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Promotion of Quality
Recognition of Excellence
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FALL 2000
VOLUME4
ILLINOIS STATE
UNIVERSITY
"The world becomes polyglot, once and for all
and irreversibly ... Languages tlrrow light on
each other: one language can, after all, see itself
only in the light of another language." -Bakhtin
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Copyright © 2000 by Polyelossia
POLYGLOSSIA
The publication of this joi.lmal has been made possible by the
assistance of the Illinois State University English Department.
THE JOURNAL OF ILLINOIS STATE
UNIVERSITY'S LAMBDA DELTA CHAPTER
OF SIGMA TAU DELTA, THE
INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH HONOR
SOCIETY
Editor: Sarah M. McHone-Chase
Editorial Advisor: Tim Feeney
Technical Advisor: David McHone-Chase
Advisors: Dr. Sally Parry and ,Dr. Robert McLaughlin
judging Co01mittee: Tim Feeney, Sarah M. Mel-lone-
Table of Contents
1
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Chase, Layne Moore, arid Donna Rei.nlQng
Ah, Bartleby as Gothic Hero
Jamie Lane ................................. 5
judging Rules: The entries were judged blindiy, and peo-
Gynocritidsm, Bonding, and Susan Glaspell's "A Jury of Her
Peers"
:
ple who-submitted couldnot judge their own work. Papers
were chosen based on their clarity of thought, originality, an~
overall excellence.
Sarah M. McHone-Chase ..................... .'.19
Collisions of Language
Layne.Moore .............................. 33
Submission Information: Undergraduate English majors
and minors can submit their outstanding papers for consideration in a future issue of Polyelossia. Students do not have to be
members of Sigma Tau Delta in order to be eligible to submit. Please give all submissions to Dr. Sally Parry or Dr.
Robert McLaughlin.
The Clothes Make the (wo)Mah.
Sigma Tau Delta Member!;hip Information: To be-
Timothea Turney .......................... 61
come a member of Sigma Tau Delta, a stu~ent needs to he an
English major or minor. He or she needs to have completed
fifteen hours in English at Illinois State University. The student also needs to maintain a 3. 3 English and cumulative ·
GPA.
Membership is by invitation only.
2
Issues of Confessional Autobiography with Specific
Emphasis on Girl, Interrupted and Prozac Nation
Audrey Rosenblatt ......................... 45
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Beauty Is Not Truth .. .
Brian Weidner ............................. 71
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Ah, Bartleby as Gothic Hero
Jamie Lane
T
here are several ways that one can interpret Herman
Melville's "Bartleby." It is a multifaceted text that
~xplores a plethora of conflicts both internal and external. Due to 'the amb~gU:ous nature of the text1 though, it is
impossible to reduce it to. a single corre~t meaning. However, the way on~ reads the text has an over,:whelming effect
on wha,t the reader takes from "Bartleby.;' In one textual
analysis, "Bartleby" fulfills the basic require19ent,s of a Gothic
text. However, Melville departs from tratlitional Gothicism
by having Bartlt;by-·p.ot .the narrator-function as .a hero
who ~s able to examine the external culture and its confmements and is,. therefore, enlightened by his oppre~sion and is
ablf to understand •human nature, L.ooking at "Bartleby" as
such, one can see how character development, s~tting, and
plot ~evelopment contribute tQ the complex statement that
Melville is making about mankind, Melville's "Ba~tlel:>y" contaiJls a contemporary Gothic q~lity that utilizes the contrast
between the narr;ttor and Bartle!>y to illuminate Bartleby's
know{e~ge of human nature and the narrator's lack .thereof.
In the early- to mid-eighteenth century, the G<;>thic
movement in literature began to take form as a reaction to
earlier literature that focused primarily on formality and order (Bayer-Berenba'um 19). Dr~wing upon qualities of Romanticism,, the G()thic movement intensified' sensationalism
and sensualism while adding sadi~m and satanism (BayerBerenbaum 20). Th~ Gothic formula contains much more
than the stereotypical haunted houses or castles, vampires,
monsters, and gore. Gothicism contains broad elements that
allow each piec~ o,f Gothic literature to be slightly different
than the next.
According to Bayer-Berenbaum, these
5
"characteristics reappear from work to work, such as recurrent character types, plot patterns, and themes, as well as
common psychological and sexual attitudes, similar treatments of fear, pain, compulsion, and disgust, and comparable
views of religion and politics" (20). Melville's "Bartleby"
contains an old Gothic formula hidden beneath its more obvious" contemporary aspects.
Although traditional Gothic elements ~ be found in
"Bartleby," Melville alters the role of the hero. Typically, the
narrat6t functions as the hero/heroine of a Gothic text. The
'hero internally focuses on his "trials as unique to [himself] cmd
avoids systemic inquiry about the source of [his] suffering" (Masse 3). Melville strays from this convention, however. In fact, the narrator is the antagonist in "Bartleby." ,
Even though the· narrator believes his Gothic experience is
unique, it is not his owh. The narrator tries to understand
and live through his unique experience (his encounter with
Bartleby) and feeds off of it. The narrator's flaw is his inability to see the truth in what he inquires about, not his lack of
inquiry. Bartleby is Melville's Gothic hero. He is the one
that is enlightened. Bartleby realizes that his experience is
t;lOt unique, but is something shared by all humanity.
Bardeby does not avoid inqufry. Instead~ his inquiries lead to
his enlightenment. Bartleby fimctions as a new Gothic 'hero
who-unlike the narrator-·-is aware of the confmements
placed upon him and mankind by·society. Melville places this
Gothic twist, a reversal of roles.,. amongst the traditional
Gothic elements in "Bartleby ." This creates a vast contrast
between Bartleby and the narrator, which illuminates their
inability to communicate and creates a challenge of not only
traditional Gothic roles, but also of American society.
Iil "Bartleby;" the most obvious Gothic characteristic
is the setting. The ·Gothic setting typically cqntains a landscape that ·moves from one extreme to another or simply
maintains an apparent contrast (Bayer-Berenbaum 22). Even
6
more important, the Gothic setting functi()ns as~ trap (Ryan
313). The setting of "Bartleby" contains both of these elements. First, the physical setting ofthe story is an offic~ on
Wall Street. Through,th~ narrator, Melville gives a description of the bffice that lias o~vious contrasting' feat1,1res. The
•narrator describes his upstairs chambers· that af one end
"looked upon ~e white wall of the interi~r of a spacious skylight shaft, penetrating the building from top to bottom" (Melville 4). In contrast, the windows across the chambers "commanded an unobsi:ni.cted. view of a lofty brick wall,
black by age and everlasting shade; ·which wall re'quire<J no
spy-glass 'to bring out i~ lurking beauties, but, for the 'benefits of all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to wiiliin ten
feet of my window panes" (Melville 5). Therefore, one side
of the office coiitailis elements of light and openness, while
the other side is datk and coristrict~g yet beautiful. "These
contrasts' are included in Gothic literature because they magnify reality; between the greatest extremes lies the greatest
breadth" (Bayer-Berenb~um 22). Melville uses the setting as
a metaphor for the narrator and Bartleby. The narrator functiol}.s as the light force ahd,Bartleby as the dark. It is imperative to understand that Melville uses the narrator to express
these feelu;_gs. For instince, the narrator is self-centered and
believes himself to be the light of khowiedge, yet there is
something mysterious about the darkness of Bartleby that intrigues him. Interestingly, L\1elville does "magnify reality"
t·
through· the contrasts of the narrator and Bartleby which,
througli the vast division that ·separates the. narrator from
Ba~tleby, emphasizes the fact that Bartleby, the dark character, is enlightened by the ~uman experien~e. Thus, through
tht;ir contrasts, knowledge and reality are revealed.
The office is located on the second floor, which architecturally' places the office surrounded on all sides, symboli?;ing a trap. The gap between the walls is referred to as "a
huge square cis(ern" (Melville 5). A cistern is a man-made
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tan~ used to hold rainw~ter.
Looking closely, J:his can be
considered another construct that trap~ th,ase within it. The
narrator i~ tr~pped within the office and his self-unwilling
to look and search beyond-..-and in a sense, is drowning in
th~ cistern formed J>y society. Bartle by remains l!;float beca~se he recognizes the trap for what it is, even- if he cannot
escape from it. Thus, the narrator feeJs .his environment is
snug and l3artleby feels trapped and suffocated by the setting.
·
Melville uses the Wall Street office to challenge the
nineteenth-century American ~elief that capitalism "can create a utopia" (Ryan 314). ,Melville makes \1 statementcconceming capitaiist America an<:l the concerns of those involved
in a driving wgrkfo,rce. ~e narrator believes that he is presenting an ideal setting an,d, a "satisfactory arrange-,
ment" (Melville 2). However, Bartleby js the only one aware
that he is trapped within \1 construct and realizes that he can,
not escape from it. l)ie American dream is really a night'mare and Bartleby is .the orlly one. who is aw<~;ke. Melville
uses the narrator's inability to •St;e beyond the .confmements
t;~tabltshed by the outside world as a correlation to what can
be seen as the typical Ameriqm exr.ey;ience.
Bartleby is .fi,trt:l,ler contained within the construct
when the narrator places him behind a screen. The narrator
·~resolved to assign Bartleby ..a comer by the foldingodoors,
but on [his],s!~e of them, so as to have this quiet man within
easy call, in case any trilling thing was· to be done" (Melville
11 ). Bartleby's desk is by a wind<;>w. that "commanded at present no view at alJ, thqugh it gave some light" (Melville 12).
The narrator places ·a "high green (olding screen, which wight
enti,rely isolate Bartl~by fh>m my sight, though not remove
him from my voice" .(Melville 12). The green of the screen
may symbolize the m~ney that causes those op. Wall Street
(the narrator), believers of the pt;rfect capitalistic dream, to
isolatt; themselves from the rest of humanity;
Bartleby Ia,.ows that "the manipulated physical mat-
ter will take jts ve.~geance on man~' because of his previpus
experiences with !lt~ dead letters (Ryan- 31 +). On the other
}}and, .the narratgr cannot l!llderstan& why Bartleby stands
"looking out, at his pale wind,aw .behind the screen, .upon the
dead brick wall" in those "dead-wall reveries of his" (Melville
2+). Bartleby knows that lte cannot bre~k ~way from the
co~fmements of l}js life.. When the qarrator asks Bartleby
why he will not return to his copying, B~tleby ~.ays, "Do you
not see the r~sop for yourself?" (M~lvi!le 28). The narrator
does not look at the vision revealed in the. wa,lllike Bartleby;
in~~ead. he searches Bardeby' s eyes for .an obvious solution
(Ryan 31 5). The narrator ts too self absorbed to l.ook beyond
mere appear;p1ces. Bartleby'~ vision is not "temporarily impaired" as the narrator wisqes .to believe. IronicalJy, Bartleby
sees more tha11 anyone does. ~ar~t;by acknowledges the wall
as a dead end-the inapility of mankind to break through the
confmements and obstacles .present.
Melville also 11ses the setting to foreshadow
Bartlebyls,death. The riarrator· r~members a tragic story of
A<;lams and Colt in whi9I the setting of the office resulted in a
horrible conflict:
I~ was. the drcumstanc;~ of being alone in a soli,tary
office, up stairs, of a puilcpng entirely unhallowed by
humanizing domespc; ~sodations-an uncarpeted
office, dou~tless, of,a dusty, haggard sort of appearance-;t'his it niust ~ve.been, which greatly helped to
enhance the irritable desperation of the hapless Colt.
(Melville 34)
Tbe narrator compares Ba,rtleby to Colt, causing the narrator
to fear Bartleby and feel sympathy f<;>r h4Jt. The narrator
starts to see, the effects of the conftfiement, but only on the
surface level. Again, Melville departs from th~ ttaditioital
gothic setting. His Wall .Street is not physically ~ecaying .anq
falling apart. Instec,)d, Melville chooses to illUtt?-inate the tdea
that the breakdown and decay is beqeath the surface. Melville's~ ~terpretation offers a passive setting that "presents a
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greater thn;at in, -the quiet leveling of life than in a chaotic
breakClown of life. Therefore, the black wall b.ecomes more
tJrreatening because ·it suggests an iiwincible force that will
eternally confme life"' (Ryan 315). Bartleby is aware of the
confJ11ement that he is in· and' is unable to do anything about
it.
Before Bartleby dies, the Tombs become ll.is h,ome.
The Tombs function as another human construct that reveals
Gothic ideas of <Ieath and decay. When the narrator visits
'Bartleby, he has "his face towards a liigh wall, while all
around, from the narrow slits of the jail window,, l thought I
saw peering out upon him the eye's .of murderers and
thieves" (Melville 43). Again'; 1Bartleby is looking at themessage in the walls qf tonfmement. He tells the narrator tqat he
knows exactly where he is, as if he knew all along that he'
would come to be ,at die' l'onibs. Bartleby fmally meets his
death 'here by "preferring not to" fight the constraints of 'life
any longer.
The setting is not the only way that Melville uses
gothic contrast in "Bartleby." Characterization in Gothic literature also embodies contrast. In tra<\itional GothiC works,
characters follow a strict pattern:
I
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There are the villains-the interfering, brutal fathers,
the officials of the Inquisition, the sadistic monks and
abbots, or the ugly, monsth?us foreignerS; there are
the victims-the helpless, innocent virgins or the naive and sensitive 'youths; and thert; are the heroes-the dauntless, gallant, handsome knights, the courageous, insistent saviors. (Bayer-Berenbaum 23)
Devendra Varma continues further and states, ':The Gothic
novel presents no restful' shades of gray: the characters are
mostly -endowed with either somber, diabolic villainy or
pure, angelic 'virtue" (qtd. in Bayer-Berenbaum 23). Melville
modernizes the GothiC character elements of villain and vic- ·
tim to make the character conflict 'believable "and relevant to
the readers, which is essential to understand his connections
to Wall Street anq the confmements of map..
Eyen though the;narratot is. not as enlightened about
the experienc;:es of mankind as ·Bartle by, h,e s.till functions as a
credible narrator. It would be diffieult for the reader to understand "Bartleby" Without ·a cr~dible narrator. Ryan believes that Melville's story "achieves credibility through the
wariness of the narrator and also a ten~Jon is achieved between the commons.ensical vision of the narrator (man of
light) and the secorid character (man• of darkness) who has
moved into the realm of. mystery" (Ryan 312). However,
one ~ay believe Melville chooses to make the narrator be- .
lieve that he, himself, is credible to illustrate l~ter how his
self absorptjon keeps him from stepping outside himself and
understanding Bartleby. The narrator in "Bartleby," for self:
ish reasons, establishes his· credibility in the opening passage
of the story. He states:
I am ;t ra0er elder!y man. The nature of 1'11Y avoca_tions, for the)~t thirty""years, .h.~ brougpt l)le into
mor~ than ordinary. con~ct with what wmM seem an
interesting and somewhat s!ngular set of men, of
whom, as yet, nothing, that'I know of, has ever been
wntten-I mean, the law-copyists, or scriveners. I
have ~own very many of th~m, .professionally and
privately, and, iLl pleased, could :relate divers. f1istories, at which .good-natured gentlem~n might· smile,
and sentimental souls might weep. (Melville 3)
The narrator· divulges his age and experiences to assure the
reader that he is knowledgeable of the information that he iS
presenting. Melville is able 'to create a sense of credibility in
die narrator becaus~ he describes his past experiences with
Bartleby. Therefore,' the narrator has already come to his final realization and tells the process to the reader orily after
establishing his credibility in the beginriing of ~e story-a
time when he is still in the dark-to keep the reader's trust
for the remainder or'his story. .
Next, the narrator dismisses all other experiences
10
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save Bartleby's. The narrator decides to tell Bartleby's story
because he was a scrivener, the strangest he ever met. The
narrator gives himselfa little interpretive leeway by saying:
I 'believe that no •materials eXist, for afull and satisfactory biography of this m~n. It is an in'eparable loss to
literature. Bartleby was one of those beings of w.hom
nothing is ascertain~ble, except from the o(iginal
sources, and, in his case, those are very small. What
my own astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I
know of him, except, indeed; one vague report,
which will appear in the sequel. (Melville 3)
The reader is then introduced to the mysterious character of
Bartleby while the narrator establishes a safety net for himself
.so that the reader may not accuse him of anything later.
