Idealism Under Siege, Irony to the Rescue

In my Tom Jones class earlier this week, one of my students (Erin Hendrix) noted that one of the passages made her think of a scene in the movie The Princess Bride. This led to a discussion of how both works employ irony to help us hold on to our idealism. Please be patient as I explain.

Here’s the passage in Fielding’s novel:

Jones now declared that they must certainly have lost their way; but this the guide insisted upon was impossible; a word which, in common conversation, is often used to signify not only improbable, but often what is really very likely, and, sometimes, what hath certainly happened; an hyperbolical violence like that which is so frequently offered to the words infinite and eternal; by the former of which it is usual to express a distance of half a yard, and by the latter, a duration of five minutes. And thus it is as usual to assert the impossibility of losing what is already actually lost. This was, in fact, the case at present; for, notwithstanding all the confident assertions of the lad to the contrary, it is certain they were no more in the right road to Coventry, than the fraudulent, griping, cruel, canting miser is in the right road to heaven.

In Princess Bride, one of the villains repeatedly says “inconceivable” every time one of his two henchmen notes that the “dread Pirate Roberts,” despite all their endeavors to shake him, is still on their trail. When they cut a rope that he is climbing, only to discover him still in pursuit, the following exchange occurs:

Vizzini: HE DIDN’T FALL? INCONCEIVABLE!
Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Erin’s observation led us to compare the two works and to note that both have similar framing devices, with the authors pointing out that their stories are fictional. Tom Jones‘s intrusive narrator periodically interrupts the work to comment on his fictional choices, discuss the different ways readers could respond, debate whether or not the action is realistic, attack those who might criticize him, and so on.

Princess Bride, meanwhile, has a grandfather (Peter Falk) reading a romantic novel about “true love” to his skeptical grandson (Fred Savage). The film crosscuts between the love of Wesley and Buttercup and Falk and Savage’s comments about the romance.

In Tom Jones we ultimately see the hero and heroine united and the villains punished, even though the author has earlier made the assertion that he has an objection to claims that “Virtue is the certain Road to Happiness, and Vice to Misery.” His objection to this “comfortable doctrine”? “That it is not true.”  And yet that’s how the book ends.

In Princess Bride, the young grandson rolls his eyes at the hackneyed story of love and bravery. Nevertheless, when it draws to its conclusion, he insists that his grandfather finish the book:

Grandpa: And as they reached for each other…
[stops reading]
Grandson: What? What?
Grandpa: Ah, it’s kissing again. You don’t want to hear that.
Grandson: I don’t mind so much.
Grandpa: Oh, okay.[keeps reading] Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind. The End.

And the grandson settles back with a contented sigh.

So what do I mean when I say that comic irony becomes a way to protect our idealism? In the case of Fielding, the 18^th century was going through a “crisis of sincerity.” Because of figures like Jean Jacques Rousseau, people were learning to break with formal societal constraints and start talking about their feelings. Young people in particular were excited by this development.

But no sooner did people open up than others started faking their feelings. Novels and plays of the time are full of hypocrites preying on softer emotions for dubious ends. Take Fielding’s epitaph on the grave of Captain Blifil as an example. Blifil is a bad man in every respect but his widow, to prove that she has been an ideal wife, inscribes the following words on his gravestone:

His Parts
were an Honour to his Profession
and to his Country:
His Life to his Religion
and human Nature.
He was a dutiful Son,
a tender Husband,
an affectionate Father
a most kind Brothers,
a sincere Friend,
a devoute Christian,
and a good Man.
His inconsolable Widow
hath erected this Stone,
The Monument of
His Virtues,
and her Affection.

Young people, in all their idealism, were particularly vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Fielding’s comic irony helped them protect their idealism by allowing them to simultaneously indulge in their softer feelings while laughing at them. The laughter served to throw a protective cocoon around the emotions.

Therefore, when Fielding engages in high flown mock epic poetry to praise his heroine, we laugh at the over-the-top language, even as we let ourselves be wafted into sweet dreams about her. Here’s an example:

So charming may she now appear! and you the feathered choristers of nature, whose sweetest notes not even Handel can excel, tune your melodious throats to celebrate her appearance. From love proceeds your music, and to love it returns. Awaken therefore that gentle passion in every swain: for lo! adorned with all the charms in which nature can array her; bedecked with beauty, youth, sprightliness, innocence, modesty, and tenderness, breathing sweetness from her rosy lips, and darting brightness from her sparkling eyes, the lovely Sophia comes!

Young people are under no less of a siege by emotion hucksters today. In fact, the situation has gotten worse because sophisticated psychological campaigns research our inner desires and then use that knowledge to manipulate us and sell us consumer items, politicians, or whatever else. As a result, teens and 20-somethings are in danger of becoming complete cynics.

Comic irony comes to the rescue, which is why, even though the movie appeared over 20 years ago, almost all of my students have seen and enjoyed The Princess Bride. The film allows them to laugh at this story of “true love” while secretly surrendering to it.

Some would say this identifies my students as postmodern individuals.  Italian critic and author Umberto Eco has defined the postmodern attitude as

that of a man who loves a very cultivated woman and knows he cannot say to her “I love you madly,” because he knows that she knows (and that she knows that he knows) that these words have already been written by Barbara Cartland.  Still there is a solution.  He can say “As Barbara Cartland would put it, I love you madly.”

The fact that this describes Fielding as well as the author of Princess Bride makes me wonder whether Eco is describing postmodernism or just garden variety irony.  But it’s a great articulation of the way that we use humor to carve out a space for deep sentiment as we move through a world filled with cheap imitations.