Category: 2025 Posts

Our first day in the Trout Gallery, there was an engraving called Fannie’s Pets with a girl in the middle surrounded by birds, rabbits, frogs and fish. It made me think of the illustration in Alice‘s Adventures in Wonderland after the scene where Alice and all the animals do the caucus race (Carroll 19). I think this illustration is showing Alice handing “round as prizes” the comfits she found in her pocket (Carroll 19); Fannie is also feeding the birds around her which is maybe why it made me think of Alice. Besides Fannie and the animals, there is also a creepy guy watching Fannie from the shadows behind her and a house in the background. Both these made me think of the idea of surveillance in Alice. I think there are two different levels of surveillance; the first is the Queen, and the second is some higher power (maybe the narrator?). The Queen is so quick to behead people that everyone is wary of her seeing/hearing them doing something “wrong”. The cards painting the roses red, for example (Carroll 63) or the scene where the Cheshire Cat asks Alice if she likes the Queen: “‘Not at all,’ said Alice: ‘she’s so extremely–‘ Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on ‘–likely to win…'” (Carroll 68). There also seems to be some magical god-like presence. At the beginning, when Alice is trying to get through the little door, but she’s too big, and then she leaves the key on the table when she shrinks if feels like something is trying to help her get through the door. She finds the “drink me” bottle “(‘which certainly was not here before,’ said Alice)” (Carroll 5). At some points, it feels like the narrator is the all-powerful being; they know what Alice is thinking at times, but it’s not exactly in third person, because sometimes the narrator addresses the audience, and sometimes they refer to themselves with “I” (“…fancy curtseying as you’re falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?” [Carroll 3]). It’s hard to tell though if this second surveilling force exists or if it is just dream logic. 

Fannie’s Pets (Illman Brothers)/Alice in Wonderland (p19)

https://collections.troutgallery.org/Media/images/1988.21.63_Prim-LoRes.jpg

“In the human colour-specturm, she took the place of the yellow ray” (Caird 105).

In The Yellow Drawing-Room, Mona Caird uses the color yellow to symbolize Vanora’s identity as the “New Woman” or a woman who is “intelligent, educated, emancipated, independent, and self-supporting,” directly opposite of the traditional expectations of the Victorian woman (Diniejko 2). Vanora’s choice of yellow as the paint color for the drawing room is significant for not only her character, but as a theme for the story as a whole, as reflected in the title. The color yellow is loud, bright, and radiant. I typically associate yellow with the sun, happiness, and light, but in this story, the color also transforms into a symbol of rebellion.

When the narrator first sees the drawing room, he describes it as “radiant, bold, unapologetic, unabashed” (Caird 104). These attributes quickly change from describing the room to describing Vanora herself. The narrator is deeply uncomfortable seeing a woman refuse to conform to his ideal of the “indistinguishable” woman. He claims that, “Women ought to take the place of the blue or violet rays” (Caird 105). Vanora is the most complete opposite of this. Her identity fuses with the color yellow. So much so that Caird writes, “…she took the place of the yellow ray,” directly opposing the narrators desires (Caird 105).

Yellow becomes more than a color, it’s a way for Vanora to define her identity as the New Woman and reject anyone trying to dim her light. This includes her own family, specifically her aunt Miss Thorne. But, most importantly, her decision to reject the narrator’s romantic advances, despite her reciprocated feelings for him, further proves this idea of her self-worth. Vanora says, “When you describe your doctrines, I seem to see the doors of a dark prison opening out of the sunshine; and strange to say, I feel no divine unerring instinct prompting me to walk in” (Caird 109). She refuses to let him tie her down or confine her. Instead, she takes control and embraces her sunshine and bold yellow rays. Through Vanora, the color yellow not only symbolizes joy and warmth, but also rebellion and freedom.

Caird, Mona. “The Yellow Drawing-Room.” Dreams, Visions and Realities: An Anthology of Short Stories by Turn-of-the-Century Women Writers, Continuum International Publishing, 2003.

