Roxana

by Daniel Defoe, John Mullan (Editor), David Blewett (Editor)

Roxana (1724), Defoe's last and darkest novel, is the autobiography of a woman who has traded her virtue, at first for survival, and then for fame and fortune. Its narrator tells the story of her own `wicked' life as the mistress of rich and powerful men. A resourceful adventuress, she is also an unforgiving analyst of her own susceptibilities, who tells us of the price she pays for her successes. Endowed with many seductive skills, she is herself by money, by dreams of rank, and by the illusion that she can escape her own past. Unlike Defoe's other penitent anti-heroes, however, she fails to triumph over these weaknesses. The novel's drama lies not only in the heroine's `vast variety of fortunes', but in her attempts to understand the sometimes bitter lessons of her life as a `Fortunate Mistress'. Defoe's achievement was to invent, in `Roxana', a gripping story-teller as well as a gripping story. This edition uses the rare first edition text, with a new introduction, detailed notes, textual history, and a map.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, 18th Century, Literature, Historical Fiction, British Literature, School

356 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1724

About the author

Daniel Defoe was an English novelist, journalist, merchant, pamphleteer and spy. He is most famous for his novel Robinson Crusoe, published in 1719, which is claimed to be second only to the Bible in its number of translations. He has been seen as one of the earliest proponents of the English novel, and helped to popularise the form in Britain with others such as Aphra Behn and Samuel Richardson. Defoe wrote many political tracts, was often in trouble with the authorities, and spent a period in prison. Intellectuals and political leaders paid attention to his fresh ideas and sometimes consulted him.
Defoe was a prolific and versatile writer, producing more than three hundred works—books, pamphlets, and journals—on diverse topics, including politics, crime, religion, marriage, psychology and the supernatural. He was also a pioneer of business journalism and economic journalism.

Reviews

[Orsodimondo · Rating 4 out of 5]

FORTUNE E SFORTUNE


Hans Makart: Marble Hearts (1880).

Daniel Defoe, famoso per il suo celebre Robinson Crusoe, è considerato il padre del romanzo inglese, e quindi in pratica del romanzo moderno in generale: ma si avvicinò alla scrittura narrativa quando aveva già quasi sessant’anni.
Di romanzi ne scrisse sei, li spacciò tutti per storie vere e autentiche, perché evidentemente allora come ora si credeva che la realtà avesse più verità della finzione e potesse per questo vendere di più.
Il primo romanzo fu quello che l’ha reso famoso. Questo è l’ultimo e fu pubblicato nel 1724. Nel titolo originale, Roxana è senza l’appellativo di Lady, compare solo per essere “L’amante fortunata”.


William Holman Hunt: The Awakening Conscience (1853).

Ma così tanto fortunata a me non pare.
Prima di tutto perché diventare amante, cortigiana, mantenuta, o prostituta, era in pratica l’unica via concessa a una sopravvivenza che non fosse il servaggio, matrimoniale o meno. Una forma d’esistenza che abbracciasse un minimo di autonomia.
Le relazioni, sessuali più che sentimentali, alle quali Roxana si dedica a partire da quando resta vedova con cinque figli a carico, praticamente sul lastrico, hanno uno scopo ben determinato: il mantenimento. Magari anche una sicurezza economica, che però, come qui si legge, ha i suoi alti e bassi, e molti rischi.
Volendo si può leggere nella scelta (alquanto limitata dalla situazione sociale dell’epoca) una ricerca di libertà, indipendenza, uguaglianza: e quindi, in questo, si può leggere un’istanza proto-femminista.


Tukioka Yoshitoshi: Thirty-Two Aspects of Customs and Manners, Looking Itchy: The Appearance of a Kept Woman of the Kansei Era (1888).

Per quanto Defoe manifesti un atteggiamento pragmatico e ‘moderno’, sostenendo che la moralità si poggia sullo status economico del soggetto, conclude la sua narrazione con un finale alquanto moralista e castigatore.
Se non che, volendo, si potrebbe pensare a una chiave pre-marxiana: perché la rovina di Roxana arriva col suo desiderio di accumulare beni e ricchezza, tipico atteggiamento capitalista.

La storia di questa bella signora si raccomanda da sé. Se la storia non è bella come dicono fosse lei; se non è divertente quanto il lettore può desiderare, né molto più di quel che poteva aspettarsi; se tutte le parti divertenti non sono adatte all’istruzione e al miglioramento di lui, ciò è tutta colpa del narratore e difetto d’esecuzione, perché egli rivestì la storia con panni peggiori di quelli coi quali la signora, che parla per bocca sua, voleva mandarla attorno nel mondo.
Pure, egli si arrischia ad affermare che questa differisce dalla maggior parte delle moderne composizioni congeneri, benché alcune di queste abbiano avuto nel mondo la più lieta accoglienza. E dico che differisce in questo punto essenziale, cioè che essa ha per fondamento la verità di fatto, onde il presente lavoro non è finzione ma storia.


Ivan Nikolaevich Kramskoi: Portrait of a Woman (1883).

Il vero nome della protagonista è in realtà Beleau, figlia di ugonotti francesi, cioè protestanti scappati in Inghilterra nel 1683 per evitare le persecuzioni: Roxana diventa il suo nome di battaglia. E di che tipo di battaglia si tratta ho già detto: la sopravvivenza.
Quindicenne va sposa a un birraio benestante. L’adolescente è più che graziosa e per otto anni conduce rigorosa vita matrimoniale.
Ma un bel giorno il marito scompare per evitare la bancarotta, e Beleau, che a questo punto di anni ne ha ventitre, si ritrova senza un soldo e con cinque figli a carico. I pargoli finiscono in affido a parenti del marito e lei diventa l’amante del padrone di casa.


Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta: The Reluctant Mistress (tra il 1841 e il 1920).

Particolare è il rapporto con la fedele domestica Amy, che si tiene stretto l’impiego anche nei momenti più grami, e progressivamente comincia ad agire da mezzana.
La coppia, e la servetta, si trasferiscono a Parigi. A questo punto Beleau da graziosa è diventata un fiore e può assumere il nome d’arte di Roxana.
Rimane vedova, ed ereditiera, e diventa l’amante di un principe di sangue reale.
Col principe viaggia in Italia, nell’adorabile Venezia e nella detestabile Roma: Roma serve anche a sfogare il furore anti-papista dello stesso Defoe.
Però, forse proprio la vicinanza al papa spinge il principe a un rigurgito di scrupoli religiosi e l’uomo interrompe la relazione con Roxana. Che si trasferisce in Olanda e diventa l’amante di un mercante disposto a sposarla. Solo che a questo punto Lady Roxana ha altre mire e non s’accontenta.


George Romney: Emma Hart as Circe (circa 1782).

