Author: WHJF207

Edith Cooper and Katharine Bradley, writing under the pseudonym Michael Field, published a book of poems titled Sight and Song in 1892. These poems were all written about specific works of art in which they attempted to “translate into verse what the lines and colours of certain chosen pictures sing in themselves,” without the influence of their own interpretation of the art (Preface). Their poem “L’Indifférent,” written about Antoine Watteau’s “L’Indifférent,” focuses on the fleeting innocence of the boy in the painting, and the homoerotic nature of the painting. Similar ideas of art, gender, and sexuality are explored in A Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, in which Dorian Gray is introduced as a young, innocent, handsome man desired by men and women alike. It is known that Michael Field and Oscar Wilde were not only peers, but good friends according to their letters published in Michael Field, The Poet (pp. 240). Both Wilde and Field use the concept of boyhood to highlight the homoerotic undertones of sexuality present in the fin de siècle.

These homoerotic tendencies are highlighted through the way in which the boy in the painting and Dorian Gray move away from traditional gender roles. Rather than have his feet together, his hands by his side or crossed, with a hard face (the way in which a more traditional male might pose), the boy in “L’Indifférent” poses the opposite. His feet are apart, his arms softly open, and his head tilted to the side. His face looks dreamy. He welcomes the viewer in to see what the painting has to offer. In a strange way he looks almost motherly. Michael Field comment further on his clothing, noting he is wearing “a cloak/of vermeil and of blue,” which not only highlight his wealth, but also his more effeminate appearance (11-12). Field associate the boy with a “human butterfly” (15). They pull from the dual meanings and associations of this word, effectively aligning him with child-like innocence and weakness, but also associating him with a sense of vanity and superficiality. Field speculate that the boy feels as though it is “fate” that he is simply able to “dance where he is found…he was born for [it]” (9, 8, 10). They suggest through this speculation that the boy did not think at all about the space he was dancing in or the reasons for his dancing. Therefore, he was not questioning his actions at all, but rather taking them for granted. He has “no soul, no kiss, / no glance nor joy” (16-17)! The boy is simply going through the motions, but he lacks any substance. Yet, Michael Field observe that the boy is still “old enough for manhood’s bliss,” suggesting that the boy is desirable despite the lack of substance (18). This is followed by the statement that he is a “boy” posing a juxtaposition between his desirability with the innocence of a young boy.

We see how wrong this could go if a boy becomes too fixated on his own vanity, which is only fueled by older males’ desire of them, through the character of Dorian Gray. Before we meet Dorian, Basil describes him as having “a simple and beautiful nature” (Wilde 18). When we meet Dorian, Lord Henry (who is at least 10 years older than Dorian) is immediately erotically intrigued by him. He is transfixed by Dorian’s facial features, describing them his lips “finely-curved, scarlet,” his eyes as “frank blue” and his hair as “crisp gold” (Wilde 21). These intense descriptors of Dorian’s physical features highlight the eroticism in this passage. Lord Henry continues by noting there was “something in [Dorian’s] face that made one trust him at once” (Wilde 21). Before speaking to Dorian at all, Lord Henry already felt could trust him due to Dorian’s “candour of youth… and passionate purity” (Wilde 21). It is unclear if Lord Henry would like to engage with Dorian sexually or to be Dorian, which also highlights this tension of sexual desire and jealousy of youth. Lord Henry continues to fuel Dorian’s ego until Dorian can no longer recognize the person he becomes. The fact that Dorian dies at the end of the story and Michael Field suggest that the boy in the painting must die suggests that these desires to remain young, interlaced with sexual desire, cause problematic power dynamics and assumptions.

From a sociocultural perspective in the Victorian age, there was anxiety surrounding “the rising” of the middle class. Sally Ledger and Roger Luckhurst describe this time as the “emergence, in their modern configuration, of the forms and definitions of ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture” (14). David Damrosch and Kevin J. H Dettmar further this idea in The Longman Anthology by noting that “it was the burgeoning middle class… that formed the largest audience for new prose and poetry and produced the authors to meet an increasing demand for books that edify, instruct, and entertain” (1066). However, new books were still a “luxury” during the Victorian era, and “writers had to censor their content to meet the prim standards of ‘circulating library morality’” (D&D 1066, 1067). Thus, it could be argued that the middle class, while becoming more and more literate, was subject to great (and often dishonest) influence. These dynamics call into question the ways in which information was disseminated in the Victorian Era. Who relayed the information and who received it? What biases caused the information to be skewed?