Diniejko, Andrzej. “The New Woman Fiction.” The Victorian Web, 17 Dec. 2011, victorianweb.org/gender/diniejko1.html.

The Illman brothers distributed many images of ideal femininity to the reading public, such as “Health and Beauty.” A glowing, conventionalized woman pauses as she descends a veranda staircase. She is surrounded by classicized architectural elements like the doric column and classical male busts receding into trees and a dark skyline. Nonetheless, both she and her dress reflect light, if not seem to be the source of light (there seems to be some suggestion of an antithetical back lighting as well). Her dress style is closer to an earlier Regency fashion, indicating idealization of past femininity. Though she is supposed to be moving, the only movement in this engraving is the suggested wind moving her ribbons – her dress folds are perfectly arranged behind her, and she is balanced on her left toe with a perpetually bent knee. The image gives the illusion of her choice to leave the structure, but she does not seem compelled to continue walking – trancelike, she remains safe in the illuminated territory. She is a time-transcendent stand in for the title’s allegory – contained, suspended and submissive. She communicates that there is only one way to embody such desirable traits: a surrender of identity. 

Though she is the paragon of classicized femininity, there is also the joint suggestion there is also a temptation to keep looking when women exercise individuality. In Mona Caird’s “The Yellow Drawing Room” the unnamed narrator toggles between viewing Clara and Vanora: 

“My ideal woman would consider it almost indelicate to play with words in this fantastic fashion. I glanced at my grey-blue goddess. How comfortably certain one felt with her of enjoying conversational repose! Dear Clara! With what admirable good taste she carried out one’s cherished ideas: she fitted them like a glove. I completely, ardently approved of Clara. To her I rather ostentatiously devoted myself for the rest of the afternoon, but I was furtively watching her sister” (Caird 105). 

The narrator condemns Vanora’s linguistic “play” by using the word as a diminutive, then claps back with the precise alliterative phrase “fantastic fashion” to show his outward disdain for the action. But it is also important to note that he calls it, “almost indelicate” – there is a certain amount of personality that is negotiable here. “My ideal woman” is also “my blue-grey goddess,” a possessive phrase which allows him to express “one’s” (his) “cherished ideas.” But then, in the next sentence, the narrator uses an Austenian anticlimax to describe his feelings toward this ideal woman: “I completely, ardently approved of Clara.” She is the textbook woman, she makes one “comfortably certain” (in which we can see man and wife in the dual consonant but different “c” sounds), she fits the model perfectly “like a glove.” And yet, she is only worthy of a “glance,” and a patronizing, “Dear Clara!” – his “blue-grey goddess,” like the color, bores him. Even when “devoted” to her, the narrator can gather all this information in that same “glance,” while he is “furtively watching” the more interesting subject: Vanora.  

In both the print and story, there is a dissonance between performed and fugitive identity: the external identity is policed, accepted and honored, and there is no attempt to understand the personality behind the performance, and when a genuine personality is presented, it is shown back into the idealized box. Like the Illman Brother’s woman’s ribbons, a woman is supposed to be moved, not move for herself. 

Works Cited: 

Caird, Mona. “The Yellow Drawing Room.” Dreams, Visions and Realities: An Anthology of Short Stories by Turn-of-the-Century Women Writers, London, International Publishing, 2003, pp. 104-110. 

Illman Brothers. “Health and Beauty.” The Trout Gallery Archives, https://collections.troutgallery.org/objects-1/infoquery=mfs%20all%20%22illman%22&sort=0&page=13.   

“Vanora herself was simply radiant. She had a mass of glistening, golden hair, a colour full, varying, emotional, eyes like the sea (I lose my temper when people ask me to describe their colour). In figure she was robust, erect, pliant, firmly knit (Caird 104).