Se non che, lo sposa arrivata all’agio economico e al giro di boa dei cinquant’anni. Potrebbe terminare l’esistenza in pace e benessere, ma dal passato emerge una figlia. La fedele domestica Amy propone di eliminare la scomoda apparizione, la figlia in effetti sparisce, si tratta forse di omicidio? Defoe sorvola, sembra frettoloso: ci dice che il marito muore e Roxana inaspettatamente si trova piena di debiti che la portano in carcere. Dove, ahinoi, si pente e…


Thomas Gainsborough: Ritratto di Grace Elliott (circa 1778). Tutti ritratti di celebri amanti e cortigiane.

[Henry Avila · Rating 4 out of 5]

Roxana is a vague apparition of something seen from a distance but can never be apprehended by the ordinary man, and women will not believe she exists except in a book. The Lady only exposes to the gentle wealthy males, the honor benefits both in different ways plainly some admire, others... engage in close combat, males and females see with different eyes. In a few days this novel celebrates its 300th birthday, things change, but not that far as the story evolves the modern reader can digest and comprehend.... A young wife married to an opulent fool and suffers leisurely, comfortably, however not happily, all but the dense will discern money spent lavishly and fewer arriving becomes untenable before long. Daniel Defoe has the characters nameless to protect the innocent but since they aren't any, why bother? The fool warned by his mate still likes to hunt wild animals with his friends... make those employees, boring business not for him the heartless father leaves his five children and wife for parts unknown. By this she receives in a short time the nickname The Fortunate Mistress for the lady is a handsome woman and men being men take advantage of the poor starving soul. She needs support and promptly forces her husband's relatives to take the children, abandons a better word at their door and secretly vanishes. In a brief while getting a new moniker Roxana leads her loyal maid and only friend Amy, away. The Jeweler and former landlord takes her to Paris for dubious reasons it isn't the last gentleman... the German Prince, the Dutch Merchant etc. follow and so do numerous children, now prosperous, she sends and pays others to raise her unloved offspring, a mother she's not. Too busy enjoying luxury and kids are a nuisance. Wild parties delight yet the clock turns forward as age begins to creep up an accelerates, the lady needs a new husband, a wealthy one need not be said, and a good reputation must be preserved no matter at what cost. This causes Roxana many sleepless nights and the strain isn't good for the face. Defoe's last novel is by far his darkest ...just a hundred years later this couldn't be published. The Victorians would be scandalized but to a contemporary audience then and today what is the problem ? I am a big consumer of 18th century British books ..17th is too primitive... 19th too modern, like Goldilocks this is just right...

[Sasha · Rating 4 out of 5]

Daniel Defoe, the popular 1700s smut peddler, is back with another sexy story about sexy sluts having sex - and this one might be his dirtiest yet! Roxana offers her maid up for sexual purposes to her lover! She dresses like a harem slave and puts on sexy little dance numbers! It's not as dirty as famed 1750 porno Fanny Hill, but it's not so far off.

Defoe likes to put his characters in desperate straits. He's most famous for the one about the castaway, but his two next-most-famous books - this and Moll Flanders - use the word "whore" a lot, and that's enough for a pattern for me: these books were meant to titillate, and it's fair to think of Defoe as a guy who wrote dirty books. He gets away with the racy stuff by creating those desperate straits, forcing his characters to make difficult decisions, and then clucking his tongue over it a lot, a tradition that extends all the way down to the Friday the 13th movies and their beloved habit of showing teenagers having premarital sex and then getting chopped up.

More Having One's Cake And Fucking It Too
- Dangerous Liaisons
- Delta of Venus
- Lolita
- Fatal Attraction
- Fifty Shades of Grey

He's also a pedant. If his books are distinguished by the exigencies they put their protagonists into, they're also consistent in their meticulous records. Crusoe made lists of all the supplies on his island. Roxana goes through her finances with you, in to-the-dollar detail, over and over. This too is a tradition, extending through Balzac and A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. It sounds boring, but if you want to understand how money worked in the 1700s, here's your big chance. You don't, of course, so it's mostly boring.

Virginia Woolf says that Defoe "seems to have taken his characters so deeply into his mind that he lived them without knowing exactly how, and, like all unconscious artists, he leaves more gold in his work than his own generation was able to bring to the surface." It feels to me like his characters escape him: they're more than who he thinks they are. (Or, at least, there's enough life in them to become more with time.) Robinson Crusoe is a lunatic. Moll Flanders is almost a feminist.

And Roxana...well, Roxana is complicated. "Seeing liberty seemed to be the man's property, I would be a man-woman, for, as I was born free, I would die so," she says, and that's pretty awesome, right? She insists on independence. Her refusal to marry her series of companions seems triumphant to a modern reader. She reminds me of the mighty Becky Sharp, who similarly escapes her author and is punished by him for it, or despite it.

But punished she is, and Roxana doesn't translate as well for we modern readers as Moll Flanders does. She's a sort of accidental unreliable narrator. She sounds convincingly kind, but she's terribly cruel to her children. I like her; I find it hard to reconcile the woman who seems constantly aware of and concerned about the feelings of others to the woman who drops a trail of abandoned children behind her like a harp seal. This is probably Defoe's fault; he tries harder to get into Roxana's head, to describe her motivation and personality, than he ever did with Moll or Robinson, and he mucks it up a bit. She just fails to come across as a consistent, believable human. This is the most psychological of Defoe's novels, and it exposes his weakness.

On the plus side, though, there are some sexy parts.

[W.D. Clarke · Rating 4 out of 5]

If someone were to say to me, "Listen, I have the time and inclination to read just one book by Defoe (or one English novel from the period of 1700-1725 — same thing!), which should it be?" my only possible response to them could be, "Why, Roxana of course!" Viz., that in my opinion not only is Roxana Defoe's final novel, it is also his best because:
(i) in it the author's ability to "get out of the way" and fully inhabit his first person confessional narrator's personality reaches its absolute peak in this book (though it is indeed Mr Foe's strongest suit in all of his books);
(ii) it is as replete with diverting incident as Moll Flanders (and far, far more than Robinson Crusoe!), on a par in that regard as, say Captain Singleton ;
(iii) Defoe's penchant for creating "realism" by the piling on of factual detail ad nauseum is kept most gratifyingly in check* here compared to elsewhere.

Most importantly for this reader, though, is:
(iv) the first appearance in the English novel of real, live ambiguity and indeterminacy! For while the narrator continually insists upon telling us throughout the book that she now (that is, at some unspecified moment much later in her life) regrets the life of greed and pleasure that she has pursued, the novel itself suggests otherwise, that she would do it all over again if given the opportunity (a feeling also partially present in the pirate tale of Captain Singleton, btw). For she is continually, in fact, at war with herself, even in the telling of her story, unlike the sincere converts and repentants who attempt to morally uplift/instruct us readers in Defoe's other novels. (Such ambiguity is in play in several other ways as well, such as a double time scheme by which we are simultaneously in the debauched Restoration court of Charles II as well as in that equally unredeemed—from De Foe's p.o.v.—court of George I...).

Recommended.

