Reviews and Overviews
Emily Dickinson Revisited:
A Study of Periodicity in Her Work
John F. McDermott, M.D.
Objective: Emily Dickinson, arguably
one of America’s foremost poets, is characterized by critics as able to capture extreme emotional states in her greatest
work. Recent dating of her poems offers
the periodicity of her writing as a behavior that can be examined for patterns of
affective illness that may relate to these
states.
Method: The bulk of Dickinson’s work
was written during a clearly defined 8year period when she was age 28–35. Poems written during that period, 1858–
1865, were grouped by year and examined for annual and seasonal distribution.
Results: Her 8-year period of productivity was marked by two 4-year phases. The
first shows a seasonal pattern character-
ized by greater creative output in spring
and summer and a lesser output during
the fall and winter. This pattern was interrupted by an emotional crisis that marked
the beginning of the second phase, a 4year sustained period of greatly heightened productivity and the emergence of a
revolutionary poetic style.
Conclusions: These data, supported by
excerpts from letters to friends during this
period of Dickinson’s life, demonstrate
seasonal changes in mood during the first
four years of major productivity, followed
by a sustained elevation of creative energy, mood, and cognition during the second. They suggest, as supported by family
history, a bipolar pattern previously described in creative artists.
(Am J Psychiatry 2001; 158:686–690)
E
mily Dickinson is one of America’s most celebrated
poets, although she was virtually unknown during her lifetime. Since the 1950s, when her collected poems and letters were first published, considerable speculation has focused on her state of mind (1). An era of psychological
“pathologizing” of her life has given way to a current period of “normalizing” by Dickinson scholars, e.g., in suggesting that her housebound adult life was a conscious
decision in the service of her work (2, 3). Nevertheless,
Dickinson herself remains largely a mystery, as there are
little or no objective data available to help understand the
extremes of emotion she was able to capture in her extraordinary poetry.
A recent study (4), using Dickinson’s collected letters
rather than her poems as an autobiographical source, confirms a sudden, spontaneous anxiety attack at age 24, the
self-described symptoms of which clearly meet DSM-IV
criteria for a panic attack, followed by the rapid onset of
agoraphobia during that same year, again described in her
letters. Speculation from this data has suggested ways in
which the specific panic symptoms described in her letters may have been transformed into poetic metaphor.
But this can only partially explain Dickinson’s state of
mind. It does not address her special capacity to capture
what has been called by Dickinson critics the “depressive
experience” and transform it into metaphor, a phenomenon over which they have puzzled for decades. Consider
686
the opening and closing verses from one of Emily Dickinson’s best known poems:
There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons—
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes—…
When it comes, the Landscape listens—
Shadows—hold their breath—
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death—(5, F320)
Contemporary Dickinson biographer Paula Bennett observed that the reason for this poem’s popularity does not
lie in technique alone but in our becoming a partner in
what she calls the poet’s own “depression”; i.e., the speaker’s
mood “takes over from the light and is generalized to the
entire landscape” (6, p. 117). Other Dickinson scholars have
commented on “the winter within her,” because many of
her best poems skirt the subject of suicide (7).
Perhaps the other half of the puzzle, then, can be sought
in the well-established connection between panic and affective disorder (8–11). Again, Dickinson’s letters offer a
clear clinical picture, one painted by the poet herself (12).
Born in 1830, she described herself during adolescence as
suffering from a “fixed melancholy” after the death of a
friend (12, L11). Its persistence caused her to withdraw
from school the following year: “I left school and did nothing for some time excepting to ride and roam in the fields”
(L13). Soon she came to associate what she called her
Am J Psychiatry 158:5, May 2001
JOHN F. MCDERMOTT
FIGURE 1. Number of Poems Written by Emily Dickinson
per Season During 1859 and 1858
70
60
1859a
1858b
Number of Poems
Number of Poems
80
50
40
30
20
10
0
January
to March
FIGURE 2. Number of Poems Written by Emily Dickinson
per Season During 1861 and 1860
April
to June
July to
September
October to
December
50
45
40
35
30
25
20
15
10
5
0
1861a
1860b
January
to March
Season
a One
b Two
could not be dated by month.
could not be dated by month.
“down-spirited” mood (L81) with the season of the year
(L13) and her preoccupation with the march of the seasons with death itself (13).
This early autobiographical picture, in the context of a
several times greater rate of affective disorder in artists
than in the general population (14–17), suggests that it
would be reasonable to examine Emily Dickinson’s life and
work further for depression and its possible relationship
to her artistic creativity. This study will use the chronology
of Dickinson’s poems as a database. It will examine the periodicity of her work both by year and season, searching
for possible associations between artistic productivity and
changes in mood during the most productive period of her
life.
