Is That Feminism in the Wallpaper?

Throughout the year we’ve examined literature dealing with women’s roles, and I must say, watching the transition from domestic literature to controversial stories with feminist undertones. The Yellow Wallpaper is the perfect story to begin talking about the feminist awakening in literature because, at least in my opinion, the narrator’s journey to find meaning in the wallpaper coincides with the nineteenth century’s feminist writers journey to immerge from oppression.

In our course, the first glimpse of literature’s “woman in the wall paper” came in the Wide, Wide World. In this purely domestic novel, a literal guidebook on how to be a good girl, we saw Ellen Montgomery poke the fire. In this act she defied her society and gave period readers shivers of excitement—this was controversy. We moved on and on, encountering example upon example of girls putting their toes across the social boundaries. Eventually we were cross-dressing. And only weeks before the end of our studies we encountered the advent of Gothic literature as a feminist weapon. (This is what I would equate the narrator’s acceptance of the creeping woman, essentially the full extent of her insanity.) In both A Whisper in the Dark and The Yellow Wallpaper, the universally creepy elements of Gothic Literature force the reader, whether male or female, into the shoes of the persecuted woman. And in this, the writers win. They fully subvert early nineteenth century and hail in a new age.

Boys Will Be Boys

Let’s talk about the difference between growing up the city and growing up in the country as a young boy in the nineteenth century. So far we’ve had a two stories concerning boyhood: Ragged Dick and Tom Sawyer. Both Dick and Tom are used in their respective stories as images of the future of America: bright, sunny, intelligent, warlike, etc. But as one story is set in the south and the other is set in the north, they represent two distinctly different societies; two societies that had spent the last half a decade ripping at each others throats. Judging by this, one might hypothesize that these boys would be entirely different; separate visions for two completely different cultures. However, whether by plan or by chance, Ragged Dick and Tom Sawyer are essentially the same character set in two different worlds, the city and the country. Though they both are bright and shining sons of liberty nonetheless.

I suppose the basic idea behind it all calls back to our favorite little adage, “childhood is the only unique human experience.” What we find when we read these stories are two completely different boys in completely different environments still being boys. They’re going to get “ragged and dirty,” they’re clever, superbly smart, but they may not always be “honest injun.” The point is even boys who grow up in vastly different situations still experience boyhood, whether they are wealthy in the country, or living out of a box in the city. This common thread, childhood, can tie even the most bitter enemies together. So here’s the plan: make everyone feel like a child again.

Inner Feeling Projection

In Mark Twain’s The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today he, in short, critiques his society and it’s infamous façade. The Gilded Age was entitled so because on the surface it appeared beautiful, full of potential for the common man and wealth for the rich, but under the golden surface was a much more base material—the dark secrets, child labor, racism, and hopelessness, of the time. Much like Mr. Twain, Rebecca Harding Davis uses her short story The Yares of Black Mountain to answer the Horatio Alger story, to pry the veneers off of Reconstruction culture. Davis uses a perversion of the common ‘quest’ style story to make subtle swipes at falsely optimistic literature. After being told that a change in scenery would cure her dying son, Mistress Denby travels to place where “civilization stops,” projecting her optimism falsely on her surroundings all the way. As stated by other travelers the scenery, at best “lacks the element of grandeur” and yet Denby looks upon everything with awe. She has put herself into a delusional environment, just like the rest of America has created a delusion of easy upward mobility.

Disclaimer I suppose: In the end of the story it turns out that the boy survives. The mother’s hopes come true. Though this is not to say that her delusion is less delusional, she allowed herself to be influenced by baseless hope.

