Moll Flanders

Moll Flanders is a 1722 novel by Daniel Defoe. In my History of the Brit Lit 18th Century (the LONG 18th Century – and don’t ask for the formal name of the class, I forgot, I’m tired, and I’m not looking it up), we spent last week (3 hours) and this week (3 hours) going over various developments of the novel. The pace of the class is fun, the professor could talk for days without losing her voice, and the class discussions are wacky, but lively.

Last week a woman in class noted that Moll’s first sexual experience was the equivalent to rape. She went on to note that women who are raped may even experience multiple orgasms. The class was shocked into silence for about 5 seconds. The professor asked if the woman would like to repeat or clarify, but the woman meant what she said. (This is the part where you wonder if I said anything. Of course I did.) I asked where, in the text, did it say anything about rape – the way the encounter was described, the female protagonist most certainly did not refuse or turn down the advances, and even narrated that she enjoyed herself. The woman was flustered and kept repeating “but I know it was rape, or why else would she end up being a prostitute” and at this point I was uncomfortable – the whole class was squirming. The professor, to her credit, reeled in the class and lectured about critical analysis and being careful to discuss those elements that were within the text, not nuances or theory that could not be tied back to or that contradict the evidence of the text.

Tonight, another student asked whether one part of the story was a moral challenge to either the writer or the reader or both, and the aforementioned woman said that the specific passage was about the need for family and love. The professor, nonplussed, turned it around and asked her where in the text would it support her assertion. The woman made a two minute (it felt like ages) impassioned plea about the woes of the world befalling all sinners who forsake love and family. I made eye contact with another student across the room, a woman who is a little older than I, and I raised an eyebrow. She grinned, raised an eyebrow then raised her hand to talk into the silence.

She turned in her seat and looked at the first woman and said, with a sweet smile, that it was poor judgment to project any societal or moral norm on a different time and place, but even worse to do so with a fictional work that very clearly was challenging readers on the very ideas of morality and social norms. She said, “I didn’t see anything in the text about this woman wanting love or family. What I saw was a woman who was a slut, a prostitute, a bigamist, and a thief who overcomes all odds to do exactly what she wants to do, public opinion be damned.” The other woman huffed and puffed, but she was quiet until the end of class when she stopped everyone with a very loud announcement about the upcoming anti-war gatherings and parades for Darfur.

These kinds of discussions make the insanity of work look sort of plain, dontcha think? That was my night. How about yours?