Category: Fall 2016

Laura Fairlie lies in the center of the romance in “The Woman in White.” Walter Hartwright hopelessly falls in love with her during the period of his narrative, then after the parting, gets reduced to a bitter mess both Gilmore and Marian are surprised and sorry to find. Then there is Sir Percival Glyde, pursuing his engagement with “unchangeable love and admiration of two long years” (174), apparently not only for Laura but her inheritance. And then, there are Gilmore and Marian. They appear to be armed with a different kind of love, but the bitterness by which Marian writes–“She will be his Laura instead of mine!”–makes a reader wonder if she, too, may act as one of the voices driving Laura into confusion.

And yet, for the woman in the center of all this attention, Laura is given very little power. This is not to argue that her environment is at fault. True, the Victorian era gives no legal power for women, but Marian is doing just fine with her “robust nervous system,” to the envy of Mr. Farlie (176). Upon coming of age, Laura is also entitled to an inheritance of twenty-thousand pounds, a sum that is “absolutely Miss Fairlie’s own” (150). And on account of her marriage, it is not, to be strict, a forced one, either. Sir Percival Glyde, as pale as he gets when Laura calls to talk to him (165), still voluntarily leaves one window open by passing onto Marian that he could, under Laura’s desire, “sacrifice himself by leaving her perfectly free to withdraw from the engagement” (138).

She is not yet of age–three months short of being twenty-one (146). And while this puts her in roughly the same area as the readers in our class, her emotional state does not seem to be parallel at all. Again and again, she is referred as not only a ghostly figure in white, but as a child.

Her encounter with Gilmore is especially so. On trying to express her desire to leave some inheritance to Walter Hartwright, she bursts into tears and Gilmore “drie[s] the tears that were gathering in her eyes, with [his] own hand, as if she had been the little Laura Fairlie of ten long years ago” (144). And from the way she leans towards him and smiles, she apparently is still a little girl of ten, at heart. The later page supports this by mentioning that she was “[s]till clinging to the past – that past which I represented to her, in my way, as Miss Halcombe did in hers!” (145).

Her love for Walter, too, then becomes questionable not in its existence but its meaning. Is it actually love, or is it a form of idolizing admiration and affection that a little girl might have towards an older man? The time spent alone upstairs looking at the album Walter had given her, the act of pinning her hair to it and asking to give it to him upon her death, and of saying to Marian “say for me, then, what I can never say for myself – say I loved him!” (173) all points to a kind of love that is just pure and selfless. This is comparable to Walter’s remembering “at one time to be bending over her, so close to her bosom as to tremble at the thought of touching it” (65). There is nothing sexual about Laura’s love at all–not just, I daresay, because this is a Victorian novel and women are not “qualified” to have such thoughts, but because her love does not include any at all.

She is, in this way, caged and deprived of power not by her environment or her situation, but by the limits of her own naive self. All she can do in the center of attention, is to do what she thinks she “should do,” then cry in her bedroom in secret. She is too young in spirit to execute her right to refuse her marriage, or pursue her romance–which may not be romance at all.

Throughout The Woman in White, Miss Fairlie is described as a bright figure that “passes by in the moonlight.” (48) It is imperative to take notice of this moon motif because it reoccurs frequently within the text. During class discussions, many people spoke about Walter Hartright’s “supernatural and ghostlike” descriptions of Laura Fairlie, yet no one mentioned the instant link between the moon and lunacy. If we are thinking about lunacy and its implications, single women in the Victorian Era were especially vulnerable and “easily disposable” candidates for the mental institutions. (Victorian Gothic) In this post, I would like to propose a relationship between desire and implications of madness.
Fascinatingly enough, “certificates of lunacy” were easy to acquire. The Victorian Era Asylums essentially severed ties between the “patient” and the outside world and the institution had full invasive power to control which letters the patients could receive from their loved ones. (Victorian Gothic) Unsurprisingly, I suspect that men who felt rejected by feme soles were eager to accuse them and to isolate them whilst chanting the mantra: “If I can’t have you, nobody can.”
Similarly, the issue exists once men ascribe women with emotional undertones where the female “influx of sentimentality” might perhaps be void. Walter focuses on “the white gleam of [Laura Fairlie’s] muslin gown and head-dress in the moonlight” and he is overwhelmed by a slew of “sensations” that “quicken his pulse” and raise a “fluttering in his heart.” (49) However, Laura is simply walking around her yard in the nighttime and she most likely does not intend to arouse any of Walter’s deep sensual “feelings.” Thus, if the idea of lunacy is linked to feelings of desire, what other connections are implied within this relationship? How could this link be dangerous for members of Victorian society?