Method
After her death in 1886, Dickinson’s lifetime work, nearly 1,800
poems, undated and in various manuscript states, was discovered
in her bedroom. The originals had remained in her possession, although she had made copies over the years to send to friends. Although selected poems from this find were subsequently edited
and published by friends and family members, the first collected
edition of the whole of her work with an attempt at sequencing
was not published until the 1950s (18). And it was not until 1998
that The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Variorum Edition, edited by
R.W. Franklin (5), established the chronology of the poems with
some precision. Franklin sequenced the poems according to
when they appeared to have been first written, using characteristic and frequent changes in handwriting, spelling, grammar, and
writing materials. The dating was done conservatively, by year, by
season, and, where possible, by month. When a poem was dated
“early” or “late” in the year, it was listed as being written in the
first or last 3 months of that year (personal communication, R.W.
Franklin). Poems were then counted and grouped by year and
season by the author. When no season could be assigned or the
time was too broadly identified, e.g., first half or second half of the
year, poems were excluded from seasonal data but included in
annual data.
Am J Psychiatry 158:5, May 2001
April
to June
July to
September
October to
December
Season
a Twenty-two could not be dated by month.
b Three could not be dated by month.
Results
Figure 1 and Figure 2 represent a seasonal distribution
of the poetry written during the first 4 years of Emily Dickinson’s serious writing career, 1858–1861 (no more than
one poem was identified as written in any given year before 1858). Figure 3 is a graphic representation of her 8
most productive years, 1858–1865, when she was age 28–
35 (5).
The first 4-year period, 1858–1861, is considered the period when “the flood of her talent is rising” (12, p. 332). As
shown in Figure 1, her productivity in 1858 and 1859
formed a distinct seasonal pattern, with summer accounting for three times the productivity of fall and winter combined. Figure 2 illustrates a changing pattern. Although
slightly more poems were written in the winter months of
1860 than during any other season that year, during the
spring and summer of 1860 combined, she produced
more poetry than during the combined fall and winter of
1860. The 1861 seasonal pattern was interrupted by an
emotional crisis to be discussed.
As shown in Figure 3, the second 4-year period of intensive writing, 1862–1865, presents a further major increase
in her productivity. This surge was sustained, except for a
dip in 1864 when Dickinson spent over one-half the year
in Boston for a medical problem, thought to have been an
eye disorder. Her writing during that time was restricted
by her doctor. After another peak in 1865, her productivity
dropped off to a steady handful of poems each year until
her death in 1886.
Discussion
The most productive years of Emily Dickinson’s writing
career seem to divide themselves into two 4-year blocks.
The first was marked by a seasonal pattern. Of course, her
preference for summer is well-known. Summer is mentioned over five times more than any other season through-
687
EMILY DICKINSON REVISITED
FIGURE 3. Number of Poems Written by Emily Dickinson
per Year From 1855 to 1868
350
Number of Poems
300
250
200
150
100
50
18
55
18
56
18
57
18
58
18
59
18
60
18
61
18
62
18
63
18
64
18
65
18
66
18
67
18
68
0
Year
out her collected poems (19). And although the long, cold
New England winters themselves may have influenced her
productivity, the Dickinson house, including the bedroom
where she did much of her writing at night (personal communication, Polly Longsworth, Ph.D.), was well supplied
with wood-burning stoves and whale-oil lamps. Thus, her
decline in productivity during the winter months seems
more a reaction to the season than to the weather or the
lack of daylight by which to work. Wintertime was accompanied by thoughts of death. There is no question that
Emily Dickinson suffered painful losses, the deaths of family and friends whom she mourned in letter and verse. But
her periods of grief appear prolonged and seasonally
weighted toward the winter months. For example, a November 1858 letter to a friend stated, “I thought perhaps
that you were dead.…Who is alive? The woods are dead”
(12, L195). Even the end of summer marked the anticipation of winter—and of death as well. A September 1859 letter noted: “Indeed, this world is short, and I wish, until I
tremble, to touch the ones I love before the hills are red—
are grey—are white…” (L207).
The year 1860 continued with a seasonal pattern of productivity but to a lesser extent than during 1858 and 1859.
The following year, 1861, seemed to anticipate the seasonal pattern once again. Indeed, the dreaded onset of
winter was handled humorously in August of that year.
Dickinson wrote: “I shall have no winter this year…I
thought it best to omit the season…” (L235). But suddenly
the seasonal pattern of the previous 3 years was disrupted
with the onset of a severe emotional crisis in the fall of
1861 (to be discussed).
What can we make of the seasonal pattern in Dickinson’s early work? On one hand, it reflects the uncommon
sensitivity to seasonal fluctuations found in the work of
many artists (16, 20). In Emily Dickinson’s case, it is possible that it may also reflect a recurrence of the melancholia
she described as an adolescent, now marked by a seasonal
pattern, with recurrence during the winter months.
