Stellaria 2011/2012 by Jessica Ross

Fall 2011 Issue

Stellaria

CONTRIBUTORS Aaron Beneddetti Elisabeth Buck Sierra Dawn

EDITED BY Jessica Ross

CONTENTS Acknowledgments

“It Is Required You Do Awake Your Faith”: Feminine Conceptions of Narrative in The Winter’s Tale By Aaron Benedetti

From Batgirl to Oracle Barbara Gordon Fighting Crime in a (Bat)Man’s World By Sierra Dawn

“I compare her to a fallen leaf”: Women, Nature and “the Gaze” in the Poems of William Carlos Williams By Elisabeth Buck

About the Authors

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to thank everyone who supports the Stellaria project. Getting this print issue organized and put together has taken a lot of work and I appreciate the support I have been receiving from Maureen, Elisabeth, and Robin, especially. I would also like to thank everyone at the Writing Center for being so willing to help and the contributors for submitting their works, which is what made this issue possible.

―It Is Required You Do Awake Your Faith‖: Feminine Conceptions of Narrative in The Winter’s Tale By Aaron Benedetti

Abstract: Shakespeare continually feminizes narrative in The Winter’s Tale as a way to translate romance, traditionally a narrative genre, into a dramatic form. Whereas the first, tragic half of the play represents the loss of narrative, the second, comic half represents its return. The final scene of the play is designed and orchestrated by the queen‘s lady-in-waiting Paulina, who effectively adopts the role of dramaturge during the unveiling of what King Leontes believes is a statue carved in Queen Hermione‘s likeness. The return of both Hermione and her lost daughter conclude The Winter’s Tale with a meta-modal, distinctly female form of redemption.

Benedetti

Like much of Shakespeare‘s drama, The Winter’s Tale is not entirely original. The play is largely based on an English Renaissance-era novella, a romance, by Robert Greene, and, as such, it is bound to contain certain vestiges of its narrative base. Romance, by definition, is a narrative genre. Romances often emulate the Judeo-Christian master narrative, a narrative that involves an initial fall from innocence and subsequent redemption or salvation; Barbara A. Mowat points out that Shakespearean versions of romance tends to move from ―the disruptive power of evil…to the regenerative power of good‖ (16). This, in part, accounts for The Winter’s Tale‘s bifurcation. It consists of two nearly independent halves, the first tragic and the second comic, that follow the template of this cultural narrative. Hermione‘s apparent death and Leontes‘ recognition of his egregious errors in judgment represent the fall, and Hermione‘s return (which has certain obvious associations with resurrection) along with the discovery of Perdita‘s true identity represent the ultimate recovery of what has been lost or squandered. This play even invokes the concept of narrative in its title, drawing not only on the wintertime tradition of the ―tale…of sprites and goblins‖ told by the fireside (2.1.25–6), but also on the cycle of the seasons, or the idea of a springtime renewal following a period of winter dormancy. Much of the dialogue and certain structural components in The Winter’s Tale suggest that the dynamics of narrative and drama, as modes, must have been on the mind of the playwright as he adapted this piece. The first and perhaps most significant instance of this ―meta-modal‖ dialogue occurs in Act 2, as young Mamillius plays with his mother and her ladies-in-waiting. This scene is both strikingly domestic and strikingly feminine: Mamillius is the only male character onstage, and Hermione—pregnant with her daughter—heads a troupe of gentlewomen concerned with entertaining the young boy. Even Mamillius, by his name, evokes the concept of union of mother and child through the act of nursing, though Leontes will later reveal that Hermione did not nurse the boy (2.1.56). The combinations of visual and dialogic images suggest a strong connection between the narrative and femininity. After passing Mamillius to her gossiping attendants, Hermione asks the boy to ―tell ‘s a tale‖ (2.1.23), using a collective first person that includes both the intra- and extra-dramatic audiences: Mamillius.

Merry or sad shall ‘t be?

Hermione.

As merry as you will.

Mamillius.

A sad tale‘s best for winter; I have one Of sprites and goblins.

Hermione.

Let‘s have that, good sir.

Stellaria

Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best, To fright me with your sprites; you‘re powerful at it. Mamillius. Hermione. Mamillius.

There was a man. Nay, come sit down; then on. Dwelt by a churchyard—I will tell it softly, Yond crickets shall not hear it.

Hermione.

Come on then, and give ‘t me in mine ear. (2.1.23–32)

The tranquility of the scene is impossible to miss, and at this point of visual communion between mother and child—Mamillius‘ holding his mouth close to Hermione‘s ear in a pose that suggests physical union, like nursing—the jealous Leontes blusters in with a group of lords. The jarring contrast between the female and the male emphasizes the value of Hermione‘s maternal bond with her son, which rests, in this scene, on the telling of a tale. The intruding masculine world seems rough, uncouth, and alien. Marco Mincoff suggests that Mamillius‘ tale is, in fact, about Leontes—the first line of his tale and the images to follow certainly ―strike an ominous note,‖ to borrow Mincoff‘s turn of phrase (88). Leontes compares his fervent belief in Hermione‘s guilt to drinking from a cup in which ―a spider steeped‖ (2.1.40); later, Hermione calls Leontes a ―villain‖ (2.1.80). The significance of these images lies in their juxtaposition. Leontes‘ intrusion into a female world of apparent orderliness and his consequent interruption of Mamillius‘ story seem to set in motion the events that become the tragic first half of this tale-made-play. Importantly, Mamillius is separated from the female community of the queen and her attendants after 2.1, when Leontes orders Hermione to be shut in prison. Though Hermione chooses to accept imprisonment, it is Leontes nonetheless who instigates the separation of mother from child. It seems that this separation leads to Mamillius‘ death, or at least to his illness. The boy‘s death is highly symbolic: news of it arrives immediately after Leontes chooses to disregard the authority of the Oracle of Apollo, suggesting the quasi-supernatural nature of this tragedy. Leontes chooses to believe, instead of the Oracle, that Mamillius‘ illness and death are a result of the boy‘s special affinity for Hermione and his ―conceiv[ing] the dishonor of his mother‖ (3.1.12). This is a curiously ambiguous explanation, since it can mean in context either that Mamillius falls ill because of his mother‘s alleged infidelity (her ―dishonor‖) or because of Leontes‘ ―dishonorable‖ accusations. On another level, Mamillius‘ death represents the demise of the female narrative in The Winter’s Tale. Leontes visually, aurally, and physically disrupts the