Within the first few pages ·of the text, the narrator portrays
himself as t4e man of reason and rationale. He is fair, unbiased, and a simple man. He is "a m~ who, from his youth
upwards, has been filled with a profound conviction that the
easiest way of life is the best" (Melville 4). The narrator assures the reader that "all who know me, consider me an eminently scge man" (Melville 4). Melville's narrator functions as
a practical. man-level-headed-who is the perfect guige in
his retelling of the mysterious Bartleby. The reader finds it
difficult not to take the narrator's Word as sensible because
the narrator is so convincmg in claiming his credibility. The
only way for the reader to understand the mystery that is
~artleby is through the narrator's thoughts. However, the
narrator only understands Bartleby on the surface, and thus
the reader also tries to understand, Bartleby "according to his '
pove~ty, his falling eyesi~ht, and his de,ad letter experience (~ y~ 312), but the depth is still eluded. At the end of
the story, the narrator and the reader move into a ~ysJerious
world of uncertainty,
Bar~eby is the Gothic man of·darkness who lives in a
world that is mysteriously beyond t,he t.mderstanding of the
narrator or the reader. In terms of Gothicism, Bartleby "is
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the man of darkness who pulls the narrator (and thus the
reader) beneath the surface of experience. As the messenger
of darkness, this seconq chara~ter is clearly doowed" (Ryan
312). The darkness is no( the only aspect that results in
Bartleby's demise, how~ver; M~lvifle's twist on tra<Jitiqnal
Gothicism is th~t, despite the darkness,. Bartleby's. sensitivity
brings his doom. Tliis Set)sitivity alJows Bardeby to see apq
feel things around him that. ~e narrator cannot. The narrator
can see this sensitivity in Bartleby, but i,t is beyqQd the .practicality of the narrator. He describes Bartleby as "pallidly neat,
pitiably respectable,' incurably forlorn!" (M~lvUle 11).
Bartleby's "transcendmg vision" removes him from normal
human existence and the rest of the world (Ryan 3 JJ). The
narrator is at a loss how to communicate with, Bartleby.
Bartleby's continuous ~esponse of "I would pr~fer. ~ot to"
causes the narrator and the reader to become aggravated, but
neither knows how to deal with this ,composed reply. The
narrator states, "Had there ;been the least uneasiness, anger,
impatience or impertinence in his manner; in ofh.er words,
had there been any thm'g ordinarily human about hftn, doubtless i should have violently dismissed him from .the premises" (Melville 13). Instead the narrator feels "there was
something about Bartleby that not oqly strangely disarmed
me, but, in a wonderful
.. manner, touched and disconcerted
me [so I) began to reason with him" (Melvi,lle 15). Because
the narrator cannot fully understand Bar:tleby, he tries to convince himself that he is doing Bartleby a favor by attempting
to fulfill the role of savior or hero: "To befriep.d Bartleby; to
hum'or him in his strange willfuln,ess, will <;:Qst me little or
nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually prove
a sweet morsel for my co~nscie!}ce" (M~lville 17). The iiarrator continues trying to help and reach Bartleby by understanding him. ·upon discovering that Bartleby has been residing in the office atnight,. the narrator states: "What I saw that
mon:Ung persuaded me that the scr1yener was the victim of
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innate and incurable disorder. I might give altns to his body;
'but his b9dy did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered,
and his soul I could not reach" (l\1elville 25). The reader can
see that the narrator is becoming deeply a~tached to
Bartleby's case, but the contrast between the t~o men is still
too great. MelVille subverts the traditional Go~ic tdea that
.the hero (Bartleby) believes his experience to be uniqu"e. In
fact, the narrator is the one that fo~es on the uniqueness of
his experience with Bartleby. The narrator's attachment to
his unique experience prohibits him from seeing the reality
under the surface. Therefore, the truth that Bartleby acknowledges is beyond the narrator's comprehension. There is
a breach that cannot be overcome as of yet.
Melville also uses a Gothic plot st:rilcture to further
illuminate the contrast of 'Bartleby and the narrator. In
Gothic literature, there is a "lack of simple fohns and clear
directi~h" in the plot progression as well as a Calllplicated
·story line that maintains· a constant p~essure or conflict
(Bayer-Berenbaum 24). In "Bartleby," the conflict between
the narrator and Bartleby is present throughout the story and
forces the climax to come at the end of the story. This leaves
the rest of the story without boundaries. Interestin~ly, there
are strict boundaries within tlie ~etting and the characters as ,
mentioned before. The openness of the plot causes an obsqtrity of the main point or direction. "f!tis "permits infinite
possibilities that would be dispelled by clear perception" (Bayer"Berenbaum 24). Melville uses ·this to illustrate
that Bartleby's world is beyond the reach' of the narrator and
the reader who cannot or will not understand it. Imagination
and sight are needed for complete understandinp. However,
Gothic works focus on the irregularities and incompleteness.
Irregularities. can 'be construed 'as instabilitr. In ~esponse to
Bartleby, Ginger rjut fmds him "a· little luny"(Melville 16). ·
Later; the· narrator refers t9 Bartleby as "a demented man"
and worries that his '"contact with the 'scrivener h~d already
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and seriously affected me in a mental w~y" (Melville 27).
The narrator ·is trying to paint a picture of himself as sane,
and Bartleby as insane and demented. 'this is yet another way
that tlie two men are contrasting. However, at the same
time, Melville as a Gothic writer
' ·
penetrates·the world·of the twisted mind, he enlarges
the outer world to include abnormal, bizarre occurrences,_ si!llultaneously plunging inward" and outward,
into the perceiver ¥~cJ.beyond,the perception, thert;l?y
developing the dimens\ons of reality in both possible
directions. (Bay~r-Berenbaum 39)
-
This maintains 'the openness of the plot stru~ture. 'fhe reader
tries to understand 'Biutleby, yet is s'till under th~ influence.of
the narrator's descriptions and beliefs. This places the reader
in a position of limbo·.~
.•
The" narrator, and' therefore the reader, has two pe1
t. '
, riods of erilightenment. One is seen wheii the narrator says:
·
' For the first time in my life a feeling of over-powering
stinging melancholy seized me. !Jefore, ·I liad never•
experienced aught buta not·unpleasing sadness. The
bond of lls<>mm~m humanity. now grew me irresistibly
to gloom. A fraternal melancholy! For both I and
Bartleby were the sons of Adam. (Melville 23)
The ruirrator comes to the realization that he and Bartleby ar~
united ~by the ties 'of common .humanity. l)te narrator experiences his frrs~ moment of true sight. This bonds him to
·Bartleby in such a manner that he canna~ .part with him until
·Bartleby's 'death. He feels re~pon~ible for him, but there is
'no further understanding.
'.
In facr, when the narrator visits tlie Tombs to discover Battleby's dead body, he expresses no true emotion.
Again, he only explo~es the surface. The narrator. states,
"Something prompted me to toucli him ..I felt his hand, when
a tingling shiver ran up my arin and down mx. spine to my
feet" (Melville 45). He then closes Bartleby's eyes and
leaves: He does not express sorrow, pity, or look deeper for
understanding. Melville saves the climax until the very end
15
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of the story, Only ·after the narrator hears a rumor about
Bartleby' s past life at the Dead L~tter Office does he experience his fmal reve!ation. "Dead letter! :Does it, not sound like
dead men? Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone
to a pallid hopelessness, cail any business seem m.ore fitted to
heighten it than that of c;ontjnually handling these dead letters, and a~&orting them for the• flames?'' (Melville 46). The
narrator realizes that Bartleby' s position in life was to deal
with things, already symbolically dead ana decaying. He does
not realize that by worlq.ng at the law office, Barpeby was
continuingto do the same thing. Bart!eby s~ply,copies what
already exists. Th~e is nothing new and fre~h about lift;.
These confmements hastened Bartleby' s death because he was
consciously aware of them. The last line of the nqvel suggests
that the narrator has fmally gain~d _some insight into the reality that was Bartle~y' s existence. The ~ontir\uqus contrast
between Bartleby and the narrator is lifted by ,the realization
that humanity encompasses universal emotions and ptirposes.
"Ah, Bartleby!- Ah, humanity I" '(Melville 46).
"Bartleby" is an effective piece of Gothic ·literature.
Melville uses Gothfc characteristics in many areas includn;g
character developiJlent, s.etting, and plot prpgression. However, he challenges the traditional element: of the narrator as
.the hero. Melvj.lle places Bartleby in th~ role of a hero who
can examine the culture beyond'tlte surface. This leads to ,pe
overlying theme of the connection devel()peq in the common
bond of humanity. To get to this realization, the read~r and
the narrator must explore Bartleby as a character. :The -contras~ between the narrator and, Bartleby functions as a mode
of transport~tion tlp"o~gh the story. The narrator realizes
that Bartlehy is not as different from him a~ he once thqught.
' The Gothicism found in "Bartleby" helps maw_tain a· sense of
vagueness an,d haze that the n¥fator. and' the reader must
muddle through. ... Bartleby" is tlie ultimate e~ploration of the
human mind and conscience. Melville is successful in reveal-
16
ing an ever-present darkness beneath the surface of a seemingly secure, life. In a sense, everyone is. a Bartleby . . .
searching and fmally reaching an understanding of the truth of
existence.
Works Cited
Bayer-Berenbaum, Linda. The Gothic lmaaination: Expansion
in Gothic Literature and Art. 1981.
l,
I
Masse, Michelle A. In the Name <?[Love. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992.
Melville, Herman.
1986.
Bartlebj.
New York:
Penguin Books,
Ryan, Steven. "The Gothic Formula of 'Bartleby."' Arizona
Qyarterlj'34.4(197S): 311-316.
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I
17
Gynocritidsm, Bonding, and, Susan Gla~pell's "A
•
Jury of He~ Peers"
Sarah M. McHone-Chase
I
n Josephine Donovan's article, "Towards. a Women's
Poetics," she discus~~s the feminist criticism branch
"gynocriticism" which "stresses the ide;Dtification of
women as a ·s~parai:e community, a sep"!ate culture, wi_th its
1
own 'customs, its bwh 'epistemology; ·apd, once articulated,
its own ae~thetics and ethics" ( 100). Donovan exRlains that
women should be recognized as a distinct culture because
they share common experiences. These· experiences cottsist
of-oppression (100), bonds to the household (101), the making of commodities for utilization fustead of commerce (1 02),
having experiences in common'such as having children (102),
iisually being assigned the role of caretaker (103), and comparable ."psycholbgieal maturation process[es)" (104:). These
common' experiences are easily. seen to ·make up Susan
Glaspell' s· 1917 shott story "A Jury of Her P~efs," sometimes
even blending together. Throughbut this story, the women,
Mrs~ Hale and Mrs. Peterson, and the men! Mr. Hale, Sheriff
Peterson, and the county prosecutor, ·Mr. Henderson! are
literally separated. Minnie Wright (nee Foster) is accused of
mufder'ihg her husband, and while the men get to go look for
the important clues Of the murder, the women stay in their
own little world ofthe kitchen with all the trifling kitchen
things. However, it slowly becomes apparent that the real
clues to' the ·murder li~ in the ''!trifling" kitchen""things, and
since these dues lay 'inside the women's world, understandable to tlie women because of their shared experiences, they
are clues that remain hidden from the men, even as they
bring the women closer together. 'Donovan's theory of gynocritidsm ·shows that this would have to be .true-Minnie
~~"'~
19
I
Wright w~s a ~oman .who committed a crime and therefore
the clues to her crime would be only undet;standable to
women. But if also.seems important to note that despite the
fact that women have shared experiences, many of those experiences are more or less imposed by those who are dominant society, usually men. This is true of "A Jury of Her
Peers," which makes the fact that the men in this story cannot
understand the clues ironic.
The women of "A Jury <?.f Her Peers" ~o suffer -op·pression. In fact, Minnie Wright may potentially suffer from
the ultimate oppression-the mel} are. looJsiitg for the evidence. that will put her in prison. nus is somewhat ironic
hecause the men a~e seeking to puni~4 Minnie Wright for
freeing hers'elf from .the oppression she suffered un~er her
husband-loneliness, hinted n~glect, miserliness, all culminating with the strangulation of Minnie Wright'~ canary.
This is recognized' by boil]. Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters and it
brings atten~iQI). to the fact that there is a diffe.rence between
the law and justjce of the m~n and the law and justice that the
women perceive for Minnie Wright. Mrs: Peters i:ells Mrs.
Hale that "'the law is. the. law."' She is qiscussing the .dominant law-the -law of.the... men. Mrs. Hale
at this
"
- time is ex~
..
amining the tom lining Qf the stove, and she replies, "'[t]he
law is the 'law-and a bao stove is a bad stQve. How' d you
like to cook on th!s?'" (1~4). This bad stove is on~y onep¥t
of the situation-Mrs. Hale knows ~~q1,1t Mr· Wright's
pe~y-pinchif!g and cold demeanor, she. guesses at wh(!t
Mihnie Wright's life was.like, and she is pointing out that jus-:
tice, realjustice, lias not been serve~ for her. The men don't
recog~ize this oppression against' l\1innie Wright as a crime;
they consider the crime to be her freeing herself from the oppress'ion. Kare~ Alkalay-Gut's article, "Jury of Her, Peers:
The Importance of Trill~s," addres~es Minnie's situation:
"Although she can haye no recourse to the law! her life has
been ~ade miserable by an.mdividual who has complete con'
,•
~0
l:
trol over her" (3). This is easily understood. to be oppre.ssion.
Alkalay-Gut further adds that "[t]he murder pf a husband by a
wife casts doubt on the justice of the accepted code of
WOmen's submissiOf1 to a responsible, <;hivalrO,US 1man" (4).
Perhaps this .explains why .the wen are so ,intent on fm<Jing
evidence to absolutely prove Minnie Wright's guilt-if·her
action coulo be cons_ider~d jus.tified, the whole power structure of women's oppression is called into question.
Mrs. Hale and Mrs·. Peters al~o suffer from oppressioh. ln fact!" 1\ Jury of Her Pee.rs" is reallY'about the \YOm en
recognizihg and rejec~g their oppr:ession. When it is djscovered that Minnie Wright's fears about her preserves bursting diJrihg the night has come true, both Mrs. Peters aJ;Id
Mrs. Hale e]{press sympathy for her. Mr. ,Peters fmds this
funny; he laughs and says, "'Well, can you beat the women!
Held for murder, and worrying about he.r preserves,,!'" (160).
Mr. Halejoins in this fun, and "with good-natured superiority" states, "'Oli, well, [... ] women are. use.d .to worrying
over trifles'" (160). Comments such as these categorize the
women, defme what they are like--women \vorry about trifles. These.com~e~ts <!lso cJe.fme how t:lle women are different from .the men-the.. men think about serious subjects.
Alkalay-Gut's article addresses this as well, stating that there
are t\yo wbole different worlds, ."the mascu,line yvorld that
th~
~pp~ent
trivi~ of~orhen, and the secret tri-.
would mock
t
~' .
-.
fie-language of women". (7). But M~s. Hale and Mr:s. Peters
themselves also seem to internalize
,..,
.. the comments about how
...
their concerns aren't imP.ortant. For examl?le, when the men
laugh at the women for wondering if Minnie Wright was go-.
ing 'to qpilt or kn~t her qiillt and .then leave. the romp., Mrs.
Hale angrily says, ·"'I don't see as there's anything so strange
[... ] our taking up our time with little thing~ while we're
waiting for them to get the evidence.. I dpn't see as it's anything to laugh about.'" To this, Mrs. Peters replies, "'Of
course they've got awful important things on their
21
minds'" ( 165.). The-w'omen s~e their own concerns as little
ami trifling, and Mrs. Peters acts as though only the men ~e
·concerned' about the murder, as if the women haven't also
been thinking about it the whole time they've ~een in Minnie
Wright's house. And, of course, it is these "little things" that
end up being important. When the women realize this, ':hey
have freed tli~mselves somewhat froin their oppression. Oppression also occurs when Mr. Peters asks if. it is okay for
Mrs. Peters to gather things lip to take to Minnie Wright in
jail and Mr. Henderson replies, "'Of course, Mrs. Pe.ters is
one of us'" (161), Mrs. ·Peters is classified as one of the
men-she ·is' literally denied her womanhood. Mr. Hender~
son later suggests that Mrs. Peters is "'married to the
law'"' \172). With. this comqtent, Mrs. Peters turns away
from Mrs. Hale, embarrassed-she· has been den~ed her
agency. She is told that spe is not her own person, and that
instead she is property. When Mrs. Peters turns back to
Mrs. Hale, she is rejecting qer oppression, as are both warne~
when they conceal the evidence for which tbt; IJle!l are looking.
