Class Blog

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.

Spivak’s argument rises out of a specific period of feminism that has certain concerns about the goals of feminism as a singular movement and its lack of inclusivity. Spivak, along with many feminist who identified with non-Western countries, began to feel that the idea of sisterhood among women, an idea that was prominent during the second wave, did not acknowledge the experiences of many non-Western women. Spivak’s argument that feminism and post-colonialism cannot exist together, then, stems from a very specific definition of feminism, that does not completely match feminism as it is understood today. The Transnational and then Third World feminist movements sought to account for this gap in the needs and experiences of the generally middle class, western, white women who dominated the feminist movement during the second wave and different needs and experiences of women of the global south. The popular feminism of today still struggles with issues of inclusivity, with the needs of non-white and non-western women often not being adequately or fairly represented. However, the problems that Spivak is acknowledging is one that is actively being tackled within feminism.

What does this mean, then, for Jane Eyre? I’m not entirely sure. Victorian women, in a way, were an origin point for the shoving aside the needs of non-white and non-western women for their own gain. During the period of British imperialism, particularly the colonization of India, Victorian women used the poor conditions and treatment of Indian women to advance their own conditions and treatment. If the uncivilized Indian women are subject to any variety of subjugating conditions, the argument went, civilized and sophisticated English women should clearly be above such savage treatment. Is this in a way what is going on in Jane Eyre? Is Jane’s feminist-ness being advanced in comparison to the savage-ness of Bertha? In a way, I guess so. But also, I feel like it’s still more complicated than that. But I think at its heart that is what Spivak was calling for. Post-colonialism and feminism are both incredibly complex areas of study that involve considering many different perspectives, while not valuing one perspective over another. Does Jane Eyre encourage us to value Jane’s perspective over Bertha’s? Perhaps. But, can we, in 2017, read Jane Eyre in a way that values Jane and Bertha’s perspectives equally? I think so. In fact, I think we are already trying to.

I just want to start off by saying that I love Jane Eyre, however I do recognize that there are some major problems, particularly regarding race, within the novel. Perhaps it is due to the fact that I am white, or maybe it comes down to my obliviousness, but it wasn’t until I read Spivak’s Postcolonial Criticism that I saw the racial flaws in this novel. Though I noticed that Bronte emphasized the differences between dark and light, I always took it for the literal sense; never did I think to apply this contrast to the characters too. I am not arguing against Spivak however, I am curious as to whether her argument is taken slightly to an extreme. For I originally assumed that dark literally meant dark—as in mysterious, ominous, or gloomy—thus, I wonder whether Spivak racialization of the word is more of a personal projection of her own experience as a woman from a formerly colonized country. But perhaps I am being racially ignorant here.
Also, this is a little bit of a chicken or the egg situation, but was dark originally meant to mean the above words listed, or did these new definitions and implications come from racial tensions? Spivak, in her criticism accuses Bronte of being racist, but if that was the belief of the time is it still racist? I struggle to choose a side, because while I will always side with anti-racism, it is a prove fact that prejudice is learnt not inherent, so therefore the environment of Bronte’s time would affect her writing. Despite all that happens with Bertha Mason, I disregarded the character’s race, but perhaps, again I am being obtuse and/or “colorblind” in not comparing her difference in race to the protagonist/narrator. However, if these are the beliefs of the time, are they intentionally prejudiced or is this just a reflection of the time?

I may be going out on a limb here, but what if The Sound of Music is actually the 1964, re-interpreted filmic version of Jane Eyre’s story? Ever since I was introduced to the idea of Jane Eyre as a governess, I have had difficulty wiping my mind clear of Fräulein Maria from the musical. After all, when thinking about it, Jane and Maria’s stories aren’t all that different. Let’s take a look.

Here, I am going to quickly compare the two women’s stories. Then, I will show how, despite their similar backgrounds, there is actually a difference (within the similarity) that is quite revealing.

