Threads: An Undergraduate Journal Issue 4 by University College Feminists

Editor, Threads:

Published by:

Naoise Murphy (Combined Honours in Arts, University College, Durham University)

University College Feminists, Durham University ÂŠ 2017

Articles may be quoted, downloaded or printed freely for academic or not-for-profit purposes provided that due acknowledgement is made to authors or copyright holders and to Threads For enquiries and further information please contact universitycollegefeminists@gmail.com Cover art by Tamar Dutton

Threads: The essays featured in Threads were presented at University College Feministsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; fourth annual undergraduate conference on 14th June 2017 at University College, Durham. Founded by University College Feminists, Threads is a peer-reviewed, interdisciplinary journal that celebrates the work of undergraduates exploring feminist, gender and queer theory in their university work.

University College Feminists: University College Feminists is a collegiate society based at University College, Durham University. It was the first society of its kind in the university and provides a platform for feminist discussion for individuals from all colleges. Established in 2012, the society welcomes speakers on a regular basis and engages in feminist activism within Durham University and further afield.

Executive Committee 2016/17: President: Naoise Murphy Vice-President: Bryony Beetham Secretary: Fleur Goff-Beardsley Treasurer: Maria Tolchenova Social Secretary: Samantha Johnson-Audini

Alexandra Hannant

Harriet Martineau and Victorian Feminism

Jasmin Rafiq

Implicit and explicit gender bias in STEM students’ perceptions of competence, qualifications and quality of research in their statistics lecturers and whether this affects hiring decisions

Anna Ball

‘Men Blush, Women Bleed’: A Feminist Critique of Extreme Pornography Law in the United Kingdom

Sophia Mason

Lives that Matter: #BlackLivesMatter through a feminist embodiment lens

Trà My Hickin

Audre Lorde says eat shrooms: A case for using queer and Deleuzian approaches in Feminist theory

Olivia McCarthy

Forceps and Femininity: Medicine and Enlightenment in Eighteenth Century Britain

Phoebe Worthington

Christ as a Woman: Faith, Feminism and Film

Katie Byford

The Voice of the Muse: Anxiety and Distance in Modern Receptions of Sappho

Alexandra Fitzgerald

Containing the Bombshell: Sexuality, Domesticity and Cold War America in Highsmith, Jackson and Metalious

127

Danielle Pearce

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz’s reimagining of gender roles in colonial New Spain

162

Zara Kesterton

Fredegund - 'emotional, vindictive, and needlessly cruel'? A feminist reassessment of the medieval queen.

167

Beatrice Calver

Cassatt, Baudelaire and the Painted Woman: Cassatt’s In the Loge (1878) as a response to Baudelaire’s 1863 essay, ‘The Painter of Modern Life’ (1863)

172

Grace Long

‘Comedy as a Trojan horse for feminist…politics.’ Rewriting the female self.

178

Siân Round

The Visual Arts as Instrument and Opponent of Patriarchy in Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

203

100

Naoise Murphy is a final-year student at University College, Durham University, reading for a degree in English Literature and French.

In 2014 Dr Ruth Lewis gave a keynote speech at UCF’s inaugural conference in which she described feminism as a tapestry made up of diverse interconnecting threads. This image has been at the core of the society’s work since its inception, and was thus a fitting title for our annual undergraduate journal. The common idea of feminist ‘waves’ seems to us to imply discord, division, and a wish to wash away the work of previous generations. UCF seeks to promote a model of feminism that is harmonious, collaborative and respectful of the immense achievements of our predecessors. We are committed to an intersectional and interdisciplinary approach to both activism and scholarship and we hope that the essays collected here contribute some ‘threads’ to the rich tapestry of feminist study, continuing the work of ‘teaching to transgress’ that forms the basis of University College Feminists. 2016/2017 has been another successful academic year for UCF. We have held weekly discussions on topics ranging from lad culture to women in college politics, and have collaborated with University College JCR on welfare campaigns throughout the year. On International Women’s Day, we held a Strike4Repeal protest in solidarity with the movement for abortion rights in Ireland, and celebrated the incredible creative talents of the women of Durham with our first ever Femstival at Empty Shop HQ. The year culminated in our fourth undergraduate conference in June, where we welcomed speakers from across the university, celebrating the fantastic work of Durham undergraduates in all areas of feminist scholarship.

I would like to extend a special thanks to our keynote speakers, Clarissa Humphreys, Hazel Donkin and Sara Uckelman, for their inspiring and informative talks, together with our wonderful undergraduate speakers and all who attended and took part in our discussions. I would also like to thank our dedicated peer review panel for their insight and enthusiasm, and the executive committee of UCF for their constant support and much-valued friendship. I hope you enjoy this issue of Threads!

Alexandra Hannant is a third-year philosophy student at Van Mildert College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as her dissertation under the guidance of Dr Matthew Eddy.

Introduction This is an intellectual history dissertation, in which I argue that Harriet Martineau endorsed a feminist theory where the primary focus was on female self governance and authority. The authority endorsed by Martineau takes multiple forms which I shall unpack throughout this dissertation, these forms are bodily, intellectual and domestic authority. Chapter 2 will examine bodily authority by establishing how Martineau’s support of mesmerism displayed a desire for self governance over her physical body and treatment. Chapter 3 will examine Martineau’s support of intellectual autonomy; I will explain how Martineau’s belief that the power of the mind was superior to that of the body was a feminist notion for the era. Finally, in chapter 4 I argue that Martineau made the domestic sphere one of power and control for women, rather than one of subservience.

Primary Sources The primary sources I shall be using are Harriet Martineau’s Life in the Sickroom, published in 1844 and Letters on Mesmerism, published in 1845; hereafter I shall refer to these titles as Life and Letters. Life was written during a period of great illness for Martineau, its purpose was to educate her readers regarding the subjective experience of illness and the difference emotions and thoughts that a sufferer experiences during their time in the sick room. 1 Furthermore, it educated those not suffering from an illness on how to behave around those who were ill. 2 Letters, however, was written with the intention of providing her own personal account of her experience of mesmerism, both as an observer and as a patient. After finding that traditional medical practises were not curing her of her illness, Martineau turned to unorthodox medical treatments, such as mesmerism. Martineau documented her experience of mesmerism for she wanted to reveal to the public how she regained her health after undergoing mesmeric treatment. By keeping a note of her involvement in mesmerism, Martineau wanted to encourage other invalids, who had seemingly lost hope, to give mesmeric practise a try.

Historical Accreditation There are vast amounts of literature on the role women and gender played during the nineteenth century. The major authors to unpack Martineau’s ideas regarding separate spheres and gender roles during the nineteenth century are Jane Hamlett and Amanda Vickery. Both Hamlett and Vickery understand the domestic sphere to be one of power rather than subservience. Hamlett focuses mainly on the distribution of certain rooms in the home to show how the domestic sphere could be one of 1 2

Harriet Martineau, “Life in the Sickroom”, Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2003, p.12 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.13

authority. I, on the other hand, will be focusing on the domestic sphere as a whole. I will argue that Martineau makes the domestic sphere one of power and authority not through her distribution of gendered spaces, but through her encouragement of medical practise taking place in the home. Furthermore, I will argue that Martineau encouraged authority in the domestic sphere by making the home a place in which she endorsed power over the mind and one’s own individual thought. I will also analyse the works of Alison Winter when examining Martineau’s specific beliefs regarding women and those suffering from invalidism. Winter states that for Martineau, those confined to the sickroom became more knowledgeable. 3 I agree with Winter, and I shall expand on this by assessing how exactly those in the sickroom were able to become more knowledgeable. I will examine Martineau’s power of ideas in the sickroom and her support of associationism and cognitive healing in order to show how, for Martineau, the invalid was more knowledgeable. 4 Winter further suggests that Martineau provides an authoritative view of invalidism. 5 I agree with Winter and I will unpack this argument by demonstrating how Martineau provided an authoritative view of invalidism by encouraging the invalid to have power over one’s own bodily experiences and power over one’s personal beliefs. Winter further states, however, that the authority and position of the female invalid was problematic in relation to their intellectual status. I shall further expand on this by analysing how Martineau was criticised for her views, with male physicians attempting to question her intellect by reducing her to a physical diagnosis of hysteria.

Key Terms There are several key terms that I need to define when examining the theme of feminism and authority in Martineau’s works; I will first explain what I mean by the term feminism. It is important to clarify exactly how I shall define feminism as it must be interpreted in a way with which Martineau herself would be familiar. It is useless to discuss Martineau’s Life in relation to feminism as it is known today as modern day feminism has extended beyond the desire for equality in the political sphere and in the workplace. 6 Today, many women are brought up with the rhetoric that they have a right to do and be almost anything. Women in the 19th century, however, did not have the same rhetoric of feminism as we do today.7 Women did not attempt to gain equal social, political or economic status with their male counterparts, but they were keen to acquire some form of autonomy, whether it be in the private or public sphere. Hence, for Martineau, feminism was not about becoming dominant over her male counterparts. Instead, Martineau wanted to equip women with the ability to acquire some form of health education, and equip women and fellow invalids with authority and control over their own bodily experiences. Martineau’s intention to inspire and counsel readers of Life is feminist in the sense that she advocated an increase in authority amongst women and those confined to the domestic sphere. Therefore, throughout my essay, I shall define feminism as the encouragement of female autonomy and selfgovernance. This self-governance takes multiple forms for Martineau, whether it be self-governance over one’s own physical body and bodily experiences, over one’s experience in the domestic sphere, or over one’s own thoughts and ideas. I shall further explain what exactly I mean by the terms medicine and health. When discussing medicine and medical practise I am referring to the professionalised clinical organisation of Alison Winter, “Harriet Martineau and the Reform of the Invalid in Victorian England”, The Historical Journal, 1995, 38: 597-616 on p.599 4 Winter, ‘Martineau and the Reform of the Invalid’ p.599 5 Winter, ‘Martineau and the Reform of the Invalid’ p.600 6 Katherine Viner, “On the Move: Feminism for a New Generation”, London, Virago, 1999, pp.20-23 7 Olive Banks, “Becoming a Feminist: the Social Origins of First Wave Feminism” Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1986 pp.77-83 3

knowledge controlled by men of the era. When discussing health, I am using this term in a much broader sense. The term health shall be used to describe the body generally. Hence, when I discuss Martineau’s nurse acquiring an understanding of health, I am referring to her acquiring an understanding and expertise of bodily ailments without the formal teaching or testing that was implemented during the nineteenth century. I argue it is important to understand the terms medicine and health in this way, for the 19 th century was a period of huge medical reorganisation. Medicine became aligned with science and was no longer practised in the home. As women were generally excluded from scientific practise, this meant their involvement with medicine became limited as a result. Hence, for the purpose of this essay, when discussing Martineau and her nurse’s involvement in health I am referring to their treatment of ailments in the home external to the medical profession. When discussing Martineau’s endorsement of authority, I do not mean that Martineau wanted to have power and control over her male counterparts. Martineau did not endorse a view of authority in which men and women are constantly fighting for dominance, instead Martineau created her own understand of what it was to have authority. For Martineau, to have authority was to have control over oneself, whether this be control over one’s body and how it is treated, or control over one’s thoughts. Hence, throughout this essay when discussing Martineau’s endorsement of authority, I do not necessarily mean she endorses power over others. I interpret authority as having power over oneself and one’s treatment, whether this be medical or otherwise.

The Central Elements of Harriet Martineau’s Victorian Feminism Introduction More specifically, I argue that, throughout her works, Martineau endorsed a view of feminism in which female autonomy and agency were a priority. In part 1, I will argue that Martineau encouraged and endorsed self-governance over the body. I will assess her encouragement of mesmeric treatment to prove that Martineau supported women having control over their own bodies. In part 2 I argue that Martineau was also a proponent of female intellectual autonomy. In part 3 I aver that Martineau was a proponent of female autonomy in the domestic sphere. In a period where women were presented as needing the protection of a man, the endorsement of female autonomy was a feminist notion for the era. 8 In this chapter I will explore the central elements of this Victorian feminism; bodily, domestic and intellectual autonomy. These key elements will form the basis of my forthcoming chapters.

Bodily Autonomy In this section I will argue that Martineau was a proponent for female autonomy over the body. In Life, Martineau displayed her desire for self-governance over her own body through her endorsement of the practise mesmerism. A controversial treatment, its founder physician Franz Mesmer, wanted to create a healing technique that put the body of the patient at the centre of the cure, not external instruments or medicines. 9 Martineau’s body was put at the centre of her treatment as she described how, during her mesmeric sessions, her mesmerist would make passes with his hands over her head, passes from her forehead to the back of her head, and passes down to her spine for up to twenty minutes; Martineau’s body was used as an instrument in mesmeric sessions. 10 She took control Amanda Vickery, ‘Golden Age to Separate Spheres: A Review of the Categories and Chronology of English Women’s History’, in “The Historical Journal”, 1993, 36:383-414 on p.387 9 Adam Crabtree, “From Mesmer to Freud: Magnetics Sleep and the Roots of Psychological Healing” New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993, pp.6-7 10 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.7 8

over this bodily therapy however as she dictated when her body was to undergo treatment and by whom. Martineau demonstrated self governance over her bodily therapy for when Mr. Hall was unable to participate in mesmerism treatment she instead asked her maid to act as her mesmerist. 11 Thus, it was the patient, not the practitioner, who had power and control in the sickroom. According to Alison Winter, a historian of science and medicine, it was this removal of power from the practitioner that led to Letters creating a national sensation. Winter holds that this sensation was unsurprising, for previous Martineau’s work was revolutionary in the sense it removed authority from the affairs of men. 12 In this period male physicians were seen to be intellectually superior to their female counterparts, for the male physician underwent long and rigorous training in male dominated institutions.13 Many women during this era were denied the chance to attend such institutions. 14 As a result, orthodox medical men dismissed Martineau’s mesmerism as a legitimate medical treatment for, by allowing the uneducated to act as physicians, mesmerism undermined their superior medical status.15 Through her support of mesmerism, Martineau put female patients at the centre of treatment and endorsed their autonomy over their bodies. This is a feminist notion for a time period where the patient was typically at the mercy of the physician.

Intellectual Autonomy By documenting her mesmeric treatment in her publications, Martineau displayed her own intellectual autonomy. Intellectual autonomy was demonstrated as Martineau maintained a support of the unorthodox medical theory despite facing severe criticism. In Life, Martineau argued that mesmerism should not be discarded as a medical theory, for it had been revived again and again. 16 She did so regardless of the fact that she was surrounded by friends and family who called mesmerism the work of delusions.17 Maria Frawley, the modern editor of Life, explains that this reveals Martineau to be intellectually autonomous, for despite many viewing mesmerism to be a con, Martineau stood by her convictions by maintaining an academic interest and support of the theory. 18 Martineau’s display of intellectual autonomy came at a price, however, as she found herself victim of a hysterical diagnosis by Charles Dilke, editor of literary magazine the Athenaeum. 19 During the nineteenth century, it was believed that a woman’s health and the reproductive system were linked, causing the female body and mind to be associated with hysteria. 20 With a medical diagnosis of hysteria often being ascribed to women who displayed ‘erratic behaviour’, or behaviour that simply went against the grain, it is unsurprising that Martineau was diagnosed with the illness. 21 As well as undermining Martineau, this diagnosis of hysteria further served as a warning to all women against the dangers of displaying individuality and intellectual autonomy. Intellectual autonomy was also endorsed by Martineau through her disregard of the rest cure. Many Victorian women who experienced illness were prescribed bed rest and told to not engage in any activities that might excite the mind, such as writing or reading. A controlling and intrusive cure, Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.9 Winter, ‘Martineau and the reform of the Invalid’ p.605 13 Lucinda Beier “Sufferers and Healers: the Experience of Illness in Seventeenth Century England” London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987, p.14 11 12

Beier, ‘Sufferers and Healers’ pp.10-11 Stephen Jacyna, ‘Medicine in Transformation: 1800-1849’ in Lawrence Conrad (ed.) “The Western Medical Tradition 1800-2000”, Cambridge University Press, 2006, pp.22-23 16 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.87 17 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.5 18 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’, pp.5-16 19 Roberts, ‘The Woman and the Hour’ pp.124-126 14 15

Martineau, “Life in the Sickroom” p.15 Laura Briggs, ‘The Race of Hysteria: “Overcivilisation” and the “Savage” Woman in Late Nineteenth Century Obstetrics and Gynecology’, in “American Philosophical Quarterly”, 2000, 52:246-273 on pp.246-247 20 21

many women became sicker when unable to exercise their intellect. 22 Martineau endorsed intellectual autonomy for she continued to exercise her intelligence by reading and writing when in the sickroom, thus she maintained self governance over her mind.

Domestic Authority Martineau advocated female power and autonomy in the domestic sphere by encouraging women to be medically proactive in the home. As previously explained, Martineau entrusted her maid to perform mesmeric treatment on her, despite being an “untrained servant”. 23 It was rare that women participated in medical practise as, due to the alignment of science and medicine, medicine was considered an academic craft. As female education was restricted in this period, it was difficult for women to qualify as physicians, allowing men to dominate the medical profession in the nineteenth century.24 Hence, by trusting her maid to act as her nurse, Martineau was showing that females of the era could play just as active and important a role in medicine as males. Domestic authority was further endorsed by Martineau as she made her home a place of cognitive healing as well. Martineau was a firm believer in associationism, the favoured cognitive model of the day. By supporting associationism Martineau explained that, although she had little control over her bodily ailments, she had authority over her own ideas and her mind. Thus, the domestic sphere was one of self governance for women and invalids, for they had authority over their outlook of their illness and subsequently their mental health when confined to the domestic sphere. Martineau was endorsing feminism through her encouragement of female autonomy in the home, for she highlighted the important role than can be played by women in the domestic sphere. Martineau made the domestic sphere a place of science and learning, something typically denied to women during this time due to the development of separate spheres for men and women. Thus, the domestic sphere was, for Martineau, a place of power and independence.

Conclusion In this chapter I have argued that Martineau encouraged female autonomy in the home and in one’s ideas. I have shown Martineau’s support of these concepts by evaluating how, through her support of mesmerism, she encouraged women to have power over their own bodies and beliefs. Similarly, I have explained how she supported female authority in the home through the encouragement of medical practise in the domestic sphere. Upon falling ill, Martineau physically became the stereotypical Victorian woman, confined to the home spending her days entertaining visitors. However, Martineau was able to run her sick room in such a way that she because more independent rather than less so. 25 Hence, Martineau endorsed feminism throughout her works for, in a time when females were seemingly restricted by separate spheres, Martineau revealed how one can turn domesticity into a position of power.

Ellen Bassuk, ‘The Rest Cure: Repetition or Resolution of Victorian Women’s Conflicts’, “ Poetics Today, 1985, 6:245-257, on p.245 23 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.12 24 Shirley Roberts, “Sophia Jex Blake: a Woman Pioneer in Nineteenth Century Medical Reform” London: Routledge, 1993, pp.80-82 22

Winter, ‘Martineau and the Reform of the Invalid’ p.603

Bodily Autonomy in Martineau’s Work Introduction In this chapter I argue that Martineau strongly endorsed bodily autonomy by supporting a practise in which the patient had authority over their treatment. When examining Martineau’s beliefs about bodily autonomy, I shall look at her own physical experiences of the body. Part 1 will establish that Martineau endorsed bodily autonomy through her own personal experiences of mesmerism. I will further examine Martineau’s brother in law and physician Thomas Greenhow and his attempt to discredit Martineau. I will argue that this attempt to disgrace her work was made due to a misogynistic fear of his own medical reputation being thrown into disrepute. In part 2 I aver that Martineau endorsed bodily autonomy through her witnessing of her friend Jane Arrowsmith undergoing mesmeric treatment. As Martineau was acting as an observer she was able to objectively witness the impact mesmerism had on Arrowsmith and the positive effect it had on her health. Hence, she endorsed bodily autonomy by encouraging other women other than herself to participate in mesmeric treatment. This chapter will show that bodily autonomy was crucial to Harriet Martineau’s feminist thought by revealing her support of a theory that gave women control over their own physical body and how it was treated.

Personal Experience of Mesmerism Martineau’s endorsement of bodily autonomy can be found through her own personal experience of mesmeric treatment. There were many who observed the effects of mesmerism, calling them strange and unaccountable, before going away and thinking no more about them. 26 Martineau, however, was reluctant to defer to the standard science and medicine that many of her relations and friends favoured and, as a result, sought alleviation from her illness through the alternative medical practise of mesmerism.27 Martineau described her illness as an internal disease, which has left her unable to eat, in constant discomfort and confined to a condition of stillness. 28 In Letters, Martineau stated that everything that the best physicians could suggest was done for her, but to no avail. Martineau underwent multiple medical treatments, ultimately resulting in her growing dependant on opiates. 29 She claimed that the hours which she felt the worst physically and mentally were those between “the expiration of one opiate and the taking of another”. 30 Through the constant medical treatments and gradual dependence on drugs to alleviate her symptoms, Martineau ultimately lost autonomy over her own body. Having found no relief from orthodox medical treatments or opiates, Martineau began to research untraditional medical practises, which resulted in her trial of mesmerism.31 Through mesmerism Martineau wished to once again regain authority over her own body, and she argued that mesmeric treatment returned to her the full use of powers of the body. 32 Martineau identified the importance of giving a precise statement of her own mesmeric experience in Letters for she believed it was important to state on the record the fresh feelings and ideas that she received after an early experience of the treatment. 33 Martineau did this so she could provide an accurate and truthful account of her experience of mesmeric treatment for those readers interested in the practise. Martineau explained feeling a “clear twilight closing in from the windows” which melted away the objects in the room; she also recounted witnessing a phosphoric light. 34 Upon the Martineau, ‘Letters Martineau, ‘Letters 28 Martineau, ‘Letters 29 Martineau, ‘Letters 30 Martineau, ‘Letters 31 Martineau, ‘Letters 32 Martineau, ‘Letters 33 Martineau, ‘Letters 34 Martineau, ‘Letters 26 27

on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’ on Mesmerism’

p.1 p.5 pp.3-4 p4 p7 p.5 p.6 p.7 p.7

completion of her séance, Martineau described experiencing feelings of self-doubt for the next morning. She also depicted her experience of somnambulism as feeling like a dream. However, her misgivings were soon quashed upon the completion of her second mesmeric treatment in which she explained having the same experience during her next séance, and the mesmeric treatments that followed.35 Martineau was keen to recount the positive bodily experiences she had as a result of mesmerism. She related the treatments themselves as being enjoyable, before explaining the feelings of lightness and relief she felt as a result of the mesmeric séances. 36 Hence, by discussing her positive experience of mesmeric treatment, Martineau was promoting bodily autonomy. In other words, she endorsed a theory in which she no longer craved or desired the external medicines and tonics she had been dependant on for over two years.37 Yet, Martineau’s desire for bodily autonomy was met with negativity. Physician Thomas Greenhow attempted to discredit Martineau by disclosing her complete medical history to the public. As Martineau’s physician, she gave him permission to discuss her medical history with fellow physicians on the condition that her anonymity was maintained. Instead Greenhow published a graphic description of Martineau’s medical history, for the public to read. 38 More specifically, Greenhow discussed Martineau’s ‘enlarged uterus’, as well as the nature of her reproductive organs. 39 Subsequently Greenhow threw Martineau’s works into doubt by connecting the physical illnesses that plagued her throughout her life to gynaecological causes. During this period, insanity in a woman was linked to her reproductive organs, with many physicians of the era believing that a woman’s failing mental health and experiences of hysteria could be caused due to irritation in the genitals. 40 Thus, according to Winter, he painted the picture of Martineau as a nervous hysteric, who went against the advice of respected medical practitioners of the era. 41 We should not, however, view Greenhow as a voice of authority and knowledge for he intentionally misrepresented Martineau’s views in order to discredit her.42 By supporting mesmerism, Martineau was endorsing a theory in which she had authority over the physician and had control over her own medical treatment. As a result, Martineau’s works were troubling to traditional male physicians of the era, for they believed she threatened their professional reputation. 43 Through the claim that she was a hysteric, Martineau lost a significant amount of self-governance over her own body for and privacy, as all her physical ailments and illnesses were revealed to the public. By reducing her to a diagnosis, Greenhow tried to remove Martineau’s bodily authority and subsequently disassociate himself from her and her works. Greenhow feared that his association with Martineau would lead to him being shunned by the medical community for his sister in law was disputing orthodox medical methods. Hence, the criticisms that Martineau faced in light of her support of bodily autonomy should not be taken seriously, for she experienced a backlash from those with their own personal agenda. Those who diagnosed Martineau with hysteria did so out of a fear that the public would turn against orthodox physicians and instead look to alternative remedies to treat their ailments. Through her own personal experiences of illness, and subsequent physical experiences of clinical medicine, Martineau endorsed bodily autonomy by supporting a theory in which she personally acquired authority over her own treatment and physician. Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.9 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.8 37 Martineau, ’Letters on Mesmerism’ p.11 38 Sarah Russo, “Women’s Self Writing and Medical Science: Harriet Martineau, Charlotte Bronte, Harriet Jacobs and Elizabeth Stoddard” PhD, Syracuse University, 2008, p.41 39 Russo, ‘Women’s Self Writing and Medical Science’ p.42 40 Francois Broussais and Thomas Cooper, “On Irritation and Insanity: A Work Wherein the Relations of the Physical with the Moral Conditions of Man, are Established on the Basis of Physiological Medicine”, S. J. Morris, 1831, p.186 41 Winter, ‘Mesmerized: Powers of the Mind in Victorian Britain’ pp.227-231 42 Russo ‘Women’s Self Writing and Medical Science’ p.40 43 Roberts, ‘The Woman and the Hour’ p.107 35 36

Witnessing Mesmeric Treatment For Martineau, recounting her observation of mesmeric treatment was just as important as recounting her own experience of it. Subsequently, Martineau observed the mesmeric treatment of her friend Jane Arrowsmith.44 Arrowsmith experienced severe pain for years in her left temple as well as inflammation in the eyes. 45 Martineau stated, however, that she remained patient and cheerful despite the pain she was experiencing. 46 A vital trait for Martineau, who believed that the sick should maintain a pleasant disposition despite their illness. 47 Like Martineau, Arrowsmith had been under the care of many clinical physicians. Arrowsmith had little autonomy over her own body or physical experiences, instead she was at the mercy of her physicians, which resulted in her being admitted to an eye infirmary and undergoing severe treatment.48 Also, like Martineau, Arrowsmith had her maid mesmerise her, and subsequently found herself relieved from pain and with the ability to eat and sleep. 49 Martineau argued that it was not possible for Arrowsmith to be making up or imagining this pain relief, for she had no prior understanding of mesmerism and no knowledge of how the treatment provided relief. 50 Hence, by investigating the benefits of mesmeric treatment, Martineau was further encouraging bodily autonomy for she was revealing how mesmerism had benefitted the autonomy of other women and not just herself. She proved that mesmerism could provide many sufferers with the ability to control their own treatment and relieve their own pain. Martineau further stated that Arrowsmith was, when mesmerised, able to treat other people’s illnesses as well as her own. 51 Martineau presented an example of this through her description of her struggle to sleep once she stopped taking opiates. In a somnambulistic state, Arrowsmith suggested that Martineau should have a glass of ale and a glass of brandy before retiring to bed. Upon following this advice, Martineau found that she lost her pains and was able to sleep soundly through the night. 52 Hence, by consuming these drinks before bed Martineau found herself able to lose her pain and sleep, she would not have known the benefits of these drinks had Arrowsmith not told her to drink them in a somnambulistic state. By observing the positive effects on Arrowsmith, Martineau was encouraging Arrowsmith to continue with mesmeric treatment and as a result, encouraging her to have authority over her own body. However, whilst Martineau displayed unwavering support for the theory of mesmerism, she was also very much aware of the suspicion and distrust cast on those women who participated in health care. As a result, there were numerous restrictions put in place to prevent women from developing scientific and medical interests. 53 Alison Bashford, a specialist in the history of science, also makes the argument that many women were considered masculine or unnatural if they pursued medical practise. 54 This was a central issue during the nineteenth century, for the main priority of many women and their families was finding a Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ pp.14-19 Martineau ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.20 46 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.20 47 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sick Room’ p.129 48 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.20 49 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.20 50 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.21 51 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.22 52 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.30 53 Roberts, ‘Sophia Jex Blake’ p.80 54 Alison Bashford, “Purity and Pollution: Gender, Embodiment and Victorian Medicine”, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998, p.85 44 45

suitable husband, this would be difficult if they appeared masculine. 55 As a result many men were unhappy with women involving themselves in medicine. Consequently, Martineau’s observations of herself and of Arrowsmith and her subsequent support of mesmerism were undoubtedly feminist, especially since Martineau was encouraging women to take control over their own bodies and health by playing an active role in their own treatment, regardless of the suspicion and backlash they may have faced as a result. Through undergoing mesmeric treatment and witnessing its effects on Arrowsmith, Martineau was able to fully comprehend the importance of having autonomy over one’s body and one’s mind. As she was confined to the home due to her ill health, Martineau reclaimed power over her body by supporting a medical treatment that valued the patient more than the physician. Thus, Martineau’s illness and subsequent support of mesmerism was not the negative fall into femininity that critics suggest it to be.56

Conclusion In this chapter I have unpacked Martineau’s observation of mesmeric practise as well as her own experience of the treatment. Martineau endorsed bodily autonomy by encouraging a theory in which the patient was given control over the physician. By examining the effect of mesmerism on Jane Arrowsmith, Martineau encouraged mesmerism for she was revealing the positive physical effects it had on others as well as herself. Martineau recounted that Arrowsmith was able to treat her own illnesses once under mesmeric sleep. Hence, the role of the orthodox physician becomes somewhat redundant for they were no longer needed to make a diagnosis or prescribe medicines; the patient was able to treat herself. Thus, based on her account of own experience and the experience of others, it is evident that bodily autonomy was an important concept for Martineau and her view of feminism. Through her support of treatments that gave the patients power, she returned to patients control over their own bodies. In a period where a woman’s body was at the mercy of a man, this bodily control and authority was undoubtedly feminist for the era. My argument has extended the work of Alison Winter, for Winter explains that, according to Greenhow, Martineau was an unreliable source for she was painted as a nervous hysteric. I develop this argument by unpacking the motives behind Greenhow’s diagnosis, to explain why Greenhow’s account of Martineau should not be trusted. This is important, for it would be wrong to disregard Martineau’s research on the basis that she was diagnosed as mentally ill. Having explored how Martineau sought self governance over her body, I will now explain how she did the same for her mind.

Bashford, ‘Purity and Pollution’ p.85

Tamara Ketabgian, ‘Martineau, Mesmerism and the “Night Side of Nature”’ in “ Women’s Writing”, 2002, 9: 351-368 on p.353 56

Intellectual Authority in Martineau’s Work Introduction In this chapter I argue that Martineau’s works revealed how she encouraged intellectual autonomy amongst women during the nineteenth century. In part 1 I aver that Martineau endorsed intellectual autonomy through her support of the power of the mind over the body. Throughout Life she discussed how she came to the realisation that it is our thoughts, not our bodily actions, that take precedence over illness. I argue that this belief endorses intellectual autonomy by encouraging women to focus on their own minds and individual beliefs. In part 2 I will state that intellectual autonomy was further encouraged by Martineau through her endorsement of mesmerism despite the backlash she received as a result. By publishing Letters, Martineau was openly showing her support for an alternative medical theory. Hence, she is encouraging intellectual autonomy amongst her readers by showing her own refusal to be influenced by the teachings of orthodox medical men of the time.

The Power of Mind Over Body Martineau’s ill health influenced her endorsement of intellectual autonomy as it paved the way for her development of the power of ideas. In Life, Martineau stated that the sickroom was a place of intense convictions, for it was where developed her belief in the permanent nature of good and transient nature of evil.57 Martineau expanded on this belief by explaining in great depth her development of the power of ideas, particularly the importance of ideas for those who are confined to the home due to ill health58 . Throughout her time in the sick room, Martineau developed the belief that the power of the mind has much more importance than the physical power of the body, stating, “it matter’s infinitely less what we do than what we are”. 59 For Martineau, our bodily actions had inherently less value than the thoughts and ideas that we possessed in our minds. Martineau further argued that it is only those who are familiar with human sorrows who are able to fully appreciate this concept. 60 In other words, only those who have known the pain and suffering of invalidism were able to fully appreciate the power of the mind, for they were not able to fully use the power their physical body provided. Martineau’s belief that it matters more what we are than what we do provided those suffering with invalidism a higher purpose, for they were no longer definable by their lack of physical health. She stated that while the sick were unable to pursue a trade, or help clean the home, or participate in work, they were instead able to look beyond the importance of the material and thus develop a better, stronger soul.61 Martineau herself suffered from a range of illnesses and was confined to the sickroom as a result.62 Consequently, it was unsurprising that Martineau held the power of the mind in much higher regard than the powers and capabilities of the body. 63 By encouraging the power of ideas and emphasising the importance of what we are as opposed to what we do, Martineau was supporting female intellectual autonomy as she was encouraging women to think for themselves. Gayle Yates, a women’s feminist literature specialist, argues that encouraging independent thought is a feminist notion, for the nineteenth century was a period where women were considered intellectually inferior.64 Dr Henry Bennett, a proponent of Caucasian male superiority, asked “what right does a woman have to claim mental equality with men?”. 65 Bennett’s comments show how many Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.43 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.128 59 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.128 60 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.128 61 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ pp. 129-155 62 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.12 63 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.129 64 Gayle Graham Yates, “Harriet Martineau on Women”, Rutgers University Press: New Jersey, 1985, p.87 65 Roberts, ‘Sophia Jex Blake’ p.100 57 58

women of the era were expected to follow the beliefs of their male superiors for it was thought they were mentally inferior to their male counterparts. Furthermore, Yates also avers that, for Martineau, women were not intellectually inferior, they only appeared so due to restrictions on their education and mental training.66 Thus, Martineau believed that a woman’s education and thoughts were just as important as the education and thoughts of men. Hence, by supporting the power of ideas, Martineau was encouraging women to think for themselves in a period where their gender played a central role in controlling their behaviour and ideas. 67 Similarly, during the nineteenth century, the true woman was thought to be one who was submissive and domesticated.68 Gerda Lerner, cofounder of the academic field of women’s history, argues that because of this mode of thought there was a shrinkage of political and professional positions available for women; with women expected to accept their proper place in the home. 69 Due to their confinement to the home, it was clear that women were not actually able to do much in the public sphere. All that was expected of women was conformation to the ideology of domesticity. 70 Martineau however argued that a woman’s lack of involvement or action in the public sphere does not make them any less worthy than those who are able to make full use of the power of the body. She stated that if anyone was to doubt the worth and importance of thought, they should look to the head of spiritual exemplification and ask themselves whether it matters more what Christ was or what he did.71 For Martineau, the power of all thought is great, for it is our thought that connects us with our maker.72 Thus, an invalid confined to the home should be considered inferior, for it is through their restriction to the home that the invalid can acquire the strongest and highest ideas. Therefore, by suggesting that our ideas had superiority over our actions, Martineau inferred that it was one’s thoughts and mind that determine the value of a person; an important notion for those invalids or women confined to the home. In sum, Martineau’s ill health influenced her desire for intellectual autonomy, for it was through ill health that she came to realise the importance of individual thought and ideas. This was a revolutionary concept in a period where female individuality and ideas were discouraged in favour of subservience and domesticity. Martineau further built on her theory that the mind and ideas were superior to the body by disregarding orthodox medical techniques simply because they were the norm. I will now examine how Martineau challenged medical practice at the time.

A Disregard for Orthodox Medical Theories I argue that Martineau maintained intellectual autonomy by encouraging women to maintain their beliefs regardless of the traditional medical theories that were favoured at the time. Despite backlash from medical professionals, Martineau maintained an unwavering support of mesmerism, subsequently, she wrote about and published works displaying her support for the theory. Hence, Martineau was publically supporting and encouraging intellectual autonomy, for she disagreed with theories that promoted a lack of medical involvement and mental stimulation for women. As Martineau was confined to the sickroom for roughly five years, and thus unable to engage in many

Yates, ‘On Women’ p.87 Ludmilla Jordanova, ‘Gender and the Historiography of Science’ in “The British Journal for the History of Science”, 1993, 26:469-483 on p.473 68 Vickery, ‘Golden Age to Separate Spheres’ p.384 69 Gerda Lerner ‘The Lady and the Mill Girl: Changes in the Status of Women in the age of Jackson’ in “Midcontinent American Studies Journal”, 1969, 10: 5-15 on p.12 70 Jane McDermid, ‘Women and Education’ in J. Purvis (ed.) “Women’s History: Britain 1850-1945: An Introduction”, Routledge, 1997, p.92 71 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.129 72 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.134 66 67

physical activities, she instead spent her time writing about her experiences in the sick room and her experience of mesmeric séances. 73 In her works, Martineau recounted the backlash she faced as a result of maintaining a belief in mesmerism; and she revealed to her readers the lengths to which some physicians went to in order to discredit her. Martineau recounted a physician coming to a mesmeric séance under the pretence of genuine interest. However, he then began assaulting Jane Arrowsmith, the young lady whose mesmeric treatment Martineau was overseeing, whilst she was under mesmeric sleep. 74 According to Martineau, the gentleman’s sole intention was to prove that mesmerism was a sham; he did this by “violently seizing Arrowsmith’s arm” and shouting that the house was on fire. 75 Martineau reported that the attempted assault on Arrowsmith’s nerves failed, for she did not react to the gentleman’s attempts to wake her. In fact, when asked if she could recount any of the incident, Arrowsmith simply stated she felt something cold touch her. 76 The behaviour exhibited by the gentleman shows the extreme behaviour to which some physicians were prepared to go in order to discredit and disprove mesmerism as a clinical medical treatment. Martineau however, continued to endorse and practise mesmeric treatment and, by including the incident in her publications, Martineau revealed to her readers the inappropriate behaviour and malpractise of some physicians in order to discredit her. Martineau also argued for intellectual autonomy by documenting her experiences as an invalid and keeping journals. Martineau described the sick room as a scene of intense convictions, she wished to share these convictions with fellow invalids by writing and publishing Life.77 Psychiatrist Ellen Bassuk explains that the documentation of life in a sickroom was rare at this time for, during the Victorian period, many physicians prescribed bed rest in order to cure women’s ailments. 78 This was shown in the case of Victorian author Charlotte Gilman, who was prescribed the rest cure when she was unwell. The rest cure explicitly forbade women from reading and writing about anything, including themselves or their illness. 79 It was believed that an over stimulation of the brain led to illnesses such as hysteria and nervousness and, as a result, the male dominated medical profession recommended a treatment that would make women silent and submissive. As a writer Gilman found the rest cure unbearable stating that, as a result of the treatment, she nearly lost her mind.80 Hence, by prescribing a treatment of prolonged bed rest, women were denied the ability to stimulate their minds, ultimately causing them to lose their authority and power. 81 Martineau displayed her own agency and intellectual autonomy by not only disregarding a cure of bed rest, but by writing about her experiences of mesmerism and experience in the sick room. Martineau snubbed treatment that stopped her from writing, instead she continually engaged in mental stimulating activities by writing about the trials and tribulations she faced as a result of being an invalid. By becoming an active participant in the reading and writing of her own disease, Martineau was displaying her intellectual autonomy for she ignored the advice of physicians at the time and continued to engage in activities that stimulated her mind. 82 Through her unique writing style, Martineau was able to appeal to a wide audience; thus, she was able to make the intellectual beliefs and ideas she acquired whilst in the sickroom public knowledge. Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.12 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.35 75 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ pp.35-36 76 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.36 77 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.43 78 Bassuk, ‘The Rest Cure’ p.245 79 Charlotte Gilman, ‘The Living of Charlotte Perkins Gilman: An Autobiography’, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1991, p.95 80 Gilman, ‘The Living of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’ p.96 81 Martha Cutter, ‘The Writer as Doctor: New Models of Medical Discourse in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Later Fiction’, “Literature and Medicine”, 2001, 20: 151-182 on p.152 82 Cutter, ‘The Writer as Doctor’ p.152 73 74

Caroline Roberts declares that Martineau’s works chose to embrace the traditional form of discourse of the time; this being ‘masculine discourse’. 83 Roberts states that Martineau’s use of male discourse played an incredibly important role in her acceptance into public literary life. However, although being accustomed to using male discourse in her works, Martineau wanted to make her works accessible to the common reader. Male discourse abused high sounding scientific terms, making many books too difficult for lower class people to read. Martineau was a successful author because she introduced ‘feminine’ language into her works, making them highly popular amongst men and women, the educated and uneducated, throughout the UK. 84 As Martineau’s works were highly accessible due to her implementation of female discourse, Martineau could state her beliefs regarding the importance of mesmerism as a medical theory to a wide audience. Martineau displayed her own intellectual autonomy when she stated that it was her aim simply to state what she knew and thought. She was confident that those interested in mesmeric treatment would find her works thought-provoking, and expressed little interest for those who criticised her mesmeric beliefs. 85 By expressing her interest and support of mesmerism so openly, Martineau was encouraging intellectual autonomy for she endorsed a theory that was generally distrusted, and encouraged others to experience mesmeric treatment for themselves. 86

Conclusion Throughout this chapter I have examined how Martineau encouraged intellectual authority by supporting the power of the mind over the body and by disregarding orthodox medical theories. Martineau’s power of ideas clearly supports intellectual autonomy, for she put the focus on the mind and one’s thoughts and ideas, as opposed to one’s actions. This endorsement of individual thoughts and ideas was incredibly important for women who were traditionally encouraged to follow the thoughts and beliefs of their male superiors. Similarly, by publishing her works, despite being aware of the criticisms she would face, Martineau was encouraging women to stay true to their beliefs despite the negative attention they may receive as a result. Martineau received a huge backlash from her male critics, yet maintained a continuing support for mesmerism regardless of this. Thus, she endorsed intellectual autonomy, for she was discouraging women to support certain medical practises simply because they were the norm. My research here is noteworthy for I examine how Martineau’s support of unorthodox medical treatments extended beyond a support of mesmerism. I explain that Martineau endorsed intellectual autonomy by continuing to read and write despite this being prohibited by the commonly prescribed rest cure. This is important as it shows the numerous ways Martineau defied the norms of the era. I have extended on Bassuk’s work by providing examples of peers of Martineau’s who underwent the rest cure. By examining the negative experience of Victorian writer Charlotte Gilman I have explained the effect that a lack of mental stimulation and confinement to the home had on women during the nineteenth century. I will now examine how Martineau specifically made her home a place in which she developed rather than lost self governance and authority.