In this passage, the male narrator introduces Verona as the subject of his affections. The emphasis placed on her appearance through a continuous list of description and the interjection of narrator’s thoughts mid-sentence demonstrates how the narrator views Verona as something to project his opinion onto despite her strong sense of self and personality. His description’s alignment with the stereotypical victorian portrayal of the femme fatale allows the poem to display how insistent and overbearing the narrator’s sense of importance is along with how he undercuts himself in his actions.

First, his continuous use of commas through the list of “glistening, golden hair, a colour full,varying, emotional, eyes like the sea” gives the sentence many dramatic pauses. These pauses draw the reader’s attention and signal his perceived importance of what he is saying. Secondly, the emphasis on the words used give an abstract sense of her appearance through vague ideas signaling that Verona’s importance is defined by how she can serve the narrator. Through the images of “glistening, golden hair” and “eyes like the sea”, Verona becomes a beautiful object or sensation to chase after and there is little description of her as a person. 

The narrator’s interjection of “(I lose my temper when people ask me to describe their colour)”  despite later in the passage describing Verona as a yellow compared to the purple colour of other women signifies how much she stands out to him and “how she is not like other women” . It also gives the reader a sense that he believes he is bestowing a gift upon her that he does not do for many. The Verona from being defined as different from other women aligns with the femme fatale concept as she is placed into competition with other women on the basis of appearance against her will. This distinction is apparent in the line “In figure she was robust, erect, pliant, firmly knit” as the commas emphasize the importance of each word. The “strength” of her body differs from the conventional ideal woman as they are often described as dainty. Even though other women are adhering to the beauty standards set by the men, it is still not enough for the narrator as her lack of adherence becomes an alluring trait. This demonstrates the double standards as even if women match up to the standards forced upon them, this adherence can be used against them. They become “plain and boring” in the eyes of men even though they placed those impossible standards onto them.

The breakage in flow shows how destructive and hypocritical the contradiction is as the sentence itself can not mask the illogical claim in a seamless flow. The narrator claims to hate being asked to describe someone’s colour, but yet has no reservations doing it for someone who never asked him to. The construction of the passage shows how exactly the nameless male narrator’s claims contradict and interrupt themselves. With unnatural abrupt flow and excessive use of abstract adjectives, Caird demonstrates the contradiction of gender expectations enforced by men. By using a nameless male narrator, Caird demonstrates the impossible nature of these expectations and how prevalent they are. The narrator could be anybody and therefore present themselves in any area of daily life.

Dear readers, 

We can generally agree that Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has some questionable scenes and even more mind-boggling dialogue. The characters are mad, Alice is lost, and Wonderland is one big psychedelic fever dream. But don’t let the oddness get to you. I’d like to propose that to an extent, there is form beneath the surface craziness. To be specific, I want to examine how we make sense of time through the setting, Alice’s internal thoughts, and the chapter titles. 

One of these key scenes takes place at the beginning of the book where Lewis Carroll wastes no time (haha) giving the audience a taste of what’s to come later on. The chapter title “Down the rabbit-hole” already gives away the “where” of the setting yet readers don’t know “what” to expect. Our “what” ends up coming from Alice as she falls “Down, down, down.” (which is repeated twice in this chapter) and “very slowly” (Carroll 2). She has thoughts like “ ‘I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down’ ” and “ ‘I wonder if I shall right through the earth!’ “ (Carroll 3). So we get direction, speed, and an exaggerated sense of distance.

Something else I noticed that I thought was interesting was Alice’s thoughts. Yes, she’s a child and that much is clear through the inaccuracy and imagination of the centre of the earth, but there is rationality. Since readers are experiencing Wonderland through Alice, we also have to think how we would react if this was real life. If I fell down what was supposed to be a rabbit hole that somehow fit me with plenty of space to spare and I was falling for that long among other objects that shouldn’t be found in a rabbit hole, I would start to question where it was going too. And then it wouldn’t be crazy to entertain the possibility that it could go near the centre of the earth. Having said that, that’s another beauty of Alice’s thoughts. They’re entertaining and so provoking of the readers’ own thoughts that they make time fly by as suddenly as it does for Alice.

