Class Blog

Throughout my reading of The Moonstone thus far, I find myself noticing the narrator’s voice a lot. Mostly, I find myself questioning the narrator in a lot of ways. In the margins of my book, you might find “lol,” “creepy,” “?!,” or “eye roll.” In The Moonstone particularly, I find myself noticing how Wilkie Collins has chosen these narrative voices that seem at odds with each other, but are actually quite similar in a lot of ways. Similarly, in The Yellow Wallpaper, Jane tells her own story of her psychotic episode. Thus, we have no objective accounts of the event, and in both stories we find ourselves entering into “this abominable detective business” ourselves (Collins 175). We realize that like the characters we are reading about, we share that “moral perversity” in using our snooping skills (228).

In The Yellow Wallpaper, we are constantly trying to figure out Jane’s mental stability and subsequent reliability as a narrator. For example, Jane informs us that “John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are not serious. I am glad my case is not serious!” (Perkins Gilman). Instantly, we find ourselves questioning why John might be away so often, and wondering what sort of “cases” these are. Similarly, in The Moonstone, Mr. Betteredge feels the need to constantly re-assert his reliability as narrator, which in turn makes us doubt him. When the story transfers over to the narrative of Miss Clack, a similar effect is achieved; we know we are reading the story from the point of view of someone without omniscient knowledge.

Although the overall effect of this narrative technique can make critical reading more important, it also forces us to enter more into the story. We don’t surmise that the narrator is providing us with consistent or accurate information, and so we take to our own methods of inference to make conclusions. In both texts, the reader feels a strong connection to the events of the story because it is necessary to interact more with the text. Thus, in the case of The Yellow Wallpaper, we understand why the text resonated with so many generations. Further, in The Moonstone, we can easily understand how Wilkie Collins was such a hit success among his readers.

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I have been feeling that Mr. Betteredge reminds me a lot of Mr. Carson in Downton Abbey, and in this clip I am reminded of the amount of loyalty that the servants often had with the members of the family. This is especially relevant between the relationship of Mr. Betteredge and the Varinder family, since Mr. Betteredge knew her as a child.

Downton Abbey US, A House Grieving. YouTube, 27 March 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxB5zhH8P3c. Accessed 4 April 2017.

 

When I first read D. A. Miller’s The Novel and the Police, I understood what he was saying about authority and discipline because I could apply it to real life but I struggled with seeing it in the novel The Moonstone. Miller says “Disciplinary power constitutively mobilizes such a tactic of tact: it is the policing power that never passes for such, but is either invisible or visible only under cover of other, nobler or simply blander intentionalities (to educate, to cure, to produce, to defend)” (Miller 17). Reading farther into the character of Sergeant Cuff, however, and allowing oneself to step out of the point of view of Mr. Betteredge and question his opinions an reasons, it is plain that Cuff employs one of these policing powers that do not seem like they are. He does this through manipulation, particularly through playing off of other character’s pride. The best instance of this is when he is leaving the house after the investigation has apparently concluded. Betteredge has spent the entire last couple of chapters completely hating Sergeant Cuff for accusing his mistress Miss Rachel of stealing her own diamond. This is a especially sensitive accusation for Betteredge because of his affection and respect for his employers. However, the Sergeant is able to manipulate Betteredge into liking him despite this. Cuff says to him “I would take to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if I had a chance of being employed along with You!” (185). By flat out flattering Betteredge, Cuff slides unseen into his good graces and in doing so is able to police him. Mr. Betteredge himself proves this by saying “I own I couldn’t help liking the Sergeant – though I hated him all the time” (186). Cuff has manipulated Betteredge to his advantage.

“They had ignorantly done something (I forget what) in the town, which barely brought them within the operation of the law. Every human institution (Justice included) will stretch a little, if you only pull it the right way.” (94)

This quote from the Moonstone seems to sum up high society, both then and now, in a nutshell. If you have the right amount of money, or the right connections, you can essentially get away with anything. The fact that this line appears in a story about something being stolen, and then (presumably) found, leading (again, presumably) to the arrest of the perpetrator, is kind of ironic. Is this not a detective story? Do those not strive to uphold, and even champion, justice and the law?