Roberts, ‘The Woman and the Hour’ p.13

Roberts, ‘The Woman and the Hour’ pp.13-15 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ preface vi 86 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.2 84 85

Domestic Authority in Martineau’s Work Introduction Separate spheres were a common notion throughout the nineteenth century, with the public sphere being dominated by men, and the domestic by women. This chapter will argue that, despite the negative connotations that the domestic sphere has today, Martineau’s confinement to the domestic sphere did not make her the downtrodden figure that women of the era were believed to be. In making this argument I will be extending Hamlett’s view that gendered segregation did not actually enforce the gendered status quo. Rather space in the domestic sphere empowered women. 87 In part 1 I aver that women acquired female domestic authority by making the home a place of scientific practise and learning. I will look at the role Martineau’s maid played in the home, and her taking on the role of nurse in order to show that women in the domestic sphere were able to acquire authority and power. I will also assess the practises of séances in the home. In part 2 I analyse the method of cognitive healing that was dominant during the Victorian era. I will assess the associative model that was favoured by Martineau and many physicians at the time in order to prove how Martineau made the home a place of cognitive healing through her discussion of ideas. Hence, this chapter will argue that female domestic authority was pivotal to Martineau’s idea of feminism, for she encouraged women to make the domestic sphere a place of power. Through her encouragement of mesmeric practise in her home, as well as her support of women taking on a medical role in the home, Martineau was endorsing female domestic authority by making the domestic sphere one of control for those confined to it. The domestic sphere was not a sphere of submission, but instead was one of rebellion.

The Home as a Place of Scientific Learning Martineau promoted female domestic authority by encouraging women to participate in medical practise in the domestic sphere. According to Martineau, it was essential that every home acted as a school for all members of the family, including servants. 88 Martineau made her home a place of education by encouraging her maid to perform mesmeric treatment on her. 89 Despite having no previous medical knowledge, Martineau’s maid was keen to participate in the practise, and she is described as complying with the greatest alacrity. 90 Upon her maid performing the mesmeric treatment, Martineau claimed that she felt the same sensation of ease she had felt when being mesmerised by Mr. Hall. 91 Martineau later described Mr. Hall as being so pleased with the progress she was making with her maid that he left them to carry on mesmeric practise without his involvement.92 Martineau clearly asserted that one does not have to be formally educated in order to participate in medical practise as she stated that the mesmeric treatment she experienced at the hands of her maid provided her with the same relief as the trained mesmerist Mr. Hall. Martineau’s maid had no medical background or training, yet Martineau still entrusted her to perform a medical treatment. Here, Martineau was endorsing female domestic authority, for she provided her maid with a power she had not previously experienced in the home. Martineau’s maid became more than a maid; she became her nurse. Hence, the domestic sphere became a place of authority as it became a place of learning and education. Although traditionally the domestic sphere was thought to be one where ladies sat in the parlour to sew, by encouraging her Hamlett, ‘The Dining Room should be the Man’s Paradise’ p.582 Harriet Martineau, “Household Education” London: E Moxon, 1849, p.11 89 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.8-9 90 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.9 91 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.10 92 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.10 87 88

maid to act as her nurse, Martineau made the domestic sphere one of medical practise and education. 93 Thus, Martineau was encouraging women to participate in a practise that they were excluded from during this era. Prior to the nineteenth century, domestic health was traditionally a female practise. During the nineteenth century, this view of medicine was changed due to demands for the medical profession to be a system of registration. 94 Subsequently, most doctors in the nineteenth century were men, men were also highly involved in practises such as midwifery, a practise that was historically dominated by women.95 However, due to the early nineteenth century professionalization of medicine and the linking of medicine with science, this area too was soon dominated by men. 96 Medicine was removed from the private sphere and instead became a practise that belonged to the clinical realm. Female involvement in medical practise was made even more difficult when the Royal College of Physicians of London stated all potential physicians must be formally examined. 97 It would have been highly unlikely that any women would be able to participate in such an examination, as female education during the nineteenth century was of little import. Many believed that if women engaged in education they would abandon their household duties. 98 This formal organisation of medicine was detrimental to female education, for women were unable to participate in practises that was once considered an intrinsic part of the female’s role. 99 It was this patriarchal scheme of education that Martineau fought strongly against. 100 She was a firm believer that all members of the household, including women, children and servants should participate in a process of education together. 101 Therefore, Martineau made the home a place of female domestic authority by providing her female servant with a medical education that men were trying to deny to women. As a lifelong friend of Florence Nightingale, Martineau fully supported the training and emergence of nurses; especially those nurses modelled on science and authority. 102 Martineau was clearly encouraging authority in the home as she is encouraging her maid to acquire an understanding of health care and participate in scientific practise in a manner similar to that of a nurse. Martineau was returning to women a power that was taken from them due to the emergence of separate spheres and, by allowing her maid to perform medical treatments in the home, Martineau provides her maid and herself with domestic authority. Martineau further endorsed female authority in the domestic sphere by encouraging mesmeric séances to be performed in the home. 103 Due to the reorganisation of medicine and the fact that new medical education was to be based solely in the hospital clinical medicine was increasingly taking place outside of the home.104 By encouraging physicians to visit her home and perform mesmeric treatments in her quarters, Martineau was again making the domestic sphere a place of scientific discovery and education.105 Today, many contemporary feminists would view the concept of separate spheres as oppressive. Many women now would reject the nineteenth century notion that the private sphere is for female Yates, ‘Harriet Martineau on Women’ p.85 Ivan Waddington, ‘The Movement towards the Professionalisation of Medicine’ in “ The British Medical Journal”, 1990, 301:688 95 Jacyna, ‘Medicine in Transformation’ p.29 96 William Bynum, “The History of Medicine: A Very Short Introduction”, Oxford University Press, 2008, p.47 93 94

Jacyna, ‘The Western Medical Tradition’ p.29 Yates, ‘Harriet Martineau on Women’ p.90 99 Jacyna, ‘The Western Medical Tradition’ p.31 100 Martineau, ‘Household Education’ p.19 101 Martineau, ‘Household Education’ p.2 102 Mary Deegan, ‘Harriet Martineau and the Sociology of Health: England and her Soldiers’ in Marcia Segal (ed.) “Advances in Gender Research”, Emerald Group Publishing Limited, 2008, p.54 103 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.9 104 Bynum, ‘The History of Medicine’ p.46 105 Martineau, ‘Letters on Mesmerism’ p.9 97 98

domesticity, whilst the public sphere is for male work and politics.106 Martineau, however, proved that female domesticity should not be misunderstood as female subservience. Jane Hamlett, a specialist in domestic influence and practises in the nineteenth century, further supports the view that female domesticity is not domestic subservience, for she claims that segregation in the home and public were not necessarily negative things. 107 In a time when women were being gradually excluded from public and professional life, the home was a place in which women had power and control. Hamlett explains that even female advice writers of the time warned against allowing male dominance in the home. Victorian women were advised that the third sitting room in a small middle class home should be the female space. A room for female retreat should be prioritised over a smoking area for men. 108 By dominating the domestic sphere, it gave women of the era power they had not previously had before. Martineau made the domestic sphere a place of independence and power for she had control over who treated her and how she was treated. The physician was typically able feel the patient in ways usually reserved for spouses, and cause pain and discomfort. 109 By encouraging her maid to act as her nurse and encouraging mesmeric treatment to be practised in her home, Martineau took control of her own treatment, subsequently making the domestic sphere a place in which she had authority and independence.

The Home as a Place of Cognitive Healing Martineau further endorsed female domestic authority for, despite her restriction to the domestic sphere, she acquired authority over her own illness. Martineau made the domestic sphere a place not only of scientific learning, but cognitive healing as well. Through her illness and subsequent confinement to the sickroom, Martineau was able to make the sick room a place of authority by taking charge of her own illness and outlook of illness generally. Martineau stated that for her, the sickroom became a place of convictions, where she was able to acquire an understanding of the nature of good and evil. 110 Whilst many sufferers of invalidism would lose their sense of authority, instead Martineau acquired authority in the domestic sphere by taking control of her illness. Martineau believed that the weakness that subjected the sufferer to trouble could also be used to help the sufferer escape from such an illness. 111 As a result, Martineau developed the power of cognition, in which she argued that we can turn our ideas against each other. Martineau argued that we can call in the power of one idea to overcome the evil of another, this was most commonly known as associationism. 112 Associationism was the main cognitive model of the nineteenth century. 113 Used as an explanatory principle in the theory of the mind, associationism was used to analyse the origin of the motivation behind human conduct.114 David Hartley, an eighteenth-century philosopher was most commonly identified with this theory. Hartley divided man into body and mind, with the mind being the

Vickery, ‘Golden Age to Separate Spheres’ p.384 Hamlett, ‘The Dining Room should be the Man’s Paradise’ p.577 108 Hamlett, ‘The Dining Room should be the Man’s Paradise’ p.581 109 Bynum, ‘The History of Medicine’ p.46 110 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.44 111 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.132 112 Martineau, ‘Life in the Sickroom’ p.133 113 Eric Mandelbaum, ‘Associationist Theories of Thought’ in Edward Zalta (ed) “ The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy”, 2016 106 107

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/associationist-thought/ Accessed on 24th February 2017 Emanuele Mortera, ‘Reid, Stewart and the Association of Ideas’ in “The Journal of Scottish Philosophy” 2005, 3:157-170 on p.157 114

substance to which we refer ideas and sensations etc. 115 According to Hartley our experiences are divided into sensations and ideas, sensations are internal feelings of the mind which arise from impressions on our bodies made from external objects, all other feelings are experienced as ideas. 116 Hartley’s associationism suggests that there are vibrations in the brain, the nature of these vibrations are determined by each man’s past experience and the circumstances of that particular moment. 117 According to Hartley, specific sensations experienced by the mind are associated with specific ideas and, as a result, certain tendencies, behaviours and responses prevail over others. 118 Martineau followed Hartley’s associationism for she understood human development to be rooted in the transmission of sensations from the external world to the brain; she rejected innate ideas. 119 During the nineteenth century, it was commonly believed that those who were mad were those who were unable to associate ideas correctly, with madness being described as a disease of ideas as opposed to a disease of men. 120 The view that abnormal ideas were indicative of brain disease became the most important expression of associationism during the nineteenth century. 121 As a result, it was common during this era to place emphasis on the power of one’s ideas and subsequently connect these ideas to mental health. 122 Hence, through her endorsement of associationism, Martineau acquired authority in the domestic sphere for she made her home a place in which she could have control her own mental health and well being. Martineau accepted that she could be in possession of abnormal ideas, but she looked to the power of other ideas in order to overcome these evil and abnormal ones. Martineau’s view of mental health fits with what I have defined ‘authority’ to be, as I view authority as the ability to have power and self-governance over oneself. Martineau’s view of mental health is one that allows her to selfgovern her own ideas, thus providing her with authority over her own mind and mental health. In a period where many women had their mental health called into question due to frequent diagnoses of hysteria, and links to bodily ailments, Martineau returned mental authority to women in the home. Martineau made her home a place in which she had control over her ideas. Similarly, Martineau was aware that those suffering from illness had little authority over their ailing bodies, she developed her power of ideas to provide the sufferer with some power over their mind. Martineau returned to the sufferer authority in the domestic sphere by suggesting that the invalid has the ability to control their own ideas and perspective of their illness, and subsequently, their own mental health.

Conclusion Domestic authority was pivotal to Martineau’s feminism, for she made the domestic sphere a place of power and authority for those confined to it. Martineau encouraged women to take charge in a sphere that was typically considered to be a subservient one. 123 By allowing medical practises to take place in the home, Martineau was encouraging the education of women in the domestic sphere, allowing them to acquire an understanding of health and medical treatments. Female domestic authority was further encouraged by Martineau for it was in the domestic sphere that Martineau provided sufferers with power over their own mind and mental health. In a period where female mental health was often decided by male physicians, Martineau returned to women the ability Howard Warren, “A History of the Association Psychology”, New York: Scribner, 1921, pp.50-51 Warren, ‘A History of the Association Psychology’ p.51 117 Hugh Chisolm, ‘David Hartley’ in “Encyclopaedia Britannica 11 th ed”, Cambridge University Press, 1911, p.35 118 Chisolm, ‘David Hartley’ p.35 119 Michael Hill, “Harriet Martineau: Theoretical and Methodological Perspectives”, Routledge, 2003, p.186 120 Robert Hoeldtke, ‘The History of Associationism and British Medical Psychology in “ Medical History”, 1967, 11:46-65 on p.46 121 Hoeldtke, ‘The History of Associationism’ p.47 122 Hoeldtke, ‘The History of Associationism’ p.49 123 Hamlett, ‘The Dining Room should be the Man’s Paradise’ p.577 115 116

to have control over their own health through the power of their own ideas. Invalids were encouraged to take power back from their illness by focusing on the power of their minds as opposed to the power of their bodies. My work has extended on that of Hamlett’s as I have argued that the domestic sphere could actually be a place of empowerment for women as oppose to suppression. However, my work differs from Hamlett’s as while she focuses on the importance of gendered spaces in the home, my work does not take the creation of gendered spaces into account. Instead, I examine how Martineau made her home and sick room a place of authority for women by making it an environment in which they were able to educate themselves about medical practises. Similarly, my work is noteworthy for I explore Martineau’s associationist convictions. By placing Martineau’s works in the context of associationism, I am able to provide a better understanding of Martineau’s beliefs regarding her mind and ideas.

Conclusion In this dissertation, I have argued that Martineau’s works advocated Victorian feminism through her endorsement of female self governance and authority in the domestic sphere. Chapter 2 argued that authority over one’s body and treatment was vital for Martineau, demonstrated through her endorsement of mesmeric treatment. In chapter 3, I explained that Martineau further advocated feminism for Martineau encouraged individual intellectual thought regardless of a potential backlash from medical men, thus she endorsed intellectual autonomy. Finally, in chapter 4 I argued that the endorsement of domestic authority was used to advocated feminism through Martineau’s disregard of stereotypical gender roles; she made the home a place of power. There are two main aspects of my dissertation that make it unique. These are my expansion of the theme of domesticity, and the provision of my own interpretation of authority. I will begin by discussing how I expand on the definition of domesticity provided by Hamlett and Jordanova. I will then explain how I developed and adapted the definition of authority and applied this definition to Harriet Martineau’s feminism in order to show how she was in fact a Victorian feminist.

The Theme of Domesticity Throughout my research, I assessed the works of Jordanova and Hamlett, both of whom have written in detail about the role of separate spheres and domesticity during the nineteenth century. I unpacked their works when examining the role that women played during the Victorian era in the domestic sphere. Hamlett’s argument that the domestic sphere is not necessarily one of submission is one that I have developed throughout my work. Similarly, my work was also inspired by Hamlett’s as I developed her argument that authority and domesticity are not mutually exclusive. Hamlett argued that the domestic space was not necessarily one of confinement and obedience, and I incorporated this view into my discussions of Martineau. In her discussion of domestic authority, however, Hamlett focused predominately on space and the creation of gendered spaces in the home in order for women to acquire authority. Martineau was unmarried; thus, the development of gendered spaces was less applicable to Martineau’s domestic environment. As a result, I expanded on Hamlett’s work by focusing on the domestic sphere as a whole, as oppose to looking at specific rooms in the home. I assessed Martineau’s actions and behaviour in the domestic sphere, and what she did in her sick room, in order to show how she made it a place of authority. By assessing Martineau’s time in the sick room, I established that she made the domestic sphere a place in which she acquired authority and control by encouraging the scientific education of her maid in the home. Similarly, the domestic sphere was made a place of authority through the development of 22

Martineau’s individual thoughts and ideas. It was in the domestic sphere that Martineau first discussed her ‘power of ideas’ and subsequently her beliefs regarding cognitive healing and associationism.

Redefining Authority My dissertation is also noteworthy, for I explain how Martineau took the concept of authority and redefined it in order to suit her own feminist thought. Martineau’s views regarding both mental and physical health were feminist for the era, and throughout her works Martineau is able to promote female authority in the nineteenth century. When discussing authority, I am not referring to a power struggle between men and women, instead I reveal that Martineau proposes multiple types of authority amongst the various concepts that she endorses. For Martineau, having domestic authority does not simply mean having power in the home. Martineau’s idea of domestic authority was one that came in numerous forms. For instance, allowing scientific practise to take place in the domestic sphere, was a way of acquiring authority in the home, as science at the time was predominantly in the public sphere. Similarly, domestic authority could also be acquired through writing. It was in the home that Martineau documented her power of ideas, hence, by writing about her experience in the sick room, Martineau is regaining authority over her illness. Similarly, for Martineau, to have intellectual authority was simply to possess her own individual ideas, whilst bodily authority was having the power to say when she wanted treatment. By focusing on Martineau’s specific authorities, and how she develops her own definition, I am able to provide a clear argument for how Martineau endorsed a view of feminism in which female self governance and autonomy were the main priority. I reveal how Martineau was a feminist of the era for she did not seek to dominate the public realm, or have authority over men. Instead she accepted the position that women of the era were in and fought to provide women with as much authority over themselves as she possibly could.

Further Expansion of my Research Based on my work I would suggest that more could be done to develop Martineau’s perspective of authority and what she thought it was to be an autonomous figure. I aver that Martineau’s view of authority is important when assessing her feminist ideals, for she promoted a view of authority that differed from the standard definition of the time. I argue that more should be done to examine Martineau’s view of what it is to have authority, for authority played a pivotal role regarding her views on physical and mental health. This aspect could be further explored in relation to the home in order to show how Martineau made the typically oppressive domestic sphere, a feminist one.

Bibliography Olive Banks, “Becoming a Feminist: the Social Origins of First Wave Feminism” Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1986, pp.77-83 Alison Bashford, “Purity and Pollution: Gender, Embodiment and Victorian Medicine”, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998, p.85 Ellen Bassuk, ‘The Rest Cure: Repetition or Resolution of Victorian Women’s Conflicts’, “Poetics Today”, 1985, 6:245-257, on p.245 Lucinda Beier “Sufferers and Healers: the experience of illness in seventeenth century Eng land” London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987 pp.10-14 Laura Briggs, ‘The Race of Hysteria: “Overcivilisation” and the “Savage” Woman in Late Nineteenth Century Obstetrics and Gynecology, in “American Philosophical Quarterly”, 2000, 52:246-273 on pp.246-247 Francois Broussais and Thomas Cooper, “On Irritation and Insanity: A Work Wherein the Relations of the Physical with the Moral Conditions of Man, are Established on the Basis of Physiological Medicine”, S. J. Morris, 1831, p.186 William Bynum, “The History of Medicine: A Very Short Introduction”, Oxford University Press, 2008, pp.46-47 Hugh Chisolm, ‘David Hartley’ in “Encyclopaedia Britannica 11th ed”, Cambridge University Press, 1911, p.35 Adam Crabtree, “From Mesmer to Freud: Magnetics Sleep and the Roots of Psychological Healing” New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993, pp.6-7 Martha Cutter, ‘The Writer as Doctor: new Models of Medical Discourse in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Later Fiction’, in “Literature and Medicine”, 2001, 20: 151-182 on p.152 Mary Deegan, ‘Harriet Martineau and the Sociology of Health: England and her Soldiers’ in Marcia Segal (ed.) “Advances in Gender Research”, Emerald Group Publishing Limited, 2008, p.54 Charlotte Gilman, ‘The Living of Charlotte Perkins Gilman: An Autobiography’, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1991, p.95 Jane Hamlett, ‘The Dining Room should be the Man’s Paradise as the Drawing Room is the Woman’s: Gender and Middle Class Domestic Space in England, 1850-1910’, in “Gender and History”, 2009,.21:576-591 on pp.577-582 Robert Hoeldtke, ‘The History of Associationism and British Medical Psychology’ in “Medical History”, 1967, 11:46-65 on pp.46-49 Stephen Jacyna, ‘Medicine in Transformation: 1800-1849’ in Lawrence Conrad (ed.) “The Western Medical Tradition 1800-2000”, Cambridge University Press, 2006, pp.22-31 Ludmilla Jordanova, ‘Gender and the Historiography of Science’ in “The British Journal for the History of Science”, 1993, 26:469-483 on p.473 Tamara Ketabgian, ‘Martineau, Mesmerism and the “Night Side of Nature”’ in “Women’s Writing”, 2002, 9: 351-368 on p.353 Eric Mandelbaum, ‘Associationist Theories of Thought’ in Edward Zalta (ed) “The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy”, 2016 24

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/associationist-thought/ Accessed on 24th February 2017 Harriet Martineau, “Household Education” London: E Moxon, 1849, pp.2-19 Harriet Martineau, “Letters on Mesmerism” New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011, pp. preface vi-36 Harriet Martineau, “Life in the Sickroom”, Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2003, pp.12-155 Jane McDermid, ‘Women and Education’ in J. Purvis (ed.) “Women’s History: Britain 1850-1945: An Introduction”, Routledge, 1997, p.92 Emanuele Mortera, ‘Reid, Stewart and the Association of Ideas’ in “The Journal of Scottish Philosophy” 2005, 3:157-170 on p.157 Caroline Roberts, “The Woman and the Hour: Harriet Martineau and Victorian Ideologies”, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002, pp.13-128 Shirley Roberts, “Sophia Jex Blake: a Woman Pioneer in Nineteenth Century Medical Reform” London: Routledge, 1993, pp.80-100 Sarah Russo, “Women’s Self Writing and Medical Science: Harriet Martineau, Charlotte Bronte, Harriet Jacobs and Elizabeth Stoddard”, PhD, Syracuse University, 2008, pp.40-42 Amanda Vickery, “Golden Age to Separate Spheres: A Review of the Categories and Chronology of English Women’s History” in, “The Historical Journal”, 1993, 36:383-414 on pp.384-387 Katherine Viner, “On the Move: Feminism for a New Generation”, London, Virago, 1999 pp.20-23 Ivan Waddington, ‘The Movement towards the Professionalisation of Medicine’ in “The British Medical Journal”, 1990, 301:688 Howard Warren, “A History of the Association Psychology”, New York: Scribner, 1921, pp.50-51 Alison Winter, ‘Harriet Martineau and the Reform of the Invalid in Victorian England’, in “The Historical Journal”, 1995, 38:597-616 on pp.599-605 Alison Winter, “Mesmerized: Powers of the Mind in Victorian Britain”, University of Chicago Press, 1998 pp.227-231 Gayle Graham Yates, “Harriet Martineau on Women”, Rutgers University Press: New Jersey, 1985, pp.85-90

Jasmin Rafiq is a third-year psychology student at Grey College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as her dissertation under the guidance of Dr Lynda Boothroyd.

Introduction Studies about the dearth of women in senior positions in STEM faculties usually start by outlining the extent of the problem using statistics. At the top 50 American universities, the percentage of full-time female professors in maths-intensive disciplines does not exceed 15% (science and engineering indicators, National Science Foundation 2005, 2006). In 2007, of the top 100 American universities, only 4.4-12.3% of full professors and 16-27% of assistant professors were women in maths intensive fields such as chemistry, physics, maths, engineering and computer science. Another final statistic may help to explain this: Brooks and Della (2009) reported that 41.8% of female academics work part time compared to 26.8% of male academics. One reason put forward for this by many researchers is a persistent and unconscious gender bias against female academics. In the introduction to their study Feldon et al. (2016) noted the importance of mentoring in publishing work and Nolan et al (2007) has highlighted how women are less likely to be mentored. In Feldon et al’s (2016) study, they compared participants on reported research hours to calculate ‘scholarly productivity’ for biology PhD students. They found that men spent less time on supervised research and assigned tasks per 100 hours of research time but were still 15% more likely to have journal articles published than females. It could be that there were better publishing opportunities offered to men than their female counterparts but the disparity can also be explained by differences in mentoring. They did not find any evidence that women were not applying because they undervalued their work. Another reason is that the men seemed to have a greater involvement in decisions about methodology so spent less time on the research itself and were more likely to be published as they had more influence over the structure of the research. This was also useful when applying to other research positions and grants so it may increase competitiveness of their research CV. However, there are many other obstacles for women when trying to publish academic research. Wenneras and Wold (1997) found that Swedish Medical Research Council reviewers tended to give female applicants for research grants lower average scores than males: 0.25% lower on scientific competence, 0.17% lower for quality of proposal and methodology and 0.13% lower for relevance of research area. In that year, 4 women were awarded post-doctorate fellowships in comparison with 16 men. Females were rated lower on scientific research productivity even if they published or were the first author as many journal articles as males, which seems to confirm Feldon et al (2016)’s results. In addition, the most productive group of women had similar competence scores to the less productive men. However, women may have received lower scores because they were less well known to the reviewers or came from lesser known universities. Their multiple linear regression results showed that females had to be 2.5x more productive than males to be considered as competent. Hence competence seems to be a key variable in assessing the strengths and weaknesses of candidates. 26

Budden et al (2008) examined the process of double-blind peer reviews (when author and reviewer remain anonymous; most common in psychology, economics and medicine journals) to see if the discrepancy was due to gender bias or whether female authors genuinely submitted work of lower quality. They compared studies published in Behavioural Ecology (which practices double-blind peer reviewing) with Sociobiology (which only does single-blinding and other biological and ecological journals). Authors were categorised by their first names and listed as gender neutral if they only used their initials or couldn’t be categorised. They found that between 2001-2005, when Behavioural Ecology changed to a double-blind policy, there was a 7.9% increase in studies fronted by women. This trend did not occur in any of the other journals studied. This is more than three times the increase in female ecology graduate students over the same period. Based on this evidence, they concluded that unconscious gender bias was the main reason for the dearth of articles published with women as the principle investigator. Critics of Budden et al (2008) cite increased publication of women authors in other biology and ecology journals that were neglected by Budden et al (2008) and did not have a double-blind policy. They claim that the increases happened before the policy was implemented at Behavioural Ecology. Also, their statistical process and lack of replication was criticised because when other biological and ecological journals were included in the same analysis, their results were no longer replicable (Whittaker, 2008). Budden et al. later argued that despite criticisms, their analysis was still robust, but limited data means that theories other than unconscious gender bias cannot be ruled out. Knobloch-Westerwick and Glynn (2013) found that, once published, women were also less likely to be cited. A later study by Knobloch-Westerwick et al (2013) appears to confirm Budden et al’s (2008) theory of unconscious gender bias against female academics. They found that participants rated contributions by male authors more highly; their contributions were more likely to be considered of high quality, especially if they were in topics considered ‘appropriate’ for males. A regression analysis on their results showed a strong positive association between participants’ support for gender equality and ratings for female authors’ contributions. However, only 25% of participants could consciously remember author information when the only cue was the first name of the author, but other cues like pronouns and portraits could increase the salience of gender as a factor. These findings appeared to empirically confirm Eagly and Karau (2002)’s gender role congruity theory which explains the unconscious gender bias against female scientists as a form of cognitive dissonance as many perceive a woman’s role and a scientist’s role as incongruent. Valian (2006) expands on this point in her review: in her opinion, women are encouraged to pursue family life; men are encouraged to pursue career success. Wood et al (1993) noted that even women who don’t have children don’t experience as much career progression as men so different lifestyle choices cannot be blamed for the disparity. Norton et al (2004) asked male undergraduate participants to recruit a candidate for a job which required a strong educational background in engineering and experience in construction. They were asked to select between the CVs of 5 candidates, of which only 2 could have fit the instructions. One had a stronger educational background as they had an engineering degree and a certificate from a masonry association and the other had an engineering degree but 4 more years of experience in the industry. In a control condition, only initials were presented at the top of the CVs and participants were more likely to choose the better educated candidate and gave that as the decisive factor. In another condition, the better educated candidate was given a male name and the candidate with more experience had a female name. The results were the same as the control condition. However, in the final experimental condition, the female candidate was better educated and the male candidate was more experienced. The results showed that participants in this condition were less likely to pick the female candidate and were less likely to cite education as an important factor in their decision. Valian (2006) attributes this to incongruent gender schemas, that participants could not envisage a female in a traditionally male field like engineering, even if they are very qualified. On the other hand, Ceci and Williams have been arguing (2009; 2010; 2012) that no such unconscious gender bias exists and the reason for the underrepresentation of women is the result of conscious choices about different career paths and lifestyles. Ceci et al (2009) carried out a meta-review of data 27

surrounding women in academic departments. They largely concluded that women with maths-related qualifications chose to go into non-mathematical academic and occupational fields as they preferred medicine, dentistry and vet medicine as more viable career routes. Fewer of these women who were mathematically proficient chose an academic career in physics and engineering. Ceci et al (2009) attribute this to women having better verbal skills than men with the same proficiency in maths and that sex differences in spatial ability and mathematical proficiency are apparent from an early age. This assertion was based on previous evidence by Baron-Cohen (2002) who argued that there are distinct differences between a ‘male brain, more suited to systemising’ and a ‘female brain, more suited to empathising’ and so attributes the lack of women in STEM to biological and cognitive sex differences. Ceci et al (2009) acknowledged that women are more likely to drop out of academia than men, especially at more senior positions. Perhaps women with children are penalised in maths related fields and this is a major factor because their working lives become more fragmented, but Ceci et al (2009) concluded that cultural gender biases do not play a massive role in this. Ceci and Williams (2010) then examined the possible gender bias against women when peer reviewing journal articles, against women getting grants and against hiring women. They argue that when men and women have the same access to resources, there is no discrepancy when authoring journal articles, however men are more likely to have the research resources because women are more likely to work in teaching than research positions. Ceci and William (2010) endorsed Mason and Goulden (2009)’s explanation that women prefer part time roles for family reasons. They reviewed Tregenza (2002),who did not find a gender bias in publishing journal articles and Borsuk et al (2009) who changed names on soon-to-be published journal articles that were going to be peer reviewed and found no sex discrimination. Wenneras and Wold (1997) were criticised on their statistics, methods and concepts as Burden and Breen (1997) were unable to replicate their findings when the same method was applied to the British Wellcome Trust and Medical Research Council. Dickson (1997) also could not replicate findings for the UK Biological Sciences Research Council, success rate for male applicants 24%, female applicants 19%. For the MRC it was 26% and 29%. This suggests that academic bias may vary from country to country. Ceci and Williams (2012) further scrutinised women’s choices on their work-life balance. They argued that women choosing to be mothers is the most important reason as to why they are underrepresented amongst senior faculty. They mentioned that recently females have started to overtake males in maths scores even at the highest tail of distribution of mathematical ability so they cannot be worse than men. They found that childless women have similar career progression to men (it is not mentioned whether the men were also childless) and sometimes at quicker rates. But their research showed that having children still tends to impact a woman’s career more than a man’s as it is difficult to simultaneously conduct research, relocate for tenure track and have children. Williams and Ceci (2014) also conducted their own study to confirm this using a US sample, subsisting of biology, engineering, economics and psychology departments. They varied the lifestyle choices of candidates; some were married, some had children, some had stay-at-home spouses, some had parental leave. Gender of applicant and gender of faculty member assessing the CV was counterbalanced. Their evidence did not support the idea that cultural stereotypes deterred women from applying to assistant professorships, rather it was their choice to have children instead. Indeed, female applicants who did apply were more likely to get the position than similarly qualified male candidates, according to their results. They argue that the disciplines have reformed and are now more likely to hire women, as demonstrated by the result that female candidates who took a year of parental leave were ranked more highly by predominantly male faculties than mothers who did not take leave. However, there is still an evident bias regarding lifestyle choices so they concluded that the deficit is the result of women not applying. It is easy to argue that Ceci and Williams (2014) base their evidence on self-report so it is harder to detect unconscious gender bias, especially as it is a socially sensitive topic. Gawronski et al (2007) maintain that self-report data tend to be unreliable. Indirect measures are assumed to be a more robust and accurate reflection of attitudes and biases than self-report measures, which are often conscious 28

and considered responses. Although their main point is that indirect measures may prompt activations of associations in memory, self-report responses may be the result of validating those associations. The indirect measure of unconscious gender bias used in the present study is based on the Implicit Associations Test, designed by Greenwald et al (1998). Greenwald et al (1998) describe the IAT as similar to priming but it measures what has already been primed. It measures the strength of the association between a target-concept discrimination and an attribute dimension using reaction times. The different stages of the test include identifying the discrimination and the attribute, and then combining the two to create different levels of salience based on congruency. Later, they argued that IAT is a robust psychometric tool, based on a metaanalysis of IAT studies. They recommended that implicit and explicit measures should be used to gauge attitudes, especially socially sensitive attitudes because both measures are very sensitive to social desirability. The main measures in the present study rely on evaluations from students of hypothetical research and teaching staff but studies have found mixed evidence about the impact of gender bias on lecturer evaluations. Elmore and LaPointe (1974) did not find a significant interaction between gender of student evaluator and gender of professor being evaluated and Feldman (1993) detected a minor same gender bias but it was not statistically significant. Conversely, Centra and Gaubatz (2007) found that female professors were rated more highly by female students but male professors were rated the same by male and female students. In natural science, male and female students rated female lecturers more highly in certain areas like interaction and feedback. However this may be a result of a shift in attitudes from 1993 to 2007 in student evaluators. Methods from the present experiment were adapted from two other studies examining the same phenomenon. Moss-Racusin et al (2012) recruited participants from the biology, chemistry and physics departments of six large American universities and asked them for feedback on an application from either a male or female student. The design was randomised and double-blind. They found that there was a subtle bias in most faculties against female applicants for a laboratory manager position, regardless of the gender of the participant. Faculty members were more likely to volunteer to career mentor a male student over a female one and offer him a larger starting salary, despite reporting that they liked the female applicant more. This may be because they perceived the male applicant as more competent, in line with previous research. They concluded that this is due to cultural and societal assumptions about womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s competency in scientific fields. This in turn, may also discourage women from pursuing an academic career. Steinpreis et al (1999) conducted a CV study using psychology faculty members as their participants. They found that despite there being a high percentage of female students in most psychology faculties (58% of PhDs awarded in psychology went to women), faculty members were still more likely to offer tenure to male applicants as well as a higher starting salary and mentoring opportunities. This result was the same amongst female faculty members as well as males. However there were problems with the CV that was used. It was based on a real-life CV of an applicant for graduate school and for tenure track. The CV requirements differed for applications to these processes which was reflected in the results, regardless of gender, so the CV for the tenure track was more robust than the CV for the graduate school application. This resulted in a ceiling effect for the graduate school condition. In the present experiment, two different CVs were used as stimuli to recruit for one teaching and research professor. All the studies reviewed at least agree on one thing: there is a disparity of women in academic science, especially at senior levels. Many studies argue that this is due to a social and cultural bias against women during the recruitment process, while others conclude that women simply choose different careers from men. In addition, most of these studies focused on American undergraduates. The present study aims to investigate whether this bias is present amongst UK STEM undergraduates. Our study aimed to answer two research questions: (1) whether unconscious or conscious gender bias influenced the evaluative scores and hire preference and (2) whether studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; gender affected their hire preference. The two experimental conditions were the full information given to half the 29

participants in which the full name was revealed and the other half were given only the initials and surnames so that gender information was withheld. If there is gender bias at work, we would expect the ratings to be consistently high for the male candidate in both conditions, but for the ratings to vary more between the conditions for the female candidate.

Method Participants There were 93 University STEM undergraduates, mostly Durham psychology undergraduates, recruited through email. There were also students from Psychology, Biology, Maths and Physics as well as participants from University of Warwick and UCL. Participants were not asked their age as part of the experiment but as they were all undergraduates the age range would be ~18-22. There were 20 males, 64 females and 15 participants who did not give their gender. Design This was a between group design, split into a Gender Blind and Gender Reveal condition. The experiment design was counterbalanced because the experiment programming automatically and randomly designated each participant into either condition. Materials The experiment webpage was designed for the study. For screenshots, see Appendix B. A short version of the Attitudes Towards Women Scale designed by Spence, Helmrich and Stapp (1978) was used as an explicit measure of gender bias. It consisted of 25 statements and participants were asked if they agreed strongly (A) or mildly (B) or disagreed mildly (C) or strongly (D) with the statements presented. Strong agreement (A) indicated a score of 0, B=1, C=2 and D=3. 12 statements were reverse scored. An example statement reads “Swearing and obscenity are more repulsive in the speech of a woman than of a man,” and an example statement that would be reverse scored is: “It is insulting to women to have the “obey” clause remain in the marriage service.” A low score in this explicit measures questionnaire would mean that the participant had a traditional view of gender roles. For a full list of statements, refer to Appendix A. The implicit measure of attitudes towards gender used was the Gender-Leader Implicit Association Test. Participants were asked to do a practice trial to familiarise themselves with the procedure. The practice trial involved categorising a list of words as either a flower or an insect. The first section of the IAT required participants to read either a name or an adjective on the screen and asked them to press a certain key on the keyboard either if the name was male or if the adjective was a quality seen in a leader, and another key if the name was female and the adjective was a quality seen in a supporter. In the second part of the task, participants had to press the same key if the name was male and if the quality related to being a supporter and the other key if the name was female and if the quality reflected leadership. Any possible gender bias effect was calculated by subtracting the time taken to complete the congruent trial from the time taken to complete the incongruent trial. The CVs used were from real statistics lecturers from other institutions and adapted for the purposes of this experiment. In the Gender Blind condition, the CVs shown only displayed initials at the top. So for CV1, the applicant was only named as Dr R J Cook and for CV2, the applicant was called Dr L R Jones. In the Gender Reveal condition, CV1 was listed as Dr Richard J Cook and CV2 was listed as Dr Leah R Jones. Both CVs were otherwise identical between conditions. CV1’s current job title was recorded as a Senior Teaching Fellow at the Department of Statistics at the University of Warwick. Their qualifications were itemised as a Masters in Maths, a PGCE and a PhD. Their career progression started as a maths teacher, then a research associate, teaching fellow, research fellow and then their current position as a senior teaching fellow. Hence CV1 has strong teaching credentials. CV2’s current position is as an assistant professor (lecturer) in statistics at Virginia Polytechnic 30

Institute and State University. Their educational background starts with a BSc (Hons) in Physics, followed by an MSc in Physics and then a PhD in Applied Mathematics and Statistics relating to Physics. Their career started as a post-doctoral research in 3 different universities in the UK and US and finally as an Assistant Professor. Their CV lists the grants, awards and fellowships received and statistical software that they designed. Hence CV2 has a strong research background. For further information, refer to Appendix B. Procedure Participants were recruited via email. They were asked their gender, subject, year of study and university. After they provided their consent, the webpage randomly assigned them to either the Gender Reveal or Gender Blind condition. They were shown the pair of CVs according to their assigned condition and were asked questions on them. They assigned values to each CV per how competent and qualified the lecturer was and the estimated quality of their research on a scale of 1 to 7. For example, when asked “how competent a teacher do you think this lecturer would be?”, they were required to answer from 1 (Not at all) to 7 (Highly competent). They were asked which CV they prefer and which lecturer they would hire also using a 7-point scale where 1 indicated that they would strongly prefer Dr Cook, 4 indicated they were neutral and 7 that they strongly preferred Dr Jones. They were finally asked what nationality and gender they thought the lecturers were based on the CVs. Following this, participants were asked to complete implicit and explicit gender bias tests, based on the gender-leadership implicit attitudes test and the attitudes towards women scale respectively. The scores from the explicit measures were collated and the reaction times from the IAT were recorded. All participants were fully debriefed afterwards.

