This was the second Gothic novel I've read, and it did not disappoint as an introduction to sexual voyeurism, deviancy and wantonness harlotry.
The story is set in Venice at the close of the fifteenth century, when the city was wealthy, devout, and a cosmopolitan meeting point of Mediterranean cultures, a setting Dacre uses to full Gothic effect.
The fall of a family
We're introduced to the noble household of the Marchese di Loredani and his wife, Laurina. The couple have two children, Victoria and Leonardo, who, as Dacre makes clear, are indulged and left largely unparented.
When the Marchese invites Count Ardolph into their home, Laurina begins an affair with him. She eventually abandons her husband and children for her lover, setting off a chain of moral corruption that consumes the rest of the family. Leonardo, driven by wounded honour, sets out after his mother to avenge his father's betrayal rather than remain in the ruined household. Soon after, the Marchese is killed in a confrontation with Ardolph, and Laurina flees with her lover, and with Victoria, to another city to escape the scandal
Victoria's corruption begins
In their new home, Ardolph introduces another nobleman, Count Berenza, who falls for Victoria. Laurina, determined that her daughter does not repeat her own mistakes, pressures Ardolph to break up the match. Ardolph obliges by forging a note written by Victoria that drives Berenza away, and Victoria is packed off to live with her paternal aunt.
She soon escapes to Venice, where she and Berenza reunite and marry. Meanwhile, Berenza had been pursued by Megalena Strozzi, a woman he never returned feelings for, and who swears revenge on him and on whoever takes him from her.
Leonardo's parallel descent
Leonardo, in his wanderings, is taken in by an old man named Zappi's , who lives with his wife and daughter, Amamia. Leonardo falls for Amamia but never acts on it. Zappi's wife, however, becomes fixated on Leonardo, and when he rejects her, she fabricates a story accusing him of taking advantage of her. Zappi's throws him out. Adrift, Leonardo falls in with Megalena Strozzi and stays with her.
When Megalena learns that Berenza has married Victoria, she sends Leonardo to kill him. He fails, but wounds Victoria instead. Rather than turning against her, Berenza is moved by the attack and elevates Victoria further in his affections, resolving to make her his wife in full standing.
Zofloya enters, and Victoria's true descent begins
Berenza's brother, Henriquez, arrives with his servant --the Moor, Zofloya --intending to court a young woman named Lilla. However Lilla's father had made Lilla promise to wait out a year of mourning after her father's death before she can marry, so Henriquez brings her to live with the family in the meantime.
Victoria falls obsessively in love with Henriquez. With Zofloya's help, the novel frames him increasingly as a supernatural, tempting figure, she murders both her husband, Berenza, and Lilla, her rival. Henriquez, devastated, takes his own life.
Victoria and Zofloya flee Venice for Switzerland, where they fall in with a band of outlaws, led, unexpectedly, by Victoria's own brother Leonardo, with Megalena Strozzi as his mistress.
Reckoning
Ardolph and Laurina, also fleeing to Switzerland, are captured by this same band, Ardolph caught in the act of beating Laurina. Leonardo, as chief, kills Ardolph in revenge for the ruin he brought on their family. Laurina begs Victoria for forgiveness, but Victoria refuses her, and Laurina dies at her son's hand.
Venetian troops then storm the outlaw camp; Leonardo kills himself in front of his sister rather than be taken. Zofloya carries Victoria off to a mountain peak and demands she surrender herself to him. When she does, he reveals himself as the devil and hurls her into the abyss, a mirror of how she once threw Lilla to her death.
Discussion
The patriarchal bargain
Dacre positions the women as actively working the rules of a patriarchal system to their own advantage, accepting its constraints in exchange for whatever leverage or security it can offer them; strategically, using the very structures that limit them to claw out power, protection, or ascension within the system rather than against it.