Sincerely,

Alucard

It is pretty much the point of Alice in Wonderland that Wonderland itself is a strange place with strange beings and strange rules. But what does that make Alice? Is she a regular human child as we see her, or is that only because of the perspective readers hold based on her introduction?

Readers are first introduced to our protagonist, Alice, in the “real world,” after all. Her real-world is something that is familiar to us: she is a child who is still in the process of undergoing education, who goes on walks, and has an older sister. Alice also thinks of herself in this way, by the rules of the real-world, consistently referring to herself as a “little girl.” The consistent establishment of Alice as a young girl, a child, are important in dictating how readers might treat her, or how they might react to Wonderland. A large part of why is that childhood carries a number of close associations, a notable one being innocence: the idea that children are purely innocent beings began to become quite popular among the Victorians, to the point where Lewis Carroll himself was fascinated by it. In fact, modern readers are still affected by this social idea that children are impressionable and innocent. Readers of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland are sure to draw upon not only the association of childhood with imagination, but of childhood with innocence, characterizing Alice as an innocent. There are many parts of the book in which Alice demonstrates that trait of innocence. For instance, she often steps back to think about her beloved cat, Dinah, who she misses during her time in Wonderland. “ ‘I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time’ “, she reminisces as she falls down the rabbit-hole, concerned not for her own falling, but her cat (4). She even mentions Dinah to the company of birds and mice she stumbles upon, not thinking ahead to realize that this particular set of creatures might not want to hear about her cat, who might hunt them. When asked about her, Alice replies “eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet” (22). This eagerness and purehearted love for Dinah is a prime example of Alice demonstrating a trait of innocence, where her care for her pet might end up overshadowing her logic.

Another fascination of the Victorians was with double-ness, manifesting in lookalikes or the duality of one mind (think, for example, of Jekyll and Hyde). My classmates actually have pointed out that some of this double-ness exists within Alice, naming one part of her her “child self,” and the other, her “adult self.” Her “child self” is curious and emotional, connected to that trait of innocence I outlined above. Her “child self” often cries when afraid or hurt: for instance, when she bumps her head against the roof of the rabbit-hole hall, she lays on her side and is brought to tears (9). However, my classmates have also noticed that Alice demonstrates some awareness of how adults might react to her childlike actions, and reminds herself of it in times where she breaks down. Upon crying, she lectures herself: “ ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ said Alice, ‘a great girl like you,’ (she might as well say this), ‘to go on crying in this way! ‘“ (9). Interestingly, Alice at this time is a lot taller than she typically would be in the real-world after magically growing in size, hence why she calls herself a “great girl” instead of a “little girl.” She attempts to correlate her height with adulthood and maturity in order to get her “child self” to stop crying. 

These two aspects of Alice, her innocence and her double-ness, have led me to consider why the characters in Wonderland might react the way they do to her. One of the strangest traits of Wonderland, I’ve concluded, is that it has very little concept of adulthood or childhood, save for rare cases. There are a few characters, such as the baby that becomes a pig, who are determined solely by their age, but most others are ambiguous, assumed to be adults. Even so, the baby that becomes a pig is not treated with the assumed innocence of the child, and is beaten consistently for the misconception that he is purposefully disruptive. If Wonderland does have a consistent concept of maturity, it doesn’t apply presumed innocence of mind to children like the real-world might. This lack of difference in treatment applies to Alice, as well. Characters are often quite harsh to her, and make no effort to understand her, such as in the case of the caterpillar, who continuously interrogates her while she attempts to explain herself to the best of her ability. Still, the caterpillar denies her every word, always replying “contemptuously” (14). Readers such as myself might find this odd, considering we have the context that Alice is only a young girl in a stressful situation. We may even cite her trait of innocence as evidence of why she should be afforded pity or understanding. The characters in Wonderland, however, don’t seem to think this way about children, much like the caterpillar.