(Victorian Gothic source) http://www.victoriangothic.org/the-lunacy-of-english-lunacy-laws/

Note: The Woman in White copy that I reference is different than the class edition and therefore it contains different page numbers. (Published by London Chatto & Windus)

I would like to discuss Mr. Gilmore’s…sexuality. Though his prose is much more blunt and efficient than Mr.Hartright’s elaborate descriptions of people and places, the narrative style does not necessarily reflect masculinity even though we may typically associate straight-forward, effective language with men instead of the “flowery” or emotional language of women (stereotypes, let’s be clear). I want to address one particular sentence that I think hints to Mr. Gilmore’s sexual desires through the text. After Sir Percival (whom I believe might be the object of Mr. Gilmore’s affection) takes the note from Miss. Halcombe addressed to Mrs. Catherick without looking at it and addresses it and hands it back to Miss. Halcombe, Mr. Gilmore notes, “I never saw anything more gracefully and more becomingly done, in my life” (133). Is this simply approval of Sir Percival’s mannerisms on Mr. Gilmore’s behalf? I would argue there is desire within the sentence. Mr. Gilmore’s language, up until his encounters with Sir Percival, is fairly unemotional and fittingly, lawyer-like. He calls Mr. Hartright a “modest and gentlemanlike young man” (128) and Mr. Fairlie as a “helpless sufferer” (129). Brutally honest, and thus as a reader I came to see Mr. Gilmore as a frank, open man. Mr. Gilmore even describes the women in a very matter-of-fact manner, not mentioning their bodies or beauty (or lack thereof) as Mr. Hartright did.

Saying that Sir Percival’s actions were graceful is the most sensuous wording I’d read from Mr. Gilmore throughout the text. The use of the word “becomingly” suggests an attraction to Sir Percival’s actions while the notion that Mr. Gilmore’s “never seen” anything as graceful alludes to the fact that he has never been as tempted by someone, including women, before. I think the “in my life” highlights the awareness Mr. Gilmore has that his attraction to men is not something that occurs in the lives of other men; I would read it as “in my life”. The sentence is just one of many that hints quite obviously (at least I think so) to the desire Mr. Gilmore has for Sir Percival. He even later describes him as, “a gentleman, every inch of him” (146). I cannot help but associate this with sexual desire! It is not only the words, but the break in his usual objective text. In this novel, it may be those moments, when the narrators’ seemingly innocently comment on actions within the story, when they betray their true emotions. In this multi-narrator text, it’s fascinating to see how observing how different narrators comment on people and describe the events around them can allude to their own desires and thoughts more than the actions in the narrative.

When I first started reading The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, I began to formulate a question in my mind on the true views of the author.  I was curious on whether Wilkie Collins would portray the women of his novel in a stereotypical Victorian way: men being superior to women in numerous rights and aspects of life.

At first, I was convinced that Wilkie Collins’ views were similar to William Rathbone Greg’s opinions on women, which were rather degrading.  In his essay entitled “Why Are Women Redundant?”, Greg described single working women of England as people who were “wasting life and soul, gathering the scientist subsistence, and surrounded by the most overpowering and insidious temptations” (158).  Meanwhile, in one passage in The Woman in White, Collins has one of the female characters, Miss Marian Halcombe, state, “Women can’t draw – their minds are too flighty, and their eyes are too inattentive” (37).  Also, Collins’ other female characters such as Anne Catherick and Laura Fairlie are shown as emotionally unstable.  Both Greg and Collins seem to portray women in their writings as fragile, careless, and incapable of performing certain tasks of life.  After reading such words, I came to believe that both writers were sexist towards women.

However, after delving deeper into the story of The Woman in White, I noticed that the personalities of women, especially that of Miss Marian Halcombe, did not represent female characters as the dim, meek people I had expected Collins to portray them as.  Rather, Marian and her half sister, Laura, are shown as strong characters protesting against the cruel regime of men in Victorian society.  This is most evident during the weeks leading up to Laura’s dreaded wedding ceremony with Sir Percival Glyde.  Marian, fed up with the selfish decision makings of their uncle, Mr. Fairlie, and Sir Percival, exclaims, “No man under heaven deserves these sacrifices from us women.  Men!  They are the enemies of our innocence and our peace – they drag us away from our parents’ love and our sisters’ friendship – they take us body and soul to themselves, and fasten our helps lives to theirs as they chain up a dog to his kennel” (181).  Such words are powerful and bold because they blatantly explain the unequal statues that women suffered during the Victorian Era.

After reading the outcry of Marian, I changed my opinion on Collins, now viewing him as a potential advocate on women’s rights.  However, it is still debatable on what Collins’ true intensions were due to other passages (such as the one mentioned before about women being incapable of drawing) that do not exactly portray women as equals to men.

Throughout The Woman in White, many characters go through losses that alter their life and lifestyle; Miss Laura Fairlie is one of these characters. Despite her growing forbidden love for Mr. Walter Hartright, Miss Fairlie marries another character who she does not love, Sir Percival Glyde. One point in this story, Miss Fairlie asks her half-sister, Marian Halcomb to continue to write to Mr. Hartright even though he has left and their love can never be. Laura pleads, “You write to him, and he writes to you, […] While I am alive, if he asks after me, always tell him I am well, and never say I am unhappy. Don’t distress him, Marian – for my sake, don’t distress him” (173). This passage is about people keeping in touch; however, this passage is also darker than it seems. Though not directly discussed, feelings of loss are key matters in this quote.