Alger and Ragged Dick

One of our first hypotheses on the role of children in literature was that children function as an image of the future. Children, in a matter of twenty to thirty years, will be fully functioning adults, running the nation, writing, etc. By using children in literature the author can express his hopes and fears for the country, or for humanity in general. In Ragged Dick by Horatio Alger, I think that Dick is Alger’s ideal future American. He is stubborn, self reliant, hardworking, but not uptight about his funds. He is clever, funny and puts his superiors to shame. He stands up for those weaker than him; he is moral and is not afraid to start trouble for the sake of justice. But why must he be male, why must the representatives of future generations be presented to nineteenth century audiences as young men. As much as I hate to say it, it boils down to gender roles. Young women were too busy making toast and learning to take care of the family to represent a generation. In fact, as society stood, there was really no purpose in thinking of a woman as representative of the time. A woman’s job was the same no matter when she was born; she must take care of her family. That is a universal and timeless responsibility of woman of this time. Essentially, my point is that Alger used a young boy to give an image of the future because, let’s face it, the voice of the future must be young, and cannot be girl—there really wasn’t much choice involved. In the end, young boys like Dick represent the hopes of the author for society’s future. And what these young men in literature stand for shows much about the state of 19^th century society. The 19^th century was a time of excessive hope, but only because things were so dismal. The gilded age was a dishonest and oppressive time, a time when honest and fair heroes where created in literature as examples to the present society. In this way, all of this literature is pedagogical, in fact I would venture to say that most any literature worth reading is pedagogical in some way, shape or form.

'Oblivion to the Past

In no way do I feel that Sybil became any less of a reliable narrator once she entered the insane asylum. In fact, I find the very idea that a change setting, no matter how drastic, can invert our trust in a narrator is preposterous, if not offensive. The reader’s job, as we’ve addressed in class, is to actively make personal judgments as the text goes on. And, sure, it’s possible for an author to be deceptive, but just because we can be deceived as readers, does not mean that we blithely step in time with everything the author says.

Even in the story, there is overwhelming evidence that Dr. Karnac and Sybil’s uncle had been planning Sybil’s incarceration for some time. Simply at show of emotion that is, I might add, perfectly normal, Dr. Karnac says that Uncle is “perfectly justified in doing so;” So, in light of future events, obviously refers to incarcerating Sybil. These subtle hints in conversation (“take this quieting draft,” “virulence is a bad symptom” and “drink with me… I was unused to wine… proved too potent for me”) utterly prove that Sybil’s uncle has engineered the entire situation.

To conclude, when Sybil enters the insane asylum the readers should not change their opinions on her. With as much experience as we have with Sybil, the reader should have already known if they trust her or not. The reality is there is no real element of insanity that enters the story. Sure, there is mention of the word and a threat of becoming insane in the asylum, but that is not Sybil’s fault.

Why We Like Warfield.

Since I have been given the opportunity, I’d like to take the chance to talk about something a bit out of the way. As I was reading the Hidden Hand by E.D.E.N. Southworth, I, like I assume other people did, began to love Ira Warfield as a character. Though Old Hurricane continually proves to the reader, and to other characters in the book is that he is a complete jerk, I, rather than beginning to hate him, started liking him more and more. This stood out to me, and the more I thought about it the more confused I became. Shouldn’t we automatically dislike dislikable characters and shouldn’t we love good characters automatically? In my post today I want to discuss why we love a dislikable character.

When I step back and look at Ira Warfield’s case, I find that what I most like about his character is his sheer audacity. He is an old man who is “retired from public life,” he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him and he speaks his mind. While this carelessness is entertaining, it is not the point. The part of him that is “large, harsh… [and] domineering” is not likeable on it’s own, but without his “violent temper and domineering habits,” he is not likeable at all. What I am trying to say is, it is precisely what would make Warfield a detestable human being that makes him a likeable character. Why is this? Personally, I think the answer is rooted in rebellious human nature. Don’t we all wish we could do or say the things we think without consequence? Old Hurricane has freed himself from societal bonds; he does not have to worry about what the world thinks. We like Old Hurricane because he is what we wish we all were—completely honest.

Sugar and Spice?

In The Lamplighter by Maria S. Cummins, the aftermath of Paul Cooper’s downfall, and Gerty’s proverbial rise can be taken as an indication of a collective desire for balance in society. It is not only in The Lamplighter that we see well-to-do characters falling and virtuous, hardworking characters rising. Even in modern literature this moral prevails: work and be rewarded, be rewarded and fall. What makes Gerty’s situation so interesting is the author’s willingness to break the archetype and show the reader the clockwork of their society, and of our society.

