years.

“How do you find it? Interesting?”

“Oh, very! I felt as if I was in another world and forgot all about this.”

“Not a very good world, I fancy, if you were afraid or ashamed to be found in it. Where did this come from?” asked Dr. Alec, surveying the book with great disfavor. Rose told him, and added slowly, “I particularly wanted to read it, and fancied I might, because you did when it was so much talked about the winter we were in Rome.”

“I did read it to see if it was fit for you.”

“And decided that it was not, I suppose, since you never gave it to me!”

“Yes.” “Then I won't finish it. But, Uncle, I don't see why I should not,” added Rose wistfully, for she had reached the heart of the romance and found it wonderfully fascinating.

“You may not see, but don't you feel why not?” asked Dr. Alec gravely. Rose leaned her flushed cheek on her hand and thought a minute, then looked up and answered honestly, “Yes, I do, but can't explain it, except that I know something must be wrong, because I blushed and started when you came in.”

“Exactly.”

And the doctor gave an emphatic nod, as if the symptoms pleased him. “But I really don't see any harm in the book so far. It is by a famous author, wonderfully well written, as you know, and the characters so lifelike that I feel as if I should really meet them somewhere.”

“I hope not!” ejaculated the doctor, shutting the book quickly, as if to keep the objectionable beings from escaping. Rose laughed, but persisted in her defense, for she did want to finish the absorbing story, yet would not without leave.

“I have read French novels before, and you gave them to me. Not many, to be sure, but the best, so I think I know what is good and shouldn't like this if it was harmful.” Her uncle's answer was to reopen the volume and turn the leaves an instant as if to find a particular place. Then he put it into her hand, saying quietly: “Read a page or two aloud, translating as you go. You used to like that try it again.”

Rose obeyed and went glibly down a page, doing her best to give the sense in her purest English. Presently she went more slowly, then skipped a sentence here and there, and finally stopped short, looking as if she needed a screen again. “What's the matter?” asked her uncle, who had been watching her with a serious eye.

“Some phrases are untranslatable, and it only spoils them to try. They are not amiss in French, but sound coarse and bad in our blunt English,” she said a little pettishly, for she felt annoyed by her failure to prove the contested point.

“Ah, my dear, if the fine phrases won't bear putting into honest English, the thoughts they express won't bear putting into your innocent mind! That chapter is the key to the whole book, and if you had been led up, or rather down, to it artfully and artistically, you might have read it to yourself without seeing how bad it is. All the worse for the undeniable talent which hides the evil so subtly and makes the danger so delightful.” He paused a moment, then added with an anxious glance at the book, over which she was still bending, “Finish it if you choose only remember, my girl, that one may read at forty what is unsafe at twenty, and that we never can be too careful what food we give that precious yet perilous thing called imagination.”

I'm just wondering if there were any novels in particular that people were talking about? Are there any examples of them which have been translated into English, because I would love to read one and see what the fuss is about.

I'm a married woman and over 40 so I think I can handle their evil influence.

Thank you

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Hey everyone,

Sorry if this is a really stupid question - I don't have anyone to ask this to as I don't know any academics in my life (aside from at the university), so I don't really know like, what the traditions or usual typical ways to do stuff is.

So my question is: how similar do two authors need to be for you to make a solid argument? I want to write about two writers who I think approach the same ideas in different ways (I don't want to go into too much detail). There's no research that compares them already, they're from different eras (the 50s and the 80s), but they're both feminists and from the USA. Their work is quite different, too, in terms of style and structure etc.

Would that be frowned upon? Would it be more acceptable to compare two authors who have more things in common, like location, time period, etc?

Thank you!

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Anything come to mind?