De Quincey, Thomas
Thomas De Quincey 1785-1859
English essayist, critic, and novelist.
A versatile essayist and accomplished critic, De Quincey used his own life as the subject of his most acclaimed work, the Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1822), in which he chronicled his fascinating and horrifying addiction to opium. The Confessions are an insightful depiction of drug dependency and an evocative portrait of an altered psychological state. De Quincey is recognized as one of the foremost prose writers of his day; his ornate style, while strongly influenced by the Romantic authors he knew and emulated, owes much to his vivid imagination and desire to recreate his own intense personal experiences.
De Quincey's life as a child figures prominently in the Confessions. He was a frail, sensitive boy who was tyrannized by an older brother. When he was seven, his beloved older sister, Elizabeth, died. In his later writings, De Quincey maintained that her death shaped his destiny because his grief caused him to seek solace in an imaginary world. This tendency to escape into reverie foreshadowed the importance of dreams and introspection to his work. At ten, he was sent to grammar school where he fared well academically but, according to his autobiographical writings, was deeply unhappy. At seventeen, he ran away from school with a copy of William Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads and a collection of Greek plays. He later described his feeling of liberation in terms Wordsworth had attributed to the spirit of revolutionary France: “the senselessness of joy.” For several months he wandered throughout the country, and then traveled to London, where he hoped to study the English Romantic poets. His life during this period was one of self-imposed deprivation, and he eventually returned home. His mother, in an effort to tame her son, enrolled him at Oxford. At the university, he excelled academically but was socially isolated. De Quincey experimented with opium for the first time at Oxford: a classmate prescribed the drug for a toothache and De Quincey found that he enjoyed its effects. By 1813 De Quincey was, in his own estimation, a “regular and confirmed” opium addict. At Oxford, he abandoned poetry and, inspired by his studies of German thought, decided to become “the first founder of a true philosophy.” Whether or not opium was the cause, De Quincey, after submitting a brilliant paper, failed to appear for his final oral examination and left Oxford without completing his degree. While still at Oxford, De Quincey had written Wordsworth a glowing letter, and the poet, in turn, invited him to visit. The offer both thrilled and terrified the young man, and he chose to meet Samuel Taylor Coleridge first. Coleridge shared De Quincey's interest in metaphysics and opium but warned him about the evils of the drug. When De Quincey met Wordsworth, the poet invited him to join the Lake District's literary circle. De Quincey moved nearby, and became a frequent visitor to the Wordsworth household. De Quincey married and seemed content with family life until his opium addiction overpowered him. He had thought the drug would enhance his abilities as a philosopher; instead, he lay in bed listlessly, unable to think or move. His wife devoted herself to his recovery and, with her support, he obtained a position as editor of the Westmoreland Gazette. The simple, local newspaper soon featured De Quincey's vivid accounts of grisly murder trials, as well as essays on philology, politics, and German philosophy. De Quincey's subject matter and erratic work habits angered his employers and he was asked to resign. De Quincey agreed to leave, firmly believing that a regular routine was incompatible with the habits of a philosopher. However, because his financial situation was dire and he had a large family to support, he sought out Charles Lamb, who introduced De Quincey to London's journalistic circles and De Quincey was invited to write for London Magazine. The publisher encouraged him to write about the subject he knew most intimately—his opium addiction. In September, 1821, the first half of Confessions of an English Opium-Eater appeared anonymously in London Magazine, and the complete Confessions was published as a single volume in 1822. With its publication, De Quincey was immediately established as a major Romantic prose author. Following his stay in London, De Quincey moved to Edinburgh, where he wrote for several journals. He disliked writing for periodicals and often stated that he composed only for money. However, the essays that were published during this period display De Quincey's virtuosity as a prose writer and his interest in a wide array of subjects. De Quincey died in 1859.