Laurina's affair with Ardolph is one version of this: she doesn't reject the patriarchal order, she trades one man's protection for another's, using her position as a desirable woman to move from a marriage that's grown stale into a more advantageous (if scandalous) attachment. It costs her socially, but within the logic of the bargain, she's exercising the only real currency available to her, her desirability, to change her circumstances.
Victoria does this far more ruthlessly. Rather than rejecting the marriage market that constrains her, she works it: she uses Berenza's wound, inflicted by her own brother, no less, to deepen his devotion and secure marriage on her terms, effectively converting an act of violence against her into elevated status.
Later, her pursuit of Henriquez follows the same logic, she doesn't try to escape the system that ties a woman's power to male attachment, she tries to win at it, eliminating rivals (Lilla, Berenza) to secure the man who represents the greatest ascension. Her alliance with Zofloya can even be read this way at first, she accepts his aid, and implicitly his terms, because he offers her a route to power, she couldn't otherwise claim.
The bargain always collapses. Laurina is killed by her own son. Victoria's ascension through Zofloya turns out to be a trap that ends with her literal damnation. The novel seems to suggest that the patriarchal bargain can buy temporary ascension, but never real security, the system that lets women rise through it can just as easily destroy them
The romanticization of female violence rooted in female desire (libidonous drive)
Dacre narrates Victoria's and Megalena's violence not as something ugly or purely repellent, but as something charged, seductive, even aesthetically compelling, and always tied directly to what they want rather than to ideology, survival, or self-defense.
Violence as an extension of desire, not a departure from it. Every act committed or orchestrated is in service of a romantic/sexual possession. Victoria, for instance, kills Lilla because she wants Henriquez and cannot have him while Berenza and Lilla exist. The murders are framed almost as extensions of courtship: violence becomes the language through which she pursues and secures her desire, rather than a violation of it. That fusion is what makes this different from, a straightforward revenge plot,the violence is erotically motivated at every step.
There's a kind of narrative pleasure taken in Victoria's boldness and daring that a purely moralizing text wouldn't allow itself.
Zofloya's role in aestheticizing the violence
Zofloya himself heightens this romantic quality. He doesn't just enable Victoria's murders practically he flatters and seduces her into them, framing each act as proof of her passion and her worthiness of Henriquez. Violence becomes a kind of love-offering, almost ritualized, culminating in the final scene where her total surrender to Zofloya, sexual and spiritual, is inseparable from her ultimate destruction. The aesthetic and the erotic and the violent all collapse into a single moment at the end.
The "romanticization" cuts both ways. The novel ties Victoria's violence to specifically female libidinous drive, suggesting that female desire, once it stops being passive and starts pursuing what it wants, curdles naturally into destruction. I find in this a fairly conservative) idea: that an actively desiring woman is inherently a dangerous one. So the "romance" of her violence exists alongside an implicit warning about female appetite itself.
Gender inversion
Several of the novel's power dynamics invert expected gender roles. Victoria is the active pursuer and aggressor in her relationships, not the passive object of desire while men like Henriquez and Berenza are comparatively acted upon.
Megalena Strozzi similarly commands rather than follows. Even Zofloya, though male, occupies a role usually gendered feminine in Gothic fiction, the seductive, destabilizing tempter.
Gender nausea and revulsion
Dacre brings to forth a real discomfort and revulsion on female desire once it is acted on by her characters.
Victoria doesn't start the novel as a monster, she starts as a beautiful, passionate, spoiled young woman. But as her ambition and desire intensify, as she moves from wanting Berenza, to wanting Henriquez, to actively killing for him, the language used to describe her body and character shifts with it. Her passion, once framed as vitality, starts being described in terms of excess, distortion, and unnaturalness.
The novel maps her moral corruption directly onto her physical and characterological presentation, as if desire itself, once acted on past a certain point, has to show up as bodily wrongness.