Benedetti

narrative connection between Hermione and Mamillius. He also abandons Perdita, Hermione‘s newborn daughter, to almost certain death (though the audience, probably familiar with romance and the abandoned-child archetype, expects Perdita to survive her sojourn). Hermione speaks of the separation of mother and daughter in distinctly female, bodily terms when she learns that Leontes has sent her newborn daughter to death. Her child, she says, ―is from [her] breast, / The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, / Haled out to murder‖ (3.2.97–9). The image of nursing again recalls not only Mamillius‘ name but also maternal communion with child, Mamillius‘ whispering into Hermione‘s ear, the ―winter‘s tale‖ itself. Hermione links narrative to identity, lamenting the fact that she is ―on every post / Proclaimed a strumpet‖ (3.2.99–100). Gossip, here, is a form of narrative, the stories told about Hermione by her community. That Hermione is concerned with ―honor‖ (3.2.108) suggests the connection she (and the play) recognizes between identity and narrative as products of social construction. According to this reading, the queen‘s separation from her children amounts to a denial of her femaleness, and, thereby, a denial of both identity and narrative as manifestations of the female. The dual deaths of Mamillius and Hermione (regardless of the fact that Hermione returns to the stage) represent the archetypal fall, and they complete the tragic half of The Winter’s Tale. Perdita, the lost and rediscovered daughter of Hermione, is the strongest and perhaps most important link between the two halves of this play. She is, in many respects, a personification of the ―winter‘s tale‖ as a form of romantic narrative: as the absent queen‘s lost child, she is the single character whose recognition of identity the audience expects will ―redeem‖ the play. On the purest level of plot, it is also necessary that Perdita be restored as heir to Leontes, to restore social order and to satisfy the prophecy of the Oracle. Strangely, it is not Perdita‘s selfrecognition that marks the climax and resolution of The Winter’s Tale. Though this rediscovery of identity is, indeed, incorporated into the various resolutions produced in the final act, Perdita‘s reunion with Leontes occurs offstage. The audience learns of ―this news, which…is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion‖ via a group of insignificant characters who report secondhand (5.2.29–31). It is another, equally important example of gossip. This scene, a short bit in prose between versified dialogues, is the point at which narrative, as a manifestation of female identity, reenters the play. Perdita—born just after Mamillius begins to narrate for his then-pregnant mother, the queen—is the reincarnation of the female narrative. Perdita is, or should be, ―the spring to th‘ earth‖ after a tale of winter (5.1.152), yet the recognition occurs offstage. Because of this, the final, poignant scene of dramatic resolution is reserved for

Stellaria

Hermione‘s return in a manipulation of plot structure that does not follow from the source text of The Winter’s Tale. The reunion of mother and daughter reaffirms the link between femaleness and narrative and allows both Perdita and Hermione to reestablish their identities. This constitutes, at least in terms of plot structure, the redemptive element of romance, regardless of whether Leontes (the figure of male authority) recognizes the reestablishment of a female narrative in 5.3. Hermione speaks only when she learns that Perdita has been recovered, and her first words, importantly, are a request for a tale: ―Tell me, mine own, / Where hast thou been preserved?‖ (5.3.123–4). Paulina, another woman, engineers this final scene, if we assume that she preserves Hermione specifically for the purpose of revealing her before an ostensibly repentant Leontes. Before the revelation, Paulina admits ―that [Hermione] were living, / Were it but told you, should be hooted at / Like an old tale‖ (5.3.115–7), although, ironically, Perdita‘s self-recognition is reported ―like an old tale‖ in the preceding scene; one of the gentleman gossips remarks that ―such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it‖ (5.2.25–7). The audience has no need for such ―ballad-makers‖ to believe this onstage story about Perdita, for it has witnessed the full presentation of events surrounding the recognition and learns Perdita‘s true identity prior to the final scene of realization. This follows the conventions of romance. However, Hermione‘s situation is opposite. In a reversal of dramatic irony, the audience and characters must put their faith in Paulina, for everyone except Paulina assumes Hermione dead. In dramatic terms, Paulina is playwright. She is the only authority in the final scene. The Winter’s Tale concludes, then, with a gathering of its three most influential female characters—Hermione, Perdita, and Paulina. Most significant, here, is the reunion of the supposedly lost mother and daughter. Though Mamillius is conspicuously absent (he is one of only two characters who remain dead at the end of this play), Paulina occupies his place in symbolic fashion. In her privileged position as dramaturge during Hermione‘s unveiling, Paulina seems to conclude the narrative that Mamillus, sixteen years before, first began to whisper into his mother‘s ear, and this narrative takes physical shape on the stage. Indeed, the boy‘s ―sad tale‖ of winter could even be a kind of Immaculate Conception. As Jan Kott writes, [i]n medieval and moral treatises and sermons, the mystery of the virgin birth was explained again and again as the Holy Ghost entering the Virgin through her ear—

Benedetti

invariably, through her left ear. The Holy Ghost descended to the Virgin Mary from the top to the bottom so she could conceive immaculately. (40) Interpreted thus, the domestic scene involving Mamillius and Hermione—the boy whispering in his pregnant mother‘s ear, the chaste mother later forced to endure accusations of infidelity— might represent a physical ―conception‖ of narrative (a romance) as dramatic representation. Perdita, then, becomes the embodiment of the narrative Mamillus first begins to tell, and Leontes‘ abandonment of Perdita to what he believes is certain death is an attempt to destroy Hermione‘s femaleness as it is connected to narrative. According to this interpretation, Hermione‘s pregnancy signifies a female expression of ―virginal‖ identity as well as a conception of narrative itself as an indication of femaleness. That Paulina acts as dramaturge during the final scene, directing Hermione‘s ―performance‖ and simultaneously calling on her intra- and extradramatic audiences to ―awake [their] faith,‖ reaffirms the triumph of female communion at the end of The Winter’s Tale (5.3.95). The return to a patriarchal state of existence may be inevitable in Shakespeare‘s works; indeed, the perfunctory marrying-off of the play‘s three central women suggests a return to patriarchy. But Perdita‘s homecoming and Hermione‘s recovery—unlikely and contrived as these events may seem—are true reaffirmations of the female, regardless of later events. The audience‘s awareness of the improbability of the plot at the end of The Winter’s Tale suggests a kind of ―meta-modal‖ artifice. But all drama, after all, is artificial.

