If you thought the Castle of Otranto was weird you are in for a fucking ride, let me tell you what. I spent probably 40 minutes reading this book the day I opened it and I only got to page 9. There's a reason for that I'll get to below, but first let me sort of generally describe what's happening here.

So Vathek is a novel by William Beckford. Beckford was English, wealthy, and on track to become a well-respected "peer" until he was caught -- or rumor said he was caught -- having sex with a young man / teenager. Most of us would frown on this now, and in fact even the wikipedia account brings up child abuse before the homosexuality, but Beckford was 24, and it was the 18th century -- if it had been a young woman Beckford had been caught with, they'd just get married, so I presume to think it was mostly the homosexuality that people were upset about.

This matters to reading the novel because Beckford, though never charged with anything, just moved away and didn't come back to England for decades, except short visits. He wrote the novel in French, and someone else translated it.

That someone else was Samuel Henley. And this is where we circle back around to why it took me so long to read 9 pages. Henley produced so many footnotes he nearly doubled the book's length. The intro to my edition says the book was a little over 200 pages, and the notes were a little over 100. These notes are historical and cultural, and, despite most people's tendency to think people couldn't do history before the 20th century, they're largely correct. These notes were so damned cool at the time one reviewer wondered if the entire plot had been invented simply as a delivery mechanism for the notes. Also, before we go on, it's very funny to note that Hensley worked closely with Beckford on these notes and translation, and then published the work on his own without Beckford's permission. The earliest edition is technically a French edition with no notes, because Beckford rushed it into print in Paris to maintain his copyright.

Were you maybe wondering "what notes?" Well, the story is a fiction about a real-life historical figure, al-Wathiq, son of al-Rashid, a famous Caliph. al-Wathiq -- or Vathek, as this novel spells it -- was known to be a feaster and a drinker and worse still, a quibbler over theological doctrine. He tended to take the side of the less respectable theologians, too. This will be a plot point later, in fact.

So this is in a sense historical fiction, except it takes no pains to adhere do events of history. It's also naturally significant that it's set in the Muslim empire. If you thought Castle of Otranto evinced an Othering of people just for being catholic, well, hoo boy, get ready! In fact, Beckford himself is often characterized as "extravagant," famous in his time more for his incredible art collection than his writing. So the novel traffics in that well-worn stereotype of the "extravagant eastern caliph." Think of the Arabian Nights, which had been translated and were a significant source for Beckford, along with histories.

I'm less than 20 pages into the book itself. Here's the plot so far:

