Almost necessary

Some while back, attempting to review Twilight, I said that Stephenie Meyer reminded me of Ann Radcliffe, but that Radcliffe was by far the superior writer. Many years ago, when I was reading everything mentioned in Lovecraft's essay 'Supernatural Horror in Literature', I attempted Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho and got perhaps a third of the way through. I had wanted to finish it, but perhaps I had moved house, or some other change had marked a break in my life – I can't remember – and I never got round to it. Some years later, closer to the present, I think, than to my initial encounter with Radcliffe, I read The Romance of the Forest, which I enjoyed and completed. I have finally got round recently to another attempt at The Mysteries of Udolpho. I feel that, by today's standards, Radcliffe may be an 'acquired taste', but, if so, she is one that I am very much on my way to acquiring.

I've heard people talk about enjoying films mainly for the costumes or other considerations that most viewers would consider secondary. I think my enjoyment of Radcliffe is, to an extent, similar. I like the density of prose combined with the leisurely pace – this is 672 pages of text in a small typeface. The long sentences, with their formality of phrase and archaic punctuation, are an experience like riding in one of the horse-drawn coaches that so often convey the characters in Radcliffe's tales from one scenic locale to another.

The following passage comes after one M. St. Aubert has lost his wife and is preparing to go on a journey, to take the air of warmer climes for the good of his health. Emily is his daughter, and the novel's heroine:

For some days Emily was occupied in preparations to attend him; and he, by endeavours to diminish his expences at home during the journey — a purpose which determined him at length to dismiss his domestics. Emily seldom opposed her father's wishes by questions or remonstrances, or she would now have asked why he did not take a servant, and have represented that his infirm health made one almost necessary. But when, on the eve of their departure, she found that he had dismissed Jacques, Francis, and Mary, and detained only Theresa the old housekeeper, she was extremely surprised, and ventured to ask his reason for having done so. 'To save expences, my dear,' he replied — 'we are going on an expensive excursion.'

This may seem a non-descript passage, though its preoccupation with saving money, in keeping with other themes of moderation and temperance in the book, is interesting, and perhaps representative of very middle-class values. What I found most wonderful about this passage, however, was simply the phrase "almost necessary". Let's put this in context. St. Aubert has recently been at death's door. He is intending to travel through mountainous country in a horse-, no, a mule-drawn vehicle. Perhaps "take a servant" here means only hire an extra servant, but, in any case, the characters are at the eve of the journey, St. Aubert is perhaps mortally ill, and a servant is "almost necessary". Gothic literature is associated with bombast and hyperbole, but there's no hyperbole in this phrase. Radcliffe is using words with respect for the precision of their meaning. St. Aubert will probably just about manage without a servant, though perhaps not, therefore "almost necessary". In today's terms, as long as we bring with us the idea of servants being taken for granted, it would have been "absolutely necessary", "entirely necessary" or, "like, sooooo necessary". The difference in linguistic values is entwined with a difference in social and ethical values. One passage that illustrates the older, eighteenth century values very strikingly is that in which St. Aubert is consoling Emily for the death of her mother:

When the service was ended, and the servants were withdrawn, he tenderly kissed Emily, and said, 'I have endeavoured to teach you, from your earliest youth, the duty of self-command; I have pointed out to you the great importance of it through life, not only as it preserves us in the various and dangerous temptations that call us from rectitude and virtue, but as it limits the indulgences which are termed virtuous, yet which, extended beyond a certain boundary, are vicious, for their consequence is evil. All excess is vicious; even that sorrow, which is amiable in its origin, becomes a selfish and unjust passion, if indulged at the expence of our duties — by our duties I mean what we owe to ourselves, as well as to others. The indulgence of excessive grief enervates the mind, and almost incapacitates it for again partaking of those various innocent enjoyments which a benevolent God designed to be the sun-shine of our lives. My dear Emily, recollect and practise the precepts I have so often given you, and which your own experience has so often shewn you to be wise.

I have to say, I find there to be something admirable about this. I would very much like Bella Swan's feckless father to grow a spine and speak to his daughter in such a manner, after discovering that, in order to convince herself that she's not dull and ordinary, she's been 'making out' with a vampire. I rather fear, though, that Bella would simply say, "Whatever!" and pout her way huffily from the room, rushing soon again to the arms of Edward Cullen and to demand he give her another hicky.

But to return to "almost necessary" – such usage of language actually gives words power. The word 'necessary' here is affirmed in the strength it has by the suggestion we have not yet reached the fullness of its meaning – affirmed in that steely strength that one discovers in it when one remembers that it also means 'inevitable'. On the other hand, phrases like "absolutely necessary" leech that strength from the word. They are like the threats of a parent who never carries out the discipline she threatens. How many other words have been leeched of their strength and meaning by modern, hyperbolic usage? I would suggest, a great many.

Here's another interesting indicator of the difference in usage. Consider where the stress lies in the two phrases, "almost necessary" (as used in the quoted passage), and "absolutely necessary". In the former, the stress is most definitely on the word 'necessary', because that's where the meaning is. In the latter, the stress is on "absolutely". And there the stress flounders, helplessly, on this adverb, on this penultimate.