Category: 2025 Posts

Walter Hartright introduces Anne Catherick to the reader with an almost obsessive lens of modesty and infantile descriptions. This is continued when he reencounters her at Mrs. Fairlie’s grave, where he treats her the way one might treat a small child. He reassures her constantly throughout their conversation, speaking slowly and gently to her (Collins 95). One may think that Walter’s love for Laura Fairlie, who so resembles Anne, may cause him to see Anne in a different light than he did on his first encounter with her. However, when he observes Anne more carefully, he finds all of her dissimilarities to Miss Fairlie, referring to her “worn, weary face” (97). This makes clear to the reader that Walter is still viewing Anne in a patronizing light. Walter’s idea of Anne as a chaste being, however, is unfounded, in my opinion. To look at page 105 and Anne’s reaction to hearing about Sir Percival Glyde, it is clear that she has had unfavorable encounters with him. Walter uses this to conclude that Sir Percival is responsible for locking Anne up in the asylum. While this makes sense and seems to be the correct conclusion for Walter to draw, he also does not seem to ruminate on what may have caused this series of events in Anne’s life. Based on the striking resemblance between Anne and Laura Fairlie, who is to be married to Sir Percival, my immediate assumption of Anne’s hatred of him was that he had forcefully expressed interest in her.

The gaze is central to The Woman in White.  In the first section, Collins frames a supposedly objective testimony through a drawing master’s narrative, someone whose job is primarily looking.  Walter Hartright frequently affords his reader extensively self-indulgent visual descriptions, but in his relationship with Laura, these descriptions take a turn:   

“Not a day passed, in that dangerous intimacy of teacher and pupil, in which my hand was not close to Miss Fairlie’s; my cheek, as we bent together over her sketch-book, almost touching hers. The more attentively she watched every movement of my brush, the more closely I was breathing the perfume of her hair, and the warm fragrance of her breath” (Collins 63). 

Because Hartright is first and foremost a painter, it makes sense that he is alarmed at the literalized foreshortening of his life’s picture plain: Laura is much closer to his than he initially realized. He describes his experience first through negatives: “not a day,” “not so close,” when he is in control of the action, perhaps to emphasize the extent of his restraint in this “dangerous” relationship with (the formally addressed) “Miss Fairlie.”  However, when they act “together,” or when Laura is the actor “watch[ing]” him, he more freely admits his desire. Though he cannot see her, as he is focusing on his work, he gages her “attentive” gaze by her proximity, her smell.  Hartright assumes their equal attraction in the next parallel phrase: the “more” attentive she is, the “more” intensely he breathes her in. They are close enough to equally exchange air, but Laura’s “perfume” and “fragrance” dominates the space (I will note, uncontrollably) at the culmination of this multi-clause, breathless phrase. 

Even when Laura is “attentive” to Hartright, she is watching “every movement of [his] brush,” not him.  The brush undoubtedly has sexual or phallic connotations for both parties which extend to another moment of gaze.  As Hartright prepares to leave Limmeridge House,  

“She turned her head away, and offered me a little sketch, drawn throughout by her own pencil, of the summer-house in which we had first met. The paper trembled in her hand as she held it out to me—trembled in mine as I took it from her” (Collins 126). 

While Hartright is allowed to express his desire for Laura in his retrospective account, Laura cannot do the same.  Without looking at him (and without touching him), she gives him a “little” (note Hartright’s diminutive) “drawing” which can yield a few interpretations.  First, that her desire cannot be voiced, and is therefore only communicated through another object, (the paper).  Second, that that the pencil in a woman’s (“trembling”) hand will never be as mighty as the brush in a man’s, we take it, steady one.  But if we lean into the phallic interpretation, just like Hartright’s drawing, she has independently drawn on the canvas and given it to Hartright – perhaps she is voicing her own mirrored desire for Hartright.  However, I would suggest that another reading is possible here: Laura’s trembling hand and inability to meet Hartright’s gaze hints at her insincerity.  Painting from Hartright’s perspective is often linked with heterosexual desire, so (it might be crazy but) could this moment also allude to how Laura is merely mimicking heterosexual desire as she mimics Hartright as a painter?   

 

Works Cited: 

Collins, Wilkie. The Woman in White. Edited by John Sutherland, Oxford, Oxford University Press, [1860] 2008. 

