Author: Peter

Reading Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper has completely changed my reading of my favorite novel, Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment: Namely, that “yellow wallpaper” is a theme of principle importance in Dostoevsky’s novel.  The protagonist of Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov, is a poor student who lives in a small attic room in St. Petersburg.  Early on in the novel, he murders the local pawn broker as well as her sister (though only the first is premeditated).  The question that scholars have grappled for years is, what was Raskolnikov’s motive for murder?  I believe it can be argued that his yellow wallpaper is what drove him to his crime.

In Crime and Punishment, all of the character’s rooms coincidentally have yellow wallpaper: Raskolnikov’s; Aloyna Ivanovna’s, the pawn broker he murders; Sonya’s, the prostitute who seeks to redeem him; and even the hotel rooms.  Dostoevsky describes Raskolnikov’s room as having “yellow dusty wall-paper peeling off the walls that gave it a wretchedly shabby appearance” (23).  Yellow wallpaper is something the characters cannot escape.  And like Jane in The Yellow Wallpaper, Raskolnikov is obsessed with wallpaper.

After committing murder and returning to his room, Raskolnikov immediately stuffs what he has stolen into his wallpaper.  This causes him undue anxiety due to its conspicuousness; he later removes the stolen goods and tosses them under the bridge in the water, not really wanting what he had stolen in the first place.  What struck me as significant after reading Gilman’s work is Raskolnikov’s strange fixation on wallpaper.  For instance, when visitors come to visit Raskolnikov he turns away from them on his bed and stares at the wall instead:

“Raskolnikov turned to the wall, selected one of the white flowers, with little brown lines on them, on the yellowish paper, and began to count how many petals it had, how many serrations on each petal and how many little brown lines. He felt his arms and legs grow numb as if they were no longer there.  He did not stir, but looked fixedly at the flower.” (Dostoevsky 114)

It seems here that Raskolnikov has become a victim to the wallpaper, as if it is overtaking him.  The more he absorbs himself in it, the number he feels.  This numbness does not seem to be comforting but excruciating—we see this when Raskolnikov finally turns away from the wallpaper:

“[Raskolnikov’s] face, now that he had turned away from the engrossing flower on the wallpaper, was extraordinarily pale and had an expression of intense suffering, as though he had just undergone a painful operation or been subjected to torture.” (Dostoevsky 122)

Compare this with Jane’s similar quote in The Yellow Wallpaper:

“The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.” (Gilman 9)

The wallpaper has a hypnotic but toxic quality.  Like a bee drawn to nectar, Raskolnikov is drawn to the flower—it compels and traps him.  And like Jane, he seems to become lost in the intricate haphazardness of its design.

Though yellow wallpaper causes Raskolnikov undue pain and suffering, for some reason, he finds himself fond of it.  We see this when he returns to the flat of the pawn broker he killed:

“[The workmen] were putting new paper, white, with small lilac-colored flowers, on the walls, in place of the old, rubbed, yellow paper.  For some reason Raskolnikov violently disapproved of this, and he looked with hostility at the new paper, as though he could not bear to see it all changed.” (Dostoevsky 146)

This is an oddly strong reaction that Dostoevsky never explains.  Raskolnikov’s attitude is comparable to Jane’s, who at one point states that she is fond of her room “in spite of the wallpaper.  Perhaps because of the wallpaper” (Gilman 6).  Both characters are at first tormented by their wallpaper, but later come to enjoy it as a source of familiarity.  Even though Raskolnikov commits the murder in order to escape the yellow wallpaper that suffocates him, he comes to approve of it in the end.  This all seems to illuminate the madness that wallpaper truly is.  For what is wallpaper but a form of masking, of hiding what is really underneath?

 

Dostoevsky, Feodor. Crime and Punishment. Norton Critical 3rd Ed. Translated by Jessie Coulson and edited by George Gibian. W.W. Norton & Company: 1989.