*Such excess is most wearisomely evident in A Journal of the Plague Year and in Robinson Crusoe. Here though, it is used so sparingly that, when it is deployed, it is quite effective. Consider, for example, this moment from later in the novel where (the currently regretful, remember) Roxana finally becomes engaged to her Dutch merchant, and they reveal to each other the extent of the wealth that they have heretofore individually accrued and are now bringing to their connubial "jointure"and hymeneal couvenante, such a nuptial concordat and conjugal bargain as the world of accountancy has never seen! <--I do go on a bit there, cos Defoe himself then proceeds to do exactly that, diving into the kind of joyous detailing he is so fond of elsewhere, but because he has held himself back, we readers also revel in Roxana's and her fiancé's Scrooge McDuck-like revelling in their untold (well, now very much "told") wealth:

So we open’d the Box; there was in it indeed, what I did not expect, for I thought he had sunk his Estate, rather than rais’d it; but he produc’d me in Goldsmith’s Bills, and Stock in the English East-India Company, about sixteen thousand amounting in the whole to 5800 Crowns 289 per Annum, or annual Rent, as ’tis call’d there and lastly, the Sum of 30000 Rixdollars in the Bank of Amsterdam; besides some Jewels and Gold in the Box, to the Value of about 15 or 1600 livres among which was a very good Necklace of Pearl, of about 200 livres Value; and that he pull’d out, and ty’d about my Neck; telling me, That shou’d not be reckon’d into the Account.

I was equally pleas’d and surpriz’d; and it was with an inexpressible Joy, that I saw him so rich: You might well tell me, said I , that you were able to make me Countess , and maintain me as such: In short , he was immensly rich; for besides all this, he shew’d me, which was the Reason of his being so busie among the Books, I say , he shew’d me several Adventures he had Abroad, in the Business of his Merchandize; as particularly, an eighth Share in an East-India Ship then Abroad; an Account-Courant with a Merchant, at Cadiz in Spain ; about 3000 livres lent upon Bottomree? upon Ships gone to the Indies ; and a large Cargo of Goods in a Merchant’s Hands, for Sale, at Lisbon in Portugal ; so that in his Books there was about 12000 livres more; all which put together, made about 27000 livres Sterling, and 1320 livres a Year.

I stood amaz’d at this Account, as well I might , and said nothing to him for a good-while, and the rather, because I saw him still busie, looking over his Books: After a-while, as I was going to express my Wonder; Hold , my Dear, says he , this is not all neither; then he pull’d me out some old Seals, and small Parchment-Rolls, which I did not understand; but he told me , they were a Right of Reversion which he had to a Paternal Estate in his Family, and a Mortgage of 14000 Rixdollars , which he had upon it, in the Hands of the present Possessor; so that was about 3000 livres more.

But now hold again, says he , for I must pay my Debts out of all this, and they are very great, I assure you; and the first, he said , was a black Article of 8000 Pistoles, which he had a Law-Suit about, at Paris , but had it awarded against him, which was the Loss he had told me of, and which made him leave Paris in Disgust; that in other Accounts he ow’d about 5300 livres Sterling; but after all this, upon the whole, he had still 17000 livres clear Stock in Money, and 1320 livres a-Year in Rent.

After some Pause, it came to my Turn to speak; Well, says I , ’tis very hard a Gentleman with such a Fortune as this, shou’d come over to England , and marry a Wife with Nothing ; it shall never, says I , be said, but what I have, I’ll bring into the Publick Stock; so I began to produce.

First , I pull’d out the Mortgage which good Sir Robert had procur’d for me, the annual Rent 700 l . per Annum ; the principal Money 14000 livres
Secondly , I pull’d out another Mortgage upon Land, procur’d by the same faithful Friend, which at three times, had advanc’d 12000 livres.
Thirdly , I pull’d him out a Parcel of little Securities, procur’d by several Hands, by Fee-Farm Rents, and such Petty Mortgages as those Times afforded, amounting to 10800 livres principal Money, and paying six hundred and thirty six Pounds a-Year; so that in the whole, there was two thousand fifty six Pounds a-Year, Ready-Money, constantly coming in.

When I had shewn him all these, I laid them upon the Table, and bade him take them, that he might be able to give me an Answer to the second Question , viz. What Fortune he had with his Wife ? and laugh’d a little at it.

But as my Scots great-grandmother apparently used to say, "Too much laughing always leads to crying", of course—alas!

[Carlo Mascellani · Rating 2 out of 5]

La storia è sulla falsariga di Moll flanders. Narra le.peripezie di una donna che, trovandosi in difficoltà economiche causa morti o defezioni di mariti, trova nuovi mariti, sforna una gran quantità di figli che, il più delle volte non si sa che fine facciano, sceglie di viver da mantenuta nel lusso e a tal scopo sacrifica ogni suo ideale. Uno squarcio sulla triste condizione femminile dell'epoca, che elude comprensibilmente ogni moralismo da una parte, dall'altra invece, lascia qualche perplessità. Storia molto prolissa. Poche tematiche nuove rispetto a quelle trovate in Moll flanders. Mi aspettavo di più.

[Natalie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oh! It's so deliciously old! Sentences that stretch for paragraphs; seemingly random capitalization scattered about the pages! And yet, it is so human a story you can hardly believe the creature that called themselves humans in the 1720s could have so much in common with you, your very self. Everyone is so naughty! It makes being good seem garishly modern.

[gloria .☆ﾟ. · Rating 2 out of 5]

reading 50% of it was enough tbh

[Kin · Rating 1 out of 5]

There is only one thing I want to say: FINALLY OVER!

[M.M. Strawberry Library & Reviews · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is from the same author who wrote Moll Flanders. I did not like that book, and... I did not like this one either. As a history buff, i love reading old novels, as they give you a good peek into what life was like back in the old days, from people who actually lived during these times.

I think part of the problem is that a guy wrote this and Moll Flanders. Now, I do not believe that gender or any other thing beyond a person's control means they can't write about a group they're not in. I mean, as a young woman, I've written from the perspective of a old man (and a veteran, no less) after careful consideration and research. I feel that with enough imagination and research, an author can get into the mind of a character that is very different from themselves.

Of course, the author did not have Google, and the spheres of males and females in most if not all parts of the world were very separate at that time, so I can't fault the author for being ignorant of 'girl stuff', but god damn, I found this book tedious and skimmed through much of it.

[Amber · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book has the most modern, compelling and insightful argument about why women of 1724 were better to stay unmarried, which is an absolute must read and highlights all Roxana's strengths. I promise, the rest of the novel is NOTHING like this. If you're interested in checking it out, skip to the bottom spoiler tag.



I'm not one of those people who DNF's books. And yeah, I abandoned The Oresteia but you would too if you had to read all those footnotes after you dropped the class

If I was smart (and if you are), I never would have finished this book. But it's weird and I'm glad I did.

The story starts off, for lack of a better word, boring. I once read somewhere that a good story starts in media res (in the middle of things), but we get a sense of who our narrator is from where she chooses to start the story.

I was born, as my friends told me, at the city of Poitiers, in the province or county of Poitou in France, from whence I was brought to England by my parents, who fled from their religionn about the year 1683, when the Protestants were banished from France by the cruelty of their persecutors.