Results Examining the mixed model ANOVA for CV1 using the competence, qualifications and research factors, there were more than 10 cases in each group and 93 cases overall, which is sufficient for the analysis. Looking at Mauchly’s test of sphericity, W(2)=.936, p=.069, which is nonsignificant so sphericity is assumed. Factor 1 (the scores for competence, qualifications and research) was significant F(2)=30.640, p=<.05, partial eta squared=.272, with a small to medium effect size, so there was a significant difference between all the scores. However the interaction between the scores and gender (Gender Reveal and Gender Blind conditions) were nonsignificant, F(2)=.412, p=.663, partial eta squared=.005, with a small effect size. Levene’s test was nonsignificant for all factors (p=.398, p=.715 and p=.735 for competence, qualifications and research, respectively). The factor for gender of CVs was marginally not significant, F(1)=.232, p=.631, partial eta squared = 0.003, and had a small effect size. The pairwise comparisons for the gender factor were nonsignificant, p=.631, so there was no significant difference in the scores for competence, qualifications and research between the Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions for CV1. The means of the 3 scores were not significantly different; competence M=6.007, qualifications M=5.977, research M=5.094. Looking at the interaction between gender of CVs and the 3 scores, the scores for competence, qualifications and research (M=6.032, M=5.935 and M=5.000) were higher in the Gender Blind condition than in the Gender Reveal condition (M=5.981, M=6.019 and M=5.189), but not significantly so. In general, CV1 was ranked very highly on a 7-point scale for all three qualities. For further information, refer to Figure 1.

Mean evaluative ratings (1-7 scale)

7 6 5

4 3 2

1 0

Competence Qualifications Research Evaluative ratings in both experimental conditions for CV1 Gender Blind

Gender Reveal

Figure 1. Mean evaluative ratings scores on a 1-7 point scale in Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions for CV1

Next a mixed model ANOVA was undertaken for CV2. There were also more than 10 cases in each group and 93 cases overall, so this analysis was also sufficient to proceed. Mauchlyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s test of sphericity, W(2)=.883, p=.007, was nonsignificant so sphericity was assumed. Factor 1, which were the competence, qualified and research scores for CV2, were significantly different, F(2)=30.954, p=<.05, partial eta squared= .274, with a small effect size. The interaction between gender and the scores was also nonsignificant, F(2)1.005, p=.368, partial eta squared = .012, with a small effect size. Leveneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s test was nonsignificant for all the scores in the factor (p=.945, p=.395 and p=.863). The factor for gender of CV was also not significant, F(1)=.111, p=.740, partial eta squared = .001, which is a small effect size. The pairwise comparisons for the gender factor were nonsignificant, p=.740, so there was also no difference between the competence, qualification and research scores for CV2 in both the Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions. The pairwise comparisons for the 3 scores were significantly different, p<.05 for all scores. The means were M=4.925 for competence, M=5.696 for qualifications and M=6.164 for research, which are all lower than CV1. Looking at the interaction between the two factors, the mean scores for competence, quality and research were more consistent in the Gender Blind condition (M=5.000, M=5.806, and M=6.065) than the Gender Reveal condition (M=4.849, M=5.585, and M=6.264). For further information, refer to Figure 2.

Figure 2. Mean evaluative ratings scores on a 1-7 point scale in Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions for CV2 Examining the results of paired samples t-tests on the competence, qualification and research variables for CV1 (Dr R J Cook) and CV2 (Dr L R Jones) in the Gender Blind condition, there was a significant difference in the scores for competence and research variables for CV1 and CV2 but not for qualifications, t(30)=3.636, p=.001, t(30)=-4.196, p>.001 and t(30)=.548, p=.587, respectively . Looking at the means, CV1 (M=6.03) was rated as more competent than CV2 (M=5.00), more qualified (M=5.94) than CV2 (M=5.81) but CV2 (M=6.06) had higher quality research than CV1 (M=5.00). The results for the paired samples t-tests on competence, qualification and research variables in the Gender Reveal condition show the same pattern but there is also a significant difference between the CV scores for qualifications. The t values for the competence, qualification and research variable pairs are as follows; t(53)=5.515, p<.001, t(54)=2.012, p=.049 and t(50)=-5.434, p<.001 respectively. The mean competence score for CV1 (Dr Richard J Cook) remained the same (M=6.02) but the mean score for CV2 (Dr Leah R Jones) was lower (M=4.89). CV1 was also rated significantly higher on qualifications (M=6.02) than CV2 (M=5.64) but CV2 (M=6.25) was still rated significantly higher on research quality than CV1 (M=5.2). Examining the paired sample t-test between male-leader and female-leader reaction times during the implicit gender attitudes tests, the mean reaction time for the male-leader association was M=851.77 and the mean reaction time for the female-leader association was M=908.95. However there was no significant difference found between the paired means, t(50)=-2.847, p=.006, so there was no implicit gender bias found in the leader association test. Examining the results of the two-way ANOVA between CV Gender and Participant Gender on CV Hired. There were 78 cases in total and there were less than 10 cases in some groups, so the analysis should proceed with caution. Leveneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Test was non-significant F(3, 74)=.524, p=.667, so there was an equality of variances. The tests of between-subjects effects showed that the effect of the gender of the CV on which lecturer the participant would hire based on their CV was non-significant, F(1)=.381, p=.539, partial eta squared=.005, with a small effect size. For the effect of participant gender on which CV would be hired, this was also non-significant, F(1)=2.621, p=.110, partial eta squared = .034, with a medium effect size. For the effect of the interaction between CV gender and participant gender, this was non-significant, F(1)=.127, p=.723, partial eta squared = .002, with a 33

small effect size. Examining the pairwise comparisons for CV gender, there was no significant difference between the mean of the Gender Blind condition score (M=3.469) and the Gender Reveal condition score (M=3.732). Inspecting pairwise comparisons for participant gender, there was no significant difference between males and females when choosing a lecturer, p=.110. Males were slightly more likely to hire the female lecturer (M=3.944) than females (M=3.257). Looking at the interaction of CV gender and participant gender, females in both conditions were most likely to hire CV1, belonging to Dr Richard J Cook, more so in the Gender Blind condition (M=3.050) than the Gender Reveal condition (3.463). Males were more likely to hire CV2, belonging to Dr Leah R Jones, more so in the Gender Reveal condition (M=4.00) than the Gender Blind condition (M=3.889). For further information, refer to Figure 3.

4.5

Mean scores (1-7 scale)

4 3.5

3 2.5

2 1.5

1 0.5

0 Gender Blind Gender Reveal CV hired in both experimental conditions for participant gender

Male

Female

Figure 3. Mean scores on a 1-7 point scale for CV Hired in Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions by participant gender Examining the independent samples t-test for the CV hired and CV preferred variables, participants were more likely to prefer and hire the candidate from CV1 in both the gender blind and gender reveal condition. Leveneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tests were non-significant for the CV preferred and CV hired variables, F(81)=.328, p=.569 and F(83)=.202, p=.655 respectively, so equal variances are assumed. There were no significant differences between the two conditions for the preferred or hired variable, t(81)=-.800, p=.426 and t(83)=-.584, p=.561, respectively. They were more likely to prefer (M=3.33) and hire (M=3.39) the candidate in CV1 in the Gender Blind condition than the Gender Reveal condition (M=3.60 and M=3.59, respectively), but the difference was not statistically significant. Finally, looking at the Pearsonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s correlation between the explicit and implicit gender bias measures, the correlation between the two was non-significant, p=.807.

Discussion Our study investigated whether the evaluative scores and hire preferences were affected by unconscious gender bias and by participants’ gender. Paired sample t-tests for the Gender Blind and Gender Reveal conditions show that in both conditions, CV2 (Dr Leah R Jones) was considered a stronger research CV, but in the Gender Reveal condition the competence and qualification scores for CV2 were significantly lower in the Gender Blind condition than CV1 (Dr Richard L Cook). An independent samples t-test showed that participants were more likely to hire Dr Richard L Cook, more so in the Gender Blind condition, but this result was non-significant. This correlates with the high evaluative ratings for his CV in the mixed model ANOVA comparing evaluative scores in both experimental conditions. This contrasts with the mixed model ANOVA results for CV2, which showed much more variation between the experimental conditions. The evaluative scores for CV2 did not fluctuate greatly in the Gender Blind condition, but in the Gender Reveal condition the score for competence (M=4.849) was significantly lower compared to the scores in both experimental conditions and compared with CV1. This divergence in results replicates Wenneras and Wold (1997)’s findings that female applicants for research grants were more likely to receive a lower score for scientific competence than a male applicant, which they attributed to unconscious gender bias. As reflected in Norton et al (2004)’s results, they may not perceive the female candidate as competent because they cannot picture a female in a traditionally masculine role and field. Valian (2006) described this as the gender role congruity theory. It states that women are regularly subconsciously diminished in terms of achievement and performance when they do not subscribe to a traditionally feminine gender role. In this case, as a position of authority in a university faculty and in the field of statistics (both of which are traditionally masculine areas), there is some cognitive dissonance in the idea that a woman can excel in these areas to the same extent as a man. Kiefer and Sekaquaptewa (2007) further investigated negative stereotypes about women in mathsintensive fields. They found that even women taking maths intensive classes were more likely to associate maths with men. This reduced the participants’ affinity with mathematical abilities and their motivation to take maths-related subjects at university and pursue an academic career. However, they reduced the cognitive dissonance that would come with being a woman in a maths-intensive field, implicitly stereotyped mathematical abilities as ‘masculine’, and reduced their association with prescriptive female characteristics. Participants were less likely to conform to a traditionally feminine gender role and more likely to take a maths-related subject at university. Hence, there appears to be a problem with associating females, whether they conform to prescriptive gender roles or not, with maths-intensive, male dominated fields. Hirshfield (2014) investigated chemistry professors’ ratings amongst students. She found that the male professor was most highly praised for his work and routinely described as conventionally masculine. Participants reported that he often appeared angry or stand-offish, but this did not diminish their respect for him. However, female professors received criticism whether they conformed to the feminine gender role or not. Participants described one as being emotionally illiterate and stand-offish because they assumed that, as a woman, she would be more emotionally understanding. They did not rate her feedback or mentorship highly. The results of both these studies could help explain why female STEM academics often receive low competence ratings. Women in STEM fields may feel as though they should adopt more masculine characteristics to succeed in their field but then the further they stray from prescriptive gender roles, the less likeable they are perceived to be and competence ratings often suffer for this. However, Hirshfield (2014) had a small sample in a qualitative study so her results cannot be generalised to all student-professor ratings. Furthermore, as discussed by Knobloch-Westerwick et al (2013) and Budden et al (2008), using a name at the top of a CV may not register enough to initiate any cognitive biases. Using pronouns and providing a photo would increase the salience of gender, and any unconscious gender biases, and possibly have increased the significance of these results. Our results also show that there is no relationship between the reaction times from the IAT and the scores from the Attitudes Towards Women scale, per Pearson’s correlation. There are many reasons 35

for this, principally a fault in the programming meant that only the responses from the first question of the questionnaire were recorded. However, Gawronski et al (2007) also found that responses from IATs and Explicit Attitude Tests (EATs) tended not to correlate with each other unless measurement error is reduced or if they do not measure the same concept. They also may not correlate if the attitudes they are measuring diverge from social norms. Since it is generally unacceptable to consciously hold sexist views, self-report measures like EATs will not detect any subconscious biases. But internal consistency for indirect measures are not high, so an adherence to social norms may not be the reason for a difference between indirect measures and self-report. The paired sample t-test that compared reaction times between two stages of the IAT showed that there were no significant differences between the results for both trials. This suggests that participants had no implicit gender bias given that they found the association between female names and leadership adjectives just as easy as the male-leader association. However, there was still a difference between the reaction times in favour of the male-leader association, even though it was not statistically significant. This is most likely due to small effect sizes but, as demonstrated by Martell et al (1996), even statistically insignificant results and small effect sizes can have repercussions for the underrepresentation of women in senior faculty positions. They computed a model that measured the aggregate effect of gender biases at every level of education and recruitment. Their simulation modelled an organisation with eight levels of management structure in which men and women were promoted if they had the highest performance evaluation scores. Scores for the simulated male and female applicants were normally distributed. In every stage of the simulation, 15% of the incumbents were removed in order to open management positions until new members had been promoted to the senior levels. Then an average of 4.58 bias points was added onto every male applicant, which accounted for 5% of the variation in performance evaluation scores. In the simulation with a 5% effect size, 29% of the senior management was female, even though the lower ranks were 58% female. 2.01 bias points were added to male applicants to simulate an effect size of 1%. Even with only 1% effect size, senior management was still only 35% female. So clearly even small gender biases can influence promotion rates against women and lead to underrepresentation at senior levels. The results of the two-way ANOVA for the effects between CV Gender and participant gender on CV Hired showed that female participants were more likely to hire Dr Richard L Cook and the male participants were more likely to hire Dr Leah R Jones. However, the effects of participant gender, CV gender and the interaction of both on CV Hired were all non-significant with small effect sizes. Feldman (1992) initially found that there was no difference between student evaluations of male and female teachers in his meta-review. However, he only reviewed laboratory studies in which the candidates were generated by the researcher and students were questioned on hypothetical CVs (similarly to the present study). He concluded that some ratings for the male teachers were slightly higher than for the female teachers but not significantly so, and there was little evidence of same or opposite gender bias found. His 1993 meta-review focused on studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ratings of teachers they had experienced. None of the studies covered showed a strong opposite gender bias so either this particular result is an anomaly, or attitudes towards female teachers may have shifted over the past two decades. No laboratory study had results showing higher ratings for female teachers, similar to our results. In more ecologically valid studies, where students had to rate teachers that they had experienced, they found statistically significant results in favour of female teachers. It is possible that because students had experience of these teachers, any unconscious gender biases may be reduced, unlike in the present study where the participants did not know the candidates personally. One discussion point in Feldman (1993)â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s concluding remarks noted that many studies found that students had higher expectations of male competence, which may explain why participants gave higher ratings to an unknown male teaching fellow in our study. They could have rated the female teacher more highly in the studies reviewed by Feldman (1993) because she exceeded their low expectations; their high expectations for the male teacher may not have been met either. Feldman (1993) also pointed out that laboratory studies tended not to find a significant interaction between student gender and teacher gender, which corroborates with the results from the two-way ANOVA. Our study was the first of its kind to combine evaluations by students and to test them using psychometric tools for implicit and explicit gender biases and to recruit British students from a wide 36

variety of maths-intensive STEM subjects. It also aimed to increase ecological validity by amending CVs from real lecturers rather than self-generating them. However, there were some limitations in this study that could be improved upon for future research. The most apparent one is that CV1 was clearly a stronger teaching CV and CV2 was a stronger research CV. Therefore, participants may have favoured CV1 for the teaching post as Dr Richard L Cook had more teaching experience than Dr Leah R Jones and they would prefer an effective teacher to a researcher. Other improvements could be a larger sample size, determined by an a priori power test, to reduce the impact of small effect sizes, meaning that there could be a more effective analysis of student ratings by subject as well as gender. It would be interesting for future research to investigate whether students with more female professors are more egalitarian in their ratings than students with more male professors. We hope that the findings in this study will influence more academic departments to consider implementing the Athena SWAN guidelines in order to encourage more female STEM academics into senior faculty positions.

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Paglis, L. L., Green, S. G., & Bauer, T. N. (2006). Does adviser mentoring add value? A longitudinal study of mentoring and doctoral student outcomes. Research in Higher Education. http://doi.org/10.1007/s11162-005-9003-2 Pallier, G. (2003). Gender differences in the self-assessment of accuracy on cognitive tasks. Sex Roles, 48(5–6), 265–276. http://doi.org/10.1023/A:1022877405718 Ridgeway, C. L. (2001). Gender, status, and leadership. Journal of Social Issues, 57(4), 637–655. http://doi.org/10.1111/0022-4537.00233 Ridgeway, C. L., & Correll, S. J. (2004). Unpacking the Gender System: A Theoretical Perspective on Gender Beliefs and Social Relations. Gender & Society, 18(4), 510–531. http://doi.org/10.1177/0891243204265269 Rossiter, M. W. (1993). The Matthew Matilda Effect in Science. Social Studies of Science, 23(2), 325–341. http://doi.org/10.1177/030631293023002004 Sala, S. Della, & Brooks, J. (2008). Multi-authors’ self-citation: A further impact factor bias? Cortex, 44(9), 1139–1145. http://doi.org/10.1016/j.cortex.2008.07.001 Seagram, B. , Gould, J. , & Pyke, S. (1998). An Investigation of Gender and Other Variables on Time to Completion of Doctoral Degrees. Research in Higher Education, 39(3), 319–335. http://doi.org/10.1023/a:1018781118312 Sheltzer, J. M., & Smith, J. C. (2014). Elite male faculty in the life sciences employ fewer women. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 111(28), 10107– 12. http://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1403334111 Sriram, N., & Greenwald, A. G. (2009). The brief implicit association test. Experimental Psychology, 56(4), 283–294. http://doi.org/10.1027/1618-3169.56.4.283 Steinmayr, R., & Spinath, B. (2009). What explains boys’ stronger confidence in their intelligence? Sex Roles, 61(9–10), 736–749. http://doi.org/10.1007/s11199-009-9675-8 Steinpreis, R. E., Anders, K. A., & Ritzke, D. (1999). The impact of gender on the review of the curricula vitae of job applicants and tenure candidates: A national empirical study. Sex Roles, 41(7– 8), 509–528. http://doi.org/10.1023/A:1018839203698 Tregenza, T. (2002). Gender bias in the refereeing process? Trends in Ecology and Evolution. http://doi.org/10.1016/S0169-5347(02)02545-4 Valian, V. (2004). Beyond Gender Schemas: Improving the Advancement of Women in Academia. NWSA Journal, 16(1), 207–220. http://doi.org/10.2979/NWS.2004.16.1.207 Wagner, D. G., & Berger, J. (1997). Gender and interpersonal task behaviors: Status expectation accounts. Sociological Perspectives, 40(1), 1–32. http://doi.org/10.2307/1389491 Wennerås, C., & Wold, A. (1997). Nepotism and sexism in peer-review. Nature, 389(6649), 326. http://doi.org/10.1038/387341a0 Weyer, B. (2007). Twenty years later: Explaining the persistence of the glass ceiling for women leaders. Women In Management Review, 22(6), 482–496. http://doi.org/10.1108/09649420710778718 Whittaker, R. J. (2008). Journal review and gender equality: a critical comment on Budden et al. Trends in Ecology and Evolution. http://doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2008.06.003 Williams, W. M., & Ceci, S. J. (1997). “How’m I Doing?” Problems with Student Ratings of Instructors and Courses. Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning, 29(5), 12–23. http://doi.org/10.1080/00091389709602331 40

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Appendices A. Attitudes Towards Women scale (Spence, Helmrich & Stapp, 1978) – Short version Instructions: The statements listed below describe attitudes toward the roles of women in society which different people have. There are no right or wrong answers, only opinions. You are asked to express your feeling about each statement by indicating whether you (A) agree strongly, (B) agree mildly, (C) disagree mildly, or (D) disagree strongly. 1. Swearing and obscenity are more repulsive in the speech of a woman than of a man. 2. Women should take increasing responsibility for leadership in solving the intellectual and social problems of the day.* 3. Both husband and wife should be allowed the same grounds for divorce.* 4. Telling dirty jokes should be mostly a masculine prerogative. 5. Intoxication among women is worse than intoxication among men. 6. Under modern economic conditions with women being active outside the home, men should share in household tasks such as washing dishes and doing the laundry.* 7. It is insulting to women to have the "obey" clause remain in the marriage service.* 8. There should be a strict merit system in job appointment and promotion without regard to sex.* 9. A woman should be free as a man to propose marriage.* 10. Women should worry less about their rights and more about becoming good wives and mothers. 11. Women earning as much as their dates should bear equally the expense when they go out together.* 12. Women should assume their rightful place in business and all the professions along with men.* 13. A woman should not expect to go to exactly the same places or to have quite the same freedom of action as a man.

14. Sons in a family should be given more encouragement to go to college than daughters. 15. It is ridiculous for a woman to run a locomotive and for a man to darn socks. 16. In general, the father should have greater authority than the mother in the bringing up of children. 17. Women should be encouraged not to become sexually intimate with anyone before marriage, even their fiancĂŠs. 18. The husband should not be favored by law over the wife in the disposal of family property or income. * 19. Women should be concerned with their duties of childbearing and house tending rather than with desires for professional or business careers. 20. The intellectual leadership of a community should be largely in the hands of men. 21. Economic and social freedom is worth far more to women than acceptance of the ideal of femininity which has been set up by men.* 22. On the average, women should be regarded as less capable of contributing to economic production than are men. 23. There are many jobs in which men should be given preference over women in being hired or promoted. 24. Women should be given equal opportunity with men for apprenticeship in the various trades.* 25. The modern girl is entitled to the same freedom from regulation and control that is given to the modern boy.* In scoring the items, A=0, B=1, C=2, and D=3 except for the items with an asterisk where the scale is reversed. A high score indicates a profeminist, egalitarian attitude while a low score indicates a traditional, conservative attitude. References: Spence, J.T., Helmreich, R., & Stapp, J. (1973). A short version of the Attitudes toward Women Scale (AWS). Bulletin of the Psychonomic Society, 2, 219-220. Spence, J.T. & Helmreich, R.L. (1978). Masculinity and femininity: Their psychological dimensions, correlates, and antecedents. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

A. Experiment screenshots

B. Information sheet Researcher(s): [insert name(s) here] Supervisor: Dr Lynda Boothroyd Contact details: [insert emails here} We would like to invite you to take part in a study that we are conducting as part of our Undergraduate Dissertation Project at Durham University under the supervision of Dr. Lynda Boothroyd. The study has been approved by the Department of Psychology Ethics Committee. Before you decide whether to agree to take part please read the following information carefully. Please contact us or our supervisor on the contact details shown above if there is anything that is not clear or if you would like more information. What is the purpose of the study? The aim of this study is to investigate the traits that students in the UK studying STEM prefer in a statistics lecturer. This is to understand if certain traits are preferred over others and why this is the case. Do I have to take part? Your participation is voluntary and you do not have to agree to take part. You can stop, without giving a reason, at any time if you decide you would no longer like to take part. Since your data will be anonymised and cannot be connected back to you individually, it cannot be removed. What will I do if I take part? This study should last around 20 minutes. Altogether, you will complete all 3 stages, starting with CV selection where you will be asked a number of questions. Following this you will be asked to complete a word-based reaction time test, and a broader questionnaire. You may omit any questions or items you do not wish to answer. If you are a psychology student, you will be given participant pool credit accordingly. Will my data be kept confidential? All information obtained during the study will be anonymous and if the data is published it will not be identifiable as yours. We will not be able to connect your data to the IP address from which the 44

experiment was completed. All data will be stored on a password-protected computer and will not be available to anyone other than ourselves and our supervisor. Thank you for reading this information and considering taking part in this study. If you consent to taking part in the study please click here C. Debrief sheet Project title: Investigating the traits that STEM students prefer in a statistics lecturer Thank you for taking part in our study which is an investigation into whether implicit and/or explicit gender attitudes influence perceptions of potential lecturers from students studying STEM. Experimental studies have shown that women in STEM are more likely to receive negative student responses. Our data will allow us to ask whether this is driven by broader gender attitudes. Implicit gender attitudes were measured using a computerised-version of the gender-leader implicit association test, which was designed by Project Implicit. For more information on implicit gender attitudes, please visit https://implicit.harvard.edu. Explicit gender attitudes were measured using the short version of the Attitudes towards Women scale by Spence et al. (1973). If you would like further information about the study or would like to know about what our findings are when all the data have been collected and analysed then please contact us at [insert email here]. We cannot however provide you with your individual results.

Anna Ball is a third-year student at St. Chad’s College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as her dissertation in Law.

Introduction Professor Catherine MacKinnon wrote that “the obscenity approach in Britain… cares more about whether men blush than whether women bleed”,1 making the contentious claim that the Obscene Publications Act 1959 (OPA) is a patriarchal mechanism to control expression by disgust and offence, with little real regard for the way women are harmed. This statement is hyperbolic, a criticism of Mackinnon explored below,2 in part because it ignores the idea that there are many, male or otherwise, who morally object to some pornography on a profound level, not simply ‘blushing’. Symbolically, however, MacKinnon’s statement rings true: the moral standard both explicit in the OPA, and explicit and implicit in the Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008 (CJIA), prioritises a moralistic obscenity based assessment, failing to focus directly on the violence women who participate in the material are actually subjected to, and marginalises feminist views from the legal discourse on pornography. 3 In considering this, several questions will be posed: Should pornography be criminalised? If so, what pornography? Further, how should women in the industry be protected? And can this ever be achieved by a law focused on publication? The discussion of this paper will be limited to the OPA and the CJIA. Within that, this paper will not be looking at the defences of either Act; nor specifically at issues of necrophilia or bestiality detailed in section 63 of the latter Act,4 focusing on online video material. In setting the frame of this paper, then, the focus will be on women - to explore other minorities in addition would require an assessment of very different issues, which the brevity of this work would not allow. ‘Pornography’, or even ‘extreme pornography’, will not be defined, but material will be discussed within the confines of the current legislation, as part of the obscene material prosecuted. Given much of the debate will consider how to determine extreme and criminal material, such a definition would be limiting and near impossible. Chapter 1 will set out the feminist debate on pornography, as well as the position taken by this dissertation. Chapter 2 will then utilise the position set forth to analyse the law, including the Digital Economy Bill. Beyond this, Chapter 3 will debate potential reforms that seek to address both the questions of how to criminalise pornography, and how to protect women in the industry. In doing so, it will consider the Anti-Pornography Ordinance proposed by MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin,5 potential work place remedies,6 and the Canadian Butler standard.7 Chapter 3 will pose the question: Is a legal response to pornography enough? It will be argued that the simple answer is ‘no’. The culmination of this assessment of the current law, as well as of potential 1

Catherine MacKinnon, Only Words (Harvard University Press, 1996), 113. See Chap 1, pp11. 3 Clare McGlynn, 'Marginalizing Feminism: debating Extreme Pornography Laws in Public and Policy Discourse' in K Boyle (eds), Everyday Pornography (Routledge, 2010), 190. 4 Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008, s63(7)(c) and (d). 5 See 3.1. 6 See 3.2. 7 See 3.3. 2

reform, will reveal that educational and attitudinal changes are also needed in society to tackle both pornography, and more specifically extreme pornography.

Chapter 1: Feminist Perspectives on Pornography In criticising the OPA and CJIA from a feminist perspective, it is necessary to do a number of things. A discussion of the wider feminist debate on pornography is required, including the specific points of contention, such as the causation of harm and sexual autonomy, which feed into feminist discourse on pornography and extreme pornography. Further, this chapter will set out the specific feminist position taken, utilising this in the following criticism of the law, as well as a basis and form of explanation for the reform latterly proposed. This dissertation, on the basis of the position explored below, will ask a number of questions. Should we criminalise pornography? What pornography should we criminalise? Further, how can we protect women in the industry? Much of the discussion of these questions will be addressed in the following chapters, but these questions are fundamental to the feminist position debate, and to the argument set out below, that the debate must be refocused on women. The feminist debate on pornography is an extremely pluralistic one,8 in which there is no real consensus.9 While the issue of pornography is not a new one, it has become a “creature of technology” in the modern age,10 making the debate fraught with complexity and renewed relevance. Anti-pornography feminists, such as Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin, are accused of “coopting” with the Moral Right and conservatives, while the views of pro-pornography, feminists, including Gillian Rogerson and Elizabeth Wilson, “have been condemned as perpetuating patriarchal values and the subordination of women”.11 However, these dichotomous arguments should be abandoned so that feminist discourse can focus on the actual contradictory experiences of women, on other methods of protecting women, and also regulating extreme pornography. It is contended that there are points made by both sides which are germane and that it is possible to seek a compromise between what appear to be two irreconcilable views. Clare McGlynn argues that feminists are united by “our concern with the position of women in society”.12 Feminist positions in this area are defined by “shared concerns over violence against women in society, the dominance of masculine perspectives on sex and sexuality [and] the disadvantaged status of many sex workers in the industry”,13 seeking an “end to the endemic disadvantage and discrimination which many women face”. 14 Such a view will inform the position taken in this paper, enabling compromise between views. First, the ‘conservative position’ and ‘liberal position’ will be set out, for the purpose of distinction; these positions are often conflated with feminist arguments on pornography, so addressing their definition within the remit of this paper will clarify later discussion and allow a distinction to be drawn between them and feminist arguments. The conservative position, is that most often advocated by Lord Devlin, in works such as The Enforcement of Morals.15 It is the idea of preventing the moral corruption of the individual, and

McGlynn, 'Marginalizing Feminism: debating Extreme Pornography Laws in Public and Policy Discourse' (n3), 201. 9 Helen Fenwick, Civil Liberties and Human Rights (4th edition Routledge-Cavendish, 2007), 453. 10 Cheng Yien Ee, 'Pornography- Women Matter' (2002) UCL Juris Rev 144, 144. 11 Ibid, 156. 12 McGlynn (n3). 13 Ibid, 201. 14 Ibid, 201. 15 Patrick Devlin, The Enforcement of Morals (Oxford University Press 1959).

“social corruption”, to protect the moral fabric of society,16 which justifies the infringement of individual freedoms.17 Meanwhile, the liberal position, as propounded by Ronald Dworkin, supports, generally, the opposition to censorship without proof of harm,18 or moral consensus against pornography.19 It prioritises freedom of expression and the priority of liberty over censorship, supporting a right to produce and consume pornography. 20

1.1 The Debate This paper will examine the argument for sexual autonomy, the nature of harm caused by pornography, as well as the wider perceptions of pornography. Having discussed the conservative and liberal positions, it will broadly set out the pro and anti-pornography feminist stances with which they are often conflated; in doing so, this paper will seek to further distinguish feminist discussion from other discourse in order to argue that the feminist debate can and must be refocused on women. It will divide the discussion into the two positions, examining the arguments for sexual autonomy as part of the pro-pornography position, and the perception of pornography within the anti-pornography position. Further, it will separately consider the debate around harm and its effect on feminist discourse in this area. 1.2 The Pro-Pornography Position It is the pro-pornography position that is taken to fall broadly within the liberal camp, as it is arguably deemed to advocate access to pornography and sexual autonomy. However, it would be wrong to suppose that the pro-pornography feminist position uniformly supports pornography and its active dissemination. Rogerson and Wilson, coordinating the Feminist Against Censorship (FAC) book Pornography and Feminism, noted that pornography does represent “a sexuality in which women are passive and men are active, and women are desired and men desire”. 21 In conceding this, they are not arguing that pornography is ‘good’, but merely that it is “no worse than a great deal of the rest of the patriarchal and misogynist culture which it reflects”. 22 In this manner, they advocate against ideas of censorship,23 as opposed to defending pornography as a form of expression that cannot be condemned by societal moral consensus that does not exist. From this assessment, it is not complicated to see why they are accused of simply adopting the liberal position.24 However, they put forward further arguments for sexual autonomy on behalf of women. It is the focus on women, without discussion of the need for proof of harm or moral consensus that distinguishes this position. It is argued that this focus means that the pro-pornography position maintains some concern for the shared issues highlighted by McGlynn, particularly focusing on the “dominance of masculine perspectives on sex and sexuality”. 25 1.2.1

The Argument for Sexual Autonomy

Ronald Dworkin, ‘Lord Devlin and the Enforcement of Morals’ (1966) Faculty Scholarship Series Paper 3611, 20 < http://digitalcommons.law.yale.edu/fss_papers/> accessed 30 November 2016. 17 Cheng (n10), 147. 18 Ibid, 146. 19 R Dworkin (n16). 20 Cheng (n10), 146. 21 Gillian Rogerson and Elizabeth Wilson (eds), Pornography and Feminism (Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, 1991), 26. 22 Ibid, 27. 23 Ibid, 12. 24 Cheng (n10), 156. 25 McGlynn (n3), 201. 16

This argument is well summarised by the FAC, arguing that “feminism is about choice, about taking control of our lives and our bodies, and this must include our sexual choices”. 26 Banning of such expression, Strossen argues, has been one element of repressive States such as the former Soviet Union,27 which fail to allow the freedom of sexual expression fundamental to human individuality.28 She argues that it is not simply a free speech argument: it goes to the suppression of individual sexual freedom itself. Therefore, she contends we should avoid repression so that such freedom is maintained and developed. Equally, there is another element to the argument for sexual autonomy, that truly focuses on the individual right of women to enjoy pornography. 1.2.2

The Individualist Feminist perspective: the choice to choose

McElroy details an individualist perspective on pornography, that dictates that every woman has a right to choose for herself. 29 Her discussion centres around the idea that women can enjoy pornography and benefit from it, and that it “presents women with their wildest fantasies” entirely within their own control. 30 In noting the potential effect on other women, such as those in the industry, she argues that the right to restrict this individual freedom exists only when “those actions involve physical force, threat of force, or fraud”. 31 In this sense, it is possible to reconcile such a position with the shared feminist concerns set out above, however, the argument against both this view, and the prior discussion of sexual freedom in a wider societal sense, is worthy of consideration. Stoltenberg makes a persuasive argument that sexual freedom, itself positive in principle, is not present in our society; he questions where it is in the restraint of being bound and gagged, as women are in pornography now.32 He makes a compelling case for the idea that sexual freedom currently looks more like sexual repression because sexual freedom does not really mean “that individuals should have sexual self-determination”, because sexual freedom has never existed with sexual justice.33 He contends that this is because it has been about maintaining men’s superior status and sexualising women’s inferiority. 34 Arguably sexual freedom does not exist the way McElroy envisages it. Pornography could create the freedom that she contends, and for this reason, outright censorship must be avoided. However, the current law lacks effective mechanism to protect women and defend against the notion of male superiority over them. 35 McElroy appears to advocate a ‘full’ or ‘absolute’ form of sexual autonomy. It is contended that sexual autonomy cannot be absolutely realised, because it must be balanced with the potential for harm in extreme material, and for legal restriction of material on that basis. 1.3 The Anti-Pornography Position The main proponents of the anti-pornography movement are Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin, who contend that “the very existence of pornography [is] a concrete harm to women”,36 making it responsible for the subordination and exploitation of women. Jensen summarises that “a radical feminist anti-pornography critique… argues that the sexual ideology of patriarchy eroticises 26

Rogerson (n21), 68-69. Nadine Strossen, “Hate Speech and Pornography: do we have to choose between freedom of speech and equality?” (1995-1996) 46 Case W Res L Rev 449, 473. 28 Ibid, 477. 29 Wendy McElroy, 'Individualist Feminism: A True Defence of Pornography' in XXX: A Woman's Right to Pornography (St Martin's Press, 1997), ch 6. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 John Stoltenberg, ‘Pornography and Freedom’, in Diana E H Russel (eds ), Making Violence Sexy: Feminist Views on Pornography (Open University Press, 1993), 65. 33 Ibid, 67. 34 Ibid, 68. 35 See Chap 2 generally. 36 Fenwick (n9), 457. 27

domination and submission and that pornography is one of the key sites in which these values are mediated and normalised in contemporary culture”.37 One main criticism is the way in which they seek to make pornography the “central issue of feminist analysis”.38 It works from the perspective that feminism, a dissenting view to pornography, is suppressed by pornography;39 in this sense it fights against justification for pornography on a ‘free speech’ basis. Below, it will be contended that this is one area where the dialogue is misplaced and must be refocused. Further, the anti-pornography feminist perception of pornography, the nature of harm and response for calls for sexual autonomy will be examined. 1.3.1

The Perception of Pornography

One of the many points of contention in the pornography debate is the perception of the material in question; this discussion extends beyond its perception of causing harm, or as a potential mechanism and support for sexual autonomy. In the eyes of Dworkin and MacKinnon, pornography is “not harmless fantasy or a corrupt and confused misrepresentation of an otherwise natural and healthy sexuality”. 40 Dworkin even targets pornographers as more like the police in police states than writers in need of protection from censorship, arguing that “pornographers are the secret police of male supremacy: keeping women subordinate through intimidation and assault”. 41 However, such hyperbole is most effectively tackled by Lynn, who argues that the view is “untenable” when in “places like Saudi Arabia, where there is virtually no pornography, cannot be considered superior” when comparing the status of women. 42 Rejecting the basis of this argument, the perception that all pornography is wholly negative, and the main cause of female sexual subordination, must be addressed. Pornography is graphic, and often presents women negatively;43 it often ‘uses’ women,44 but arguing that all pornography does this is “reductionist”. 45 Ann Russo, an anti-pornography feminist, notes that this dogma creates a sexual orthodoxy that does not represent the complexity of women’s lives. 46 The argument continues to paint women as passive and men as aggressive, without seeking to explore the sexual nature of pornography outside such constructions. 47 It risks continuing to make pornography a product created by and for men,48 with no support for sexual autonomy. Thus, the dogma created by MacKinnon and Dworkin is challenged on both the idea that it is not the root cause of all subordination of women, but, more importantly in the context of this paper, that not all pornography can be condemned in such a manner. How to determine which pornography to criminalise will be examined in Chapter 3. 49 1.4 The Pornography Debate: Causation and Harm

Gail Dines, Robert Jensen and Ann Russo, Pornography: The Production and Consumption of Inequality (Routledge, London 1998), 160. 38 Lisa Maher, ‘Book review: Letters from a War Zone: Writings 1976-1989’ (1990-1991) 12 Women’s Rts L Rep 209, 211. 39 Catherine Mackinnon, ‘Not a Moral Issue’ (1984) 2(2) Yale L & Policy Rev, 337. 40 Ibid, 326. 41 Andrea Dworkin, ‘Against the Male Flood: Censorship, Pornography and Equality’ (1985) 8 Harv Women’s LJ 1, 13. 42 B Lynn, ‘Pornography and free speech: the civil rights approach’, L Gostin (ed), Civil Liberties in Conflict, (Routledge, London 1988), 179. 43 Dines (n19), 75. 44 A Dworkin, Pornography, Men Possessing Women (The Women's Press Limited, 1981), 201. 45 Maher (n38), 212. 46 Dines (n37), 150. 47 Maher (n38), 215. 48 Ibid. 49 See Chapter 3 generally.