According to “Jane Eyre”, Victorians took the law pretty seriously, too; Rochester hid and secretly cared for Bertha because it was illegal to divorce an insane person back then. He had massive respect for the law and morality, as did Jane, since neither of them really pursued the potential relationship between them until Bertha was out of the picture. Even in the other books we read (“Tale of Two Cities”, most notably) the law and justice (however warped that latter ideal may end up being) were central pillars of the stories, and were pivotal in driving them forward.

So why, then, does “The Moonstone” seem to treat it with such triviality? It could be because, in this case, nearly everyone is related to high society in some way. Nearly all of our central characters have some sort of upper-class affiliation, because otherwise, how would they even know anything about the moonstone? Previously, most of our characters have either been middle-class, or lower-class (with most of them coming from the former). The law is harsher to them. It’s not as harsh to the upper class because, as the quote above states, the law will easily bend if you pull it in the right way; in other words, if you have the connections, you’re above the law.

Could this be a criticism of Victorian high society. with a pompous and arrogant statement such as this in a story that (again, presumably) ends with the triumph of the law? That seems to be the likely answer. But what if the person who stole the moonstone actually gets away with it? Then what does this quote imply? What does it mean for society’s relationship with the law? Does it strengthen it, weaken it, or invalidate it completely? I don’t know how the story ends, so I can’t really say. But what I can say is that I hope it ends with the thief getting away with it, because then “The Moonstone” and its concept of law and justice suddenly stands in a stark and very intriguing contrast to everything else we’ve read thus far.

In D.A. Miller’s book, “The Novel and the Police,” he writes, “Disciplinary power constitutively mobilizes a tactic of tact: it is the policing power that never passes for such, but is either invisible or visible only under cover of other, nobler or simply blander intentionalities (to educate, to cure, to produce, to defend)” (Miller, 17).

In Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone, religion has taken the form of various entities. From Betteredge’s personal Bible, Robinson Crusoe, to the religious Rachel Verinder and her mother, all the way to the esteemed Godfrey Ablewhite and his respectable charity work (yeah, not for long), religion has manifested itself in different ways throughout the story. However, when introduced to Miss Clack, the second narrator, religion is presented in a different way. Here, we catch a glimpse of evangelical Christianity.

“Oh, Rachel! Rachel!’ I burst out. ‘Haven’t you seen yet, that my heart yearns to make a Christian out of you? Has no inner voice told you that I am trying to do for you, what I was trying to do for your dear mother when death snatched her out of my hands?’ (Collins, 269).

After the death of Lady Verinder (that made really sad, of course), Miss Clack tells Rachel that she wants to “make” her a Christian (isn’t she already a Christian?). In a way, Miss Clack feels guilty because she feels that it is her fault that she wasn’t able to “save Lady Verinder’s soul [from hellfire].” As a result, she feels that her moral duty is to spread the word of God – to use religion as a policing power – to others to prevent them from eternal damnation. Throughout her narrative, we have seen her do exactly that: force books onto others, persuade others to go to church, etc.

Nevertheless, there is something mysterious – and fallacious – about Miss Clack’s character. To be honest, I’m not even quite sure if she understands what it means to be a Christian. In chapter 1 of the second period, she says, “Let your faith be as your stockings, and your stockings as your faith. Both ever spotless, and both ready to put on at a moment’s notice!” (Collins, 204-205).

In this passage, Miss Clack relates Christianity to a stocking – an odd and unseemly comparison, if that. If Miss Clack were truly a Christian, she would argue that we are Christians all of the time. Of course, we are sinners, but we are always under God’s love and protection because we have been saved. The fact that she believes Christianity can just be “put on at moments notice” shows that she truly isn’t as pious as she seems. Instead, it seems to be a facade – a veneer that she puts on to seem superior to others. Doesn’t that make sense? Think about it: she even takes her “stocking” off at the end of chapter 5 – remember how indignant she was for not being written into Lady Verinder’s will?

While Miss Clack repeatedly uses her religion – Christianity – as a policing power to “save others” through invisible means such as words, and visible means such as books and pamphlets, she never really abides by her own rhetoric. To be honest, Lady Verinder should have been the one “policing” Miss Clack, as she seemed much more reverent and pious. Despite Miss Clack’s eccentricity (what’s a better word I can use?), I am nevertheless moved by her character. Although her understanding of Christianity seems skewed, she finds her cause (to make others Christian) noble.