Another reason why Alice may be treated strangely in Wonderland, however, is her double-ness that I described earlier. Her “adult self” does not only appear when she scolds herself for crying, for instance. It also appears in scenes like the one with the baby pig, who she temporarily takes from its parent in order to save it from further beating, thus parentifying herself instead (47). Could it be that because of this duality, characters treat her as if she were an adult, or they ignore that she is a child? In fact, could this duality be a sort of “madness”? In a scene where the Cheshire Cat appears in a tree, he states that Alice “must be” mad, or she “wouldn’t have come here” (50). The cat might be referring to the fact that her “madness” is actually her childish curiosity, the very innocence spoken of earlier that led to her jumping down a deep and dangerous rabbit-hole. Or, possibly, the cat might be referring to something more complicated, such as this complication of character that Alice also possesses. Either way, Alice’s childhood as well as her complexity blatantly affect her navigation of Wonderland.

Works Cited:

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

In “The Yellow Drawing Room” by Mona Caird, Vanora, the protagonist, paints her entire drawing room yellow. This is met with appalling reactions from a man who is trying to court her, as he thinks that his ideal woman would be better associated with “a nice tone of grey or blue.” During the Victorian era, it was expected that women were subdued (like these colors) and that they were acting in accordance with the wants of the men in their lives. The yellow drawing room introduces the idea of “the new woman” into Caird’s short story. This is Vanora’s first mentioned deviance from the norm. Throughout the story, we learn of Vanora’s creativity and humor, both of which support her rejection of old norms and reclaiming of her domestic space. 

The fact that her main act of rebellion is in the form of a drawing room which is typically used for entertaining and displaying wealth, demonstrates her rejection of the typical hosting and entertaining duties that come with Victorian associations of the domestic home and womanhood. She also rejects domesticity by knowing that she will not be happy in that environment, despite the assumption that that is what all women should need to be happy. She says that “the threat of being excluded from the realms you mention does not terrify me.” She does not care to conform to the old norms that 

In addition to this, she expresses her personality and uses humor. St. Vincent even says that her “personality seemed to enwrap me as a garment.” This shows that Vanora is sure in her identity and personality and she knows what she wants. This is reflected in the reading from the Victorian Web that states that the new woman deals frankly with sex and marriage. Her confidence stands in contrast to the submissive and reserved nature that was often expected of Victorian women. Through Vanora’s character, Mona Caird critiques the restrictive past of Victorian society and advocates for a new role for women.

During the Victorian Era, there is a common misconception, or notion, that they were prudish and unable to talk about sex or lust. This is then directly juxtaposed by Christina Rossetti in her poem “In an Artist’s Studio”. With an omnipresent narrator, they (the narrator) have a bird’s eye view of a male artist painting the name woman, over and over in various dresses and poses. And in that, he lusts over his subject of the painting “feeding” on her face while she looks with “kind eyes”.

In “In an Artist’s Studio”, about three quarters down the stanza, Rossetti writes “He feeds upon her face by day and night, /And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,/Fair as the moon and joyful as the light…Not as she is, but as she fills his dream”. Rossetti’s strong start to the sentence, “feed”, immediately draws the reader in and depicts an almost animalistic view the painter has on his subject. By “feeding upon her face” he (the artist) acts like an animal on prey, like a lion and a zebra. The woman is then painted as having “true kind eyes” insinuating that no matter what he does to her, or how he views her, she is forever painted as present and enjoying him and what he does. By following her facial depiction with a comparison of her body as “fair as the moon”, her pale body insinuates the purity and undisturbed body Victorian Women were almost required to have. The male artist also paints her as “joyful” without “waiting” or “sorrow”; he paints her as always happy and willing to observe whatever it is he does, as she “fills his dreams”.