The question of causational links between pornographic material and harm, to both society and women, is a contentious one that has resulted in fervent debate. Ideas of harm can be distilled into three distinct types:50 harm to women as “real and potential victims of sexual assaults” wider societal harm, and “women’s interests as participants in pornographic productions”. 51 The main discussion of this paper concerns the first form and this together with the discussion of women in pornography, will be discussed below as a reason for the need to refocus the feminist debate. 1.4.1

The Causal Connection

There is a substantial body of research on whether consumption of pornography correlates with violent crimes towards women,52 which is not conclusive. 53 Indeed, although the Government accepts that there are some harmful effects derived from accessing extreme pornography,54 their report recognised that there had been conflicting results throughout,55 as noted by the Home Office in 2005.56 Equally, there are other factors that have been said to correlate with sex offences, such as a strict oppressive upbringing,57 including punishment for looking at pornography. In addition, scientific data has also suggested that sex offenders can generate their own pornography from nonsexual stimuli, rendering radical feminist conclusions seemingly “based on anecdotal evidence”. 58 Moreover, Maher suggests that the argument universalises both all pornography and all men.59 It is seen as an over-simplification because, ultimately, sexism, rape and beatings of women existed long before the modern wide spread dissemination of pornography. 60 The argument strips men of their agency and choice, simplifying their reactions to that inspired by obscene material. 61 Boyle develops ideas of the ‘media effect’, put forward by David Gauntlett,62 arguing that instead of looking at pornography as the cause of “yet-to-be-determined effects”, actual perpetrators and their wider background must be examined. 63 It undermines the anti-pornography argument; if women are harmed in making the pornography, blaming such harm on pornography, without examining the men perpetrating such harm is circular. 64 Fundamentally, one can argue whether any form of harm is caused, or if people know about the difference between “reel” and “real” life. 65 Either way, overt focus on these issues “obscures the real terms of the debate”.66

Susan Easton, The Problem of Pornography: Regulation and the Right to Free Speech (Routledge 1994), 10. Ibid. 52 Home Office, 'Consultation: On the Possession of Extreme Pornographic Material' (August 2005), para 28. 53 Ibid, para 27. 54 Catherine Itzen, Ann Taket and Lisa Kelly, ‘The evidence of harm to adults relating to exposure to extreme pornographic material: a rapid evidence assessment’ (REA) (2007) Ministry of Justice Research Series 11/07, iii. 55 Ibid, 1. 56 Home Office (n52). 57 Clare McGlynn, Erica Rackley and Nicole Westmarland (eds) (2007), Positions on the Politics of Porn. A debate on government plans to criminalise the possession of extreme pornography, Durham: Durham University. ISBN 978-0-903593-27-4, 16. 58 Cheng (n10), 151. 59 Maher (n38), 212. 60 Cheng (n10), 155. 61 Rogerson (n21). 62 David Gauntlett, 'Ten things Wrong with the Media Effect Model', in R Dickinson, R Harindranath and O Linné (eds), Approaches to Audiences- A Reader (Arnold, London 1998), <http://www.theory.org.uk/david/effects.htm> accessed 20 October 2016. 63 Karen Boyle, 'The Pornography Debates: Beyond Cause and Effect' (2000) 23 Women's Studies Intl Forum 187, 189. 64 Ibid. 65 Cheng (n10), 151. 66 Ibid. 51

1.5 Refocusing the debate This paper will argue that the debate must be refocused from ideas of censorship, or proof of harm to justify it. The debate must refocus on women, and to do so, it must accept the complexities of pornography’s place in society, and the lives of women. It is contended that there is no dichotomy; no choice between good or bad. Pornography exists on a spectrum, as does the positive and negative effect on our lives. There are two distinct issues that require refocusing: those that discuss pornography’s wider effect on society, and its effect on women in pornography. First, as Strossen argues, censorship is not an appropriate method to tackle pornography; 67 it continues to perpetuate the stereotype that sex is “bad for us”,68 that women are constantly victims,69 distracting the feminist debate from more constructive methods of tackling discrimination and violence against women.70 Further, it risks harming women who work in the industry voluntarily; 71 it risks driving production underground, which would place it outside the protection of the law. 72 Complete censorship only affirms the idea that sexuality, as it currently exists, is an entirely male construct, ignoring female consumers of pornography, as well as any female producers. 73 This simply risks coaligning with the Moral Right and conservatives. Such a proposal becomes problematic when such moral standards bleed into the creation of law created and influencing the way it is implemented. This will be addressed in the context of the OPA and CJIA in the next chapter; 74 suffice to say that it is certainly an issue that prevents the law from being whole-heartedly ‘feminist’ and such an approach has made divisive statements like Mackinnon’s symbolically applicable to UK legislation. On the other side of the debate, McGlynn argues that the anti-censorship approach to the extreme provisions was not feminist in orientation,75 simply forwarding a liberal agenda. Freedom to allow all pornography, while it may be readily available illegally on the internet, does not necessarily advance the feminist cause either. It does little to end the disadvantage of women, or tackle disadvantage in the sex industry, especially regarding violence. It fails to create measures which are willing to prohibit when pornography does cause harms, particularly that which glorifies rape and violence. It is contended, that in this respect, in relation to the extreme pornography provisions, some level of banning is acceptable to tackle the correlation, or even risk of correlation, with the development of pro-rape views. Equally, anti-pornography feminists do not necessarily demand complete censorship anyway, meaning they do not necessarily align with conservative views,76 a mistake that has been made because the debate has been polarised towards censorship. Refocusing the debate, allows a focus on the feminist goals as stated at the beginning of this chapter. It has been argued that considerations of working conditions is absent from pro-pornography feminist work;77 it is contended that this may be largely because of the responsive nature of their arguments. Instead of focusing on such a potential failure to women, it will be argued that an amalgamation of views can help women in pornography. 1.5.1

Women in pornography: the third harm

Strossen (n27), 460. Ibid. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid, 461. 71 Ibid. 72 Richard A Posner, ‘Only Words by Catharine A. MacKinnon’ (1993, New Republic), 31. 73 Maher (n38), 212. 74 See 2.2 and 2.3 respectively. 75 McGlynn (n3). 76 Russel (n32), 8. 77 McGlynn (n3), 198. 68

Theoretically, at least, it is far easier to prove harm in the actual making of pornography.78 However, Russo notes that the argument that women in pornography have autonomy, and therefore do not suffer such harm is erroneous, because people in general often do not have free choice over their employment, or the nature of the products their employers create or market,79 so to thus assume women in pornography have greater autonomy seems unfounded, and we should work to prevent harm in the production of pornography. 80 The discussion of harm is one of the best examples of the need to refocus the academic debate of feminists in order to focus on changes that will help women in reality, where harm can be proven if women are given the support necessary to do so. Fenwick argues that, on the basis of this harm, films depicting sadomasochism or actual sexual acts should be placed under more rigorous controls. 81 While not a self-proclaimed feminist position, it is argued that such controls would better secure the welfare of women. It would not necessarily stifle the nature of the material, so long as the women participating fully consent. Nor would it prevent women participating where they wish to. 82 Ultimately, as Russo argues, we need to “combine the struggle for sexual freedom and autonomy with the struggle for freedom from sexual and physical coercion and violence”. 83 While feminists should not desist from exploring the violence and destruction of women’s lives in this area, they must also allow time for the examination of women’s sexual desire and practice, and the conflicts and contradictions it creates.84 1.6 This Feminist Position The feminist debate should develop the views that have clashed over recent decades and refocus the debate on the best mechanisms to help women in the industry, as well as considering the wider impact of pornography, particularly extreme material. For the purposes of clarity, this paper takes the following position: there is no exact evidence of harm from pornography, although the potential risk does afford the law the right to act pragmatically when restricting the most extreme pornography. Whether the current law does this in a feminist manner will be contested below.85 Further, in a wider sense, pornography could contribute to the sexual autonomy of women, although much of it is currently degrading or misogynistic. Due to this, the focus should be on ensuring autonomy for women in the pornography industry and supporting and developing ideas about how women may enjoy pornography. In the long term, pornography is a commercial business and the best way to alter current ideas is to demonstrate the need for new forms of material, while challenging the nature of current films. The law itself, through banning and censorship, is not the best mechanism to tackle these issues, nor is it the best way to protect women. However, pragmatically, the law can be used to draw a symbolic line of the limit of violence women may be subjected to, an issue that will elaborated on below. 86 Informed by such a position, this paper will go on to explore two fundamental issues: how to criminalise pornography, as well as how to tackle the position of women in the industry.87

Boyle (n63), 192. Dines (n37), 23. 80 Ibid. 81 Helen Fenwick, Civil Liberties and Human Rights (5th edition Routledge, 2017), 401. 82 Cheng (n10), 152. 83 Dines (n37), 148. 84 Ibid, 150. 85 See Chap 2 generally. 86 See 3.1 and 3.3. 87 See 3.2. 79

Chapter 2: ‘Blushing’ or ‘bleeding’: UK Regulation of Extreme Pornography The accusation that “the obscenity approach in Britain… cares more about whether men blush than whether women bleed”, famously lodged by MacKinnon,88 sets up much of the debate surrounding the Obscene Publications Act 1959, which fundamentally upholds patriarchal values, disregarding the issues women face in this area. However, can the same be said for the provisions in the CJIA? It has less of a moral standard, but the use of “grossly offensive, disgusting or otherwise obscene in character”,89 means that it falls foul of many of the same issues, as well as others. It is contended that the latter legislation is more of a feminist success; it cares more if women bleed, after the addition of rape, or rape simulation in 2015,90 but it is still lacking. This chapter will address the question of how the law determines criminality, asking whether publication or possession focused law can remain relevant in protecting women. In making such an assessment, it will draw on the feminist critiques of the previous chapter, using the feminist position put forward to assess the law. It will also, first, briefly, address the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR) jurisprudence in this area. McGlynn argues that feminism has been marginalised;91 the views of feminists were not taken into account in formulating even the current provisions. 92 Although, it must be noted that such a view was written before the changes made in 2015, which it will be argued are a victory for feminists, as a result of the hard work of McGlynn herself, among others. Discussion will consider the moral standard created, resulting in legislation that does not meet many feminist demands;93 the law formulated is largely devoid of female voices and views. 94 It does not work to tackle the ‘shared’ concern’ that McGlynn details. 95 Murray argues that the pornographic distribution that the OPA sought to control has entirely changed, leaving the act “inadequate to deal with the challenge of the internet age”. 96 This is a further issue that will be examined: if the internet makes this law ineffective, and equally the CJIA ineffective, how far can it possibly protect women, beyond the implicit moral standard promulgated? Further, will the Digital Economy Bill help this? 2.1 ECHR jurisprudence Due to the brevity of this paper, the European Convention of Human Rights will only briefly be considered, in order to highlight the wider context within which these laws operate. The jurisprudence is extensively covered by Fenwick and Phillipson. 97 Handyside made clear that while pornography is protected to an extent, interference can be readily justified,98 especially with the wide margin of appreciation accorded to the protection of morals under 10(2). 99 It is clear from this case, and further jurisprudence,100 that the issue hinges on offensiveness;101 even if the article protects offensive speech.

MacKinnon, Only Words (n1). CJIA (n4), s63(6)(b). 90 Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015 (CJCA), s37. 91 McGlynn (n3). 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid. 94 Ibid. 95 Ibid, 201. 96 A Murray, 'The Reclassification of Extreme Pornographic Images' (2009) 72(1) MLR 73. 97 Helen Fenwick and Gavin Phillipson, Media Freedom under the Human Rights Act (OUP, Oxford 2006), 410. 98 Fenwick (n9), 464. 99 Handyside v United Kingdom (1976) 1 EHRR 737, [57]. 100 See Scherer v Switzerland (1993) A287 Com Rep, [22] and VBK v Austria (2008) 47 EHRR 5, 6. 101 Handyside (n99), [49]. 89

Such a standard is still open to the same criticism as the national moral standard in the UK, elucidated below. Whilst it is not possible to examine the entire jurisprudence is not possible here, instead, it is noted that UK law does not contravene the ECHR for failure to protect women, but specifically for impeding freedom of expression. 2.2 Obscene Publication Act Before the OPA, obscenity was determined by the 1868 case R v Hicklin.102 It centred on the need to deprave and corrupt those “whose minds are open to such moral influences”.103 It was first formulated against the Protestant Political Union, which sought to expose the “prurient questions” Catholic priests were supposed to have asked women in confessionals; from the beginning, the test was intrinsically linked to pornography, patriarchy and censorship.104 The OPA effectively codified the test, and it has been fleshed out by case law. Since its inception it has been “controversial”,105 simultaneously being praised for its flexibility and criticised for its vagueness. 106 McGlynn and Rackley put forward three broad criticisms: that the law is “opaque” and uncertain, that the law draws arbitrary distinction between what is obscene or not, with no clear rationale to distinguish further than potential “disgust and offence”, and it perpetuates “conservative and conventional views of “appropriate” sexuality”. 107 These criticisms highlight the Act’s failure to support sexual autonomy, of women or others. MacKinnon further raises the criticism that it focuses on morals at the expense of women,108 the most fundamental criticism of the Act. This law was never designed to protect women in production, it is not designed to serve that purpose. Therefore, it is not on this ground that criticism is levelled. The offense is established where an article, when “taken as a whole”, will likely have the effect of tending to “deprave and corrupt” persons likely, “having regard to all the circumstances”, to come across it in some manner. 109 Articles, for the purposes of this paper, include films. 110 The Act is aimed at producers, meaning those who distribute, circulate or sell/offer it for hire, including electronic transmission.111 The case law has dictated that the level of “deprave and corrupt” requires more than mere shock or revulsion.112 It relies on contemporary assessment of such standards, allowing the test to develop flexibility with the development of social mores,113 assessed by juries. 114 The test is one that requires the assessment of the ordinary reader, not “lunatic fringe” readers, or watchers. 115

102

R v Hicklin (1868) QB 360. Ibid, 371. 104 Rogerson (n21), 19. 105 Home Office (n52), 7. 106 Cheng (n10), 149. 107 Clare McGlynn and Erica Rackley, 'Criminalising Extreme Pornography: A Lost Opportunity' (2009) 4 Criminal LR 245, 247. 108 MacKinnon, Only Words (n1). 109 Obscene Publications Act 1959, s1(1). 110 Ibid, s1(2). 111 Ibid, s1(3). 112 Anderson [1972] 1 QB 304 (CA), 305. 113 Home Office (n52), 7. 114 OPA (n108), s2(1). 115 Calder Publishing v Powell [1965] 1 QB 159, 159. 103

Downloading material has been interpreted as publication for the purposes of the Act. 116 This approach works where the defendant is based in England. 117 However, those publishing from abroad are beyond the reach of our legal system; the CJIA, that will be examined below, sought to tackle this. 2.2.1 Vague and devoid of rationale The argument about vagueness links to the wider issues of the OPA. Carol argues it could allow the government to exploit the law,118 and McGlynn argues it could be used pursue sexual minorities.119 While the Act has not have been ‘exploited’ by the Executive, the lack of principled certainty and failure to distinguish ‘disgust’ has nonetheless resulted in prosecutions of material that represent merely non-traditional sexual views, damaging to the idea of sexual autonomy. The Home Office Consultation paper argued in response that the general test of obscenity “continues to provide a benchmark for society’s tolerance of certain material”. 120 The community standards test theoretically allows the Act to develop with current moral views. However, it is this developing element of the test that has allowed the Act to continually focus on minority sexual acts. The application of the OPA has become more liberal; it once included the depiction of oral sex. 121 However, the issue remains that the “deprave and corrupt” assessment has been used to prosecute unconventional acts, even if the perception of what is ‘unconventional’ has changed; there is no justification for why something that is not sexually ‘normal’ is specifically corrupting and it is material at the fringes of the assessment which suffer most. While the jury reached acquittal after full trial, material that consisted of fisting, urination and mild bondage was prosecuted,122 although guilty pleas have included such material. 123 Arguably, the intention of banning material was due to ideas of offense at irregular acts, particularly exampled by the banning of urination. There is no principled justification however for banning acts such as urination, as opposed to oral sex, other than a distinction and perception of disgust that can never, at any one time, be fully articulated. This risks continual damage of sexual autonomy based on an uncertain standard, defined by merely offence. Further, the standard forms a “paternalistic legislative regime”, focusing on the harm the consumer may cause himself,124 rather than how women are treated in the material itself. 2.2.2 The OPA’s Moral Standard Due to the contemporary standards doctrine, the OPA has become more liberal since its conception. However, the benchmark of “deprave and corrupt” continues to rely on juries to make a moral assessment of material. Cheng notes that the “harm of obscenity lies in its offensiveness, [while] pornography is integral to attitudes of discrimination and violence that define the treatment and status of half the population”.125 It is in this sense that the “deprave and corrupt” standard cannot uphold feminist views, even if juries have become more liberal. It actually requires juries to focus on ‘blushing’ over ‘bleeding’, leading to results based on what may “deprave and corrupt” the consumers of pornography without assessing whether the way women are treated is in unacceptable, by a

116

R v Waddon (Crim Div, 6 April 2000). R v Perrin [2002] EWCA Crim 747 (CA), [51]. 118 McGlynn, Rackley and Westmarland (n57), 17. 119 Ibid. 120 Home Office (n52), 8. 121 Anderson (n112), 304. 122 Susan Edwards, 'On the contemporary application of the Obscene Publications Act', (1998) CLR 1998 843, 5. 123 Ibid. 124 McGlynn and Rackley, 'Criminalising Extreme Pornography: A Lost Opportunity' (n107). 125 Cheng (10), 150. 117

community standard or not. When assessing the expressive worth of material, the OPA focuses on ideas of moral disgust, where disgust should stem from the treatment of women themselves. The focus on publication is not designed to help women, but it is contended that reformulating the standard would mean that it could still be relevant in curbing extreme material, particularly as publication can apply to the internet. The wider issue is the inefficacy of internet regulation where material is produced internationally; however, this criticism is not unique to the OPA, or even CJIA, but applies to any attempt to regulate international material. 2.3 Criminal Justice and Immigration Act Beyond the OPA – and leaving aside the Digital Economy Bill (DEB) - the CJIA Extreme Pornography provisions are the most recent and most relevant provisions regulating pornography. Section 63 and surrounding sections, were enacted following the murder of Jane Longhurst, and Graham Coutts’ conviction,126 which led to a call to ban “extreme internet sites promoting violence against women in the name of sexual gratification”. 127 The resulting offence shifts the focus from producers to consumers for the first time. 128 The legislation was created in order to tackle pornography on the internet and the development of technology. 129 This paper will briefly outline section 63, focusing on this provision, as opposed to the defences set out in sections 65 and 66. Section 63 details that it is an offence to be in possession of “an extreme pornographic image”,130 defined as something which is both “pornographic” and “extreme”. 131 To be “pornographic” the image “must reasonably be assumed to have been produced solely or principally for the purpose of sexual arousal”.132 This determination is in part related to the wider context of the image,133 and is irrespective of the intention when creating the image. 134 An “extreme image”, within the context set out in this dissertation,135 is one that depicts “an act which threatens a person’s life”,136 results or is likely to result “in serious injury to a person’s anus, breasts or genitals”,137 an act, either real or realistically portrayed, “which involves the non-consensual penetration of a person’s vagina, anus or mouth by another person’s penis”,138 or penetration by another part of the body or anything else. 139 Further to this, fundamentally, it must also be “grossly offensive, disgusting or otherwise obscene in character”.140 The image must be explicit and real. 141 2.3.1 Yet another Moral Standard The Act has both an explicit and implicit moral standard. First, it is checked by the need for the material to be “grossly offensive, disgusting, or otherwise obscene in character”. 142 Second, it focuses on specific body parts and violence in the contexts of the breast, genitals or anus: this is equally 126

R v Coutts [2006] UKHL 39, [2006] 1 WLR 2154. BBC News, ‘Anti-porn petition handed to MPs’ (2005) http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/4460828.stm accessed 10 January 2017. 128 128 Clare McGlynn and Erica Rackley, 'Prosecuting the Possession o f Extreme Pornography, a Misunderstood and Misused Law' (2013) 5 Criminal LR 400. 129 Home Office (n52), 11. 130 CJIA (n4) s63(1), 131 Ibid, s63(2)(a) and (b). 132 Ibid, s63(3). 133 Ibid, s63(4) and (5). 134 Ministry of Justice, 'Further information on the new offence of Possession of Extreme Pornographic Images' (2008). 135 See Introduction, pp3. 136 CJIA (n4), s63(7)(a). 137 Ibid, s63(7)(b). 138 Ibid, s63(7A)(a). 139 Ibid, s63(7A)(b). 140 Ibid, 63(5A)(b). 141 Ibid, s63(6). 142 Ibid, s63(5A)(b). 127

moralistic because it assumes that violence in the context of more ‘lewd’ body parts is more significant than others, bar such violence being life threatening. 143 A simple way of demonstrating how detrimental this could be to women is to point out that it does not even apply to mouths, which are subjected to much in even mainstream pornography, although partially rectified by the 2015 amendments.144 McGlynn notes that the government may have appeared to be concerned about harm to women initially, but soon retreated to moralistic language and justification. 145 This is evident from the comments she compiles from politicians,146 as well as the actual standard added. McGlynn and Rackley argue that the Government resorted to the weakest possible justification for the law: “disgust”;147 where the cultural context of sexual violence, or arguments regarding direct harm could have been cited.148 This criticism is the same as that of the OPA. This weak moral standard does not focus on women or seek to defend and protect them. McGlynn and Rackley call this the “lost opportunity” to move away from the moralistic and paternalistic concerns of the OPA,149 and this paper would agree; it was a chance to take a feminist stance and further strive to protect women, that has defaulted to a focus on ‘blushing’ instead. 2.3.2 Where is the line? How extreme is Extreme? The Home Office Consultation paper detailed that there is a “small category of pornographic material which is so repugnant that, in common with child abuse images, its possession should not be tolerated”.150 It is claimed that the law is motivated by “a desire to protect those who participate in the creation of sexual material containing violence, cruelty or degradation, who may be the victims of crime in the making of the material, whether or not they notionally or genuinely consent to taking part”.151 It is not designed to cover “even the milder forms of bondage and humiliation”. 152 It “depicts suffering, pain, torture and degradation” that most people would find “abhorrent”. 153 Fundamentally, the law is used to draw a line, a line of what can be viewed and created. Liz Longhurst herself said that the law was not designed to be a “magic bullet”, noting that it would be difficult to enforce, but that if the law discouraged some people that would be an improvement. 154 Thus she argued that the law is important in setting some form of standard, even if it cannot be completely enforced. On the other hand, Radford argues that “restricting the scope of the law to the ‘extreme’ will inevitably serve to legitimise and further normalise pornography” that still sexualises acts of violence and humiliation.155 Radford’s position leaves a choice between criminalising all pornography or none. The former option, it is argued, is an unacceptable erosion of ideas of sexual autonomy. The latter argument, departing from all criminalisation, does not allow any protection from the risk of potential harm. It also ignores the ability of such a standard to make a statement about the kind of society we wish to live in.156 As Fenwick argues,157 the risk of harm is enough to take a pragmatic stance in 143

Ibid, s63(7)(a) and (b). Ibid, s63(7A). 145 McGlynn (n3), 194. 146 Ibid. 147 McGlynn and Rackley, 'Criminalising Extreme Pornography: A Lost Opportunity' (n107), 256. 148 Ibid. 149 Ibid, 259-260. 150 Home Office (n52), 11. 151 Ibid. 152 Ibid, 21. 153 Ibid. 154 Murray (n96), 87. 155 McGlynn, Rackley and Westmarland (n57), 6. 156 Susan Easton, ‘Criminalising the possession of extreme pornography: sword or shield?’ [2011] Journal of Criminal Law 391, 402. 157 Fenwick (n9), 459. 144

prohibiting some material. Neither position is optimal and some material can and should be prohibited; this accounts for the need to balance sexual autonomy with the potential harm caused to women. The elements of the CJIA that focus on extreme violence are one mechanism by which to do this, if the moral standard that frames them is abandoned. 2.3.3 The Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015 The Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015 added an important amendment to the CJIA,158 fixing the ‘loophole’ that existed.159 Section 37 added s63(7A), meaning that material including non-consensual penetration of the vagina, anus or mouth by another person, with their penis, body, or an object, is included.160 It deals with the criticism this paper noted above, as it focuses beyond the breasts, anus and vagina; the acceptance of the mouth as a means of domination is important in moving past ideas of nudity and morality to the practical violence women encounter. Further it does something to try and alter the rape myths that plague targets,161 by at least symbolically rejecting some element of the idea that women ‘mean yes even when they say no’, tackling the gap that left pornographers able to valorise violence against women. 162 McElroy nonetheless argues for ‘full’ sexual autonomy, contending that such material should be accessible to those who enjoy ‘rape fantasy’. A further question is, what is the distinction between this and rapes simulated in films? Both are legal. However, the key issue, and in response to those arguments, is that the origin of pornography, or the wider context of its manufacture, is often difficult to divine. This means that, on this particular issue, it is difficult to tell if rape is simply simulated for fantasy or if it is real. This distinguishes actual rape fantasy or depictions in films, where there can be certainty that consent exists. Material that can be perceived as real rape poses a greater risk to women and the perpetuation of rape culture. Indeed, in attempting to restrict pornography presented without consent, it goes some way to alter the type of working conditions of women in pornography. This justifies this further level of censorship, balanced against the need for sexual autonomy to enjoy material that does not pose such a risk. Thus, the CJIA is a greater feminist success than the OPA, by focusing specifically on extreme violence and rape simulation. The key issue, however, is that it still symbolically focuses on ‘blushing’ over ‘bleeding’; it begins to focus on specific violence and specific acts towards women, but maintains a moral context for doing so. As this paper has sought to argue, this moral framework should be abandoned. A possession offence is not designed to focus on women in pornography. But it is accepted that it can be used to determine the material allowed and could be utilised in a feminist way to act as a criminal deterrent against certain treatment of women. Beyond this Act, the Digital Economy Bill will affect access to pornography. 2.4 The Internet and the Digital Economy Bill The Home Office has noted the difficulty in combatting extreme productions because they are so easily accessible. 163 Further, such ease of access means that criminalisation is not likely to translate into a far-reaching reduction in possession or production.

158

CJCA (n90). Rape Crisis South London, ‘Closing the Loophole on Rape Pornography’ < http://www.endviolenceagainstwomen.org.uk/data/files/Closing_the_loophole_on_rape_pornography.pdf accessed December 2016, 1. 160 CJIA (n4), s63(7A). 161 Clare McGlynn and Erica Rackley, 'Justifying the Criminalisation of Extreme Pornography', (Summer 2010) 8 Inter Alia, 10. 162 McGlynn and Rackley, 'Prosecuting the Possession of Extreme Pornography, a Misunderstood and Misused Law' (n128), 403. 163 Home Office (n52), 6. 159

The Government has now announced the ‘Digital Economy Bill’, which in part addresses pornography. The prospective legislation proposes a mechanism of preventing access to material by minors.164 Essentially, it is largely claimed that material that is currently not available to buy offline, will not be available online without age verification165 and it will be enforced by the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC). 166 Further, and fundamentally to this paper, Clause 22 permits the BBFC to give a “notice of contravention” to Internet Service Providers (ISPs). Once identified,167 as the BBFC considers appropriate,168 it provides notice to the non-complying person.169 Beyond this, Clause 23 allows the BBFC to focus on large commercial business. 170 The Bill could represent a significant restriction on the material UK adult users can access, including urination and menstruation, as well as spanking that leaves a mark. 171 This represents a substantial restriction on the sexual autonomy of women and upholds further moralistic ideas of sex and acceptable sexual acts, particularly with the example of female ejaculation. It is another example of the restriction of more minority sexual activity being victimised and traditional standards defining and limiting sexual freedom. 172 On the other hand, David Cameron questioned the special status the internet is given, noting it should be subject to the same standards as other aspects of life. 173 This seems like a limited and simplistic view of the internet however: the internet does much to enhance liberal sexual views and exploration of non-traditional sexual identities. It is most certainly a mechanism by which far more violent and degrading pornography is shared, but to determine whether it should be held to the same restricted standards as DVDs is to ignore its positive features. The DEB, therefore, appears to uphold further damaging moral standards, as well as those that already exist in the law. However, it may also be a structure for greater regulation of extreme material, utilising the powers set out in Clauses 22 and 23. Further, reform could include empowering a regulatory body to authorise credit card companies to block payments to certain websites. 174 Although, this does not deal with the issue of peer-to-peer sharing;175 if the BBFC or another body became empowered in a manner similar to the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Centre (CEOP), in working to disrupt peer-to-peer sharing of illegal articles,176 it would constitute a further potential improvement, at least in enforcement. The issue that remains one of feasibility: How much material can realistically be covered this way? And is the BBFC about to be double in size in order to address the need for greater capacity? The Internet Watch Foundation, which is currently responsible for internet regulation in this area, relies on public reporting. It has yet to be determined how the BBFC would even begin to regulate such issues. If it could work, then this mechanism may support the possession and publication offences discussed 164

Digital Economy Bill 2017, Clause 15. BBFC, ‘Digital Economy Bill Age Verification Letters of Understanding’ (2016) http://www.bbfc.co.uk/media-centre/digital-economy-bill-letters-of-understanding accessed 26 February 2017. 166 Ibid. 167 DEB (n164), Clause 22(1). 168 Ibid, Clause 22(2). 169 Ibid, Clause 22(3). 170 Ibid, Clause 23 (1). 171 Damien Gayle, ‘UK to censor online videos of ‘non-conventional’ sex acts’ (2016) https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/nov/23/censor-non-conventional-sex-acts-online-internetpornography accessed 27 February 2017. 172 Strossen (n27), 473. 173 David Cameron, ‘The internet and pornography: Prime Minister calls for action’ (24 July 2013) https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/the-internet-and-pornography-prime-minister-calls-for-action accessed 27 February 2017. 174 Jacob Rowbottom, ‘Obscenity laws and the internet: targeting the supply and demand’ [2006] Feb Crim LR 97, 105. 175 Ibid, 106. 176 Cameron (n173). 165

above, making them applicable to material produced internationally. However, it will only be ‘feminist’ when upholding a female-focused standard, as explored Chapter 3. 177 2.5 Summary One of the principal issues in that there are not many prosecutions in this area, suggesting that the Act has not achieved the success that Jane Longhurst’s mother wished or campaigned for. 178 There were 2,236 cases between 2008 and 2011, but over 85% of those concerned bestiality. Only 10 percent were serious injury based. It is true that these figures predate the amendment to the law, but they nonetheless demonstrate a wider failure to convict in cases where women are the focus of potential harm.179 They could also represent increased popularity of bestiality, but Easton suggests that it is because such cases are far more clear cut, that they are subsequently far easier to prosecute. 180 In discussing the Walsh case, in which a man was nearly prosecuted for material that was ultimately determined not to be extreme, McGlynn and Rackley note the issue of the debate- the focus must shift from where the line of extremity exists and actually facilitate greater prosecution of clearly extreme cases.181 Ultimately, it is impossible to completely remove the sexuality from pornography, simply by definition; but a focus on the potential harm caused to women, and the nature of their treatment, would greatly improve the law. The CJIA is therefore an improvement on the OPA: focusing on violence and threat to life, as well as the addition of the prohibition of rape simulation in pornography, but the Act is nonetheless disappointing in its need to retain the moral standard. This area may be one where morality has a fundamental a part to play, but it is not an appropriate or robust enough standard by which to protect women. Overall, the main inhibitor for ‘feminist law’ in this area is the retention of the moral standard, as well as the more implicit moral criteria in the CJIA and there is no reason to believe the DEB will alter this. Consequently, in the next chapter, potential reform will be considered.

Chapter 3: Reforming the Law The current law is lacking in two respects: First, it centres on a moral standard and it must be refocused on women. Second, it leaves women in the industry vulnerable; it is not designed to protect them, and thus it is contended that reform is needed to provide such protection. In this Chapter, various reforms will be examined with a view to finding a possible solution or improvement that tackles both of the wider criticisms levelled at the current law, within the feminist position that has been detailed in this paper. 182 This paper will examine three areas: (1) the Anti-Pornography Ordinance, (2) potential work place remedies, and (3) the standard in R v Butler. Ultimately, it will be argued that each of these ideas has some merits, but no one alone provides the perfect answer. This is because, in part, the law is not and will never be the ultimate facilitator of change and protection. Whilst the law can and will shape the boundary of public discourse, to ensure a lasting impact a change in societal attitudes as a result of education and discussion must take place.

177

See 3.3. Murray (n96), 87. 179 McGlynn and Rackley, 'Prosecuting the Possession of Extreme Pornography, a Misunderstood and Misused Law' (n128). 180 Easton (n156), 412. 181 McGlynn and Rackley, 'Prosecuting the Possession of Extreme Pornography, a Misunderstood and Misused Law' (n128), 405. 182 Chap 1, pp14. 178

3.1 Dworkin-MacKinnon Anti-Pornography Ordinance In 1983 Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin attempted something momentous: they wrote several local ordinances that framed pornography as a civil wrong, a breach of women’s civil rights. 183 It was an action that Jackson notes “split the feminist movement”. 184 Strong proponents of the AntiPornography Ordinance saw it as an opportunity to empower women,185 while others considered it as a form of censorship and limit to female autonomy. 186 The Ordinance defined ‘pornography’ as the “graphic sexually explicit subordination of women”, which can include numerous different criteria that focus on a prohibition of humiliation, degradation or pain, as well as sexual pleasure in violence and rape, and overt focus on women and any of their body parts as sexual objects, reduced to those body parts. 187 Law modelled on the Ordinance was struck down as unconstitutional, in breach of free speech principles,188 and has also been criticised by feminists for over-emphasising the role of pornography as disempowering women. 189 In American Booksellers Association v. Hudnut,190 it was noted that the Ordinance was unacceptable because it did not account for the potential literary worth of the work, risking the silencing of opponents. 191 However, if the standard was limited, with a narrower definition of pornography - for example excluding humiliation - that is focused on actual harm of women in the material, then it would not breach Article 10, or would at least be accepted within the remit of Article 10(2),192 potentially through protecting the rights of others, or even under Article 3,193 where material is at its most extreme. Rogerson and Wilson however present one fundamental issue, which is that this would require a woman to make an “alliance” with her rapist, as she would need to testify to the causal connection of the material.194 For this reason, and due to the breadth of the Ordinance, it is not contended that this full method should be adopted in the UK. 3.1.2 The Boundaries of Acceptability: all degradation and humiliation? It is clear the Ordinance is drawn so widely because it is based on the premise that all pornography perpetuates women’s “subordinate status in society”. 195 Pollard argues that the offence must be more narrowly confined to “prevent proven harms”. 196 However, as discussed above,197 the ‘harm debate’ Andrea Dworkin and Catherine MacKinnon, ‘Model Anti-Pornography Civil Rights Ordinance’ (1983) http://www.nostatusquo.com/ACLU/dworkin/other/ordinance/newday/AppD.htm accessed 16 July 2016. 184 Emily Jackson, 'Catharine MacKinnon and Feminist Jurisprudence: A Feminist Appraisal' (1992) 19(2) J L and Soc 195, 206. 185 Dworkin, ‘Against the Male Flood: Censorship, Pornography and Equality’ (n41), 23. 186 Cheng (n10), 157. 187 Model Anti-Pornography Civil Rights Ordinance (n183), s2(a)-(h). 188 American Booksellers Ass'n, Inc v Hudnut, 598 F Supp 1316 (SD Ind1984), 1342. 189 Deana Pollard, 'Regulating Violent Pornography' (1990) 43 Vand L Rev 125, 126. 190 American Booksellers (n188). 191 Ibid. 192 For example, under the “protection for health or morals” in the Convention for t he Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (European Convention of Human Rights, as amended) (ECHR) Art 10(2). 193 For example, handcuffing prisoners has been found in contravention of Article 3, see David Harris, Michael O’Boyle, Edward Bates and Carla Buckley, Harris, O’Boyle & Warbrick Law of the European Convention on Human Rights (3rd edn, Oxford University Press 2014), 268-9, or where corporal punishment was a contravention of Article 3, see Tyrer v United Kingdom A 26 (1978). Further, Article 3 has been recognised as imposing positive obligations on the State “designed to ensure that individuals within their jurisdiction are not subjected to …degrading treatment”, Mahmut Kaya v Turkey (1999)28 EHRR 1, [115]. 194 Rogerson and Wilson (n21), 61. 195 Catherine Mackinnon, ‘Pornography, Civil rights and Speech’, John Garvey and Frederick Schauer (eds), The First Amendment: A Reader (First Edition 1996), 350. 196 Pollard (n189). 197 Chap 1, pp11. 183

has proved indeterminate. The subordination of women is not a positive aspect of society, but such a widely drawn definition risks stifling sexual autonomy to explore such ideas. While this is not censorship, it is important not to ignore the potential chilling effects such a remedy could have,198 meaning it can attract the criticism already addressed above,199 by Strossen, arguing that far reaching censorship risks hampering the sexual autonomy of women and repressing them. 200 On the other hand, it is possible that this standard may be of use, focusing on the needless violence and degradation of women in a sexual context of any kind, rather than an outward moral perspective. Jackson has argued that the structure of the Ordinance may only be of use to women in the industry because they have the ability to prove the specific harm necessary. 201 The use of civil wrongs provides greater support for women in pornography by allowing them to reclaim monetary reimbursement, giving them more control and choice over the work in which they participate in, as well as reinforcing working standards; the civil law empowers women in a way the criminal law does not, putting them in control and providing them with damages. 202 Unlike criminalisation, it does not drive pornography underground in production, affording some further ability to protect women,203 where the material is created in the UK, or the production company is based here as in Perrin. Dworkin effectively argues that men can still access pornography, but a civil wrong brings the suffering and plight of women from the private into the public,204 helping them to repudiate their original subordination. 205 However, this ignores the vulnerable situation many women may already face as employees; unable to fund a civil action or risk a lack of employment afterwards. This limits the worth of a civil action, and hence, it may only be useful in the form of a class action, but it is not contended this would be widely used. That is no argument, however, that the option should not be available. Thus, the Ordinance is a useful as an example of a woman-focused definition of pornography and its potential harm, albeit one that is too wide; it could be used to inform criminal reform. In the place of a wider civil action, it may be more effective to use work place remedies and greater regulation to tackle the position of women in the industry. 3.2 Work Place Remedies The idea of work place remedies has been put forward by Goodman. While argued in the US context,206 her article proposes greater regulation and seeks to distinguish pornography from other employment contexts. This paper examines this idea in abstract, focusing on why the sui generis nature of pornography justifies different work place regulation. Goodman suggests, as does this paper, that due to the failure of regulatory attempts, there should be a “restructuring” of pornography regulation to “focus on production rather than on consumption harms”.207 Goodman notes the dangerous working conditions female actors face such as extended periods of time in cold water, and extreme bondage scenarios. 208 These conditions could also include potential STD contagion and the non-use of condoms that create further dangers for performers. 209 Goodman discusses the example conditions of “Rough Sex 2”, where rough sex was agreed to by the

198

Cheng (n10), 157. See Chap 1, pp8. 200 Strossen (n27). 201 Jackson (n184). 202 McGlynn (n3), 197. 203 Dworkin, ‘Against the Male Flood: Censorship, Pornography and Equality’ (n41), 22. 204 Ibid. 205 Ibid, 23. 206 Katie E Goodman, ‘Violent Pornography in the United States: An Argument for Content -Neutral Regulation 207 Ibid. 208 Ibid, 23. 209 C R Grudzen and P K Kerndt, ‘The Adult Film Industry: Time to Regulate?’ (2007) 4(6) Plos Med e126, 4. 199

actress, but not being physically hurt. 210 This example demonstrates issues of compromised consent, where actors consent, but not to the full range of acts that are ultimately performed. Many people undertake dangerous jobs, termed by Goodman as the “dangerous profession” objection211 as they can be paid accordingly for the risk they undertake, or not accept the work. Sometimes, people accept them as a result of economic disadvantage. In many respects, this can be likened to pornography and more extreme pornography. However, jobs, for example mining, can be distinguished because they do not potentially have a wider, granted unconfirmed,212 harm on the perceptions of women. Such jobs do not, by their existence, imply that it is acceptable to treat people in a degrading manner in sex generally. Women, and others, should be empowered by a regulatory body, potentially with civil remedies, to financially and theoretically give them the ability to seek recompense when they are treated unacceptably. Goodman also suggests that there should be greater work safety regulation. 213 This is unlikely to help, for the same reason the law and many potential reforms have limited application: it still requires pornography to be made in the UK. The same criticism can be levelled at the idea of a civil remedy. However, any mechanism by which to empower women and bring the issue into the public domain has the potential to help change attitudes on pornography and the violent and coercive treatment of women within it. Further, such standards of regulation in the UK may begin to inform how society expects women to be treated in material, challenging pornographic material currently consumed. 3.3 R v Butler: The Canadian Standard Canada has been hailed as a country with a “feminist-style anti-pornography law’.214 The formation of the Butler test, and the statute behind it, actually required the discarding of the Hicklin standard,215 making it an interesting comparative study. The case concerned a shop owner selling obscene material, under what is now s163(8) of the Canadian Criminal Code, which dictates that "any publication a dominant characteristic of which is the undue exploitation of sex, or of sex and any one or more of… crime, horror, cruelty and violence, shall be deemed to be obscene". 216 The undue exploitation is checked by a “community standard of tolerance”,217 a measure of what Canadians would tolerate other Canadians being exposed to;218 fundamentally it is a standard of tolerance not taste.219 It is material that is not justified by the “internal necessities” test, or rather artistic defence. 220 Ultimately, the test does not focus on “good pornography”, but material where women are “deprived of unique human character or identity”. 221 Within this, the focus is that material is not “degrading or dehumanizing”, “not because it offends against morals but because it is perceived by public opinion to be harmful to society, particularly women”.222 This is based on the idea that subordination, “servile submission” and humiliation are

