Here's a novel about a young English woman (Cecilia, of course) whose parents and uncle have all died, leaving her a considerable fortune and three – count them, three – guardians. She moves to London to stay with one of those guardians until she comes of age in a few months. While getting accustomed to London life, any number of men approach her intent on marrying her, either because of her beauty or her money, or both. Sound familiar? A great many novels of the mid-18th century, like this one, deal with many of the same issues. What, if anything, sets “Cecilia” apart from those books?
For one thing, of course, unlike most novels of that age, the author of “Cecilia” is a woman. Apart from that, this novel is not very different from other novels of the time. Which only goes to show that male and female authors are not all that distinct, at least not here.
It may very well be that I'm missing something critical about “Cecilia”. It's true, for instance, that Fanny Burney goes through her description of Cecilia Beverley in such a way as to show her impatience (not to say downright anger) at the fact that the men in the character's life, even or especially the ones who want to marry her, will not listen to a word she says. She is as plain as can be with most of them that she has no interest in them – as plain, that is, as she can be without being downright rude, which demonstrates her superiority over them in terms of civility and good behavior – but this only manages to provoke in them a certainty that she wants to marry them too. Even some of those men's mothers are convinced, based on circumstantial evidence at best, that she's throwing herself at their sons.
Well, this was an 18th century English novel, so you know what happens – Cecelia meets and falls in love with a young gentleman, and her relationship is disturbed by a number of domestic difficulties before it gets back on track. The biggest difference I can see between this work and a hundred similar stories from that age (and most subsequent ages) is that Cecilia's relationship difficulties arise mostly from the particular circumstances surrounding her choice, rather than from any genuine foe of hers, from social rules, or from sheer bad luck. For instance, under the terms of her uncle's will, if Cecilia marries and takes her husband's name (as was typical of the time, and for that matter still is), her entire fortune goes to someone else. To prevent that, her husband will have to take her name instead. Which might not cause too much trouble, since a good many men would doubtless be overjoyed to give up their name in exchange for that much money. Unfortunately for Cecilia and her sweetheart, he is the son of a father who thinks of his ancestry as so almighty that he can barely bring himself to speak to a person of a lower social class. So he absolutely forbids his son to have anything to do with Cecilia. What follows you can guess.
In addition, although “Cecilia” is a romance of sorts, Cecilia herself encounters difficulties of a variety of non-romantic kinds. Although her uncle provided three guardians for her in his will, whom he doubtless trusted to care for her and her fortune, she quickly finds them pretty useless. They believe, of course, that she is in desperate need of their advice and support, but they are mistaken; the first is so addicted to gambling and great display that he's constantly trying to borrow money from her on pain of his immediate suicide, the second can barely bring himself to speak to her politely because he considers his ancestry way beyond the need to be civil to anyone at all, and the third is so dedicated to increasing and managing his wealth that she begins to wonder if he intends to steal her inheritance away before she comes of age.
What this all boils down to is that Cecilia's relatives and acquaintances provide her with no decent friends or advisors. As morally upright and intelligent as she is (and “Cecilia” shares with a number of other novels of the time the unfortunate fact that the heroine is so virtuous she's practically boring), she's still a young woman from the country trying to maneuver her way through London society on her own. Sounds pretty grim, and a lot of it is just that. The novel has enough comedy, especially in its first half, to render it pleasant to read; most of the comedy comes from the fact that the people Cecilia encounters are pretty ridiculous, and the more seriously they take themselves, the more absurd they are.
Now, as I've said (several times), this is an 18th century English novel, so whether it concludes happily or not, I'll once again leave you to guess. In truth, I can't find much to distinguish “Cecilia” from other English novels of the age. Perhaps I was expecting something out of the ordinary just because the author is a woman. That's not really fair of me, I admit, so I'll just leave that point alone and encourage you to read and enjoy it. Maybe that's the major point to make; there's nothing about Fanny Burney's gender that determines anything about the quality of her work.
Benshlomo says, There may be novels out there that only a woman could have written, but this isn't one of them.
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