Stellaria

Works Cited Hardy, Barbara. Shakespeareâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Storytellers: Dramatic Narration. London: Peter Owen, 1997. Print. Kott, Jan. The Bottom Translation. Trans. Daniela Miedzyrzecka and Lillian Vallee. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern UP, 1987. Print. Mincoff, Marco. Things Supernatural and Causeless: Shakespearean Romance. Newark: U of Delaware P, 1992. Print. Mowat, Barbara A. Introduction. Things Supernatural and Causeless: Shakespearean Romance. By Marco Mincoff. Newark: U of Delaware P, 1992. Print. Shakespeare, William. The Winterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Tale. 1963. Ed. Frank Kermode. New York: Signet-Penguin, 1998. Print.

Dawn

From Batgirl to Oracle Barbara Gordon Fighting Crime in a (Bat)Manâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s World By Sierra Dawn Abstract: Graphic novels are unique among all other genres of fiction. Unlike other mediums, in comic books one character can exist for half a century or more, encountering new storylines constantly. And because the writers attempt to maintain continuity throughout all those decades, characters may change dramatically from the time of their conception until the present.Barbara Gordon is one such character. From her first appearance in the 1960s to her modern interpretation, Barbara Gordonâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s character has gained many feminist qualities which were not present in her original character. As Batgirl, Barbara was a character that conformed to rigid gender norms, perpetuating them in the process. However, as comic book continuity progressed, and Barbara became Oracle, she grew into a hero in her own name instead of simply a female version of her male counterpart. Barbara also challenged gender norms by refusing to stop fighting crime simply because she could not walk. This paper will use various feminist texts in order to analyze Barbara Gordon, as her career as Batgirl was forcibly ended and she began her career as Oracle.

Stellaria

The comic book genre of fiction is unlike any other. In most genres, we only know characters within limited plotlines. In comic books, however, one character can exist for half a century or more, encountering new storylines constantly. And because the writers attempt to maintain continuity throughout all those decades, characters may change dramatically from the time of their conception until the present. Barbara Gordon is one such character. Having first appeared in the late 1960s, she has now been in comics for almost fifty years. Her character has gone through many changes, the most life-altering of which being a sexist and violent attack resulting in her paralysis. After the attack, her superhero alias changed from Batgirl to Oracle. As Batgirl, Barbara was a character that conformed to rigid gender norms, perpetuating them in the process. However, as comic book continuity progressed, and Barbara became Oracle, she became a hero in her own name instead of simply a female version of her male counterpart. DC Comics writers took a misogynistic and tragic incident, and created a more feminist character through it. Barbara Gordon as Batgirl When she was first introduced in comic books, Barbara Gordon was a young, naïve college student dressing up as a female version of Batman for Halloween. She came across a kidnapping in progress, and helped stop it. She continued fighting crime after that, in the style of her trainer and mentor, Batman, while wearing a costume similar to his, and protected the helpless of Gotham as Batgirl. Barbara was also the daughter of Commissioner of Police, James Gordon. During those issues of comics, what made Barbara Gordon powerful and worth mentioning was directly related to men who were powerful before her. Had her father not been commissioner, or had Batman not already created a name for himself, Barbara might never have become a superhero. Still, not every aspect of her character was as sexist as those of other female superheroes, even in her early years. Barbara Gordon did not appear in comics until after World War II had ended. This resulted in a few positive aspects in her character regarding feminism. For instance, Barbara Gordon missed the propaganda that other female superheroes were subject to during the war. 1941 saw the first two female superheroes in comic book history, but both were depicted as ―variations of the Betty Grable pin-up… thin, attractive, and… easily applied to the victim role in the manly cartoons of the day‖ (Scott, 328). While writers felt the need to come up with excuses for Clark Kent serving the war effort on the home front (so as to not raise child readers‘ hopes

Dawn

for the easy victory America would have with Superman fighting overseas), there was no such reason given for female superheroes remaining at home. Instead it was simply considered a given: ―The possibility of women in combat, even comic book ones, was difficult to grasp‖ (Scott, 333). Having made her debut in 1967, Batgirl was instead a part of a new era of comics, commonly referred to as the Silver Age. During this time, comics were making a shift to a more adult audience, so there would be less of a need to censor themselves (Růžička, 48). Therefore, Barbara Gordon, aka: Batgirl, began as a more mature character and avoided many of the sexist attributes applied to other female superheroes of the time. When her character first appeared, it was as Dr. Barbara Gordon, having gotten her Ph.D. in library science. However, her position as head librarian seemed to be merely a part of her secret identity – her career was less important to her character and more of a way to hide who she really was. And of course, her job as librarian, even one with a doctorate, was safely within the realms of femininity of the time. Batgirl‘s first appearance is an occurrence which at first seems to be a feminist one. For one thing, her Halloween costume borders on drag. She dresses up as a male superhero, without sacrificing her femininity to do so. She also successfully stops an attempted kidnapping. However, the person she saved from being kidnapped is actually Bruce Wayne. Although Barbara has no idea, the reader is well aware that Bruce Wayne is secretly Batman, and has the ability to quite easily escape from virtually any entanglement. Presumably the only reason he allows himself to be rescued is that he could not rescue himself while maintaining his secret identity. So while Barbara is able to congratulate herself on her successful heroism, the writers and readers of the comic understand that her actions are unnecessary. She is not the real hero. This mentality of Batgirl‘s usefulness (or lack thereof) continues throughout the first decade or so of her existence; Batgirl was merely something of a guest star within Batman‘s comic books. During an interview, Mike Visser (a fan of comic books and a college graduate with a degree in English), explains Batgirl‘s early role in the Batman comics: ―Unlike Robin, Batgirl wasn‘t recruited by Batman… she was an unwanted volunteer… a lot of it had to do with the fact that she was a woman‖ (Leeder, 2011). In most plots, Batgirl would come in to help Batman and Robin, ―but then she‘d end up causing more trouble for [them] and they would have to rescue her… in the first few stories she was just a nuisance‖ (Leeder, 2011). Barbara Gordon‘s character in those early comics exemplifies what Lynn Peril describes in her book, Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons. According to Peril, ―pink