To be honest with you, I was waiting for Jane to break out in song multiple times throughout the novel, especially when traveling to Thornfield (remember… “I have confidence in sunshine!”). Now consider the similarities between the two stories: before becoming a governess, Maria is a nun in an abbey. Before becoming a governess, Jane is a student at a devout Christian school, Lowood. Later, Maria, as a governess, falls in love with Captain Von Trapp, a wealthy man who is her employer. Similarly, governess Jane falls in love with her employer, the wealthy Mr. Rochester. Meanwhile, Captain Von Trapp is engaged to the beautiful and wealthy Baroness Schraeder of Vienna. At the same time, Mr. Rochester is engaged to the beautiful and powerful Blanche Ingram. Nevertheless, these relationships crumble. However, different entities get in the way of their possible marriages: Bertha Mason (in Jane Eyre) and the nazis (in The Sound of Music). In the end, both Jane and Maria marry who they want and live their lives happily ever after (kind of).

On the forefront, Jane and Maria’s stories are quite similar. However, let’s think about a difference: the fact that the stories take place in different centuries. While The Sound of Music occurs slightly before World War II (probably the early 1940s), Jane Eyre takes place within the early decades of the 19th century. The differences in class and gender are made apparent too. While Jane battles frequently for equal footing throughout the novel (she wants women to be treated equally as men), Maria doesn’t fight for this equality (at least, this battle isn’t presented throughout the musical). She takes the children throughout the city, rides bikes with them by the river, and yet she really isn’t treated subserviently. Although I don’t have an exact answer, I am presuming that, by the 1940s, gender and class were understood differently than in the early 1800s (of course, with more progress needed to go). The fact that she was a governess may have played apart too – perhaps they were more appreciated in the mid-1900s?

Nevertheless, to throw in another similarity (I guess that makes this similarity-within-difference-within-similarity), “expected” gender roles – and female subservience – are still interfused throughout The Sound of Music (in bits and pieces). For instance, Liesl, the youngest daughter of Captain Von Trapp, sings to her beloved Rolf (who later becomes a member of the Nazi Party):

Although Disability Studies (the study and framework based around disabilities, both physical and mental, and what roles they play in society, or cultural perception) didn’t come to fruition until the late 20th century, I think that it can be used to analyze the character of Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre, a nineteenth century novel.

We get introduced to the character of Bertha in Chapter 26, when Mr. Rochester is explaining to Jane why their wedding got interrupted – and more importantly, why a woman who was his ex-wife had been living in the attic that was deemed “insane.” Rochester describes Bertha’s insanity to Jane, that he had “been awakened by her yells – since the medical men had pronounced her mad […] I was physically influenced by the atmosphere and scene and my ears were filled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein she momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, with such language! No professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabulary than she! (302)

What intrigues me about this quote, and the way Mr. Rochester handled the situation with his ex-wife is that there seemed to be a lot of ignorance when it came to mental health in those days. Obviously, Bertha was crazed and a lunatic, as she was yelling in the night and exhibiting other sickly behavior while married to Rochester, but locking her in an attic doesn’t seem like the best solution to me. Even though “medical men” were mentioned in this passage, who I assume are the professionals that diagnosed Bertha as “crazy,” the care and treatment of people with mental disabilities wasn’t something that was prioritized. After all, would a doctor today really advise locking a mentally insane woman in an attic? Sure, there are things like solitary confinement for really mentally ill patients today, but would Bertha really be qualified as such if she was being treated? To me, Bertha’s side of the story and her illness is ironically being silenced by her screams and needs to be heard. I can’t help but wonder if Bertha would be considered this insane if given the proper treatment, and why exactly did mental illness have such a stigma at the time?