Domesticity, or.the bond to t;he household·, also plays
a very large role ip "A jury of Her P~ers," and ~ecause the
women of the~story share it, they· also have a bopd· to each
other as welL However, often this bond to the household
also blends with th~ oppression: th~ assigne9 job of thewomen is to work wit:lpn the home,set it is this \YOrk that is
belittled and wed to defme them. This w~rk is also not very ·
valued or appreciated. When we frrst see Mrs. Hale in the.
story, she is ealled away from making bread (154). This
demonstrates, as Donovai:l 'points out, how "women's work
[is] perceived as mterruptible"' (102). Mrs. JHale aJ,so observes in M~le Wright's kitchen that work ~oaks as though
it has . been iflterrupted: . Because of ·the perception. that
women's work is interrup~ible, women's work is also seen as
less important, Il!aking it' so that the men can consid~r it tri-
22
fling. ¥ et, as many .point out, ti;Us trifling women's work is
revealed to be the evidence of the ·crime, and it is evidence
th~1.t only the women can recognize .to be important 'because
only they know how hard women's work is. 'In her article,
"Sm!lll things. reconsidered: Susan Glaspell's 'A Jury of her
Peers,"' Elaine Hedges notes that when Mr. Henderson com,ments on the dirty· roller to~els ·(implying that there is something wrong with Minnie Wright herself for not having "the
home-ll!aking instinct" (f60)), Mrs. Hale's response about
.how much work there is .on a farm carries a "full ironic
force" (95). Hedges continues by discussing how the ·labor
division on the famt. took advantage of women while giving
preference to the men (95). She illustrates this with the accol.mt ,of the life of an ·Iowa farm wife·:named Sarah BtewerBonebright, who described her regular work as consisting of
water carrying, cooldng, churning, sausa,ge making,
berry picking, vegetable drying, sugar and soap boiling, hominy hulling, medicine brewing, wash;ing,
nursing, weaving, sewing, straw platting, wool picking, spinning, quilting, knitting, gardening and various other tasks ..... (95)
John M;ack Faragher's, "The Midwestern' Farming
Family," also addresses the women's sh~e. of work on the
Jarm:
women were engaged ih.from one-thip;l.to one-half of
all food production ofthe farm[. , .L[They] wer;e also
more likely to be found helping men with their portion [of the work] at peak planting time.
this.must
be added the extremely important work of clotliing
manufacture, all the household work, an<Hhe care of
the children. ( 125)
To
With,so ,much. hard work, it is not hard to understand why
Minnie Wright would worry about the ,state of her preserves
fro~· her jail cell, yet the men pf the. story don't recognize
the effort that she had made. To this Hedges comments that
[t]o call Minnie's work 'instinctual,' as the att9mey
does (using a rationalization prevalent today as in the
23
i
~
I
II'I
I·,
I
past) is to e~ade. a who!; world of domestic reality, a
world of which Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters are acutely
aware. (96)
poverty it would have bee~ a practical pattern" (105). But
Hedges also reveals that "the log cabin quilt came to symbql~e both the hardships and th~ ;heroisms of pioneer life". ( 1Q5).
For Minnie this. seems like an emp~y sym~ol: for it is while
ex~iriing Minnie Wright's handiwork that the wqmen begin
to piece together, like a quilt, the re"l story-there is one
.block of bad sti~ches, prompting Mrs. Peters to remark .of
she
didn't ,know what she was
Minnie, "'Why it looksI as if
.
'
about!'" At this point, the women's eyes meet, apd a moment l~ter, Mrs. Hale pulls the sti~ches. out and :begins to
redo them, and although Mrs. Peters objects, she does nothing (165). In: Leonard Mustazza's article, "Generic Translation and Thematic ·Shift in Susan GlaspeU: s 'Tri~es' and 'A
Jmy of 1-fer Peers,'" he states that w!Iert Mrs. Hale does this,
she loses the gap iQ between herselfarid. Mrs. Peters .and "the
process, of identification is now well under way"(495).
Hedges adds that
Hedges ft.t,rthermore informs that a 1862 study of farmwomen's lives determined .that women "worked hard.er than
men but were neither treated with respect as. a· result nor
given full authority within their domestic sphere" (97). Mrs.
Hale anq Mrs. Peters.do clearly empathize with and feel connected to Minnie Wrig~t's·h<U"d'-workeven if the men do not;
.Mrs. Hale begs Mrs. Peters to not tell Minnie Wright about
the preserves bursting and gives her the one iritact jar so
Minnie Wright will be convinced. As Mrs. Peters takes the
jar, she does s,o'"as if touching a familiar thing" (17l). The
women of" A Jury o( HeF Peers" live a' life tied closely to the
household, and· because of this, they have bonds to each
other.
Just ·as the women· of "A Jt1ry of Her Peers" have
bonds to the household, so also do they make objects for
utilization instead of commerce: these objects made are what
cement the women to the household and t.o each other. Perhaps it is because the objects are not made in order to make
money that the men fmd the obj~cts to be trifling, literally l
worth-le~s. Rather than lbeing a tool of oppression, however,
it is with the making of an object, the quilt, with which
Mnmie Wright expresses herself, tells her story, and this
quilt composes part of the evidenc~ of the crime for which
the men are loo~ing. The quilting is important to Minnie
Wright, as Faragher explains, sewif!g and quiJting "were primary modes of qeative artistry for women" (123). It is because of this bond that the women understand the message in
Minnie Wright's, quilt. It is revealed that the quilt Minnie
Wright was making had a log cabin pattern. Hedges explains
that "[t]he log cabin pattern was one of the most popular
[. . . ] frequently chosen for its capacity to utilize in its construction small scraps of'left-over fabric. For Minnie in her
24
. [t]he almost automatic act, soprotectiv~ 0 f Minnie, is both concealing and healing: [... ] [A]. symbolic g~sture of affiliation
with ~e damaged woman. It is also 'the story's first intimation
of t)}e ~ore radical tampering with the evidence that the two
\YOmen ~later undertake. (103)
This q1,1il~ that Minnie Wright mad~ h.as bonded her to both
Mrs. HaJe and Mrs. Peters.·and bonded them to each other.
Dopovan's theory of gynocritjcism also states that
women share the exp~ience of having children. This wot.dd
seem to be closely tied to . .the role of women within the
household. However, it d.oes not at frrst appear that children
pla,y a v~ry .large role in" A. Jury of Her Peers," for althoughit
is knoW!]- that Mrs .. Hale qas an.older son named Harry (156),
Minnie Wright herself has no.. childn;n and it,is not apparent
how many chiJdren Mrs. Peters has, if any. Yet, the women
are still able to bond over .the very idea that women are
"supposed" to have childrc:;n, an<f bond over the. very lack Qf
them in Minnie Wright's life. Mrs. Hale muses that "'[n]ot
having children makes less work,'" but she then goes on to
,t
..~
~;
.
""
25
.
!
!
!
talk about the l;nelu{ess that Minnie Wright must have felt
(167). It soon becomes evident that this loneliness was. what
made Minnie Wright decide to ,get the canary that Mr.
Wright had killed, arid the women sympathize with the lo~s
that Minnie Wright must ha~ve felt: "'I wonder how it would
seem,'" Mrs. Hale contemplates, "'never to have :had any
children around."" Soon after, Mrs. Peters reveals "'I .know
what stillness is."( ... ]When we'homesteaded in Dakota, and
my frrst baby died-·after he was two years old-and me
with no other then-. "' (170).
This absen~~ of childr~n in Minnie Wright's life leads
into the assigned role of caretaker that Doqoyan listed as a
common experience for women, and this care-taking, role is
yet another way for the women ~o bond. Minnie Wright got
the canary because she was lonely and wanted.company, and
something of which~to take care. The canary's murder is
shown to be the reasori that Minnie Wright kills Mi. Wright.
The women understand this: Mrs . Peters tells Mrs. Hale that
"'[w]hen I was a girl[ ... )iny kitten.,..,--there was a boy to9k a
hatchet, and before my ~yes-before I could get there. [... ]
If tbey hadn't held me back 1~ would have ;[. . . ] hurt
him"' ( 170). Alkalay- Gut points out that the death of Mrs.'
Peters's child and' her reaction to the murder 9fher kitten are
"uniquely •female experiences,· al}d ·they link Mrs. Peters to
the murderess as they separate her from the men." AlkalayGut also adds· that Mrs. Peters's relation of these incidents in
her life has also now bonded her to Mrs. Hale (6). lq addition to this, Hedges points out al~o, as stated ~efore, that
when Mrs. Hale fixes' Minnie Wright's erratic quilting, it is a
"symbolic gesture of affuiC).tion with the dan'la~ed· woman. It
is also the story's frrst intiination·of the more radical tampering with the evidence that the two women will later. undertake" (103). This further suggests that the women are fulfUling a due-taking role for Minnie Wright when they conceal
the evidence of her crime.
26
... ,..,""
Donovan's fmal listed woinen' s shared experience is a
common "psychologital maturation process" (104). This exact
same sentiment is echoed· in ,Phyllis Mael',;; C).rticle, "Trifles: The
Path to Sisterhood." Here she stat~s tl}at "feminist research in
developmental psychology can help increase our admiration for
Glaspell';s.chaJlei).ging presentation <;>f the moral dilemma and the
vyay in which Minnie'S: p-ifles..raise. the consciousness of both
women" (2&2) ..Havmg said that, MC).d discusses~the theories of
Freud, saying that in f925 Freud wr.ote .that in. t\le superego of
women "'the lev~l of. what is ethi~lly IJOrmal is different .from
what it is in ,men . . . women show less sense of justice than
men"' (282)-. Mael points out thC).t with "val~e-laden terms such
as 'less' emerges from a vision of moral developm.ent based·upon
a male. model· which; tends 'to regard male behavior C).S the
"norm;' and female behavior .as some kind of deviation from that
norm'" (28~).' From here, Mael gqes,on to talk about Lawrence
Kohlberg' s six stages of moral dev,elopment, remarking that
women hardly ever reach the sixfu., stage where decisions are
based on "universal ethlcal principals." She adds, that tl}is scale is
in turn base.d. upon Erik :Erikson' !1 t.Jteories based upon Freud,
"where separation, not relationship, becomes· the f1lodel and
mea~ure oLgrowth" (282). Mael s~tes that all three of these of
men admitted that 'Yoqten developed differently from. !Den, but
only presented mo~els based upon males ·(282). To counter all
of this,· Mael.presents the theories of the two feminist psychologists upon whom Donovan actually based this part of her th~ory.
The frrst is Nancy Chodorow' s theory that because all infants
must le«!-m. to distinguish themselves from another who is most
often the mother, girls an<J. boys go through this process in different ways,. Boys begin to identify themselves as "'not female"'
while girls identify. with beil].g female, and empathize with other
females (282). Mael also discusses Carol Gilligan's theories on
moral ·devel~pment, which. say that the moral problems of
wo'men stem "'fnJm conflicting responsibilities ·rather than competing rights'" (283).
'
,,'
27
All of this information can be related to "A Jury of
Her Peers." Mael states that "[f]rom the moment the men
enter the kitch~n, t4ey begin to judge the absent Mfunie accor<Jing to abstract rules and rights." She also notes that as
the.men continue to.·judge Minnie Wrigpt, the women move
closer together (283). Mael is writing about the play,
"Trifles;" written by Glaspell in '1916 and upon which the
short story was based. However, this moving 'together also
occurs in the story. For example, right after 'the comment
that Mr. Hale makes abou.t ·women being used to worrying
over trifles, Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters move· closer together
(160). This, however, occurs before the women really
bond-suggesting· that even.:before Mrs. Peters lets down her
defenses and relates the incidents from her past, she real~es
that she has much in common with both Mrs. Hale and
Minnte Wright: they are all women. H.aving r~mghly the
same maturation process, they can understand each other and
bond over the very experience of being women.· This tnakes
it all the more poignant when Mrs. Hale says to Mrs. Peters
"'[w)e all go thrQl!gh the same things-it's all jUst a different
kind of the same thing!' Ifit ·weren't-why do you and I understand? Why do we know-w~t we la\ow this minute?"' (171). Mrs. Hale 'has suddenly realized that Mrs. P~­
ters, Minnie Wright; and she herself have coililections t~ ea<;h
other stemming. from ;the simple fact that they are women,
and she also realizes that these connections can only be understood by women.
Donovan~s theory fits "A Jury of Her Peers" almost
perfectly. However, not all of the shared experiep.ces she
lists are a· given; esp~cially when applied to the story. For
example; the men do not have to oppress the women.
Granted', the men·in:"A Jury of Her Peers" do not realize that
they are oppressilig the women, and would. perhaus ~Qt. fu.~
if they aid, but maybe if they were not so ignorant and blind,
teal understanding and even appreciation would take place.
28
~
Likewise, the women are not li~erally b91.!J1Q to the household; ,it just seems to be where they are th~ught to naturally
belong. There is nothing inherent. about women. that they
should not be able to make gooc).ts for commer.ce instead· of
immediate utilization, and although ~~y ar~ ili,e sex that gives
birth,_ there is no reason why me~ dm1ot .be caretakers. The
majo~ity of shared experiences that Donov'!? lists are externaliy imposed by those who are dominant in societyusually, and especially in ·"A Jiiry of Her Peers," .men. AI. kalay-Gut states in her article that '~the men cannot fundamentally comprehend the lives of the wom~n" (3). She furthermore -points out that the "structural key for comprehension of the story" exists within the experience of the women
and that "the lives of their n.ten together with their conceptions of reality and factua~ity, provide precisely the inappropriate approach based on abstractions[ ... )" (1). What really
doesn't seem to be addressed, though, is the fact that, although the women are affected by the external impositions of
society,. so are too the men, for ,in "A Jury of Her Peers" ~e
men are kept from the very evidence that they are searchmg
for by theil-c v~~y conceptions of ~hat wqmen a11d men are
like. As Alkalay-Gut states, "the men have not been able to
recognize their failings and are therefore in po position to
judge the nature of the crime" (7). The men c~uld not recognize nor understand the significance of tp~ evidence that the
women fihd even if it were shown to them. By insisting as
they do that women are not important an~ do not ~~ or do
important things, they mak.e ,themselves mept. 11us 1s very
ironic'. ~
.
,
;
Donovan's theory of gynocriticism is important in
understanding Susaii Glaspell's "A Jury of Her Peers." Written by a woman, it really does picture the women as a separate society with their own ethics. The women of the story
do share, as in fact most women in the world do share, certain experiences such as oppression, bonds to the household,
29
making of useful obje~ts, having children, being assigned the
role of the caretaker, and having comparable proces~es of
growing up. These experiem;es bond wom~n to each_ other
while separating them from the men. It is this bond that the
Mrs. Hale and Mrs. P~ters disc,aver that helps them understand the·plight of Minnie Wright as well as each other. Likewise, it is the separation from the men that prohibits the men
from recogriizing or understanding the very e':idence for
which they are looking, creating an ironic situation. If there
is an ultimate message to this story, it may be an appeal. to
women: to recogriize their similarities and embrace them, to
work on strengthening their relationships with each other. It
may also be a call for equality between the sexes and for men
to learn to appreciate and understand women, for this story
was published." only a couple of years before vvomen gained
the right to vote. Glaspell manages to bring many issues into
less than twenty pages. All of them deserve to be thought
about.
Dover, 1996. 154-73.
Hedges,
Elaine.
"Small Things Reconsidered: Susan
Glaspell's 'A Jury of Her Peers'." Women's Studies: An
Interdisciplinary Journal12 .1 (1986): 89-110..
Mi!-el, Phyllis. "Trifles: The Path to Sisterhood.'' Literature/
Film Qyarterly 17.4 (1989): 281-84.
Mustazza, Leonard. "Generic Translation and Thematic Shift
in Susan Glaspell's 'Trifles' and 'A Jury of Her
Peers'." Studies in Short Fiction 26.4 (1989): 489-96.
