The Monk (Oxford World's Classics) (Paperback)

Ambrosio is the most celebrated, revered monk in Madrid (in the era of the infamous Spanish Inquisition)-his sermons attract crowds far too large to gain admittance to the sanctuary, and everyone holds him up as a veritable saint walking the earth. His fall from grace is precipitous indeed. Secretly, Ambrosio is vain and proud, blissfully assured of his own near-perfection. At the first temptation of lust, however, this holy man reveals himself to be the ultimate hypocrite, giving in rather easily to the type of desire he rails against each Sunday. After learning that his friend Rosario is in fact a lovely woman in disguise named Matilda, he revels in the love she declares for him and quickly becomes her secret lover. Quickly and ever more thoroughly consumed by his new-found passion and carnal lasciviousness, he grows tired of the ever-willing Matilda and turns his perverted eye toward the sweet and wholly innocent young Antonia. Through the witchcraft of Matilda, he comes to consort with demons in the sacred crypts underneath the abbey itself, giving up his morality and piety in the blind pursuit of actions worse than mere rape.

Ambrosio is not the only hypocritical, secretly sinful church official in Madrid, however. The prioress of the convent bordering the abbey is a sickeningly cruel and spiteful agent of perfidy herself. When she discovers that Agnes, one of her novitiates, is pregnant, she is so mortified at the impending shame this fact will bring down upon her and the convent that she resorts to the most barbaric of punishments for the poor and pitiable young lady. While her crimes do not quite exceed those of Ambrosio, the devastating consequences of her sinful acts result in long-lasting, deeply grievous repercussions. Justice is not blind in the end to such willful violators of God's laws.

The novel takes a while to really come together. After seeing Ambrosio in his publicly sanctimonious guise and watching his pitiful descent into the passions and lusts inspired by Matilda, we spend a great deal of time becoming acquainted with Antonia, Agnes, and the gentlemen who love them and will eventually fight bravely to try and save them both physically and morally from their sad fates. The story of the Bleeding Nun apparition is an important part of this section of the book and gives the reader his first real introduction to the supernatural aspects of the story. It is almost possible to forget about Ambrosio completely for a time; when he returns to the story, however, he commits unspeakable acts and profanes the very name of the God he supposedly serves in such excess that he earns a permanent spot in the annals of literature's most despicable villains.

It is in the crypts, among the moldering corpses of the dead, that the most blasphemous acts take place. Antonia's fate is quite horrible, but it is actually Agnes' tale of woe that takes the reader to the most horrific of extremes. Just when the worst seems to be over, we learn in graphic detail the almost unimaginable extent of the ordeal suffered by Agnes and her innocent child-the tale is quite gruesome even by today's standards, almost unimaginably so by those of Lewis' own time. The suffering of the innocent Agnes and Antonia is, in my opinion, unparalleled in the realm of Gothic horror.

Even some critics who are less than found of the Gothic horror genre have embraced this novel, partly because it does distinguish itself from the more Romantic writings of an author such as Ann Radcliffe. As such, it seems less pretentious and much more visceral than the typical Gothic tome. Lewis holds nothing back in presenting his portrayal of evil in the hearts of men and women. There is a love story aspect to the events surrounding Agnes and Antonia, but the author does not indulge in flowery descriptions of love, nor does he concern himself with rapturous expositions on the beauty of nature. There is very little of beauty to be found in these pages at all, and what innocence exists is ultimately lost at the hands of corrupted servants of God. With such complexity underlying the plot, The Monk is open to a number of interpretations, and its microscopic portrayal of evil's power to overcome the best of men and women continues to fascinate and leave a lasting impression on one generation of readers after another. Even in our own time, The Monk is more than capable of shocking the reader with its unbridled revelations.

Censured soon after its publication, its author an MP, and admired by none other than the Marquis de Sade, the book acquired an unparalleled reputation for raciness of the highest order. Naturally, it lags behind today's foil fronted blockbusters. The story concerns the comings and goings surrounding adjacent monastery and convent in Madrid and the various back-stories of those associated with inhabitants and extra mural players. Lascivious monks, repressed nuns and gallant aristos all sound a wee bit cheap, but it's all done so well. The language is very much of its era, but the motoring plot and adeptly juxtaposed accounts are sufficient to keep even the most ardent archaism-basher happy. For an 18th century classic, it is very readable. Lewis was also a playwright, and so it follows that the narrative is very rich visually, playing, as successful gothic novels should, with all the senses.

The most obvious comparison to be drawn is with "The Name of the Rose". Umberto Eco's ornate medieval detective story weighed heavily on me - with it's sheer bulk of pagination and knowing-style, I found it a frustrating read. "The Monk" however, had a real lightness of touch and despite magpie like borrowings from European literary traditions and sleaziness, its flair and structure knock "The Name of the Rose" into a cocked hat.