Using the lens of feminism, Gayatri Spivak’s essay attempts to demonstrate how Jane Eyre is a text that represents Victorian imperialism. While I do think Jane Eyre holds important historical significance, it is important that it is artistically upheld and not simply historically as an informative text.  As Erin O’Connor points out in her essay, Spivak extrapolates her argument toward imperialism a bit too far, using Jane Eyre to generalize all of Victorian literature.  Where Spivak’s argument excels, however, is in how a historically-informed perspective can influence the reader’s hermeneutics of the text.  Observe the following passage:

“Here in Jane’s self-marginalized uniqueness, the reader becomes her accomplice; the reader and Jane are united—both are reading.  Yet Jane still preserves her odd privilege, for she continues never quite doing the proper thing in its proper place.  She cares little for reading what is meant to be read: the ‘letter-press.’ She reads the pictures.  The power of this singular hermeneutics is precisely that it can make the outside inside.” (Spivak 660)

This is an interesting suggestion as it would render Jane as a passive character—though she narrates, she reads along with the reader.  This would imply that her story was not written by her, or that the story is a past reflection she is still working to interpret.  However, this does not seem to agree with the text, as Jane addresses the reader directly at various points (Bronte 88,102). Further, the character Jane is certainly not passive, as can be most notably observed with her bold communications with Mr. Rochester and her display of independence among the girls at Lowood.  This would make Jane Eyre a paradox, her passivity displaying her own activity.  Spivak hints to this as well, as Jane Eyre makes the “outside inside,” internalizing external occurrences.  How can this paradox be resolved?

If Jane is a reader, then it would mean that she is still learning from her own narrative.  Nevertheless, Jane Eyre seems to be inscrutable.  The historical context that Spivak posits would give us a more informed reading not only of the novel itself, but of Jane’s character.

“ To this crib I always took my doll; human beings must love something, and in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow.  It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doted on this little toy; half-fancying it alive and capable of sensation, I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.” (Brontë 43)

Upon first reading Jane Eyre, the motivations of the titular character appear to be a mystery to the reader.  What does Jane want?  Why is she telling us this story?  This passage from her childhood provides a brief moment of clarity in terms of how she regards herself.  Like many of us, we can see that Jane has spent her life searching for a way to love and be loved.  Toys are a way for children to love when they are alone. This passage demonstrates the influence of Jane’s doll on her interpersonal development, especially as it relates to her own self-esteem.

The most significant part of this passage lies in Jane telling us, the reader, that “human beings must love something” (Brontë 43).  She does not say she must, or some must, but human beings must, making this an extending belief of hers.  We know she still holds this belief as she says that she “remembers” how she doted on her doll, showing reflection on the past but also distancing her from her past self.  The other people who surrounded Jane in Gateshead Hall (Bessie, the Reeds, etc.) were less worthy of love than her doll.  Given Jane’s troubled childhood past, her doll was the only object worthy for her to love.  However, she seems to make fun of this, for loving a doll so “shabby as a miniature scarecrow” (Brontë 43). This seems to ridicule her own starved emotions, showing a distinct lack of self-compassion.  Even though Jane says that humans must love something, she then deems her sincerity toward her doll absurd, as if contradicting what she had just said.  This makes Jane come across as quite conflicted, self-critical, and unsure of the sense of her own values.  Thus, even if what she says is true, she still doesn’t fully trust herself.  Jane is always present, but considers there to be “worthier objects of affection” (Brontë 43).  This seems to indicate that Jane does not love herself.

We see further significations of Jane’s destructive lack of self-esteem.  Helen Burns assures to young Jane that “if all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends” (Brontë 80).  Helen could be evoking the spiritual realm, but it also seems to suggest that Jane needs to be capable of being her own friend.  In fact, she is the only friend she can always rely on.  Jane dislikes herself and thinks very little of herself, which is frequently conveyed through her narration.  At one point Jane calls her present self “a defective being, with many faults and few redeeming points” (Brontë 88).  Even when she shows Mr. Rochester her paintings, she says they are “nothing wonderful” (Brontë 132), yet goes on to describe them in extreme detail.  Here we see Jane Eyre is inconsistent in her values, in her narration, and in her own self-worth.  What does all this mean?

It seems to show that the present Jane still has a great deal of growth left to do.  Rather than recounting to us some exciting tale or a story of how she arrived where she is, she still seems to be narrating in the rut she started in.  Jane does finally express her need to love (as she did for her doll) to Mr. Rochester (Brontë 278), but little change appears to come over the narrator’s own view of self.  As I continue reading Jane Eyre, I will be paying very close attention to see if there is any progression, not only in Jane Eyre the character but in her as the narrator.  She seems to have very conflicted beliefs regarding her own self-esteem, going all the way back to her love for her doll.

