Edgar Huntly by Charles Brockden Brown

Most literature scholars name Charles Brockden Brown as America's first professional novelist. In this 1799 novel, he brings the Gothic to the new country, following the tradition established by England's Horace Walpole (The Castle of Otranto) and Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho). He intentionally separates himself from the elements of England's Gothic (crumbling castles, underground tunnels leading to crypts, spirits of dead ancestors, etc.), substituting instead America's wild and unexplored landscapes, dark caverns, and INDIANS! Always inventive as to plot devices, Brown hinges the plot of this one on sleepwalking.

Edgar Huntly, in a l-o-n-g letter to his sweetheart, recounts his experiences which begin when he starts investigating the unsolved murder of his best friend, his sweetheart's brother. Spying a man digging at the scene of the crime (who appears to be sleepwalking), Edgar begins an odyssey which reaches obsession to learn the truth, passing through perils galore along the way. Edgar summarizes some of his adventures by saying, "I had emerged from abhorred darkness in the heart of the earth, only to endure the extremities of famine and encounter the fangs of a wild beast. From these I was delivered only to be thrown in the midst of savages, to wage an endless and hopeless war with adepts in killing, with appetites that longed to feast upon my bowels and to quaff my heart's blood. From these likewise was I rescued, but merely to perish in the gulfs of the river, to welter on unvisited shores, or to be washed far away from curiosity or pity." All these incidents, and more, are recounted in overwhelming detail.

What makes this novel at all interesting and more than just one sensational event after another is the psychological picture it gives us of the narrator. In telling his story he reveals more about himself than he intends. This aspect is more modern and makes Brown a bit ahead of his time.

The language of the novel is less than readable, with Brown never using a one-syllable word when a three-syllable synonym is available. It is formal, stilted, and borders on the pretentious.

I recommend this mainly for its historic value in the development of American fiction. Brown's Wieland, with its plot hinging on ventriloquism, will offer more enjoyment to the modern reader.