“The Magic Lantern” by Jean Lorrain is a compelling short story that comments on this tension. The story is driven by two men conversing while waiting for an opera to begin. One man clearly dominates the conversation as he spews his opinions at his fellow opera-goer for the majority of the interaction. He begins by stating that art is becoming infected by “darkness” (173). He furthers this by claiming that one “could very easily convince yourself that we live, even in the fullness of modernity, in the midst of the damned, surrounded by the spectres of human heads and other horrors; that everyday we brush up against vampires and ghouls” (173). This idea of “infection” suggests that something that was once healthy (the upper class) is now sick with the introduction of a foreign body (the middle/lower classes). In claiming this “infection” is effecting art suggests that this new audience for literature and performance is not welcome. Additionally, the man likens people of this lower class to horrific mythical creatures, calling them “vampires” and “ghouls,” and effectively suggesting they are sucking the decency and beauty from this “high” culture. This man continues the conversation with his friend to say: “I put it you that every evening, every arena of Parisian society—including the Opera and the gatherings of the great and the good of France—is a rendezvous of necromantic mages” (173). The inclusion of the phrase “I put it to you” is important. It signifies that the man is drawing on nothing but his own opinion when speaking to his friend. The friend (and more importantly the reader) is therefore receiving only the information the man chooses to share. The man makes it very clear that this infection has “the great and good of France” as well as “the opera.” The effect of this is two-fold: the man not only aligns himself and his friend with the “great and good of France,” but he establishes the fact that these people of “low” culture were sitting amongst them. The result of this, according to the man, was “necromantic mages”—the death of art and “high” culture.

The man, apparently feeling unsatisfied with this persuasion, proceeds to point out to his friend instances of “infection” he sees in the audience of this opera. Of course, most of these examples are scathing judgments of women. It is important to note that the man encourages his friend to “use the opera-glasses” to watch these people. This puts into question the validity of what this friend sees, as his view is tainted not only by the man’s opinion on the subject, but also his complete control of where this added lens is pointed.

The man asks his friend to look at one woman in the “depths of the ground-floor boxes” (175), forming a physical hierarchy of “high” and “low culture.” He takes note for his friend the characteristics of the woman: “those flared nostrils, those linen pallors, those hypnotic eyes, those bloodless arms” (175). The repetition of the word “those” establishes a barrier between the men and the woman. He continues by calling “those” women “the wives of Merchant Bankers and Sugar-Refiners, all of them morphinated, cauterized, dosed, drugged” (175). The man observes for his friend the “physical” sickness of these women and suggests that the very fibers of their being are tainted and dirty. He makes the direct connection between these women and the men of the middle class, suggesting with the severity of his judgment that these people are not worthy of being at such a high-class event.

 

Sigmund Freud claims in his piece “Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming” that “the adult…is ashamed of his phantasies and hides them from other people” (422). The infamous Count Dracula falls victim to this more than anyone else in Bram Stoker’s gothic tale. Superficially, Dracula is a terrifying character. But he is also one of the most lost characters in the book. He doesn’t fit into any socially formed category, thus stripping him of any humanizing characteristic. What does one do when society denies you of your humanity?

Dracula and his fellow vampires are characterized throughout the book as the “Un-Dead.” At night, Dracula walks around and talks to people as if he were alive. But as the sun rises he falls asleep in a coffin, not a bed. He exists in a limbo space of neither dead nor alive. This space between two categories is uncomfortable for society, and thus effectively characterizes Dracula as an “Other.” Dracula reacts, as anyone would, by hiding from his true desires and hating himself for it, thus completely aligning with Freudian theory.

This pattern is evident again through Dracula’s sexuality. When stopping the three female vampires from biting, and thus successfully seducing Jonathan, Dracula shouts, “How dare you touch him, any of you” (46) and forbids vampire women from “cast[ing] eyes on him” (46). He yells “this man belongs to me” (46)! One might assume Dracula means that he has reserved Jonathan for himself to bite. However, the vampire women begin to ridicule Dracula, yelling: “you yourself have never loved; you never love!” To which Dracula turns to Jonathan and reassures him that he “too can love” (46). The fact that Dracula turns to Jonathan to offer this reassurance suggests Dracula desires Jonathan in a romantic manner. Not only does Dracula want to have sex with Jonathan in this moment, but he wants to love him. The repetition of the phrase “you have never loved” is jarring. It signals that Dracula has never had anyone in his life who he has felt he could love. Alternatively, this suggests that there has never been anyone in Dracula’s life who has offered to love him. It is sad to watch Dracula offer his love here, even if the situation is twisted, when it is so obvious that he will never get it in return.