688
But what could account for the sudden surge in productivity beginning in 1861–1862, a surge that overrode the
previous seasonal pattern? In April 1862, Dickinson wrote
her advisor, Thomas Higginson, of a “Terror—since September [1861]—I could tell to none—and so I sing, as the
Boy does by the Burying Ground—because I am afraid—”
(12, L261) (“sing” was a word Dickinson used to refer to
writing poetry). There was no further direct reference to
“the Terror” in her letters, although she received a note of
concern from a clergyman friend that read, “I am distressed beyond measure at your note, received this moment—I can only imagine the affliction which has befallen, or is now befalling you” (L248A). The rest of that
year, 1862, seemed a blur to Emily Dickinson, and although she composed 277 poems in 1862 alone, she wrote
a half-humorous but puzzled line to a friend in December:
“I don’t remember ‘May.’ Is that the one that stands next to
April?” (L245).
A characteristic overlap between spring or autumn creative peaks and the onset of manic periods has been described in many artists (16). Perhaps the crisis Emily Dickinson described in 1861–1862 signaled a switch in polarity
of mood. Such speculation is supported by the fact is that
Dickinson’s productivity rose dramatically in 1861 and
1862; i.e., during the very time she was experiencing “the
Terror,” Dickinson produced a flood of poems. This second 4-year period of productivity, 1862–1865, accounted
for far more poems than any other period in her life. Indeed, she seemed so overwhelmed by this new, sustained
burst of energy that she completely discounted those earlier (1858–1861) productive years. In the April 1862 letter
to Higginson referred to previously, she described her career as a poet: “I made no verse—but—one or two—until
this winter” (12, L261). She seemed to date her own creativity to the time of “the Terror.”
“The Terror” marked the onset of a prolonged surge of
creative energy and the beginning of the most productive
period of her life, 1862–1865. New ideas followed one another with extraordinary rapidity. Those 4 years account
for over one-half of the almost 1,800 poems written during
her 33-year writing career. The change in mood can be
found in her letters, formerly one of gloom, to one of elation. There was a cognitive change as well, as she wrote of
her work, “My business is to love………My business is to
sing.”(L269).
Critics have long puzzled over the marked alteration in
poetic form in Dickinson’s work after 1860. It has been described by one of them as the sudden development of several simultaneously expanding metaphors, creating an experience that required a new kind of reading (21). There
had been not just a quantitative change in her writing but
a qualitative one as well. Dickinson herself recognized this
new, expansive creative form. Her almost constant stream
of ideas, combined with a newfound energy, marked a new
creative period. But she also saw it as a kind of fragmentation in a letter to Higginson: “I…cannot rule myself, and
Am J Psychiatry 158:5, May 2001
JOHN F. MCDERMOTT
when I try to organize—my little Force explodes—and
leaves me bare and charred—” (12, L271). For in addition
to the marked changes in mood and cognition, her behavior had changed as well. The meticulous binding of poems
into themes, or “fascicles,” by hand from 1858 onward had
become disorderly (5). She recognized the process, apologizing to her preceptor Higginson for the disorganization,
sending him more poems to critique and adding, “Are
these more orderly?” (12, L271).
Kay Redfield Jamison, in her book Touched With Fire,
listed Emily Dickinson among the artists with probable
major depression or manic depressive illness but offers no
supporting data (16). This study of the periodicity in Dickinson’s writing career offers data suggestive of affective illness during her productive years. First of all, Dickinson
described herself as suffering from a “fixed melancholy” in
adolescence, during which she dropped out of school (12,
L11). Her own beloved lexicon, Webster’s An American
Dictionary of the English Language (22), described melancholy, when prolonged, as a “disease.” It seems possible,
considering recent research studies of community populations (23) that have identified high recurrence rates of affective illness in adolescents with vulnerabilities such as
female gender and depressive cognitions, that this melancholy may have recurred in seasonal form at the beginning
of Dickinson’s most productive years. These years divide
in two, the first 4 generally characterized by an increase in
productivity in the summer and a reduced poetic output
and pessimistic mood in the winter. This pattern was interrupted by an emotional crisis that she described as “a
Terror,” signaling a second 4-year phase of expansive creativity, a fever to write, and an intensity clearly dating from
the time of “the Terror.”
Why did Dickinson characterize the onset of this creative burst as “a Terror”? Fearfulness has been described as
one way in which artists experience the arousal of creativity (16). And although the word “terror” may not typify the
onset of mania or hypomania today, the same biologically
determined process may have been experienced differently in different historical periods. In any case, the 8-year
productive period described previously is not inconsistent
with the symptom profile of bipolar II affective disorder,
“the Terror” perhaps signaling a sudden frightening
change in polarity.