Works Cited
Alkalay-Gut, Karen. "JuryofHer Peers: Th~·lmportance of.
Trifles." Studies in Short Fiction 21.1 (1984): l-9.
Donovan, Josephine. "Towards a Women's Poetics." .feminist Issues in Literary Scholarship. Ed. Shari Benstock.
Bloomingtol) Ind.: Incliaha University Press, 1987.
98-109.
Faragher, John Mack. "The Mfdwestem Farming Family,
1850." Women's America: Rifocusina the ~pst. Eds.
•
•
th d
Linda K.Kerber and Jane Sherron De Hart. 4 e .
NewYork:'bxford UP, 1995. 1'17-29 .
...
Glaspell, Susan. "A Jury of Her Peers:O• Great Short Stories by
Ainerican Women. Ed. Candace Ward. New York:
30
31
Collisions of Language
.·
M
Layne Moore
'
ultiple voices compete ill "Materia Prima," a short
.
story ihcluifed in M;,rry Capbnegro's The Star Cl!fo
·.
and Othei Stories.
These disjunct voices interW~ilVe to .compose the life of Clara, the story's protagonist.
Caponegro's text ihcluq~s a mature'Clara's narration', a childlike Clara's narration, Mother's djalogue, Clara's parents'
paraphrased dialogue, excerpts from sdentific te_l!:tbooks, letters, cliches, poetry, dramati<; script, -and' stage directions.
Recognizing' ~Ch- oth-er's presence, these diverse voices interact and respond to each other, adjusting-themselves based on
the other languages. Caponegro's depiction of society's
m,any voices in "Materia Prima" can be understood through
Bakhtinian theories such as heteroglossia and dialogism.
-" Mikhail'Bakhtin's theory o(heteroglossia is the concept that many d~fJerent languages or voices simultaneously
comprise social life.· Michael Holquist describes heteroglossia
as "a way of conceiving the w:orld as made up of a roiling mass
of languages" (l04). Caponegro composes Clara's world of
.many languages, ~temal voices and external voices of people
and different texts. Bakhtin divides heteroglossia as the _interwoven layering of languages generically, professionally, socially, and dialectically. He thiorizes that langilages can be
divided ·"in one or another genre: oratorical, publicistic,
newspaper arid journalistic "genres, the. genres of low litera~
ture (peimy dreadfuls, for instance) or( fmally, the various
'
genres of high literature" ('Discourse" 288c89).
"Materia Prima" ipcludes many ofthese genres to de.scribe the events in Clara's life. Information about Clara's
family is detailed; 'in correspondences from Clara's cousin
Laura. In aqdition to narratorial text and 'letters, "Materia
33
I
I
r
Prima" contains lines of poetry and a dramatic script complete with stage directions. Professionally, Bakhtin claims
languages accommodate different occupations with adaptive
vocabulary and expectations. Specific goals are achieved by
the use of "professional jargon" by "the lawyer, the doctor,
the businessman, the politiciail:,.the public .education teacher
and so forth"- ("Ptsqn!J"s.e: 289). Through detailed ·textbook
excerpts, Clara develops into an expert on .the a,vi;m species.
She b~comes the unquestionable authority on birds in~ her
household, giving her an. elevated pq~ition of k:powle?ge.
pifferentiated social groups alter language .depending on gender, generation, economic.stat1,1s, equcatioq, and, family life.
This is evident throughout the entire story: in Laura's adolescent letters to her ,peer, Mother's simplified dialogue to her
child, the a~ults' .unwillingness to accept Clara's memories
and knowledge, the girls' narration of menstruation, and the
girls' dialogue leisure time activities like watching birds near
a dumpster (58) .. Within literary texts, these four divisions
of language appear in ~e form of different" voices through
narration, dialogue, 9r other genres ..
In lntroducino Bakhtin, Sue Vice identifies three ways
het~roglossia, the existence of mor:e than one language, can
enter.a novel: characters' dialogue and· consciousn~s~, various
speech genres typic;at ofa specific period in history, and texts
that represent culture ( 19). Heteroglossia incorporates iboth
the variety of I~guages ip every9ay life and languages in text.
It includes constant, authoritative language and variable language altered wit)t time. In "Materia Prima,:' heteroglossia
forces languages to :,cohabit with each other to form dialo-·
gism, Bakhtin's te~ for th,e interaction of various languages
iD texts. Dialogic re.lations occur betwee~ these languages,
creating confrontation and conflict. Through contact, different languages are aware of each other; relate to one another,
and modify themselves due to others' presence.
Abaqdqning the first-person narrative, Caponegro
34
positions' severaf languages adjacent to each other in "Materia
Prima." Dialogism is not ·limited to his~orical r.eferences or
literary allusions disguised in speeclJ.; instead, t:Pe qeteroglossia. of" Materia Prima" is exposed many times by distinct st;paration of the languages. Caponegro spatially and .stylistically '
divides lthtguage through b.lmk space a~d font differentiation.
Ciilld Clara's narration 'is italiciZed, whil~ adult Clara's voice
is recorded ih ·typical Times New Roman. Scientific text is
blocked and
indented,
and the story's• conclusion
is written as
•
1' •
\,
a screenplay. Caponegrq conspicuously exposes these langilage~ in true post:lnod~m style .. through pr!nt differentiation; she draws attention to the text itself, forcing readers to
examine reasons for differe~t voices in "Materia Prima." But
voices that sociologiC<llly construct Clar\1' s world consist of
more than layout' alterations on· f4e page. Diverse voices expand readers' knowledge of Clara's in<!ividual experiences
and personality. Vice notes Bakh'tin's encouragement ofmultipfe v'Oices in a novel by sayiil.g different .genres and narratorial remarks "are all 'images of language,'' (\ltemative forms
for allowing as wide a range of different languages as possible
in the novel" {25). ·
· Dialogism evokes conflict when contrasting, sometimes opposite genres co~e into contact. Bakhtin asspciates a
major battle of dialogism with the meeting of everyday language, or variable language, and formal, authoritative language fot.iild' within a literary 'text .. Both types of these languages are found within Caponegro's story in various forms.
The 'textbook, cliches, and maxims are presented as constant
texts in conflict with the temporary language, letters, and
thoughts of Clara, Laura, and Clara's parents. Incorporated
genres, either literary or nonliterary, give voice to an obvious
second language in a text, ~in addition to the formal firstperson narrative. Bakhtin says, "In general, any genre could
b~ included in the construction of the novel" ("Discourse"
321 ). As previously mentioned, "Materia Prima" contains
'i
'I
;I
poetic verse pre~ented as a Ilterary constant and dramatic
script 'comprised of Mother's Im.guage an? consciousness and
stage directions descri~mg Clara's physical actions. Each
genie is importan~ because it has its own system for representing reality. In Caponegro' s story, one repres~ntation affects the foilowing t~presentatioil~ The speaker's dialogue
influences the listener's next utterap~e! as one voice in a text
influences the narrations of the subsequent voice.
Artistic gen,res in a te~t jn,dude excerpts ~om
drama, poetry, and prose. Because works of art are added to
another work' of, art, artist genres have license for interpretation. Bakhtin recognizes that once a story emb~dies an artistic languag·e, the artistic language be~omes art itself: "Poetic
genres of verse ... when introduced 'into $e novel may. hav~
the direct intentionality, the full semantic charge, of po"
etry" ('Discourse" 321-22). Language of artistic genre§ li!ll'
potential poetic meaning. When Caponegro adds lines to the
text such as "My heart in hiding I Stirred·f()r a ~ird 1 " meaning
ta:n be extracted (67). Re'!ders believe "my" refers to Clara
'hiding her emotions; and a birdlike desire for flight and its
symboiized freedom is foreshadowed. The addition of .this
poem is tainted by the author's implications; Capo11egro's intentions can be relayed directly through poetic artwork ... Poetry is one form of an a~tistic, incorporated genre that adds
voiee'to a story. The verse becomes art, an int~rpretation,_
based on the piece's douple IIJeanings. Tbfoug4out "Materia
Prima," dual meanings. are developed by Caponegro's strategic placement of the 'text and th~·i'istener's aJ.ld reader's reactions to the text.
·
.
Balqltin highlights t,h~ existence of at:t au,thoritative
language 'in additi~~ to an artistic langua~e in texts. Count~
less allusions in,literature to the Hebrew Bible and oth.er foreign id~ological doctriries reveal a literary constant. Authoritative texts are generally monoglot, in opposition to heteroglot texts composeo of many voices. In the story or
36
novel, monoglot texts are brought into contact and conflict
with eyeryday languages. Familiar languages contain characterJstic hybridization, .with two voices coexisting in the same
utterance. Bakhtin explains that authoritative text is' not hyb.rid because it has been ackpqwledged -in history. as Jan authority, and rea~ers perceive it as "t,h~ word of the fathers" ("Discourse" 342). Authoritative text is elevated' above
heteroglossia; it is given an advantage over competing languages in the text. In "Materia Prima,"· Clara places ~p.ajor
-importance op. textbooks, especially those of natural. science.
Bakhtin cites scientific ~e~t, traditions, ideological discourse,
and other maxims as types of accepted authoritative discourses ('Discourse" ~43-45). These types of languages ·remain constant when cited in literary text; authoritative language does not bec()me interpretable art-. With added intentiqns or .accents it is .robbed of.its authority .and merely becomes a creative relic ("Dtscourse" 34-4-). The ability of scient.ific t.~Jft. to remain constant helps Clara establish herself as·an
expert. Though distanced from loaded meaning, an author
has license to place constant languagein strategic positions
and surround it with persuasive narrative. Characters and
readers are influenced by how tHey relate this authoritative
voice to other variable languages, but not by dual meanings of
both
and author.
. . character
.
.
,. ..
Caponegr<;> presei]ts constant language adjacent to
and COJllpetitiv~ with everyday language. Caponegro blatantly utilizes authoritative la~guage- when discussing the
<;t~an species by means of a natural sciences textbook. Without a. transition from chJid .Clara's. dialogue, Caponegro
writes:
A feather is an astonishingly elaborate and specialized
product of the epidermis of a bird, and it is made of
practically nothing but keratin, certain of the keratin
red cells in this case sticking firmly together, instead
of falling apart, because of a special bondjng of the
keratin between adjacent cells. Keratin is a very
37
strong substance; and the form of the feather is mechanically extremely sound. The result is a wonder-.
fully light ar;td- very efficient structure. (52)
This incorporated genre is accepted as scientific text written
without bias or intentions. Placed between two narrations by
child Clara, it is a glaring contrast to-Clara's run-on-sentences
and incorrect grammar. Before this insertion, Clara has been
narrating in her .stream-of-consciousness style her reactions
to her· .grandmother coming to live with her family. Her
grandmother's weak condition and the pins in her hip interest
Clara. She questions, "how would it look if I could see
through her clothes and skin? like a safety pin connecting the
skeleton,parts?" (52). Both Clara's dialogue and the scientific
narrative discuss cohesiveness of bodies, one human and one
bird. Both languages are competing to explain how the body
is connected. The position of scientific descriptions not only
brings two voices ·into conflict, it urges readers to conneCt
the bonding of keratin with Clara's relationships• to others
and herself. Caponegro also utilizes the authoritative language of maxims; In parodic style, Clara says:
Our presence-was tolerated', encouraged to a degree,
but !ess our participation, for the maxim that stipulated children be ,visual, nonaudible entities ruled our
holl!e, and.if it was less the case in ,my cousin's, when
in Rome they did as we did. (49)
This statement employs two cliches: children must be seeri
and nofheard, and·in Rome, do as theRomans do. Caponegro highlight:S·these cliches of language, questioning their position as constant texts. As· she does throughout "Materia
Prima" when dealing with ~uthoritarian voices, Caponegro
blatantly exposes the text and relays her personal intentions
through the sequence ofvariou_s genres.
In the story, roices, such as child Clara's narration
and the textl!ook,_ constantly contrast each other. Bakhtin
theorizes, "in the novel, $is double-voicedness sinks its roo~s
deep into a flll!~amental, socio-linguistic speech diversity and
38
multi-languagedness;, ('Di~course" 326). In addition to conflicting with one another, tex~al languages conflict with. the
author'~ language, and they- also conflict 'Yith languages outside C1 no':'el or story. Language geperally assumed to be the
. character serves hyo goals in the text: it .r,!';pres~nts the character and through refraction, represents the. author. BaJdJ,tin
says,, "Heteroglqssia, once incorporated into the novel ... is
apptl\er's seeech in another's language, servit}g to express
authorial intentior;ts but in a refracted \yay'' ·("Discourse"
32.4). Thus, double-voiced discourses have internal dialogues
within the same utterance. Bakhtin. lists eJ!faptples of doublevoiced discourses- af."comic, irontc or parodic discourse, the
.refracting. discpurse of a narrator, refract~g discourse in the
Janguage of a character and Hq.al~y the discourse. of a whote
incorporatedfu,genre" ('Discourse" 324). _Within !]le same
word or phrase it i~ possible to fmd two voices. These two
separate 'languages have distinct culture~ .and agendas-the
character's and the refr(1cte<J intentions of the author. The
author i~ the representing voice, and the -<;haracter is the represented voice. In each utterance, whether .dialogue or a
charCI.cter' s co_ns.cious thought, there is potential for two separate intentions.,
Capop.egro parodies Bakhtin' s iQeqry of internal double,-voiced~ess in_ a postmodem style. Directly before the
screenplay-style writing in the story's concluston, Caponegro
introduces a new· voice that announces, "And now we must
alter our perspective. This mode of telling is no longer adequate, for the. events which follow are of a different ord~r
from all }}'hich. have been recorded until this point" (74).
This voice, is interpreted ilS direct, authorial language. The
conflict remains, though the double voice no longer exists, in
the same utterance. Caponegro exposes the double-voiced
conflict between t:Pe author and; the story's narrl}tor. by suddenly separating the two. Shockingly, the author speaks directly to readers, questioning and criticizing the previous
39
narration style. lbro~gh this voice, Caponegro .pronounces
the conflict -between author and narrator identified by Bakhtin. Bakhtin confrrms this· battle of voices with his statement: "•It is possiBle to give a concrete and detailed analysis of
any utterance, once having .exposed it as a contradictionridden, tension-filled unity of two embattled tendencies in
·the life oflanguage" ("Discourse" 272).
Dialogue within a text is in conflict with internal languages, the author's professional language, and the social languages of the surrounding world. eharacters res~ond ~d
react to the multiple languages around them. Bakhtin distosses the social iinplications of language when he says, "no
matter how these languages are conceived, they fuay all be
taken as particular points of view of the world" ('Discourse"
293). Within eathword there is a conflict between speaker
and listener. The speaker, while representing personal intentions, ·is contefuplating potential reactions from ·the listener.
Simultaneously, the listener attempts to determine t!te
speaker's agenda. Thus each utterance is linlited by theresponse of the listener. The listener is an active ,participant in
•the communication process, pn;>Viding social force o11 speaker
and utterance. In one instance, adult-Clara reacts to a letter
from Laura describing her latest boyfriend. The mature narration that puberty iS a "Universa1; 'natural'' rite of passage,
charactertted exclusively by increases, proliferations: that
which can be measured" (71). This voice comments on and
disagrees With Laura's gushing praise of her boyfriend, and it
influences readers' connotations of puberty. By dialogue or
narrated· actions, characters communicate. Bakhtin theorizes
that when characters communicate, they formulate their
speech considering potential responses. Both 'speaker and listener prove to be active participants in the cor_nmunication
process.
Social forces fill dialogue with intentions and accents.
'Fhis is a cyclic event, and as it repeats language gathers more
40
meaning. Social forces around a single word become more
complex. Katerina Clark and Holquist discuss the Bakhtinian
Idea that "by concentrating on words outside the. contexts in
wpich they are used, linguists have bought th~ir neat para~
digms and dictionary defmitions at the price of what is most
important in language, the capacity of words to mean" (213).
