Class Blog

The line I chose to examine in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Mary Barton is “There were homes over which Carson’s fire threw a deep, terrible gloom; the homes of those who would fain work, and no man gave unto them—the homes of those to whom leisure was a curse” (Gaskell 58). This passage is written in the context of the fire at Carson’s mill. The imagery of the ‘gloom’ covering both types of people’s houses, the rich and the poor, shows that there is a perceived unification of the two classes that in reality does not exist. Some people, the rich who “would fain work,” can afford leisure time and have an abundance of it. For others, “leisure was a curse” because they must work constantly to earn their living, and any rest they take could mean that they or their families starve. This is partially illustrated through the description of the gloom as “terrible,” because this can be interpreted to mean that its coverage is deceiving. This line therefore brings to light the intense contrast between the lives of the two social classes living so close to one another. It also throws into light the dystopia that this class division creates.  

Similar themes can be found in The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. The main character, Edmond Dantes, starts out as a peasant earning just enough to get by, and when he is promoted, he is betrayed by his friend because of a moment of leisure, when they discuss this event that should be celebrated. Instead, he is thrown into jail to rot for life as a result of this moment of leisure, so one could argue that this leisure turned out to be a curse for him. Later, he escapes from prison and becomes very wealthy, and uses his wealth to punish those who betrayed him. This is a similar contrast to the one found in Mary Barton, where Henry Carson and his family are cursed for having too much leisure and not allowing their employees to have any. 

Both texts, therefore, share the idea that leisure is a privilege that is only reserved to the most fortunate, and those who are less fortunate are punished when they try to take advantage of this same privilege. By illustrating this position, Gaskell uses what she has seen in her life to try to convey the struggles of the working class in a way that people can understand. This is also an example of the “venting” about class struggle mentioned in Richard Altick’s ‘Victorian People and Ideas,’ which he argues is the reason that “Victorian England escaped class struggle” (Altick 72). Whether Altick’s claim is true and supported by evidence or not, messages of this type were common in Victorian novels because of the pressing issues of the time. 

The passage contributes to the novel as a whole by setting up the context for the later class struggle that leads to the murder of Harry Carson. By showing the stark contrast between the lives of the working class and the rich, especially by saying that to the working class “leisure was a curse,” this helps to explain the working class people’s motivation to form a union, and later to take drastic measures to try to achieve their goals. Leisure is a common human desire, so this helps to foreshadow and explain later events in the novel. The juxtaposition of the two types of homes is therefore meant to contribute to the overall spirit of justice in the novel. 

 

In “Poverty and Death”, Mary Barton attends the funeral of Ben Davenport. The passage describes a distinction between the treatment of the poor and the rich that exists after death. In the case of funerals, the rich construct huge tombstones and hold loud, decorated funerals, while the poor share their sorrow in silence and in black. Further in the passage, the funeral is detailed as “a simple walking funeral, with nothing to grate on the feelings of any; far more in accordance with its purpose, to my mind, than the gorgeous hearses, and nodding plumes, which form the grotesque funeral pomp of respectable people.” (73). The decorated funerals serve the purpose of competition as the phrase “..with nothing to grate on the feelings of any…” indicates funerals for the wealthy aim for people to feel guilty for the lack of an extravagant funeral. She claims that the “simple walking funeral” is more respectable because it is “far more in accordance with its purpose”, which is to give honor, respect, and remembrance to the life and legacy of someone who has passed on. Additionally, in describing these tombstones for the rich as “a wooden mockery of stone respectabilities”, once again, the passage depicts the manner in which the rich honor those passed on as more so embarrassing rather than commendable or “respectable” (73). The paupers are left with dead bodies “piled until within a foot or two of the surface”, shallow graves for those deemed less important to society yet, according to the passage, treat each other with greater respect in their burial than the wealthy (73). The comparison in the sentence regarding the “walking funeral” in contrast to the “gorgeous hearses” carries a sarcastic tone, insinuating that the wealthy are so removed from the true purpose of a funeral that they do not show or have respect for their own people enough to have a respectable funeral, they are decorated and pompous and lack genuine compassion. In this way, the passage highlights the sentiment of the impoverished that they are more respectable and honorable than the rich who partake in grandiose and unvirtuous displays of funerals and burials. 

