Lady Audley's Secret

Once again, I have eschewed the more modern books in my alarmingly large “to be read” pile, for one of my favourite genres - Victorian sensationalism. Lady Audley’s Secret, by Mary E. Braddon, a consistently successful and popular writer in the nineteenth century (although she has fallen now into relative obscurity), was written notoriously quickly - the last volume in less than a fortnight. The speed at which it was penned seems to shine through the words, not through carelessness, but through the spark and wit and sharpness of the developing plot.

As much as I adore Victorian writing, I cannot deny that some works can have tedious sections, to say the least, and it becomes something of an effort to carry on reading. One needs frequent breaks to gaze out of the window, or to get up and make tea. This particular novel is quite the opposite – I was utterly enthralled, the scenes outside remained unobserved, and the tea pitifully unmade. I found it hugely enjoyable and easy to read, without feeling patronised or that I was reading something overly frivolous. There is heartache and anguish, but it never roams into the depressing. There is mystery and secrecy but no tiresome confusion. There is scandal and disgrace, but a satisfactory conclusion. In the true Victorian style, the wrongdoers get their comeuppance and the heroes their rewards. In the modern world, there seems to be a growing tendency to have deliberately ambiguous endings (the final scene of the astoundingly good film ‘Inception’, which I went to see last night, is testimony to that) but I admire the Victorians (at least, the majority of Victorians – there are still a few devils who delight in thwarting the reader’s anticipation of closure – Thomas Hardy, to name and shame!) for usually giving a proper ending. It could be good, it could be bad, but that is that.

Lady Audley’s Secret centres around Robert Audley, a foppish but decent sort of chap, intent on uncovering the circumstances of his close friend’s sudden disappearance. Of course, the novel also features the charming Lady Audley herself. She is beautiful in a pale, listless sort of way, with plenty of descriptions of her “showering flaxen curls” and “soft and melting blue eyes”, not to mention her “slender throat and drooping head” – the very model of Victorian perfection. I speak entirely without bitterness (and as someone with dark brown hair and a tanned freckly complexion – I would probably have been described as swarthy, sallow - and possibly degenerate and/or masculine - in a Victorian novel!) but I see absolutely NO attraction in these depictions! Everything about our heroine speaks of feebleness – she is constantly described as “childish”, both in appearance and attitude. However, this makes her secret – whatever that might be – all the more shocking. Braddon constructs Lady Audley’s character, and the readers’ opinion of her very carefully indeed. What begins as a girlish, delightful young lady soon changes into a calculating, almost menacing presence as the reader comes closer and closer to discovering her real nature. The back of my copy of this novel declares that it “uncovers the truth about its heroine in a plot involving bigamy, arson and murder.” That, I am afraid, is about as much information as I am prepared to reveal. Any more would spoil it for you.

As Victorian novels go, this is a fairly short one, and, as previously mentioned, one that is very easy to read. It is fast-paced and very funny in parts, Braddon having a clever grasp of words and storyline. If you’d like, therefore, a gentle introduction to the joys of sensationalism (and if Wilkie Collins seems a step too far), then this is perfect for you. Bigamy, arson, murder – what’s not to like?