Comparing Strangeness In The French Lieutenant's Woman And Oroonoko

“Sigmund Freud saw the uncanny as something long familiar that feels strangely unfamiliar. The uncanny stands between standard categories and challenges the categories themselves” (Turkle, 48). In John Fowles’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman and Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko, the reader is invited to explore strangeness within what is familiar. In these texts, the characters, and even the content, are complex and at times, incomprehensible. The struggle of the narrator and the other characters to make another seem socially acceptable questions the human need of categorizing all of life into something that can be taken apart and understood.
People and things become strange when they cannot be understood by the majority. Looking at the title character

While undoubtedly a “Moor” (2316), the Prince is described to be a “gallant” one, one with “a native beauty so transcending all those of his gloomy race”, a “wonder of the world, and the darling of the soldiers”. The attributes of Prince Oroonoko are a world apart from that of his fellow men, “beyond all report” (2317), considered one “who was more civilized” (2331). Rather than to remove the image of the ‘savage’ and seeing the blacks simply as people, the Prince is instead set apart, even in terms of appearance. He is “not of that brown, rusty black which most of that nation are, buy a perfect ebony or polished jet” (2317), obviously differing from his fellows, made “perfect” while the rest are put down as being “rusty”. His features are not that which is “so natural to the negro”, but with a “nose rising and Roman”, “his mouth the finest shaped”, associated more with traditional notions of beauty as seen in the white man. In fact, the narrator goes as far as to note that “bating his colour, there could be nothing in nature more beautiful, agreeable and handsome”, the only difference from being white in his skin tone. Prince Oroonoko’s portrayal is one of nobility, beauty and civility, and this is reflected in his being christened “Caesar” (2336). This portrayal notes how bravery and

In Sarah, Charles, and by extension, the reader, are brought to believe that “[in] all that relates to her, [we are enigmas] to [ourselves]” (Fowles, 96). We do not know her, and we do not know our attachment to the character. We are drawn to her, yet she remains distant, a mystery, and one that is alone. From her first appearance, she is in “unforgettable”, “tragic” and “[sorrowful]” (5), “not yet met” but “unless [she] is helped, [she] will be” (61). Charles is the character who claims to be the only one she consults, but even he is unable to tell us the truth behind the person. Her solitude is a choice. He believes himself to “imperfectly” (75) understand that, yet is bewildered by decisions she makes later in the novel. In a similar fashion, Behn’s narrator in Oroonoko is drawn to the character of the Prince, constantly in praise of his bravery, a “great man, worthy of a better fate” (2358), yet never taking an active role in aiding him. Hers is a study and attempt to understand the royal slave. Her story encapsulates the isolation of the prince without Imoinda by his side, and there is great sympathy and sorrow for his sufferings but despite the knowledge of his desire for freedom and “[impatience] of liberty” (2339), yet remained part of the “[diversion]” (2347) in keeping him a captive. The want of freedom is not a new story, but the incapacity to achieve this freedom is what makes