The sentiments highlighted in this passage are one explanation for a portion of the frustration of many Chartists, like John Barton. These individuals in the novel vent their anger toward the wealthier factory owners who treat their workers unfairly yet fail to treat their employees with basic compassion. Just before the death of Ben Davenport, Wilson rushes to the Carsons looking to request permission into the Infirmary. To Wilson’s surprise, John Carson does not “pretend to know the names of the men [he] employ[s]” and Harry, who seems to only be half-listening to the conversation, digs around in his pocket for change and gives it to Wilson “for the ‘poor fellow’” condescendingly (70). The reaction of both Carsons explicitly shows the lack of compassion the wealthy share contrasted with the nursing aid of the poor to their own ill neighbors.

“Won’t you?” (with a taunting laugh), “then I’ll make you.” The young man raised his slight cane, and smote the artisan across the face with a stinging stroke. An instant later, he lay stretched in the muddy road, Jem standing over him, panting with rage” (Gaskell 167-168).

 Questions of power and how it is transmitted are central to the study of Elizabeth Gaskell’s novel, Mary Barton. In a moment of furious confrontation between two of Mary’s presumed lovers, Jem Wilson refuses to move from Mr. Henry Carson’s path until he promises to protect Mary from harm. Instead of yielding to the request, “the young man raised his slight cane, and smote the artisan across the face with a stinging stroke” (Gaskell 168). Ending the phrase with the alliterative “s” sound emphasizes the swiftness of action, but one word in this phrase draws more attention than others. In using the word “smote,” Mr. Carson is immediately transfigured into a God figure, more like those who rain fury upon the Earth when mortals see fit to challenge him than those of flesh and blood in his own town.  

This scene is a precise microcosm of the power that Mr. Carson wields not only in the street as a wealthy man, but as a factory owner across Manchester. This scene of “disobedience” between a master and subject could easily have been placed in the context of the beginnings of a worker’s strike. One man may go to the untouchable master, his status made so by his money, to plead for better working conditions, or perhaps a better salary. However, because of the discrepancy in status and the master’s miserly desire for power, these demands are seldom met, and moreover, often collectively punished. It is common for vindictive, mortal God to strike the poor man, and many accept this as the world’s order.  Because God never suffers the consequences of His actions, He perceives His power as limitless, undeniable, and irrevocable. So, for a moment, God stands above Jem Wilson, victorious. 

However, when considering the transference of power in this scene, one must also pay attention to the titles that the characters are given. Though formally introduced as Jem and Mr. Carson in the beginning of the text, their titles evolve into “the artisan” or “the mechanic” and “the young man” (Gaskell 167-168). As an artisan and mechanic, Jem Wilson is learned. He has a specialized craft for employment, a working knowledge of the industrial city, and specific social competencies to navigate a world plagued by want. He is a master of the fine arts and the sciences in a way that even Mr. Carson, only a young man with a fancy expensive education, could never. In his epithet, God has is diminished, infantilized to a state of naïveté and greed and characterized as one might chide a misbehaving child.  

This observation becomes especially important as one considers the implications of the final line in which, seemingly without effort and without being seen, Jem overtakes his opponent and stares him down in the muddy street (Gaskell 168). The distinct difference in the eloquence of the lines is striking: in order to hit Jem, Carson is aided by stinging alliteration his wealth and education can afford him, while Jem simply uses his own force of will which no words are swift enough to describe. In pitting these two characters against one another, there is an underlying question about the true source of social and work force power and furthermore who truly wields it. Is Carson’s showy vanity the power that controls England and its economy, or should we pause to consider the might of the working classes, particularly as Unions begin to form and demand industrial reform? The language in these few lines divulge secret but emerging forms of working class power in Industrial Victorian England where the faceless and skill-less God of antiquity is beginning to crumble. 

“So I naturally wished her to know what a sacrifice of prejudice, of – of myself, in short, I was willing to make for her sake; yet I don’t think she was aware of it after all. I believe I might have any lady in Manchester if I liked, and yet I was willing and ready to marry a poor dressmaker. Don’t you understand me now? And don’t you see what a sacrifice I was making to humour her?” (138).