The pure word· has been ta'inted by allusions and slang terms,
making it difficult to understand its original meaning. Caponegro highlights the· lost meaning of words through child
Clara's absence of connections between a word and its intended meaning. ·Frightened of riding an elevator, Clara was
reass'ured when "papa said it is safe it works by cables. I don't
know who cables ·are but they are less scary than thinking it
goes all by itself' (50). Clara absorbs her father's knowledge
that the elevators are secured by cables, without understanding whether the cables are· people or metal strands. In another instance, Clara's mother is remodeling a room in the
house for the baby she is expecting. Clara only understands
tliat her· mother '\spends so mucl! time fix'ing up the extra
room calls it nursery now" (57). Clara is familiar with the
space of the room, but does not recognize that the name of
the room and its ~annotations have' chang~d wit4 its function.
Also, when walkir).g her dog Clara contemplates the word
"responsible." Her attachment of a defmition to the word is
"using the tool they got me to clean up after puppy" (58).
Because the word "responsible'! has so,many possible meanings, the true meaning was unidentifiable to Clara. She only
connected a defmition with the. single responsibility given to
her. By saying ''responsibility- is . . . " Caponegro illustrates
the loss of true meanings of words. According to Bakhtin,
the intricacies and layering of social implications decrease the
value of words each time meaning is added.
'
Though voices always conflict, Bakhtin maintains language· is unitary. Even in opposition, dialogue is unified by
its consistency of worn speech and language. Clark and Hoi-
~-------------------~-------:.:
quist write that "words are not only 'always already there';
they are also 'neve~; ever before' because those words must
be spoken in the context t:\lat are utterly uniq4e and
novel" (217). Dialogue is never constructed of new language, but at the same time it is constructed of language
never 4sed before. This is because langl!age has never been
positioned b~tween the same voices with the same agenda of
ironies, allusions, and loadeq m~aning. Placed between
Laura's letter and narration ~y child Clara, adult Cl1;1ra's definition of "puberty" is completely fresh. Of course, puberty
has been described countless times, even with similar defmitions, but ,puberty has nev~r before been defmed by adult
Clar~ in dialogue with Laurac and child Clara. Each utterance
relays new meaning to .a specific word that has been overly
used.
The meaning of language and a story is constructed
by cohabitation of voices. Dialogism, the contact between.
languages, is not a peaceful cqnfrontation; each language.adds
a conflic.ting dimension. Different languages are combative
over the right to own eaPt word, over the word's point of
view. Bakhtin says•language:
'I
becomes '•o~;~e's own" only whe~ the speaker populates it with hisown intention, IUs own accent, when
he appropriates the word, adapting it to his own semantic and expressive intention. Prior to this moment of appropriation, the word does not exist in a
neutral and imperson~ language fit is not, after all,
out of ,a dictionary tha~ tJ-ie ,speaker gets his words!),
but rather it exists in 9ther people's mouths, in other
people's contexts, serVing .other people's intentions:
it •is from .there that one 'must take the word, and
make if one's own. ("Discourse" 293-94)
In "Materia Prima," Caponegro details conflicts occurring between ·languages in a story. Many voices compete to possess
utterances. Through parody, stylistic alterations, and linguistic changes, Caponegro questions the possessiveness of these
utterqnces. She subscribes to simplicity-with a desire to erase
42
the loaded meanings of language.
Works Cited
Bakhtin, Mikhail. "Discourse in the Novel." Trans. Caryl
Emerson and Michael Holquist. The Dialoaic
lmaaination: Four Essays. Ed. Michael· Holquist.
Austin: U ofTexas P, 1981. 259-422.
---. "Epic and Novel." Trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael
Holquist. The Dialoaic lmaaination: Four Essays. Ed.
MichaelHolquist. Austin: U ofTexas P, 1981.
3-40.
"From the Prehistory of Novelistic Discourse." Trans:
Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. The Dialoaic
lmaaination: Four Essays. Ed. Michael Holquist. Austin: U ofTexas P, 1981.41-83.
Caponegro, Mary. "Materia Prima." The Star C'!ft and Other
Stories. New York: Norton, 1990. 47-88.
Clark, Katerina, and Michael Holquist. "Marxism and the
Philosophy of Language." Mikhail Bakhtin. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1984. 212-37:
Emerson, Caryl. The First Hundred Years ?[Mikhail Bakhtin.
Princeton: Princeton UP, 1997.
Holquist, Michael. "Dialogism: Bakhtin and His World."
Critical Essays on Mikhail Bakhtin. Ed. Caryl Emerson.
New York: G. K. Hall, 1999. 95-107.
Vice, Sue. lntroduciriB Bakhtin. Manchester: Manchester UP,
1997.
43
....
Issues of Confessional.A~t9biography with Specific
Emphasis on Girl, hiterrupted and Prozac Nati.on
Audrey Rosenblatt
•,
I
Life writing, autobiography, and other confessional
stories have truly m.ade their debut in both the 'a~d~ic
c~mmunity, and the general population; TeU-all books about
everyone are leaping off the shelves. It is the stories.Qf cornm<?n people, the housewives cp1d m~chanics,, that have everyone riveted. The personal essay,. and autobiogr~phy as a
:whQle, are two of the most up-aiJ.d'-coming fields in ·English.
"The authenticity of the 'I' appeals, hence autobiography's
popularity" (McGrath 186). Autobiography is one way that
people have·begun to share the intimate details oftheirlives.
Th.ere is a specjal subgenera, the confessional auj:obiography
which focuses almost entirely on the uniqu~ ,personal experience of the writer. These autobiographies. differ from their
counterparts in content, style, and often the s.aid purpose of
the writer. The fi,eld, of autobiography itself brings to light
many debates about the·nature of\yriting, reading, memory,
and truth-value. Autobiographies, because of the personal
nature of the story, .tend to emphasis issues in other fields
such as multicultural studies, feminism, marginalization, ra~
cism, classism and others. Girl, lnterrupte4 by Susanna Kaysen
and Prozac Nation by Hizabeth Wurtzel highlight several
unique issues within the field c;>ffem.inist studies. These two
books show the intersection of the .concepts of truth and
other autobiographical.issues, and the concepts of validity and
how that relates to the marginalization of minorities.
The debate over ~th-val~e is a con~oversial point.
Is Jt necessary to tell the absolute .factual tt:uth, even if it is
detrimental to the point of the writer's story? Added to this
is the qu~stion of empirical facts an~ whether empirical fact is
I I
,I
I
possible given the nature of human memory. The confessional autobiography, since it is a personal tale, and iri· these
books, a story of m'ental illness, takes these same issues and
magnifies them. The idea of truth-value becomes especially
problematic because·there is no one to verify his or her story.
This is problematic in all autobiography, and when the discussion is focused on an autobiographical tale of mental illness
this takes an even sharper edge. Often a large part of mental
illness is the; space between how the patient sees the world
and how others see ihe world. It is this discrepancy which
both validates ·their story as a person who is mentally ill, and
also discredits them 'in te~ms of empirical facts.
Girl, Interrupted and Prozac Nation' are both texts of
these women's lives and 'stories oftheir experiences with
mental illness, hospitalization, and marginalization. It is necessary to examine ·these texts in relation to the gene~al theories about autobiography, but since they- are stories of mental
illness, they must also be exam~ined within this context as
well. Part of a feminist e'xamihation of these texts includes a
discussion about how these two stories of mental illness resound in the lives of women who are considered to b'e mentally healthy. Why would women feel such a strong attachment to these stories in particular? To answer this question,
it is important to frrst see these stories in the larger context of
analysis and -then focus in of the idea of madness and' how it
relates these women to an entire culture of women.
The writers of these autobiographies have both spent
time in mental institutions, been ·on medication, and been
• diagthrough therapy for therr illnesses. Susanna Kaysen Was
nosed with borderline personality .disorder, and Elizabeth
Wurtzel takes lithium and Pro2:ac for atypical depression.
The unique aspect of these books is that both of them were
written without the help of a ghost ~iter. 11tis is 'important.
because it means that the ideas expressed .m' the book come
directly from the writer to the reader. They were not fil-
tered through a ghost writer, nor at;e they written accounts of
a spoken story. Tl].ey are te~ts de~ign~d by witers, ~d th~y
meant to be read, not heard. These authors are prunartly
writers; they do not have other careers. That is an interes~g
note because -it seems .to lend more literary credence to therr
work. If they are writers :by profession,. it ~tands to reason
that they }\'ill employ writer!y aspects to. therr _story, such as
·
irony , foreshadowing and
aIIegory,,
. the hke. These types of
asp~cts tend to .give 11n \).Utobwgraphy. more punch as a
"novel" rather .than just a story because tt' becomes· clear. to
the readers that there i~ plapning, form., and structure behind
the writing.
.
.
The idea of literary credibility is an tmportant tssue
when dealing with postmodem interpretations. of lit~rature.
There are other types of literary criticism which clatm that
the text should stand alone, and ·that examination of the
Writer is not important to a reading of the text. This a~most
completely closes autobiography off from tex~l anal~sts because it is too specific and situated in a particular ttme or
place. These ·same critics argue that autobiographica~ texts
'are: not literary because they· do ·hot employ .many htera?
techniques. Although this idea may be ~angmg, there are
still eaimatks that scholars look for that stgnal an advanced
writer. These books are very literary in the common sense of
the term. They use allusion, as in Prozac Nation Wurtzel.sa~s,
"I wasn'tjust the madwoman in the attic-·I· was the attic ttself' (Wurtzel 138). She also makes tlie reader work. for
some of her ideas. She recounts her actions and the thmgs
she does on a daily basis. Then she talks about ho~ she feels
about herself and her life. She is truly a character m her own
st ory. . She says·, "I've disappeared. I've come so close
f I kfrom.
so far, I hide behind this window and _look at mysel , oo at a
1
l'fl
I'd rather not see" (Wurtzel 176). This .is then added to
the tories of drinking' and drug use (in a destructive fashion),
· bT
thee sinability t:'o get out of bed in the morning and the rna
l tty
4.7
----------~~-··--
to complete tasks such ·as schoolwork. Wurtzel achieves a
literary level in her ability to remove herself from her situatiqp. and at the same time to lose herself completely in her
<own head.
.
.
Girl, Interrupted' also fmds its' creative license as a
novel and as a work of literatur~ because .it is a comical novel.
Kaysen. managest to be e~tremely sarcastic about her experience, but at times, amidst the hUqtor, she slips in a little hint
that she is truly mentatly ill. She says, "We ate With plastic.
It was a perpetual.picnic, our hospital" (Kaysen 56). She tells
about a girl .on 'her flpor ih the mental institution nam'ed
Daisy:
·Daisy's. room is fuU of chicken. She eats cfucken in
there ..She has a spedal method she showed me. She'
peels all the meat off because she likes to. keep the
carcasses whole. Even the wings-'-she peels the meat
off them. Then she puts the carcass' on the floor next
to the last carC<\Ss. She has.about nirle now. She says
when she's got fourteen it's time to leave. (Kaysen
34).
1.1
lqese anecdotes are very humorous in the context of Kaysen's ext;rewely sarcastic narratiye. But darker ~ings shadow
these. Daisy bec;:op1es less of a comical character when the
reader fmds out that she kills herself after she leaves the hospitaL This juxtapos~tion of comedy and the harsh facts of
mental illness are de~mitely.Iiterary constru~ts.
Kaysen' s use pf humor helps h~r to identify with per
reader. It t;nakest the reader~ laugh, loosens them up, and
makes it easier to step into her world. One of the reasons
that people like autobiography .is that they feel a sense of
cl~seness with the a~thor. "Personal elements in writing can
resonate WitJ:t the reader and create .a sense ofboncl. with the
author" (McGrath 186) ...Jn the testimonjal th~ "I'; does not
~vite the closeness ·that .the re~der can. fmd in confessional
autobiographr,. "Testimonial literature, J?y the very nature of
its mode of production, calls attentio~ to a ·process that is of-
ten muted or invisiblt'; in autobiographiql writing" (Kaplan
210). When a writer is speaking for an entire group, then
the "I" becomes blui.Ted into the story ofthemany rather.than
the story of the "1." In confessional a1.1tcibiography the "I".
means the person writ~g and absolutely no one else. It is a
personal story of the specific events .. of the writer's experiences and how those events aff«;c;:ted them on a very personal
level. The "I" ()f the .confessional autobiography also invites
the reader inside the head of the ·writer. It invites them to
know the writer withq1.1t a relationship, or ·hear and see their
inne.r thoughts without having to form a personal relationship
with him or her.
,
While it is important that t:llese stories make their
way into the. academy,_ ~t is jl.lSt as important that they b,ave
made their way into mainstream culture. It is important that
they are considered to be "literature" because it shows that
they are not simply an everyday best-sel}er without literary
merit. It also shows a vast am'ount about tlie culture that we
live in. that both . of these books are best -sel.lers. According to
Susan Lanser "One major cop.sti~uer;tt of narrative authority,
therefore is the extent .to which a narrator's status conforms
'
'
t.o this cJ.ominant social power" (Lanser '6). While both of
these books ·cmM be considered to be part of an outlaw
'genr~, giving substance to •the exp,erience of the subaltern
women with mental illness, they are also a very mainstream
in the teleological aspect of .their telling: They could have
written these stories in a· different way, set up around the
bouts of mental illness, or in order qf the events th,il.t .•were
the most troubling, but they do not do this. These book~ start
at the beginning and end at the e11d, rather then a more haphazard telling of t:P,e story. Although this is really not how
peopk think, thought patterns are much more random then
teleological, people like to believe that their thoughts have
beginnings and ends, that they go from one rational conclusion. to another.
..........
~I
-------~---·oD ~M-
Kaysen and Wt~rtzel' make their stories accessible to a
lar?e ~udience .by •their style' of writing. But an important
pomt IS that neither has ~authority, in the typical sense of the
word, on ~is subject th~t makes their stories so touching and
rea~.· to ~~rr readers. They do have ·their experience and
':!We this· Is typically, seen as a mark of authority, it cannot be
viewed~ as. such her~., Be~ilse they are ·both mentally ill, their
accuracy Is called mto question, anq their subject position is
such that .they are not the authority. In mental illness often
~e ~octor, ~ot the p~tient, is seen as ,the expert of the patient s expenence or his or her Uhiess in general: .Experience
can be a very powerful measure of authority, but not in this
case. ·
·
I
,,i
Their authority is also undermined by the fact that
they are women:
Unlike men, they are categorically ·denied the experi _
ence of cultural suprel}lacy, humanity·,, and~ renewal
basec;l on their sexual identity. [... ) Their madness is
treated i~ such a way as to turn it into another form of
self-~rifice. Such madness is essentially' an ini:en~ ·
expenence 6f female biological, sexual and cultural
castration. (Chesler 71)
If this is true, then the idea of mental illness for -women is
simply an exte11sion of the experience of all women. This
further dep~ives me~tally~m women:of any type of authority
~r power smce their experience. is not unique, only selfmdulgenh Chesler ftirthers this by claiming·:
The extent to which ·all [her .emphasis) women have
been. poorly nurtured as female children ,and are refused \mothering' ~y men asfemale adults, they might
be eager for, or at least Willing to settle for, periodic
bo!Jts of ersatz "mothering" which they receive as
"patients." (76)
.
This is one of the factors that draws women to these
types of texts. The experience of mental illness; or treatll!entby others which implies that one's actions are those of a
mentally-ill indiVidual, accounts for the marked popularity of
so
,,,'I
these kind of books. One of the frrst questions about autobiography. is why is this _person's story . important?
"Autobiography is ·oft~n motivated by a desrre for selfknowledge or self-justification; it is also a kind of writing notoriously prone to self-decept:jon" (PerrettlS). At the end of
her book, Wurtzel includes an afterword that almost reads
like an apology for her book.. She says, "Prozac Nation i~, as
far as I'm conce,med, a memoir ·with no particular thesis or
point" (Wurtzel 355). She goes on to say, "If ProzacNation
has any particular purpose, it would be to come out and say
that clinical·depression is a real problem,. that ruins lives, that
it ends lives" (Wurtzel ~56). It iS interesting ~t she would
include an explanation, or feel it necessary. However, the
context she Writes from is one that was, and• still is, generally
seen as private. ;writing, writing that should not be published.
<!Women have created a literature of grief, using their diaries,
letters, ·poems and stories to cope witli loss'! (RineyKehrberg 72). Wurtzel's apology reveals a .lot about thdde;lls concerning .confessional! writing. Women especially are
told not to whine, not to burden other's with tlJ,eir problems,
so the in~h1sion of an apology for this type of text shows that
.
these ideas have not gone away.
