The Castle of Otranto
Ratings38
Average rating3
15
Ratings38
Average rating3
This book is the earliest and most influential of the Gothic novels. First published pseudonymously in 1764, The Castle of Otranto purported to be a translation of an Italian story of the time of the crusades. In it Walpole attempted, as he declared in the Preface to the second edition, "to blend the two kinds of romance: the ancient and the modern." He gives us a series of catastrophes, ghostly interventions, revelations of identity, and exciting contests. Crammed with invention, entertainment, terror, and pathos, the novel was an immediate success and Walpole's own favorite among his numerous works. - Back cover.
Reviews with the most likes.
So this is my second time reading this and honestly rereading made it make so much more sense. The Castle of Otranto is considered one of the first Gothic novels, and I really enjoyed reading it! But I gave this book three and a half stars due to the fact that some of the aspects of the book were never explained but maybe it's just me who's dumb
The writing is really hard to follow and the story wasn't as fascinating as it seemed it would be. It was kind of disappointed.
As an historic, genre-defining novel, The Castle of Otranto gets one star. It is ridiculous, sometimes (unintentionally) hilarious, and usually tedious.
The novel is probably 90% dialogue, which not broken into separate paragraphs, but grouped in multi-page conversations in a single paragraph, with no quotation marks. This makes it hard to follow or stay engaged with. (It's amazing how much I take for granted the modern conventions of fictionalized dialogue!) Also, much of it is written in faux-archaisms. (This novel is an early example of 18th- and 19th-century Europeans' nostalgia for the middle ages.)
The opening scene of this novel is wonderful for its absurdity: on his way to his own wedding, the sickly son of a false prince is crushed by a giant helmet falling from the sky - one star for that image alone!
And one star for the final sentence: “...and it was not till after frequent discourses with Isabella, of his dear Matilda, that he was persuaded he could know no happiness but in the society of one with whom he could forever indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.”
Let's wallow together.
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