RAME.net, ‘Regan Starr Speaks Out in Interview with Gene Ross’ (January 2000) <http://www.rame.net/library/news/regan.html> accessed 28 Feb 2017. 211 Goodman (n206), 27. 212 Chap 1, pp11. 213 Goodman (n206), 27. 214 Strossen (n27), 473. 215 R v Butler [1992] 1 SCR 452, 473. 216 Canadian Criminal Code RSC 1985, c C-46 s163(8). 217 Ibid, 453. 218 Ibid, 454. 219 Cinema Theatres Ltd v The Queen [1985] 1 SCR 494, 508. 220 Ibid, 454. 221 R v Wagner (1985) 43 CR (3d) 318, 331. 222 Butler (n215) 454. 210

contrary to ideas of equality and human dignity.223 There is an ‘artistic defence’, where the consideration of the material is ‘serious’. 224 3.3.1. Community Standards Test The focus of the community assessment is the inclusion of violence, or degradation, without justification. It remains linked to concepts of harm, with the court noting in Butler that “the stronger the inference of a risk of harm, the lesser the likelihood of tolerance”. 225 It focuses on determining that this is a risk of harm worthy of averting, but not a moral harm; 226 it “demonstrates our community’s disapproval of the dissemination of materials which potentially victimize women”. 227 This is a far more suitable standard by which to judge material; it does not impose a moral standard and would ask juries to reflect on the direct harms to women in the industry, as well as the wider risk of harms to the views about women. However, one potential criticism of the community standards test is that it equally relies on the concepts of society, relying on the development of more liberal views. In Canada, the community standard is one of the community as a whole, not a small segment of society such as a university; 228 it is a national standard. 229 This remains a potentially nebulous concept in a pluralistic society and may allow for the law to remain confused and unenforced. In fact, it appears to uphold some form of ‘community morality’, as opposed to the conception of individual morality that jurors in the UK seek to uphold. In order to ensure that the law cannot be subverted using another moral standard, albeit one that is differently conceived, it could be reformulated to maintain the perception of damaging material purported by the Butler case, namely violence with degradation, while not requiring this within the concept of community standards. Within such an idea, the concepts of degradation remain as subjective as many current elements of the law and would still require some judicial interpretation and jury debate, but not to the same misguided extent as the moral standard. 3.3.2 ‘Context’ defence In Butler, it was made clear that the defence is where the material is required for a serious portrayal of a theme.230 The ‘context’ clause or defence in Butler is one way the Canadian Standard can be distinguished from the standard of the Ordinance. Given that material with artistic or other merit is not caught by the provision, it is unlikely that such a standard would conflict with Article 10. This is in part because of the hierarchy of speech in Strasbourg,231 but also because it could conceivably be protected under protection for the rights of others or morals. 232 3.3.3 How feminist is the Canadian Standard? Benedet argues that the Butler decision has created “a superficially feminist legal framework” 233 and ironically, goes onto consider whether the UK system would be a better model for Canada. 234 Examining Canadian case law, Benedet argues that the popularity of pornography has allowed

223

Ibid, 458. Ibid, 453. 225 Ibid, 454. 226 Ibid. 227 Ibid, 455. 228 R v Goldberg [1971] 3 OR 323 (CA). 229 R v Cameron (1966), 58 DLR (2d) 486 (Ont CA), 3. 230 Butler (n215), 36. 231 See Fenwick and Phillipson (n97), 50-72. 232 ECHR (n192). 233 Janine Benedet, ‘The Paper Tigress: Canadian Obscenity Law 20 Years after Butler’(2015) The Canadian Bar Review 93(1), 3. 234 Ibid. 224

potentially damaging material to pass the test. 235 Beyond this, the number of convictions in the 15 years following the Butler decision was very low, demonstrating low enforcement, especially compared to child pornography charging rates. 236 Part of this failure can be attributed to the internet, which could not have been foreseen in 1992; however, child pornography conviction rates demonstrate that internet pornography can still result in criminal charges. 237 In Hawkins238 and Jorgensen (Scarborough),239 violence including sexual assault and spanking hard enough to leave marks was not determined to be violent, demonstrating that violence against women has reached the ‘mainstream’. 240 This is particularly demonstrated by Price,241 where the defence argued that “BDSM” and the sexualisation of pain are “normal”, which was accepted by the courts as a reason Canadians would tolerate others viewing it. 242 It is not about whether such actions should be acceptable, but instead whether these decisions demonstrate that even with a ‘feminist’ standard, violence has become acceptable in the mainstream to such a point that the introduction of this test in the UK would be fruitless; juries may perceive such actions as outside such a standard, making it ultimately ineffectual. For this reason, the use of ‘serious violence’ and ‘life threatening’, as well as rape simulation in s63 of the CJIA should be retained to guide conviction, with the degradation and dehumanising focus of Butler, and the Ordinance, applied. This could still be achieved within the framework of publication and possession as methods of criminalisation, with a new standard focused on women opposed to morality. However, if anything, Benedet’s criticism proves what UK law already demonstrates: that the law is not enough, and societal views and education must also be changed. Such ideas remain limited to the UK however and while they may serve to change the attitudes of society, they do not prevent such material being easily accessible on a practical level. The internet hence presents an almost insurmountable hurdle for legislators and feminists alike. 3.4 Concluding remarks The final chapter of this paper has sought to address the questions posed in the introduction and throughout this dissertation. It has argued for the criminalisation of some pornography, and examined the potential of using versions of the Canadian Standard, as well as the Anti-Pornography Ordinance to determine the bounds of ‘criminal’ pornography, still capable of being regulated by publication and possession offences. There has also been discussion of the worth of using civil and regulatory remedies to protect women in the industry. This paper has not claimed to find a solution to the issues highlighted. In fact, it may even have highlighted more problems and issues with the law, and society in general, as a result. Nonetheless, it has demonstrated that the law in the UK does not properly protect women. By maintaining both explicit and implicit moral standards, legislation has sided with morality and disgust; it has cared more about ‘blushing’ than ‘bleeding’. Moral standards have been prioritised over the needs of women, and that remains true for the CJIA. The DEB may create a framework that could help curb demand, but this is meaningless to any feminist discourse unless it is within a new legislative background where morality is not central. Further, it has not worked to protect women in the industry. The Government must refocus on the women in pornography when addressing the law, as well as in promoting education and societal change.

235

Ibid, 16. Ibid, 18. 237 Ibid, 23. 238 R v Hawkins (1993), 15 OR (3d) (549) (CA for Ontario). 239 R v Jorgensen [1995] 4 SCR 55. 240 Benedet (n233), 25. 241 R v Price [2004] BCPC 103, [2004] BCJ No 814 (QL), [99]. 242 Ibid. 236

Indeed, there must be an acceptance of the need for the law outside that based on publication, or possession, in order to protect women in pornographic material. The fact that the Government does not currently list pornography within its definitions of ‘violence against women’,243 suggests it does not even consider the extreme pornography laws part of their work on this.244 The debate on these issues must be reignited and problems addressed. Pornography, like any business, is consumer-based. It must be better regulated and extreme violent material prohibited, but educational and societal changes are needed change the type of material sought and therefore created. International production of extreme material can only be tackled by reducing such consumption; this is the best way to protect women involved, and women in wider society. Equally however, this paper has argued in favour of defending sexual autonomy where possible. A fine balance is to be struck. It has thus sought to develop a feminist view that accepts the need to criminalise some pornography, whilst recognising that material has the potential to aid sexual autonomy, of women and others, finally free from ‘bleeding’ and unconcerned with ‘blushing’.

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Posner R A, ‘Only Words by Catharine A. MacKinnon’ (1993, New Republic)

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Rogerson G and Wilson E (eds), Pornography and Feminism (Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, 1991)

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Russel D E H, Making Violence Sexy: Feminist Views on Pornography (Open University Press, 1993)

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Benedet J, ‘The Paper Tigress: Canadian Obscenity Law 20 Years after Butler’(2015) The Canadian Bar Review 93(1)

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Boyle K, 'The Pornography Debates: Beyond Cause and Effect' (2000) 23 Women's Studies Intl Forum 187

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Cheng Yien Ee, 'Pornography- Women Matter' (2002) UCL Juris Rev 144

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Dworkin A, ‘Against the Male Flood: Censorship, Pornography and Equality’ (1985) 8 Harv Women’s LJ 1.

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Dworkin R, ‘Lord Devlin and the Enforcement of Morals’ (1966). Faculty Scholarship Series Paper 3611 < http://digitalcommons.law.yale.edu/fss_papers/> accessed 30 November 2016

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Easton S, ‘Criminalising the possession of extreme pornography: sword or shield?’ [2011] Journal of Criminal Law 391

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Edwards S, 'On the contemporary application of the Obscene Publications Act', (1998) C L R 1998 843

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Goodman K E, ‘Violent Pornography in the United States: An Argument for Content-Neutral Regulation Under the Jurisdiction of Workplace Safety Laws’ (2006) 4 Dartmouth LJ

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Grudzen C R and Kerndt P K, ‘The Adult Film Industry: Time to Regulate?’ (2007) 4(6) Plos Med e126

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Jackson E, 'Catharine Mackinnon and Feminist Jurisprudence: A Feminist Appraisal' (1992) 19(2) J L and Soc 195, 206.

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Mackinnon C A, ‘Not a Moral Issue’ (1984) 2(2) Yale L & Policy Rev

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Maher L, ‘Book review: Letters from a War Zone: Writings 1976-1989’ (1990-1991) 12 Women’s Rts L Rep 209

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McGlynn C and Rackley E, 'Criminalising Extreme Pornography: A Lost Opportunity' (2009) 4 Criminal LR 245

•

--'Justifying the Criminalisation of Extreme Pornography', (Summer 2010) 8 Inter Alia

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--'Prosecuting the Possession of Extreme Pornography, a Misunderstood and Misused Law' (2013) 5 Criminal LR 400.

•

Murray A, 'The Reclassification of Extreme Pornographic Images' (2009) 72(1) MLR 73

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Pollard D, 'Regulating Violent Pornography' (1990) 43 Vand L Rev 125

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Rowbottom J, ‘Obscenity laws and the internet: targeting the supply and demand’ [2006] Feb Crim LR 97

•

Strossen N, “Hate Speech and Pornography: do we have to choose between freedom of speech and equality?” (1995-1996) 46 Case W Res L Rev 449

Reports •

McGlynn C, Rackley E and Westmarland N (eds) (2007), Positions on the Politics of Porn. A debate on government plans to criminalise the possession of extreme pornography, Durham: Durham University. ISBN 978-0-903593-27-4

Government Sources •

Home Office, 'Consultation: On the Possession of Extreme Pornographic Material' (August 2005)

•

Itzen C, Taket A and Kelly L, ‘The evidence of harm to adults relating to exposure to extreme pornographic material: a rapid evidence assessment’ (REA) (2007) Ministry of Justice Research Series 11/07

•

Ministry of Justice, 'Further information on the new offence of Possession of Extreme Pornographic Images' (2008)

News Articles •

BBC News, ‘Anti-porn petition handed to http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/4460828.stm accessed 10 January 2017

MPs’

(2005)

•

Gayle D, ‘UK to censor online videos of ‘non-conventional’ sex acts’ (2016) https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/nov/23/censor-non-conventional-sex-acts-onlineinternet-pornography accessed 27 February 2017

Speeches •

Cameron D, ‘The internet and pornography: Prime Minister calls for action’ (24 July 2013) https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/the-internet-and-pornography-prime-minister-callsfor-action accessed 27 February 2017.

Other Sources •

BBFC, ‘Digital Economy Bill Age Verification Letters of Understanding’ (2016) http://www.bbfc.co.uk/media-centre/digital-economy-bill-letters-of-understanding accessed 26 February 2017

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Dworkin A and MacKinnon C, Model Anti-Pornography Civil Rights Ordinance (1983) http://www.nostatusquo.com/ACLU/dworkin/other/ordinance/newday/AppD.htm accessed 16 July 2016

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Government Equalities Office, ‘About us’ <https://www.gov.uk/government/organisations/government-equalities-office/about > accessed 8 January 2017

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RAME.net, ‘Regan Starr Speaks Out in Interview with Gene Ross’ (January 2000) <http://www.rame.net/library/news/regan.html> accessed 28 Feb 2017. 69

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Rape Crisis South London, ‘Closing the Loophole on Rape Pornography’ < http://www.endviolenceagainstwomen.org.uk/data/files/Closing_the_loophole_on_rap e_pornography.pdf accessed December 2016

UK Legislation •

Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008

•

Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015

•

Digital Economy Bill 2017

•

Obscene Publications Act 1959

Canadian Legislation •

Canadian Criminal Code RSC 1985, c C-46

Conventions •

Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (European Convention of Human Rights, as amended) (ECHR)

Table of Cases United Kingdom Cases •

Anderson [1972] 1 QB 304

•

Calder Publishing v Powell [1965] 1 QB 159

•

Coutts [2006] UKHL 39, [2006] 1 WLR 2154

•

Hicklin (1868) QB 360

•

Perrin [2002] EWCA Crim 747

•

Waddon (Crim Div, 6 April 2000)

European Convention of Human Rights Cases •

Handyside v United Kingdom (1976) 1 EHRR 737

•

Mahmut Kaya v Turkey (1999)28 EHRR 1

•

Scherer v Switzerland (1993) A287 Com Rep

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Tyrer v United Kingdom A 26 (1978)

•

VBK v Austria (2008) 47 EHRR 5

American Cases •

American Booksellers Ass'n, Inc v Hudnut, 598 F Supp 1316 (SD Ind1984), 1342.

Canadian Cases •

Butler [1992] 1 SCR 452 70

•

Cameron (1966), 58 DLR (2d) 486 (Ont CA)

•

Cinema Theatres Ltd [1985] 1 SCR 494

•

Goldberg [1971] 3 OR 323 (CA)

•

Hawkins (1993), 15 OR (3d) (549) (CA for Ontario)

•

Jorgensen [1995] 4 SCR 55

•

Price [2004] BCPC 103, [2004] BCJ No 814 (QL),

•

Wagner (1985) 43 CR (3d) 318

Sophia Mason is a second-year geography student at Van Mildert College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as part of the ‘Theories and Concepts in Human Geography’ module under the guidance of Dr Nick Rush-Cooper.

Feminist theory has emerged as an important tradition of thought in the social sciences, with key concerns and principles including the ways in which unequal gender relations and heteronormativity permeate and structure social life (Pratt, 2009). A primary contribution has been the consolidation of ‘the body’ as a scale of analysis in the discipline, fostering what Price (2013) refers to as an ‘intimate turn’ that encourages the theorisation of forms of bodily difference. This essay explores how feminist theory’s engagements with embod-iment can be brought to bear on the Black Lives Matter movement to determine how some bodies come to ‘matter’ more than others. It argues for a dialectic position which combines constructionist and corporeal feminist approaches to attend to both the discursive and the material when attempting to understand the position of bodies as the ‘matter’ of Black lives. This essay begins by outlining a broad genealogy of feminist thought including the emergence of the body in geography, before considering the place that the body has historically occupied. This is followed by a review of feminist approaches to the body, which are evaluated in relation to race in the context of the Black Lives Matter movement. Since it emerged in the academy in the 1970s alongside other radical movements feminist theory has expanded exponentially and feminist geography has followed a similar trajectory. The 1980s saw the consolidation of topics such as theoretical constructs around the role of gender and introduced challenges to identity, experience and representation, notably in the recognition that much of feminist theory had disregarded the experiences of those women who were not white, heterosexual, ablebodied or middle-class (Nelson and Seager, 2005). This realisation had considerable methodological implications in geography as it led to reconsiderations of knowledge as situated and shaped by specific histories and geographies, revealing the need to develop cross-disciplinary, collaborative and reflexive modes of working in research (Rose, 1997). Although a linear narrative risks simplification, a further key evolution can be identified when new emphases, perspectives and research agendas were advanced by feminist geographers in the 1990s. Their calls for attention to the everyday, the emotional and the embodied meant that entirely new subject areas were developed as boundaries for political subject matter shifted considerably (Johnson, 2009). A notable part of this expansion was the inauguration of ‘the body’ as an explicit part of the geographical agenda as theorists such as Robyn Longhurst and others recognised bodies to be crucial to understanding lived experiences and relationships with physical and social environments (Johnston, 2009). A proliferation of geographical work on the body ensued, initially with a gender focus but later expanding to include other forms of embodied differ-rence such as race, class and (dis)ability. Indeed, feminism is described by Kirby (1991: 4) as “a discourse that negotiates corporeality”. Meanwhile, the contribution of geography to feminist thought has been a concern with the role of space and place in reflecting and reinforcing gendered social relations (Dias and Belcha, 2007). As such, feminist theory has had crucial methodological, epistemological and topical implications for geographical work, with the establishment of the body as a valid subject for theory and analysis being an especially noteworthy and far-reaching marker in the discipline’s evolution.

This focus on the body is a new and important development because of the ways it troubles the body’s historical place in Western thought. Grosz (1994) calls attention to how the body has been figured in a structural, hierarchising, dualistic relationship with the mind alongside a series of other dualisms. The mind/body dualism is also gendered such that a white, masculinist subject has been conceived of as able to transcend its embodiment and think freely from the ‘matter’ of its body to achieve a universal ‘masculinist rationality’ while other subjectivities find themselves limited by their bodies (Longhurst, 1997). Therefore, at stake in a reconfiguration of the body through a feminist focus on embodied experience is the agency, mobility and social space accorded to women and others who were historically associated with the body (Grosz, 1994). The legacy of the body’s marginalised position in Western thought has an important bearing on understandings of gendered, sexualised and racialized embodiment today, as it coincides with other forms of discrimination such as racism and sexism to determine how some bodies are thought to matter more than others. The feminist concern with the body and embodiment has been theorised in a variety of ways, but feminist geographies have primarily been influenced by two main approaches: social constructivism and corporealism (Longhurst 1997). Constructionists consider bodies as surfaces to be written on, as places where values, morality and social law are inscribed, arguing that bodies are discursively produced to become meaningful in terms of the social systems and discourses by which they are constructed. As such they seek to uncover and challenge the processes by which this occurs within patriarchal and heterosexist societies (Longhurst, 1995). Grosz (1994: 23), for example, advocates a feminist philosophy which regards the body as a site of “social, political, cultural and geographical inscriptions, production, or constitution”. This approach has especial appeal for geographers because the constructed body must be understood in the context of place and space (Longhurst, 1997). The geographical literature on embodiment has thus generally exhibited a tendency to focus on constructions and discursive representations of bodies. However, corporeal feminists (e.g. Slocum, 2008) argue that this focus on performance, representation and discourse neglects the material body which consequently remains ‘Othered’ in geography, and they instead take as the starting point for analysis the body’s physical, anatomical materiality. As Longhurst (1997) explains, rather than erasing the ‘real’ body (and thus potentially reinforcing masculinist discourses which also marginalise the body), corporeal feminists aim to work with the body and treat it as something more than representation. A consequence of these two positions is that a distinction has been drawn between discursive bodies and material bodies, with some theorists prioritising one over the other. However, for Kirby (1991: 4) the distinction between essentialism and antiessentialism amounts to an “increasingly sterile debate” as these approaches are in fact inseparable from one another because interpretation is necessarily based on reality. Taken together, they constitute a dialectic position in which “bodies cannot be reduced to either the ‘social’ or the ‘natural’ but rather they are simultaneously constructed and real” (Longhurst, 1995: 101). Given the complex ontology of race, a dialectic is a beneficial position from which to assess how feminist embodiment theory can be deployed to ascertain the role of bodies in Black Lives Matter: a focus on material bodies strengthens conceptual politics around the body by expanding the focus to include more than representation and discourse, while keeping the latter within sight avoids disavowing histories and geographies of racism. Thinking through a feminist lens has several implications for understanding racial embodiment in geography. The category of race is generally recognised to be socially con-structed, existing in ideas and social practices that produce normative racial positions and hierarchies (Kosek, 2009). From this perspective there is ‘something to’ race, as although it lacks natural or material basis it has productive consequences in society (Slocum, 2008). Feminist thought crystallizes the body as the site of social construction, allowing it to come into focus and be made explicit such that it “unsettles the production of geographical know-ledge reorienting it to the concerns of a variety of marginalized groups" (Longhurst, 1997: 496). This takes on particular significance given that racialized minority ‘Others’ have been simultaneously precluded from occupying a rational masculinist position and unequivocally linked to the subordinately-positioned body due to the operation of nature/culture and mind/body dualisms. Thinking through a feminist embodiment perspective works to destabilise these 73

marginalising structures which not only see the body as devalued in itself but racialized bodies doubly so, and allows these bodies to become visible, worthy sites of analysis that may allow important insights into the lived experience of race to be garnered. A useful empirical lens through which to engage with bodies is ‘Black Lives Matter’ (BLM), an international activist movement created in 2013 following several extra-judicial killings of Black people by police officers in the US. As a grassroots, collaboratively organ-ised movement fighting for wider awareness of the embodied experiences of Black people and the implications of anti-Black racism on their lives (Chatelain, 2015), it can be located within the turn to emotion, embodiment and lived experience heralded by feminist theory. Garza (2014), a co-founder of BLM, explains that it is about recognising that Black people are disproportionately subjected to state violence and how this fundamentally underpins their lived experiences. However, although BLM phrases its concerns in terms of ‘lives’, the movement is just as much about bodies, and specifically how Black bodies are perceived as threats, feared, searched, subjected to violence, and “systematically and intentionally targeted for demise” (Garza, 2014: np). In the following I argue that to fully understand bodies in BLM, material and discursive bodies must come into play together. To begin with, social constructivist approaches to the raced body encounter certain limitations. To say that race is solely about the discourses projected onto it is to ignore the material body as the starting point from which discourse is produced, while the possibilities and capacities of a raced body cannot be wholly accounted for by external social relations. As Slocum (2008) and others have argued, corporeal feminist theory is a framework which enables a discussion of the ‘matter’ of race in addition to its construction. Indeed, for Price (2013: 584), “race is visceral... [it] involves blood and guts”, such that geographers of race and ethnicity have understood race as an event which emerges and takes shape through the material body’s actions and encounters in space and place. This supports the position that BLM is in fact about how material bodies are subjected to and marked by violence. But although the ‘real’ body has a certain explanatory power, the problem remains of how an account of race can attribute force to biological material without falling into the trap of determinism, which risks consolidating physical difference into hierarchic systems. The discursive edge to the dialectical position provides a solution, as acknowledging that ‘real’ bodies are simultaneously constructed allows a reification of difference to be avoided. In a constructionist approach to racial embodiment the historical and geographical formations which have positioned bodies in particular ways become crucial in explaining how these come to ‘matter’ differently. For McKittrick (2000: 225) bodies are where “the complexity and ambiguity of history, race, racism and place are inscribed”, meaning that attending to their construction acknowledges how the devaluation of Black bodies in a US context has its historical roots in slavery and segregation. Further, to say that some lives do or do not matter valorises some bodies while devalorising others, a distinction which is realised through ‘whiteness’ and racism which work together to simultaneously value white bodies and devalue bodies of colour (Butler, 2015). The centrality of whiteness here as a concept from postcolonial theories provides an example of how theories may overlap in geography to productive effect. Butler (2015) also calls attention to how thinking through representational bodies reveals how racism figures Black people through a lens which means their bodies are articulated as threats even when they do not actively threaten. Butler’s contribution here invites a conceptual link to be made with gender, which she has described as a ‘stylized repetition of acts’ (Butler, 1993): whiteness similarly operates by reiteratively ‘citing’ and solidifying the privilege of white bodies, and consequently is something that though entrenched in society can always be ‘done otherwise’. Discursive understandings of the raced body are therefore important in acknowledging the operation of racism and whiteness, while also maintaining the possibility for these to be ‘otherwise’. Another key contribution of feminist thought is the concept of intersectionality which was developed by Black feminists (see Crenshaw, 1991) following critiques of feminism as being too focused on white women. Cohen (2016) considers BLM to mark an important move towards feminist-informed intersectional racial justice movements that centre on fighting racism but recognise the specific concerns of women and poor, disabled or LGBT folks within that narrative by taking into account how “inequality, mass incarceration, police brutality, racism, and heteronormativity reinforce one 74

another” (Asoka and Leonard, 2016: 28). For instance, an intersectional reading recognises how racial oppression can intersect with sexual oppression to subject Black women’s bodies to particular experiences of state violence, where in addition to experiencing the same difficulties as men they also “face genderspecific risks from police encounters – sexual harassment, assault, stripsearching, and endangerment of children in their care” (Chatelain 2015: 55). An intersectional framing thus allows an appreciation of how different bodies may experience racism differently. This essay has critically assessed the extent to which feminist theory offers an understanding of embodiment by exploring two main feminist approaches to the body with a focus on race. In conclusion, neither social constructivist nor corporealist accounts of the body succeed in providing a satisfactory account of race in the context of the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement: constructivism risks disavowing the material body and reproducing its historical marginalisation in Western thought, while corporealism is linked to determinism. However, the critical dialectic position which results from their combination acknowledges the co-constitutive interplay between material and discursive bodies and thus affords a useful framework for thinking through how raced bodies have come to ‘matter’ differently. Finally, an intersectional lens into lived experiences recognises how Black bodies do not all face the same dangers from state violence. To conclude, it is worth noting that although feminist calls to expand the focus of geographical scholarship have been increasingly accepted, the struggle to gain recognition of the importance of feminist concerns is an ongoing battle (Dias and Belcha, 2007), such that feminist readings of race and the body will, for the moment, inevitably remain limited and marginalised within the wider discipline. References Butler, J. (1993) Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of ‘Sex’. London: Routledge. Butler, J. (2015) “What’s Wrong with ‘All Lives Matter’?”, The New York Times, December 1. http://shifter-magazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Whats-Wrong-With-All-Lives-Matter.pdf Chatelain, M. (2015) 'Women and Black Lives Matter: An Interview with Maria Chatelain', Dissent, 62(3), 54 - 61. Cohen, C. J. (2016) 'Ask a Feminist: A Conversation with Cathy J. Cohen on Black Lives Matter, Feminism, and Contemporary Activism', Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 41(4), 775 - 792. Crenshaw, K. (1991) ‘Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color’, Stanford Law Review, 43(6), 1241-1299. Dias, K. and Belcha, J. (2007) 'Feminism and social theory in geography: an introduction', The Professional Geographer, 59(1), 1–9. Garza, A. (2014) 'A Herstory of the #BlackLivesMatter Movement', Feminist Wire [online]. Retrieved from: http://www.thefeministwire.com/2014/10/blacklivesmatter-2/ Grosz, E. (1994) Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Johnson, L. C. (2009) Feminism/Feminist Geography. In: Thrift, N. and Kitchin, R. (Eds.) The International Encyclopedia of Human Geography, Amsterdam; London; Oxford: Elsevier. Johnston, L. (2009) The Body. In: Thrift, N. and Kitchin, R. (Eds.) The International Encyclopedia of Human Geography, Amsterdam; London; Oxford: Elsevier. Kirby, V. (1991) ‘Corporeal Habits: Addressing Essentialism Differently’, Hypatia, 6(3), 4-24. Kosek, J. (2009) Race. In D. Gregory, The dictionary of human geography. Oxford, UK: Blackwell Publishers. 75

Longhurst, R. (1995) ‘The body and geography’, Gender, Place and Culture, 21, pp. 97-106. Longhurst, R. (1997) '(Dis)embodied geographies', Progress in Human Geography, 21(4), 486–501. McKittrick, K. (2000) 'Who do you talk to, when a body's in trouble?: M. Nourbese Philip’s (un)silencing of black bodies in the diaspora', Social & Cultural Geography, 1(2), 223–236. Nelson, L. and Seager, J. (eds) (2005) A Companion to Feminist Geography. Blackwell, Oxford. Pratt, G. (2009) Feminist geographies. In D. Gregory, The dictionary of human geography. Oxford, UK: Blackwell Publishers. Price, P. L. (2013) 'Race and ethnicity II: Skin and other intimacies', Progress in Human Geography, 37(4), 578–586. Rose, G. (1997) ‘Situating Knowledges: Positionality, Reflexivities and Other Tactics’, Progress in Human Geography, 21(3), 305–20. Slocum, R. (2008) ‘Thinking race through corporeal feminist theory: divisions and intimacies at the Minneapolis Farmer’s Market’, Social and Cultural Geography, 9(8), 849-869.

Trà My Hickin is a second-year English student at St. Cuthbert’s Society, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Theory and Practice of Literary Criticism’ module under the guidance of Dr Alastair Renfrew.

‘Difference does not annul identity. It is beyond and alongside identity’ (Trinh T. Minh-ha)

It is understandable why early proponents of feminism sought to ground the movement in the universal idea of womanhood, as pragmatic bid for unity. However, this has proven to be merely a reflection of Western patriarchal logic and technique, and thus by its own nature inherently oppressive. Celebrating difference does not negate the idea of a collective female identity, but rather expands the possibilities of womanhood. This expands the space for expressions of female identity, allowing women to show diversity in race, class, and sexuality, distinctions that were erased under the universal model of the female. A failure to celebrate difference is indicative that certain kinds of feminism have internalized the patriarchal hegemonic power structure it had intended to dismantle, with white, economically privileged, straight women occupying the privileged position as the universal. Within this framework, concepts such as ‘identity’ and ‘difference’ are not useful to describing the experience of marginalised genders – they seem counterintuitive, as how can the need for a collective identity exist in solidarity with the need to acknowledge difference? As Audre Lorde correctly notes, a new theoretical framework is needed; ‘the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house’.1 In order to articulate a more authentic complicated, vast, and multiple female experience, identity and difference must be redefined in terms that do not belong to Western patriarchal hegemonic thinking. There will be a toleration, or even celebration of difference or there will be no feminism at all, for feminism, as defined by Barbara Smiths, ‘is the political theory and practice that struggles to free all women… Anything less than this vision of total freedom is not feminism, but merely female selfaggrandizement.’2 Previous forms of feminism that advocated for a universal model of the female self, only serve to promote the Western patriarchal logic it had originally intended to undermine. Acknowledging ‘difference’ was originally seen as a threat to the larger movement of women’s rights, when in actuality, separating issues such as women’s rights and racial equality served a colonial ‘divide and conquer mentality’, that better served white patriarchal hegemony than any cause. This was realized by Alice Walker, who rejected feminism on these grounds, choosing instead to advocate for ‘womanism’.3 When asked in an interview about why she was choosing to further racial equality over gender equality, she replied ‘But of course black people come in both sexes’. 4 The tendency towards the universal womanhood is a dire oversimplification of the issues that affect women, and wilful ignorance of the issues that affect queer women and women of colour, like Alice Walker. The compulsion towards a universal is a manifestation of previous strands of feminism’s complicity with Audre Lorde, ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’, in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, (New York, NY: Random House Print, 2007), p. 110. 1

Trinh T. Minh Ha, Woman Native Other, (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1980), p. 86. Marysa Navarro, and Gwendolyn Mink, The Reader’s Companion to U.S. Women’s History (Oakland, NJ: Indian Hills Library, 1998), p. 13. 3

Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 106.

white patriarchal hegemony. This kind of feminism provides no structural change, only offering a different universal figure; rather than a white straight abled man, it provided the image of a white straight abled woman. Audrey Lorde was acutely aware of this: Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society's definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference -- those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older -- know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master's house as their only source of support.5

In order for feminism to truly reject the patriarchy, it needed to stop using ‘the master’s tools’, and develop its own theoretical paradigm for itself. Lorde found inspiration for this by looking at female values and what it meant to be female, not as an ‘other’ or binary opposite to ‘maleness’, but on its own terms. She concluded that the female traits of ‘interdependency’: ‘the need and desire to nurture each other is not pathological but redemptive… Only within a patriarchal structure is maternity the only social power open to women’ 6 This structure is a rejection of the basis of Western patriarchal criticism, and encourages a Deleuzian rhizomatic structure, one of mutually dependent and nurturing networks rather than traditional hierarchy. Using rhizomatic structures as a basis to navigate notions of identity and difference is to completely redefine the concepts of identity and difference. To Deleuze, difference is not seen in terms of binary opposites, or the ‘universal’ or ‘transcendental signifier’ verses the ‘other’ or ‘absence’, but rather difference manifests in ‘shades’ and ‘degrees’. 7 Already, this model is more receptive to ideas of intersectionality, as it can encompass the breadth of multiple experience and subjectivity arising from intersecting forms of oppression, and the different degrees to which women are exposed to forms of oppression. Rejecting the binary system also allows for difference not to ‘annul identity’, but rather to give it depth. A rhizomatic approach can accommodate the unity of a common female experience, and differences within these shared experiences. It can account for what Trinh T. Minh-Ha notes when she says ‘the oppression of women knows no ethnic nor racial boundaries, true, but that does not mean it is identical within those boundaries.’ 8 Trinh advocated a Deleuzian approach to examining female identity, maintaining that there cannot be a oppositional approach to gender because a binary does not exist; ‘Men and women are not interchangeable, -woman is not interchangeable with man’. 9 A binary would suggest some kind of ‘relational equivalence’ and balance, which does not exist in male-female relations. 10 Thus, Julia Kristeva’s notion of ‘dissolving identity’ is not a useful way of dismantling hegemonic influence from articulating female identity, rather, difference must be carefully observed. 11 By observing difference, identity is not ‘annulled’, but rather expanded and properly articulated. The rejection of a Western ‘illusory dualistic system’ also radically changes the concept of ‘identity’, opening the concept up to allow for a more authentic kind of self expression. 12 Trinh notes that traditional ‘identity’ has been defined as ‘the whole pattern of sameness within a human life’, a view that is inherently limiting and deceptive. 13 A rhizomatic view of identity would instead be fluid, and Lorde, ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’, p. 110 Lorde, ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’, p. 110 7 Gilles Deleuze, ‘Introduction: Rhizome’, in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), p. 1455. 5 6

Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 101. Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 104. 10 Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Introduction: Axiomatic’, , in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), p. 2475. 11 Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 103. 12 Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 102. 13 Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 88. 9

would allow for a vast, multiple human experience, riddled with contradictions. Identity is no longer contained, rhizomatic thinking emphasizes ‘becoming’, and thus identity is approached as a process, a continual change as opposed to a definite inherent principle or characteristic. This also redefines how ‘authenticity’ must be approached. In traditional hierarchical thinking, authenticity would be approached through roots, with ‘Authenticity as a need to rely on an ‘undisputed origin’, searching through layers of selfhood before a ‘genuine’ self is discovered. 14 This approach would prove an unsatisfactory mode of searching for selfhood, and instead reveals an overarching anxiety of ‘losing a connection.’15 In Deleuze’s rhizomatic model, connections can be sustained without asserting a distant version of the self as ‘more authentic’. Self-hood is allowed to mutate and changed, and the careful observance and analysis of difference is encouraged. Thus, though observing difference, and in order to capture the vast multiplicity of the self, the concept of identity has been undermined. The real-life manifestations of the lines between sex and gender blurring through increasing transgender visibility can be interpreted as a dramatization of subverting traditional stable concepts of identity. The increasing movement towards gender non-conformity and fluidity further problematises the notion of a rigid gender binary dramatically in real life. Sandy Stone is critical of the previous emphasis on ‘passing’ in the trans community, seeing passing as a rejection of the authentic identity and difference, and instead choosing to co-opt a pre-determined socially encouraged ‘universal female’ identity. She says ‘each of these adventurers passes directly from one pole of sexual experience to the other. If there is any intervening space in the continuum of sexuality, it is invisible.’16 Previous avoidance of occupying space between the gender binary is not a result of people refusing to identify in between these categories, but rather symptomatic of the reductive dualistic view of gender imposed onto the trans community. Thus, transgendered individuals who have opted to change their sex and ‘pass’ are not radical by nature, rather they operate within the realms of the imposed gender binary. As Stone puts it, they choose ‘passing’ or ‘invisibility’, over a true expression of personal dissonance, that can be expressed in a more fluid model of gender. Like Lorde, Stone advocates for a new paradigm of gender: ‘I suggest constituting transsexuals not as a class or problematic "third gender", but rather as a genre-- a set of embodied texts whose potential for productive disruption of structured sexualities and spectra of desire has yet to be explored.’ 17 Her model for reading gender is one that does not separate transgender individuals, and thus deny them access to collective gendered identities (as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie infamously has recently done), but is one that is open enough to contain their differences in experience. Similar to Trinh, Stone rejects ‘dissolving identity’, but rather seeks to open them up so that they can encompass her multiplicity and all her contradictions. In her model the onus is on the transgendered person themselves, to ‘read oneself aloud’, and to ‘write oneself into the discourses’, an act that suggests an individualistic approach to gender that encourages differentiation, mutation, and also an act that implies an ongoing process. 18 Thus, in establishing the basis of feminist theory in a structural model that is separate and does not subscribe to Western patriarchal hegemony, traditional concepts such as ‘identity’ and ‘difference’ have been examined and subsequently redefined. In redefining difference as ‘degrees’, as opposed to binary oppositions, rhizomatic thinking has been appropriated in order to replace ‘the master’s tools’ of hierarchal thinking. This has allowed the concept of identity to be undermined and developed from static, to a process of becoming. Having thrown out ‘the master’s tools’, and in establishing a new theoretical paradigm, marginalised gender identities can now be defined on their own terms, rather by relation to their white-male-cis-privileged counterparts. This ultimately complicates what it means to be a woman, and allows for a celebration of a rich depth of human experience.

Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 89. Trinh, Woman Native Other, p. 94. 16 Sandy Stone, ‘The Empire Strikes Back: A Posttransexual Manifesto’, last accessed 15 March 2017, <http://sandystone.com/empire-strikes-back.html>. 15

17 18

Sandy Stone, ‘The Empire Strikes Back: A Posttransexual Manifesto’. Sandy Stone, ‘The Empire Strikes Back: A Posttransexual Manifesto’.

Bibliography Deleuze, Giles ‘Introduction: Rhizome’, in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), 1454-1462. — ‘What Is a minor Literature?’ in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), 1451-1454. Lorde, Audre, ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’, in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, (New York, NY: Random House Print, 2007), 110-114. Mink, Gwendolyn, and Navarro, Marysa, The Reader’s Companion to U.S. Women’s History (Oakland, NJ: Indian Hills Library, 1998). Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky, ‘Introduction’ to ‘Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire’, in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), 2466-2470. — ‘Introduction: Axiomatic’, , in Vincent B. Leitch, ed., The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism Second Edition (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2010), 2470-2477. Stone, Sandy, ‘The Empire Strikes Back: A Posttransexual Manifesto’, last accessed 15 March 2017, <http://sandystone.com/empire-strikes-back.html>. Trinh, T. Minh Ha, Woman Native Other, (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1980).

Olivia McCarthy is a third-year history student at Hatfield College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as part of the ‘Conversations with History: Discipline and Modernity’ module under the guidance of Dr Nicole Reinhardt.