Girl, Interrupted does not include an apology or an explanation. However, it is a comical piece. It deals with ~e
yery ·,s,eriot,IS issue of mental illness, and yet I found· myself
rereading it for pure enjoyment and laughing out loud.. ~t
seems that in the sheer entertainment value of tlie novel It IS
unnecessary to iiiclude an explanation. When a person, especially a woman, does something for the entertainme!lt o~ o~­
ers, it is acceptable that that is their sole purpose. AU mmonties are expected to pander to the dominant culture, so when
a member of the lower class.serves the upper class in anyway,
it is an acceptable pursuit. Women ·being part of ~s low~r
class ate allowed,to entertain. The comedy also qualifies this
story, to make people laugh is seen as a modest pursuit in and
51
--
of it~elf.
'
.
Their standpoint and subjectivity is a selling point for
,therr books, as well as an aspect which makes their writin
lJlOre brutal, and honest. "Standpoint theorists argue that re~
s.earch-and knowledge production m1Jst begiri from ·women's
·~wes beca~se wom<;n's vision isJess distorted, less interested
m ?enerating ignorance, and less partial" (Hallstein 36)~ This
claun would give more credence to the work of these women
beQ!.~~e of .their subjectivity. By the nature of their place in
~~- hi~rarchy they ffitve a better chance at accuracy. -Perhaps
It rs thrs accur~cr.that have made these1books'-have·made these
books so appealing to a wide-ranging audience.
.
. The .readership has not been ;limited only to tiiose
~wrth .d~p~essron or those inc the field ofmental health. I think
that.t,hrs rs ~important issue in which to delve. Th~se books
are. both-fa~ly timely: depression is a hot topic right now. In
our. Ill.odern world many people deal With depression, or
fee~m~s o£.frustrati9n and lack of motivation in their· jobs and
therr hves. I would also ·like to put forth· t:lie idea that these
two. books jn .Part~cular afe unique because they are both confessron autobrogra.phy,. and in sopte ways testimonial. They
d~ not have the drstance that is created through tlie testimomal bu~ these, ~9oks speak to the experience of many women·.
There rs a pomt where Kaysen is talking about the trial of
~obby Seale. She makes a statement that I found to rmg·. tru
m
.
e
my expenence as a· woman, and, the experiences· of'many
wom~n around me:
•"
. It Was when we saw~)3obby Seale bound and
gagg~d m a Chicago courtroom that we realized the
world wasn't going to change. tfe was in chains like a
·
slave.
Cynthia· was particularly upset. "They· do
that to me!""she ~ried. It was· true that they did tie
you do\VIl and put something in your mouth when you
had shoe~. ~o stop you from biting your tgngue duri!lg
the convulSion.
'
. 52
lisa was angry too, but for another reason. •
"Don'tyou see the difference?" she s~arled,at Cynthia.
"They ~veto gag hi~, because they'r:e afraic,l. people
will believe what he says."
We looked at him, a tiny dark man in chains
on our TV screen with the one thing we would always
lack: credibility' (93)
This is an especially powerful section because it
brings to light the issue of marginalization. Many women ar~
dismisse~ merely by the nature of ·their womanhood; in a
si.n!il!lr way m¥ty people who are mentally ill are also· treated
as if: their comments or experiences are not real or valid.
This cJis{llissal is what makes women's experience' so close to·
that of the mentally ill. "The mental asylum closely approximates the f~ptal~ rather than the male experience of. family" (Chesler 75).
Hannal:l Nelsen sai&, "I have grown to woimitihood in
world where the· saner you are the madder you are made to
appear." I think that there are many women who feel this
way. When Wurtzel says, "Motherhood must be like that. It
is probably the only experience that most women ever have
of ownership and domination" (310), she is reaching a· large
audience of women·. {wonder how Jllany mothers have read
those words. and have had them resound in their experience.
Wurtzel says in anotht;r portion ·of the book, "I'm a stranger
wh~rever I go because I'm strange to myself' (162).
Many ,people iJ\ ,modern society, but women especiaUy can fmd r~sonance in .this statement. In a world that
makes women feel alienated from their bodies, their sense of
self-worth, their ideas about intelligence, and their sexuality,
I think it is very reasonable that women would feel strange to
themselves. Women have a collective madQening·experience
that would,. seem to d~t;ance them from themselves at any
cost. Everyday women read magazines that show pictures of
women who do not look anything like any women they have
ever met, and it seems that women can' be either intelligent
'
53
-·---------------~--~------------~--------~~
or beautiful·, but not both. When being a woman means being moody and being angry is being irration<J.l and sexuality is
a Catch-22, a woman is slutty if.she does arid frtgid if she does
not, it is not surprisipg that books like Prozac Nation are best
·
seJiers.
"
.
However, if as Wurtzel: says, this was just a memoir
With no thesis, is it fair to· read her \Y.ords. as the words of a
whole population, or a story of-women as CJ. whole? Perhaps
ili,e problem here is the discrepancy between what the writer
meant and what the reader interprets as that intent. · When
speaking of how a read~r confronts the Written "I,"Ithe ftrst
.step -~ to determine how is~ues of accuracy and memory
c~me mto play. In these two stories the idea of accuracy is
sticky b~cause. the,y deal with authors who are discussing their
mental Illness. When one is recounting their illness it is diffi"
cult to demand that they stick to the "facts" becailse often the
Herceived Jacts-·versus ~e- reality of the situation is the defmc
ing aspect of mental illness.
The aceuracy 9f memory and perception when it
com~.s -~o issues that so closely involve the self is deHnitely
so~ethmg ~bat needs t() be-examined. "The very potion of a
mtsre,presentation is conceptually parasitic upon the notion of
an accurate repr.esentation, which" in tutn 'implies the relev~ce of historical truth for autobiography" (Perrett 28). It
may not be necessary fol) accuracy of events in a confessional
autobiography, especially one involving meqtal illness·. There
is a section. in Girl, Interrupted where Kaysen .addresses the
questiop of accuracy:c
That doctor .says he interviewed me for
three hours. I say it was twenty>minu~es.
_·
Twen~y minutes between my walking in the
door and his deciding to send me to McLean.
l mighf have spent another hour in his office
while he called the hospital, ·called my parents, called
the taxi. An hour and~ halfis the most I'll grant him.
We can't bo~h be right. Does it matter
54
which of us is right?
It mattere& to me. But it turns out I'm
wrong.
[She goes ori adding and subtracting times
recorded on admittance forms and notes]
I· still think I'm right. I'tn right about what
s;ount~. (70-71)
.
She may be right. It may not matter which oqe of them _is
correct. It may be irrelevant how lqng the doctor interviewed her before having her committed. How she saw
things is .very important if what we~!lfe reading is• her per~~mal
account of what happened and -how it tnade her feel. Howev~r, if the reader knows certain facts <!bQut a situation, and
then the person involved tells him or her a diffet:ent story it
~ng~s how the reader will feel abo\}t them, For example, if
Kaysen misconstrues things .often, it would giv.e the reader a
different feeling about the level of her mental illness. This
involves the issue ofself-deception when in comes to writing
autobiography. "Self-<Jecept1on ~s a\so nwrally paradoxical in
that it seems to imply that the self-deceiver can sometimes be
both blameworthy .aQ.d inno~eJ:J.t with respect to a particular
action" (Perrett 29)., ~is to say that a writer may be telling the whole truth. as, they remember -it, but by the nature of
self-deception, they may not :be recounting the -inforrp.ation-as
it. actualiy happened. But, who decides what actually happened, whose words should be taken as fact ... the child, the
parent, or the piary?
Although some scholars think that the entire issue of
tr,uth-yalue is touchy be~use of these discrepancies, espe.cially in the confessional autobiography, it does not have to
be. When a writer tells the story of himself or herself, how
~ey tell it is as important as the truth that they .tell. If a
.Writer lies and the reader fmds discrepancies and the "facts"
don't match up, then that tells something about the writer
.and the nature of.thei,r ,story. Wh~q W~tzel says, "I found
myself wishino [her emphasis] for a real ailment; found myself
55 ---------------
.........
------.,.,.....--.,..,.-------,-----~-----
longing· to be a junl<ie or a cokehea:d or somethingsomething real" (68), the reader has 'to take her word for it.
If at some later p<;>int she then contradicts this statement,
rather than pointing to a loss of validity, .it merely strengthens
the idea of mentai instability. If .the writer feels like his or
her life has been a lie, it may be peFfectly j~stifiable to lie
about the everits in one's'lifeto make such a~point. ·
It ·is my coiit'ention that when a reader begins to read
an autobiography, espeCially one of this sort, that they have to
suspend judgement. It is imperative that they step into the
world Of the writer and ·allow the writer the benefit of the
doubt. Only in doing this can ·the readers $egm to experi·ence the account-as the writer was intenoing for it to be read.
If the reader is aware of issues of subjectivity and memory it
makes .them a more effective reader. It helps them to evaluate their reactions, and oppositions that may arise ttrroilgh the
course of the reading. This is important because it helps to
form a relationship between reader and writer, and without
the relationship between writer and reader this kind of piece
would' lose its validity and its power as a form of expression.
When speaking of reading a piece how the' writer has
intended it to be read readers must deal with the disparity
between' reading <UJd writing. -The idea that the word ''I" refers to· a specifiC. intransigent, constant object is iinpo~ssible
because a :person's idea of himself or herself differs froni the
idea of personhood that every other individual wiU place on
him or her. To say that an individual can be described accurately using.the 'li" is to claim that the idea of"I" is the same
for every reader and every writer as weiE "The sigriifyihg I
and signified l nevertheless arise from an internal relationship
that lies beyond the. realm of Saussurian linguistics, in which a
signifying §elf determines the discolirse of its signified
self' (Rankirr 308)'. So, 'it is not possible for the reader to
have an experience that reflects that of the writer for two
reasons. One, the nature of reading and the nature ·of writ-
56
--~-----
!,
1
---- ~- --·-
-
·--
.
-------.
ing, althougp. ~ft~n paired, are n9t similar .exp~riences. And
two, it is impossible for the reader to come from the s~e
subject position, as the writer. The only way to_ attempt thts,
and act out the motions of this impossible task, ts to approa<;h
a text with a suspension of disbelief. Opce t:lte text is experienced as a form that is as close to what the writer intended as
humanly possible for the reader, then the rea~er can go
through the next ~~,k of reread~g and ~eevaluatmg the text
based on their own ideas pf truth and logtc.
These two stories take the issues of ilUtobiography
and hold them up to the light allowing the ideas about truthvalue, subjecti:vity, t)le concept of the "I" ,and t4e cpncept of
madness as a form of oppression_ aga~st women to ftlter
~ough. These stories not only fiQ.d a place ~png ~e archives of personal stories, but also among testtmorual, for
they are telling a common story, one which extends ~ot o_nly
to the mentally ill, but more broadly to women as.~,mmonty:
It is through the questions that one can most easily see the
prejudice. If it is possible to keep stories_ such as these from
being valid parts of the academic commuru_ty and popular cui~
ture, then it is much easier to deny the extstence oLthese experiences.
.
.
.
Silence constitutes a. form of vtolence and functions as
an authoritarian enterprise co~trOlling the production
of history. ( . . .) There is also the silence im~sed by
those in power as a means of political repress10~, the
silencing achieved by excluding a group or a category
of people from History. (Mudimbe"Bo}'i 144)
.
.
.
When readers fmd it difficult to suspend their dtsbehef, tt
may be important for them to ,ask themselves why? Wr~ting
can be full of truth.and fact and when
the timing is not rtght,
\
.
and people are not ready to see the truth ~t is apparent m
the writing, then it is lapeled as .inval~d. When peo~le cannot
be silenced .they are often quieted in other ways, ~d on~ of
these ways is to discredit them, to· allow the pressmg wetg~t
of popular history to roll over their stor~ and drown out therr
----------!:..!
57
.. . "'"' ,.,.-.. ·--·· ,,, .
voice.
-
..
Works Cited
Chesler,. Phyllis. Women and'Mad,ness. Ne~ York: Four Walls
Eight Windows, 1997.
Hallstein, Ly,nn O'Brian. "A Postmodern Caring: I:em:iilist
Standpoint Theories, kevisioned Caring,. and Communication Ethics." Wesfernjournal cif Communication
63.1 (-1999): 32-53.
.'
.
. W l
p "Autobiographical Fiction vs. Fictional
· h Christa Wolfs Kindheitsmuster and
a ter
·Rankm '
.
d'
Autob10grap Y
·
, F " Comparative Literature Stu zes
J.M. Coetzee s oe.
36.4 (1999): 306-319.
.
K hrb
p "'Broke in Spirits': Death, Depression
Rmey- e erg, ·
·
17 · 2
h Writin8 ." Frontzers
and Endurance throug
(1996): 70-86.
1 Elizabeth. Prozac Nation.
W urtze,
Books, 1995.
Kaplan, ·Caren. "ResistiD,g Autobiography: Out-Law Genres
and Trans~tioilal Feminist Subjects." Women, AutobioiJraphy, Theoiy A Reader. Madison: t1 of Wisconsin
P, 1998. 208-216.
Kaysen, Susanna. Girl, Interrupted. New York: Vintage Books,
1993.
Lanser,. Susari Sniader. Fictions cif Autobioaraphy. lthaca: Cornell UP, 1992.
McGrath, Ann. "The Female Eunuch in ·the Suburbs: Reflectiqn on Adolescence,
f
,,,
,.
'
Autobiography ~d History Writing." Journal
ture33.1 (1999): 186.
of Popular Cul-
Mtidinioe-:Boyi, Elisab'eth. "The State, the Writer and the
P~l!tics ofMem<;>ry." STCL 23.l (1999): 144-159.
Perrett, Roy W. "Autobiography and Self~ Deception: Conjoining Philosophy, Literature, and Cognitive Psychology." Mosaic 29.4 (1996): ·25-39.
....... ......
59
~
58
New York: Riverhead
The Clothes Make the (wo)Man
I
Timothea Turney
II
ociety is fa~cinated. by fashion. Therefor~, the mention of clothing in a novel is far from .suspicious.
.
How~ver, if, as in the case of Carol de Chellis Hill's
novel, apparel seems to be a central f~ature, the reader m'ay
assume that the author uses clothing to make a statement.
The treatment of clothes in Henry James' Midniaht Sona implies
critiques of a restrictive social system and the ways in which
people '!ttempt iq deal with those restrictions.
Compared to today' s rather relaxed standards of
dress, clothing at the juncture/of .the nineteenth and twentieth .centuries, the time period 0fthe novel, was quite elaborate. For example, the. nineteenth-century woman was expected .to wear not only floor length skirts, but also petticoats, "pan~lettes beneath her petticoats anq high-topped
shoes? (Hom 62). That was ju.st to cover.hedegs.
This concern for appropriate dress is reflected in
Henry James' Midniaht Sona, At one point, Edith Wharton
reads a manual 0n how a woman should dress for· driving a
car and discovers that she cannot drive without a cream serge·
coat, a matc,hing cloth cap (pinned down, of course}, a crepe
du Chin,e veil; and a well-stodsed glqve box (Hill 50). A ,preoccupation with appearance is also exemplified in the Countess's· wardrobe. In one scene, s4,e steals the· show by wearing
"a starting green silk dress and huge veiled hat with green and
magenta feathers," and a "fur-trimmed <;Ioak" (138). Tumof:the-century ~lathing was judged .by strict standards, and it
was designed to be no.ticed.
Clc~thes of that era revealed muCh about membership
in social groups; as Tht: Psycholoa.r cfClothes states, "It is from
their clothes that we :form a first impression of our fellow
S
61
.,
---·~
1:
cre~tures" (Flugel 15). One group in Vienna that was judged
by Its a~pearance, .~oth. in the book and in· actual history, was
~e" jeWISh populatiOn, part of which could be recognized by
Its payeses and ... black-coats" .(Hill198). In the book, Jewish
people become. tar~e~ of. violence and suspicion. . Anyone
w~o looks jeWish IS constdered· fair game for harassment.