By telling Mr. Hartright that Laura is well, it is as if Marian is sending this version of her sister away forever, where she will live in his mind. Generally speaking, being sent away is a bad thing, like readers see through character Anne Catherick, who was sent away to an asylum, which she detests. In this case though, the happy Laura gets to be elsewhere (in Mr. Hartright’s thoughts). During this, the conflicted, fragile, and depressed remains of her character, live on and marry Sir Percival Glyde. Her happiness is lost and so are her hopes to develop a relationship with the noble Mr. Hartright.

The latter half of the quote also presents the theme of loss. The continuation of the passage above goes: “If I die first, promise you will give him this little book of his drawings, with my hair in it. There can be no harm, when I am gone, of telling him that I put it in there with my own hands” (173). This idea, of Laura including a piece of her hair in the book, I like to think, is quite significant. Hair is dead right from the start of the scalp, or from the beginning. The potential for Laura and Mr. Hartright’s relationship to grow was automatically seen as a  dead idea, right as Mr. Hartright arrived (because she is already engaged). It is as if the hair is a symbol of their bond.

Laura’s loss of Mr. Hartright, and of her independence (after marrying Sir Percival Glyde) ties her to so many other characters, and their experiences in The Woman in White. This theme has been present in the story, even if not blatantly stated, from the beginning. Loss has been haunting Anne Catherick, who is trying desperately to rid, or lose her reputation of being the crazy woman from the asylum. Loss has also affected Marian. When Laura got married it was as if Marian had lost a half of herself. So much of Marian’s identity was being a protector to Laura.

Author Wilkie Collins’ inclusion of this understated theme makes me intrigued to see what is going come of Laura and Mr. Hartright and these character’s futures. The author exemplifies the theme of loss, and specifically, this repetition of women losing things (or people) most prominently through Laura. Through the showcasing of this theme, perhaps Collins is commenting on how easy it is for women to lose power over their futures, as readers see, outside sources can hinder one’s development in many specific ways.

Mr. Gilmore repeatedly reveals himself as partial to Sir Percival, to the point of almost willful blindness to signs of his faults. This is exemplified in his description of Laura’s dog: “Her cross-grained pet greyhound was in the room, and I fully expected a barking and snapping reception. Strange to say, the whimsical little brute falsified my expectations by jumping into my lap, and poking its sharp muzzle familiarly into my hand the moment I sat down,” (141). This comment directly refers to the earlier scene in which the dog barks at Sir Percival’s offered hand, and through comparison Mr. Gilmore opens himself to the possibility of seeing through Sir Percival’s gentleman persona, but instead redirects his conclusion in the wrong direction.

Drawing from the trope of dogs being able to sense evil characters, the initial incident with Sir Percival is a clue to his masked dubious character. He more easily disguises his interior self from other people, who have ingrained expectations about gentlemen and infer inward morality from outward presentation, than from the dog. Mr. Gilmore, instead of recognizing its perception, dismisses the dog as a “little beast, cowardly and cross-grained as pet-dogs usually are” (133), to fit the interaction into his previously established worldview. Mr. Gilmore has already given hints that he began his judgment with preconceived notions, as when he described the explanation Sir Percival gave as “simple and satisfactory as I had all along anticipated it would be,” (130). Now, he continues in that trend by misinterpreting the dog’s reactions.

The simplest explanation of the scenario, that being two men both acquainted with a dog, one met with fear and the other with affection, lends easily to the assumption that the first man has given the dog a reason to be distrustful. Mr. Gilmore, however, concludes from this scenario that the dog is “whimsical,” and therefore irrational in its reaction to Sir Percival. This conclusion allows him to continue on without yet being disabused of his expectations of Sir Percival, despite the evidence at hand.

This passage is really about the extent to which expectations based on wealth, power, and gender can influence all later perceptions of actual actions. Sir Percival has been afforded a place in society that allows him to pass without suspicion through most people’s judgments, particularly other men like Mr. Gilmore, who appears predisposed to sweeping generalizations about groups of people (“There are three things that none of the young men of the present generation can do” (128)). He comes assured from the start that Sir Percival will be able to provide a reasonable explanation for the accusations against him, and in fact dismisses Mr. Hartright’s suspicions to the contrary as romantic.

The descriptions of the dog also play into themes of appearance and expectation; Mr. Gilmore expects for the dog to be nasty but it instead reveals itself to be calm and loving, just as Anne Catherick acts animalistic and irrational when Sir Percival is brought up, but is otherwise sweet and docile.  Sir Percival, then, distorts the public perception of those whom he needs to discredit because they know the truth of his character, by simple virtue of remaining calm and unruffled as he provokes extreme emotional reactions (with Anne, this occurs when he gives his seemingly rational explanation for the accusations against him). Both the dog and Anne are voiceless to general society and thus unable to defend themselves in their reactions to Sir Percival, and both are automatically viewed with more suspicion by outsiders than a man of high social standing.