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.