This poem is written by Christina Rossetti about her brothers (Dante Gabriel Rossetti) infatuation with his wife Elizabeth Siddal, who is the woman posing in “Ophelia”. And although “Ophelia” is painted by Sir John Everett Millais, not Dante, the fact she (Christina) is able to write an entire poem on her brother’s sexual desire for his wife is quite strange, and unsettling. In the painting “Ophelia” she is painted as a woman in water surrounded by flowers, green trees, and sunlight. Her skin is pale with a white dress embroidered in gold, looking up almost dazed. Like the woman in “In an Artist’s Studio” “Ophelia” is depicting the perfect Victorian woman. Her eyes are “kind” her skin is “fair as the moon” and although she may not have filled the artists dreams, she certainly was the main focus of Dante, the artist in the poem. Both of these pieces of art, the poem and painting, show the picture-perfect Victorian Woman, of sensuality and desire without having a say in what they believe. The animalistic behavior both portrayed in the poem as well as the painting show the way in which women were treated, as objects of desire instead of a sentient being.

Mona Caird’s short story, “The Yellow Drawing Room,” paints a powerful portrait of the New Woman. The New Woman, according to the Victorian Web, “departed from the stereotypical Victorian woman” and “was intelligent, educated, emancipated, independent and supporting.” Caird’s depiction of Vanora Haydon shows the complexities and multifaceted-ness of the New Woman, raising questions about the role of women and marriage.

Told from the perspective of Mr. St. Vincent, “The Yellow Drawing Room” attempts to understand the innerworkings of a man’s mind and questions the logic he might use to justify the subordination of women. St. Vincent describes himself as “old-fashioned” when it comes to his understanding of sex and gender roles, yet despite this apparent self-awareness, he refuses to reconsider his preconceived notions about women and their role in Victorian society (106). When introduced to Vanora Haydon, St. Vincent is alarmed by his attraction to her as she does not fit into any of his boxes about what a woman should be like. Rather than rethink his view on women, he desires Vanora to change and become “‘a woman in the old sweet sense, for [his] sake’” (108). He repeatedly tells himself that “[Vanora] shall love [him], and she shall learn, through love, the sweet lesson of womanly submission” (108). Here, St.Vincent’s refusal to adapt to a changing world is made clear. By suggesting that he can coerce Vanora into loving him, and through that love convince her that she should submit to him as he believes that is her role, he becomes the living embodiment of the patriarchy.

St. Vincent’s need to control Vanora in order to re-establish his own sense of masculinity and power is explored repeatedly throughout the text. St. Vincent explicitly states that “[he] had the burning desire to subdue [Vanora]” (108). He even goes so far as to say that “[he] would make her proud of her subordination; [he] would turn the splendid stream of her powers and affection into the true channel” (108). St. Vincent’s desire for dominance over Vanora highlights the power imbalance between men and women during the nineteenth century, and yet, the dynamics were obviously beginning to change, too. George Inglis remarks on this change, claiming that “‘the contest is a typical one; if one could imagine the Eighteenth Century as a lover wooing the Nineteenth Century, this is the sort of angular labyrinthine courtship we should have!’” (108) When St. Vincent overhears Inglis say this, he states that he has no idea what Inglis could mean by it. However, the personification of the two centuries and their fraught courtship seems to directly reflect the same sort of fraught relationship (I use that term loosely) that St. Vincent and Vanora have.

The strained relationship between St. Vincent and Vanora is displayed fully in their final heated argument. St. Vincent declares his love for Vanora and accuses her of not loving him in return. However, Vanora disputes his accusation, saying “‘Ah! That is the horrible absurdity of it! . . . You enthral one part of me and leave the other scornful and indifferent . . . yet to the end of time I should continue to shock and irritate you, and you would stifle, depress, and perhaps utterly unhinge me” (109). Here, Vanora points out how strict gender roles and patriarchal social practices hurt both men and women, as they cause great strife in relationships and do not adequately engage with the complexity of human thought and feeling. Through the story of St. Vincent and Vanora, Caird seems to suggest that the dismantling of patriarchal social practices is necessary for men and women to be able to participate in equitable romantic and platonic partnerships, and that a woman’s role has the potential to go beyond only being a wife and mother.