Hill ~a~es.a special effort, through the words of-Rabbi Bloch,
to pom~ out that most of tlfe Jewish population 'no· longer
dresses ~ the black coat, and that a Jewish heritage does' not
necessarily preclude a Jewish lifestyle (Hill 198) B hi ·hI" h · th
··
. y g
tg .ting e cqnfuston between hating a'olack coat and hatin
a. dtvers~ group of people, Hill makes the persecution see!
superfiaal. Discrimination based on ethnic origin becomes a
~roduct of unwarranted' hysteria. This section is also partially
mt~nt on analyzing the consequences of Jews leaving their
herttag~ to assimilate into the ·Viennese culture. The Rabbi
perceptive}~ ~on_ders:. '!Who were his people anyway?" (Hill
198). Assu~ulatiOn mto the society ·means perhaps 'more
~afet~ from _Judgment, but it also ·results in a sense of lost
~denttty.' Hill acknowledges this loss as a drawback to total
unmers10n into another group·.
. !fte quality of clothes• one wears relates to his or her
·
status thin th · ·
". . .wt
e socrety. This only makes sense, as wealthier
m<ft~duals can afford to dress in more elaborate and costly
!llaterta.s than can their poorer. brothers and sisters" (Flugel
32). In HenryJames'.Midnight Song, the wealthy, upper-class
Coun~ess orders a ~parr of gloves in- luxurious' green-gold velvet, sunply because she likes extravagant gloves (Hill 192).
A.ls~ •. the book makes mention of the carefree way in which
nobility dr~sses: "·Prince Edward of England is runrun· b
p ·
'th b
g a out
arts . WI
aguettes on his gloves and driving all the glove~
makers mad try!Jlg to keep up" (169). Hill contrasts this affiut;nce and frivolity with the poverty of the lower class.
The··poor in the nqvel wear clothes for survival's
sake. For example, a. girl named Adelheid who comes to the
62
Countess's house wears sev~ral old sweaters and a pair of
boots that are held to her feet with· rags {Hill170). Adelheid
comes hoeing to receive b~tt~·9othing. She meets Cecily, a
much wealthier and better-dressed girl of about her f:!.ge. The
reader expects Cecily to be rpore refmed, but .in comparison
to Adelheid's experiential wisdom, Cecjly's kn,qwledge
. seems naive.Cl!ld incomplete. The. reader discovers that Adelheid is smarter, more driven, and perhap~ more polite than
her richer counterpart. Hill' constructs the scene to shatter
Cecily' s narrow.-mindednes~ about dass superiority, .and in
the proc~ss·, she forces modem readers to reevaluate their
biases.
The Countess is v~y ge~erous wit;h Adelheid. Besides :providing her with .clot:l].e.s, she attempts ..to provide lier
with an education. The character of Adelq~id seems td be
based on. th~-life of Adelheid Popp, who, like the character,
lived ·~ith her mother in Vienna·, worked in the garment ·dis-'
trict, ~nd educated herself (Qarea 346). Also like the book ,
~acter,. Pqpp was sensitive about her appearance and went
to great· lef!gths to· dress above ·her station. She spent "her
money on. clqthes so that nobody shoul& recognize her as [~
factory worker) when she went to church on Sundays" (34'7,).
Once again, the issl,le of assimilation arises in the novel.
Adelheid attempts to fit. in with af!other. group by dressing the
part. However:, a§ the· Countess says, her ~charity is no solution" (Hilll76). Happily, Adelheid also tries to·improve her
station frop1 the inside out through education. Historically
and fictionally,. this is Adelheid's best chance of transcent:ling
her conflllipg sq<_:ial encumbrances.
Hili~s disturbance of social barriers in Henry james'
Midnight Song is sep;mdary to .the challenges· that she--pr~s~ts
against gender disct.imination. Once again, she uses clo~g
as a tool to draw 'the reader:s.attentioh to the issues. ·In modem (eminist theory, women's clothing has been linked to the
attempt by a patriarchal society to control 'women. As
----~------
Naomi Wolf puts it in her book, The Beauty ~h, "The real
issue has nothing to do'with whether women- ... dress up or
down, make our clothing arid faces Imd bodies into- works of
art or ·ignore ado_rnment altogether·. The teal problen1 is our
lack cf choice!' (272). lh other words, by forcing women ihto
PlJl'suing· an unending goal of becom'ihg beautiful as defmed
bY men , s standar d s~ men ·can prevent women from
' asserting
the,mselves in the social sphere. ·
Many aspects of tum-of-the-century clothing can be
used to support the claim that clothes could be used: to restrict :wo~en. Eor example, a recurring articl~ of clothing ip
the novelts the handkerchief. Upper-class female characters
are often seen with handkerchiefs, wiping Dlooay noses and
t~ars. Historically, both men ·and women used -the handkerchief.. Men used them to style -mustaches, declare loyalties,
and htde tobacco stains (Peri 25). Women used them to
"mop the fevered brow,. refresh the faiilt ·heart with sweet
perfume in times of emotion, dry away tears, or hide ttem- ·
bling lips" (26). While both sexes· used 'hanqkerchiefs to
~egulate·appearance; iLis interesting to note that the oVerridmg reason wom.en used the~ was to- conceal emotions. The
implication is that men could show emotion; but women·
were to remain visibly unemotional. Indeed, throughout the
book,. 'women's emotiopal outbursts are often seen either as'
emb~(lssing or as the result ofhysteria. · Such hysteria, accordmg to feminist "theorr; "was tolerated because in fact it
had no power to effect cultural change" (Wolf 224). The
hand~erchief covered whatever strong feelings women could
not suppress, and rendered those emotions -ineffectual and
invalid.
.
··
. B~tt~ns can also be seen as controlling devices. Until
the m~d-nmeteenth century, two.~thirds of all buttons were
use~ for,mef\'s clothing; buttons were not acceptable for extensiVe use on women's clothes until the late 1800's (De Buzzaccarini & Minici 28); Even then, buttons were sewn dif"
-.
-·------·- ---
fereqtly onto women's clothes-on the left side as- opposed
to the ,right side. Theories about the reason behind this difc
ferencevary. However, they all seem to conclude that clothiers thought men needed to have -their right' 'hands free to
work, so their buttons .were designed to be fastened by their
left hands. Women's buttons were ma:de to be fastened by
their right hands, implying that they did not need free right
hands (Flugel 179). Therefore, for however long it took a
woman to fasten her many buttons; she was unable to utilize
her strongest hand for any other task. Buttons freed up men,
but tied up women: Interestingly, the characters in Henry
Jgrpes' Midniaht Sana that are described as leavilig buttons un~
done or as unbuttoning their blouses are the same who reject
social stan,danls of decency, like the Countess and Minna.
Several other clothing"related factors- worked to restrict
~omen, at l.ea:st physically if·not emotionally and socially.
Purses, which. women carried and men did not, involved "the
use of one hand that should be free for- other purposes" (Flugel ·186-187). European-style shoes deformed
women's feet (43). -Corsets, in an attempt-to· create the ideally slender feminine waist, often resulted in "a lifelong modification of -the natural figure and of the relative positions of
t;he;internatorgans" (45) .. Dreadful as these examples sound,
if women wanted to be -considered beautiful by society, and
therefore be. eligible for marrying ana raising a family, they
had to comply.
Hill gives her female characters two ways- to resist
the iriiposed system of -feminine standards. First, she puts
some characters in men's clothing. Thfs is fitting because "in
periods of greater freedom and emancipation, feminine dress
tends to take on more of the· ·characteristics of male attire" (Horn 134). The frrst example of perceived crossdressing occurs when Aunt Ida rides in on her bicycle wearing
a bifurcated garment. People-look on in amazement, and her
sister runs in the house "declarmg something about the
'mortifica.tions of the separation'"(Hill 34). Hill uses the sister'.s overreactiqn to mock the way in which that patriarchal
so.ctety c<mdemned practical clothes for women. Bifurcated
garments could· not be ·considered decent until "it became
more scandalous for a·woman's skirts to billow in the breeze
than to accept a modified version of the masculine trousers". (Hom 5,6). Decency, not c;omfort or practicality, detel'll\mes .the acceptability of Aunt Ida's clothes. lbrough her
bold fashion statement, she challenges those standards of decency that limit how she can. express •herself. · .
The novel's rn,ost dramatic example of women donning JPen's apparel makes a,more subtle statement about the
nature of power as ex;pressed through clothes. The scene beg~~ ~ocently e~ough: Aun.t Ida, the Countess, Cecily, Cecily s sist~r, and Sabin,a go for a lovely boat ride. Suddenly,
the boat tips an~ all five women fall ·in the cold, rushing wa~
t~. Th~y try to kick, but in the words of Cecily!s sister, "our
skirts we'-:e so heavy I did n_ot know 'if I .could :kick" (Hill
402). The skirts here become all of the external limitations
that .are forced upon the. women. . These skirts pull . the
women dow,n and't:hr~aten to kill tl;lem. .
A man wJ10 is des<;Tibed twice as :being almost naked
saves :the ~owning women (Hill 403). His ability to save
th~m I~ related to the fact th;tt he is ·able to free himself of any
cumbersome clothing and. dive in after· them. Although at
least one of the five females realizes that the skirts are the
problem, npt one of them is able to disrobe, or. :for that matter even thinks of doing so. The freedom of being naked, une~cumbered by. social restraints, is distinctly masculine'in.this
picture. 'J?erefore, the women are helpless in the water and
m~st depend upon a m~le for safety.
·
Once the ladies are on the boat, they are still in danger of .dying from hypot:Jt,ennia. Fishermen. dress them in
m~'s.,p~.ts, ~~··coats, and hats. Though they are safe,
Cecily s sister~ bothered by their new appearances. She says
6,6
it is ~as if aU of them were in shock·and transfonned and almost not real" (Hill 403). In these clothes, the women lose
the o.utward traces of femininity. To Cecily's sister, a product of the patriarchal culture, this change is surreal and she
cannot comprehend· it. However, Cecily, the budding femini~t, goes· so .far as to tuck her hair;. up under her cap, ·as
though she is embracing the notion of safety in men's clothes
(403). FQr.her, making her~elf equal to a man is simply a part
of fmding·relief from the swirling current of oppression.
Hill seems to be offering the reader an appraisal of
fighting gender discrimination by immersing oneself into
masculine habits .. \Yomen in men's cloth.es· are represented
in the story as being strong-willed, like Aunt Ida, and safe,.
like the five ladies in ·the river. However, as the assimilated
Jews risk losing ·their ethnic identities, the women also risk
losing something for their behaVior. Aunt Ida must deal with
being isolated from .those who do not support her boldness.
The five women must deal with the feelings that what tlie'y
are doing is somehow unnatural, and also ~e knowledge that
they:- are ·still ultimately -relyiiig 6n inen for providing the
clothes which make them f~el safe. r
Cross-dressing is one way in which Hill lets females
react against social standards. Some characters react in another fashion, by designing their own clothes. In this era,
women's involvement in the garment industry was not unusual. The autobiography of Adelheid Popp, Hill's apparent
inspjrationfor Adelheid in t}le novel, reveals that •she earned
her living by taking odd jobs sewing underwear and trimmings for dresses (Barea 346): Indeed, mapy lower class
women earned. -money by sewing for factories or by doing
piecemeal labor. While Hill includes such involvement in
Henry james'.Midnioht Sono; she places some of her characters
in more defiant roles.
At least three dressmakers are presented in the
novel: Madame Pacquin, Didi, and the Countess. The first
67'
tw~ ~re not particularly noted for their dressmaking. Pac_qum Is mt.p"dered early jrt the story for bemg unfaithful torher
lover. Didi has a side job ,of selling herbal remedies tha:t
s6mel]..9w n:take women "forget something they cann:ot :bear
to remember nor ~ear fo forget". (Hill44). While they may
not . change ·-the world 'Y'ith their insistence on· ipfluencing
fashion, both of these women defy the social standarqs that
would conf,me them to quietly suppressing their feelings.
Jhe Cotmtess, however, has a much more radical occupation1. and her -dr~ss shop holds much more significance.
By associating h~erself, a high-class lady, with· dressmaking,
the_ Countess associat~s herself with being involved'"in prostitutiOn, a~ \;\'ere so .many women in the dressmaking
trades" (Hill 366). Her aristocratic husband considers her
shqp operation,s to be irulppropriate, agd he disapproves
greatly (175) .. In light, of the·risks . ~he takes'by owning such a
shop, the Count~ss' s- work is heroic. Nqt only is she brave,
but sh~ is also successful; her design,s. are shownjn :Paris, and
she is confident enough in her abilities that ·she c;rttiqu·es
men's designs (176). Unfortunately, due to •her husband's
threats.and the disgrace his V~;I"ath could bring, the Countess's
ownership of.the dress shop remains a secret for most of the
boo~. Hill grants the Countess, still bound by a maq's approval, only a limited ability to function outside of social constraints.
I,
woman· that she is (Hill 391). Later, she abolishes her husband's control over her by telling him herself about her shop,
and refusing to close it at his command. She says, "he no
longer has any influence over me" (4-37). With that declaration, the Countess proclaims her freedom to make clothes as
she sees fit. She holds the power to design how the world
sees her.
How does ·dressmaking compare to cross-dressing in
terms of achieving the goal of freedom from repressive social
structures?· Like cross-dressing, dressmaking involves the
risks of rejection and disgrace. However, while crossdressing works on assimilating femininity into masculinity,
dressmaking takes direct control over What it is to· be feminine. 'Dressmaking may not be as blatantly revolutionary, but
Hill gives it more hope for success.
At the end of Henry }ames' Midniaht Son9, the InspectOr has a dream about the dress shop:
The room was full of heads and arms and bodies, and the
women, chattering, as they 'were sewing beautiful garments,
were sewing the arms back onto the bodies, as if life were a
large doll they had the magic to restore. As he walked among
them, he saw that some of the women were making clothes,
beautifUl clothes, fabricS of gold and' silver, for tlie bodies. (Hill
439)
Par,t of the Countess's struggle is to develop a sens~
of her own authority, and her shop ·is the symbol of t:Qat authority, a place in whjch she can exercise controL It is her
safe l).aven, her place to go in order to remember her past and·
take refugevfrom -her present troubles. At the end of the
novel, Hill giv~s the Counte~.s soine. victories in- her struggle
for po~ver, The: Insp~ctor, a former user of women, must
conie to the dress shop, ·to' tile locus of the Countess's ·control, in order to reconc;iJe their relationship. She will not
love him until he af:cepts her for the vulnera,ble yet powerful
The Countess's shop symbolizes the taking of broken women
and ;putting them back together, more beautiful and elegant
than ever. For the Countess, there is no'longer sfuune in operating this shop. For the women of Vienna who have been
subject to the whims of men, there is the opportunity to be
made whole.
According to Naomi Wolf, "You do not win by
struggling to the top of a· caste system, you win by refusing to
be trapped within one at all" (290). . Carol de Chellis Hill
supports that statement in Henry james' Midniaht Sona by first
attacking the superficiality with which different groups of
people are judged, and then ·by exploring ways in which op-
68·
69
•
.pressed groups work to gain power over those judgments.
S~e concl~~~s ~at oppr~ss~d groups can resist oppression by
~tther assunilat!Jlg or tak.ing control over the external limita~ons, and that taking control is ultimately the more productive route .. Reform then ,becomes not a question of :~Qo the
clothe§ ~rpake the (wo)man?'' hut rather "How can the (wo)
man make the clothes better'?"
W9rks Cited{larea,
·II~a.
Londpn: Seeker and
Vienna: Leaend apd Reality.
Warburg, 1966.
De Buzzaccarini, Vittoria, and Isabella Zotti Minici. Buttons
and Sundri{!{.. Modei!Cl, Italy: Zanfi Editori, 1990.
~
Hugel, J.C. The PsycholoBYtifClothes. New Yorl<: International Universities Press, Inc., 193Q.
Hill, ·Carol de Chelli1!. Henry james' Midniaht Sana. New
York: W.W. Norton& Company, Inc., 1993.
Hom; Marilyn J. The Seco~d Skin . .Boston: Houghton Mifflin
Company, 1968.
Peri, Paolo. The Handkerchiif. Modena, Ita_ly: Zanfi, Editori,
1992.
Wolf, Naomi. The-Beauty·M_yth. New York: William Morrow anq Company, Inc., 1991.
.'*'
70-
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-
•
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Beauty Is Not Truth ...