The Confessions of an English Opium-Eater and its “sequel,” Suspiria de Profundis (1845) are intensely personal chronicles of De Quincey's experiences with opium, both its physical and psychological effects. In these autobiographical writings, De Quincey attributes to his opium reveries a visionary power that informs his understanding of creativity and literary style. De Quincey published his expanded version of the Confessions in 1856, but this version is considered obscure and stylized. His numerous essays, which initially appeared in periodicals in the Lake District, London, and Edinburgh, treat a large variety of issues, both parochial and international: Britain's imperial conflicts in Asia and northern Africa, criminal violence, theological history, Enlightenment philosophy, as well as numerous more explicitly literary reviews. Among these literary essays, De Quincey's essay on William Shakespeare, “On the Knocking on the Door in Macbeth,” has received acclaim as an outstanding piece of psychological criticism, and his critique of Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads is considered a brilliant analysis of the poet's creative process. De Quincey's attention to the psychological aspects of literary, political, and domestic life stands as an important precursor to twentieth-century inheritors of the Romantic tradition. In addition, De Quincey published essays that sketched personal portraits of other Romantic authors; his reminiscences of his interactions with Coleridge and Wordsworth offer largely sympathetic insights into their literary circle.
Some critics consider De Quincey's Suspiria de Profundis the supreme prose fantasy of English literature. Initially, the public believed that the confessions were fictional, to which the author responded by stating that the papers “were drawn up with entire simplicity and fidelity to the facts.” Critics often point to the diffuseness of his style, which some believe to be the result of carelessness rather than a conscious artistic device. At the time of his death, his expertise as a literary critic was underestimated, though his prose talent had long been acknowledged. As a critic, he sometimes revealed more prejudice and narrow-mindedness than insight: he found Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's novel, Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, immoral and cited evidence of plagiarism in the works of his friend Coleridge. Many recent critics have emphasized De Quincey's complex relationship with British imperialism: his horror and anxiety about the depravity and chaos that he associated with the Orient and his staunchly conservative political views seem to contrast sharply with his Romantic tendencies. Critic John Barrell claims that this tension permeates De Quincey's writing in various forms and is met by attempts to expel “hybridity.” Although many critics disdain the ornateness of De Quincey's writing and complain of its digressive tendencies, others find that his essays display an acute psychological awareness. The impassioned prose of his autobiographical works recreates both his youthful dreams and later drug-induced meditations. De Quincey believed that these dreams chronicle the soul's development and provide readers with insight into their own minds. By explicitly addressing the role of visionary experience in the creative process, De Quincey helped to forge a new kind of prose, one which rivaled Romantic poetry in its intensity and evocation of “grandeur.” According to contemporary scholars, his literary strengths and the tensions that mark his work situate him within the realm of modernity. In this way, De Quincey exemplifies the Romantic prose writer and at the same time heralds the emergence of a new understanding of literature and subjectivity.
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (autobiography) 1822 [revised edition 1856]
“On the Knocking on the Door in Macbeth” (essay) 1823
“On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts” (essay) 1827
Klosterheim; or, The Masque (novel) 1832
“The Logic of Political Economy” (essay) 1844
Suspiria de Profundis (autobiography) 1845
“The English Mail-Coach” (essay) 1849
The Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey. 14 vols. [ed. David Masson] (autobiography, criticism, and essays) 1889-90
The Uncollected Writings of Thomas De Quincey. 2 vols. (criticism and essays) [ed. James Hogg] 1890
The Posthumous Works of Thomas De Quincey. 2 vols. [ed. A. J. Japp] (criticism and essays) 1891
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SOURCE: “The Giant Self: Suspiria de Profundis” in Thomas De Quincey: The Prose of Vision, University of Toronto Press, 1980, pp. 57-83.
[In the following essay, De Luca discusses the sequel to Confessions of an Opium-Eater as a blending of autobiography and myth.]
There is little precedent in other major Romantic writers for the strangely late onset of De Quincey's chief phase as an imaginative artist, a phase that begins with the Suspiria de Profundis of his sixtieth year and continues for a dozen years more. A last and climactic bout with the powers of opium, a struggle always fecund to his imagination, partially explains this phenomenon.1 But whatever the external circumstances, this mid-winter spring of De Quincey's career is peculiarly appropriate, for a pattern of tentative beginnings and late flowering is intrinsic to all of his best work. Such a pattern is visible in the Confessions, for example, in the way that the common day of experience at school and in London leads to and is absorbed by the unearthly gleam of opium's revelations, or in ‘The Revolt of the Tartars,’ where the prosaic history of the tribe modulates into a myth of divine guidance. The phases of his literary career seem to follow the same sort of progression; it is as if De Quincey feels compelled to circle warily about his central theme of the imagination's power, occasionally...