In this dialogue passage, Mr. Carson is talking to Sally about his relationship with Mary Barton after she rejects him. The repetitions of “willing” and “sacrifice” not only stress the “hardship” he has gone through for Mary, but also make his courtship a favour for her rather than a part of a mutual relationship. Moreover, the phrases “sacrifice of prejudice” and “poor dressmaker” indicate that he is well aware of the differences in class and status between him and Mary, making it more seem like Mary owes him for liking and wanting to marry her. His awareness of his status is also shown when he says he could marry anyone in Manchester if he wants to, further establishing his ego and pride in his wealth. Additionally, the repetitions of “I” with active verbs and adjectives indicate his belief that it is him that put all the work and face all the “hardship” for the relationship. Thus, what I am really trying to say here is that I think these lines show Mr. Carson has great pride in his status, leading to him feeling entitled to Mary, who is poorer than him, and her affection.

Comparing Mr. Carson and Jem Wilson, we can see the differences in their reactions to Mary’s rejections. As the novel points out, while Jem accepts the rejection as final, Mr. Carson simply views it as Mary having a “caprice” (139-140). The novel attributes Jem’s acceptance as his genuine love and respect for Mary. However, I believe that wealth is also a factor in this acceptance. As I analyze earlier, Mr. Carson’s wealth makes him think that he is doing Mary a favour by loving her, thus, her rejection is something unthinkable. Meanwhile, Jem is in the same social class as Mary. He has no promise of wealth or stable life to offer her like Mr. Carson does. He also has his widow mother to take care of. Why would a beautiful lady like Mary agree to marry someone like him when she could do much better? Hence, in his mind, and possibly some other working-class men as well, rejection from a pretty lady, even when she is in the same class as them, is a final. This connection is shown more clearly when Mary talks to Will Wilson about Margaret. He states that since she is more well off than he is (as she is a singer), he wants to be second mate on a ship to have something to offer her when he asks for marriage (193).

Therefore, in the larger context of this novel and Victorian society (as well as our society overall), Mr. Carson’s dialogue shows how wealth influences decisions, perceptions, and marriage.

The passage I chose is from the scene where Mr. Wilson visits the Carson household to seek aid for the Davenports.  While sitting in the kitchen as food is prepared around him, “Wilson began to yearn for food to break his fast, which had lasted since dinner the day before.  If the servants had known this, they would have willingly given him meat and bread in abundance; but they were like the rest of us, and, not feeling hunger themselves, forgot it was possible another might.  So Wilson’s craving turned to sickness…” (Gaskell, 67).  This excerpt, as well as the repeated use of diction related to desire such as “yearn,” “hunger,” and “craving,” illuminates how the lower class’ income is so poor that it leads to sparsity of basic necessities.  The absence of substantial meals is so severe that the hunger it results in for poorer people is a “sickness.”  Wilson’s silence and the servants’ ignorance means it is also an unacknowledged problem.  The rich and those who have submitted to them, like the servants in the Carson household, have such easy access to food that they do not even think of hunger, much less that someone may suffer from it.  Gaskell hints that so long as the poor remain silent and respectful and the rich remain uneducated and ignorant, nothing will change and the lower class will remain destitute.  The only way to bring about a better life for people in poverty is to either speak up and make the situation heard, work directly in servitude to the rich as the Carson servants have, or remind the rich what it’s like to be hungry.  The reason Wilson remains hungry is also the reason why Mary Barton and Harry Carson are a doomed relationship from the start.  Mary’s community is struggling, and her and her father’s meals are scant.  Harry is thriving, eating enough food to forget about hunger along with his family and the servants in his household.  Mary doesn’t dare mention her problems to Harry, and so Harry remains ignorant, and they are stuck at the same impasse as Wilson in the Carson kitchen.  On the other hand, John Barton has no qualms making the poverty of the working class known to the rich.  However, he travels down a darker path in which he would be satisfied dragging the rich down to his level, reminding them how hunger can result in “sickness.”  In this way, he is also doomed, forgetting his original purpose to obtain rights in favor of a determination for vengeance that is eating away at him.  The real Chartists outside of the novel, by persisting in their goal to change the law and obtain rights for the working class through more peaceful methods, are more successful in initiating change than Wilson, Mary, or John.  Reform Acts were passed after their dissolution in the late 1800s.  They were neither silent nor malevolent, and so were more successful in their goals for change.  Based on Gaskell’s depictions of lower class characters interacting with higher classes, she would be approving of the Chartists efforts and triumphs.