Stellaria

think‖ is the mentality built up over decades regarding how women in our society ―should‖ act. In many cases, a woman‘s success in her gender is linked to how well she does her make-up or catches a husband. For instance, in an article printed three years before Batgirl‘s first appearance in comic books, women were advised ―to stow a purse-sized mirror and lipstick near the front door (‗lifesavers when the bell rings unexpectedly‘) and in the car (‗mighty handy when you have to rush to meet the 6:10‘)‖ (Peril, 172). Since stashing secret make-up in one‘s private space wouldn‘t be enough, women of the time were also told to keep ―‗a first-aid beauty kit in her bottom desk drawer or in the back of the filing cabinet‘‖ (Peril, 172). For most women, desks or filing cabinets would be reasonable places to hide make-up during work hours. For Barbara Gordon, however, there are no such convenient hiding places while fighting crime as Batgirl. But does that stop her from keeping her make-up fresh? [See Figure 1.] In this early Batgirl Comics cover, we can see Batgirl verifying pink think. Even as Batman and Robin fight, clearly outnumbered, Batgirl is preoccupied with her make-up. This Barbara Gordon sends the message to young female readers: no matter what your job is, there is no excuse for not looking your best! After all, you never know when you might meet your potential future husband. Barbara Gordon as a Plot Point The main cause of Barbara‘s transformation into Oracle is tragic. The Joker, arguably Batman‘s most dangerous nemesis, goes to Barbara‘s home and shoots her in an attempt to drive her father, Police Commissioner James Gordon, insane. Alan Moore, although highly respected as a comic book writer for his ability to make readers consider the intricacies of morality, was obviously not as aware of gender issues when he wrote The Killing Joke in 1988. Batgirl‘s only purpose in this comic was to be an effect on her father‘s sanity. And thus Batgirl continues the female superhero‘s legacy as ―the victim role‖ (Scott, 328) in the medium of comic books. In The Killing Joke, the Joker sets out to prove that just one bad day is enough to drive any person insane. He does so by first shooting Barbara in her home. He then strips James Gordon naked before binding him and putting him on an amusement park ride, where he is forced to see pictures of his daughter, paralyzed, bleeding, naked, and helpless. ―The Joker didn‘t blink at shooting Barbara Gordon through her spine and stripping her bare. He wasn‘t ‗out to get her.‘ He simply had made up his mind that he wanted to prove a point, and she was a useful object to help him make

Dawn

that point, no more or less meaningful to him than the amusement ride he later used for the same purpose‖ (Robichaud, 73). Since it is obviously a sociopathic serial killer who makes these judgments, it could be argued that the writer is making the point that only villains have such mentalities. The message, therefore, could be that the reader, if s/he is a good person, should not think of people in this way. However, what were Alan Moore‘s reasons for this particular plot? According to Visser, Moore‘s only reasons were in regards to the male characters of the comic: ―When Alan Moore wrote The Killing Joke… he didn't have any intentions for what to do with [Barbara] after that. He was just trying to put Jim Gordon through hell‖ (Leeder, 2011). The validity of this statement can be seen in the fact that Moore did not write any comics involving Barbara Gordon after The Killing Joke. Barbara Gordon continued to appear in comics only when Kim Yale (DC writer/editor) and John Ostrander (DC writer) realized that there was still potential in her character, even if she was paralyzed. The plot of The Killing Joke contains an element which has been used in fiction for centuries: the damsel in distress. Sometimes the plot is as simple as the female character being in jeopardy, and the male hero having to prove his love and valor by rescuing her. In comic books, this element is extended so that super villains will not only capture a female character, but even kill her, leaving her body for the male hero to find. There are so many cases of women in comic books who are ―killed, raped, depowered, crippled, turned evil, maimed, tortured, contracted a disease or [who] had other life-derailing tragedies‖ that Gail Simone (another one of the few female DC Comics writers) has created a website listing them (Simone, 1999). (There are men in comic books who have the above tragedies inflicted on them, though not nearly as many as women.) On the list are at least 110 women, and Simone admits that she may have missed a few. Barbara Gordon is, of course, one of the women on the list. She, like so many other female superheroes, was used purely for the effect she would have on the male hero of the story. However, out of the tragic and misogynistic events that paralyzed her, Barbara Gordon became a new hero. Barbara Gordon as Oracle The Joker‘s bullet wound did not kill Barbara, but in a way killed Batgirl by paralyzing Barbara. At a time when it seemed that she would never be able to fight crime again, she created

