Owen Jones: The Woman in White Review

The Woman in White Review

The Woman in White is a work of crime-fiction written by Wilkie Collins in 1859 and is an early example of a ‘sensation’ novel. It is set almost entirely in Britain at a time loosely contemporaneous with the time of writing. The story revolves around Walter Hartright, a young watercolour drawer and tutor who through a combination of accident and love becomes embroiled in a far reaching criminal conspiracy, which, compelled by strong motives, he attempts to unveil.
                The form of the novel is perhaps its most interesting and most novel aspect. The narrative is related by several different narrators, some of whom are directly involved in the criminal activity themselves.  Walter is the primary narrator; his reason for writing the narrative is to provide comprehensive evidence for the central crime of the story and to attain this he requires the perspectives of other characters. This unique and experimental form is sometimes a double edged sword and can be considered the reason for both the novel’s greatest successes and most critical flaws. Importantly, it allows Collins to demonstrate considerable skill as a writer: he voices each character convincingly and distinctly, fluctuating between styles from the elevated and grandiloquent, to the humble and dialectal. This variety ensures that the novel is rarely monotonous owing especially to those characters, such as Frederick Fairlie, whose voices could never work in a larger narrative but which in shorter ones work fantastically well. Changes in perspective often come in tandem with changes of setting and leaps (both forward and backward) in time. The outcome is possibly Collins’ greatest accomplishment in the novel, which is to find a completely innovative way of presenting narrative: the reader doesn’t really experience the story linearly, but rather as a larger more amorphous collection of events, from which order is gradually formed. To excuse the cliché, it really does feel like assembling a jig-saw- an effect which in crime fiction can only be applauded.
                Typically, writing in the first person can present an opportunity for the author to engage more emotionally with their characters. Unfortunately, this is not so much a wasted opportunity for Collins as it is one he should never have attempted- and he certainly does attempt it. This is not to say that deeply emotional writing is in anyway not laudable, but rather that it is at odds with sensational writing. Sensational writing should produce a visceral reaction in the reader, and not one of moral uneasiness. In encouraging us to often think about the consequences of crime, specifically for the victims, Collin’s prevents us from possessing the neutrality required to revel in the glamour and solving of it. When emotion is included in sensation fiction it should only be to provide motive or to move forward the plot; most importantly it should be viewed from a distance. So instead of an emotional/moral story that shows us something about the world and the human condition, or a sensational story that intrigues and excites us, we have a discordant mix of the two, with both elements interfering with, and somewhat spoiling, one-another.
                With regard to characterisation, the novel mostly excels. Regrettably Walter is a fairly non-descript character and the object of his love, Laura Fairlie, is only more so. This is frustrating as they occupy such central roles and Walter indeed narrates probably over half of the novel. This isn’t fatal as what actually happens when he narrates is quite interesting and his narrative voice is at least functional if not inspired. Fortunately, these are isolated cases and characters such as Marian Halcombe and Count Fosco are far more prominently and effectively characterised. Marian is a triumph of internal characterisation whereas the count is a triumph of external characterisation. Marian is a sympathetic character- the reader is made familiar with her hopes, affections, opinions and fears; she is also unorthodox and because of this, fascinating; she overshadows Walter, who performs a similar role, and becomes a perfect window to view events and people through. The count, conversely, is the perfect object to through view that window; he is understood in purely superficial terms; his appearance, his mannerisms and his actions are described vividly, but we know very little about his innermost thoughts. Because of this there is always an aura of mystique surrounding the Count and he can become larger than life in a way which is thoroughly believable. He is at once charming and repulsive, friendly and terrifying. Collins only furthers this success when it becomes time for the Count’s own narrative; the Count protects his interiority with rhetoric and a self-awareness of his own legend; the only time he exposes himself is to show admiration for Marian- which acts as a sole and unnerving glimpse into a dark and incomprehensible self.
                Overall the novel is well written but sporadic. It is occasionally brilliant; its characterisation is often superb and its method of storytelling is well paced and original. But as the eponymous woman in white begins to be reduced to a mere footnote and so too does the more international side of Fosco’s story, Collins’ focus appears more and more misguided. It seems that even in a novel that contains so much welcome unfamiliarity as The Woman in White, familiarity can be all too relied upon.