Dracula then compensates for this undesirable sexuality by mistreating women. The gruesome scene in which Dracula turns Mina into a vampire is evidence of this. Dracula grabs Mina with a “mocking smile” while he “bared [her] throat with” his hand and “placed his reeking lips upon [her] throat” (306). Dracula’s “mocking smile” has nothing to do with Mina and everything to do with his sexuality. He is replacing his fear of his sexuality (and his hurt from Jonathan’s rejection) by making fun of the one person most important to Jonathan: his wife. He further violates Mina by exposing one of the most fragile and intimate parts of her body (her neck), and places his lips to it. The sharing of bodily fluids (the blood) is a metaphor for sex. Dracula looks to Mina after and says, “you…are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin” (306). Dracula, left with no other choice, forces Mina to become the only family member of his he has ever had and will ever have. Suddenly, Dracula has someone there for him no matter what.

That being said, Dracula then reacts to this in the most peculiar way. He tears his shirt open and with “his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast” (307), forcing Mina to drink the blood pouring from his chest. Dracula hates himself for forcing Mina to become his family he turns to self-harm, and uses his own body part to hurt himself. He takes this even one step further by forcing Mina to take something (blood) from him, even though he has just violated her in the most awful way possible. This solidifies the idea that Dracula needs someone to feel as though they can depend on him, in the hopes that he can reciprocate this dependence.

This behavior makes sense according to Freud. Dracula had never perfectly fit into any societally-constructed box his entire life. He is an aristocrat living in a castle, but lacks a servant. He has homoerotic desires but rapes women. He has animalistic features but behaves mostly as a human. He is “Un-Dead.” When one exists in this in-between space, what happens? According to Stoker, chaos happens. And violence. And death. And self-hatred. All of which are characterized through Dracula. It is clear that social constructs do more harm than good. It is no wonder that Dracula felt at peace when he faced his ultimate death. If I were him, I would have too.

Note: I am not at all trying to undermine what is clearly a rape scene and all of the violence Mina faces because of that. It’s horrible. I just wanted to attempt to find some humanity in Dracula, as I think society did horrible things to him as well.

The Fin De Siecle is characterized as a time of both massive progress and debilitating decline in all aspects of society. The electron was discovered during this time, yet physiognomy was considered scientifically valid. Sally Ledger and Roger Luckhurst, in their introduction to Reading the Fin De Siecle” further identify this time as “a time fraught with anxiety and with an exhilarating sense of possibility” (L&L 1). Women were not free from the grasps of this confusing dichotomy, and thus the concept of the “New Woman” was born during this time. Ledger and Luckhurst define the New Woman as “double-coded,” in which a woman could own the “image of sexual freedom and assertions of female independence” while also warning against the “dangers of sexual degeneracy” and “the abandonment of motherhood” (L&L 17). I other words, “New Women could themselves be advocates of conservative causes” (L&L 17).

Bram Stoker’s Dracula explores the role of women through two female characters who exemplify characteristics of the New Woman, but from opposite ends of the spectrum. We meet Lucy Westenra through a letter she writes to her friend Mina Murray (eventually Mina Harker). She is in a fit of emotion as she believes she is in love with Mr. Holmwood: “Oh Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love him. I am blushing as I write… oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him” (Stoker 64)! The repetition of “I love him” is important. Lucy is able to state what she is feeling and physically show that feeling with her “blushing,” all in a normal fashion. She is neither stone cold nor hysterical as was the typical depiction of women before this time period.  Additionally, she is given the agency to state that she loves Mr. Holmwood instead of waiting for a man to choose her or choose someone for her.

This idea is further exemplified in the next letter Mina receives from Lucy, in which Lucy is faced with the very “difficult” problem of having been proposed to by three different men. She is again given agency to choose which man she wants to say yes to, a dynamic that is very different from the forced marriages that were common before. In fact, Lucy is so uncomfortable with this new found power that she “burst into tears” (Stoker 67), suggesting she has never been given this power before. Lucy then questions “why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble” (Stoker 67)? While Lucy may not have fully understood this when she wrote it, her suggestion of one woman marrying as many men as she wants (thus establishing sexual relations with many men), hints at the sexual freedoms Ledger and Luckhurst note as one of the defining characteristics of the New Woman. Lucy exemplifies many of the characteristics of the free spirited Victorian woman.