I have no voice!

Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass is a seemingly nonsensical piece. However, its chaotic flow is well thought out and relevant. The illustrations were scrutinized by Caroll and the artist, which is interesting because some have odd designs and placements. Characters will be significantly mentioned in the text on the page but the illustration does not acknowledge them. The text itself structurally also forms around the images; they make up the page together. This is because as tough to understand as they may be sometimes, Collins wants the reader to recognize the contents of the image. Even if their purpose is a “brain break” for the rest of the story on the page, because this is a children’s book after all. The way that Collins has set up this novel alludes that he does not want the reader to correlate two subject matters just because they are placed next to or near each other. To rely less on context clues, and focus on matters individually in order to explore deeper. This allows the reader to truly analyze everything on every page of the novel. The lack of order and hierarchy of importance to the situations illustrated further drives the idea that the contents are random, while they are just truly meant to stand on their own. A looking glass—or mirror—is an ideal way to explore deeper into oneself. A person may recognize herself or she may not, but at some point there will be a look in the mirror that will be the first occurrence of self recognition. When Alice is playing with the two kittens in the beginning of Through the Looking Glass, the black kitten is the naughty and bad one whereas the white kitten is innocent and pure. Alice threatens the black kitty that if he is not good, “[she’ll] put [him] through into Looking-Glass House. How would [he] like that?” (Collins 119). Alice is using this consequence like it is daunting or difficult. The black kitten, the “bad” one, being put through the looking glass would be apparently an unpleasant, potentially frightening, experience if he had to reflect on himself. The contents of the novel are not random and they all surface back to the title’s main idea of deeper reflection. 

The Moonstone is the most explicitly colonial text that we’ve read this semester—the colonization of India permeates the text from beginning to end, involving international places and people who exist before as well as during the novel.  The intergenerational efforts of English colonialization set up the plot of the novel, and racialized appearances and objects move and circle around the characters. 

Alice in Wonderland is also engaged with themes of colonialism, and (like The Moonstone) leaves us with questions about where the text stands. The Moonstone leads to deception and chaos, but it also brings to the fore a series of declarations and relationships that would otherwise have been lost under the smothering influence of Victorian propriety. Once the restoration of Englishness has been achieved (with the addition of constructive consequences) the Moonstone and all it brought with it can be restored to the Indian temple Herncastle stole it from. In Alice in Wonderland, once the experience of the Other has been sufficiently infiltrated by English (linguistically and nationally) order, it falls apart and Alice can return home. 

In Alice in Wonderland, Alice is lost in her own pseudo-colonialist explorations of a strange land, introducing the elements of the land into herself by the continuing process of eating, imbibing the impossibility of a Wonderland that she would never have encountered sitting “on the bank” of England (Carroll 1). Once she leaves the bank (in a colonialist sense, sailing off) she attempts to enforce English rules, social codes, and institutions on the inhabitants of Wonderland; interestingly, she is unsuccessful in her attempts. Herein lies the ambiguity—having a young child act out the format of a colonizing mission, finding pieces of a foreign land to keep for herself while also introducing it to the ‘civilizing’ influence of England seems to set us up for an endorsement of a colonial tradition. However, in the final moments of the text that solidity is upended by the return to England (Alice) or to India (the Moonstone).  

The presence of a previous generation (the older sister who knows Wonderland but has retired to the roots of the English tree) that knows but is now relatively distant from ‘Wonderland’ mirrors the presences we were introduced to in The Moonstone. There we knew of a generation—John Herncastle, the unnamed cousin—simultaneously involved with colonization and removed from it, their story having taken place before the narrative of the present. The Moonstone explains why it’s necessary to have the sister present in Alice in Wonderland—she is the stand-in for an English tradition that Alice (the present generation) will have to engage. By bringing Alice to the bank, she fulfills the same role that Herncastle does in The Moonstone: facilitating the events of the novel by providing the means of the primary characters engagment with colonialism. Without this understanding, the sister’s presence, particularly at the end of the novel, feels sudden and unnecessary. With it, we can see the same complexity that The Moonstone captured. 

