I'm sorry for my less than spirited existence in the blogosphere lately. I have the plague. (At least, that's what I'm calling it, since that sounds better than what it probably is -- a reminder from the gods and my immune system not to cuddle with people, especially sick ones.)
On a more Gaskell related note, I find myself fascinated by something I've noticed in the articles about her that followed on the heels of her death and the centennial of her birth: Gaskell was really freaking famous. People knew that this was one of those women who could blow the walls off a brick building (can you tell I'm a fan?) Her own obit refers to her as one of the brightest lights of female Victorian writers, and there were a number. Her husband's obit stops just short of calling him Mr. Elizabeth Gaskell. (Deserved in my opinion, she did her fair share to ensure the spread of her career beyond just preaching.)
So why is it these days when I tell people I'm studying this totally awesome book by Liz Gaskell, people go, "Who?" When did we (as a culture, as readers, as students, as critics, as people) get so distracted by Dickens or even by the Brontes to the exclusion of other authors people used to think were so important? So many modern authors, I feel, owe something to Gaskell, if only for the fact that she represents the way mercantile interests and the creation of newly moneyed capitalist classes would affect romances. ("Poor boys shouldn't think of marrying rich girls" anyone?) And yet Gaskell seems so overlooked.
Anyone else getting funny looks for what their studying? Anyone else being surprised by what history is overlooking?
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