After mildly scrubbing Mrs. Fairlie’s tombstone, Anne Catherick transforms from a peaceful, innocent girl to a ferocious creature at Walter Hartright’s insinuation that she may belong in an insane asylum after all. The change is witnessed on her face, which before was characterized by “nervous sensitiveness, weakness and uncertainty” (Collins 104). These descriptions paint Anne as harmless and helpless, as a Victorian woman is expected to be. However, this softness morphs into “an expression of maniacally intense hatred and fear” (104). Both feelings alter the woman’s passive emotional state in an unfeminine way, making her dangerous. The word “wild” is used twice, as well as “unnatural,” emphasizing Anne’s departure from traditional feminine nature (104). She is specifically described as a “wild animal,” separating her from humanity entirely (104). This description is especially notable since animals are typically associated with the masculine, perhaps suggesting a subversion of gender roles. Lastly, Anne uses her “convulsive strength” to “crush” the cloth she had been using to clean the tombstone, “as if it had been a living creature she could kill” (104). The ferocious violence of this action is emphasized by each descriptor, once again comparing Anne Catherick to an animalistic predator. I think this passage shows a dark side of Anne Catherick lurking beneath her meek demeanor, which is agitated by Hartright’s insult to her mental stability. With this scene, Collins subtly aligns unfemininity with insanity, or mental illness at the least. Here is also an image of a woman overcome by sensations—dark sensations of fear and anger—who is thus transformed into something unnatural, masculine, and frighteningly powerful.

William A. Cohen’s “Sex, Scandal, and the Novel” describes the Victorian connection between Victorian concepts of sexual forbiddenness, other elements of socially unspeakable acts, and the style in which authors wrote. He explains, “Like other restrictions upon expression, the conventions of sexual unspeakability serve writers as a productive constraint, contributing to a certain historical formation of the literary”. The Woman In White, particularly the narrative of Walter Hartright, contains a number of paragraph-long descriptions that are winding and detailed, especially surrounding the novel’s women. Using this aspect of Cohen’s thinking as a lens, Hartright’s descriptions of the titular Woman in White become less curious, and more scandalous, regardless of any actual sexual intent. Now known to be Anne Catherick, she is further linked to the social undesirability of mental illness, as upon first meeting her, Walter discovers that she has escaped from an asylum. 

The most prominent rumination here is that of scandal rather than sex when thinking about Cohen. Whether she is the mysterious and ghostly Woman in White, or the tormented Anne Catherick, the woman is permanently linked to socially complex topics. Upon meeting her for the first time, Walter’s “restrictions of expression” produce a fascinating description, a long paragraph that takes great pains to deemphasize the sexualization of the woman. “The one thing of which I felt certain was,” he says, “that the grossest of mankind could not have misconstrued her motive in speaking, even at that suspiciously late hour and in that suspiciously lonely place”. Despite her wandering out late, Walter makes clear to readers that the woman is not a prostitute—however, instead of saying it outright, he politely states that her motives were pure, and that they could not have been “misconstrued” as promiscuous. Instead, her social unconventionality is linked to her rank, her social standing. Part of why the descriptive paragraph Walter embarks on is so long is because the woman defies categorization, being dressed in fabric “certainly not composed of very delicate or very expensive materials”. Additionally, her manner is inherently scandalous in that she hardly displays conventional femininity, according to Walter’s description. The “first touch of womanly tenderness” he hears from her is in the middle of their conversation, and he is unable to tell the nature of her “manner,” whether it is that of the noble lady or “the manner of a woman in the humblest rank of life”. All this from Walter is, in short, to say that the woman in white is more than a little strange, phrased in the politest way possible. On top of this inherent societal nonconformity (what we might call scandalous, even if not the exact “scandal” Cohen refers to), the woman in white is an escapee from a mental health institution, which Walter discovers after their first meeting.