Since the publication of Peter Gay’s The Enlightenment: An Interpretation in 1970, the field of ‘Enlightenment studies’ has been an expanding area of interest and debate. 19 Due to its naturally amorphous nature, the term ‘Enlightenment’ has been used in a wide variety of ways within this scholarship, as chronological marker, philosophical movement or descriptor of the mentality of an age. However, its conceptual utility to women’s history and particularly to women’s relationship to the scientific communities of the eighteenth century has been questioned. 20 The androcentric nature of contemporary scientific discourse and subsequent historiography inherently decentres women from the narratives of scientific and medical history, a problem which persists in the present. 21 ‘The Girl Who Cried Pain’, a seminal metastudy carried out in 2001, found that whilst women demonstrably experienced and reported more pain than men, they were less likely to be taken seriously in their assessments of their own pain, and overall were less well treated than men by medical professionals of any gender.22 While this study was limited to the experience of pain, rather than to the entire practice of healthcare, it is important in that it demonstrates how a differing relationship to healthcare along gender lines can impact directly upon the efficacy and speed of the treatment that people receive. Studying women’s relationship to medicine in the eighteenth century, during a period which is widely considered foundational to modern medicine, can therefore help to explain such disparities in their long-term cultural and scientific context. It is also vital to mention that in this essay I have used the term ‘female anatomy’ to refer to the system of uterus, ovaries, and vagina which eighteenth century sources conflated with female gender. Although this terminology is highly problematic and does not take into account more nuanced modern thought on gender, it fits best with eighteenth century discourses, and I have therefore chosen to retain it. In the wider scholarship on eighteenth century medicine and science, women have been largely neglected.23 There has also been a long term disconnection between technically aware histories of medicine and nuanced analyses of gender in this period. Many histories of medicine in this period, particularly in the early to mid-twentieth century, were written by doctors, and while these are often helpfully aware of the realities of medical practice they tend towards approaches which focus on the role of individuals in “progress” rather than on the complexities of the cultural narratives surrounding

Roy Porter, The Enlightenment (Basingstoke 2001), p. viii Isobel Grundy, ‘Sarah Stone: Enlightenment Midwife’, in Roy Porter (ed.), Medicine in the Enlightenment (Amsterdam 1995), p. 142 21 Sue Burkhart, ‘Sexism in Medical Writing’, British Medical Journal (Clinical Research Edition) , 295, 6613 (1987), p. 1585 22 Diane E. Hoffman and Anita J. Tarzian, ‘The Girl Who Cried Pain: A Bias Against Women In The Treatment Of Pain’, Journal of Law, Medicine and Ethics, 29 (2001), pp. 22-23 23 Londa Schiebinger, ‘The Philosopher’s Beard: Women and Gender in Science’, in Roy Porter (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, Volume 4 (Cambridge 2003), p. 210 20

women and medicine. For example, Ralph Major’s work on William and John Hunter focuses on their personal achievements, rather than their roles within larger contemporary debates over obstetrics and surgery.24 This style has a strong tendency to exclude women from historical narratives as, while women were by no means absent from medical practice as a whole, they were excluded from the professional associations until the late nineteenth century. Historians and sociologists of medicine can also be criticized for focusing on the perspectives of doctors at the expense of investigating the complexities of patients’ experiences, as patient perspectives are more difficult but not impossible to find in the available source material. 25 Other studies, such as Foucault’s Birth of the Clinic, make thoughtful analyses of the theoretical meanings of medicine without situating it in the context of empirical evidence. 26 The overall effect of these historiographical trends is to create a narrative of women’s relationship to medicine which excludes their individual perspectives and experiences, and which subscribes to simplistic “Whiggish” narratives of progress or anatomical essentialist constructions of gender. 27 In terms of this enquiry and of these trends, there are three key historiographical perspectives which have informed this analysis. Michel Foucault’s work on the social disciplining role of medical treatments and conceptualizations of wellness is important in that it helps to relate the practical exercise of treatment to sociocultural hierarchies of class and gender. In particular, The Birth of the Clinic provides useful theoretical frameworks situating medicine within eighteenth century society as a whole. However, Foucault’s analysis of gender is very limited. Ludmilla Jordanova’s work on the cultural history of gender and science in Nature Displayed has significantly informed my methodology, as she consciously attempts to transcend the aforementioned historiographical trends and construct a narrative based on the lived experience in combination with the theoretical imposition of gender.28 Thirdly, Roy Porter’s work illustrates the importance of integrating the history of technical medical developments into sociohistorical analyses. He also highlights the importance of the personal in writing these histories, as the innate physicality of medical treatment was something that contemporary writers were themselves aware of. 29 In terms of these perspectives and of the wider historiography, the notion of “Enlightenment” is one which requires clarification. Foucault’s use of the concept focuses on “enlightenment” as experience, in which that which was hidden is revealed and exposed to the investigative eye. 30 On the other hand, Porter uses it to denote a particular set of critical approaches to the problems of human nature, society, and the environment at large. 31 Furthermore, Jordanova sees the Enlightenment as a chronological period widely agreed on by historians, roughly correspondent to the eighteenth century. 32 The key problem with using Enlightenment terminology is that the concept itself is entirely amorphous; whilst other putative movements have charters and manifestos, the Enlightenment lacks any such thing, whether it is interpreted as period, movement, or experience. For the purposes of this study, I shall be focusing on the conceptualization of the Enlightenment as a period of increasing understanding under the particular paradigms of “rationality” and empiricism. There are four individual hypotheses contained within this discussion of women’s experience. Firstly, I believe that the comparative underrepresentation of women within the readily available source material has led to an equivalent underrepresentation of women’s experiences in much existing scholarship. For example, in the Cambridge History of Science volume dealing with the eighteenth 24

Ralph H. Major, A History of Medicine, Volume 2 (Oxford 1954), pp. 601-605 Grundy, ‘Sarah Stone’, p. 129 26 Colin Jones and Roy Porter, ‘Introduction’, in Colin Jones and Roy Porter (eds.), Reassessing Foucault: power, medicine and the body (London 1994), p. 4 27 Ludmilla Jordanova, Nature Displayed: Gender, Science and Medicine 1760 -1820 (London 1999), p. 158 28 Ibid., p. 7 29 Porter, The Enlightenment, p. 39 30 Michel Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic (New York 1973), p. xiii 31 Porter, The Enlightenment, p. 3 32 Jordanova, Nature Displayed, p. 5 25

century, twenty-eight pages out of eight hundred and eighty deal explicitly with the experiences of women. Even considering the prohibitions on women’s scientific education and access, this is bizarre.33 In his controversial work A history of women’s bodies, Edward Shorter argues that the perspectives of non-aristocratic women have been lost, forcing a reliance upon the work of doctors and other external sources. 34 However, Amanda Vickery’s work on Georgian women outside of the aristocracy suggests that the situation is more complex than this statement implies, and while her sources do not encompass the poorest women they do cover a much broader range of social groups than Shorter’s assessment suggests. 35 In this analysis, I shall therefore use a wide range of primary sources in conjunction with the historiography to assess whether the underrepresentation of women is proportional to the source availability. Secondly, and partly as a consequence of this historiographical underrepresentation, I suggest that women’s experience of medicine during this period was significantly more varied and complex than simply their interactions with “professional” doctors. As mentioned above, the insular nature of the Royal College associations at this point excluded many people from membership. There were therefore many people engaging in medical activities who did not necessarily qualify as doctors. By combining existing literature on the role of quackery with contemporary sources and a gender-focused analysis the role of women within the informal medical sector can be assessed. I am particularly interested in how this sector impacts upon women’s access to medical knowledge. Despite women’s exclusion from formal medical training, in the Tudor and Stuart period an understanding of ‘physick’ was apparently essential to the ideal gentlewoman (if not to her poorer counterpart). 36 Within this hypothesis, I shall investigate how far this ideal persisted into the eighteenth century, and how far it was reflected in the realities of women’s lives. Similarly, it is important to investigate the possibility that the behaviour of individual women did not always exactly align with a particular set of cultural ideals in terms of women’s relationship to and participation in medicine. In particular, Porter highlights the fact that, while medical discourses were important in the experience of health, people did not necessarily agree with or believe what doctors said.37 In the context of women’s experience of health, this suggests that while the eighteenth century may have been characterized by an increase in the overall authority of health professionals as a class, to assume unquestioning obedience in women is to subscribe to unfortunate tropes of female behaviour that were not necessarily enacted in real life. Finally, I hypothesise that the concept of “Enlightenment” is largely androcentric, and can have simplistic implications for narratives of medical history, but this does not necessarily make it useless as an interpretive tool for women’s history. For example, Isobel Grundy’s description of Sarah Stone as an ‘Enlightenment Midwife’ is helpful in distinguishing the character of her practice from other intellectual climates, and in highlighting the continuities between her and the later obstetrical tradition.38 This suggests that, rather than dismissing Enlightenment terminology from women’s history, it can be seen as a useful analytical and explanatory framework for the process of women’s exclusion from medical spheres. As mentioned above, many of the flaws in the historiography of women and medicine can be avoided through an approach which deliberately uses primary sources to centre the perspectives and experiences of women themselves. While this project will necessarily make use of academic and “professional” male perspectives on the female body, as these were still influential, these can be situated in the context of their effect on women’s lived experience. The ‘gradual rejection of female 33

Roy Porter (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, Volume 4 (Cambridge 2003), pp. ix-xvi Edward Shorter, A history of women’s bodies (New York 1982), p. xiii 35 Amanda Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter (New Haven 1998), p. 1 36 A.L. Wyman, ‘The Surgeoness: The female practitioner of surgery 1400-1800’, Medical History, 28 (1984), p. 31 37 Roy Porter, Disease, medicine and society in England, 1550-1860 (Cambridge 1993), p. 18 38 Grundy, ‘Sarah Stone’, pp. 141-142 34

experience’ is a process which has been located in this period, and to study it without attempting to transcend this rejection is to perpetuate the flaws within existing study of the Enlightenment. 39 However, this methodology does place limits on this study. While Sarah Stone’s book on midwifery deals with a range of social classes, the majority of published diaries and correspondence from this period are from the upper middle classes and aristocracy. The reasons for this are rather complex, encompassing differing literacy rates, leisure time, and the tendency for publishers to prioritise aristocratic perspectives. This class dynamic is the main limiting factor on the usefulness of this study. In addition, when talking about women’s experience of health, both primary and secondary sources have a tendency to focus on “women’s problems” such as childbirth or hysteria, rather than their experience of illnesses that are framed in a gender-neutral way. This is not only limiting, but can lead to an anatomical essentialist approach such as that of Shorter, who frames his argument to suggest that women’s destinies are determined by their anatomy rather than any independent thought. 40 The aspect of women’s relationship with medicine in this period that has received the most attention is that of academic constructions of the female body. In this context, a truly enlightened view would be one that not only resulted in a biologically accurate physiology, but was useful and beneficial to the health and welfare of women as a group. The most prominent academic shift during this period was that which made the study of anatomy both necessary and acceptable to a medical career, as opposed to what Foucault terms the ‘anatomical black masses’ of the preceding period. 41 This is reflected in the writing of Sarah Stone, who promoted her combination of the classical apprenticeship to her mother with observation of dissections and readings on anatomy. 42 However, whilst people such as Sarah Stone and William Hunter made tangible contributions to the understanding of the female body and to women’s health, they were also capitalistic entrepreneurs vying for custom. 43 Similarly, in rural districts, in the eighteenth century the social extraction of doctors shifted to “good” local families.44 These two aspects illustrate how medical practitioners during this period were beholden to local socioeconomic dynamics, as well as to the pursuit of reason and knowledge. Academic medicine was accordingly skewed towards the ailments of the upper classes, as the practices of high-status physicians were often within these groups, thereby limiting their understanding of wider health concerns. 45 Theoretical development within “professional” medicine was therefore self-limiting to the dominant health problems of rich women, rather than assessing the disparate healthcare needs of women as a whole group. In addition, the nature of academic practice inherently excluded women from conversations about their own bodies. While Stone promoted her own experience of academic medicine through dissections, she also deliberately wrote in a practical, anecdotal style, rather than attempting to create an academic tone.46 The language of academia also excluded women in that the eighteenth century saw the final linguistic transition from ‘man’, meaning a person of any gender, to ‘man’ as a specifically male person, meaning that continued use of ‘man’ in medical literature created uncertainty as to women’s inclusion or exclusion from each specific discussion. 47 However, academic practice impacted in an uneven fashion on the lives of different women. A privileged few, such as the diarist Mary Countess Cowper, had the inclination and ability to engage with academic literature. 48 Conversely, Europe as a continent had a lengthy precedent of female practitioners who, while Mark Jackson, ‘Developing Medical Expertise: Medical Practitioners and the Suspected Murders of NewBorn Children’, in Roy Porter (ed.), Medicine in the Enlightenment (Amsterdam 1995), pp. 147-148 40 Shorter, A history of women’s bodies, p. xii 41 Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic, p. 125 42 Sarah Stone, A complete practice of midwifery (London 1737), p. xv 43 Roy Porter, ‘William Hunter: a surgeon and a gentleman’, in W.F. Bynum and Roy Porter (eds.), William Hunter and the eighteenth century medical world (Cambridge 2002), p. 21 44 Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter, p. 17 45 Séverine Pilloud and Micheline Louis -Courvoisier, ‘The Intimate Experience of the Body in the eighteenth Century: Between Interiority and Exteriority’, Medical History, 47 (2003), p. 455 46 Stone, A complete practice of midwifery, p. xix 47 Burkhart, ‘Sexism in Medical Writing’, p. 1585 48 Mary Cowper, Diary of Mary Countess Cowper (London 1864), p. 7 39

ignorant of Latin academic treatises, made successful careers out of their practical competence. 49 In this respect, women were excluded from the majority of medical literature by educational disparities, but this did not necessarily bar them from engaging with medical practice in the vernacular. The key point here is that the impact of academia is not limited to the content that it produces, but extends to the accessibility of that content, and the circumstances that motivate people to engage with it. Whilst academic medicine in this period did fit well with other ‘Enlightenment’ disciplines, and there were some improvements in practical knowledge, women were cut off from participation, and outside of the upper classes were unlikely to come into contact with highly academic physicians. As argued by Jordanova, the female body is culturally as well as scientifically constructed. In this period, women were already an established metaphor for a multiplicity of abstract concepts, prompting the question of how far the lived physicality of the body itself had anything to do with the conceptualisation of female existence. 50 Porter characterises this period as containing the essential shift from the ‘public’ to the ‘private’ body, suggesting that such cultural narratives about the metaphysics of female anatomy were compounded by a moral reluctance to explore the true nature of the female body.51 He argues that an antique ‘suspicion’ of the female was retained in tandem with this new issue.52 This fits well with McLaren’s suggestion that new medical and biological justifications were used to maintain old prejudices. 53 In terms of contemporary sources, Guenter B. Risse cites the statistical estimates of hysteria rates created by James Gregory in 1788, which are deliberately skewed in response to a vague ‘constitutional weakness’ attributed to women.54 Cultural narratives had a demonstrable impact on the men that controlled medicine. Deciding whether women subscribed to these narratives is an entirely different consideration. It is difficult to know women’s feelings on the subject, as poorer women’s perspectives have not been recorded at all, and those perspectives that do contain dissatisfaction with the experience of womanhood are not generally framed in language that suggests dissidence to the modern observer. 55 However, the strength of what Pilloud and Louis-Courvoisier call the ‘decency and moral law’ at the heart of ideas about gender can be discerned. 56 When Frances Burney experienced a dramatic coach accident in 1773, Frances’ mother expressed concern at the propriety of entering a nearby house when offered assistance, despite the fact that her daughters were in shock and she had quite seriously injured her arm.57 This example is not intended as a critique on the manners of the day, but rather as an illustration of how far cultural conventions of womanhood can transcend physical need. It also suggests how ideas about female moral fragility could actually lead to unexpected physical endurance. In terms of culturally constructed feminine fragility, some women openly subscribed to it, as in the case of Elizabeth Burges who attributed her long-term ill health to an inherently ‘weak frame’ that could never be strengthened. 58 However, her aunt, Mary Noel, wrote to one of her nieces that ‘nothing can hurt one of the fair sex but a cannon ball’.59 This hardly suggests a self-identification with the cultural trope of women as weak in the fibre. Similarly, a teenage Frances Burney vehemently rejected the Homeric depiction of women as weak and superficial. 60 These examples of individual 49

Wyman, The Surgeoness, p. 24 Jordanova, Nature Displayed, p. 22. 51 Roy Porter, Bodies Politic (Ithaca 2001), p. 31 52 Ibid., p. 82 53 Angus McLaren, ‘The pleasures of procreation: traditional and biomedical theories of conception’, in W.F. Bynum, and Roy Porter (eds.), William Hunter and the eighteenth century medical world (Cambridge 2002), pp. 339-340 54 Guenter B. Risse, ‘Hysteria at the Edinburgh Infirmary: the construction and treatment of a disease, 17701800’, Medical History, 32 (1988), p. 4 55 Porter, The Enlightenment, p. 45 56 Pilloud and Louis-Courvoisier, p. 455 57 Frances Burney, The early diary of Frances Burney, volume 1 (London 1907), pp. 197-199 58 Malcolm Elwin (ed.), The Noels and the Milbankes (London 1967), p. 90 59 Ibid., p. 118 60 Burney, The early diary, p. 30 50

spirit can be contrasted against the overarching constructions of women as ‘passionate and irrational’ imposed by the most “enlightened” men, who were apparently unable to transcend their cultural milieu.61 It can therefore be argued that cultural conceptions of women became less enlightened, moving away from otherwise contemporary concepts of liberty and humanity and towards a trammelled fragility that became more rigid in the nineteenth century. In assessing these cultural conceptualisations of female health and the female body, it is clear that ideas of morality played a strong role in determining their character. In The Birth of the Clinic, Foucault argues that the body is the true root of all individuality, and that eighteenth century developments in conceptualisations of personal autonomy could not have existed without corresponding physical individualisation. 62 However, this does not quite fit with Jordanova’s theory about women as metaphors, thereby posing the question of whether it is actually possible for women to both serve as metaphors and retain their individual agency. Morality was the site in which this conflict was played out. Firstly, anatomy itself was explicitly linked to a woman’s sexual and personal morality. In the Ladies Dispensatory, published around the middle of the eighteenth century, the size and shape of the inner labia were linked to a woman’s sexual activity, and to whether or not she had experienced childbirth. 63 Similarly, a late eighteenth century work on physiognomy suggested that a person’s character could be inferred from the anatomy of their hands. The assessment of the female example accuses the imaginary ‘her’ of coquetry and coldness, whereas the opposing male example is seen to suggest ‘respect’, ‘calmness’ and being ‘the first in governing’. 64 These suggest that medicine and anatomy played a significant role in imposing particular negative characteristics on women without taking their individuality into account. This problem was significantly worse for non-white women in this period, particularly black African women, who did not qualify for the “positive” qualities of white womanhood but retained the guarantee of being morally judged through their expected physical characteristics.65 However, while such archaic opinions persisted into the era of scientific sexism and racism, they were somewhat countered by growing awareness in other areas. The Ladies Dispensatory stated that a lack of bleeding during intercourse did not automatically mean that the woman in question was not a virgin. 66 This specific example is significant in that the mythology of the hymen had been used to make snap judgements on the characters of newly married women, when in fact they had little to no control over this aspect of their anatomy. There was also a debate in the 1730s between Dr James Blondel of Paris and Dr Daniel Turner of London over whether a ‘disordered female imagination’ could induce foetal deformity. 67 It may be significant that the English doctor retained his belief in the power of the maternal imagination where the Frenchman attempted to dispel it, as by 1785 Judith Milbanke still wrote that anxiety over a sick child had induced a stillbirth at seven months in the mother.68 In terms of further study, it would be interesting to compare the different degrees of international persistence in such ideas. In Risse’s analysis of hysteria treatment in Edinburgh, both too much and too little sexual intercourse are given as reasons for imbalances in women’s mental and physical health. 69 This illustrates the delicate balancing act women were expected to maintain between deficiency and ‘venery’, as a

Jackson, ‘Developing Medical Expertise’, p. 157 David Armstrong, ‘Bodies of Knowledge/Knowledge of Bodies’, in Colin Jones and Roy Porter (eds.), Reassessing Foucault: power, medicine and the body (London 1994), p.22 63 Anonymous, The Ladies Dispensatory (London c. 1755), p. 163 64 J.C. Lavater, Essays on Physiognomy, trans. H. Hunter, English edition (London c. 1795), Wellcome Image Collection, L0040496, pp. 424-425 65 Schiebinger, ‘The Philosopher’s Beard’, pp. 200-201 66 Anon, The Ladies Dispensatory, p. 166 67 Porter, Bodies Politics, p. 54 68 Elwin, The Noels and the Milbankes, p. 261 69 Guenter B. Risse, New Medical Challenges during the Scottish Enlightenment (Amsterdam 2005), p. 319 61 62

biomedical distinction was made between sex in wedlock and sex out of it. 70 Such expectations were not only applied much less stringently to men, but could become actively dangerous in combination with social mores surrounding sex. One tragic example of the consequences was Mary Hunt, a domestic servant who committed suicide with poison in 1792. Upon her autopsy by John Hunter, she was found to be in the early stages of pregnancy, leading him to conclude that upon the realisation of her condition she committed suicide out of fear of bearing a child out of wedlock. Two sections of her uterus were subsequently preserved in Hunter’s collection of anatomical specimens, and her individual story is one of the few that remain attached to the relevant body parts. 71 This shows how the lethal combination of moral judgement and medicalization of sexually active unmarried women persisted throughout this century and beyond. 72 These disparate examples illustrate how the moral side of medical thought in combination with accepted biomedical theories facilitated the attribution of women’s health problems to their own moral weakness, and thereby reduced women’s autonomy, despite the slow development of some more neutral ideas. In a similar fashion to the cultural construction of womanhood, this hardly fits the expressed ideals of the Enlightenment as a cultural movement, but rather suggests that women were caught in a conflict between increasing physiological understanding and moral panic. 73 The most dominant aspect of women’s health discourses in this period was the experience of conception, pregnancy and motherhood. Shorter describes this as an inherently coercive state imposed by unfeeling husbands.74 This is to some extent corroborated by the sheer risk involved, especially during first pregnancies and twin births, which retained high death rates throughout the eighteenth century.75 However, Shorter’s analysis arguably neglects the nuances of women’s own desire for children, whether or not this was imposed by societal convention. An excellent example of this is Judith Milbanke, who married Ralph Milbanke in 1777 but did not carry a pregnancy to term until 1792, expressing her ‘earnest wish’ for a child to her female relatives from the beginning of her marriage.76 While it is difficult to grant interpersonal correspondence the status of absolute sincerity, it is still significant that Judith chose to express her desire, and desperately missed her husband when he was absent.77 This does not fit Shorter’s narrative of helpless women and brutal husbands. However, the suffering inherent in reproduction should not be played down in the rejection of that particular narrative. Firstly, even though death rates were not as high as those for epidemic disease and other risks, the fear that these inspired was not necessarily proportional to their statistical incidence.78 Secondly, belonging to a more affluent social class did not protect women from painful labours, as demonstrated in Mary Cowper’s dramatic account of Princess Caroline’s five day labour, which included fits, and ended in a stillborn boy. 79 Thirdly, doctors were reluctant to treat women who were even possibly pregnant, for fear of harming the baby. 80 This meant that existing health complaints could become drastically worse during pregnancy, and miscarriages could further exacerbate such declines. 81 The experience of childbirth could therefore be simultaneously desperately wanted and utterly terrifying, in a way that does not seem significantly different from preceding periods.

Ibid., p. 293 John Hunter, mounted wet tissue sample of left ovary, fallopian tube and half of the uterus, 1792, Hunterian Museum SurgiCat, London, RCSHC/3591, http://surgicat.rcseng.ac.uk/Details/collect/3190, [accessed 20/04/2016] 72 Risse, ‘Hysteria at the Edinburgh Infirmary’, p. 4 73 Porter, The Enlightenment, p. 19 74 Shorter, A history of women’s bodies, p. 3 75 B.M. Willmott Dobbie, ‘An attempt to estimate the true rate of maternal mortality, sixteenth to eighteenth centuries’, Medical History, 26 (1982), p. 85 76 Elwin, The Noels and the Milbankes, p. 123 77 Ibid., p. 165 78 Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter, pp. 97-98 79 Cowper, Diary of Mary Countess Cowper, pp. 126-127 80 Elwin, The Noels and the Milbankes , p. 78 81 Ibid., p. 73 71

The introduction of the forceps is often highlighted as a truly enlightened move, which dramatically improved women’s experience of childbirth. However, there are a few key problems with this narrative. Firstly, the forceps were in fact a seventeenth century invention, kept secret by the Chamberlen medical dynasty that invented them for more than a century. 82 This makes an Enlightenment character debatable in chronological terms. They were a traumatic intervention, and Stone described their use in cases where her techniques of manual manipulation would have caused less pain to the women concerned. 83 While she was definitely a biased source on this subject, her concern for the women she attended is evident in her writing, suggesting that unnecessary use of forceps was probably extant at least to some extent. Similarly, William Smellie’s obstetrical forceps were covered in leather in order to muffle the metallic noises of their operation and avoid alarming the patient, but this concern for mental welfare could turn into a drastic physical risk, as despite Smellie’s instructions the leather was often not changed between uses, leading to venereal infection and sepsis. 84 The experience of childbirth with the “enlightened” use of forceps was therefore not automatically beneficial to women’s health, and could lead to trauma as well as possibly better chances of survival. Risse argues that male doctors simply could not understand the experience of pregnancy and childbirth, and therefore improvements lagged behind other fields of medicine, and developments that did occur were not always assessed from the perspectives of the women they were used on, a point which is particularly salient as male obstetricians developed more interventionist tendencies. 85 The shift towards man-midwifery also appears in the historiography as a defining feature of Enlightenment medicine. As touched on above, exponents of this idea such as Adrian Wilson characterise common knowledge of the forceps as the decisive shift towards male obstetric dominance.86 This led to a strong association between man-midwives and difficult births. 87 However, the same thing can be said of Stone’s practice, suggesting a more subtle set of gender dynamics than might be initially assumed, and allowing the rejection of the idea that only male practitioners were characterised in this fashion. 88 Stone also cooperates with a physician, who she credits with the particularly swift recovery of the patient, suggesting that Wilson’s characterisation of man-midwives as addressing difficult births on their own is probably faulty, and that the realities were dependent on class, geography, maternal preference, and the nature of the problem. 89 This theory is itself corroborated by Amanda Vickery’s work on women in the North of England, who she finds were often attended by local physicians, rather than by specialist midwives of any gender. 90 Another common historiographical assumption is that male obstetricians were considered a status symbol, and that middle-class women deliberately requested them to imitate the upper classes. 91 This is also rejected by Vickery in the context of her study as an attitude that frames women as naturally covetous and focused on upward mobility, ignoring the propensity of men to such actions and the multifarious other reasons to request a male obstetrician. 92 The idea that man-midwives immediately became successful is also overly simplistic, as demonstrated by their portrayal as hermaphroditic monstrosities in popular satire right up until the end of the century. 93 Mary Cowper described Princess Caroline’s refusal to be delivered by a male physician in 1716, as her English ladies encouraged, and

Willmott Dobbie, ‘An attempt to estimate the true rate of maternal mortality’, p. 88 Stone, A complete practice of midwifery, pp. xiii-xiv 84 William Smellie, obstetrical forceps (1740-1760), image, Wellcome Image Collection, L0058093 85 Risse, New Medical Challenges, p. 270 86 Adrian Wilson, ‘William Hunter and the varieties of man-midwifery’, in in W.F. Bynum, and Roy Porter (eds.), William Hunter and the eighteenth century medical world (Cambridge 2002), p. 346 87 Ibid., p. 351 88 Grundy, ‘Sarah Stone’, p. 142 89 Stone, A complete practice of midwifery, pp. 135-136 90 Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter, p. 101 91 Porter, ‘William Hunter’, p. 17 92 Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter, p. 101 93 Samuel William Fores, Cartoon of a midwife bisected into male and female halves. 'A Man -Mid-wife', Manmidwifery dissected (London 1793), Wellcome Image Collection, L0011731 82 83

rather chose to be delivered by a German midwife. 94 This suggests that, at that point, man-midwifes or physicians with obstetrical experience were not considered to offer the highest standard of care. Interestingly, in his study of maternal mortality in rural Somerset Willmott Dobbie did not find any indication for an improvement in midwifery or maternal care while in some parishes the death rate was higher by the end of the century. 95 However, death rates in the urban British Lying-In Hospital decreased from 23.8 in every 1000 in the middle of the eighteenth century to 16.0 in every 1000 by its end. This further supports geographical variation in maternal care, and suggests that any analysis of the adoption or impact of man-midwifery will have to take into account rural-urban variation as well as class dynamics. Wilson’s analysis is primarily focused on London, explaining why his view is skewed towards the importance of the man-midwife, and thereby suggesting that Porter’s assertion that ‘progressive doctors’ advocated male obstetricians is a view focused on London, rather than on Britain as a whole. 96 In the long term, historiography has had a tendency to focus on the nursing role of women, framing the job as highly gendered and the eighteenth century as a time of minimal progress within that field. 97 This has been largely but not entirely superseded by a view that acknowledges the roles of women in the realities of medical practice beyond nursing, but this is by no means an indication that nursing was not a vital part of women’s roles as medical figures. 98 In society as a whole, while both parents usually demonstrated concern for sick children, nursing would fall to the mother or a close female relative.99 Mary Cowper stayed home from court, which was more similar to employment than entertainment, in order to nurse her daughter personally. 100 Frances Burney’s family went to the expense of employing a nurse when Mrs Burney fell ill, but Frances still sat up for several nights in a row to care for her mother, particularly while the nurse slept. 101 Although these activities can be seen as a function of the ideals of motherhood and womanhood that developed across this period, they were also opportunities for women to exercise their personal judgement and to develop a degree of expertise in the types of ailments they were expected to treat. Women were also present in the informal medical sector, in occupations that have frequently come under the study and terminology of “quackery”. In older historiography, particularly that written by medical professionals, studies of informal medicine are characterised by a disdainful attitude towards their practitioners, for example in describing them as ‘those who take shortcuts to the curative art and avoid the trial and tribulation of the long and arduous training of medicine’. 102 Although this definition is from 1957, the idea that all women engaging in medical practice were illegitimate quacks by virtue of their lack of formal medical training, which they were banned from, has been remarkably persistent. Sexist language has also been used to describe the relationships of ordinary women to quacks of any gender, with one 1911 article using the phrase ‘infatuated’ to describe Queen Anne’s relationship with her oculist.103 This language has not entirely disappeared with time, with Fara using the term ‘credulous women’ in the Cambridge History of Science to describe the supporters of animal magnetism, who she later gives examples of as coming from all genders. 104 These attitudes can be contrasted against two famous examples from the period. Sally Mapp was a highly competent and esteemed bonesetter who worked in Epsom, taking over her father’s practice when her skill surpassed his.105 On the other hand, Joanna Stephens used aristocratic connections to perpetuate a more 94

Cowper, Diary of Mary Countess Cowper, pp. 126-127 Willmott Dobbie, ‘An attempt to estimate the true rate of maternal mortality’, p. 81 96 Porter, The Enlightenment, p. 61 97 Anonymous, ‘A History of Nursing’, The British Medical Journal, 1, 3830 (1934), p. 998 98 Porter, Bodies Politic, pp. 193-195 99 Vickery, The Gentleman’s Daughter, p. 117 100 Cowper, Diary of Mary Countess Cowper, p. 23 101 Burney, The early diary of Frances Burney, p. 265 102 Dickson Wright, ’Quacks through the ages’, Journal of the Royal Society of Arts, 105, 4995 (1957), p. 177 103 Anonymous, ‘Some Notable Quacks’, The British Medical Journal, 1, 2630 (1911), p. 1264 104 Patricia Fara, ‘Marginalized Practices’, in Roy Porter, (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, Volume 4 (Cambridge 2003), pp. 485-507 105 Porter, Bodies Politic, p. 195 95

elaborate fraud than any of her male counterparts, extracting £5000 from the British Parliament for a putative kidney stone remedy and inspiring grudging admiration for her audacity even in the prejudiced historiography of 1911. 106 These examples serve to illustrate how the range of female practice could match that of men in every quarter but that of the professional associations, and how nursing allowed women access to a type of medical practice that men almost never experienced. When drawn together, these examples give a significantly more complex picture of women’s relationship to medicine in the eighteenth century than the relatively limited gender-based historiography would imply. Academic medicine combined with socio-cultural ideas to create an unattainable ideal of the female body which focused on reproductive roles and constitutional weakness. However, the frequent depictions and discussions of reproduction in both primary and secondary sources also illustrate the complex variations that class, geography and personal difference could produce in women’s experience of medicine. Conversely, women’s role in medical practice was forced further into the informal sphere, a change which is reflected in the relative absence of female practitioners in the available source material. One characterization of Enlightenment which has significant limits on its utility to women’s history is that of an intellectual movement. While the ‘Enlightened’ ideas ascribed by Gay to his philosophes were highly pervasive, his use of the phrase ‘a revolution in men’s minds’ is telling. 107 Women’s experience of medicine frequently did not fit these ideals at all, isolating them further from an academic community which was only truly accessible to the most privileged women. This laid the groundwork for nineteenth century Romanticism and the continued treatment of women as ‘irrational’ objects rather than ‘rational’ beings. The subsequent lack of female perspectives within traditional source material on the Enlightenment as a movement has therefore led to the perpetuation of prejudicial attitudes within later historiography, a persistence which corroborates the conclusions of Hoffman and Tarzian’s work on the endurance of underlying sexism in medicine. Similarly, women’s role in informal medical practice did not fit into the delineation and professionalization of science and medicine, leading to their erasure in these fields until comparatively recently, when scholarship has begun to take a more nuanced view. 108 Foucault’s characterization of enlightenment as an increase in knowledge based on investigation also has limits on its relevance to this field. Particularly in the field of anatomy, increased societal acceptance combined with printing technologies to produce works such as William Hunter’s The Anatomy of the Human Gravid Uterus. However, the actual impacts of such quantitative increases in knowledge on women’s experience of healthcare were limited by the aforementioned lack of access to academic medicine, and by the persistence of health myths and cultural tropes which argued against an exclusively biomedical understanding of female anatomy. By the end of this period, it seems that medicine had a clear understanding of what women were not, in that they were not like men, but a very limited understanding of what they actually were and how that anatomy really worked. The idea of the intensely private body, which appeared in this period and reached its zenith in the nineteenth century, exacerbated and perpetuated this issue. Enlightenment in this sense did increase and develop, but was not always helpful or even correct, and frequently had limits placed on its development by sociocultural norms. Considering the original hypotheses of this project, the underrepresentation of women in scholarship on science and medicine has been repeatedly demonstrated. However, this is to some extent the product of sources which either do not exist or are buried in local archives. While Vickery’s work does illustrate the power of such archival work, this is a methodology rooted in the comparatively recent “social turn”, and therefore will require a long term historiographical effort to properly utilise. Anon., ‘Some Notable Quacks’, p. 1270 Peter Gay, The Enlightenment: an interpretation, volume 2 (London 1970), pp. 3-4 108 Patricia Fara, ‘Marginalized Practices’, in Roy Porter, (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, Volume 4 (Cambridge 2003), p. 486 106 107

Class plays a particularly strong role in this area, as contemporary attitudes prevented the recording of a large corpus of perspectives from the poor and the marginalized. In comparison, variation and complexity within women’s experience of medicine is relatively easily discerned within the available material. Ranging from self-medication, to informal practice both within and outside the home, to the complexities of changes in reproductive medicine across this period, the rich variety of ways that women accessed and related to healthcare is not immediately visible in much existing historiography, and suggests that while academic “Enlightenment” generally excluded women, they retained a stake in practical experience for significantly longer. These observations are corroborated by the observable differences between women’s behaviour and the ideal types observed by cultural historians. It is difficult to make a broad conclusion on this point, beyond the fact that women are people, and as much a product of their upbringings, social milieux, and individual characters as their male contemporaries. Individual women subscribed to these ideal types, while other close contemporaries rejected them, and to attempt to impose uniformity is to risk perpetuating the deindividualisation of women that plagued this period. Concerning the utility of the concept of Enlightenment, it is important to remember that this terminology is the product of an androcentric discourse that in the long term has focused on the achievements of “great men” and on the experiences of the urban aristocracy, rather than on a history of the social dynamics of science and medicine. Much of the concept’s meaning is determined by the definition imposed upon it, but in general it can be considered a useful tool for investigation of how women came to occupy a subordinate position within white Western society, especially in relation to the sciences. Overall, this analysis emphasises the importance of seeking out women’s perspectives on their own experiences, and of the role of wider social and cultural moments in shaping individual action. More primary source work is needed in order to balance out the existing historiography, and to provide a wider range of perspectives to work from. It would be also be interesting to apply these methodologies to the study of mental illness and women in this period, as much has been written on the subject, but little from the viewpoint of the patient. Although contemporary discourses decentred women from scientific and medical narratives, it is possible for historians to reject this interpretation and create a more nuanced view of the eighteenth century and women’s place within it.

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Hunter, John, mounted wet tissue sample of left ovary, fallopian tube and half of the uterus, 1792, Hunterian Museum SurgiCat, London, RCSHC/3591, http://surgicat.rcseng.ac.uk/Details/collect/3190, [accessed 20/04/2016] Lavater, J.C., Essays on Physiognomy, trans. H. Hunter, English edition (London c. 1795), Wellcome Image Collection, L0040496, pp. 424-425, [accessed 20/04/2016] Smellie, William, obstetrical forceps (1740-1760), image, Wellcome Image Collection, L0058093, [accessed 20/04/2016] Stone, Sarah, A complete practice of midwifery (London 1737) [accessed through ECCO] Secondary Anonymous, ‘Some Notable Quacks’, The British Medical Journal, 1, 2630 (1911), pp. 1264-1274 Anonymous, ‘A History of Nursing’, The British Medical Journal, 1, 3830 (1934), pp. 998-999 Armstrong, David, ‘Bodies of Knowledge/Knowledge of Bodies’, in Jones, Colin, and Roy Porter (eds.), Reassessing Foucault: power, medicine and the body (London 1994), pp. 17-27 Burkhart, Sue, ‘Sexism in Medical Writing’, British Medical Journal (Clinical Research Edition), 295, 6613 (1987), p. 1585 Fara, Patricia, ‘Marginalized Practices’, in Porter, Roy, (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, Volume 4 (Cambridge 2003), pp. 485-507 Foucault, Michel, The Birth of the Clinic (New York 1973) Gay, Peter, The Enlightenment: an interpretation, volume 2 (London 1970) Grundy, Isobel, ‘Sarah Stone: Enlightenment Midwife’, in Porter, Roy, (ed.), Medicine in the Enlightenment (Amsterdam 1995), pp. 128-144 Hoffman, Diane E., and Anita J. Tarzian, ‘The Girl Who Cried Pain: A Bias Against Women In The Treatment Of Pain’, Journal of Law, Medicine and Ethics, 29 (2001), pp. 13-27 Jones, Colin, and Roy Porter, ‘Introduction’, in Jones, Colin, and Roy Porter (eds.), Reassessing Foucault: power, medicine and the body (London 1994), pp. 1-16 Jackson, Mark, ‘Developing Medical Expertise: Medical Practitioners and the Suspected Murders of New-Born Children’, in Porter, Roy, (ed.), Medicine in the Enlightenment (Amsterdam 1995), pp. 145-165 Jordanova, Ludmilla, Nature Displayed: Gender, Science and Medicine 1760-1820 (London 1999) Major, Ralph H., A History of Medicine, Volume 2 (Oxford 1954) McLaren, Angus, ‘The pleasures of procreation: traditional and biomedical theories of conception’, in Bynum, W.F., and Roy Porter (eds.), William Hunter and the eighteenth century medical world (Cambridge 2002), pp. 323-342

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Phoebe Worthington is a third-year Theology student at St. Chad’s College, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Religion in Film’ module under the guidance of Dr Stuart Foyle.

