Well, I have 311 pages of Clarissa left to go. Twenty-five to thirty pages a week doesn’t seem like much but when you consider the book is a hardcover-sized paperback and the print small, it is almost as if I am reading 1 1/2/ to two pages for every one page. But I am finally progressing through it at a steady rate and with any luck I will be done by the end of the year.
I am, at the moment, fascinated by the prospect of Clarissa’s death. She is ill but with no disease. She claims over and over that she is not willing herself to die, that she is not contriving to die. But yet, she is slowly fading. Though the fade is rather like the death scenes in Shakespeare in which our hero has been mortally wounded but still has time and strength to say all there is to say including philosophizing about life and death.
Clarissa claims she does not want to die but says she knows she is going to and at this point hopes to manage it in a month or less. She is working at writing her will and has requested Mr. Bedford, Lovelace’s friend and confidant who has been won over to her cause, be her executor.
So how can someone who is not ill, who is not willing herself to die but has resigned herself to die because she views it as the end of all her troubles, actually die? Can someone who doesn’t will herself to live find herself at death’s door? Is our will so powerful that to remove it from the side of will to live, knocks us onto the side of death?
I have heard stories, and I am sure you have too, of people who are seriously ill and dying whose will to live is so strong that they manage to hold on until they can see a certain event take place or bid farewell to their loved ones, and even, on rare occasions, struggle back from the brink and live happily for many more years.
But if someone lacks the will to live, does that automatically doom them to death? Is the strength of our will the only thing that keeps us alive? Putting my library reference skills to work, it appears to be possible, not to will yourself to die, but to die from grief, stress or a broken heart. Broken Heart Syndrome also called stress cardiomyopathy, mimics heart disease and can actually cause heart failure in people in perfectly fine health. From the linked article:
sudden emotional stress can…result in severe but reversible heart muscle weakness that mimics a classic heart attack. Patients with this condition…have suffered from a days-long surge in adrenalin (epinephrine) and other stress hormones that temporarily “stun” the heart.
While the condition is reversible if treated, in Clarissa’s time no one would know anything about the hows whats and whys.
Clarissa has certainly suffered repeated sudden emotional (and physical) traumas and so I am going to diagnose her with Broken Heart Syndrome. Now I have found medical proof, I am willing to concede that her dying is not a fictional and romantic contrivance the likes of which really annoys me.
When characters die, can we really feel grief? Yes, according to Oscar Wilde. I doubt that I will be so grieved at Clarissa’s death that I will be in danger of Broken Heart Syndrome, however. More likely I will be relieved that the book is almost finished. Though I just looked and it appears I am more likely to be dismayed as there are over 100 pages to read following the death of Clarissa.
Interesting. I love how the doctors grudgingly admit that “folklore” has described people dying of broken hearts for “decades.”
If Clarissa didn’t eat much, didn’t drink much and pulled her corset stays very tight (and they were tight in the first place) I’m sure she could put excessive strain on her heart. Also, in all that excessive letter writing, there’s almost the kind of mystical devotion that had many a nun flat out in her cell from emotional overload. It’s interesting that the eighteenth century made a virtue of the way mind and body connect, whilst the twenty-first is reluctant to acknowledge the relation. But even so, I can’t help but feel there’s a little influence of male fantasy going on here, where the author, having created a strong female character, alarms his own sensibility and has her romantically fade, the way charming, beautiful women ought to be designed to do.
I have to agree with Litlove. The idea that Clarissa could suffer the horrible things that happened to her and then – shock, horror – survive and live her own life would probably have been too much for Samuel Richardson (and many others, even now!). Much more appropriate to kill her off.
Interesting! It is good to know that it is medically possible to die of a broken heart (I mean, it’s good to know because it explains some things!). It’s such a convenient (and common) literary trope, however, that I wonder if authors were more influenced by the real-life possibility or by the fact that it’s a common occurrence in literature. Certainly it has to happen more often percentage-wise in novels than it does in real life. Wouldn’t that make an interesting study?
Sylvia, it’s pretty funny isn’t it? Like when doctors admitted that the ‘old wives tale” of chicken soup really did help you feel better when you were sick.
Litlove, you have a very good point there that I didn’t think about. Richardson does give Clarissa the option to live. She can marry Lovelace or she could go live on the estate she owns. But I suppose if she chose either of those she would not be the ethereally beautiful saint she in becoming.
maggie, yes, you and Litlove are on to something. I must say though that I do appreciate that Clarissa isn’t going to marry Lovelace to save her reputation and legitimate his rape.
Dorothy, that would be a fascinating study. Perhaps we’ll hear about you presenting the findings at the MLA conference someday?
I’ve never been convinced about the idea that patients who ‘don’t want to live enough’ can hasten their own death. It smacks of the idea that cancer patients have to ‘fight’ the disease and that they can ‘lose’ this fight, placing some kind of odd blame on to the dying. Broken heart syndrome seems to be less about the patient giving up because they’ve been beaten down by emotional trauma and more about the physical effects a sudden shock can bring on.
In Clarissa’s case I think she’s another example of the Dora syndrome. Male author doesn’t need the female character anymore so kills her off because either she is inconvenient of because they ahve come to the end of the book and are looking for a drammatic ending.
I love your last question, I’ve definitely felt grief over the death of a character (though I suspect I wouldn’t over Clarissa). Clearly not as acute as real grief, but the feeling is similar and takes a while to fade if its for a character I really cared about…
I love your last question, too. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt real grief over a character’s death, but I have felt mild depression after finishing a really good book! I walk around in a daze for a few days, really missing the atmosphere of the book
I have to wonder just who was the first person to die of BrokenHeartSyndrome and which chicken came first?
Did someone die of a broken heart before or after first reading about and then grieving for the loss of a literary love?
I suspect that Jane Austen (and others) imagined the disease in her (their) works then the wonderful, “human” mind actually turned it into a health problem.
Either way, I’m pretty sure that tears are the cure for this particular health problem. GREAT POST!!!
Jodie, I heartily agree. To say someone who has cancer dies because she doesn’t want to live enough is very much a blame the victim attitude. I think that Richardson doesn’t kill Clarissa because she is of no further use–the whole book is about her–but because she is more useful dead.
Verbivore, yes, I have felt grief at the death of a character too and sobbed mightily because of it. But it is always tempered with the knowledge that I can go back to the beginning of the book when the character is still alive.
Gentle Reader, mild depression is a good way to describe it. I know that daze!
LiteraryCynic, thanks. I suspect the disease developed along a side by side trajectory, fiction feeding off reality and vice versa.