Kirsten Thorne describes the Gothic hero as “solipsistic,” “raged,” and “suicidally inclined” (98). He is often a figure “struggling against the limits of his humanity” (Lydenberg 108). Even Valancourt, from Catherine’s beloved Mysteries of Udolpho, is “no longer master of his emotions” (Radcliffe 442). A gothic hero is supposed to be a mess. Henry Tilney, the hero of the decidedly un-gothic Northanger Abbey, is composed (in almost all occasions), reasonable, and satirical. Yet we know he follows the exploits of those gothic characters as closely as Catherine.   This clues us into the idea that Henry Tilney, while reading the same works as Catherine, is reacting differently. Reading as Henry Tilney does, to acquire understanding rather than mere knowledge, pleasure, or escapism, places novels in a far more valuable context.

Before Henry’s true rank or financial situation is disclosed (29), Catherine already possesses “a strong inclination for continuing the acquaintance” with Tilney. His foremost quality in this conversation and others is being “’not so ignorant of young ladies’ ways as you wish to believe me’” (21). He assures Catherine of the importance of diaries, as they help to develop “the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated” (27). He makes clear his study of fashion, of which “men commonly take little notice” (28). He defends women’s abilities in letter-writing, saying “in every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes” (27). Henry Tilney not only observes women’s activities, but also participates in many of them.

It’s not surprising Henry Tilney loves reading novels as much as Catherine. Reading is a pastime only the “intolerably stupid” (119) dislike. Austen herself says novels are a source of “knowledge of human nature,” and “effusions of wit and humour,” (33-34) Henry’s two favorite things. Henry is keen to “understand the motive of other people’s actions” (141). He describes the results of his readings as “a knowledge of Julias and Louisas” (119). This implies a familiarity with various gothic heroines, but also could mean he has acquired emotional knowledge of those heroines through reading, and can sympathize with others as a result of reading, building upon that understandings of “motive” he mentions. Books also provide him with prized conversational similes, such as the one he uses with Catherine (120). His appreciating novels fits the rest of his character perfectly.

Henry’s appreciation also runs in opposition to the understandings of novels at the time, a novel being “’only a novel’” (33). The narrator explains that “no species of composition has been so much decried.”   Novels then were considered both feminine and useless. Novels were thought to be, as Mr. Thorpe says, “full of nonsense and stuff…the stupidest things in creation”

(48). He does, in fact, give the real reason he doesn’t read novels, which is that he has “something else to do” (47). This highlights many of the problems at play in Thorpe’s understanding of novels and of people, specifically women. Saying that the reason not to read novels is that there is “something else to do” implies that the practice of reading fiction is a waste of time, a novel-ty. “knowledge of human nature” doesn’t seem useful, and so, to Thorpe, it isn’t. With more “knowledge” of that kind, though, he might not have attempted to seduce a woman by calling her favorite hobby “stupid.”   The plot of the novel demonstrates the value of reading by comparing the awareness of a novel-reader against someone who thinks novels are “nonsense.”

Henry displays genuine interest in complexity, which novels provide. He introduces himself through humorous dichotomous perceptions she might have of him. He predicts she will see him as “a queer, half-witted man” (20), then asks that she write him into her diary as “a most extraordinary genius.”. He presents himself as two inaccurate extremes. One of his first acts as a character is to attack simplistic perceptions of people. In this same moment, he attempts to see a situation from Catherine’s perspective. He enjoys complicating. His retraction to his joke about “faultless” letter-writers begins with him denouncing a “general rule” (21). Like good fiction, his humor is an exploration of the general, and a subsequent indictment of it. He doesn’t like general statements or general words, like “nice” (120-121). He quips and corrects in accordance with his obsession with complexity found in novels and in life. So committed is he to this that he “broke the promise” (119) of reading to his sister in order to finish a book faster. His valuation of novels is so great it is sometimes at the expense of the people around him.

Henry perhaps shows unnecessary instruction when chastising Catherine about her having “erred” in thinking the general killed Henry’s mother. He calls her judgment into question, and accuses her of “admitting” questionable “ideas” (222). This is when he has just discovered she thinks his father is a murderer, and that she sought out his deceased mother’s room to gather evidence of this. He calls on her to “consult your own understanding” (222) rather than accuse her of having none. At his most irritated, he displays faith in her ability to observe, comprehend and understand, using the tools their novel-reading should provide, and merely accuses her of not using those abilities. He definitely tries to claim the moral high ground for himself, declaring “you have erred,” instructing her to “consider,” “consult,” and “remember,” (222) and asking many rhetorical questions. At his most serious, though, he goes back to the idea that understanding, in this case understanding the differences between fiction and reality as well as the similarities, is the missing piece in Catherine’s applications of gothic novels to life, but not one she is at all incapable of achieving.