In his response to Erin O’Connor, Deirdre David attempts to find the middle ground between the essays by O’Connor and Spivak, which seem to be two polar opposite opinions on how to read Victorian literature. She acknowledges the points she agrees with from both authors and excellently ties them together to create an argument for the balance between the two theories. David says about Spivak, “Thanks to Spivak’s essay… we read Victorian fiction in a fuller way than we did twenty years ago- not necessarily better, but with an enlarged understanding, say, of the complex inseparable link between a spirited governess and a political world elsewhere. Thanks to Edward Said… we examine empire both as subject of representation and as material force in the production of Victorian literature, which doesn’t always mean we’ve undergone some sort of brainwashing” (683).  What I conclude from his piece is that David understands that in reading any text, one must be aware of the even potential historical and political implications on the piece of literature. To ignore such facts would be reading irresponsibly and blindly. While I think Spivak’s evidence about Jane Eyre could use some development, and I dislike her assertion that post colonialistic and feministic readings can never align, like David said, she makes a good point about reading for more. On O’Connor, David explains, “O’Connor wants us to question our evidence, and we should:… do we violate Brontë’s novel by enlarging the historical context of what she so vividly puts before us: a crazed woman from the West Indies, a brooding hero who went wrong in a tropical climate, a fanatical clergyman who wants to civilize the Indians?… asking these questions as O’Connor wishes us to do, can only enlarge our understanding of the Victorian novel, not diminish it” (682). David does a good job of searching through the passion of O’Connor’s article to find her point, and I like that she acknowledges the validity of her opinion. These are questions that should be asked. I believe that Brontë’s novel is “violated” only if it is read through one lens, with a disregard for any other potential ideas. Both Spivak and O’Connor sort of do this; Spivak through a strict post-colonial lens that ignores, even tries to compete in importance with a feminist lens, and O’Connor through a purely literary lens trying to ignore any possible theory. I think that an openness to all different lenses and readings, including post-colonial and purely literary, is the best as long as the reader is aware that their lens is not the only one that should be used. As David says, “Many of us have been drawn to Victorian studies because of it’s hospitality to theory, or rather theories, its capacious invitation for us to explore different perspectives- formal, Freudian, Marxian, feminist, and, yes, postcolonial” (683).

Spivak’s primary argument is for an imperialist reading of feminism with the ultimate goal of “incit[ing] a degree of rage against the imperialist narrativization of history, precisely because it produces so abject a script for a female we would rather celebrate” (658). The “female we would rather celebrate” refers to Jane Eyre. The way Spivak constructs her argument is though the dichotomy of sexual reproduction versus soul making. She suggests that imperial constructions of “native” females (females from the impossible country) are more likely to engage in sexual reproduction, while “othered” females (females from the colonized country) must engage in soul making. She gives the example of Bertha Mason. Bertha is seen as being between an animal and a human because she Jamaican Creole. Therefore, Bertha is an imperially other (or lesser being) seen only as having a half formed (human) self. She needs to “make/ develop a soul” in order to be seen as an (equal?) individual to someone like Jane who already enjoys the imperial luxury of being recognized as someone with a soul.

The way I eventually came to understand this article (summarized in the first paragraph of this post) made me think about one of our in-class discussions: How do we/ can we analyze Berta Mason as a human being, rather than a psychological inverse of Jane? I remembered how much I struggled. I remembered thinking, “of course we should be able to view her as an individual,” yet I felt like I never had a full picture of her as a human. I kept getting sidetracked by the animalistic wat she was described. Spivak’s article helped me understand why I might have struggled so much: I couldn’t see past the imperial viewpoint held by the majority of the characters. I let their descriptions cloud my judgement. To the imperial characters, Bertha is an othered figure, someone/something not like them. They do not acknowledge Bertha’s humanity because she, as a lesser imperial figure, is a lesser human (if human at all).

On page 214 Mr. Rochester says “Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don’t repeat it.”

Previously in the novel, Bertha bite Mr. Mason so hard that Rochester had to tell Jane about Bertha and call in a surgeon. In this quote, Rochester is on edge, not because of what had happened but because he didn’t want people finding out about Bertha. His main concern was not protecting her but was protecting himself from criticism and judgement. This is interpreted because of the language that Rochester uses in the quote: “be silent and don’t repeat it.” These phrases are derogatory towards Bertha and her condition because Rochester is not allowing her to get the proper treatment that she needs. Instead of putting her in a mental institution that could help her, he is locking her away upstairs. This is not acceptable because it is the nineteenth century and it is no longer acceptable for the mentally ill to be treated from home. He is making Bertha seem like a rabid animal instead of showing concern for his wife. I say this because Bertha vigorously bit Mr. Mason and left him to cry out for help. This ties into the idea that Rochester is not as good of a character as I thought he was. He locked up his mentally ill spouse in the attic, not for her own good
but for his own personal benefit of keeping her a secret. I think this because
from a new historicist approach we know that the public during this time period
was aware that treatment from home was not acceptable.