Sound interstesting? Unfortunately, the story has nothing to do with any of this. Roxana is merely relating the facts, and while she is clear and concise here, she only devolves as the story gets going and things start to get a little more... intimate (and I'm not just talking about her choices). The summary on Goodreads paints Roxana as a woman who "traded her virtue" and as the autobiography gets going, she attempts to paint herself as this. But because this is an autobiography, and she is the narrator-turned-author, you not only get a whole lot of "But to go on with my own story" when she digresses for even a SECOND about someone else, even her most intimate acquaintance and most beloved friend, Amy. You also get a lot of this:

I may call well call it languishing, for if Providence had not relieved me, I should have died in little time. But of that hereafter.

As a modern reader, you can make the argument, well maybe they wrote differently back then. I can assure you, having read a decent amount 18th century literature, that this wasn't common. You got 1st person mainly through letters, but it was more popular to write to the moment, or in chronological sequence, rather than dropping these annoyings hints of what's coming. Me, I can't stand it. It's annoying! I don't want your spoilers halfway through, I want the compelling evidence of not knowing what is coming. Because for most of the story, I was convinced Roxana is a terrible, terrible narrator.

Even if you're not like me, you still get scenes like this, where she is so self-centered and removed from telling her story - which by the by, you never find out from what period she started narrating - that you have to struggle to keep going, because even the most excitingly awful things are glossed over:

I had but small encouragement to give her, and indeed could say but very little, but I got her to compose herself a little and not let any of the people of the ship understand what she meant or what she said. But even in her greatest composure she continued to express herself with the utmost dread and terror on account of the wicked life she had lived, and crying out she should be damned and the like, which was very terrible to me who knew what condition I was in myself.

Yes, that is only two sentences.

I can see from some of these lines that this book could seem very compelling with its selfish narrator, who being so selfish and self-absorbed, can at times get very unreliable, especially with her limited perspective. But yet, I stand by my beliefs, which is that this book is not about deep, meaningful, poetic language. I haven't read any other Defoe, so I can't tell you if that's just his style, or if he was intending for something 'different' with this one.

However, every now and then you get a line like this:

This, however, shows us with what faint excuses and with what trifles we pretend to satisfy ourselves and suppress the attempts of conscience in the pursuit of agreeable crime, and in the possessing those pleasures which we are loath to part with.

Which is absolutely beautiful. Roxana's true gift is in making us understand her thought process and why she did things. She continually repeats herself, yes, but that repetition is there to compel you, not only into believing her often how-is-this-possible story as fact, but also as a defense. Roxana wants you to accept the chain of life and say, "Well, if you acted like this and felt this way then, well, that makes sense..."

The problem with this story is really the time period. Roxana's adventures would be perfectly acceptable (and perhaps not as profitable) in modern day. And of course I'm all for a wicked heroine. But my beef with this story is that the original, well... There's no catharsis. Roxana really is the FORTUNATE mistress. And that's a big problem.

You see, this is the end of the story

Here, after some few years of flourishing and outwardly happy circumstances, I feel into a dreadful course of calamities, and Amy also; the very reverse of our former good days. The blast of Heaven seemed to follow the injury done the poor girl by us both, and I was brought so low again that my repentance seemed to be only the consequence of my misery, as my misery was out of crime.

Naturally, I found fault with this ending, because everyone knows which side is supposed to win and lose, and how it's got to be a really good loss, especially after a really great gain. Well, that's a really pathetic ending. Some people took fault with this, and so a much speculated person wrote a different ending.

The problem with that ending is that it doesn't agree at all with the process of the story in many aspects. It takes Roxana, who is in Holland in the final paragraph, back to England, and starts her there. While it explains some things like what happened to Susanna if she wasn't really dead, it still breaks continuity in a bad bad way. It also doesn't agree with the final paragraph in that there were happy years in Holland before the calamities came - Roxana has none of that, Susanna comes right away and spoils all.

Now, as to why I enjoyed reading this, when it was so dull and awful and placid in the middle, was the end. Once you've read the various glories of Roxana, you're wondering, well, why is this worth telling. Because the last couple of pages bring, as described by another reader, a slow moving car crash. For me, that was the most compelling, page turning moment of the whole book. If Roxana had thought to include or not gloss over more moments of almost being burned, or having her cover blown, or just framing the instances that did happen properly, this book would be more compelling.

As it stands, I had to give it 3 stars, simply because of the beginning. I really could have given this book up! The end was really closer to 3.5 or 4.

Now would I recommend this? Maybe, if you are compelled by what you see here, enjoy classic literature, have previously enjoyed Defoe, and most importantly, know what you are getting into! I can't stress this enough, this is not the book I was promised. Here is the REAL summary of Roxana.

Roxana (1724), Defoe's last novel, is the autobiography of a woman brought to the brink of survival. In order to survive, she must sacrifice her virtue and honour for bread in the arms of another man. Many years later, when tragedy strikes the pair, she is offered the chance to do it all again, but this time as an undisguised mistress. Throughout, Roxana portrays herself as aloof, distant, and exotic - earning her the name she wins in England for her possession in equal parts of beauty, poise, and mystery. Often more composed than she should be, Roxana is a forgiving analyst of her own susceptibilities, begging the audience to understand how she was led down this path. Endowed with a selfishness so deep that she is unmoved by anything around her, she is able to carry on her life of renown for many years and exult in the gain. Unlike Defoe's other penitent anti-heroes, Roxana never feels guilt, sorrow, or shame unless she believes it will save her from consequence. Defoe's achievement was to invent, in 'Roxana', a gripping story-teller, but what he succeeded in was an unreliable narratess whose single-mindedness makes the storytelling less predictable than modern readers are typically used to.


Infamous passage of Roxana's views on marriage
He was extremely disappointed in this article, and knew not how to manage for a great while; and as I dare say, if he had not expected to have made it an earnest for marrying me, he would not have attempted me the other way, so, I believed, if it had not been for the money which he knew I had, he would never have desired to marry me after he had lain with me. For where is the man that cares to marry a whore, though of his own making? And as I knew him to be no fool, so I did him no wrong when I supposed that, but for the money, he would not have had any thoughts of me that way, especially after my yielding as I had done; in which it is to be remembered that I made no capitulation for marrying him when I yielded to him, but let him do just what he pleased, without any previous bargain.

Well, hitherto we went upon guesses at one another's designs; but as he continued to importune me to marry, though he had lain with me, and still did lie with me as often as he pleased, and I continued to refuse to marry him, though I let him lie with me whenever he desired it; I say, as these two circumstances made up our conversation, it could not continue long thus, but we must come to an explanation.

One morning, in the middle of our unlawful freedoms—that is to say, when we were in bed together—he sighed, and told me he desired my leave to ask me one question, and that I would give him an answer to it with the same ingenious freedom and honesty that I had used to treat him with. I told him I would. Why, then, his question was, why I would not marry him, seeing I allowed him all the freedom of a husband. "Or," says he, "my dear, since you have been so kind as to take me to your bed, why will you not make me your own, and take me for good and all, that we may enjoy ourselves without any reproach to one another?"

