Swinburne, Algernon - Lesbia Brandon
A messy novel, and an exasperating read.
Unpublished for being deemed pornographic, what remains appears fragmentary a rough draft.
The subject of the book is not Lesbia, but Herbert. Lesbia is hardly in the book; Swinburne never gave the novel a title. One was applied later, doubtless to provoke middle-class sensibilities.
Initial chapters pertain to Herbert’s private education and discipline from an exacting tutor. Swinburne relishes the switching, flogging, birching, at length, of the young lad, more to break his spirit, akin to breaking a horse.
Instead of a caning, this section needs a severe editorial pruning. It comes across as excessive and self-indulgent.
Another lengthy traipse involves a dinner party with young Herbert, his sister, her husband, and their gentry friends and neighbors. Conversations spiral about, heavily sprinkled with French and Latin, and fail to serve the narrative.
Point is, there is scant narrative at all. Swinburne marshals ideas, descriptions and dialogue, but is unable to harness these, let alone array into a cohesive whole.
Mind you, so much of this is gloriously written. “Turris Eburnea” is a deliriously scathing chapter on Leonora Harley, sensuous and beautiful, who could neither spell nor think, and deserved more pages than she was allotted.
There is a haunting death near the end of another character who should have received far, far more of Swinburne’s prodigious imagination.
Fans of the author, and of florid Victorian literature, should throw caution to the wind and get a copy of the latest edition.