Photo via Wikimedia Commons
by Sansian Tan
Cavendish’s The Blazing World is a vehement defence of fiction. In a preface “To the Reader”, she writes, “But Fictions are an issue of mans Fancy… without regard, whether the thing, he fancies, be really existent without his mind or not” (59). It grants the author a certain amount of leeway: under the guise of fancy, one need not be entirely factual, nor adhere so carefully to the rules of social propriety. In essence, the world of fiction is one of the author’s own making, but despite her arguments otherwise, the world that Cavendish constructs is grounded in the real one. The novel is the crystallization of her societal frustrations: a chance to lampoon early scientists and lament the fall of the monarchy that brought her personal circumstances down with it—but more than that, it is a glimpse into Cavendish’s search for agency: the ability to stand apart not due to marriage or gender, but on her own terms. The Blazing World pivots on the axis formed by the Emperess and the Duchess, both halves of Cavendish’s self-image, and both outsiders, authors, and authorities in their own right. Through them, Cavendish achieves her aim: “…though I cannot be Henry the Fifth, or Charles the Second, I endeavour to be Margaret the First” (60).
This essay concentrates on the treatment of authority and authorship in Margaret Cavendish’s The Blazing World, particularly through the lens of otherness. The first section examines power as it manifests in the Emperess, an alien-turned-sovereign—with what methods and to what extent does she consolidate her rule? In turn, which ideas and people hold sway over her? From there, the source and enforcement of authority is interrogated in the form of the Duchess. She embodies the personal struggles of the author she represents, as well as questions the real Cavendish must confront about the legitimacy of ruling over mere fiction. In the final section, the essay considers free will, on behalf of the creator and the creations. Ultimately, the paper argues that at its heart, The Blazing World is about achieving agency—a concept idealized and conflated somewhat with that of authority—which is tightly intertwined with the manner and intent with which characters are set apart, or set themselves apart, whether as a literal foreigner, a disenfranchised party, or as “Authoress of a whole World” (163).
Notably, the Emperess’ rise to power hinges on the same qualities that first spark the physical danger that begins the novel. Where once she was a target for suitors of ill-intent, “the Light of her Beauty” (61) not only preserves her on the harsh, accidental journey to the blazing-world, but also immediately makes her an object of awe and fascination. As soon as he meets her, the Emperor “conceive[s] her to be some Goddess, and offer[s] to worship her” (69), and the subjects “tendr’d her all the veneration and worship due to a Deity” (70). Interestingly enough, although the Emperess acknowledges her mortality and refuses worship, her behaviour after her ascent to the throne is deeply autocratic. “Having got a soveraign power over all the World” (71), she wields absolute control over the ideas perpetuated in her domain. During the convocation of schools, much is made of her satisfaction or disapproval, upon which rests the continuance of those branches of study. Although, in a mockery of early experiments, most of the findings are faulty, the cycle of proof and disproof that leads to scientific veracity seems to matter little to the Emperess. She is not especially discerning of what passes for truth, concentrating instead on which discussions amaze her, but the line between amazement and confused irritation is thin: she accuses the Bear-men, the Lice-men and the various Bird-men of similar charges of deceit—or at least, failure to properly ascertain the truth—and punishes them harshly. The wording of her justifications reveals much about her motives, for although righteousness rests on her perception alone, the threat of falsity is to the many: the Lice-men are dissolved because “there [is] neither Truth nor Justice in their Profession” (97), and the Bird-men are firmly admonished to “confine your disputations to your Schools, lest… by that means draw an utter ruine and destruction upon Church and State” (100).
The Emperess continues to control the narrative through her own presentation, as well, where she carefully forms an image that cultivates distance. It is a combination of political force and deific imagery, each supplementing the other: her conversation with the spirits demonstrates a fascination with interpreting the Cabbala, regardless of how the spirits themselves diminish past cabbalists like Dee and Kelly as fraudulent. The logic the Duchess uses to talk her out of it also exposes her true motivations, as well as where she believes authority stems: rather than outright curiosity, it is the skill and strangeness that comes with interpreting the spirits that the Emperess desires. When she realizes that adding to existing religious, philosophical, or political texts would be pointless, she quickly switches to a “Poetical or Romancical Cabbala” (121), which would not only be the first of its kind, but also grant her ultimate creative control.
Instead of becoming a prophet, the Emperess instead becomes the deity being channeled, when she arrives to save her native country. In assisting the King of ESFI, she weaponizes the otherworldly awe that worked wonders on the blazing-world:
The appointed hour being come, the Emperess appear’d with Garments made of the Star-stone, and was born or supported above the Water… but coming nearer, she left her torches, and appeared onely in her Garments of light, like an Angel, or some Deity, and all kneeled down before her, and worshipped her with all submission and reverence (149).
Notably, the Fish-men upon whose heads and backs she treads remain carefully hidden, as does the meticulous planning that goes into her promises to the King and the near-Biblical proportions of the punishments on ESFI’s enemies. The opacity of her methods intensifies the reminders of her power: when the same fire-stones “[are] lighted, which [make] both Air and Seas appear of a bright shining flame, insomuch that they put all Spectators into an extream fright, who verily believe, they should all be destroyed” (154). The display and its extinguishment cannily subvert destruction into entertainment: nevertheless, even those under the Emperess’ protection are all too aware of the extent to which they are at her mercy.