The twist in The Lamplighter is that Gerty does not have to work to rise out of the dregs of society: she has True, who earns her social salvation for her. This sort of Christian imagery pervades the entire story. After one particularly abusive night, Cummins directly addresses Gerty (and, in a way, the audience). “Poor little, untaught, benighted soul! Who shall enlighten thee? Thou art God’s child, little one! Christ died for thee.” And indeed, answering the author’s request, True comes along and brings her up from her lowly state, at no expense to Gerty. “Little Gerty had found a friend and protector.”

Unfortunately, as physically well off Gerty becomes, she has an unavoidable flaw: she is stuck in her street urchin lifestyle. When put into the loving hands of True she does not know what to do. In a way, we all understand her struggle to fit in to an alien situation. Girls today, while the demands of our society are different, deal with the same issues and are portrayed largely in the same way. The video The Yogini we see a modern Ellenesque girl, Anna: perfectly good, an example to all. Anna is independent, hip, and seemingly intelligent; not traits praised by eighteenth century society, but the point is she is well adjusted to today’s society. Which in my opinion is, dare I say, pointless. All our societal expectations are subjective; it is necessary, especially in America that we recognize individuality; that is not to say that it’s wrong to expect good manners, but I digress. We expect young girls to find their niche and obey the social norms, something that Gerty would struggle. Frankly, I don’t even think she could get on to a smart girls” show. As far as she has risen she is in no way an example for other girls. Though, playing along, if she were on the show she would have probably inquired about a way she could balance her life, come into sync with society.

Double Standards Stowe Away

Uncle Tom’s Cabin is a story containing children, not a story for children. Much of the subject matter in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel was intended to arouse anger in Christian parents (Stowe’s audience); and thus, the reader witnesses numerous relevant injustices committed toward slaves. But, in order for Stowe to truly bring about change, these crimes against African-Americans could not be mere lashings; they had to tear at the heart of the reader. Consequently, Stowe chose one of the most powerful rhetorical images; one that is heart breaking to all: the threat or actualization of separation, whether through death or distance, from one’s children.

The reason for Eliza’s flight is her fear of separation from her only son. All parents, especially those who have lost children can relate to Eliza’s “paroxysm of frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger.” Humans instinctually value children, especially in literature, as more important than adults. Whenever there is a perilous situation, adults should readily sacrifice their security if it means helping a child. The idea of using Harry (Eliza’s son) as a device to arouse sympathy in the audience is not surprising in and of itself. What truly creates the controversy in Stowe’s portrayal of this child in particular is the context: the antebellum south. In the character Harry, the reader of the day must have found an internal conflict. Harry is a mixed image of a slave, sub-human by the standards of society; and a child in danger, regarded universally as of super-human value. They, the white upper middle class, know that this child must be protected and nurtured, and on the deepest plains of their consciousness they want to root for the one who protects him. However, wanting slaves to escape goes against society, the government and most likely the personal convictions of the readers.

This dichotomy that Stowe implanted into the minds of her original audience is further emphasized by the use of an aside. It comes at the beginning of the seventh chapter when she asks the audience how they would feel if it were their own child “that [was] going to be torn from [them] by a brutal trader, tomorrow morning.” This is a direct attempt to exploit the moral confusion she has (hopefully) created in her audience. Stowe continues throughout the passages to address the audience, sometimes directly sometimes indirectly. She essentially repeats her aside through Mrs. Bird to Senator Bird. Mrs. Bird complains that illegalizing support for escaped slaves “is something downright cruel and unchristian.” Interestingly enough, it is phased as though Mrs. Bird could be speaking straight to the reader.

After all, Stowe’s agenda becomes quite clear: she means to undermine social and religious justifications for the ill treatment of slaves. And I must say, she is effective.

An Exploration of Parental Roles in The Wide, Wide World

In The Wide, Wide World, Susan Bogart Warner’s approach to parenthood is atypical, at least. In the traditional sense, the role of the parent is to provide a child with food, protection and instruction that enables the child to function in society. For Ellen’s family, this may have been the case for a while: the father providing the money and food, the mother providing training and care. But, due to extraneous circumstances (Mrs. Montgomery’s sickness and Mr. Montgomery’s legal troubles), traditional parental roles were abandoned or confused.