In many ways the film director and the theologian fight a parallel cause in different arenas. Although the act of scriptural interpretation, pitted against the creation of compelling visual drama may appear to be entirely separate and disconnected, these two disciplines are ultimately engaged in the same endeavour: They seek to shape representations of our world; to tell us a story. It is through the narrative they forge that these two practises have the power to consolidate our world-views; but more critically still, they possess the ability to challenge them. The story that the theologian is destined to tell revolves around an image: that of the crucified Christ, a motif which casts its shadow over Western culture;1 a seemingly timeless symbol of 1 sacrifice and salvation. Some of the most vivid depictions of this event can be found in the cinematic art form, and perhaps more significantly, films often implicitly rely on the scaffolding of this narrative 2 in order to tell a profound tale of selflessness, suffering and sacrifice. The deeply engrained resonance of ‘The Passion of the Christ’ means that the director and the theologian will continue to tell this ‘story of all stories’ in its many guises. Yet throughout the two thousand years of history that have elapsed since this story first emerged, there is an abiding voice that remains largely silent; that is the voice of women. Indeed, countless feminist critics have exposed how the ‘story’ that both the film director and the theologian have to offer is fundamentally sexist. Both of these realms are punctuated by the inadequate expression - or the absence - of the female, and have engendered and reinforced patriarchy.3 Consequently, in the worldwide trajectory towards an understanding of the equal dignity 3 of all humans, there needs to be a rethinking of the narrative that both theology and film have to offer. Perhaps the greatest upheaval of abiding sexism would come from directly challenging this stagnant defining image; by taking the radical step of portraying Christ as a female. Certainly, this is a bold move, yet it has the potential to liberate not just the feminist cause, but offer a richer and more diverse perspective, and take us to what would be an unprecedented and vibrant worldview by unhinging a persistently one-dimensional outlook. If these disciplines were to take advantage of their potential to conceive of and codify belief, then I argue that they would not just emancipate the silent voice of women, but critically would engender a dynamic relationship between film and theology, as these totemic realms fight this most crucial of ideological battles. The current status of theological feminism is somewhat incoherent in its trajectory, but it harmonises in identifying the patriarchy of western Christianity; a sphere which has been both biblically and theologically dominated by men, thus acutely denying the female voice.4 One of the most critical points that arises from this movement notes that the maleness of Christ may have served to legitimise 1

Baugh, L., Imaging the Divine: Jesus and Christ-Figures in Film (Franklin, Wisconsin: Sheed & Ward, 1997) pp.109-110. 2 Ibid., p.109-110. 3 Humm, Maggie, Feminism and Film (Indiana University Press, 1997) p.vii. 4 Beattie, Tina, God’s Mother Eve’s Advocate, (Continuum, 1999) p.6.

the subordination of women; whereby if maleness is essential to the incarnation and the redemption of humanity, then female sexuality is not assumed, and so excluded by salvation.5 Whilst this latter point is arguably somewhat reactionary, there remains a degree of coherence in the crux of this thinking, by which it exposes how the masculinity of Christ is able to divorce women from Imago Dei,6 and so act as an implicit yet tangible fulcrum point of patriarchal sentiments. In lieu of this, theology must be radically reshaped in order to be an adequate reflection of the human condition. This is where some feminist critics have argued that this can be achieved through the reinterpretation of the Bible to uncover the voice of women whose voices have lain hidden and silenced for centuries.7 An acknowledgment of the existence of women, their voice and their bodily experience 8 is asserted as the ultimate goal in reshaping this one-dimensional theology;9 yet we could not be further from such a vision. Indeed feminist theology is considered the least influential movement within theology,10 largely existing as a merely passive intellectual bulwark; much akin to the worn out tools of traditionalism that they themselves condemn. Such a movement must not be afraid to stray from the established parameters; when indeed it is these norms which have both engendered and perpetuated the oppression of women. By employing the toolkit of the director they can steer this largely unrealised feminist zeitgeist, challenging the totem which has given purchase to misogyny: portraying Christ as a woman. This would discombobulate the cinematic stereotyping of women; a largely binary process which is itself argued to be determined by the theological characterisation of women, and so rendering them the status of either an ‘Eve’ or a ‘Mary’.11 This cultural - and therefore cinematic - blueprint consigns the woman’s role to either a saintly and subservient Madonna or a fallen temptress; failing to represent the woman’s experience and depicting instead a pitiful stereotype of her condition. 12 Just as theology is a discipline where men write about women, film is a manifestation of the enduring spectatorship of men over women; making this a sphere equally as guilty of patriarchy. This is a point made by feminist critic Laura Mulvey who asserts that cinema fosters an entirely masculine construct of ‘looking’, where women are merely the subject of a male gaze;13 much akin to the way pornography and magazines selectively portray women, with exclusive focus on making them physically appealing. Consequently, ‘He’ who looks possesses command over the image of the woman, making her an object of manipulation - a mere machine - as opposed to a living person. This predicament is a desecration of the holy, by which the human person is theologically understood as the unit of body and soul,14 yet the filmic pattern of viewing is able to take the body and throw away the soul; thus making the male gaze an acute denial of the sacred. 15 The female Christ would function as a stark antithesis to this physical objectification, through this sacred embodiment in the female form those observing would find themselves the objectified. A viable comparison might be the way an icon or the firm gaze of religious figure statues16 possess a gaze which is able to make you feel subject to an uncanny authority. By placing a woman in this role she inverts the misogynistic gaze that she has been subject to and furthermore, through her sacred status is able to legitimise female power and autonomy, acting as a symbolic counterstroke to the binary oversimplification of women which has been so deeply ingrained in the male dominated world of film.

Isherwood, Lisa, Introducing Feminist Christologies (Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) p.15. Johnson, Elizabeth, She Who Is: The Mystery Of God In Feminist Theological Discourse, p.4. 7 Sawyer, Collier, Is There A Future For Feminist Theology? (Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) p.12. 8 Beattie, God’s Mother, Eve’s Advocate, p.4. 9 Ortiz and Decay, Theology in film: challenging the sacred secular divide (Blackwell Publishing, 2008 ) p.89. 10 Sawyer, Is There A Future For Feminist Theology? p.18. 11 Hamington, Maurice, Hail Mary? (Routledge, 1995) p.135. 12 Humm, Maggie, Feminism in Film, p.13. 13 Ibid., p.14. 14 Boss, Sarah Jane, Empress and Handmaid: On Nature and Gender in the Cult of the Virgin Mary (Cassell 2000) p.3. 15 Ibid., p.2. 16 Ibid., p.3. 5 6

Yet Tina Beattie denies that the Crucified body of the female Christ would function to empower women, arguing that such an image does not subvert the social order but instead affirms it by perpetuating the violence done to women.17 However, this fails to comprehend that this is an achievement in itself, whereby ‘suffering’ is the very thing which requires attention; sexism must be acknowledged in order to be overcome. A blindness to the oppression of women is something culturally conditioned, but the crucified Christ is a figure which people understand as bearing the pain and sin of the whole human race, therefore Christ as a female would force the recognition of female oppression, through an image which readily computes with the notion of a deep and vivid suffering. The portrayal of pain also has the potential to develop a more coherent bodily understanding of women. This becomes especially significant when we consider that physical understandings - and the treatment - of the female body is a moribund symptom of the patriarchy of both theology and film; the absence thereof within the former and the contrived focal point in the latter. 18 Clearly women’s experiential knowledge is what can helps us best envisage a non-sexist society, and in particular it may challenge the theological emphasis on the transcendence, which silences the bodily experience of the incarnation. This is arguably something Mel Gibson’s ‘Passion of the Christ’, sought to remedy, as “one of the most unrelentingly graphic, and blood drenched films ever made”. 19 Critics argued that this violence repressed the viewer to the extent that the sacred was entirely lost,20 though perhaps we can argue that Gibson’s inclination to uncover a more realistic portrayal of the crucifixion may have been insightful. It touches on the notion of cinematic realism - a highly underused art form -which though ambiguous, can be deemed to possess an inherently feminist trajectory through its seeking out of the dirt, ugliness and pain that most films obscure, and that which the world has conditioned the female body to deny and hide. This in mind, a female Christ portrayed in such a manner may certify the bodily experience of women which remains to be something so deeply ill-conceived, and may further emphasise the raw mortality of Christ through the renewal of this role in an unprocessed image. A film which to some extent employs this method is Dreyer’s ‘The Passion of Joan of Arc’, who is herself portrayed with overt parallels to Christ and his sufferings. A straw crown is thrust on Joan’s head by mocking English soldiers and when her body is bled by the doctors it smacks of the pierced side of Jesus. This is certainly shocking and one of the many features which makes this film a deeply unsettling experience, potentially this physical treatment of woman becomes different and perhaps more jarring in light of sexual stereotypes. This brings us to the most controversial issue which could arise in the portrayal of a female Christ; that somehow it might give rise to a sexualisation of this role. Nevertheless, I argue that this is not a stumbling block, rather it presents a powerful escape from the quagmire of objectification. If a religious person found themselves interpreting the Christ event as sexual, simply because it is a female body which houses the incarnation, then this is a disclosure of their misogyny through circumstances in which it is utterly taboo to perceive a sexualised image. In short, this forces sexism under the microscope, it backs it into a corner, sharply exposing its presence, where for so long it has remained unquestioned. With the misdemeanour of physical objectification acutely pinned down, then the dynamic enlightenment that female empowerment promises can begin to take shape. One of the major theoretical tenets of feminist theology is a grounding in women's experiences, as highlighted through what they diagnose as the reticence of the Bible in telling us about people’s emotional feelings.21 Consequently feminine - and indeed any - personal and internal experience could be an important component of insight into the divine. Dreyer’s, ‘The Passion Of Joan Of Arc’ is profoundly

Beattie, Tina, ‘Sexuality and the resurrection of the body’, in Gavin D’Costa, Resurrection Reconsidered (Oneworld, 1996) p.143. 18 Beattie, Tina, God’s Mother Eve’s Advocate, p.1. 19 Ortiz, Gaye and Marsh, Clive, Theology In Film, p.127. 20 Corley, Kathleen and Webb, Robert, Jesus and Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, p.173. 21 Sachs, Jonathan, Not In God’s Name (Hodder and Stoughton, 2015) p.144. 17

disturbing22 for its unflinching portrayal of emotion, accentuated through near constant closeups on the raw facial expressions of Falconetti. This is also perpetuated in the work of VonTrier, whose ‘golden girl’ films - so named for their preoccupation with the portrayal of selfless women - focus on the depth of their characters’ emotions, again often through facial closeups and intense emotional disclosures. This cinematic honesty makes Dreyer’s and Von Trier’s films paradoxically almost ‘otherworldly’ through their commitment to realism and austerity, giving the viewer a stark sense of something ‘within’. An emotional framework such as this might function to emphasise the ‘femininity’ of Christ, rejecting the authoritarian and ‘phallic’ God, instead emphasising the maternal nurturing aspect of the transcendent, making Jesus’s teachings of love and pacifism - which are so often quelled - find themselves renewed through the emphasis of the fluidity of the incarnation. Consequently, this would give rise to a deeper Christological understanding, stressing the human side of Jesus necessary for redemption,23 rather than what are often the cemented ‘masculine’ and ‘disciplinarian’ conceptions of Jesus. This is something further explored by Graham Ward in his notions of the displaced body of Christ. By illustrating how Jesus can resurrect life, multiply things and perform miracles, he seeks to show how Christ is gendered but not bound by gender,24 as expressed by the famous Pauline quote: “there is neither male nor female”.25 Through this logic we can understand the crucified body of Christ as a gender mediator, and from whence we can allude to the theological floodgates which could be opened through the depiction of a female Christ, which would emancipate the theological understanding of Christ's body as a multi-gendered body.26 The gendering of Christ’s body in an alternative way - as a female - could precisely demonstrate that the spirit of Christ is not gendered; indeed by affirming this sexual difference is not to impose rigid definitions or sexual stereotypes but instead to challenge just this, by celebrating the possibility of difference that has so long been quelled. This conceives a powerful way of thinking about gender both in film and in theology, bearing the crucial message that gender is merely a social construct and one which has existed thus far to oppress women. In turn, this gives rise to perhaps the most important message of all; that through this bodily appreciation we can arrive at spiritual empowerment. This is a notion which finds apt expression in the Schraderian prerequisites of film; a cinematic formula which is able to achieve a conclusive breakthrough of a ‘stasis’- a spiritual transcendence. One of Schrader’s ‘textbook' films is the aforementioned, ‘The Passion of Joan of Arc’ and Dreyer himself admits that in this film he “wanted to interpret a hymn to the triumph of the soul over life”. 27 The vivid realism and emotion in this film was able to do just this, building a strong disparity throughout the film in order to validate the climactic transcendence of the spirit. Yet ‘the triumph of the soul’ is something starkly denied by modern cinema which renders women as ‘body’ not ‘soul’, therefore this is precisely what the image of a female Christ might have the power to express; as her gender challenges the notion of the body and unshackles the power of the spirit. Significantly, many have argued that feminist theology has become an isolated discipline, its focus merely on feminist gains, with little to no impact or relationship with its parent discipline- theology.28 A cinematic female Christ has the potential to create this dynamic relationship, whilst achieving the realisation of feminist aims. Such a film could unhinge the fulcrum point of sexism and furthermore inaugurate another parousia of the body in which a woman’s body reveals the personhood of God in a way equal to that of a man’s. Though this discourse may raise more questions than it answers it has sought to point the way to what might challenge the status quo within film and theology, and break the ice of their ingrained sexism. There is definitely room for the female Christ to be portrayed unflinchingly in modern cinema, 22

https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2015/jul/07/passion -of-joan-of-arc-silent-film-22 soundtrackorlando-consort-carl-theodor-dreyer (Last Accessed 2017) 23 Deacy, C.R. Screen Christologies (Cardiff University of Wale Press, 2001) p.329. 24 Ward, Graham, Cities Of God, (Routledge, 2002) p.100. 25 Galatians 3:28. 26 Ibid., p.113. 27 https://www.theguardian.com/film/2010/oct/20/passion-joan-arc (Last Accessed 2017) 28 Sawyer, Collier, Is There A Future For Feminist Theology? (Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) p.18.

whereby unpinning this abiding sexism becomes a key to opening theological doors; contouring the feminist awareness of theology and film. In the quest for an ultimate reality, the integrity of all aspects of cognitive awareness must be incorporated; females included. Thus the female body of Christ should be explored as a rational agent in the production and interpretation of theology, which at its most powerful could expose the multi-gendered body of Christ, emancipating the triumph of the soul over the body, and therefore empowering the deepest insights of faith which in a misogynistic world have become silent. Feminism is itself a Christ figure; suffering, preaching, calling out sin, but forgiving and seeking to show the way. The female Christ presents the opportunity for film and theology to exist as a prophetic movement; for the screen to act as a pulpit of theology, and act as a ‘blinding flash of light’;29 which though it may disorientate, will more critically rejuvenate and enlighten the story that film and theology have to tell.

Bibliography Baugh, L. Imaging the Divine: Jesus and Christ-Figures in Film (Franklin, Wisconsin: Sheed & Ward, 1997) Beattie, Tina, God’s Mother Eve’s Advocate, (Continuum Books, 1999) Beattie, Tina, ‘Sexuality and the resurrection of the body’, in Gavin D’Costa, Resurrection Reconsidered, (Oneworld, 1996) Boss, Sarah Jane, Empress and Handmaid: On Nature and Gender in the Cult of the Virgin Mary (Cassell, 2000) Decay, Christopher and Ortiz, Gaye Williams, Theology in film: challenging the sacred secular divide (Blackwell Publishing, 2008) Deacy, C. R., Screen Christologies (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2001) E. Corley, Kathleen, and Robert L. Webb, Jesus and Mel Gibson’s The passion of the Christ (Continuum, 2004) Hamington Maurice, Hail Mary?: The Struggle For Ultimate Womanhood In Catholicism (Routledge, 1995) Humm, Maggie, Feminism and Film (Indiana University Press, 1997) https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2015/jul/07/passion-of-joan-of-arc-silentfilmsoundtrack-orlando-consort-carl-theodor-dreyer (Last Accessed 2017) https://www.theguardian.com/film/2010/oct/20/passion-joan-arc (Last Accessed 2017) Isherwood, Lisa, Introducing Feminist Christologies (Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) Johnson, Elizabeth, She Who Is: The Mystery Of God In Feminist Theological Discourse (Crossroad, 1992) Marsh, Clive, and Gaye Ortiz, Theology In Film (Blackwell, 1997) Sachs, Jonathan, Not In God’s Name (Hodder and Stoughton, 2015) Sawyer, Collier, Is There A Future For Feminist Theology? (Sheffield Academic Press, 1999)

Deacy and Ortiz, Theology in ﬁlm: challenging the sacred secular divide (2008 Blackwell Publishing) p.87.

The Passion Of the Christ, dir. Mel Gibson (Icon Productions, 2004) The Passion Of Joan Of Ark, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer, (Société Générale des Films, 1928) Ward, Graham, Cities Of God (Routledge, 2002)

Katie Byford is a third-year Classics student at Collingwood College, Durham University. Katie has increasingly specialised in Classical reception studies and the impact of ancient literature on modern art forms. This paper was prepared as her dissertation under the guidance of Dr Edmund Richardson and was awarded a Maltby Exhibition Prize.

Introduction In the case of Sappho, we begin with fragmentation and uncertainty. There is little to no certainty concerning her life or the circumstances of her work’s composition; theories which attempt to answer these questions glean evidence from the Sapphic fragments, themselves consisting mostly of half-lines and half-words. Further, as Yopie Prins notes, “What we call Sappho was, perhaps, never a woman at all […] but a fictional persona circulating in ancient Greek lyric.” 1 What we have instead of certainty is a colourful biographical tradition which puts forth a variety of answers, all of which betray a reliance on their own sensibilities in reaction to the Sapphic corpus, replete as it is with love songs to women.2 Perhaps the most famous and enduring of these traditions is the story of Sappho’s suicide from the Leukadian Rocks of Lesbos, an attempt to cure her unrequited love for Phaon. 3 For this reason, versions of Sappho’s life throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were portrayed as tragedies, and always centred on heterosexual desire, despite the fame of her homoerotic verses. It is against this history of reception that modern adaptors approach Sappho. Much Classical literature has undergone alteration through the course of its textual transmission, and indeed there are other Classical writers whose work is just as sparse and incomplete, their lives just as mysterious. But the narrative of absence and fragmentation has always haunted the modern image of Sappho. The almost total absence of her poems before the twentieth century was transformed by discoveries at Oxyrhynchus in 1898. 4 However, the great number of poems they found were fragmentary, mere scraps of papyrus worn away with use or natural decomposition. 5 Anyone approaching Sappho to translate or adapt it cannot ignore this problem; it is simply the terms in which she is conceived in our time. This view of Sappho as inherently fragmented is compounded by the history of her reception throughout time to create a figure of intrigue and one of suffering. It is an idea expressed by the likes of Page duBois in her postmodern work on Sappho, which describes her body as “burning”.6 Inherently, then, fragmentation configures Sappho as a passive object, a victim of violence through the physical remains of her text. What I aim to explore is the implications of passivity, victimhood and purity on the voice of Sappho, a construct whose power leaves evidence in the texts and works under examination. I believe the idea of voice is crucial in understanding Sappho’s place in the modern age because it speaks to presence, to creative expression and to subjective experience: it is the force through which Sapphic fragmentation is denied and at once relies on such fragmentation for its existence. In the course of this discussion I will be looking at select examples translations, poetry, visual art and music from across the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. I do not mean for this to be an exhaustive 1

Prins 1999, 8. Lefkowitz 1973 provides an overview of some of these receptions. 3 Most famously related in Ovid’s Heroides; cf. Isbell 1990, 131-145. 4 Grenfell and Hunt 1898. 5 The papyrus found at Oxyrhynchus is thought to have been reused as cartonnage in bookbinding, meaning that some of the damage to the fragments was ancient; cf. Obbink 2016b, 34. 6 duBois 1995. 2

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exercise, and have chosen examples and media of expression precisely for their variation within a relatively limited period. I will begin in Chapter 1 by defining some of the terms of my investigation, specifically the ‘Celluloid Principle’ and the Sapphic Voice. In order to do so, I will explore case studies of modern translations of Sapphic fragments as well as the music of Harrison Birtwistle. The parameters defined in Chapter 1 will be applied to a specific case study from the late twentieth century, that of Rose Frain’s Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (1989). This chapter will involve detailed analysis of Frain’s work and a comparison with the examples already discussed in Chapter 1. Following this, Chapter 3 will explore work from much earlier, the Modernist poetry of H.D., and through her engagement with Sapphic fragments I will aim to contextualise the more modern instances of reception and to provide a meaningful and truly important point of comparison. This will in theory give us some idea of the historical, social and literary factors which formed the contemporary view of Sappho and the nature of Sapphic reception seen in the first two chapters. In my conclusion, I hope to rationalise the evidence put forth and provide some answers to the questions which have compelled me to take on this subject. This shall, on a superficial level, include an assessment of which elements modern interpretations of Sappho share in common with each other, and further in what ways examples from music or visual arts can add to the general picture. More than this, however, I wish to consider the implications of commonalities and differences of approach on the place Sappho maintains in the minds of modern audiences and the authors of Sapphic variation. I aim to unpick in what ways these thoughts of Sappho actively affect those adapting her for the modern age and for what reasons. Moreover, I wish to explore the wider implications of this study, perhaps reflecting what can be said of modern society through Sapphic reception as well as how the findings have relevance for reception studies more broadly. I do not expect to answer all the questions which modern Sapphic reception raises, but I do hope to introduce some new areas for debate not previously considered and revisit others with a different approach.

Chapter 1 Defining the ‘Celluloid Principle’ and the Sapphic Voice I begin, then, with defining the frame through which we shall explore receptions of the Sapphic corpus. Definitions will be attained, conversely, though first discussing some of the most significant instances of reception, namely examples from translation. I believe that, especially in the wake of Greek’s decline in British and American teaching, translations have become the critical crossroads of Sapphic reception. As the means by which nearly all of us first interact with the ancient world, it is an important area of debate for ancient reception in particular. First however, we begin with another case study from the twentieth-century, the work of the British composer Harrison Birtwistle, which most dramatically demonstrates the starting point of fragmentation determined thus far for modern Sapphic reception, and which has relevance to ‘voice’ in the most literal sense, through its use of choral music. In particular. I will focus on the third of Birtwistle’s encounters with Sappho, his piece …agm… (1979).7 Before composing …agm…, Birtwistle wrote two other pieces devoted to Sapphic verse, Entr’actes and Sappho Fragments (1964) and Cantata (1969). For these, Birtwistle used large sections of English text from translations of Sapphic verse written between 1916 and 1918. 8 Though the idea of fragmentation is explored to an extent through the music of these pieces, Adlington has made the

7 8

Silicua Hibrido 2012. Translations for these pieces were taken from Paton 1916-18, cf. Hall 1984, 56.

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point that “The translated verses […] remain resolutely intact”. 9 In composing ...agm…, Birtwistle fundamentally changed the dimension of his interaction. When asked for suggestions for a new composition, an acquaintance, the writer Tony Harrison, provided him with translations for the group of Sapphic fragments known as the ‘Crocodilopolis Cries’, a particularly fragmentary set of Sapphic verses, written on papyrus which was found stuffed into the mouth of a mummified crocodile. 10 Tony Harrison’s translations are in fact hardly heard at all in the piece; the music frequently uses the original Greek, often in the form of monosyllabic half-words. Each part within the sixteen-voice choir and three instrumental ensembles for which …agm… was composed seems to work autonomously, all oscillating between converging in unison and disintegrating into polyphony once more. The effect is unsettling, even disturbing: sections of seeming chaos nevertheless ring with an almost threatening determination. In moments of eerie quiet, most notably the piece’s opening and closing sections, individual syllables puncture the silence, letters divorced from their original context and deprived of meaning. Whenever parts combine to form a climactic section, competing melodies drown each other out, and each voice strives more urgently to be understood. Whole words and phrases are shouted in vain amongst the din. In a cruel display of futility, the louder each utterance grows, the less coherent its meaning becomes. The title is itself a disintegration of “[fr]agm[entation]”. 11 Only a part-word, it resists vocalisation, just as the Sapphic fragments resist being sung or structured into song. As a musician, Birtwistle sees these pieces of text not as verse, but as music which has been broken down by time and physical decay. Adlington suggests that “the texts comprise not language in any ordinary sense but raw vocal material that may be submitted to an abstract, formal structuring.” 12 I would go a step further, to suggest that …agm… dramatises the process of stripping music from structured verse and the subsequent reapplication of music to the damaged remains. Breed has theorised this relationship between music and text in his study on Virgil’s Eclogues, poems which textualise the traditionally oral form of pastoral song. 13 Sappho’s songs, famed throughout Greece for their beauty, are in Birtwistle’s piece transfigured into something dark, bewildering, and completely other. …agm… represents this process of othering by bringing the written, dead music back to life, in Frankenstein fashion.14 The Crocodilopolis fragments were chosen specifically for their piecemeal condition; other Sapphic fragments contain complete lines and verses, as well as famous songs which are nearly complete. However, even in the case of the most intact pieces the sense of absence is powerful. This has in part to do with modern conceptions of ancient lyric poetry, and archaic poetry in particular, over which much ink has been spilt. Fundamentally, most lyric poetry is expressed through the first person singular and its subject matter primarily concerns the speaker. 15 For this reason, modern audiences sense that intimacy is inherent to Sapphic poetry. Yet in its broken form Sappho the person, focal in each poem, is presented to us as the gaping lacuna at the heart of whatever remains, by virtue of literal lacunae or the lack of personal information we can use to throw these verses into relief. 16 This shall go some way to explaining why aspects of Sappho’s life—that which we do not have—prove so 9

Adlington 2000, 76. Hall 1984, 98. 11 Cf. Adlington 2000, 76. 12 Adlington 2000, 77. 13 Breed 2013, 1-15; Breed also discusses the self-referentiality of this form in relation to this principle. 14 Hall believes …agm… is in fact “the least fragmentary piece he has ever composed”, since “it is possible to reconstruct not only individual lines but whole poems simply because so much is known about the metric systems Sappho used”; Though I disagree with this view on the grounds of the listening audience’s experience of fragmentation, Hall does raise the interesting point concerning the seemingly immutable and timeless quality of music compared to written text, which I shall touch on later in this chapter; cf. Hall 1984, 98ff. 15 This does not apply in every case, but as a modern conception of lyric is useful to keep in mind. For the purposes of this discussion, there is a consensus that whether these poems refer to the inner life of the poet or use her image as a persona, “Sappho” remains their central concern. For more on this issue see Winkler 1990; Prins 1999, 7; Barchiesi 2000; Bowie 2016. 16 I am here indebted to Prins’ theories on the lyric subject and how this impacts our reading; cf. Prins 1999, 7ff. 10

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important to readers and translators. It is also, of course, this partial view of Sappho which in some senses causes our intrigue, an ‘Erotics of Reception’ in the vein of Joshua Billing’s theory. 17 If we accept that fragmentation is at the heart of modern ideas of Sappho, the question remaining concerns how Sapphic reception distinguishes itself from other forms of reception, and for what reasons. Translations of Sappho provide fertile ground for these discussions, since the process of translation is one which naturally raises problems which concern the relationship between text, audience and translator. The pressure on the latter party, the onus of conveying an unknown voice to a particular audience, is felt immensely. With Sappho, however, the responsibilities of the translator extend to resurrection. In his introduction, translator Willis Barnstone admires “what a full living voice comes through those ruins!” 18 Later, he delivers a stern warning: “To give the poems meanings that the texts do not support, for whatever moral motive, is to dilute Sappho’s language and to weaken and falsify her work.”19 This language of responsibility and duty is followed by the equally common claim that Sappho’s poems should be “allowed a plain reading of unimaginative literalness.” 20 In Barnstone’s view, to take creative liberties with the fragments is akin to stifling Sappho’s voice: it is to exploit her name by affixing it to inferior creations which are not hers, to stuff words into her mouth. Here, a connection is forged between two principles: “resurrection” and “literalness”. The former, in Barnstone’s view, relies upon the latter. Barnstone undertakes a defence of Sappho’s right to an authentic resurrection; to take creative liberties with the fragments is akin to stifling Sappho’s voice, exploiting her name by affixing it to inferior creations which are not hers, to stuff words into her mouth. By extension, any abuse of her voice is a threat to the poet herself, to the possibility of her genuine incarnation. The coincidence of a fragmented corpus and the oppression of their writer by patriarchal forces throughout her biographical tradition has resulted in an enduring characterisation of voice as a victim.21 More importantly, voice and person are conflated: to damage Sappho’s voice is to harm Sappho herself. Barnstone completes this narrative in his introduction, too, with the assertion that despite centuries of misogyny, it is through her poetry that Sappho “emerges as a realized figure”.22 For the modern translator, then, there a connection between the responsibility to represent these utterances in the most ‘honest’ way possible and to reject past visions of Sappho in the pursuit of the real woman. This is supposedly achieved through conveying her voice without embellishment. In bypassing the false constructions, these novel configurations are believed to ‘resurrect’ Sappho in her true, ‘original’ form. The first word of Fragment 1, the so-called Ode to Aphrodite, illustrates this point well. The first line of Fragment 1, according to Lobel and Page, reads “πο]ικιλόθρο[ν’ ἀθανάτ’Αφρόδιτα”. 23 This volume, printed in 1955, is still possibly the most influential edition of Sapphic fragments, and often its editorial decisions are accepted in their entirety without question by modern translators. 24 Indeed in almost all major translations Lobel and Page’s reading of the line from Fragment 1 stands. The line was translated by Mary Barnard in 1958 as “Dapple-throned Aphrodite”;25 by Willis Barnstone in 2009 as “On your dappled throne eternal Afroditi”;26 by Aaron Poochigan in the same year as “Subtly bedizened Aphrodite”;27 and by Diane Rayor and André Lardinois in 2014 as “On the throne of many

Billings 2010. Barnstone 2009, xiii. 19 Barnstone 2009, xxxv. 20 Barnstone 2009, xxxvi. 21 “the mutilated and violent discourse which keeps cropping up around her”, Winkler 1990, 163; cf. Wittig and Zeig 1979, whose entry on Sappho is notorious for consisting of only a blank page. 22 Barnstone 2009, xv. 23 Lobel and Page 1955, 2. 24 Indeed, Yatromanolakis has criticised the consequently stale environment surrounding modern Sapphic scholarship, especially concerning “historical or literary aspects”; Yatromanolakis 2007, 3-4. See also Winkler 1990, 162-3. 25 Barnard 1958, poem 38. 26 Barnstone 2009, 3. 27 Poochigan 2009, 9. 18

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hues, Immortal Aphrodite”. 28 Anne Carson’s 2002 translation gives us something different. Carson’s translation is unique among these in providing a facing Greek text for each piece of text translated. Her Greek reads “Πο]ικίλοφρο[ν ἀθανάτ’Αφρόδιτα”,29 and her translation, “Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind”.30 Here the discrepancy in the manuscripts concerning the word, hidden in almost all other translations, is laid bare. Some read ποικιλόθρον’, others ποικίλοφρον, in equal measure. Through the simple gesture of one word, Carson defines herself in opposition to the prevailing wind of Sapphic translation. This attitude characterises Carson’s publication as a whole. The title, If Not, Winter, comes from Carson’s translation of Fragment 22. 31 Rather than evoking sensuality or femininity, the jagged, cryptic phrase emphasises the theme of desperation in Sappho’s verse as well as its fragmentation. 32 The irony remains that, in constructing a voice which directly opposes previous traditions, one still builds on those older ideas in some way to construct the new configuration. However, Carson’s decision to use ποικίλοφρον in her translation of Fragment 1 does not suggest a choice entirely for the sake of difference; after all, this version of the text is just as prevalent in the manuscripts as ποικιλόθρον’.33 Rather, it is used to demonstrate (to those equipped to observe such differences) that she is taking an approach to translation which is scholarly and discerning at its core. 34 Another trademark of Carson’s work discernible here is her ability to harmonise her academic and creative interests. The semantic effect of a “spangled mind” reading is important: the change characterises Aphrodite rather than conjuring an aesthetically pleasing image of divine luxury. As ‘fragment one’, the first fragment in Carson’s text, the translation sets the tone for the entire work. Ποικίλοφρον distances us from a romanticised Victorian image of Sappho’s world. Instead we are brought straight into Sappho’s suffering at the hands of love and Aphrodite, and into the cruel, mercurial nature of both.35 As we see, then, the image of Sappho constructed here suits Carson’s style as a writer and the enigmatic quality of her work; in rejecting common Sapphic stereotypes, she imprints some of her own identity into this volume. However, Carson’s introduction indicates the opposite: “I tried to put down all that can be read of each poem in the plainest language I could find, using where possible the same order of words and thoughts as Sappho did”. The resemblance to Barnstone’s comments is striking.36 Carson continues, “I like to think that, the more I stand out of the way, the more Sappho shows through”. Though she admits that this is “an amiable fantasy”, this attitude undeniably informs her entire approach to the Sapphic corpus.37 It is also revealing for Sapphic translation more generally. Ideas of honesty and purity concerning the Sapphic voice lead to this attitude of “literalness” and the “unadorned” words of Sappho, which achieve her resurrection. I shall refer to this as the ‘celluloid principle’, an appropriately modern idea to describe a modern attitude. Celluloid film was used in photography and cinema throughout the twentieth century and the 28

Rayor and Lardinois 2014, 25. Carson 2002, 2. 30 Carson 2002, 3. 31 Carson 2002, 41. 32 The emphasis on fragmentation in Carson’s volume is striking considering the prominence of the word ‘completion’ in other twenty-first century editions, such as Barnstone (2009) and Rayor and Lard inois (2014), whose titles, The Complete Poems of Sappho and Sappho: A New Translation of the Complete Works respectively, seem almost ironic given their contents. Undoubtedly these titles make reference to their inclusion of new fragments (West 2005), but the point still stands that the overriding impression contrasts greatly with Carson’s version. 29

Winkler 1990, 166-7. Her decision to include the Greek text alongside her translation demonstrates this further, as well as signalling her ability to write for the scholarly reader, though I will discuss this in greater depth later. 35 Winkler discusses this word in Fragment 1 with regards to his argument for Sapphic ‘double consciousness’, relevant to concepts of lyric subjectivity; Winkler 1990, 166ff. 36 Barnstone 2009, xxxvi. 37 Carson 2002, x. 34

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word is still used as a metonym for the art form. 38 Like photosensitive film, Sapphic translators claim that their versions do not interfere with the voice of Sappho, but stand out of the way; they merely capture the light of the voice in their translations. Like a photograph, Sappho is resurrected in a still, pure form which is taken to stand in for the real, living person. Carson is perceived as entering into a clarifying process which is at once “self-erasure”.39 It is the beguiling notion that in negating all of her personas constructed throughout history, we allow Sappho’s ‘undiluted’ voice (to borrow Barnstone’s phrasing)40 to inhabit her own text. The need to create intimacy, inspired by the intimacy of her lyric verses, is in the modern period conceptualised as a ‘stepping away’. This process of photosensitive resurrection, through which we achieve a fantasy of intimacy with Sappho, is considered necessary for modern translators because of the previous destruction of Sappho’s image. To this end, John Melillo’s comment concerning Carson’s translations of Sappho are telling. Melillo describes how, in Carson’s translation process, she “leaves behind the projected lyric mask called ‘Sappho’ in order to access the ways in which, behind the mask, voice emerges from the noise of history.” 41 This concept of the ‘noise of history’ encapsulates the conditions which precipitated this attitude in Sapphic reception. It is related to Harold Bloom’s ‘Anxiety of Influence’, in that the effect of previous voices is felt to weigh greatly upon one’s own. 42 In a Sapphic context, previous ‘false’ iterations of Sappho inform the translator’s view of their own role in conveying Sapphic verse; conversely, the towering reputation of Sappho and the power of the idea of Sappho adds to this tension. This culminates to create an atmosphere of reception which is reminiscent of that created in Birtwistle’s …agm…, a series of voices speaking over each other in an attempt to be heard. …agm… responds to and ultimately rejects this desire for each translation to make a complete meaning from disjointed verse. The frustration and the failure innate in each attempt to create coherency is palpable: meaning shifts in and out of focus, and moments of unison and harmony are fleeting and off-key, before dissolving once more into chaos or silence. Translators of Sappho in the modern era see their role as a clarifying agent in the midst of this chaos, when in fact they add to the noise with their own voices, formed by their own unique perspective and context. This is true even of Birtwistle’s piece. Constructed from fragments to reflexively articulate the idea of fragmentation, even so …agm… demonstrates itself as moulded by the pressures of musical trends contemporary to its composition. Evident within the piece is the influence of Stravinsky, early twentieth-century serialism and Medievalism, as of his contemporaries, notably John Tavener with pieces such as The Whale (1968). Most of all, Birtwistle dramatises the concept of primordial time. Antiquity is conceptualised as unknown and therefore outside of time, and its unsettling sound reflects the fear and uncertainty this concept provokes. This is the effect of time on music, on words and on the voice. Moreover, in the same way that Carson, Barnstone and other translators of Sappho have presented themselves as cutting out the ‘noise of history’, Birtwistle attempts to reflect the nature of the texts themselves, and therefore erases his own agency from the relationship between himself and the Sapphic text. In so doing, Birtwistle, like Carson and Barnstone, ironically betrays himself as even more a product of his own time. What we have discussed thus far concerns the voice of Sappho as seen in relation to the literal person of Sappho and to the Sapphic corpus. The reception of Sappho in the modern era in general can therefore be conceptualised as a tripartite relationship: ‘Sappho the woman’ is conceived as a complete entity in contrast to her fragmented text, and from the tension between these two emerges the voice of Sappho. This will be used as a frame to compare different Sapphic adaptations, one which more clearly demonstrates the perceived connection between the three elements. The third element— the Sapphic voice—is one which, as we have seen, translators claim to lay bare, to capture in its unadulterated form; in reality it is this which they construct. The manner of their constructions is based on a preconceived image of Sappho towards which their iterations each strive. Voice is an 38

Cf. Karlin 2013, 5. Robinson 2015, 181. 40 Barnstone 2009, xxxv. 41 Melillo 2015, 188. 42 Bloom 1973. 39

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appropriate unit by which receptions of Sappho can be judged, because adaptors of Sappho consistently draw on images of Sappho as lyricist and singer, one which was fairly distant by the time these verses were written down. Going forward, we shall explore the forms this construct of the voice takes on, its relationship to the person and the text of Sappho, and why such approaches might have come about in the modern period.

Chapter 2 Rose Frain’s Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (1989) With these emerging trends in view, I turn now to another case study from the twentieth century, Rose Frain’s Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (1989). A series of printed Sapphic texts each paired with a corresponding page handmade by Frain, it provides an interesting example of Sapphic reception from visual art to contrast with the textual and musical instances discussed thus far. Due to the medium of ‘artist book’ employed, I believe that Sappho Fragments gives us a valuable insight into consistencies between Sapphic responses as a whole, while allowing us to plot more clearly the effect of medium on such responses. I shall attempt to explore the possible effects of contextual influences, such as the Second Wave feminist movement and the changing realities of Classical education in Britain, in relation to questions concerning Sapphic voice and personhood. As a visual artist working with paper and printed materials, Frain’s concerns are, unsurprisingly, primarily visual rather than textual, in contrast to the translators, scholars and poets of the twentieth century working with Sapphic material. This is not to say that text is of no concern—the words of Sappho are given privileged status in the centre of blank squares of paper (fig. 1). However, the paper ‘fragments’ which accompany these square pages emphasise physical decay in their fragile quality. The inclusion of gloves within the box containing Sappho Fragments speaks to this fragmentary quality and magnifies it (fig. 2). More than this, only ten fragments from the Sapphic corpus have been selected—contributing, perhaps, to the omission of the definite article in the work’s title. Like Birtwistle’s title, …agm…, Sappho Fragments implies a partial picture of the whole. Just as Birtwistle interacts with the text in terms of the destruction of its music, Frain engages, appropriately, in physical and visual decay. Carson and Rayor’s translations interact with concepts of textual decay by inserting square brackets and mimicking the shape of fragments. Conversely, the form of Frain’s paper ‘fragment’ responses do not engage in this kind of mimesis. Instead, Frain used the Sapphic text as inspiration for her own artistic creations. This makes these pieces in some respects overtly subjective. There are no claims to honesty or ‘purity’ in textual terms—indeed translations by Suzy Groden, roughly contemporary with Frain’s piece, are included without comment or reference to the Greek. This is crucially because, in her handmade pulped paper creations, Frain lays claim instead to the essential truth of Sappho’s voice. Voice is prioritised over text as an element which transcends linguistic boundaries. In this instance, then, Frain engages the ‘celluloid principle’ outlined above in a manner which even more closely mirrors the properties of photosensitive film, their shapes, colour and materials seen to reflect the fragments more closely in bypassing language altogether. In this manner, the translated passages of Groden merely signifiers for the deeper truth of Sappho. This becomes clear from a closer look at the pulped paper ‘fragments’ themselves. Colour symbolism, aided by the choice of material, reflects the sense and emotional force of each fragment: the implied sexual pleasure of fragment 168, “Oh,… / Adonis…”,43 finds physical representation in the use of pale pink in its correspondent paper ‘fragment’, reminiscent of blushing skin and, informed by the yonic shape, of female genitalia (fig. 3). Fragment 140 (fig. 4) 44 is paired with a page which, if ‘read’ from left to right, signals the spirit of Adonis traveling from the white light of life on the left to the 43 44

Carson 2002, 338-9. Carson 2002, 282-3.