Stellaria

a new identity. As Oracle, Barbara used her vast knowledge of science and math as tech support for Batman as well as other superheroes. She even became the leader of an all-female group of superheroes called the Birds of Prey. Barbara‘s transformation into Oracle is especially significant because she does so in a world where a body in peak condition can be one‘s most valuable asset. In mainstream comics, the depiction of superheroes‘ bodies is an exaggerated form of society‘s perception of what a body should look like – men have broad shoulders, narrow hips, and extensive and chiseled muscles; women have slim waists, and large chests and hips. [See Figure 2.] In this the Birds of Prey cover featuring Oracle, Barbara Gordon is certainly in a position much more suited for fighting crime than she was in her previous Batgirl cover image. Here, Oracle holds her weapons at the ready, her facial expression is one of determination – she appears to be a competent superhero that is ready to throw down. However, even in her obvious battle-ready position, there is unnecessary focus on her chest. While the exaggeration of male superheroes‘ bodies aid them in their crime fighting (with their overly-toned muscles they are stronger and have an advantage in combat), the exaggeration of female superheroes‘ bodies does not aid them in crime fighting. Although the female superhero‘s thin waist could be justified with her need to stay in shape in order to hold her own during battle, her overly well-endowed chest does not give her any advantage. Quite the contrary, her chest would actually make crime-fighting more difficult. In reality, if a female superhero did happen to have disproportionately large breasts in comparison to her waist, she would bind them while in costume in order to keep them out of her way. (This would have the bonus result of further concealing her secret identity!) This depiction of bodies can be seen in our society‘s values as well. Men and women both have rigid expectations for what their bodies should look like. The expectations are especially prevalent for women, since our society also perceives women to be their bodies, and nothing else. In her article, ―Woman as Body: Ancient and Contemporary Views,‖ Elizabeth V. Spelman examines the effects of Plato‘s philosophy on our modern society. According to Plato, the distinction between the body and the soul is synonymous with the distinction between rationality and irrationality (Spelman, 36). Women, then, correspond with the body, while men correspond with the soul: ―[t]o have more concern for your body than your soul is to act just like a woman‖ (Spelman, 37). Kristen Lindgren also writes about Plato‘s philosophy on women‘s bodies in her essay, ―Bodies in Trouble: Identity, Embodiement, and Disability.‖ While Plato views the body ―as a

Dawn

tomb… a grave or prison… or as barnacles or rocks holding down the soul‖ (Spelman, 36), he views a disabled body as even worse than an abled one: ―If the healthy body, with its unruly needs and appetites, inevitably distracts the philosopher from the pursuit of knowledge, then the diseased body, even more unpredictable and unruly, must surely halt the project of philosophy altogether‖ (Lindgren, 145). As women are believed to be ―more embodied than men‖ (Lindgren, 147), it follows that disabled women are even more stigmatized than disabled men. As is the case for Barbara Gordon, ―[w]hen a body is both female and diseased or impaired, it can be viewed, and experienced, as doubly corporeal, doubly devalued, and… doubly shameful‖ (Lindgren, 147). This concept continues in our society today due to the respect we hold for Plato, and, as a result, women are viewed in regards to their bodies. While this perception is not specific to comic books, it is exaggerated in them. Barbara Gordon exists not only in our world, which perceives women to be their bodies and disabled bodies as ―shameful,‖ but also in a world of superheroes in which anyone of consequence has an ―ideal‖ body. The loss of the use of her legs should have excluded her as a character, or at least as a superhero. Instead, Barbara redefines what it means to be a superhero. She defies Plato‘s philosophy, and our society‘s gender norms that came from it, by not allowing herself to be restricted by her ―dis‖ability. In her book, Take Up Thy Bed and Walk: Death, Disability and Cure in Classic Fiction for Girls, Lois Keith examines the extensive works of fiction containing disabled characters during the last 150 years. What appears to be overlooked by most scholars is that overcoming disability is a widely established (as well as harmful) theme in classic literature designed for young girls. Since the mid nineteenth century, ―there were only two possible ways for writers to resolve the problem of their characters‘ inability to walk: cure or death‖ (Keith, 5). The cure option always requires the disabled character to change something about her/himself, which tends to be a trait which is not among traditionally ―feminine‖ qualities (Keith, 5-7). For Barbara Gordon, cure would be a relatively easy route to take. Many of the superheroes she knows (such as Dr. Fate, Dr. Mid-Nite, or Zatanna) would be able to heal her spine with the use of magic or medical miracles. Curing Barbara Gordon would certainly make more sense than Katy Carr curing herself by simply ―learn[ing] to be less boisterous and more womanly‖ (Keith, 6). Still, DC writers chose to have Barbara remain in a wheelchair. The

Stellaria

message sent by Barbara Gordon as Oracle is the first step in a battle against the message sent by classic literature for little girls. Girls‘ literature sends a message that says, ―there is nothing good about being disabled… disabled people have to learn the same qualities of submissive behavior that women have always had to learn… impairment can be a punishment for bad behavior… disabled people should be pitied rather than punished, [but] never accepted… [i]f you want to enough, if you love yourself enough (but not more than others), if you believe in God enough, you will be cured‖ (Keith, 7). Oracle‘s story sends a message that says the complete opposite. Girls reading Oracle‘s comics will see that cure is not the only way for a happy and fulfilled life. Conclusion As Batgirl, Barbara Gordon was as feminist a character as one can be when she carries a man‘s name. Although she fought against certain gender norms by even being a superhero, as a concept she could never have existed without her male counterpart. As a character she first created more problems for the ―real‖ superheroes of her comics, then became nothing more than a plot point. But it was because of that plot point that Oracle was able to emerge. Without the bullet wound that resulted in her paralysis, Barbara Gordon might never have shed the name of the male superhero that came before her. By remaining in her wheelchair, while still not relinquishing her desire to fight crime, she became an inspiration. DC writers have taken the opportunity that the comic book genre affords them and allowed a character to evolve with the rest of the world and become something more than how she began. Barbara Gordon now sends the message to readers that being paralyzed does not mean being inferior, that no person is just her/his legs, that no woman is just her body.

Dawn

Figure 1 Anderson, Murphy, and Carmine Infantino. ―Showcase Presents Batgirl.‖ Comic book cover. Amazon.com. Web. 18 April 2011.

Stellaria

Figure 2 March, Guillem. â&#x20AC;&#x2022;Oracle: The Cure.â&#x20AC;&#x2013; Comic book cover. Amazon.com. Web. 18 April 2011.