However, the societal conventions of unspeakability that Cohen mentions guide Walter’s continual fascination and confusion with her in the text. Not even a day after they part, Walter is distracted by her: “I sat down and tried, first to sketch, then to read—but the woman in white got between me and my pencil, between me and my book.” He then asks a series of vague questions: “Had the forlorn creature come to any harm? That was my first thought, though I shrank selfishly from confronting it. Other thoughts followed, on which it was less harrowing to dwell”, he begins. Calling the mysterious figure a “forlorn creature,” especially, solidifies the image of her as something potentially scandalous in nature, even if not always sexual. In fact, Walter goes on to call her a “creature” rather than a “woman” more than once, throughout the novel. Late in the novel, when the obsession with unraveling the mystery consumes him further, he internally thinks, “Again, and yet again, the woman in white. There was a fatality in it”. This vaguely-stated “fatality” in question refers to his unconventional fascination, to the idea that this woman haunts him in a way greater than any other average lady—entirely due to her societal unconventionalism, the very thing that makes her ghostly other than her pale face in the moonlight. 

Walter’s fascination with the woman as unconventional is important in the formation of the novel because his point of view is the majority of readers’ exposure to this ghastly character. Readers only perceive Anne Catherick as so haunting due to her scandalous placement in Walter’s mind. These descriptions provide structure to the mystery, forming as a literary staple of the novel on a smaller scale than the way Cohen describes a historical formation of the literary. In addition, perhaps the mystery of the Woman in White has connections to the scandal-story that Cohen describes. 

Bibliography:

Cohen, William A. “Sex, Scandal, and the Novel.” From Sex Scandal: The Private Parts of Victorian Fiction, Duke University Press, 1996. The Victorian Web, www.victorianweb.org/gender/wac.html. 

Collins, Wilkie. (1996). The Woman in White. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved February 5, 2025, from https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/583/pg583-images.html.

 

(I just have the online version, so I copied the section I wanted to close read because there are no pages!) “Sad! To remember her, as I did, the liveliest, happiest child that ever laughed the day through, and to see her now, in the flower of her age and her beauty, so broken and so brought down as this!”

 

Although the passage above seemed insignificant as just a passing thought by Mr. Gilmore, it stood out as it demonstrates the contrast of Laura Fairlie. Throughout Mr. Gilmore’s narration, he often talks about, or to, Laura as if she were a child. Innocent, and unable to make her own decisions with the need of an older man to guide her through her impending marriage. His exclamation of “Sad!” paired with “and now” is a dismal view of Laura. By assuming “and now” it insinuates that she is unable to change and is now stuck in this cycle of childhood purity, unable to be the woman she is. He then goes on to say that she is “broken” and “brought down” to who she is yet again reaffirming that she is no longer a woman but a shell of one. “Broken” followed by “brought down” sounds as if she is unable to be put back together like glass shattered. And if she were to be able to be rebuilt, she would still have pieces missing as it’s difficult to put together a glass broken.

Mr. Gilmore then uses the “flower of her age and beauty” to describe her. He could be using “flower” to depict her beauty like a flower; or, in the way that flower is used in a sexual manner. Not that he is viewing her as a sexual object, but that she is at the age to be “deflowered”. This view then contrasts his previous observations, viewing her as the “child that laughed the day through”. This again insinuates the young characteristics that Laura embodies, and that Mr. Gilmore looks down on her as a woman and a child, whether that be implicitly or explicitly.

“The little beast, cowardly and cross-grained, as pet-dogs usually are, looked up at him sharply, shrank away from his outstretched hand, whined, shivered, and hid itself under a sofa. It was scarcely possible that he could have been put out by such a trifle as a dog’s reception of him, but I observed, nevertheless, that he walked away towards the window very suddenly. Perhaps his temper is irritable at times. If so, I can sympathise with him. My temper is irritable at times too.” (133)

This passage stuck out to me as it is the second time this dog is mentioned, although both are just brief. I believe it is the companion of Miss Farlie, as earlier in the novel Hartwrite refers to it as “the pet companion of all her walks” (92). Dogs are often symbols of loyalty. This dog shows itself to be loyal to Miss Fairlie as not being friendly towards Sir Percival, a man whom Miss Farlie also does not show warmth to. Sir Percival reaches out to the dog as an extension of trust, but the dog does not reciprocate and instead follows this act by hiding. This dog is also characterized as scared and lesser than, while he is the only creature who is properly understanding Sir Percival’s intentions. While the reader already has a negative impression of him so far, this furthers the narrative that Sir Percival is going to be an antagonist in the story. 

