Castle Rackrent n/e (Oxford World's Classics)

Thady Quirk has lived on the estate of the Rackrent family all his life, and here sets out to tell the story of the four Rackrents who have owned the estate over that period. The introduction in my Oxford World’s Classic edition, by Kathryn J Kirkpatrick, is nearly a third as long as the entire novella, and tells us that “Castle Rackrent has gathered a dazzling array of firsts – the first regional novel, the first socio-historical novel, the first Irish novel, the first Big House novel, the first saga novel.” Whew! But the question is, is it good? And for me the answer is it’s rather underwhelming, not helped in truth by all these accolades and high-flown claims which set expectations too high.In fact, it is a rather slight novella, taking a humorous look at the Anglo-Irish Protestants who were given land in Ireland in order to subdue the Catholic natives, but then mismanaged it through incompetence or lack of interest. The Rackrent heirs show all the fecklessness of their class, and all the different weaknesses that lead them to gradually lose their fortune and control of their estates. Spendthrifts, gamblers, drunkards – the Rackrents have one thing in common; they do nothing to improve the estate, but expect it to provide enough income to pay for their vices. We see the evils of absentee landlordism and, of course, of rack-renting – demanding extortionate rents from tenants on threat of eviction. And we see the slow downfall of the family, helped along by the manipulations of Thady’s wily son, who rises to be the estate manager and in time to help the Rackrent dynasty come to its end.It’s written in a form of dialect but clearly aimed at an English readership as much as Irish, so not at all difficult to read. Edgeworth has included what she calls a glossary to explain some terms and traditions which may be unfamiliar to English readers. These take the form of explanatory notes, and are interesting and quite fun, containing some anecdotes to illustrate points she raises in the novella itself.A mildly entertaining read, then, but I feel its fame is probably mostly for all those “firsts” and for the academic analysis of what the story has to say about the period. As you can probably tell from this lacklustre review, it didn’t inspire me to lavish either praise or scorn – a couple of weeks after reading it, it has faded almost completely away.

Having read most of the acknowledged masterpieces of Eng Lit I am now turning my attention to the ones that didn't quite make it. I have so far been very pleased with Peacock and Meredith, less so with Ford Maddox Ford but in all these cases I can see why they are not quite the "first rank". So it is with Edgeworth, at least in this, her most celebrated novel - though I shall go on to look at Helen at least which seems more relevant to modern experience. However, Castle Rackrent is at least a highly enjoyable read - though getting into the idiom and pace took a few pages. Her use of Thady as an unreliable narrator is ahead of her time and achieved more skilfully and less pretentiously than Ford who is now much praised as if he had invented the technique: Swift for one had already used it in Gulliver's Travels, and Defoe's Moll Flanders is another successful example. But Edgeworth also does it well and achieves a portrait that is no mere stereotype. One is even a little unsure whether he perceives what his son is up to (as the reader probably catches on early) and is merely hiding behind his habit of servile self-effacement or whether he really is as naive as his narrative suggests. Another strong feature of the novel is the sense of voice - "she" (or is it he?) really does talk to us in a convincing Irish lilt far removed from 18th Century standard English: like D.H. Lawrence she can capture the authentic rhythms of natural speech at a time when most writers are restricted to a kind of literary strait-jacket or theatrical imitation. The characters we meet are lively and well imagined but there is little plot - it is more or less two short stories with certain similarities - and the number of characters involved is more limited than the potential social canvas requires. As for psychological depth or penetration beneath the surface - we must look elsewhere. Although the general level of expression is of high quality, there are few passages one would want to re-visit or extract - another feature which separates it from the greatest writers. Even so, within its limits this is an engaging read which should appeal to those who take delight in Austen or Fielding, and its brevity might recommend it to those who shy away from longer works.