I told him, that as I confessed it was the only thing I could not comply with him in, so it was the only thing in all my actions that I could not give him a reason for; that it was true I had let him come to bed to me, which was supposed to be the greatest favour a woman could grant; but it was evident, and he might see it, that, as I was sensible of the obligation I was under to him for saving me from the worst circumstance it was possible for me to be brought to, I could deny him nothing; and if I had had any greater favour to yield him, I should have done it, that of matrimony only excepted, and he could not but see that I loved him to an extraordinary degree, in every part of my behaviour to him; but that as to marrying, which was giving up my liberty, it was what once he knew I had done, and he had seen how it had hurried me up and down in the world, and what it had exposed me to; that I had an aversion to it, and desired he would not insist upon it. He might easily see I had no aversion to him; and that, if I was with child by him, he should see a testimony of my kindness to the father, for that I would settle all I had in the world upon the child.

He was mute a good while. At last says he, "Come, my dear, you are the first woman in the world that ever lay with a man and then refused to marry him, and therefore there must be some other reason for your refusal; and I have therefore one other request, and that is, if I guess at the true reason, and remove the objection, will you then yield to me?" I told him if he removed the objection I must needs comply, for I should certainly do everything that I had no objection against.

"Why then, my dear, it must be that either you are already engaged or married to some other man, or you are not willing to dispose of your money to me, and expect to advance yourself higher with your fortune. Now, if it be the first of these, my mouth will be stopped, and I have no more to say; but if it be the last, I am prepared effectually to remove the objection, and answer all you can say on that subject."

I took him up short at the first of these, telling him he must have base thoughts of me indeed, to think that I could yield to him in such a manner as I had done, and continue it with so much freedom as he found I did, if I had a husband or were engaged to any other man; and that he might depend upon it that was not my case, nor any part of my case.

"Why then," said he, "as to the other, I have an offer to make to you that shall take off all the objection, viz., that I will not touch one pistole of your estate more than shall be with your own voluntary consent, neither now or at any other time, but you shall settle it as you please for your life, and upon who you please after your death;" that I should see he was able to maintain me without it, and that it was not for that that he followed me from Paris.

I was indeed surprised at that part of his offer, and he might easily perceive it; it was not only what I did not expect, but it was what I knew not what answer to make to. He had, indeed, removed my principal objection—nay, all my objections, and it was not possible for me to give any answer; for, if upon so generous an offer I should agree with him, I then did as good as confess that it was upon the account of my money that I refused him; and that though I could give up my virtue and expose myself, yet I would not give up my money, which, though it was true, yet was really too gross for me to acknowledge, and I could not pretend to marry him upon that principle neither. Then as to having him, and make over all my estate out of his hands, so as not to give him the management of what I had, I thought it would be not only a little Gothic and inhuman, but would be always a foundation of unkindness between us, and render us suspected one to another; so that, upon the whole, I was obliged to give a new turn to it, and talk upon a kind of an elevated strain, which really was not in my thoughts, at first, at all; for I own, as above, the divesting myself of my estate and putting my money out of my hand was the sum of the matter that made me refuse to marry; but, I say, I gave it a new turn upon this occasion, as follows:—

I told him I had, perhaps, different notions of matrimony from what the received custom had given us of it; that I thought a woman was a free agent as well as a man, and was born free, and, could she manage herself suitably, might enjoy that liberty to as much purpose as the men do; that the laws of matrimony were indeed otherwise, and mankind at this time acted quite upon other principles, and those such that a woman gave herself entirely away from herself, in marriage, and capitulated, only to be, at best, but an upper servant, and from the time she took the man she was no better or worse than the servant among the Israelites, who had his ears bored—that is, nailed to the door-post—who by that act gave himself up to be a servant during life; that the very nature of the marriage contract was, in short, nothing but giving up liberty, estate, authority, and everything to the man, and the woman was indeed a mere woman ever after—that is to say, a slave.

He replied, that though in some respects it was as I had said, yet I ought to consider that, as an equivalent to this, the man had all the care of things devolved upon him; that the weight of business lay upon his shoulders, and as he had the trust, so he had the toil of life upon him; his was the labour, his the anxiety of living; that the woman had nothing to do but to eat the fat and drink the sweet; to sit still and look around her, be waited on and made much of, be served and loved and made easy, especially if the husband acted as became him; and that, in general, the labour of the man was appointed to make the woman live quiet and unconcerned in the world; that they had the name of subjection without the thing; and if in inferior families they had the drudgery of the house and care of the provisions upon them, yet they had indeed much the easier part; for, in general, the women had only the care of managing—that is, spending what their husbands get; and that a woman had the name of subjection, indeed, but that they generally commanded, not the men only, but all they had; managed all for themselves; and where the man did his duty, the woman's life was all ease and tranquillity, and that she had nothing to do but to be easy, and to make all that were about her both easy and merry.

I returned, that while a woman was single, she was a masculine in her politic capacity; that she had then the full command of what she had, and the full direction of what she did; that she was a man in her separate capacity, to all intents and purposes that a man could be so to himself; that she was controlled by none, because accountable to none, and was in subjection to none. So I sung these two lines of Mr. ——'s:—

"Oh! 'tis pleasant to be free,
The sweetest Miss is Liberty."

I added, that whoever the woman was that had an estate, and would give it up to be the slave of a great man, that woman was a fool, and must be fit for nothing but a beggar; that it was my opinion a woman was as fit to govern and enjoy her own estate without a man as a man was without a woman; and that, if she had a mind to gratify herself as to sexes, she might entertain a man as a man does a mistress; that while she was thus single she was her own, and if she gave away that power she merited to be as miserable as it was possible that any creature could be.

All he could say could not answer the force of this as to argument; only this, that the other way was the ordinary method that the world was guided by; that he had reason to expect I should be content with that which all the world was contented with; that he was of the opinion that a sincere affection between a man and his wife answered all the objections that I had made about the being a slave, a servant, and the like; and where there was a mutual love there could be no bondage, but that there was but one interest, one aim, one design, and all conspired to make both very happy.

"Ay," said I, "that is the thing I complain of. The pretence of affection takes from a woman everything that can be called herself; she is to have no interest, no aim, no view; but all is the interest, aim, and view of the husband; she is to be the passive creature you spoke of," said I. "She is to lead a life of perfect indolence, and living by faith, not in God, but in her husband, she sinks or swims, as he is either fool or wise man, unhappy or prosperous; and in the middle of what she thinks is her happiness and prosperity, she is engulfed in misery and beggary, which she had not the least notice, knowledge, or suspicion of. How often have I seen a woman living in all the splendour that a plentiful fortune ought to allow her, with her coaches and equipages, her family and rich furniture, her attendants and friends, her visitors and good company

The above is continued in the comments!