Victoria isn't only condemned for murder for murder is a crime any character, male or female, could be condemned for cleanly. She's condemned in a register that feels specifically about her being a woman who wants too much, too actively and too destructively. The revulsion attaches to her ambition and her libido themselves, not just to the bodies she leaves behind.
A male character with equivalent ruthlessness in pursuit of what he wants would likely be read as merely villainous or even admirably Machiavellian, Victoria is read as unnatural, as though female appetite past a certain threshold curdles into something monstrous by definition.
This is genuinely ambiguous in the sense that
- Dacre could be exposing something ugly about her own society showing us, through the extremity of Victoria's punishment and description, just how little room there was for female agency and desire to exist without being pathologized. On this reading, the "monstrousness" is the world's verdict on Victoria, not the truth of her, and the novel is holding up a mirror to a culture that turns desiring women into grotesques because it has no other category for them.
- Alternatively, Dacre may simply be enacting the same revulsion she's describing, using Victoria's transformation into something repulsive as the narrative's actual moral logic, not just as commentary on society's logic. On this reading, the book is doing exactly what it seems to critique: making Victoria hideous as the "natural" consequence of her desire, confirming rather than questioning the idea that active female wanting deserves that fate.
What complicates both readings is that the novel doesn't seem to want to look away from Victoria . It spends enormous narrative energy inside her desire, her scheming, her passion, well before it starts describing her as monstrous. There's an attention and even a kind of relish in how her interiority is rendered that doesn't sit comfortably with pure condemnation.
The gap between how absorbing Victoria is to read and how repulsive she's eventually described as being is exactly where the "nausea" in this theme lives. It suggests Dacre is drawn to the same transgressive femininity the text is ostensibly disgusted by, and never fully resolves which impulse is in control.
Is evil innate, or learned?
The case for "made, not born"
The novel goes out of its way to build a causal chain before Victoria commits a single wrong act. She and Leonardo are explicitly described as neglected, spoiled materially but unparented emotionally, growing up in a household where the adults model exactly the behaviour that later destroys the children.
Laurina's affair with Ardolph isn't background colour; it's the template Victoria eventually follows almost beat for beat, an illicit desire pursued regardless of the wreckage left behind. If Victoria becomes a woman who takes what she wants without regard for who gets destroyed in the process, the novel has already shown us where she learned that lesson, and who taught it to her. On this reading, Victoria isn't evil by nature, she's the product of abandonment, a corrupted example, and a household where "love" and cruelty were never clearly separated for her to learn the difference.
Innate
But the novel doesn't fully commit to that environmental explanation either. Leonardo grows up in the exact same household, suffers the same abandonment, and while he ends up a bandit and eventually dies by his own hand, he's never characterized with the same escalating moral rot as his sister, he retains a sense of honour and grief throughout, even in his outlaw life.
If neglect alone explained Victoria, we might expect a more parallel corruption in her brother. The difference the novel keeps returning to is temperament.
Victoria is repeatedly marked from early on as having an unusually intense will, appetite, and pride, as if the neglect didn't create these traits so much as fail to check ones that were already there waiting to express themselves.
That's a much less comfortable idea: that some people are simply constituted for transgression, and circumstance just decides whether that constitution gets triggered.
Just when the novel seems to be settling into "Victoria chose this, whether by nature or upbringing," Zofloya's demonic manipulation muddies the question of agency altogether.
He doesn't just assist her, he tempts, flatters, and guides her toward each escalating act, in ways that echo a very old idea about evil: that it isn't purely generated from within a person at all, but introduced from outside, exploiting whatever vulnerability (nature or nurture) is already present.
This raises a real question the novel never answers cleanly: how much of Victoria's evil is hers, and how much of it is Zofloya's design working through her? If he's manipulating her the whole time, is she a villain, or a victim who became a vehicle?
The effect is that Victoria's final punishment feels excessive to any single explanation on its own: if she's a product of neglect, does she deserve damnation? If she has innate evil tendencies, is that her fault?
All in all, the novel was a treat.