Melmoth the Wanderer

Finishing this novel took me almost two months. That is a considerably long time, but one of the reasons which prevented a speedier and smoother perusal of its pages is the claustrophobic atmosphere of its very long narratives. Storytelling is an art, and I understand that my generation will never relate a hundred percent to the life of the 1800s, and, by the same token, never fully appreciate the techniques of narration used by the authors of the day, and even by laymen in their daily entertainment and communication. That being said, I must precise that I liked the book very much in spite of the need, that kept rising within me every now and then, to get away from it, and escape the endless stream of stories pouring forth from its different narrators. It's a true gothic masterpiece, and even though I prefer the late 19th century revival of gothic fiction, Melmoth will always hold a special spot in my memory.Maybe one of the reasons why I like the title character is his teeny tiny resemblance to Dorian Gray, another gothic villain who managed to preserve his youth and jeopardize his moral compass for a long time. In truth, I can't help suspecting that Oscar Wilde's only novel was inspired by this earlier publication especially that Maturin was his great uncle by marriage. In exile, Wilde assumed the name of Melmoth, which is another sign that such a work was a well from which he had stopped to drink and maybe get a fleeting idea that culminated later in the magnificent tale of Dorian Gray. At all events, the endings of the two books are alike cryptic, for we know not with any amount of certainty what becomes of the wanderer at the end of his story just as we do not understand with any substantial clarify the fate of Dorian at the end of his. What surprised me, however, was the little contribution of John Melmoth to the story. When I was making my way through the opening chapters, I expected this young man to have a fearful clash with his ancestor, or to have him inherit some of his dreary legacy but no! Lucky John was just there for the money and entertainment, good for him! Monçada's tale has strong insinuations of homoerotic vibes which wouldn't have been disturbing if the object of his adoration was not his own brother. The tale of the Mortimers was my least favorite as it dealt with much politics and dry historical antics. That of Isidora was my favorite; the woman who loved the fiend and who was even saddened by the prospect of going to a heaven forever closed to her lover.