In all, this novel is marked by misleading appearances and dispositions. Nevertheless, because we are dealing with a mystery, I think Collins is trying to prove a point. Because we are in the midst of a disappearance, we should keep in mind that these “misleading appearances” are marked by differences in systems of value. Similar to Miss Clack, the Indians, on the surface, seem evil and dangerous, but further down, they find their objective to return the sacred gem to India, virtuous and noble. In other words, if Miss Clack feels that she is doing the “right” thing, should we judge her (even if we don’t agree)?

In the nineteenth century, the Bronte sisters took the literary world by storm, with the release of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre and her younger sister, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.

In Wuthering Heights, the story of Catherine, Heathcliff, and the remainder of the Earnshaw and Linton families is told through a narrator finding out information from another narrator. To break that down, Lockwood is learning about the characters and their stories through Nelly, their former servant, and he is attempting to tell the story that he heard from a first-hand witness. So, basically, he is the secondary source, telling the story with some things lost in time – whether that’s Nelly’s fault for over-embellishing or his own for misinterpreting the complexity of the events.

Emily’s sister Charlotte, however, took a different approach of story-telling. In Jane Eyre, an older Jane is recounting her life. Although a fictional character, Jane’s story is being told in the form of a memoir within a story. Wuthering Heights adopts a similar style of a “story being told within a story” with the complexity of the narrators. In Wuthering Heights, I would definitely argue that Lockwood and Nelly are unreliable narrators, because they are both flawed in their story-telling, as mentioned above. Though many people wouldn’t consider Jane to be an unreliable narrator, I would argue the opposite, since her story is not being told in the present tense and as an older version of herself, her reflection and perspective of the events that happened may be more skewed than if they were told in the present tense.

Both stories are being recounted from past events, which makes for unreliable narrators, one is being told from a first-hand account, the other is being told from a second-hand account. For me, making the connections between these two novels stylistically enabled me to think about narration impacted the story-telling of each one, and whether or not having non-conventional styles affected the how I perceived the events of each story. Though different texts, the connection between the two styles of narration that the two Brontes used do have one main thing in common: they’re both stories-within-stories and frankly, can be quite complex.

In his introduction to The Novel and the Police, Miller describes how “police” refers not just to the government institutions of law enforcement, but also surveillance and discipline more generally. He describes, “To label all this ‘the police’ thus anticipates moving the question of policing out of the streets, as it were, into the closet—I mean, into the private and domestic sphere on which the very identity of the liberal subject depends” (viii-ix). What is established, then, are two separate spheres of policing, the pubic, as is demonstrated by organized police forces and similar institutions, and the private, which is made up of a more social kind of surveillance and discipline. The Moonstone demonstrates how these two spheres of policing can come to be at odds with each other through Sergeant Cuff’s interactions with the Verinder household.

Sergeant Cuff, although being specifically hired to sort out the matter of the Moonstone, is very much distrusted by various members of the household. Both Betteredge and Lady Verinder try very hard to refuse to believe Cuff could possibly be correct in his conclusion the diamond has been stolen from someone inside the house, or as it is later revealed that that Miss Rachel has possibly stolen her own diamond. Ff diamond had been stolen by an outside force, like the three Indians, who also have being radicalized others against them, perhaps Cuff would have been able to easily act as a public police force. But when he attempts to enter private household system that is already carefully policed and surveilled, and act as a police force, then he is rejected.

Cuff, however, seems to be aware of his position as an outsider and the lack of authority he maintains over this system of the home. In fact, he has worked on several occasions with externally policing “family scandals,” and knows how to negotiate within the family. He states, “I had a family scandal to deal with, which it was my business to keep within family limits. The less noise made, and the fewer strangers employed to help me, the better…I trouble [Lady Verinder] with these particulars to show you that I have kept the family secret within the family circle. I am the only outsider who knows it—and my professional existence depends on holding my tongue” (175). In order to be able to police, Cuff must relinquish his public power, and acknowledge that he is not interested in externally policing, but rather wants to act as a mediator in the pursuit of truth. There is no mentions of Rachel possibly being punished formally for her crime if she were to admit to it. Her punishment rather would likely rather be the possibility of her private crime becoming public, and the fallout of her social standing that would ensue. The private forms of policing have too much influence here, and in fact are able to potentially overcome the law.

Jane Eyre and The Moonstone both contain texts within the texts. These subtexts, if you will, help construct particular narrative structures that give insight into the characters who read them and to the books’ narrative as a whole. The heightened popularity and ability to read books in the 19th century creates the perfect environment for books to be imbued with the power of guidance over clerical individuals or supernatural creatures (think here of the stories of King Arthur or about Macbeth).