Dawn

Works Cited Anderson, Murphy, and Carmine Infantino. ―Showcase Presents Batgirl.‖ Comic book cover. Amazon.com. Web. 18 April 2011. Keith, Lois. Take Up Thy Bed and Walk: Death, Disability and Cure in Classic Fiction for Girls. New York: Routledge, 2001. Print. Leeder, Sierra. ―Barbara Gordon Interview.‖ Message to/Personal Interview with Mike Visser. 19 April 2011. Combination Email and Personal Interview. Lindgren, Kristin. ―Bodies in Trouble: Identity, Embodiment, and Disability.‖ Gendering Disability. Ed. Beth Hutchison & Bonnie G. Smith. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004. 145-165. Print. March, Guillem. ―Oracle: The Cure.‖ Comic book cover. Amazon.com. Web. 18 April 2011. Peril, Lynn. Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2002. Print. Robichaud, Christopher. ―The Joker‘s Wild: Can We Hold the Clown Prince Morally Responsible?‖ Batman and Philosophy. Ed. Mark D. White & Robert Arp. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2008. 70-81. Print. Růžička, Jiří. ―American Superheroes and the Politics of Good and Evil.‖ New Presence: The Prague Journal of Central European Affairs 14.2 (2010): 46-48. Web. 21 March 2011. Scott, Cord. ―Written in Red, White, and Blue: A Comparison of Comic Book Propaganda from World War II and September 11.‖ The Journal of Popular Culture 40.2 (2007): 325-343. Web. 21 March 2011. Simone, Gail. Women in Refrigerators. March 1999. Web. 3 May 2011. Spelman, Elizabeth. ―Woman as Body: Ancient and Contemporary Views.‖ Feminist Theory and the Body. Ed. Janet Price & Margrit Shildrick. Edinburgh, Scotland: Edinburgh University Press & New York: Routledge, 1999. 32-41. Electronic Book.

Stellaria

―I compare her to a fallen leaf‖: Women, Nature and ―the Gaze‖ in the Poems of William Carlos Williams By Elisabeth Buck Male poetic perspective is often interpreted through an analysis of the ―gaze‖—the lingering, often voyeuristic lens through which a subject is observed. This is certainly not a new concept; poets for centuries have captured the attributes of their particular (often female) muse through this device. Petrarch did so with Laura, and Shakespeare fixatedly portrayed his ―dark lady‖ in many sonnets. Thus, nature often becomes the appropriate metaphor for such articulation (see, for instance, Shakespeare‘s Sonnet Eighteen— ―Shall I compare thee to a summer‘s day?‖) It is difficult to discern, however, if the gaze—as interpreted through these comparisons of women to nature—is objectifying or complementary. This is especially evident in the poetry of William Carlos Williams. Critic Jon Chatlos, in his discussion of Williams‘ poem ―The Right of Way,‖ notes that Williams‘ inclusion of a clearly (male) gendered narrator affects the reading of the piece: ―The motorist is active, seeing, and speaking, while the girl on the balcony is passive, seen, and silent. To the explicit female space of the balcony corresponds the implicit male space of the motorcar. And the motorist arrogates to himself the right to ‗enjoy‘ the road as perhaps only a male would‖ (142). The notion of ―gaze‖ is therefore central to understanding how women are perceived by the male poetic persona. I therefore aim to analyze how Williams utilizes the convention of the woman/nature comparison, as interpreted through Laura Mulvey‘s notion of the cinematic male gaze. Thus, I contend that Williams is aware of his poetic predecessors and uses his gaze not to flatter, but instead to articulate perceived, realistic interpretations of both women and nature. Williams, however, perhaps uses his poems to express anxiety over the inevitable objectification that comes with ―gazing.‖

Buck

Laura Mulvey, in her highly influential piece, ―Visual Pleasure in Narrative Cinema,‖ discusses the concept of scopophilia—the pleasure in looking. Mulvey states that this kind of pleasure, at an extreme level, is frequently derived from observation: ―…it can become fixated into a perversion, producing obsessive voyeurs and Peeping Toms whose only sexual satisfaction can come from watching, in an active controlling sense, an objectified other‖ (2184). This concept is often demonstrated in narrative film—the audience is placed in the position of the voyeur and must thus identify with the dominant perspective, which is usually male. ―The determining male gaze,‖ Mulvey continues, ―projects its fantasy onto the female figure, which is styled accordingly…‖ (2186). Thus, the woman is often made the objectified spectacle because the camera—as the eyes of the male—focuses on the aspects of the female form that are most desirable (legs, face, etc.) The audience has no choice but to concentrate on the elements that the filmmaker chooses—it is forced perspective at its most objectifying. Mulvey also discusses the power which this cinematic gaze holds: ―As the spectator identifies with the main male protagonist, he projects his look onto that of his like, his screen surrogate, so that the power of the male protagonist as he controls events coincides with the active power of the erotic look, both giving a satisfying sense of omnipotence‖ (2187). There is thus no escaping from the ―fetishistic‖ images in narrative, and the power of the male gaze/perspective is implicit in these constructions. The woman is unconsciously (but persistently) objectified due to the pervasiveness—and ubiquity—of male fixation. Many of the concepts that Mulvey references as paramount—voyeurism, forced perspective, the spectacle/objectification of the female—all have apt parallels in Williams‘ poetry. While the concept of the gaze figures prominently in his poems, I wish to focus on three specifically that include women/nature parallels: ―The Young Housewife,‖ ―Portrait of a Lady,‖ and ―Queen-Anne‘s-Lace.‖ However, it is perhaps worthwhile to first concentrate on a poem in which the gaze plays a particularly prominent role: ―Proletarian Portrait‖ (1935). Although the narrator of this poem is not explicitly defined as male, the ―big young bareheaded‖ woman in the poem is articulated by Williams in a way that intimates masculinity—she is clearly an observed ―other‖ (1). The poem‘s persona captures the woman in a tableau, as she pauses on the sidewalk to retrieve a nail from her shoe. There is a prominent sense of voyeurism in this poem— she is (seemingly) unaware that she is being watched and scrutinized. The woman is certainly not an idealized other, and the title of the poem reinforces the unbecoming nature of her portrayal by Williams. This is a working-class, commonplace woman who is placed under a poetic