Gilmore also claims to be observant, yet seems to not realize the suspicious maneuver of Sir Percival to the windows, he instead thinks this must be due to irritability. This movement of his is also a slight slip of the facade that he has been putting on. He insists that he has nothing to hide and up until this point has exuded confidence. This slip, although it goes right over Gilmore’s head, alludes to the reader that he is hiding something despite no human being able to pick up on it yet. This theme furthers the “reading between the lines” narrative that the book is doing. Just as the reader can discern Sir Percival’s hidden intentions through small clues, this scene suggests that the characters themselves must learn to “read between the lines” to uncover hidden truths themselves. 

Essential to upholding gender roles during the Victorian era included the emphasis on domesticity for women (Christ 2006, 992). Though, too, the concept of “New Womanhood” brought alternative responses to the rigid gender norms. Resorted to the kitchen and to the private sphere of the home, women’s responsibilities were to construct the home itself and the people within it. Being a child’s primary caretaker, it seemed women and children were one and one. Though, in The Woman in White, the mother-child relationship is revealed differently. With this particular scene, Marian, lacking children of her own, interacts with a schoolboy or rather interrogates him.  Caught in the midst of her response to the boy, “her face crimsoned with indignation—she turned upon little Jacob with an angry suddenness which terrified him into a fresh burst of tears—opened her lips to speak to him—then controlled herself—and addressed the master instead of the boy” (Collins 2011, 88).  Marian’s clear “angry suddenness” and “indignation” in response to the previous line of questioning towards the boy reveals her emotional state around a child. She, in one sense, understands the power imbalance of an adult speaking down to a child as the boy is “terrified” of her to the point of a physical emotional response of breaking into “tears.” Yet, in another sense, Marian treats the schoolboy as her equal, interrogating him like an adult and feeling as though she can speak with such “indignation” and “suddenness.”

It is as if up to this point in conversation Marian has not recognized how “terrified” the boy is because she is blind to the power imbalance a parent and child might endure. She ignores the differences in gender and age dynamics or perhaps she does the exact opposite—using her position as a masculine coded woman to pry information out of someone younger than her. She understands how power operates and her glimpse into possessing that power is squashed by her self-control. The literary dashes are telling of Marian’s mental operations—her mind simultaneously pausing to rethink just as the text implores the reader to do the same. Just as she opens “her lips” to voice her power over the boy, she stops herself.

That preemptive control preventing her from continuing her line of aggressive questioning that women do not typically make reveals an ingrained behavior to check herself. Societal demand of women always being controlled caught up to her in this moment. Her emotional “suddenness” also becomes a “suddenness” to remember her obligations as a woman—to respond to the male master and remind herself of the normative gender and age power hierarchies defining societies of the time. Instead of caring for a child, she interrogates one and in doing so Collins suggests that her understanding of power hierarchies between children-adult and between male-female and her breaking of it is constantly met with her own society fueled initiatives to prevent such forward thinking.

References

Christ, C. T., & Robson, C. (2006). The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Victorian Age (8th              ed., Vol. E). W.W. Norton.

Collins, W. (2011). Woman in White. Penguin Classics.

Throughout the first third of The Woman in White “unexplainable feelings” often become entirely explainable. Walter Hartright’s first unexplainable uneasiness upon the prospect of his going to teach at Limmeridge House is enlightened given his disastrous love for Miss Fairlie. His unexplainable tension upon first seeing Miss Fairlie is realized when he at last connects her similarities with Anne Catherick. These “unexplainable” feelings have generally been found to be very explainable, when the situation is placed in the correct context. Mr. Gilmore’s obliviousness over the situation between Walter and Laura during Mr. Hartright’s last night at Limmeridge House is an excellent example of dramatic irony; the reader understands the situation the character is confused about.

When Miss Halcombe is obliged (perhaps coerced is the better word here) by Percival Glyde to write a letter to Anne Catherick’s mother, his behavior seems entirely by-the-book to Mr. Gilmore, but it is clear to the reader that Mrs. Halcombe doubts his character despite herself. She had “a certain hesitation of manner,” and “looked uneasy” (WIW, 132). There are small moments in the text that reinforce the importance of paying attention to “unexplainable uneasiness,” regardless of what a character is trying to convince themselves of – here, it is Percival’s upstanding character. The reader is encouraged to trust observations before the character’s feelings, and try to separate the two the best they can.