[Kuszma · Rating 3 out of 5]

Defoe ugye a Robinsonban megírta a protestáns munkamorál himnuszát, a csodát, ahogy a keresztény fehér ember a semmibe kivetve is képes a két kezével újrateremteni a civilizációt. Hajlamos vagyok azt gondolni, hogy ez a kötet ennek női párdarabja. Mert amikor hősnőnket öt gyerekkel a nyakán otthagyja férje, az társadalmi értelemben ugyanolyan lakatlan sziget volt a XVIII. századi Angliában, ugyanolyan reménytelen sors, amiből szinte lehetetlen kikászálódni. Elbeszélőnk azonban vérbeli üzleti talentumként reagál a helyzetre, és áruba bocsátja az egyetlen dolgot, ami maradt neki: a testét. És láss csodát, sikert sikerre halmoz ezen a piacon. Nehéz nem észrevenni, hogy Defoe tulajdonképpen csodálja saját elbeszélője ezirányú tehetségét, oldalakon keresztül képes kéjelegve sorolni mindazt az anyagi hasznot, amit hölgyünk kiharcol magának - ennyi meg ennyi font, ennyi meg ennyi aranypistol, kamatra kihelyezett összegek, hogy az ékszerről meg az ezüstneműről ne is beszéljünk. Az ember meg csak ámul és bámul, mert ha ez a piaci szegmens ilyen haszonnal kecsegtet, akkor szinte kedvünk támad ott szerencsét próbálni.

Na de itt jön az ambivalencia. Mert ugye Defoe hívő keresztényként azt is tudja, hogy a házasságon kívüli szex (pláne ha a nő műveli) egyben halálos bűn is, nota bene ha egy kurvát teszünk meg főszereplőnknek, akkor azt is éreztetnünk kell az olvasóval, hogy a bűn végső soron mindig elnyeri büntetését. Így hát a szerző szerét ejti, hogy szereplője időnként lamentáljon egyet-kettőt bűnei nagyságán, és gondoskodik arról, hogy Roxána ne élvezhesse ki azok gyümölcsét - magyarán miután elér sikerei csúcsára, letaszajtja őt a mélybe*. Ebből pedig a legbutább olvasó is megértheti, hogy hiába utal minden az ellenkezőjére, a prostitúció rossz, ééértem?

Ugye jó háromszáz éves szövegről beszélünk, szóval mai szemmel nézve nem igazán tűnik regénynek. Sokkal inkább erkölcsi példabeszéd a műfaja, annak viszont enyhén erőltetett. Nem lehet persze eleget méltatni Defoe-t, amiért felhívja a figyelmet a női kiszolgáltatottságra, de bevallom, ezt a sok indokolatlan moralizálást, a vontatott konfliktusleírásokat és kommentárokat én már nehezen tudtam tolerálni. Rendkívül érdekes szöveg a maga nemében, de képtelen voltam nem unatkozni rajta.

* Az 1724-es első kiadásban ezt az egész bukás-dolgot Defoe lerendezte egyetlen záróbekezdésben. Aztán érezte, hogy ez nem lesz jó így, úgyhogy a következő kiadásban kifejtette bővebben - de ezzel sem tudott meggyőzni.

[kingshearte · Rating 2 out of 5]

In the realm of odd comparisons to make between books, here’s one: This one and Interview With The Vampire. Not because there are any vampires or anything (obviously), but because of my feelings toward the respective protagonists. The main thing I remember about reading Interview is how much Louis annoyed me with his constant whining, and how much I wished he would just shut up and get over it. I’m pretty sure that that same feeling about Defoe’s nameless heroine (her name isn’t really Roxana) is what’s going to stick with me about this book.

Because, oh my god, she frets a lot. And always about the same thing. I feel like every single page features at least one paragraph where she moans about her chosen profession and what it means for her immortal soul or whatever, and it drove me crazy. Maybe if I’d been raised in the same environment she was, with its horror of all things sex (especially as it relates to women, of course), I wouldn’t have minded so much, but seriously. Once you’ve amassed enough wealth to live on, if you think what you’re doing is so awful, stop doing it. If the wealth is important enough to you that you want to keep at it so you can get more, then do so and get over it. But either way, for the love of whatever, SHUT. UP.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sympathetic to a point. It’s not her fault she believes that her soul is in peril because of the way she lives her life. The society in which she was brought up made that very clear to her. The only thing worse than giving up your favours outside of marriage is profiting by it. No, sorry, there’s one thing that’s even worse than that: enjoying it. Worst thing a woman could possibly do.

Because here’s the thing. At the beginning, when she was trying to decide whether she should become someone’s mistress in the first place, one of the ways she justifies it is to say that, if it’s a matter of life or death, then surely it can be forgiven. And for her, as she was pretty much on the verge of starvation, it was a matter of life or death, so her “fall” was forgivable. But really, sex pretty much was a matter of life or death for all women in that era. Women, as a general rule, were not allowed to make money in any “acceptable” way (even if they were born into wealth that just provided an income without having to work for it, women didn’t generally get to inherit any of that), which means they basically had to rely on a man to provide for them. Whether you marry the dude or not, it basically still boils down to trading sexual favours and your reproductive system for food and shelter. Marriage simply makes it a more binding contract. So by that logic, every woman of that era should get a pass on this particular way of living.

But then, of course, she finds herself having to admit that she enjoys it. She likes the attention and the admiration, and I want to say it was implied in at least one spot that she actually enjoys the act itself (gasp!). And that’s when the real hand-wringing starts, and when I started to check out.

The rest of the book carries on in a similar vein. She becomes mistress to a handful of men (four, by my count, not counting her first husband, and she did eventually marry one of the four – not an unreasonable number), makes a pile of money, and frets about it all the whole way through. So tedious.

And I suppose I should address the final section. It is believed that it was actually written by someone other than Defoe, as there are some inconsistencies. One mentioned by the introduction writer was that while Defoe tended to use “frighted,” the author of the last section used “frightened.” I also observed that Defoe had his heroine refer to her husband most often as her “spouse,” while in the last section, she used the word “husband” more frequently. Furthermore, while, as mentioned above, I found much of the narrative tedious, the first part of the final section was painfully so. The details of their trip from London to Dover were related with such minute precision that it was maddening.

That said, assuming that Defoe did indeed not write that last section, I’m left with one question for him: WTF? His ending is essentially “Then they moved to Holland and terrible things happened. The end.” What?! And then I found my own reaction to this kind of fascinating. Why is it that “and they lived happily ever after” is so much more acceptable as an ending than “and they lived miserably ever after”? It’s no less abrupt. I guess it just comes down to narrative conventions. Good storytelling generally relies on conflict. If they lived happily ever after, that implies that there’s no more conflict, so there’s no more story. If they lived miserably ever after, it’s presumably because there was still some conflict, which we as readers want to hear about and find out how it got resolved. All the more so because it’s not like Defoe’s narrative ended with the resolution of all outstanding conflicts, so there were just future ones to deal with. No, he leaves us still right in the middle of the most recent one he’s introduced. It’s all just very strange, and I’m not particularly surprised that someone felt the need to write an actual conclusion to the story.

At any rate, at this point, I think I can state fairly confidently that I’m done with Defoe. I’ve read three of his books and haven’t particularly liked any of them. Someone would have to come up with a very compelling argument for me to read any more.