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SOURCE: “The Art of Prose,” in De Quincey, Wordsworth and the Art of Prose, Macmillan Press, 1983, pp. 101-21.
[In the following essay, Devlin examines De Quincey's claims regarding “the hidden capacities of prose” to express passion and “grandeur.”]
‘To walk well, it is not enough that a man abstains from dancing.’
In the ‘General Preface’ of 1853 to James Hogg's Edinburgh edition of his collected works, De Quincey drew attention to the variety of his prose and to the originality of his prose-poems or impassioned prose. He made three divisions of what he had written; the largest section of his work was made up of what he called ‘essays’, which he defined as writings ‘which address themselves to the understanding as an insulated faculty’. Essays present a problem and try to solve it, and the only questions to be asked are ‘what is the success obtained?’ and (as a separate question) ‘What is the executive ability displayed in the solution of the problem?’ Even today nearly all these essays are entertaining, informative and lively; but there was nothing new in De Quincey's way of treating such external subjects, and the only originality is to be found in De Quincey's use of paradox for polemical purposes. The second division of his work consisted of what he called ‘Autobiographic...
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SOURCE: “Literature as Resistance and Power,” in Reluctant Autobiography, Barnes & Noble Books, 1984, pp. 40-77.
[In the following essay, Whale claims that De Quincey's autobiographical writings reveal a fertile tension between the power of imagination and the truth of past experience.]
In De Quincey's difficult situation as a journalist his progress in the act of composition could be both thwarted and encouraged by the varying degrees of intimacy and publicity connected with his context. An alignment of public and private responsibilities created a dichotomy in his appraisal of his own imaginative powers. This dichotomy is also present in his critical writings on other authors. De Quincey's work as a literary critic reveals how imaginative ‘power’ is in his view related to difficulty and suffering. The apparently negative experience of composition could eventually turn out to have been creative.
One of De Quincey's fundamental concerns as an autobiographer—his notion of fidelity to past experience—could be threatened by capricious acts of memory or consolidated by affirmative acts of memory. The experience of composition constituted a revelatory context because the medium of language could radically compromise directness of communication, at the very least by providing the possibility of ambiguities. In the same way that De Quincey...
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SOURCE: “Introduction: This/That/the Other,” in The Infection of Thomas De Quincey: A Psychopathology of Imperialism, Yale University Press, 1991, pp. 1-24.
[In the following essay, Barrell reads De Quincey's essays and autobiographical sketches as manifestations of an imperialist anxiety about the “Orient.”]
A ‘compromised’ person is one who has been in contact with people or things supposed to be capable of conveying infection. As a general rule the whole Ottoman empire lies constantly under this terrible ban.
A. W. Kinglake, Eothen, 14n.
He described the present state of Syria as perfectly impracticable for travellers, or at least highly dangerous, from the united obstacles of marauders and pestilence. He saw a party of deserters marched in near Damascus, chained to each other, and occasionally a man free from plague joined hand in hand with one who was infected.
The Hon. Mrs Damer, Diary of a Tour, 1: 22.
Thomas De Quincey became a ‘regular and confirmed’ opium addict in 1813; before that, for ten years, he had used the drug, usually if not invariably in the form of laudanum, on a weekly rather than on a daily basis. When in London he would take it on Saturday nights, and with the idea of indulging in...
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SOURCE: “Prodigal Narratives,” in A Genealogy of the Modern Self: Thomas De Quincey and the Intoxication of Writing, Stanford University Press, 1995, pp. 76-89.
[In the following essay, Clej analyzes De Quincey's confessional narratives and essays through the trope of prodigiality and the figure of the pariah.]
The prodigal narrative that stands at the center of De Quincey's early confessions is his reckless flight from school, the “fatal error” that will follow him throughout his life and for which he can find no excuse. This youthful act of disobedience estranged him from his family (and from his mother's financial support) and left him to fend for himself. This he soon did by squandering his small trust fund (a large sum went as an anonymous gift to Coleridge), which brought him to a state of insolvency that he maintained more or less consistently for the rest of his life. Although he tried occasionally to measure his “debt” (or “delinquency”) against that of Coleridge, and sometimes shifted his debts onto him (the anonymous donation inaugurates this practice), De Quincey preferred to accumulate debts as part of his way of embracing prodigality. On a symbolic level De Quincey's confessional narratives, which are by no means limited to the Confessions, constitute his main form of prodigal expenditure. As a compulsive narrator, De Quincey can constantly solicit and outrun the...