Why is Daisy Miller a flirt?  Her tendency toward romantic levity and playfulness could be considered a part of her personality, but it seems to hint toward a complex and troubled childhood past.  Daisy Miller is unable to “grow up” in her society and act her age.  Daisy Miller’s age and maturity is framed for us right away—just before she is introduced to the reader, Mr. Winterbourne thinks of his own infancy (James 6).  Henry James’ language draws a focus toward age, as Daisy Miller is frequently referred to as the “young girl” and Randalph is dubbed a “vivacious infant” (6).  The youth and maturity of Daisy is a strong underlying theme.

To understood how past childhood experiences affect adulthood, let us turn to Sigmund Freud.   In Freud’s Remembering, Repeating, and Working-Through, he states that: “There is one special class of experiences of the utmost importance for which no memory can as a rule be recovered.  There are experiences which occurred in very early childhood and were not understood at the time but which were subsequently understood and interpreted” (James 149).  It seems that Daisy has come to recall past traumatic childhood experiences, and this is the source for her childish tendencies.  She feels victimized by past occurrences in her life, and we see this with Daisy’s strained relationship with her overprotective mother, Mrs. Miller.  When Mr. Winterbourne and Daisy are out walking, Daisy tells him that her mother disapproves of her out walking with gentlemen, but she decides to do so anyway.  She tells him that their walk: “’isn’t for me; it’s for you—that is, it’s for her. Well; I don’t know who it’s for!  My mother doesn’t like any of my gentleman friends. . . . But I do introduce them – almost always.  If I didn’t introduce my gentleman friends to mother,’ the young girl added, in her little soft, flat monotone ‘I shouldn’t think it was natural’” (James 22).  Here we see the inner conflict in Daisy Miller between her and her mother.  She wants to rebel against her mother’s constraints, but she also feels she must conform with the norms of her society.  In this sense, Daisy Miller feels trapped in her own childlike self that her mother has constructed for her, but unable to rise above her society to escape it.

Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities is a novel of sexual repression.  Written during the austere Victorian era when writing about such matters was strictly taboo, Dickens personifies inanimate objects and incorporates the sensation of touch to give his prose a subtle yet apparent sexual undercurrent.

We first see this in the meeting between Mr. Lorry and Lucie Manette in Chapter IV of Book I.  They have a dialogue until their conversation is punctuated by a passage of touch:

“Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips.  He then conducted the young lady straightaway to her chair again, and, holding the chair-back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin, pull his wig at the ears, or point what he said, stood looking down into her face while she sat looking up into his.” (26)

We see Dickens setting up a few things here.  First, the physical contact between Mr. Lorry and Lucie comes as a dissonant surprise, especially since Mr. Lorry has just stated that he has “no feelings” and is a “mere machine” (Dickens 26).  This passage appears particularly sexual because Mr. Lorry kisses Lucie’s hand with his lips, framed with Lucie hesitating and confiding in him.  Lucie’s hesitation shows that what she is doing is a big deal for her, while her confiding in him hints secrecy and trust.  This portrays Lucie as a sort of virginal character about to engage in the sex act, further suggested by Mr. Lorry guiding her and holding the chair-back, which can be construed as Lucie’s back.  Mr. Lorry taking Lucie’s hand “with ceremony” foreshadows her nuptials and eventual marriage, while the diminutive use of her “little” hand and her “looking up” at him suggests that she is a helpless character that needs protection.  It is important to remember is that nothing sexual actually occurs in this passage; Lucie is only seventeen, Mr. Lorry is old, and they are held back by the rules and norms of their social culture.  Although nothing is consummated, we can glean that, contrary to his stoic speech, Mr. Lorry actually deeply desires Lucie sexually; however, he cannot fulfill these desires.  Lorry’s kiss and seating of Lucie is his way of letting her go and presenting her as ripe for courtship.

Lucie’s body is evoked even more subtly during Charles Darnay’s confession of his love for Lucie to Doctor Manette.  Here we see a chair representing Lucie again: “His touch still lingered on her father’s hand.  Answering the touch for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the conference” (128).  First, notice how the paragraph begins with “her father’s hand,” already indirectly referencing Lucie and framing her into what follows.  Then Doctor Manette rests his hands on the arms of his chair, this time the chair’s arms representing Lucie’s arms.  He even looks up just as Lucie looked up, suggesting that he is weak.  Here we see Doctor Manette’s desire to protect Lucie, and Lucie as a vulnerable character.  Lucie’s vulnerability is starkly contrasted with Madame Defarge’s dominance, seen when Monsieur Defarge puts his hand behind his wife’s chair, using his wife to barricade himself from someone he hates.  Given the lack of female characters in A Tale of Two Cities, the sensual contrast between Lucie and Madame Defarge is particularly striking.