On the other hand, Mina lacks much of the emotional presence in her writing that Lucy has. Her letters act more as a log of events than passionate descriptions of her feelings, and require more in depth analysis to understand the sentiment behind the words. Our introduction to Mina’s accounts of the story are through her letters to Lucy. She speaks of being busy with “the life of an assistant schoolmistress” and her studies of shorthand. Though it is exciting that Mina is a working woman and educating herself, she is working in a job that is conventionally held by women, thus limiting her powers within the workforce. In addition, Mina remains devoted to Jonathan, her fiancée and eventual husband, throughout the entire novel. She is available to him whenever he needs her. Her thoughts do not wander in her writing toward inklings of thinking about other men or the possibilities of having desires toward other men. Further, her education in shorthand is for Jonathan, so that she “shall be useful to [him]” when he returns and begins his business. Mina exemplifies the conservative side of the New Woman. She embraces some agency, but most of it is in service to the men in her life.

Lucy and Mina are both Victorian women grappling with the newfound freedoms and struggling with the restrictions still present. While Lucy may lean more toward the free version of the New Woman, and Mina may lean toward the conservative version of the New Woman, both show characteristics of conservatism and progression. Thus, the juxtaposition and intersections of Mina and Lucy’s characters perfectly exemplify the “anxiety” of opposites so present in the Fin de Siecle, as noted by Ledger and Luckhurst.

“I held out my hands. The grey creature in the corner leant forward… He put out a strangely distorted talon, and gripped my fingers. The thing was almost like the hoof of a deer produced into claws. I could have yelled with surprise and pain. His face came forward and peered at my nails, came forward into the light of the opening of the hut, and I saw with a quivering disgust that it was like the face of neither man nor beast…” (44).

This passage is taken from the scene in The Island of Dr. Moreau by H. G. Wells in which Prendick is getting his first introduction to the “Law.” Prendick is brought to the cave where all of these creatures live and offered food before they recite to him this set of rules all of the creatures live by. This initial hospitality shown by the creatures makes Prendick comfortable enough to “hold out [his] hands.” In doing so, Prendick accepts the hospitality so kindly offered by the creatures. Because the act is voluntary on Prendick’s part, he is able to begin to connect with the beasts on his terms in a nonviolent manner. Additionally, the grey creature “gripped” Prendick’s fingers. The act of  “gripping” rather than simply holding his hand attaches a desperate quality to the action. The creature needed to hold Prendick’s hand, and maintained a strong enough grip so that Prendick couldn’t easily break the connection. It is important to note here that this is one of the first times Prendick uses person-specific pronouns rather than neutral pronouns in regards to these creatures, signaling first signs of Prendick accepting the creatures as some form of human. This new use of pronouns coupled with his offer to touch the beast and the beast’s enthusiastic response makes for a fantastically human moment between Prendick and beast. It was as if the beast had been waiting to touch someone for so long, and Prendick, despite his disgust and preconceived assumptions, gave the beast that moment. This openness toward the beasts only grows within Prendick as the story progresses.

It cannot go unnoticed, however, that Prendick still harbors more hate towards the beasts in this passage than anything else. He remains open to the idea of the beast in the beginning of the passage, but the beast is still shrouded by the darkness of the cave. It isn’t until the beast “come[s] forward into the light of the opening of the hut” that Prendick becomes openly hateful in his account of this scene. Prendick “quivers” with disgust, suggesting he is so shocked by what he sees he has a physical reaction. “Disgust” is so severe in nature it signals the idea that Prendick isn’t simply uncomfortable with these creatures, but rather physically repulsed. He can’t even be in the same room as them, let alone touch them. Moreover, the introduction of light to the space is also the same instance in which Prendick stops using person-specific pronouns, reverting back to the use of “it” when referring to the beast. It is also the moment in which Prendick makes the clear distinction that the creatures are not “man.” In the same passage, Prendick recognizes the human qualities of the creatures, but also yanks those human qualities away in an instant.

Damrosch and Dettmar note in their section titled “The Age of Energy and Invention” the speed with which science advanced in the late Victorian era. As quoted by W.R. Greg, speed was the “most salient characteristic of life” during this later section of the Victorian era. The way in which the beast’s appendage is described, as a mixture of hand, claw, talon, and hoof, conjure images of science moving so fast that the appendage did not have enough time to decide what it was going to develop into. This, coupled with the speed with which Prendick gives human qualities to the beast only to take them away in a matter of seconds, allows this passage to act as a warning. It influences readers to reflect on themselves and what humanity and science looked like during that time. It begs so many important questions to be asked: How far will we let science interfere with humanity? Where is the line between animal and human? Is all science good science? This passage warns against taking science too far, but suggests that perhaps no matter the speed of advancement, some form of humanity will prevail.