[Marisol · Rating 5 out of 5]

Roxana fue escrita por Daniel Defoe, cuando ya tenía más de 60 años, y fue una de sus últimas novelas.

En primera persona una mujer nos cuenta su vida, estamos en el siglo 18 en Inglaterra 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿, nos enteramos que se llama Susan, y que no cree en el matrimonio ni en la protección de un marido, por amarga experiencia.

En algún momento Roxana se vuelve su nombre de batalla, aunque ella misma se percibe como una prostituta por dormir con hombres fuera de la institución sagrada llamada matrimonio, vamos descubriendo que tiene relaciones largas con ellos y que no son tantos.

Aunque existe un ligero toque moralista, también es verdad que Roxana es un personaje transgresor, contraria a las costumbres de la época, con una personalidad independiente, preocupada por su seguridad económica y sobre todo temerosa a ser sometida y dependiente de un hombre.

Roxana a lo largo de su vida tiene alrededor de 7 hijos a los cuales no cría ni ve, pero esto no la mortifica ni le quiebra la cabeza, de hecho no se habla mucho de ellos, sino hacia el final de la novela, una de sus hijas cobra protagonismo pero por circunstancias distintas o contrarias al amor maternal.

Aunque Defoe castiga a Susan al final, como era de esperarse, eso no demerita al personaje, que para la época fue una mujer que tomó sus decisiones pensando en su beneficio, es decir vivió una vida plena aún y con las consecuencias que pudieran derivarse.

Pensé que no me iba a gustar, pero de hecho si me gusto y mucho. Aunque el final fue muy atropellado.

💼🏦💸Anécdota: Daniel Defoe durante gran parte de su vida fue comerciante, y a veces no le iba tan bien, por lo que contrajo numerosas deudas, todo este conocimiento mercantil se ve reflejado en el libro 📚.

💬✔️🔝Pros: la narración es ligera, el personaje de Roxana esta muy bien construido, y tiene infinidad de matices que permiten a veces sentir simpatía por ella y otras veces detestarla, tiene su toque picaresco que para esos tiempos habrá ruborizado a más de uno.

❌‼️😞Contras: el final abrupto y que cambia en diferentes versiones.

🧑🏻‍🦰💅🏼El personaje: Amy la doncella de Roxana es un personaje que le da dinamismo a la historia, mucho humor pero también es parte crucial de las mejores y peores decisiones de su ama.

📝✍️La cita: “Por tanto la naturaleza misma del contrato matrimonial consistía, en suma, nada más que en cederle la propia libertad, los bienes y la autoridad al hombre, y en convertirse, para siempre sólo en una mujer, o, lo que viene a ser lo mismo, en una esclava.”

[WJEP · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lady Roxana liv’d a Life of absolute Liberty: "Money in my Pocket, and a Bastard in my Belly." She was the first women's libber: "the first Woman in the World that ever lay with a Man, and then refus’d to marry him." Seventy years before A Vindication of the Rights of Woman Roxana persuasively argues:

"I did not understand what Coherence the Words Honour and Obey had with the Liberty of a Free Woman ... seeing Liberty seem’d to be the Men’s Property, I wou’d be a Man-Woman; for as I was born free, I wou’d die so."

Defoe's books were 18th century equivalent of paperback originals. I enjoyed the phrasing and the characters (especially Amy and the QUAKER). But it had too much repetitive Grimacing and it had no ending (this is discussed in the introduction and the appendix).

[Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

I loved psychoanalyzing Roxana and her relationships with Amy, her children, and her clients. Thanks to my brilliant Brit Lit professor, I also enjoyed discussing this book's structure (or lack thereof), the theme of redemption, and Defoe and his sadistic mind games. While I do not walk away from reading this changed or particularly impressed, I appreciate it on an intellectual level and as a work with a crazy narrator.

[Daiva Boleišienė · Rating 4 out of 5]

Patiko, skaitesi lengvai, bet po nedaug. Siek tiek prailgo, bet bendrai idomus Prancuzijoje gimusios moters gyvenimas prasidejes 1683m persikelus gyvent i Anglija. Kaip likimo vingiai privede prie tokio gyvenimo, koki jai teko gyventi.

[Samantha wickedshizuku Tolleson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Okay so, I would have never read this if it hadn’t been on the 1001 Books to Read Before you Die list. I’m glad that it’s on the list!
I was amused by Lady Roxana’s antics, and feel that this was mere child’s play compared to modern morality. It gives you a perspective of how strict and stressful life of women in the 1670s and beyond were.
This would be a useful reference for anyone pursuing a History major, or Literature minor.

[Emily · Rating 3 out of 5]

Someone needs to take semicolons away from Danny D

[Matthew Gatheringwater · Rating 4 out of 5]

When Roxana strips her maid and forces the girl into bed with Roxana's own lover, she can reflect after the fact that she did this because she was unwilling to let her maid be morally superior to her. "...As I thought myself a Whore," she explains, "I cannot say that it was something design'd in my Thoughts, that my Maid should be a Whore too, and should not reproach me for it." That's the kind of introspection that makes Roxana such an interesting narrative voice and something that distinguishes her from her sister anti-heroine, Moll Flanders.

Roxana's self-knowledge, however, is inconsistent. At other times in her narration, she simply recounts her actions without having anything to say about their moral character. She is glib when she describes forcing her son to marry a woman of her own choosing, then punishing him for his reluctance by withholding promised investment capital. This is interesting in a different way: Does she not comment because Defoe is purposefully depicting the blind spots in her character, or is this just another of the many inconsistencies in the novel? (Her age and number of children are muddled, which is not the sort of thing I'd expect an author to get wrong on purpose.) Or am I encountering values so unfamiliar to my own moral experience and observation that what is unworthy of mention in Defoe's community seems a sort of crime in mine? I don't know, and I enjoy not knowing. That is one of the reasons I like to read old novels. The morality of most contemporary novels is so blatant as to become tiresome.

Roxana's "bad" behavior is blatant, but her moral arguments are subtle. She represents herself as wicked even when she is describing acts of kindness or extraordinary fair play and generosity. By hastening to assure the reader that she agrees with the conventional opinion of her dissolute life, she (and the author) cleverly forestall the reader's condemnation, although perhaps not to the extent that prevented publishers from feeling they needed to add alternate endings to subsequent editions of the book. In these alternate endings, Roxana is punished for her wrongdoing, penitent, reformed, and usually dead. Defoe gave her a sad and abrupt end, too, but the relish with which her sins are recounted and the complexity of her moral character make me wonder how wicked she was meant to be. Wicked enough, I suppose, to make for good reading--still.


For my reference:
Roxana's taxonomy of fools begins with the passage: "If you have any regard to your future happiness, any view of living comfortably with a husband, any hope of preserving your fortunes or restoring them after any disaster, never, ladies, marry a fool."

Roxana's false "new turn" on the subject of marriage, in which whe explains why she will sleep with, but not marry, her lover begins with: "I told him I had perhaps differing notions of matrimony from what the received custom had given us of it..."