The semicolon in the sentence draws attention to the phrase “don’t repeat it.” The emphasis on this phrase proves that Rochester just wants the situation to disappear. He is neglecting the fact that Bertha needs his help, not his “hospitality.” Rochester cannot come to terms with the fact that Bertha is his spouse and even though Bertha has a mental illness he still cannot respect her. In the middle of the quote the phrasing becomes even more fragmented and disjointed, “and never mind her gibberish.” The “and” in the beginning of the fragment makes me think that Rochester is using an aggravated and annoyed tone in his voice. This is important because it shows how little Rochester appreciates what Bertha has to say. It also brings in the idea that Bertha is indeed from a different country and has a different complexion than Rochester. This means that Bertha actually may not be speaking gibberish but Rochester thinks it is because she is of a different race. The race factor emphasizes that Rochester does not respect Bertha for more than one reason, it could be because of her race, because of post colonialism or because she is a woman. This is important to the entirety of the woman because it shows race and gender affected the way one was treated.

This quote paints Rochester in a different light, he is no longer considered a
victim but rather someone who is focused on protecting himself. He is belittling
towards Bertha because he thinks he is better than her since he is from the
United Kingdom, because he has a fair complexion and because he is a man.
Rochester is not the character I had hoped he would be instead he is a little
bit racist and a little bit sexist. The most important thing is that because
Rochester is a wealthy man of light skin, he is easily able to get away with
locking a colored woman upstairs in his attic.

“ 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.

Jane and Mr. Rochester’s relationship disintegrates at the end of book two. However, thinking back to before Rochester’s secret was exposed, I’d like to consider what his and Jane’s attraction and relationship truly built on, particularly in consideration of the gender expectations that are demonstrated in Mary Poovey’s Uneven Developments. Jane and Rochester are often said to be equals at several points throughout the book, but by looking at the way that Jane does and does not comply with gender roles, bigger questions about the power dynamics between Jane and Rochester are exposed.

As a child, Jane was stubborn and outspoken. As an adult, shit is still at time these things, or at least is told she is these things. Rochester often makes note of her unusual behavior, at one point admonishing her when she complains about the ideas of a man for his wife expressed in a song, stating “any other woman would have been melted into marrow at hearing such stanzas crooned in her praise” (Brontë, 270). However, in many instances, while she is headstrong, she is often headstrong with a determination to comply to her gendered and classed roles as a governess.

Poovey describes how women in the 19^th century begin to be constructed as having a sort of ultimate maternal lover, which in scientific understandings is attributed to their reproductive nature. She describes how during the 19^th century, the understanding of women’s roles is shifted from being sexual to needing to comply to a “domestic ideal” (10). Although she describes how the existence of governesses and other unmarried women complicates the roles of women in the domestic sphere. While governesses mother without being mothers, their unbridled sexuality poses a threat.

Jane, however, in many ways, despite the limbo role in which she exists as a governess is very adamant about sticking within the gendered role that a governess has. She acts as a mother to Adele, who adores her in return. For example, Jane insists upon Adele coming into town with her and Rochester, despite Rochester forbidding it. In a moment where gender roles and the power dynamics associated with them seem to be strongly in play, Jane describes, “I half lost the sense of power over him. I was about mechanically to obey him” (Brontë, 263). This demonstrates a moment in which Jane wants to defy her master, and seems to be refusing to adhere to gender roles. But, instead of doing anything to use her wit and intelligence to defy Rochester, she gets Rochester to give in by becoming pale and otherwise looking upset.

This example demonstrates the complex relationships of gender roles to power that exist in Jane Eyre. Jane later goes further to insist even after becoming engaged to maintain her position as governess. Although she is in many ways dismantling some of the ideology of gender at the time, particularly in considerations of the odd class positioning that governesses exist in, she also very strictly wants to adhere to roles of gender relating to maternity. And while she has power over Rochester because of her wit, she also has power over Rochester because of her need for protection and overall demure-ness. And still, even these observations seem to be a little reductive of all the variables of Jane’s and Rochester’s identities with consideration of the time period. But, still, that would still only further demonstrate the complexity of the construction of gender in Jane Eyre.