Stellaria

microscope. Indeed—in parallel to Mulvey‘s conclusions about the cinematic gaze—the poem‘s male narrator focuses on specific physical attributes: her ―apron‖ (2), ―her hair slicked back‖ (3), and ―her shoe in her hand‖ (7). These characteristics are not particularly sexualized, but the reader feels compelled to fixate on them in identification with the narrator. It is difficult to discern whether the persona is sympathetic toward the woman for being forced into oppressive footwear (―she pulls out the paper insole/to find the nail/That has been hurting her‖), or is simply commenting on the spectacle of the scene for his personal amusement (9-11). There is mastery implied by this description, as the woman certainly has no control over the way that she is depicted in her very private, personal moment. The poem focuses the reader on the supposedly ―commonplace‖ scene, but the intense and specific scrutiny contributes to a sense of voyeurism. Once again, it is difficult to determine how Williams views the woman: is he ambivalent, amused, disdainful, etc? The gaze, however, certainly places undue inspection on her, and—from a feminist perspective—the reader cannot help but feel somewhat discomfited by the excessively critical nature of Williams‘ eye. This is an especially important notion that also figures in Williams‘ comparisons between women and nature: the parallels characterize the figure of the woman as ―real,‖ but place intense scrutiny on the particulars of the body. ―Queen-Anne‘s-Lace‖ (1921) seems to be directly inspired by Shakespeare‘s Sonnet 130. Just as Shakespeare takes aim at Petrarch‘s usage of the lofty nature/woman metaphor, and inverts it in this poem (―My mistress‘ eyes are nothing like the sun;/Coral is far more red that her lips‘ red…‖), Williams also demonstrates his awareness of this tradition. The first line of the poem—―Her body is not so white as/anemone petals nor so smooth—nor/so remote a thing‖— seems directly inspired by Shakespeare‘s text (1-3). This poem is much more inaccessible than a great deal of Williams‘ work: it is often difficult to discern the nature of the metaphors and the overall ―plotline.‖ The gaze does, however, figure prominently—this is clearly a depiction of a woman‘s body from a male perspective. There is a relationship between the ―her‖ —the possessor of the body—and the ―his‖ who leaves ―tiny purple blemishes‖ wherever his hand ―has lain‖ (12-13). The central comparison here is the woman to Queen Anne‘s Lace, which the Anthology of Modern Poetry defines as a ―common white field flower‖ (166). The aspect of commonality—as in ―Proletarian Portrait‖—is again important here: this is not an extraordinary woman, but a ―dime-a-dozen‖ one. While Williams doesn‘t characterize the woman in reference to her particulars, her entire body is subject to the domination of the man, and, therefore, the scrutiny of the reader. The

Buck

observer is once again made into the voyeur: ―each part/is a blossom under his touch/to which the fibres of her being/stem one by one, each to its end,/until the whole field is a/white desire, empty,/a single stem...‖ (13-18). The ―her‖ of the poem eventually disappears into ―a pious wish to whiteness gone over‖ or ―nothing‖ (19-20). By comparing the woman to an overtaken field— and by referencing nature throughout—Williams seems to comment on the ease of corruption of the female by the male. She is a flower that no longer possesses any individuality: she is common and invisible. However, the gaze that places such intense focus on the ―her‖ is certainly objectifying—she is firmly the object of fixation for the ―he‖ in the poem, and, consequently, the reader as well. But, significantly, is this indicative of Williams‘ view? This poem can also be read as a commentary on the larger male tendency to objectify and corrupt the female figure. This concept is also shown in William‘s ―Portrait of a Lady‖ (1920), which may refer to Roger van der Weyden‘s 1460 painting of the same name. The act of voyeurism is particularly interesting to note in this poem; Williams alludes to the 18th century artist Jean-Honoré Fragonard, specifically (according to the Anthology) his painting ―The Swing‖ (165). This piece depicts a beautiful young woman on a swing in the midst of a picturesque landscape. Problematizing the innocence of this scene, however, is the young man positioned beneath the swing, obviously enjoying a view under the lady‘s skirt. Thus, there are two voyeurs in this setting—the young man, and the viewer for observing this intrusive action (whether the woman is a willing participant in this spectacle is perhaps up for debate—her expression in the painting could either reveal complicity or ignorance.) The male gaze is therefore paramount to this poem‘s reading. The central female figure of Williams‘ poem—unlike Fragonard‘s portrait—is, however, not depicted in a flattering light—the first metaphor compares the woman‘s thighs to appletrees ―whose blossoms touch the sky‖ (1-2). This is perhaps another deliberate (ironic?) inversion of the poetic tendency to compare attributes of women to elements of nature. A much more becoming representation would make the comparison to a smaller entity—not the large, bulky trunk of the appletree. Yet still, by beginning in this fashion, Williams draws deliberate attention to a very specific, intimate, often sexualized aspect of a woman‘s body. The male perspective of both the poem and the painting is evident immediately—it is through his gaze that the woman is interpreted. Williams also presents fractured images of the woman‘s body—in addition to her thighs, he mentions her ―knees‖ (5) and her ―ankles‖ (14). The two other referenced body parts are also coupled with nature metaphors: ―…your knees/are a southern breeze—or/a gust of snow‖ (5-7)