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SOURCE: “De Quincey's Discovery of Lyrical Ballads: The Politics of Reading,” in Studies in Romanticism, Vol. 36, No. 4, Winter, 1997, pp. 511-40.
[In the following essay, Roberts examines De Quincey's reading of Wordsworth and Coleridge's poetry within the context of De Quincey's literary life and the development of his political views.]
Thomas De Quincey's early reading of Lyrical Ballads has been widely hailed as the germinal event of his literary career. Biographers and critics have focused on De Quincey's astonishing recognition, at the age of fifteen, of Wordsworth as the predominant poetic figure of his age.1 By the age of seventeen, De Quincey had declared to Wordsworth his unsurpassed admiration for “those two enchanting volumes” of the second edition of Lyrical Ballads; and in 1834, over three decades on, he still regarded his discovery of Lyrical Ballads as “the greatest event in the unfolding of my own mind.”2 The testimony of De Quincey's Diary of 1803, his youthful correspondence with Wordsworth, and his later absorption into the poet's family circle all testify to the extraordinary precognition of De Quincey's first reading of Lyrical Ballads. Yet, despite the seminal importance accorded to De Quincey's early reading of Lyrical Ballads and to the Wordsworth/Coleridge influence derived therefrom, critics and...
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SOURCE: “The ‘Dark Problem’ of Greek Tragedy: Sublimated Violence in De Quincey,” in The Wordsworth Circle, Vol. 29, No. 2, Spring, 1998, pp. 114-20.
[In the following essay, Rzepka contends that De Quincey's portraits of violence are deeply influenced by his reading of Greek and Shakespearean tragedy.]
“The Greek Tragedy is a dark problem,” announces Thomas De Quincey at the beginning of his essay, “Theory of Greek Tragedy” (X, 342),1 the problem being, first, how to distinguish between Greek and Modern, or “Shakespearean,” tragedy, and secondly, how to make this distinction intelligible to the un-Greeked, middle-class audience of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine in February, 1840. De Quincey, an adept popularizer, solves both problems by nesting Greek Tragedy within the framework of a Shakespearean example universally familiar to the literate classes of England: the “play within a play” of Hamlet, which he likens, in turn, to a painting within a painting:
We see a chamber, suppose, exhibited by the artist, on the walls of which … hangs a picture. And, as this picture again might represent a room furnished with pictures, in the mere logical possibility of the case we might imagine this descent into a life below a life going on ad infinitum. … The original picture is a mimic, an unreal, life. But this unreal...
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Bate, Jonathan. “The Literature of Power: Coleridge and De Quincey.” In Coleridge's Visionary Languages: Essays in Honour of J. B. Beer, edited by Tim Fulford and Morton D. Paley, pp. 137-50. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1993.
Traces Coleridge's influence on De Quincey.
Baxter, Edmund. De Quincey's Art of Autobiography. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1990, 218 p.
Considers De Quincey's autobiographical writings as literature, rather than as direct representations of his life.
Cafarelli, Annette Wheeler. “Thomas De Quincey: The Allegory of Everyday Life.” In Prose in the Age of Poets: Romanticism and Biographical Narrative from Johnson to De Quincey, pp. 151-91. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990.
Examines De Quincey's reminiscences of Wordsworth and Coleridge.
Groves, David. “Climbing the Post: Thomas De Quincey as a Newspaper Editor, 1827-28.” The Wordsworth Circle, 29, No. 2 (Spring 1998): 126-31.
Discusses De Quincey's anonymous writings for the Edinburgh Saturday Post and Edinburgh Evening Post.
Levin, Susan M. “Thomas De Quincey: Confessions of an Opium-Eater.” In The Romantic Art of Confession: De Quincey, Musset, Sand, Lamb, Hogg, Frémy, Soulié,...
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