In nineteenth century American society, the role of the stereotypical father was to provide income, the physical needs of his family. Compared to his wife he has a minimal role in raising the children. In The Wide, Wide World, Mr. Montgomery takes this stereotype to a nearly comical extreme. It is explicitly stated that Mr. Montgomery is gone “most of the time.” In fact, he is absent throughout nearly the whole story. Even when he is present, the reader gets the impression that he is apathetic. He gives Mrs. Montgomery “a sum” of money that is only “barely sufficient for [Ellen’s] mere clothing.” The story continually implies he is tight with money and is not in touch with his family’s needs. Overall, the story paints a very critical image of ‘breadwinner’ parenthood. In fact, the concept of fatherhood is so perverted that Ellen has trouble relating to a “heavenly father”; instead, she must visualize the Christian god as a mother--someone she can depend upon.

Apart from her seemingly harsh disposition and dire illness, Mrs. Montgomery is portrayed as an ideal mother. Though, the extent of her sickness has disallowed her to perform any motherly duties. Warner creates an interesting reversal of roles as Ellen cares for her mother as if she were her own child. She must prepare her meals, care for her emotionally and keep the house in order. Ellen's "behavior was such as would have become many years" as she cared for her mother. Overall, we see a dying mother is passing the maternal torch to an all-too-young girl. She must mature and learn quickly in order to survive.

Personally, I identify strongly with Ellen. I lived through nearly identical circumstances when my family was in Saudi Arabia. After the bombing of the Khobar towers (US Air force housing) and numerous threats on school buses, barracks and bases, the government decided to evacuate all military dependants. My father (the only non-dependant) had to stay behind for another eight months to finish his service in a life-threatening environment. Although I was only six, I distinctly remember crying over a photo of my dad the day before we left, wondering if I would ever see him again. My dad came in the room, took the photo and told me I needed to control myself. That was an extraordinarily painful part of my life, but eight months later it was all over. All the real peril was gone, but it left its mark. I don’t think I have truly felt like a kid since. With this experience I know Ellen perceived the role of her parents during her tragedy: she saw it exactly as it was before. The difference is that she must live with the reality that the norms do not apply in abnormal situations. As Ellen comes to terms with the gap between the ideal and the reality, her actions often read as ‘preteen angst,’ but this is not the case. Ellen is working with all her might to restore the status quo: the way it was. The tragedy of this story is that she will never achieve the pre-tragedy bliss; you cannot rewrite history just because you don’t like its implications.

Approaches to Childhood Literature

One of my favorite quotes on writing comes from Mignon McLaughlin’s Neurotic’s Notebook, “A critic can only review the book he has read, not the one which the writer wrote.” The fact is: literature is a breeding ground for great ideas; even if the author didn’t intend them, there is great value in constructing interpretations, gleaning what one can from a passage. In the same way that other critics approach other genres, MacLeod and Sanchez-Eppler (and myself for that matter) have unique theories on approaching childhood literature of the nineteenth century.

Modern critics look at antiquated literature through the lens of history by default. In order to understand a time, we can only go by records and art of the period. And the records don’t tell the full story; literature is the chief informer of our historical understanding. My point is, because we are using literature of the time to define the time, it becomes tricky to approach the literature itself. The easiest way out of this conundrum is to (as stated earlier,) look at literature through the historic perspective, consulting current events of the time. MacLeod, for example, examines the correlations between the tumultuous Jacksonian ‘adult world’ and the childhood literature of the time. On the adult side he recognizes the widespread apprehension about the future: “strain and unrest… socially, economically and politically,” and through this light, sees that the moralistic children’s literature is a response to this tension. In the end, a lot can be learned through a good historical approach, but it only scratches the surface.

Sanchez-Eppler, unlike MacLeod, focuses on the pedagogical nature of nineteenth century literature. (However, it must be stated that he would have not been able to take this approach without a thorough understanding of the historical perspective.) The pedagogical approach focuses on how and what the story teaches. Through the historical view Sanchez-Eppler finds “this idea of the child as transparent,” that is to say; “children [are] primarily seen as passive receptors of culture”. And although Sanchez-Eppler later debunks this transparency theory, he is able to understand why writers approached children the way they did: as little adults.