We have discussed in class Jane’s use of the book of birds to metaphorically fly away from her circumstances. She uses other texts such as the books she borrows from the Rivers to learn various languages, which help her better herself as an educator and (nearly) send her to India. The Moonstone’s narrators’ also rely on books to speak for them. Mr. Betteredge uses Robinson Crusoe and Miss Clack uses a collection of books on morality (I wasn’t sure if these would be considered manuals or something else). Both Betteredge and Miss Clack view their books as guiding forces, sources that provide them with information that dictations the actions of their daily lives. I would argue that Jane is also guided by her books, they inspire her (along with Miss Temple and Helen) to be well educated (via being well read). Books in these two texts create a passive nexus around which other events can accumulate. As D.A Miller notes, “Power has taken hold where hold seemed least given: in the irrelevant” (28). By overlooking the books used by these characters we are ignoring a disciplinary control/power being given to the novels within the novels.

“‘There, then, – Off, ye lendings!’ And Mr. Rochester stepped out of his disguise…… In short, I believe you have been trying to draw me out- or in; you have been talking nonsense to make me talk nonsense” (Bronte, 204). In this quotation, Jane has figured out that the gypsy is really Rochester disguising himself to find out information that benefitted him. This is shown through the phrase “trying to draw me [Jane] out.” This proves that Rochester was trying to get something out of Jane by using a disguise as a type of trickery. Rochester used his disguise which changed his gender and class rank, to have an advantage over Jane. This shows that Rochester does not fully value Jane because he was unable to confront her without trying to manipulate her.

 

Jane Eyre and The Moonstone are both connected through their usage of disguises because they are both used to deceive women. The following quote is from The Moonstone and contains evidence of the jugglers using disguises. “There is a mystery about their conduct that I can’t explain. They have doubly sacrificed their caste- first, in crossing the sea; secondly, in disguising themselves as jugglers……There must be some very serious motive at the bottom of it, and some justification of no ordinary kind to plead for them, in recovery of their caste, when they return to their own country.” (Collins, 83).

 

In this quote, Mr. Murthwaite could tell that the jugglers were not actually jugglers. He recognized that they were using class to disguise who they were. Mr. Murthwaite could tell that the mission of the Brahmin’s was important since it was not acceptable for the upper class to dress like the lower class. Once again, we see men using class and disguises as a type of trickery and manipulation.

Through the lens of Jane Eyre, The Moonstone is very similar because it has men (jugglers) dressing up as something else to manipulate a woman. To be more explicit, the men of Indian descent dressed up as jugglers to trick Rachel to get the moonstone which was around her neck. The idea of a man manipulating a woman is important because it shows the lack of respect that a man has for a woman. The men are degrading the women by going out of their way to be deceitful for their own personal benefit. There are not any positive reasons for the trickery other than bettering themselves. This correlates with the idea that the men do not believe that women are as intellectual them. If Rochester and the Indians really saw women as their equal, then their first attempt to receive the information they wanted would have been to be confront the women directly. Neither book illustrates a man confronting his feelings or real intentions for a woman. Jane Eyre and The Moonstone show that their a pattern of men tricking women to get what they want. These novels also show that men do not consider women to be their equal which play a big role in the gender differences throughout each of the novels.

“There is something inhuman in the suggestion of an equivalency between postcolonial management of the nineteenth-century novel and nineteenth-century administration of empire–as if the “native” were only ever a body of words, or as if the novel could suffer the kinds of oppression people can.”

The above passage from Erin O’Connor’s attack essay in retaliation to Spivak’s own essay is, as the title of this post suggests, asinine. I’ll begin this by saying that I could be 100% wrong on what Erin is trying to say here, but based on the tone and wording that she chooses to use, it kinda seems like she’s trying to say that Jane Eyre can’t possibly possess an inkling of postcolonial feminism simply because she isn’t real. And to make such a statement is, to be quite honest, pretty ignorant of her.