Follow this link to watch Disney’s opening scene of Alice in Wonderland: in the first 30 seconds, note the emphasis of the open water and boat waiting on the bank and Alice’s sister physically sitting on the roots of the tree while she reads an English history textbook.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_7huA0kcg8

 

In “Remembering, Repeating, and Working-Through,” Freud describes “experiences which occurred in very early childhood and were not understood at the time but which were subsequently understood and interpreted. One gains a knowledge of them through dreams” (Freud 149-150). Therefore, confusing events from childhood are made sense of and comprehended in adulthood through dreams. In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Wonderland is only accessible through dreams; the sister’s experience in Wonderland reveals that adults who experience this alternate universe can thus understand and ‘work-through’ their childhood experiences of unclear reality.

Dreams play a central role in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, particularly at the end of the story. It is revealed that Alice’s experiences were all a “curious” and “wonderful” dream (Carroll 170). However, rather than ending with Alice’s perspective, the story shifts to describe her older sister’s reaction to hearing about Alice’s adventures. The unnamed sister slips into her own dream “alive with the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream,” living within the same world Alice just described (Carroll 171). This transference of Alice’s experience to her unconscious emphasizes the powerful influence of Wonderland. She then enters into an in-between state between dreams and reality, and predicts that Alice as an adult “would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with…the dream of Wonderland… remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days” (Carroll 172). Her sister’s reaction reflects a nostalgia for childhood and the “happy summer days” that perhaps have already escaped her. Her description of Wonderland making children’s “eyes bright and eager” reveals that the sister’s reaction is not unique, and that Wonderland has a significant influence on whoever hears about it. Alice’s description of Wonderland then becomes a powerful escape where both adults and children can experience a world where reality is malleable, reflecting a childish innocence.

Both the vividness and transferable quality of Alice’s adventures make its revelation as a dream somewhat unexpected. In addition, we only hear briefly about Alice’s subsequent thoughts on the experience; the rest is filtered through her older sister’s perspective. Considering Freud’s description of dreams, the sister’s dream is a way for her to make sense of similar childhood experiences. Childhood is marked by not fully understanding the world around you; in her dream, Alice is frustrated by the absurdity of her environment, but eventually accepts and enjoys it. In comparison, adults typically reject and rationalize anything that does not fully make sense to them. Her sister’s reaction suggests that an adult Alice and whoever else experiences the dream of Wonderland are able to escape and make sense of their childhood experiences that felt surreal, and question and expand their own perceptions of reality.

Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland can be read as a satire on education and knowledge, which at times reminds me of Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. There are a few nurseries rhymes in the story; two of them, “How doth the little—” (Carroll 11) and “You are old, Father William” (35), Alice recited to find out if she was still the same person after having fallen into the rabbit hole. Knowledge is represented as something that is unique to its owner. Alice decided that she must have become someone else because the rhymes she remembered were different from before. It’s almost mechanical that Alice had to recite the whole rhyme and listen to herself to make that judgement, as if the rhymes were forcibly beaten into her head; she couldn’t help but reciting the whole thing. That reminded me of the use of hypnopedia in Brave New World, to teach children about things like what is the longest river in Africa. When being asked that question, the children wouldn’t know the answer but are able to recite the sentence played to them in their sleep. Likewise, Alice doesn’t think before she recites, like when she said “London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—” (11).

Another moment that is reminiscent of Brave New World is that the Duchess finds a nonsense moral lesson in everything like “flamingoes and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is—‘Birds of a feather flock together’” (74). The moral is phrased to sound so plausible that it lures people to take it for granted and ignore what it’s actually saying; it sounds almost like a slogan from Brave New World. The slogans are also part of the hypnopedia curriculum and some of them tend to give people guidance in life, like “a gramme is always better than a damn” and “ending is better than mending” (Huxley). Ironically, as moments of satire on knowledge, there is barely any sort of knowledge or sense present in what the Duchess preaches.

Carroll, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass. Bantam Dell, 2006.

https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/huxleya-bravenewworld/huxleya-bravenewworld-00-h.html#chapter16