Theme Park at its Darkest

1.

A very literate friend of mine once described The Monk as the most boring book ever forced upon him by an educational institution. Any book that comes to take up that kind of notoriety is often contingent on timing: my friend was 19 when he encountered The Monk, and it may have become his central focus of regret in signing up to study Gothic literature.

There’s a woman I follow on Insta who has a great page on all things literary, and she was talking about five overlooked gothic novels that she believed were worthy of revision: The Monk among them. I remembered my friend’s aversion, and thought it might be time to check it out.

The book was originally published in 1798 and became an instant succes de scandale. Its author, twenty-year old Matthew Lewis, was a member of English parliament who had managed to distil all kinds of outrageous sex, violence and salacious content into a skilfully plotted novel.

It has an elegant, dextrous prose style, and while it requires greater concentration than the average ‘modern’ novel, it is beautifully written, and worth reading for this reason alone.

Set in Madrid, the novel details the downfall of the titular Monk, Ambrosio. He is something of a rock star; he dazzles his upper-class congregation from the pulpit every Sunday and has become confessor of choice amongst the social elite.

His status has increased the rigidity of his proud, stern nature, and an early incident in which he demonstrates these qualities makes him ripe for the fall.

One evening, Ambrosio is relaxing in the monastery garden with his companion Rosario. Rosario, a young acolyte, pours forth a torrent of praise and affection for Ambrosio, and perhaps it says something about the fecundity of the average reader’s mind, but there is something suggestive about the young boy waxing affectionate about the older man.

This takes a spectacular turn for the salacious when Rosario reveals that he is actually a woman, Matilda, in disguise. Matilda, an eligible young noblewoman, fell head over heels in love with Ambrosio after witnessing him declaim fire and brimstone from the pulpit.

Although pursued by numerous suitors, Matilda decided she would prefer an austere life of celibacy in his company than an earthly marriage to the most dashing cavalier.

Naturally, this creates an outrageous crisis for Ambrosio, who resolves to reveal her to the authorities and see her immediately banished from the order. After some declamatory argument, Matilda draws a dagger and threatens to commit bloody suicide should Ambrosio reveal her.

And it is here on page sixty that The Monk soars into full, glorious flight.

‘Speak to me, Ambrosio! Tell me that you will conceal my story; that I shall remain your friend and companion, or this poniard drinks my blood!’

As she uttered these last words, she lifted her arm, and made a motion as if to stab herself.

The friar’s eyes followed with dread the course of the dagger. She had torn open her habit, and her bosom was half-exposed. The weapon’s point rested upon her left breast: and oh! That was such a breast!

The moonbeams darting full upon it enabled the monk to observe its dazzling whiteness: his eye dwelt with insatiable avidity upon the beauteous orb: a sensation till then unknown filled his heart with a mixture of anxiety and delight; a raging fire shot through every limb; the blood boiled in his veins, and a thousand wild wishes bewildered his imagination.’  

‘Hold!’ he cried, in a hurried, faltering voice; ‘I can resist no longer! Stay then, enchantress! Stay for my destruction!’ 

This entry was posted on February 9, 2026 at 12:30 am and is filed under Observation, Reading with tags book-review, book-reviews, books, Fiction, Gothic literature, literature, Matthew Lewis, The Monk. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.