• Vathek is a caliph, and he loves to party. He builds series of five magnificent palaces, each devoted to pleasure of a sense. He is extravagant and generous, though somewhat quick to anger. He is an astrologer, taught by his mother (the book is careful to point out she's Greek, to really ham up her astrological talents). He finishes the building his father started, which turns out to be a tower taller than Babel.
• This is based on a real thing. al-Rashid made an earthwork in order to build a city, and Beckford runs with it to say they were building a great tower.
• Mahommed, in his paradise, sees Vathek carousing and -- most importantly -- picking fights with theologians and supporting the heretics. He orders a djinn to fuck up Vathek's life for him. The first thing the djinn does is to build the tower. At night, after a cubit's work is done by builders, two more cubits appear.
• Once it's done, Vathek climbs the tower and delights at how everything on the planet looks small now. But he gets mad that the stars seem just as far away. Then a grotesque Giaour appears ("infidel," see also Byron's poem titled The Giaour). I use the word "grotesque" carefully, even though at first it's mostly racism. he's black in hue, has ghastly rotten teeth, and a pot belly. However, he also sells incredible magical stuff. Vathek buys some.
• The Giaour refuses to tell where he got the items. Vathek imprisons him. It's an important note that he insists no one take the merchant's money. Vathek bought the items fair and square. He only wishes the Giaour to speak.
• The following day a bunch of Vathek's guards are dead and the Giaour has disappeared. Vathek of course loses his shit and calls on all his people to find the merchant, with suitable rewards.
• He also wants to read the text on these sabers he bought, which cut on their own. He offers rewards, but also wants to kill anyone who fails or lies to him. His mother talks him down into only burning off their beards, which is a grave insult, but doesn't kill anybody.
• This isn't only another note about Vathek's extravagant rage, but his extravagant curiosity. He wants to know everything -- it says that, he literally wants to know all things.
• No one can read them until a wizened sage shows up. The text talks of amazing treasures, indicating the swords themselves are but the least.
• The problem is that the next day the swords say something different. The sage hesitantly translates the text, which is basically warning Vathek of hubris. So Vathek burns half of the guy's beard (which reached the floor) and sends him away with his reward for the first day's work.
• But he was right! Vathek can't read the text but it's obvious that every day the text is different than it was before.
• Vathek loses his mind again. He can't eat, he can't drink anything but water, he burns inside. He closes his pleasure palaces and suffers.
• One day they go up on a nice hill to feed Vathek a bunch of spring water. The Giaour appears. He provides Vathek with a potion that cures his ailment. Vathek takes him back to his court, opens his palaces, and feasts the Giaour and the entire court.
• The Giaour eats more than anyone else. He eats more than them combined. Drinks that way too. Stick a pin in this for the grotesque conversation in a minute.
• Vathek is pissed off. Having not slept, because the Giaour basically kept the party going all night, Vathek and his court stumble into the public chambers to hear cases. A vizier sidles up to Vathek and says some of them worry that potion was poison, and also they still don't know where the swords came from.
• Vathek opens a case and asks these questions. The Giaour does nothing but laugh, which pisses Vathek off again. He begins to kick the Giaour and he doesn't stop.
• For real, and I mean this, the entire city plays soccer with this guy. Everyone who sees him rolling around in a ball stops what they're doing and chases him down, kicking at him and maybe sometimes hitting somebody else, sometimes hitting Vathek himself.
• The only people who don't do this are those too sick to do so and the newborns left behind by their nursing mothers. This is mass hysteria folks, dogs and cats living together.
• Eventually the pursuit leads to a cavern. The Giaour falls in. No one else can physically go through. I am honestly wondering if this is the first appearance in fantasy fiction of what I can only call a "force field."
• Everyone goes home but Vathek

That's the plot so far!

If it feels like a lot, it is, even compared to last time. But it's an appropriate chunk, because it gives me a really good opportunity to talk about the grotesque in Gothic literature.

What's the grotesque?

It's got a weird history, in literature and the visual arts, most obviously. Ruskin, the famous Victorian artist, said the grotesque had to do with the imagination playing irrationally in times of rest, which may or may not be helpful here -- but he also said it's composed of two kinds: "sportive" and "terrible." They are usually commingled in some way. Now we're closer to Vathek's insane soccer scene: hundreds, perhaps thousands of people pursuing a stereotypically repulsive stranger through the streets, trying to kick him while he spins and rolls preternaturally about, unharmed by it all, before sailing into a void in earth. Yeah, that's both "sportive" and "terrible," I'd say.

Wolfgang Kayser ¹ wrote at length on the grotesque, and said it has these elements:

1. an experience of an estranged world
2. a mixture of heterogeneous elements
3. confusion and alienation of the world
4. insecurity and terror at the sight of disintegration

If we continue to think about the gothic together I guarantee you this will come up again, so stick a pin in it.

So a traditional grotesque is a gargoyle, right? It's a bit silly, a bit ominous, and it mixes body parts together in a disconcerting and ridiculous way. You also have to look up to see it, in its traditional roost on a church buildings. The gothic traffics in the grotesque. It reminds us that our safe assumptions about the world are, well, assumptions, and that lines we thought were firm and clear can be crossed with ease.

So the Giaour not only reminds the reader and the characters of the admixture of elements that European racism ascribed to the Other, he also thumbs his nose at the power of the caliph and then is unharmed by it. Beckford puts it this way: the caliphs are the "vicars of Mahomet [sic]." They wield unimaginable power. But it's earthly power.

And this is a great place to stop. The novel will continue to show us the differences between earthly and Other powers.

I try not to put requests for money on every long post I make, but as this is the first in a new series on a new book, in my general Gothic reading project, I thought it wouldn't go amiss: buy me a coffee if you're enjoying these. I'm actually buying these books as a I go, since in grad school I checked them all out of the library or bought cheap editions with no notes lol.

1. Kayser, Wolfgang. The Grotesque in Art and Literature. Ulrich Weisstein, trans. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. 1963. Print.