[Jamreo · Rating 1 out of 5]

Sorry, no. I found this story ridiculous and ridiculously unlikely. Roxana is NOT - or I don't see her as - a proto-feminist figure, except, maybe, for her view on marriage and why women are better off without husbands, at a time when husbands had control over their wives' fortune. But it is stressed that she basically lives in sin and is doomed to go straight to Hell. So yeah, she does what she wants, but she's still a huge sinner according to herself. Is there any freedom in that way of thinking ? Also, she doesn't seem to care a BIT about her children. Oh, except at the end, right. I cannot help but think we deem her a feminist figure now because she doesn't give a damn about her children and has sex with several men. Yes, sexual freedom IS important. But no : treating your children like shit - whether you're a man or a woman - is not part of any freedom you should demand. I know 1724 was a completely different time, whit completely different mores, so Roxana's way of treating her children might actually have been the norm then. I don't know. But for us to call her a feminist figure TODAY is - to my mind - odd.
Tha being said, it is MY view on the book. I might be wrong and ignorant, feel free to disagree, with maybe more insight than I have on the book and the context of publication. However, I did not enjoy the story either. Tedious, and overall rather absurd.

[Ben Doeh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Roxanne !!! put on the red light... put on the red light...

Indeed, Roxana has exceptional success in the mistress/pussypower business, becoming an independent lady in a world where men control commerce and political power. Defoe explores the role and viability of female Authority in a man's world, by narrating from Roxana's perspective.

The book has many dull passages, but the fourth star is for the novel's dark drama, and its sometimes brilliant and morally complex passages - Roxana forcing her maid into sex; her scathing account of marriage to fools; her reflections on "storm-repentance" at sea; her bedside debate with the Dutch merchant about marriage and blackly amusing comparison of being wife v mistress; and several more.

The ending of the novel sustains a tone of dread, and peculiar perplexity about women's supposedly 'maternal' instincts. I can't decide whether it feels forced, or oddly convincing for this operator in the world of men. In any case, it lingers in the mind, and makes me wonder who writes like this today. For even though women have far more options these days, many of the issues still arise.

[Gwynplaine26th · Rating 3 out of 5]

Daniel Defoe diventa romanziere risoluto e perseverante verso i sessant'anni, gettandosi attraverso sciagure, peccati e terrori come fosse lui protagonista delle citate sventure. Lady Roxana è, non da meno, autobiografico: avventuriera d'alto bordo completamente priva di pudore che improvvisamente si vede comparire davanti lo spettro della miseria.

Una Roxana indomita, imperioso animale rapace per un romanzo che non annovero tra i miei Defoe preferiti ma che comunque intrattiene con le sue incessanti calamità (nonché l'assoluta vocazione della protagonista di attirarsele da sola).

[Camille ☼ · Rating 3 out of 5]

Books for university are not always the best read. This book do have a fascinating, interesting and perfect woman villain though, just like in Moll Flanders. She was both incredibly frustrating and funny in how manipulative, devious, selfish and self-centered she was.

[Ereck · Rating 5 out of 5]

Read August 2000
Re-Read Dec 2012
Re-Read Sept 2016

[ra · Rating 2 out of 5]

defoe really was like: i shall Write however i Please and you who read this maye be reduc'd to Tears for pure Frustration

[Darcel Anastasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wild from the start to the end.

[kler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved this book SO MUCH!!!! I have to say that the end is a bit weird... I didn't expect it to end this way but I didn't hate it anyway. It is very well written, so pleasurable to read. Roxana is one of the best character I have ever known, she's SO feminist and I loved her badass side. She hates men as much as I do. Loved her.

[Michelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

My rating: 3.5 stars 🤯

So the beginning was reaaaaaaally compelling I was all in, but then it got SO TEDIOUS and boring I couldn’t count How many times I yawned through this 🥱🤣 til the very end.

I have to say for a book that’s 298 years old, it wasn’t Bad, at all! Roxana being the Narrator though was quite interesting but at times, I felt like she was rambling about non sense that seemed very irrelevant to me.

The ending was the best part but it was dragging. Ultimately Amy was my MOST favorite character-Roxana’s sidekick. What a loyal friend. Damn.

In my perspective what this story comes down to is moral values, Rich men, Greed, what a Mother will do to Survive, and in the end………WAS IT REALLY WORTH IT!?????? We all make sacrifices in life, but as a Mother who has literally nothing but her Dignity, Self-Respect and Pride, that’s up to Her and God. You either Die or Live on, spiritually speaking when you Hit Rock Bottom.

I will say this would be my TOP 5 READS for Classics in my bookshelf. I recommend if you’re into a super looooong slow burn. lol. Happy Reading with this one!

[Ella Raw · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was not a fun read, perhaps the most difficult novel I’ll come across. However, I’ll cut it some slack considering it is one of the first modern novels written.
The book itself is full of dichotomy in all themes and plot structures. This is aided by the dual narrative voice Defoe deploys of both a youthful and mature Roxana; though we follow the formers story as if it is fresh, rather than reflection. It is one of those novels where the idea of feminism is debated diversely, and the nature of motherhood is questioned. Female experience, which is so richly a part of the novel is under the veil of the male author. And from this the sincerity of the liberation seen is uncertain; for example, whether Roxana’s lack of maternal instinct is a modernist protest of gender roles, or a depiction of the evils of promiscuous women.
Similarly the same dichotomy is seen in the two female characters, who present both the passive woman, and the dominating woman. Unsurprisingly, both these female tropes are condemned by the male writer. Now I’m curious to see how Defoe portrays his male leads in other novels, I’m going to guess it is not as controversial.

[Richard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Defoe's last novel is a remarkable curiosity. It addresses issues of female sexual freedom and financial independence head-on, and must have seemed daringly radical when it was first published in 1724. It gives full narrative control to its eponymous heroine, who chooses what parts of her own story to tell, and what to omit, and who is the sole judge of her own actions and motivations. It sets up (but does not fully follow through on) a fascinating three-way conflict between pragmatic necessity, social conventions (honour) and absolute morality (honesty). In these respects, it seems remarkably modern - but it is virtually inconceivable that Roxana could have been written as it was today, or indeed as the English novel matured later in the eighteenth, and into the nineteenth century. Much of the narrative is less of a plot than a series of events that putter along at varying levels of reader-interest, until they burst into a paroxysm of almost hysterical, melodramatic intensity - which then just stops. The ending of the novel may be a bang, or it may be a whimper, but whichever it is, it happens off-stage. There are swathes of financial and other practical detail (not always as gripping as they might be) that suggest that Defoe is aiming at quasi-documentary realism. At the same time, the novel also has much of the flavour of a medieval morality play: the characters work as individuals and as types; Amy, the Dutch merchant, the Quaker, and Roxana's daughter Susan work as well as people in the heroine's life, as aspects of Roxana herself, or external manifestations and personifications of her desires and actions. A strange book, certainly, but an exhilarating example of a form still finding its feet: the novel skipping, stumbling, leaping.