An excellent example of this is Percival’s interaction with Miss Fairlie’s dog. The reader has observed, along with Mr. Hartright in his account of events, that the dog is loyal to her mistress; she always accompanies Laura on walks, and the dog is “pressed against her dress impatiently for notice and encouragement,”  when Walter observes her from his window. Even as Mr. Gilmore is entirely convinced (or determined to convince himself) that Percival is a good man, he still details his observations; when Percival “good-humouredly” calls out to the dog, she instead “shrank away from his outstretched hand, whined, shivered, and hid itself under a sofa… As he opened the door, the [dog] poked out her sharp muzzle… and barked and snapped at him” (133-134). This makes the reader question what is real and what is not: we haven’t seen the dog interact beyond Walter’s observance of her with Miss Fairlie; perhaps this is just how she behaves.

Mr. Gilmore entirely attributes this behavior to the dog, but Miss Halcombe hesitates around him; Anne Catherick sent a warning letter; Walter is suspicious of Percival’s character – the investigation is ongoing. How much of the doubt can be attributed to easy explanations: young, foolish love between Walter and Laura; Anne Catherick’s mental illness; Marianne’s desire to see her sister in a happy relationship? Mr. Gilmore has thus far described Percival’s behavior as entirely morally upstanding. Walter and Miss Halcombe have received no concrete proof their suspicions are founded in fact. And yet the dog cowers away and snaps at him. When Mr. Gilmore himself later approaches Miss Fairlie and her dog on his own, he expects the dog to snap at him, too. Instead, “the whimsical little brute falsified [his] expectations by jumping into [his] lap, and poking its sharp muzzle familiarly into [his] hand” (141). Who is a better judge of character: Mr. Gilmore, or the dog?

When Mr. Gilmore leaves his meeting with Laura, he recalls that though he had entered the room “believing Sir Percival Glyde had fair reason to complain of the manner in which she was treating him… [he] left it, secretly hoping that matters might end in her taking him at his word and claiming her release” (145). By the end of his account, Mr. Gilmore has completely changed his attitude towards Percival – “no daughter of mine should have been married to any man alive under such a settlement as I was compelled to make for Laura Fairlie” (161). Character’s “unexplained feelings” or suspicions are often validated by the surrounding subtext – Anne and Laura’s white clothing, and the dog’s behavior are examples of this. The unreliability of narrators in this novel serves to encourage the reader to pay closer attention to what is written between the lines. What is real, and what is imagined? Paying attention to patterns and “unexplainable feelings” will very likely yield explanations in due time, if this trend stays consistent.

Throughout the novel, Collins places a significant amount of emphasis on the inherent differences between men and women and what traits he views as acceptable or normal for men and women to have. This is highlighted through his description of Marian Halcombe when Mr. Hartright sees her for the first time. While he is first drawn in by her body, his perceptions of her quickly shift when he sees her face. Mr. Hartright uses the term ‘masculine’ several times to describe Miss Halcombe’s facial features, and he implies that these are undesirable features that he is “almost repelled” by (35). It seems as if Mr. Hartright views Miss Halcombe’s feminine body and masculine face as two things that simply cannot exist at the same time. He does this by saying that “to see such a face as this set on shoulders that a sculptor would have longed to model […] was to feel a sensation oddly akin to the helpless discomfort familiar to us all in sleep, when we recognize yet cannot reconcile the anomalies and contradictions of dreams” (35). These ‘contradictions’ that Mr. Hartright is facing seem to be confusing his idea of what a woman should look like.

Miss Halcombe’s facial expressions also appear to go against Mr. Hartright’s perceptions of femininity. He states that “her expression – bright, frank, and intelligent – appeared, while she was silent, to be altogether wanting in those feminine attractions of gentleness and pliability, without which the beauty of the handsomest woman alive is beauty incomplete” (35). Mr. Hartright views intelligence and frankness as traits that are un-womanlike and instead sees submissiveness as a more desirable trait. In Mr. Hartright’s opinion, no woman is truly beautiful unless she is ‘gentle’ and ‘pliable.’ Mr. Hartright’s opinions on what traits are acceptable for a woman are typical of the time, as many believed that the role of a woman was to be selfless and care for men. Throughout this passage and as the novel continues, it almost seems like Mr. Hartright views Miss Halcombe as less of a woman because of the contradiction or lack of femininity in her personality and physical appearance.