This idea of treating children as adults is not logically unfounded. In literature, as well as society, children represent the future. And, it is only logical that children are treated with the utmost care, and are adequately prepared for life. In the nineteenth century this meant moral education. A moralistic approach to children’s literature deals with the good and the bad. What is the right thing to do, and what is the wrong thing to do. Almost all children’s literature of the nineteenth century was designed to make a moralistic statement. In that time “whether home or school, [education] was primarily moral education,” that was simply what everyone thought was important.

Aside: Isn’t it interesting how each approach ties into another? Historical theory allows us to view pedagogical, through which (in this instance) leads to a moralistic approach, which in turn, reveals more historical truth. Truth that would be undiscovered without this process.

According to MacLeod, children’s literature was an “attempt to control society by indoctrinating children with safe moral values.” This statement implies the next approach; which is societal. With historical interpretation in mind we can judge a story by its effectiveness as a means of socialization. In general children’s literature of the nineteenth century “characterization and plots were purposefully flat” (MacLeod). This made them especially effective as teaching instruments. A story that is less focused on entertainment can hone in on the lesson. Through these fables children of the time were socialized: given the common sense and proper moral values to face the world.

Through all of this analysis it is possible to understand a story’s context, purpose, moral sensibility, and effectiveness. However, it is impossible to fully understand a story without understanding it’s audience. By approaching children’s stories as children, the critic can gain a more authentic perspective. After removing modern society’s lens, the most pure form of the story plain to see.

Well, this is me.

Hello world, my name is Bill Hamlett and I am in the midst of a personal renaissance. Last fall, I applied as a freshman to Texas Christian University as a neuroscience major. However, in the time between then and now I have fallen in love with language and the arts. Long story short: I disappointed everyone I knew and loved and became a writing major.

Unlike many of my talented peers I was not born with pen in hand; in fact, it's been quite the opposite. I come from a long line of scientists and engineers, and fully intended on keeping the tradition. However, it turned out, through my little awakening that I discovered something in literature, opera and the arts that I could not find in beakers or even the anatomy of the human body. As amazing and beautiful as science is, I couldn't resist (for lack of a better term) the emotional draw of literature.

Anyway, there is not much more to know about me than that I love theatre, music, and a good time; I play the piano, I'm an eagle scout and I'm still passionately interested in the hard sciences. I suppose if I could have dinner with any three people I would choose George Gershwin, Teddy Roosevelt, and William Saroyan. My reason for taking Major American Writers, honestly, was the off chance that I would get to write a paper about Catch-22 or The Human Comedy. I know, nerdy, but I also know that no matter what we focus on I'll gain valuable writing experience. Plus, how can you go wrong with anything American?

I'm always looking for good books and stories, things I would have never thought to pick up. As far as reading goes, I tend to get stuck in ruts. I read a lot of Joseph Heller, which lead me to William Saroyan. And ever since I read The Heart of Darkness in high school I've worked my way through some of Joseph Conrad's work. I like reading from an author's first work to his last. I find short stories especially telling of an author's artistic direction and style. They're like the appetizer before a meal, or in this case a book.

Truthfully, I'm still finding my feet in writing. I've read a few books on style, but the best I can do right now (especially in creative pieces) is to imitate the writing styles of the authors I like best. Of course, it's hard for me to gauge my own voice, I honestly don't even know if I really have one or not. I do my best to avoid superfluous diction, awkward adverbial phrases, dangling modifiers, too many adjectives, R rated movies. That was a joke. I'd be happy to watch any movie with you at any time. Did I mention I have trouble focusing on one subject at a time?

Well, I guess to wrap things up, I hope that this blogging project helps me to mature as a writer and I hope I can provide some insightful analysis on nineteenth-century American children/popular literature. I modeled this page on the theme of The Lamplighter, I read an excerpt of it in high school. I find some the most interesting parts of literature lie in the details, especially the way authors describe light. That's another problem of mine, I find myself stopping and contemplating every splendid detail of a passage. Things can get pretty slow, but it's incredible how a writer can fit so much truth into so few words. I could sit around all day thinking of how to describe the movement of light and shadow, the way trees look when the sun is shining through technicolor leaves. That was weird. In any case, I hope the simple theme and dark colors of my blog make it easy to read and facilitate an intellectual mood.

Oh yeah, I have read the course description, I agree and understand all of it's terms and I will follow them, putting forth my best effort all the while. Slap me if I slack off.