Emily Dickinson has long been considered a complex
figure by her biographers, with many contrasting, if not
contradictory, sides to her personality: withdrawn and reclusive on one hand; assertive and ebullient on the other.
Another possible explanation is that she may have suffered from a recurrent affective disorder, with the wellknown emotional and cognitive fluctuations that are part
of its course. Such speculation addresses the mystery of
her poetic drive; i.e., critics have wondered why the bulk of
Dickinson’s work was produced in a period of a few short
years, with the drive suddenly coming to an end (24).
Am J Psychiatry 158:5, May 2001
Emily Dickinson’s physician, without knowing it, may
have helped solve the mystery of her mental state some
years later, when Dickinson was 53: “The Physician says I
have ‘Nervous Prostration,’” she wrote a friend. “Possibly I
have—I do not know the Names of Sickness” (12, L873).
Nervous prostration was a condition that was by then subsumed under the diagnosis of neurasthenia, an illness
characterized by anxiety and depression (25). Emily Dickinson’s “Nervous Prostration” might have been the end result not only of her earlier documented panic and agoraphobia but of a possible bipolar disorder as well. Recent
evidence from genetic research (9, 10) has suggested that
panic may indeed be a bipolar marker. But it was not until
many years later that Kraepelin described manic and depressive mood swings and separated them from dementia
praecox. Thus, Dickinson’s physician diagnosed nervous
prostration, then a catchall for symptoms of anxiety and
depression.
Jamison, in her investigation of the overlapping of depressive, manic, and creative states, has found high rates
of bipolar disorder among artists, especially poets (16).
Andreasen (26) found these creative abilities and mood
disorders to aggregate in certain families. What is the evidence of such a pattern in the Dickinson family? There is
some. The behavior of Emily Dickinson’s paternal grandfather, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, the black sheep of the
family, has confounded Dickinson biographers for years. A
founder of Amherst College and an eminent civic leader,
he was described by the president of Amherst College as
“one of the most industrious and persevering men that I
ever saw” (24, p. 35). But his periods of energy and enthusiasm appeared to alternate with depression. First accumulating then losing the family fortune, exiled from Amherst to the Midwest, he was remembered by his daughter:
“It seems as if his depression of spirits caused his sickness
which terminated his life” (24, p. 38). The eminent Dickinson biographer Richard Sewall noted this “breakdown”
and suggested that Squire Fowler exhibited traits that became more extreme in succeeding generations (24, p. 38).
Samuel Fowler Dickinson’s own references to his mood
swings can be found in letters before and after his graduation from Dartmouth College in 1795. Needing only 4
hours’ sleep at night, he characterized himself as having
“burned out my candle and made the clock strike thirteen” on one hand and at other times complaining of melancholy and “general debility pervading my constitution”
on the other (27, MS797301).
Conclusions
The limitations of this study are well recognized. Diagnostic impression without examination is conjecture at
best. Furthermore, the sample of poems available may be
incomplete; i.e., it conceivable that others were written
and lost or destroyed and were not included in those
found in Dickinson’s room after her death. And although
689
EMILY DICKINSON REVISITED
the chronology of all Dickinson’s poems established by the
recent Franklin Variorum Edition is more precise by time
of year than ever before, it remains an educated judgment.
Nevertheless, to our knowledge, this study is the first
quantitative data-based assessment of Dickinson’s work
with use of the periodicity of her poetry writing as a measure. Its primary purpose was to discover new information
about Emily Dickinson rather than explain her.
If the data presented here offer a new interpretation of
Emily Dickinson’s career and a further glimpse into her
pattern of creative productivity, they cannot explain the
phenomenon of her imagination. For if Emily Dickinson
was indeed the victim of the well-known Faustian bargain
between affective illness and creative genius, it was her
courage and imagination that enabled her to rise above
the former and use the latter to transform powerful affects
into metaphor. Her work frames complex emotional extremes with words that have a life of their own, words that
have moved generations of Americans and others
throughout the world. Perhaps Emily Dickinson had some
insight into the secret of her own creative genius when she
penned the lines beginning
The Brain—is wider than the Sky… (5, F578)
Received July 26, 2000; revision received Dec. 8, 2000; accepted
Dec. 19, 2000. From the Department of Psychiatry, University of Hawaii School of Medicine. Address reprint requests to Dr. McDermott,
P.O. Box 6840, Kamuela, HI 96743; [email protected] (e-mail).
The author thanks Robert Michels, M.D., and David Porter, Ph.D.,
for suggesting this study, R.W. Franklin, Ph.D., for further interpretive
dating of the poetry, and Polly Longsworth, Ph.D., for help with Dickinson’s writing habits.
Poems F320 and F578 reprinted by permission of the publishers
and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1998 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
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