Brian Weidner
'
' ' ,, e·· Y~auty
is. truth, truth beauty. '-.=that is all I
e Jmow on earth, and all ye need to
'
know" (49-SQ). This sirpple statemet;lt
closes Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" and summarizes his
.main argumept of the poem. Or does it? If it does, why does
Keats choose to place the first five words of these lines in
quotatipn, marks, as though they were .the thoughts of someone else, someone he possibly does not agree with? Why do
the· questions 41 the opening stanza of the ,poem seem to contradict this statement?, Why, when corppleting a reading of
~ese fifty lines, do I qlJ~tion ,what exactly I was meant to
h11ve g\lined? Does Keats really vyant q.s to believe that
"Beauty is truth" and th_at we should not wish to know anyt\ling more?
Per~aps instead, beauty is not truth.. Perhaps instead, bea4ty and truth .are in opposition to each other, always vying to outdo the other. Perhaps instead, beauty is the
residue left in the mind after reality has. moved passed us.
Keats is ~ot trying to argue that Bea\lty arid Truth are one in
the $apt~, that one leads to the-other, or even that th~y share
a loose positive correlation. Instead, Keats treats this supposed rel<].tionship as a farce and undermines the concluding
lines of the poem. In his "Ode on a Grecian .Urn," Keats suggests tha,t Beautr.·, represented by the Urn, acts as a seductive
and silent foil to Truth al\cl reality.
·
Keats does not ,attempt to argue that the Urn does
not possess great.beauty; ~fact, the entire poem centers on
the unattainable beauty of the Urn. It is the inaccessibility of
such flawless beaQty that concerns Keats. Throughout the
poem, he refers to the difference between the world that
------------~- 71
-
~
--
-
-
I
-----·-·--
truly. exists and the world that is trapped on the Urn. In the
openmg stanza, he refers to "Tempe" and "the dales of A~­
ca~y" (7), both classic Greek references traditionally serving
as unages of perfection and beauty. At the same time th
I d
· • ey
are fian scapes that no longer exist. Like the. Urn , all three
are_ rozen in, memory ~th ito spidt or life ·to,day; despite
therr outward beauty whtch is preserved for posterity. Their
·landscapes. ~nd ·their culture no longer exist, just as the Urn
holds nothing but dead ashes of one who once thrived. These ·
types of s~preme Bea~ty are ~ble to exist only because they
are.unfeelmg, unchangmg, and effectually extinct.
'
K~ats parallels this perfect Beauty with imperfect re.
ahty.. He acknowledges that flawless Beauty is ·unattainable m.
~eal 'life, as ex~plified i)1 his description of the pipes' song:
Heard melodtes are sweet, btit those unheard 1 A
.
"
re
sweeter (11-12).
Similar comparisons can be found
throughout the poem. Beauty such as the·lirn's is beyond the
reach of those living in the real world. But where supreme
Beauty cannot b~. obtained in reality, actualiZation of goals
~ ,be. Keats ihforms •the Lover that he "hast not thy
bhss _(19) and assures ·him that he shall forever wait for the
true JOY of kissing his love. In real life though, all remotions
~f.lov~ can -be felt, not just the ones such as the ~Lover's antt~patiOn. that are captured on the Urn. "All breathing :;human passton far above, I That leaves a heart ·liigli-sorrowful
and cloyed, I A burning forehead, and a afchin'
tongue" (28-30).- Where we· cannot have the totaf Beaut;
that the Urn has,. we can have realized lives that are ever in
flux toward good and ba& Truth lies not in uncfuuiglng pictures such _as the Urn's but in the daily lives of those living In
the pr~sent._ ~ven. though the Urn's beauty continues, its
~e~uty ~~ artifictal, s~ce it does not adapt to and actively partictp~te m the world It now exists in. Tiie total beauty of the
Urn 'IS only able to ~ontinue, betause it is unable to change to
accommodate and hve within the world around it. It speaks
72
-· . . .
- - ·-- -
to the real world but cannot react to it. Flawless Beauty is
not the beauty of reality; it cannot coexist with Truth.
From the frrst line to the last, the addressed subject
of this poem is the Urn itself. Keats is not referring to the
audience ~eading the poem when he states, "Thou still unrav.ished bride of ·quietness, I :rhou foster child of silence and
slow time" (1-2). The Urn is the one unaffected by time and
unable to speak, not the reader. Why should the fmallines Qf
the poem not also be addressed to the same entity? Keats
personifies the Urn by granting it sentience and enters into
discourse with it. He calls it a "friend· to man, to who thou
say'st, I 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty"' (48-9). The Urn
sj)eaks ~e same messag~ for et~rnity, failing to acknowledge
that its captured beauty is one that no longer exists and is
dead in the past. Likewise, in his lines "!Jlat is all I Ye know
on earth, and all ye need to know" (49-50), Keats speaks not
to his living, human audience but to the Urn, mocking it for
its failure to acknowledge the ev~r-changing world.
RecogniZing that the fmal' lines are dir~cted at the
Urn greatly changes the poem's intent. Keats is not attempting to address a living audience; instead he mocks tlie Urn for
its erroneous understanding Of the World. The Urn cannot
change and therefore cannot recognize anything but the
beauty captured on its exterior for eternity. For thfs reason,
the Urn's statement to humanity, "Beauty is truth, truth
beauty" is true, because the only truth it "knows" is the beautiful scenes painted upon it. Beauty is all that exists .in the
world of the Urn, so for ,the Urh, "that is alJ I Ye know on
earth, and all ye need to know" (49-50). But in the world of
humanity with its ever-changing ways, this same rule does
not apply. For us, Truth is much more than just Beauty, since
we exp~ience changes and emotions that are frequently far
from beautiful.
The problem with Beauty is that it is so much more
alluring and pleasing than Truth. Keats very deftly makes this
.--------~-~~-~-~---.._....-~-----
distinction throughout the poem, starting in the very first
staJ1Za. The frrst four lines of the poem discuss the Urn and
ideal Beauty. These lines cr:eate a hypnotic effect by carefully
manipulating word, rhythm, Cjlld sound: "Thou still unravtshed bride of quietness, I Thou foster child of silegce and
slow time" (l-2). The subtle repetition of soothing sounds,
particularly the letter "s" and the open vowels "i," "o," and
"u," along with the slow moving, smooth lin.e are soft and
pleasing to the ear and mimic the perfect, seamless Beauty of
the Urn. Keats composes a statement through which the au"
dience is hypnotized into accepting without exception.
While the Urn cannot be seen, its effects can be felt through
Keats' masterful use of the English language. The reader is
·made more willing to accept the idea th~t.total bea.uty Cl}n be
found by Keats' display of Beauty through langui!ge.
The contrast to these lines appears in the remaining
lines of the frrst stanza:
What leaf" fringed 'leg~nd haunts about thy shape
Of deities and mortals, br of both
·
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? \Vhat maidenJ Jpath?
What m~d pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?(S-10)
The. smooth, uninterrupted rhyt:iun of the frrst lines disappears. Lines 5-7 disregard the ten syllable phrases of the first
four lines and ins,tead replace them with aJ! ehjambed question. Short inquiries that place awkward caesurae in the middle of the !in,e~ comprise ~e fmal three liJles. The words
themselves, are harsher and lose the hypnotic qua-lities of the
opening lines. instead of the soft, long sounds identified in
the frrst.four lines, these latter lines malCe more extensive use
of sounds such ;ts "t," "d," "g," and "p." Because of their
structure a,nd sound, these siX lines jolt us back inJo reality
and introduce us to Keats' questioning of absolute ·Beauty.
With these questions," the speaker recognizes the bea_uty of
the scenes represented on the Urn but demands explanations
74
---
---- ·--
---·-- ---
for and conclusions to its portrayals. Since the images_ are
frozen in time, an~wers and changes cannot be provided.
This pattern of Beauw without cause juxtaposed with Truth
continues throughout ihe next three stanzas. The Urn offe~s
beautiful images and captures a ~single, gorgeous momen~ m
time but it lacks Truth and real life. It possesses phystcal
perf~ction but lacks living spirit. It lies to the living and
masks Truth.
.
Keats continues this juxtaposition of Beauty against
Truth· througho!Jt the r~mainder of tl}.e ppem i,n ~or~ sub~e
ways. In the se~ond stanza, he describes ~e Lover ~ho wdl
never be able to experience the fruits of l:us Joye an~ Is ~ade
to ~ait forever with anxious anticipation for that frrst kiss.
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can th<!se trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near fhe goal---,-yet, do not _grit;ve;
She can'not fade, though thou hast not thy ~liss,
Foreve'r wilt thou love, and she be fair! (15-20)
Keats sugarcoats' the fact that the -Lover caimot 'kiss his love
by guaranteeing that her perfect beauty will neve~_disap~e~r.
He thereby disguises the tragic loss of Truth by emphastzmg
endless Beauty by breaking his pattern of end_ rhyme. ~y
precedent, the rhythm scheme for these lines shou~d b~ abcabc. In this stanza, Keats switches the pattern making It abcacb, drawing attention to the words "bliss"• and "Fo~~ver" ari~
"fair," which are found' at the changes in rhyme. Imttally, thts
seems positive; the Lover will forever be -in bliss_ for his lo:e
who will remain forever fair. But at the· same time, ~e will
also foreVer be in the joy that waits bifore a kiss and will never
experience hel' fairness with his lips. pespite their _beaut~
and happiness, they will never experience the true bhss of a
kiss. Absolute Beauty evades absolute Truth.
In stanza three, Keats mocks Beauty with his constant
repetition of the words "happy" and "f<;>rever." In the following passage, he uses the word "happy" six_ times and the word
75
And little town, thy streets forevermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er rep~rn. (35-40)
"forever" five timesjn rapid succession.
Ah, liappy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid'the Spring adieu;
And happy melodist, unwearied,
Forever piping soQgs forever new;
More happy love!. more happy, happy love!
Forever warm anq stiJl to be enjoyed,
rorever. panting, and forever young (21-2,7)
'
~is repetition .m~kes h~ppiness . not enjoyable and special,
but burqensot_De and mundane. It is always th!'Te, l!flable to
be shed like· the leaves and impossiole to bid' adieu. t In re~ponse t_o these line~, the reader questions whether possessing
Beauty ts worthwJW~, considering it means livmg with tfie
boredom of etemaf joy.
.
The rerpair}!ng lines of the stanz\l are an image of real
hfe apa~t from the Urn and it;s. land of Beauty.
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaven heart. high-sorrowful and cl<;>yec;l,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. (2~-30)
These passions are not. false images preserved on the side of
the Urn, but are instead pictures of reality and Truth, While
,everything in. . r~a! life is not happy, ·it is not static and un~gir,lg like the world d~sqibe& on the Urn. In order to
recognize Truth,, .Keats shows that one must also r~alize that
e_v~rything cannot be happy forever, and that·absolvte perfec~
tion and Truth cani10t coexist.
.
~ life lived in pursuit of.B~auty is empty ~<J cannot
reach fulfillment. Eyen though the images on the Urn may be
without equal, they are empty and are -unable to fulfill the
s~ifit. )n th.e f<;>UJth stanza, Keats illustrates this ver~ effe~­
tively., He be?~s this stanza with images of religion, the
reahn _of the .spmtuaf. A sacrifice of sorts is taking place, yet
there Is no one to take part in it. A world of Beauty is spiritually empty.
''
'
What little town by river or sea shore,
,Or mountaip-built. with peacefUl citadel,
Is emptied by this folk, this pious,morn?
76
Keats poses this town metaphorically as the soul ~d spirit of
the individual who searches only for physical Beauty. Regardless of how splendid' the town is in its s~en~.• peaceful
setting, it can never be filled with inhabitants. Regardless of
how adorned the outside of the person may be, it can never
be filled with a spirit. Beauty can ·be present, but it will not
be appreciated. The only inhabitant of the soul is truth and
the real world. If one is only in search of Beauty, he or she is
as dead as the Urn which Keats ~ooses as his.subject.
In the fmal stariza, Keats again dir~ctly attacks the
Urn, confronting it arid accusing it of seducing people away
from Truth and reality. "Thou silent form, <J~st tease us out
of thought I As dost eternity" (44-5). The thoughts Keats
speaks of are those of reality and emotions of Truth. While
the Urn's beauty will exist forever upon 'the earth, our bodies
and spirits~will not. According._to the Urn, the only truth
that can be 'learned is that Beauty lasts forever, which is true
in the unique case of the Urn. For those that view the Urn
though, they will eventually succumb to old age, giving up
their own beauty and leaving the Urn to a new generation:
"When old age shall upon this generation waste, I Thou shalt
remain" (46-7). In other words, the lesson able to be gained
from the Urn is a false one. The only thing the Urn "knows"
or needs to "know" is that "Beauty is truth, truth
beauty" (49), a lesson that the Urn alone can use and can
teach to no one who seeks Truth in the real, mortal world.
Among other things, Truth tells us that we all will be
defeated by death and that we will all eventually lose the
beauty that we now possess. Our bodies will decay, our possessions will be dispersed, and our dreams will be abandoned.
Beauty as it exists in our lives will die along with us. This
Truth has existed since the dawn of time and will continue to
77
-~--~------
exist well after we have turned to dust and blown away. In
the midst of the Beauty within our lives, this may be difficult
to conc~de to, but evetttually, th~ inevitability of an end .to
Beauty and Life must be recognized. It is in the. view 9f our
own demise along with that of Be~uty that we see. the fallacious nature of U~' s advice. In the end, it is not Beauty that
continues on for eternity but rather Truth. For this reason, I
propose the following correction to the Urn's messag~:
"Beauty is not trut!t, (ruth not beauty."
Works Cited
Keats, John. "Ode on a Gr~cian Urn." The Norton Antholoay
?{Poetry. Ed. Margaret Ferguson, Mary Jo Salter,
·and Jon Stallworthy: 41h edition. New York: Norton, 1996. 848-9.
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-- ----
Melissa Rog
Solomon Rutzky
Ukourgos Vassiliou
Aaron Watson
Laura Yockey
1996-1997
William G. Allison
MaryBaima
Ericka L. Banick
Elizabeth Barnhart
Dylan Barth
Becky Bewley
Geoffrey Gomoll
Heidi Guth
Sundown J. Hardt
Ann Hensley
Krista Hutley
Amy Leininger
Dana McCall
Julie Lynn McCoy
Karen Ranier
Amanda Robertson
Laura Severson
Wendy Steill
lila Tevere
Laurie Walczak
Sara E. Westjohn
1997-1998
Alexandra Lynn Arnold
Janet Bernhardy
Jason L. Bickel
Emily Chisek
Melissa Demkowicz
Danielle Cheri Dubrule
Patrick Fanning
Karen Hicks
Katharine L. Kooi
L. Alaine Kubal
79
:i
~--------------------------~--~~----------~--------~---------
Notes
Brett R. Lettiere
Rebec'ea Lynn Light
Amy Munson
Jennifer Nardiello
Jay R. Newton
Donna Reinking
Elizabeth Sawyer
Christina Schulz
Leslie Shobe
Lisa Anne Spaude
Travis Wayne Stem
Melanie Stokes
l
Heather Sullivan
Anita Theodore
Trisha Kae Umland
Erin A. Wuthrich
Michelle Sayset
Kristen Schultz
Kristin Smith
Swan Amity Sheridan
Jim Stivers
Alison K. Takenaka
Meredith Tate
Alison Thomas ·
Kelli Viehl
Tennille Wester
Justine Woglsland
1999-2000
Lisa Alongi
Michael G. Boyd
Deborah Brothers
Michelle Lynn Citro
Timothy Feeney
Bridget T. French
David Haney
Abby Suzanne Koehler
Holly Kurka
Jamie Lane
Nicole Lask
Jennifer Moore
Mary Nash
Audrey Rosenblatt
David D. Seckman
Bruce Sullivan
Jennifer Witt
1998-1999
Shyla Anderson
AmyBarmann
Eric Bechelli
Jill Blair
Brian Conant
Debra Lynn Cox
Stephen Dare
Daniel Glass
Denise Griggs
Joshua B. Gulick
Beth Ann Harbaugh
Jody L. Herman
Amy Lynn Johnson
Bennjoseph
Patrick F. Kelly
Brent E. Kinser
Valerie Legare
Lori Little
Linda Lytle
Judith J. Mathes
Sarah M. McHone
Meredith Paullin
Michael Reno
Debra L. Rodgers
,,
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'I
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80
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