Excerpts from a new article by Oxfordian Stephanie HopkinsHughes.
Anonymity through the ages
This “elaborate charade”
It looks like certain elements of the academy may be beginning to pay attention to the authorship question. John Mullan’s Anonymity: A Secret History of Literature is one hopeful sign (Faber and Faber, 2007). If he doesn’t exactly open the door to The Question, he does leave the keys on the table by the door.
An English professor at University College London, Mullan is as easy to read as he is informative (not always the case with academics). Calling anonymity “a phenomenon that has never been plotted or explained,” he goes into anecdotal detail on the vast reality of anonymous or pseudonymous publishing that, however ignored, permeates the entire history of the English book and magazine trade from its very start.
That so many authors through the centuries had reasons for remaining anonymous should require that such reasons be considered whenever there are questions over authorship. The phenomenon of anonymity begins with the Elizabethans and the birth of the commercial press (according to the OED, the first use in print of the word anonymous was 1601, when it probably had been in use for some time). Except for a brief look later in the book at Spenser’s use of the pseudonym Immerito, Mullan starts with the next big burst of literary splendor, the Augustans––the poets, playwrights and novelists of the late 17th to mid-18th centuries, the so-called Age of Reason. In our efforts to decode the authorship mysteries of the Elizabethans, we can learn a great deal from what he tells us of this later group.
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Times change but people don’t. Surely the “lewd friends” and secretaries that gathered around Oxford at Fisher’s Folly during the 1580s were the very University Wits of literary history. The element of fun in the Nashe-Greene-Harvey pamphlet duel is the major reason why academics have missed the point, and keep missing it. Until the death of Marlowe, most of the use of pseudonyms was simply Oxford, Bacon, Mary Sidney and doubtless others still unknown to us (Thomas Sackville?) having fun with each other and sticking it to their enemies––and each other)––a la the wits of the Scriblerus Club a century later.
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Anonymity was not solely due to the fact that publishing was seen as déclassé, for often it was a response to more serious dangers than a temporary dip in a man’s reputation. The history of publishing is one long record of men and women being jailed, executed, and assassinated by governments and enemies for what they produced in print or on the stage. Surely Christopher Marlowe’s assassination by government agents had more to do with the popularity of Tamburlaine than a dispute over a tavern bill.
As Mullan relates, the political philosopher John Locke, author of the influential Two Treatises of Government, was strangely paranoid about allowing his name to be connected with this famous work. ….
Some authors are simply so private by nature that they see notoriety as a thing to be avoided at all costs. According to Mullan, it was largely for this reason that Charles Dodgson went to neurotic extremes to prevent the truth about his identity as Lewis Carroll, author of the immensely popular Alice in Wonderland, …
Daniel Defoe, author of Robinson Crusoe, is among the earliest of the Augustans. One of the first writers who can be described as a realist, Mullan calls him “that addict” of anonymity, who “played dizzying games of self-answering” by which he means responding in a different persona to others that he himself had created––“possible only because of anonymity, and often hardly grasped by biographers and scholars.”
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If, as with Shakespeare, the mystery remained officially unsolved throughout the author’s lifetime, another phenomenon takes place, that of the select group of insiders who maintain their status with each other by maintaining the secret:
To know what you were reading, especially if it were audacious or abusive, was to belong to a select group. Inside knowledge, especially of the Court, allowed special kind of deviltry in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. A distinct genre of mocking and revealing works called “secret histories” flourished. ….
In the same breath, Mullan suggests a solution to one of the more pressing side issues of the Authorship Question, how the Lord Chamberlain’s Men and their associates managed to keep their playwright’s authorship a secret for so long. However particular readers managed to discover the truth, those who did found themselves members of a select group, something they would hardly wish to jeopardize by speaking out of turn. For those who slipped, or sought revenge for perceived slights, perhaps stronger measures were employed. We know from many stories of violence and even manslaughter that the actors of that time could be real bully boys if circumstance required.
See the whole article here, it’s an excellent read:
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