Stellaria

and ―the tall grass of your ankles/flickers upon the shore—‖(14-15). The actual ―lady‖ of the poem almost disappears behind these abstractions; it is very difficult to discern the woman behind the man‘s representation of her. This supports Mulvey‘s claim about scopophilia—there is pleasure in the ―looking.‖ Specifically, the poem parallels Mulvey‘s statement that, ―…the spectator [is] in direct scopophillic contact with the female form displayed for his enjoyment (connotating male fantasy)…‖ (2188). The female form is certainly ―on display‖ in both Fragonard‘s portrait and Williams‘ poem, specifically for male enjoyment. And yet, the thighs are appletrees, not ―twigs‖ or another more slender element of nature. What purpose does it then serve for Williams to include such an unfavorable comparison? Is this another reference to the common, the ―realistic?‖ If so, then this is certainly inelegant hyperbole. In addition, the persona of this poem seems to truly struggle with the act of articulating/depicting the lady. There is a clear anxiety that figures throughout (for example—―Agh, petals maybe. How/ should I know?‖); however, it is a clearly male anxiety (19-20). Nature metaphor thus serves as the means of attempted description, but the apprehension of the persona could also be attributed to Williams: is he articulating his own poetic voyeurism, or analyzing the mentality of the voyeuristic figure in Fragonard‘s painting? This is perhaps the central dilemma in ―Portrait of a Lady‖—the unease over the pleasure of gazing. The connections between the voyeuristic gaze and women/nature comparisons are perhaps evidenced most perceptibly in Williams‘ ―The Young Housewife‖ (1916). According to the Anthology, Williams claimed upon writing this poem that, ―Whenever a man sees a beautiful woman it‘s an occasion for poetry—compensating beauty with beauty‖ (165). Just as in Williams‘ other poems, however, this subject isn‘t explicitly beautiful, yet she is certainly an object of spectacle. Chatlos notes that ―The Young Housewife‖ (like ―The Right of Way‖) also features a ―poet-driver‖ who gazes furtively upon the subject. He states that, ―The ‗thing seen‘—in this paradigm, most often a female exposed suggestively to view—is evasive, resistant to visual attention that is too frontal or sustained. And the person who is looking and smiling—most often a male—feels he is seeing something that perhaps ought not to be seen, doing something that perhaps ought not to be done‖ (146-7). Thus, Chatlos points out the inherent pleasure that the subject takes in observing the female, although it is at the expense of the oblivious female. The poem‘s significance, however, is found primarily in the second stanza: Then again she comes to the curb to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands

Buck

shy, uncorseted, tucking in stray end of hair, and I compare her to a fallen leaf (5-9) Williams‘ choice of adjectives to describe the housewife—young, shy, uncorseted—certainly aren‘t indicative necessarily of beauty. Neither, however, is an image of a fallen leaf something that particularly inspires thoughts of exquisiteness: it is a thing that was perhaps once lovely, but is now separated from the tree—its source of life. The housewife is therefore depicted as a slowly fading entity—observable, still lovely—but soon forgotten. This metaphor perhaps grows more unsettling when coupled with the final stanza: The noiseless wheels of my car rush with a crackling sound over dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling. (10-12) The poem‘s narrator runs over the dried leaves—the thing that the fallen leaf must inevitability become. The implications of this line are intriguing: either Williams observes the poetic propensity to focus on the lovely and dismiss the faded, or Williams himself believes that a woman—once she has lost her availability—no longer merits attention. This poem may be a commentary on the fickleness and impermanence of youth/beauty, but it is perhaps rather unsettling that the persona runs over the leaves ―smiling.‖ There is a sadistic element to the crushing of the leaves/woman. Thus, the gaze in this poem figures again to expose the woman as an object of spectacle for both the male narrator and the reader. She is still objectified—the voyeuristic element is intact—yet the nature metaphor reveals a potentially ironic commentary on the transience of her beauty. This is not a flattering poem, but it is one that indicates the inevitability of deterioration. The reader—because of the gaze—must participate in the joy of the woman‘s eventual demise. The women portrayed in Williams Carlos Williams‘ poems are silent—they appear as only static, fleeting images that serve to heighten the pleasure of the male observer. However, does Williams participate in this objectification? Or do his poems demonstrate awareness of—and commentary on—this tendency in the work of other poets? Critic Neil Myers argues that ―more than any other recent American poet, William Carlos Williams bridged the gulf between the technical innovations of modern poetry and the particulars of ordinary life‖ (458). Both women

Stellaria

and nature are frequently the ―particulars‖ of Williams‘ poetry, yet who possesses the authority to gaze upon them—to attempt to understand their purpose and significance? The poet must inevitably place his subject under scrutiny, but—as evidenced in ―Portrait of Lady‖—it is often difficult to discern whether Williams is the voyeur or the commentator on the voyeur. Thus, Williams‘ reliance on nature to make comparisons—although a cliché—ultimately reveals a struggle for poetic authority. The gaze will always objectify, and Williams perhaps divulges his anxiety regarding this: it is difficult to articulate an observed environment/subject when the poet is always just that—an observer.

Buck

―The Swing‖ (1767) by Jean-Honoré Fragonard Works Cited Chatlos, Jon. "Automobility and Lyric Poetry: The Mobile Gaze in William Carlos Williams' ‗The Right of Way.‘ ―Journal of Modern Literature 30.1 (2006): 140-54. JSTOR. Web. 27 Apr. 2011. Fragonard, Jean-Honoré. The Swing. 1767. Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. New York: W.W. Norton, 2001. 2181-192. Print. Myers, Neil. "Sentimentalism in the Early Poetry of William Carlos Williams." American Literature 37.4 (1966): 458-70. JSTOR. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. Van der Weyden, Rogier. Portrait of a Lady. 1460. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. "William Carlos Williams." Anthology of Modern American Poetry. Ed. Cary Nelson. New York: Oxford UP, 2000. 164-201. Print.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS Aaron Benedetti is a senior at the University of Nevada with dual majors in English and political science, and minor emphases in renewable energy and medieval and Renaissance studies. He plans to continue studying Renaissance literature at the graduate level, and he is currently writing and revising an undergraduate thesis which investigates dramatic mimesis in Shakespeare's romances, including The Winter's Tale. Elisabeth Buck is the current Graduate Assistant at the University Writing Center. She is pursuing her M.A. in English Literature, with an emphasis in Renaissance Drama. Her greatest experience in graduate school thus far was the opportunity to teach an English 102 course with a Disney theme in Spring 2011. After graduating from UNR, Elisabeth hopes to one day pursue a PhD in Rhetoric and Composition. Sierra Dawn is graduating from the University of Nevada, Reno this December with a Bachelorâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s Degree in Womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s Studies and English (Writing). She had a short story published in the Brushfire Literary Arts Journal in the spring of 2010. When not working on her novel or various short stories, she enjoys reading, singing, and analyzing her favorite cartoons.

Call for papers! We publish academic writing from all fields. We are looking for some well-written papers to publish in our next issue! You can find more information about us on our website

www.unrstellaria.wordpress.com and you can submit from our â&#x20AC;&#x2022;Submitâ&#x20AC;&#x2013; page.