Books and writing, as with many other art forms, have long been used as ways to express and bring attention to oppression. Erin is doing the exact same thing in her essay, which attacks Spivak for unknowingly attacking her own ideas. Is it logical to say that Jane Eyre doesn’t experience real oppression because she isn’t a real person? Technically, yes. But what about Charlotte Bronte? She was certainly very real, and was most certainly, along with many other women at the time, a victim of female oppression. It is entirely possible–and in fact, even pretty much confirmed–that Bronte wrote a lot of herself into the character of Jane Eyre. Now, be that as it may, there is a little bit of merit to Erin’s argument. The native in question is, I assume, Bertha, or rather, what Bertha represents: colored women being mistreated by white society. Erin feels that the “native” is being reduced to “a body of words,” that their stories are being overshadowed/transformed into something different by the white feminism of Jane Eyre. As aforementioned, there is merit to this argument; but not enough. To call a comparison between Jane Eyre’s treatment of postcolonial feminism and society’s treatment of postcolonial feminism “inhuman” is absurd.

Primarily, this is because Bronte wrote this story as a piece of postcolonial feminism: her voice as a woman made heard through literature, in 1847. It was quite a different time. Jane Eyre is a reflection of the postcolonial feminism of the times. By calling a comparison between the two “inhuman”, as Erin seems to be wont to do, appears (to me, at the very least; I would like to stress that this is an opinion based off of a personal interpretation) to be contradicting her own argument of Jane Eyre not being explicitly feminist. Because, if we think about it, it’s really not. The novel would rather have us uphold Jane over Bertha, and Erin, it seems, wouldn’t have us do that; she would have us place them on the same level. A noble and justified pursuit, to be sure. It is also something that we, as educated readers in the 21st century, are already capable of doing. To attack Spivak as she does, and then to go and contradict herself as she does here, only goes to show Erin’s lack of understanding of not only Spivak’s argument, but her own, as well.

*Sorry for the rant-y tone, but Erin O’Connor’s essay really ground my gears. I had to say something.*

Generally, society’s view is that women should not be sexual creatures, but men are praised for their sexual pursuits for “working the game.” Similarly, Mary Poovey remarks upon this phenomenon in a historical context, “The contradiction between a sexless, moralized angel and an aggressive, carnal magdalen was therefore written into the domestic ideal as one of its constitutive characteristics” (11).

In Jane Eyre, before Jane marries Mr. Rochester, she is an independent woman who is completely reliant on one thing: her reputation. As a governess, if she were to attempt to obtain further job posts after she leaves Rochester, she would have had to maintain herself as a reputable governess of good academic and moral standing. Beginning an affair with the master of her previous household would have slandered her name, and ruined her chances of being self-sufficient. A century earlier, Daniel Defoe chronicled these dangers in Moll Flanders, writing “men that keep mistresses often change them, grow weary of them, or jealous of them, or something or other happens to make them withdraw their bounty” (174-5).

While Jane is making her fateful decision to leave Thornfield, she has a flashback: “I was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood” (Brontë 313). She is like a dying person reflecting on life’s most important moments. Then,Jane suddenly sees a “white human form” that tells her: “‘My daughter, flee temptation!’” to which Jane responds, “‘Mother, I will’” (313).

This scene is remarkable for several reasons. One, Jane recognizes the dangers in becoming a mistress to Mr. Rochester. This “temptation” holds such dreadful consequences that a warning in the form of her mother comes to protect her. Moreover, her mother lost her inheritance and financial protection when she made the decision to marry below her station. If her mother had not made the decision to marry a man who could not financially protect her, her child would not have had to suffer the life of a middle-class, unwanted orphan. Thus, the fact that her mother, the woman most closely related to Jane by blood in the novel, has come to make this warning demonstrates the true danger Jane would risk by taking on a position as Mr. Rochester’s mistress.

For Jane, this moment so resembles death because her decision could quite seriously lead to her death. If she chooses to live with Rochester, the chances are that she will eventually be cast out, like his other mistresses before her. Rochester himself says, “Hiring a mistress is the next worse thing to buying a slave: both are often by nature, and always by position, inferior: and to live familiarly with inferiors is degrading” (306). If she chooses to wander out completely unaccompanied, she also could die. Jane’s conflict embodies the risks that many women in her position faced: either she could accept the financial support of a rich man who might some day dismiss her, or she could put herself at the mercy of a world that was not accepting of single women to begin with.

Defoe, Daniel. Moll Flanders. freeclassicsbooks.com, http://www.freeclassicebooks.com/Defoe%20Daniel/Moll%20Flanders.pdf. Accessed 22 March 2016.