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black darkness of death on the right (fig. 5). A flower is pressed into the white section on the page’s reverse, a poignant symbol of Adonis’ mortality (fig. 6). Fragment 146, ‘no honey for me / nor honey bee’,45 is placed next in the sequence and presumably therefore a comment on the ‘sweetbitter’ nature of love in the context of mourning. The accompanying paper ‘fragment’ is entirely black, completing the logic of the previous page’s transition from white/life to black/death as well as evoking mourning. In each of these examples drawn from the sequence, the paper responses are not representational but abstract, employing symbolism in their use of colour and materials and thus erasing language in an attempt to get at the heart of Sappho’s words. This feeds into the ideas of purity discussed in Chapter 1, which again places Sappho’s voice in the role of the victim and the artist as resurrecting or saving Sappho. This is indicated in the inclusion of white cotton gloves, not only a nod to the literal fragility of the paper but the consequently fragile and victimised state of her voice and her person, a duBoisian link which focalises issues of female oppression of artistic and corporeal kinds. Sappho here becomes a metonym for all women, her oppression reflective of women’s oppression throughout history. This is fairly characteristic of her appreciation at the time; compare with, for example, Wittig and Zeig’s Lesbian Peoples: Material for a Dictionary, first published in 1979, whose entry on Sappho is a solitary page without any contents, which Winkler sees as a kind of mourning for destruction, a reaction to “the mutilated and violent discourse which keeps cropping up around her”. 46 In some respects, then, she comes to signify women in general, and is herself a very human incarnation. On the other hand, Sappho is also considered the Muse of Frain’s work, a position which the artist herself emphasised in the course of our interview,47 claiming that she was “communicating with or through [Sappho]” 48 to achieve the results of the handmade paper fragments. The results in the form of the paper fragments therefore transcend language because it is the transcendent, divine form of Sappho with which they are imbued, an example of the ‘celluloid principle’ which reiterates the narrative of translators in laying claim to the purity of Sappho’s voice. Frain’s desire to render Sappho in a state of quasi-apotheosis is inherited from a tradition to raise this woman above the human realm since Antiquity, as ‘the tenth Muse’;49 Frain’s work most strikingly demonstrates the power of fragmentation to mystify a figure into deification. In that case, Sappho is somewhat perplexingly at once human and divine; when the tripartite relationship between image, voice and text is applied to this example, the picture becomes clearer. Crucially, it is her text which ‘embodies’ her corporeal and textual corrosion and thus her victimhood, whereas the image or conception of ‘Sappho-the-person’ ascends the bounds of physicality, seen to communicate through time with Frain as with the translators. In both instances, her voice is that which can be captured on paper, either in textual or in visual form, both inhabiting a fantasy that completion can be attained from fragmented remains. The Sapphic voice is imagined not as the words of the songs, since her Muse status allows her song to transcend language. Rather, the meaning, content and force of the verse is considered to be captured in the supposed purity of the non-representational artistic medium. This idea of completion is explored further in Frain’s work in a truly significant manner, through the employment of narrative. Though Frain is uncomfortable with this term applied to the piece,50 the subtitle, ‘Love Songs for Adonis’, which was added when it was moved from its original exhibition space in the Demarco Gallery to the National Art Library, immediately suggests a story to those aware of the mythology. The tragic love of Aphrodite for the mortal Adonis provides a ready-made narrative arc, and indeed the sequence of the fragments follows the logic of this story, from erotic surrender (“Oh… / Adonis…”) to mourning (“Beat at your breasts, maidens, / and tear your robes.”). Even more clearly, the first two fragments in the series, Fragment 32 and 160,51 emphasise the compositional role of Sappho in this configuration, in particular the second fragment, “now I shall sing these delightful 45

Carson 2002 294-5. Winkler 1981, 65. 47 Frain 2017. 48 Frain 2017. 49 Cf. Wilson 2004, 27. 50 Frain 2017. 51 Carson 2002, 64-5 and 322-3 respectively. 46

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songs, / beautifully, / to my girls”. This focalises her voice as a central aspect of this piece, but destabilises the idea of these fragments as outpourings of Sappho’s own emotion; the opposite impression is given in translations such as Carson’s, which present the fragments as independent cries of yearning and expressions of suffering. More than being a narrative constructed by Frain in her selection and arrangement of Sapphic fragments, it is conceived as a construct of Sappho’s own design. Frain’s decision to construct the fragments as part of a narrative is attempted in a number of translations of Sappho. Willis Barnstone, for example, assigns titles to each fragment and arranges them thematically, thus imposing direction on the reader. One dramatic example of this is the title given to his translation of Fragment 31, “Seizure”. 52 This lends emphasises the speaker’s physical reaction to love in a manner which forestalls the gradual escalation of these symptoms in the poem itself. Barnstone’s titles treat the fragments as if these were whole poems; Mary Barnard takes a different tack, assigning titles which act as ‘missing’ first lines. Her version of Fragment 31 is entitled “He is more than a hero”, completely altering our view of the famous first line of this poem, “He is a god in my eyes—”.53 Even more dramatically, Fragment 16, the so-called ‘Helen Fragment’, is entitled “To an army wife, in Sardis:”. 54 The colon implies the title’s straightforward explanatory nature, and in one line sketches a background to the fragment which changes its appearance entirely, creating a seemingly epistolary context. Interestingly, the phrase “army wife” implies a heterosexual relationship, perhaps employed to justify or nullify the impact of a female speaker expressing homosexual desire. In a similar manner, perhaps only incidentally, Rose Frain’s use of the Aphrodite/Adonis frame enters into the same act of ‘heterosexualisation’. This is equally achieved in the mere addition of a subtitle. Female desire and subjectivity exist here, but only heterosexual desire is truly explored. This speaks to the effect of fragmentation on poetry, able to be moulded into a narrative determined by adaptors and translators who purport to exemplify the ‘celluloid principle’ in their own versions. The differences between Frain’s work and the examples from translations discussed above on the whole concern conceptions of lyric poetry. This was an idea discussed briefly in Chapter 1, and the full force of its significance is realised in Frain’s work. While most modern translations, including Barnstone and Carson, make much of the fact that these expressions of desire directly reflect Sappho’s own, Frain situates Sappho firmly in the more impersonal position of the orchestrator of poetic material rather than the desiring subject. On the one hand, this resituates a woman in the position of artist, a significant move in an art form which has historically been dominated by men. However, the sequential nature of Frain’s piece has the effect of emphasising Sappho’s creative subjectivity to the detriment of her perceived emotional subjectivity. This decision was no doubt informed by the feminist principles of much of Frain’s other work. Just as Frain rejects a representational depiction of Sappho’s body and thus de-eroticises her, so too the Aphrodite/Adonis narrative removes Sappho from the erotic dialogue taking place within the constructed narrative of the fragment. This ties in with her image as the Muse, and gives weight to this view: removed and perfect, immortal, Sappho dictates the desires of others rather than herself submitting to them. In this respect it is her work, her ‘voice’, which is foregrounded, rather than her corporeal existence. However, her voice here is separated from her person, a distinctly different kind of lyric voice to that conceived by modern translators which place voice in line with person to the extent that they become conflated. This has the rather unexpected outcome of suggesting that this woman, perhaps all women, cannot exist as both desiring subject and expert craftsman. These modern translators perhaps also consider Sapphic material more appealing when applied to the mysterious figure of Sappho herself through a subjective lyric voice—we are more easily able to read our own desires and emotions into the poetry of Sappho, and are also allowed to use the fragments to complete parts of Sappho’s identity.

Barnstone 2009, 43; Barnstone 1958, no. 39. 54 Barnard 1958, no. 41. 53

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In some respects, Frain’s decision to undermine Sappho’s emotional subjectivity demonstrates an anxiety similar to those of modern translators concerning the issue of Sappho’s personhood. Sappho’s partial image has been successively adapted to suit a purpose for each generation: while Frain enacts this process with the fragmented text, adapting it to a narrative which suits her artistic purposes, she conversely avoids ascribing personal details to Sappho. Without narratives imposed on the woman herself, Sappho remains untouched. Again we see an instance in which a ‘true’ Sappho is achieved through an apparently passive approach to adaptation: Sappho cannot, according to this logic, become a visual lie, and thus the adaptor can lay claim to her pure incarnation in their work. As explored in the first chapter, this attitude is informed by a quasi-Bloomian anxiety and the consciousness of spurious historical depictions of Sappho which are now considered attempts on the truth of Sappho’s personhood. Like modern translators, Frain attempts to erase, in some respects, her own subjectivity from the creation of the piece by attributing the results to a higher connection with Sappho. Additionally, Frain attempts to escape the trappings of her own socio-historical context in the piece, specifically through her choices of material. Scraps of muslin (fig. 7), hair (fig. 8), hay, a pressed flower (fig. 6) and strands of silk (fig. 5) are materials links between our own time and Antiquity. Frain herself remarks, “I wanted time to dissolve”,55 the notion of temporal dissolution implying a more intimate communication with Sappho as Muse. As with translations, the desire to achieve intimacy with Sappho is powerful and betrays our own need to make sense of the past through these various means. Far from escaping her historical context, many of Frain’s artistic decisions seem to be directly influenced by conditions specific to the time of the piece’s creation, particularly the contemporary view of Antiquity. Her piece was created one year after Latin and Greek were omitted from the first National Curriculum, introduced in 1988. 56 The lack of engagement with the textual and linguistic nature of Sappho’s text may in part reflect a perceived lack of understanding or interest in her audience concerning the specific textual difficulties inherent in fragmentary text. This may also go some way to explaining the use of narrative in the piece, in that the myth allows for a more accessible reading of the fragments. If we compare this to Birtwistle’s use of fragments in his piece …agm…, composed ten years earlier, we see a similar intention for their creations, achieved through different means. While Frain aims at wholeness through constructing the incomplete parts of the Sapphic corpus around a narrative, Birtwistle dramatises fragmentation in making the fragmented pieces work against each other. However, they both enact this in order to explore the nature of the deep past. Frain has attempted to find intimacy in the person of Sappho through capturing her voice; Birtwistle’s composition expresses the vast distance between Sappho and the present in breaking her voice into many, denying the completion of the figure of Sappho. Moreover, rather than constructing a vision of the ancient past as Birtwistle does in …agm…, Frain subtly links the past with the present. These different expressions of voice are two sides of the same coin: both stem from the sense of distance we feel from Sappho in approaching her work. This sense of distance is crucial to our understanding of the relationship of the modern world with the ancient past. The Sapphic Fragments force us to confront the realities of time in presenting to us their destroyed ruins, a symbol of our own mortality.

55 56

Frain 2017. Stray 1996, 85.

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Chapter 3 H.D. and the View from Modernism So far, the relationship between the Sapphic text, voice and person has been explored in terms of the effect of context, medium and approach. Any survey of modern Sapphic interactions would, I believe, be incomplete without the inclusion of H.D., or Hilda Doolittle, an American Modernist poet who spent most of her life in Europe. As a constituent part of the Modernist poetry movement, the work I will be discussing was published from 1916 to 1931. Though this is earlier than the period which forms the primary focus of this discussion, I believe that H.D.’s poetic contributions charted a fundamental change in how Sappho was to be viewed and received in the coming century. More than providing a foil for contemporary case studies, H.D.’s poems reveal some of the earliest stages of a fairly consistent view of Sappho sustained into the present day. This will aid the present discussion in allowing us to determine what differentiates more modern responses, and further to outline some possible reasons for this difference. H.D. is not least significant for the time at which she was writing such pieces and for the context of their composition, amid the excited fervour surrounding the newly discovered Oxyrhynchus papyri in the late nineteenth century. 57 As part of a literary circle which took great pains to study these fragments and discuss their scholarship,58 H.D. interacted with the Greek Sapphic text in a direct manner demonstrated in much of her poetry. 59 H.D.’s timing is also significant, since her responses predate influential volumes such as Lobel and Page’s 1955 edition of Sapphic fragments and Mary Barnard’s popular translation published in 1958. Both of these texts have fundamentally altered aspects of Sappho’s translation today. We saw this in evidence in Chapter 1 concerning the translation of the first line of Fragment 1, a choice between ποικιλοθρον’ and ποικιλοφρον which many translators, in following Lobel and Page, are not aware exists. Commenting on the Sapphic fragments through poetry instead of ‘strict’ translation, H.D. is allowed creative space to explore their meaning and her relationship with them more freely. Despite this, there is perhaps even more evidence that her approach to Sappho was above all textually informed and that she viewed her poetic responses as a synthesis between her intellectual and creative interests. The implications on H.D.’s work of the approaches outlined above, the ‘celluloid principle’, questions of voice and expressions of fragmentation, will be discussed through a close reading of some of her work. It becomes clear in H.D.’s poetry that minute linguistic details of text are being observed and incorporated into the poetry. One example highlighted by Collecott is that of the word κἄχαρις in fragment 147, meaning ‘and graceless’ or ‘and without grace’. 60 The force of Barnard’s rendering, “ungracious”, and Barnstone’s, “graceless”, restricted by the mode of translation, attempt to find an English word equivalent to the Greek ἄχαρις. In the poem ‘Halcyon’, published in 1931, H.D. refers to the fragment in her description of the addressee as part of a narrative: Perhaps they said when they sent you here, ‘no one will see, certainly no one will care,

Grenfell and Hunt 1898. Reynolds 2000, 310. 59 Indeed, Collecott argues that the Sapphic intertext is at the heart of her ongoing poetic project; cf. Collecott 1999, 3. 60 Carson 2002, 296-7. 58

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an elf, no Grace, an odd little castaway, not fit for the gods yet’;61 Collecott remarks on H.D.’s attempt to capture the sense of the word as possibly construed by an original reader: “not yet subject […] to the charms of Aphrodite and the Graces”. 62 We gain something of this aspect from the last line of the extract, “not fit for the gods yet”, which adds a vague suggestion of Greek cultural understanding which we do not gain from the isolated word as translated in the modern period. The addition of direct speech also introduces a narrative or dialogue aspect to the text. This is to say that H.D. does not assert that this was the original context of the fragment, but rather comments on the nature of fragmentary poetry and the multivalent potential of the incomplete verses. The last part of this section of the poem completes this sense: O well, perhaps not; perhaps we were not after all the terror and pain,

the curious betrayal, the thousand and one things that people don’t notice (how could they?) forgot.63 This section seems to evoke Fragment 147, only one line long in the Greek. The fragment is transformed through ‘forgotten’ context, moulded to a situation which makes it almost unrecognisable. It is the inverse of Carson’s blank page – it shows us the possibility of absence rather than the absence itself. This new context is matched by the tone of doubt employed: the repetition of “perhaps not” inverts the φαῖμι of the Sapphic original, usually conveyed through the confident “I say” in English.64 The fragment is striking in many translations for the poignant theme of remembrance, self-referential in its inclusion in volumes which commemorate the fragmented remains of a poet whose life is, nonetheless, ‘remembered’. The quoted excerpt from H.D.’s ‘Halcyon’ reads almost like a response to this idea, with the longest, most metrically complex line added by H.D., “the thousand and one things that people don’t notice”, a reflexive reminder of all that could in fact be lost and thus ‘forgot’. If we compare the reception of Sapphic verse in ‘Halcyon’ with Frain’s artistic response, we of course note their different approach to textuality and translation. H.D. interrogates the truth of the isolated fragments by placing them in a context which challenges their ability to stand alone. This remarks on this act of ‘forgetting’ inherent in fragmentation, as well as itself being an act of false or constructed remembrance. Textuality, we may safely presume is at the heart of H.D.’s poetic interactions as a direct result of her personal interaction with the fragments of Greek, an allowance of her own time which still saw Classical languages as a fundamental aspect of education. Frain’s work, as we have 61

Martz 1983, 273. Collecott 1999, 10, from Snyder 86. 63 Martz 1983, 273. 64 Carson 2002, 297; Rayor and Lardinois 2014, 81; “I tell you”, Barnstone 2009, 109; “let me tell you”, Barnard 1958, no. 60. 62

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seen, engages with the idea of fragmentation, while not necessarily its textual impact, completed as it was in a time when ancient languages were no longer a fundamental tenet of Western education. Frain reconstructs the fragments into a sequence, inviting comparisons with H.D.’s use of the fragments in the narrative of ‘Halcyon’; the possibilities presented by fragmentation are thus explored by both. However, Frain’s Sappho Fragments does not challenge the viewer in quite the same way, since we are presented with the love story of Adonis and Aphrodite fictionally sung by Sappho, a complete narrative, from the invocation of the Muses to the last smouldering embers of frustrated desire. We merely glimpse these narratives in H.D.’s poetry—they are conceived as a whole, but not without the aid of the poet to construct them into a new context. The poet’s voice is always central to ‘Halcyon’; Sappho’s words are heard in faint echoes, her voice the undercurrent rather than the perceived driving force. Questions of voice lead us to interrogate H.D.’s approach to the triple construct between the text, voice and person of Sappho which we have been using thus far as a frame through which to view reception. This is particularly relevant to one of H.D.’s earlier poems, ‘Pursuit’, published in 1916 as part of her debut collection Sea Garden. Collecott draws attention to the poem’s interaction with fragments 105a and 105b;65 I maintain that there is a further link with Fragment 31 in this poem not previously considered. 66 I have reproduced the entire poem here for clarity: What do I care that the stream is trampled, the sand on the stream-bank still holds the print of your foot: the heel is cut deep. I see another mark on the grass ridge of the bank— it points toward the wood path. I have lost the third in the packed earth.

But here a wild-hyacinth stalk is snapped: the purple buds—half ripe— show deep purple where your heel pressed.

A patch of flowering grass,

65 66

Collecott 1999, 19-20; fragments in Carson 2002, 214-5. Carson 2002, 62-3.

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low, trailing— you brushed this: the green stems show yellow-green where you lifted—turned the earth-side to the light: this and a dead leaf-spine, split across, show where you passed.

You were swift, swift! here the forest ledge slopes— rain has furrowed the roots. Your hand caught at this; the root snapped under your weight.

I can almost follow the note where it touched this slender tree and the next answered— and the next.

And you climbed yet further! you stopped by the dwarf-cornel— whirled on your heels, doubled on your track.

This is clear— you fell on the downward slope, you dragged a bruised thigh—you limped— you clutched this larch.

Did your head, bent back, 113

search further— clear through the green leaf-moss of the larch branches?

Did you clutch, stammer with short breath and gasp: wood-daemons grant life— give life—I am almost lost.

For some wood-daemon has lightened your steps. I can find no trace of you in the larch-cones and the underbrush. 67 I believe this poem demonstrates an extended exploration and, further, a dramatisation of H.D.’s process of reading and interpreting Sapphic fragments, which I aim to demonstrate in the following analysis. The interaction with the fragments therefore becomes personal, documenting H.D.’s own subjective experience of her ‘pursuit’ of Sappho, while also commenting on the nature of fragmentation in general. The fact that H.D. proposes a ‘pursuit’ of Sappho suggests her embodiment. Indeed the poem moves from noting the slight traces of Sappho’s former presence to describing her movements, a promise of Sappho’s ‘capture’ which is in the final stanza disappointed. Sapphic presence is suggested in the use of “print” and “mark” in the first stanza, words perhaps intended to pun on the written text which she analogously ‘reads’ in this poem. From there we are shown objects which have been changed by her moving limbs, “snapped”, “pressed”, “brushed”. In the fourth stanza the poem’s addressee “caught at” the roots of a tree and in the sixth “climbed” it: rather than traces of existence we see active verbs ascribed to Sappho, the object of desire, and thus an increasing realisation of her existence. Sappho’s absolute embodiment in the poem comes in the penultimate stanza in the form of her speech indicated by the use of italics: “wood-daemons grant life— / give life—I am almost lost.” At once her trace disappears, as the last two lines indicate, by virtue of her invocation of the “wood-daemon”—that is, her physical existence is erased as a consequence of having spoken, of having asked that the “wooddaemons grant life”. In a deft self-referential move, Sappho’s voice has granted itself life by its existence in the poem, causing the physical body of Sappho to be dissolved. This in a sense enacts the process of writing—we saw this view explored in Birtwistle’s …agm…, which demonstrated the cruel paradox inherent in music committed to the page. The translators have also sensed the physical absence of Sappho, directly linking this with the absence inherent in the incomplete fragments of her poetry. It is not only intended that we feel the disappointment of H.D. as we read her frustrated attempts to reach the true figure of Sappho; ‘Pursuit’ means to cast the physical disintegration of her text as an equivalent for the disappearance of her voice and therefore her person. In this sense, the conceptualisation of voice, text and person converge on this image of Sappho in the poem, fleeting and always just beyond reach. It is the tantalising prospect proffered by the incomplete verse to

Martz 1983, 11.

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reconstruct Sappho herself in the process of uncovering her missing words. In H.D.’s textual relationship with Sappho, this aspect is prioritised and stands in for the life or death of Sappho. Our understanding of the poem’s relationship with the Sapphic fragments is somewhat clarified if we consider the extended response within ‘Pursuit’ to Fragment 31, perhaps Sappho’s most famous work.68 The specificity of the term “yellow-green” in the line “the green stems show yellow-green” from the third stanza indicate a reference to χλωροτέρα δε ποίας in line 14 of the Sapphic text; this remains consistent with the natural imagery in the rest of the poem as well as attempting to capture the specific meaning of χλωρος. 69 This is followed by “turned the earth-side / to the light”, denoting, perhaps, the act of inversion described in the Sapphic line λέπτον / δ’ αὔτικα χρῶι πῦρ ὐπαδεδρόμακεν (10). The mention of “a dead leaf-spine, / split across” two lines later conveys, perhaps, the iconic Sapphic phrase γλῶςςα ἔαγε (9), mimicking its sense and the abruptness of the caesura in the Greek. The association becomes clear by the penultimate stanza:

Did you clutch, stammer with short breath and gasp: wood-daemons grant life— give life—I am almost lost.

The emphasis on an inability to speak aligns itself with this theme in Fragment 31 (φώνη- / ς’ οὐδὲν ἔτ’ εἴκει, 7-8, as well as γλῶςςα ἔαγε, 9). Implications of death in “I am almost lost” alludes to the last two lines of the penultimate surviving stanza of Fragment 31: τεθνάκην δ’ ολίγω ’πιδεύης / φαίνομ’ ἔμ’ αὔται (15-16). In his treaties On the Sublime, Longinus here ends his quotation of Sappho’s poem, and for many this was indeed the poem’s last line. 70 This was the case until a version with one more line was discovered at Oxyrhynchus, confirming that the poem was in fact longer. 71 Since H.D.’s approach to Sappho was informed by her engagement with the Oxyrhynchus material, she would have been aware of this. The disappointment of the last stanza therefore completes the logic of the dramatisation of reading such a poem: the climactic moment which threatens death and promises life in equal measure is never fully resolved. In terms of the ‘pursuit’ of Sappho enacted, the addressee disappears, her embodiment never fully achieved due to a lack which is textual. For H.D., fragmentary poetry does not only deny readers the satisfaction of a resolution, but moreover it denies Sappho a proper resurrection. The notion of revival which we saw in translators’ introductions is therefore present in H.D.’s conception, but conveys the opposite message: that Sappho ultimately cannot be brought back to life while her verse remains incomplete. H.D. simultaneously acknowledges the fallacy of ‘capturing’ Sappho whilst also allowing that desire to run its course for the length of the poem, unravelling what it means to embody Sappho’s text and to make this the unattainable object of desire. H.D. self-consciously admits the poem’s fallacy in other ways: mentions of “dwarf-cornel” and “larch” locate the poem in Britain, to which these species are native. Since H.D. had been living in Britain since 1911 these tie the poem to her own experience and location in space and time, rather than a fictional Archaic Greek setting. 72 The last two lines, “I can find no trace of you / in the larchcones and the underbrush”, admit with a tone of resignation that Sappho cannot be ‘found’ in her modern reality. The twofold repetition of “wood-daemon” evokes British pagan folklore just as much, 68

Carson 2002, 62-3. Liddell and Scott 1897, 1731. 70 Rayor and Lardinois 2014, 108. 71 Rayor and Lardinois 2014, 108. 72 Reynolds 2000, 310. 69

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if not more so, than the Greek word for divine power, δαίμων. The poem, then, gradually becomes a detailed self-portrait of H.D. reading Sappho, achieved, self-reflexively, through employing Sappho’s own poetry. The focus on aspects of H.D.’s reality consistently deny the ability to resurrect Sappho in the here and now. Collecott concludes that H.D. “renews the image” of the hyacinth from fragment 105b “by placing it in a homosocial context of female activity” in the poem’s third stanza. 73 I would accept this, but perhaps suggest that these more personal natural touches make H.D. the poem’s focus; gender is an important concern in this poem, but only in as much as H.D.’s experience is female. Both ‘Pursuit’ and ‘Halcyon’ are linked in that the poet’s actions complete the sense of the Sapphic material. Throughout H.D.’s work, Sapphic fragments never stand on their own: even her ‘fragment poems’, which use Sapphic material for their titles and subtitles,74 explore the meaning of the fragments with possibilities in a similar manner to that demonstrated in ‘Halcyon’, consistently requiring H.D.’s input and insight. The impetus behind this approach can perhaps be found in the introduction to Edward Storer’s Sappho translations published in the Egoist. This publication, Rohrbach notes, was edited by Richard Aldington, H.D.’s husband, and influenced both profoundly. 75 Storer condemns Victorian translations of Sappho which erase her homosexual desire, stating that this process “destroys at once their art and their reality”. 76 By implication, Storer’s own versions are restorative or somehow reverse this process of destruction. The use of the word “reality” is telling in this regard: we see glimmers of the resurrection rhetoric practiced by Barnstone and others, as well ideas which portay Sappho as victim through the ‘abuse’ of her image throughout history. We are reminded of the gloves included in the box of Frain’s Sappho Fragments—her words must be treated with care lest the viewer repeat the destruction of her voice enacted throughout time. A later quote from Aldington sustains the view proffered by Storer, that “those who seek the truth” concerning Sappho “must search for among a thousand lies”. 77 Rohrbach summarises this view thus: “Sappho […] alone can tell us nothing.” 78 This echoes and yet almost exactly inverts Carson’s sentiment in the introduction to her translation: “I like to think that, the more I stand out of the way, the more Sappho shows through”. 79 The two statements share the idea of preservation and mutilation, but while Aldington suggests the truth must be sought in an active process of reception, Carson advocates a passive mode, the ‘celluloid principle’ of the modern age. In Carson’s iteration, as with Aldington’s, the voice of the fragment has become one with the figure of Sappho, but Carson imagines that through her fragments Sappho can, and should, ‘speak’ for herself. Aldington requires the voices of intellectuals and creatives, perhaps male ones, for its ‘excavation’; only thus can the true Sappho be distinguished amongst the myriad of false impressions. Inherent in both is the effect of a sustained historical tradition of altering and appropriating Sappho to suit the purposes of each generation: the idea we saw earlier concerning the ‘noise of history’. The differences between Aldington and Storer’s ‘excavation’ approach and the ‘celluloid principle’ of Carson and the modern translators stem, I suggest, from changes in the discourse concerning female liberation and expression. The influence of Second Wave feminism has impressed the importance of women’s voices and the expressions of women’s experiences, an attempted divergence from a narrative in which women are cast as subordinate or auxiliary influences on male endeavours. As in Frain’s piece, Sappho’s reception is influenced profoundly by changes in attitudes towards the prominence of female voices: I believe that Aldington’s approach does in fact advocate, though not explicitly, the need for male intellect in the recovery of Sappho’s voice, which later translations deem unnecessary or indeed consider a part of the harmful patriarchal ‘noise of history’. In both cases Sappho once more becomes as a metonym for womankind, as we saw in Frain’s piece, since her womanhood defines the nature of her reception.

Collecott 1999, 20. Martz 1983, 131-2, 165-8, 181-4, 187-9. 75 Rohrbach 1996, 185-6. 76 Rohrbach 1996, 185. 77 Cf. Rohrbach 1996, 186. 78 Rohrbach 1996, 186. 79 Carson 2002, x. 74

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If we apply these observation’s to H.D.’s poetry, we can see her attempts to likewise ‘excavate’ the figure of Sappho through her extended reflections on particular sections of Sapphic text or on the very experience of reading Sappho. The medium of poetry allows for this freer mode of interaction, and her direct interaction with the Greek text equally frees her from the oppressive male tradition of appropriation and scandal. However, H.D.’s poetry consistently revisits the reality that this image of Sappho can never quite be completed. Since text is crucial to her understanding of Sappho, textual degradation is of the highest importance to H.D. This absence, an apt demonstration of Billings’ ‘Erotics of Reception’ theory,80 is tantalising, but it is also troubling. Like Birtwistle, the uneasiness of fragmentation is at the heart of H.D.’s poetry. The narrative of ‘Halcyon’ is to a point coherent in its constituent parts, but is obscure read as a whole; ‘Pursuit’ ends with a tone of resolve which betrays sadness rather than the erotic yearning in the rest of the poem. The inability to complete Sappho may, in mystifying her, make her work magnetic, but for H.D. the confusion and incoherence inherent in the experience of reading the Greek dim this excitement. Perhaps H.D., a queer woman of the early twentieth century, felt that the incoherence at the heart of Sapphic literature in fact accurately reflected the fragmentation of her own identity, forced to navigate the world of literature as an oxymoron: an educated woman, a female creative, attracted to men and women. Conversely, it is exactly the figure of Sappho which validates this apparently oxymoronic existence. The significance of this idea to H.D.’s work, which I believe applies to many others among the female respondents to Sappho, is aptly articulated by Gubar, in that H.D. “uses the runes of Sappho as the fragments she shores up against her own ruin.” 81 In centring her poetry on Sappho, in some ways H.D. enters into an act of self-preservation; so powerful is the idea of Sappho that in preserving her work in poetry H.D. vicariously preserves herself. This touches on Prins’ point in her volume Victorian Sappho, concerning the need to make Sappho a living entity rather than contemplate her as a tradition or persona within Greek literature. 82 The reality of Sappho, her embodiment as a singular entity, is seen to validate female homosexuality and, more universally, female creativity. As Gubar has expressed, Sappho’s existence provided H.D. “with evidence that the woman who is a poet need not experience herself as a contradiction in terms”. 83 ‘Pursuit’ emphasises through its metaphorical, selfreferential mode, the importance of Sappho’s physical existence, whether discovered by the speaker or not. The strength of this validation relied not only on Sappho’s physical embodiment, but on her existence in Antiquity and her use of the Greek language, the language of the culture claimed by the West as the ‘cradle of civilisation’. These are patriarchal structures, as was the Classical canon which named Sappho as the female exception to prove the rule of male creative dominance. H.D., however, attempts to discover Sappho on her own terms.

80 81 82 83

Billings 2010. Gubar 1996, 210. Prins 1999, 3ff. Gubar 1996, 202. 117

Conclusion From the select case studies from H.D. and the Modernists explored in Chapter 3, we might begin to build a picture of Sapphic reception across the twentieth century. In both pre- and post-1950s Sapphic reception, the image of Sappho as a victim of history’s violent and oppressive onslaught remains consistent. Sappho has, in fact, been portrayed as a victim since Antiquity, in the form of the enduring biographical tradition which made her unrequited love for Alcaeus the source of her early death through suicide.84 The difference in modern reception is that instead of her love which attacks her in an imagined real-life scenario, it is the biographical ‘straightenings’ of Sappho which have ‘abused’ her and the perceived truth of her work. Sapphic reception from the discovery of the Oxyrhynchus papyri onwards is therefore self-conscious of its own place at the end of this chain. In this selfconsciousness, modern adaptations of Sapphic text attempt to undo the ‘damage’ of these competing false narratives, to cut through the ‘noise of history’ and offer audiences a distilled, pure incarnation. This self-consciousness and the need to find purity—which is in a sense a desire for Sappho’s completion—causes poets and translators earlier in the century to prioritise their own role as the intermediary between the text and the audience. In this paradigm, it is the specific qualifications of those with Greek whose creative attentiveness does not overwrite Sappho’s true self who can excavate her remains and resurrect the true Sappho. This presents Sapphic reception as an active process of uncovering Sappho; it contrasts significantly with the more modern examples of receptions which, in adhering to the ‘celluloid principle’ defined in the course of this discussion, conceptualise ‘good’, ‘honest’ or even ‘academic’ Sapphic reception as a passive process. In so doing, these adaptors and translators attempt to reject the ‘noise of history’ surrounding Sappho’s image and, further, deny their own complicity in the same system of reception. This is true even of Birtwistle’s piece …agm…, which in deconstructing the Sapphic voice into a cacophony characterises its composer as demonstrating the fragmentation of the text, attempting to describe its fundamental nature rather than an interpretation with its own complex set of influences. This constructed dichotomy between active and passive approaches distracts from the reality of each participant’s own context which forms an inherent part of the construct of Sappho and her voice which we receive through their hands; in this sense, though modern reception is acutely self-conscious of Sapphic reception histories, it demonstrates a persistent lack of self-awareness. What we do see, then, is what a modern translator, artist, musician or poet conceives as the most ‘honest’ approach, and overwhelmingly minimalism, pared down constructions with ‘simple language’ are seen to reflect Sappho most honestly in textual reception. The reasons for this change are various and must be identified with regards to their respective effect on Sapphic reception. The pared-down style of Sapphic translation seems in line with modern poetic tastes which in the U.K. and America increasingly favour short aphoristic poetry over lengthier pieces. It perhaps also betrays the impact of Roland Barthes’ influential essay “The Death of the Author”, which rejected textual interpretations reliant on information concerning the author or poet’s background.85 If we link this with the idea of the ‘noise of history’ and the concept of the harmful biographical tradition, this makes sense of the focus on the word of the text. However, there is more to this picture if we consider the increasing impact of feminist discourse throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries which has focused on the amplification of women’s voices. The subsequent elevation of the Sapphic text to the point of veneration is therefore to be expected in an age which frequently saw women fighting to be heard and, increasingly, found opportunities to do so. This is concurrent with the fall in Greek language tuition to the point of relying on ever smaller groups of experts given control over the interpretation of scraps of Sapphic literature. Lobel and Page’s 1955 volume is a prime example, for though many of the editorial decisions proffered in this edition have been questioned or even overruled completely since, it still commands authority by virtue of a relative lack of knowledge either among those interpreting and adapting Sappho’s text or among 84 85

One of the most famous examples of this comes from Ovid’s Heroides; cf. Isbell 1990, 131-145. Barthes 1974.

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audiences. For example, Parker 2006’s re-examination of Fragment 49 has had little to no impact on the subsequent translation of this fragment by the likes of Barnstone (2009) and Rayor (2012). 86 What becomes clear from this is that there is in fact a canonical way in which to interpret and translate Sappho’s verse which has emerged in the course of the twentieth century: to deny the “Atthis” of Fragment 49 (“I loved you, Atthis, once long ago”) 87 as Parker has done becomes a denial of the authority of the modern construction of Sappho’s voice, which seems to modern audiences a blow to Sappho herself.88 Douglas Robinson has expressed the view that “A text’s reliability consists in the trust a user can place in it […] as a representation or reproduction of the original”. 89 Appropriately for an era increasingly described as ‘post-truth’,90 Robinson suggests that what sounds convincing to the reader is itself a reliable reading. That is to say that the power of Sappho in modern reception is partly inherent in her name and its renown: more than this, however, the fragmented quality of Sapphic literature allows us to translate them in a manner which reflects qualities of our own literary taste which we admire. Sappho therefore becomes a vehicle by which we admire ourselves. Moreover, the distant past becomes, in Sappho’s pared-down, uncomplicated voice, a simpler place. The text’s fragmentary form seems primordial, as if she were speaking from the beginning of time. For this reason, clarity is valued in the construction of Sappho’s voice. Rayor’s own remarks as translator evoke this sense of clarity through time: “I aim for directness, as that is how Sappho’s poetry speaks to me. Her poetry, sophisticated and complex, should also ring clear and the sense hit home.”91 Through expunging false narratives generated within the noise of history, we configure our own Sapphic translation as its truest form, her voice a note which rings clear from the distant past. 92 This is at the heart of the ‘celluloid principle’, and consistently marks current translations and approaches to the Sapphic texts. We end, then, on concepts of intimacy and distance which have been discussed throughout this survey of modern Sapphic reception. The creation of closeness between the modern era and the distant past is enabled through the fragmentary quality of Sapphic text. In immortalising Sappho’s text we immortalise ourselves and our own culture, since in our own Sapphic translations and interpretations she speaks with a voice which reflects our own time. This concept seems relevant to Classical reception more generally, which constructs for Western culture a human condition essentially unchanged since Antiquity. Though in Sappho’s case adaptors attempt to deny their place at the end of Sapphic reception, they too construct a comforting atemporal fiction through their works, emphasising that despite her fragmentation her voice rings clear with authority. In this construct of past and present reality, even the voice of Sappho, destroyed by decay and by the lies of biography, can attain immortality.

Parker 2006. Trans. Parker 2006, 374. 88 Parker 2006, 374-6. 89 Robinson 2003, 6-7, quoted in Rayor 2016, 397 n.5. 90 cf. Tesich 1992 for first usage of this word in its current meaning. 91 Rayor 2016, 411. 92 For a related but distinct and important application of this general principle to queer narratives, see Lamos 1996, 306-7. 87

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Appendices

Figure 1: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis, mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 2: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis, mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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Figure 3: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis, mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 4: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis, mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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Figure 5: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (detail), mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 6: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (detail), mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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Figure 7: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (detail), mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 8: Rose Frain, Sappho Fragments: Love Songs for Adonis (detail), mixed media, 1989; National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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Alexandra Fitzgerald is a third-year Combined Honours student at St. Cuthbert’s Society, Durham University. This paper was prepared as her dissertation in English Literature under the guidance of Dr Samuel Thomas.

Introduction Three primary threats during Cold War America were communism, a nuclear attack, and explosive, uncontrolled sexuality; defence was ensured by fortifying the home. In this ideological battle, the domestic was given increased importance, as it was seen to epitomise the benefits of capitalism, representing what Americans were ‘fighting’ for. The battleground had moved to the house, and protective borders were strengthened through gender and sexual conformity. America positioned itself as the complete antithesis of the Soviet Union, thus any actions or thought processes that did not correspond to the American ‘way’ were treated with suspicion, deemed unpatriotic, and related to communism. There was increased scrutiny of individuals’ private domestic lives, as this was seen to have a direct impact on the nation and conformity was expected at all times. Patricia Highsmith, Shirley Jackson and Grace Metalious show the problematic aspects of this pressurised environment: conformity curtailed freedom and rebellion was met with exclusion. Their characters are trapped within the American capitalist system, with no escape. The 1950s, in particular, was a decade in which these issues were most prevalent as it was the height of the ‘homeward bound’ movement, characterised by Elaine Tyler May as a time in which ‘political, ideological and institutional developments converged,’ causing America’s increased interest in domesticity.1 The symbol of the home has always been prominent in the American novel because the country has always had a strong focus on settlement and defining space. 2 However, its importance is amplified in Cold War literature because of the ideological significance the symbol is given. All three authors show a marked interest in the domestic and the gendered roles attached for the obvious reason that, as women, this conformity would have been expected of them. The texts discussed in this project all have either a female or homosexual protagonist and this is significant because in the patriarchal and heteronormative Cold War culture, these characters would have been marginalised. The ‘public’ was a male and heterosexual space; females were confined to the ‘private’ domestic; and, homosexuals were given no space.

Elaine Tyler May, Homeward bound: American Families In The Cold War Era (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2008), p. 18. 2 Marilyn R. Chandler, Dwelling In The Text: Houses In American Fiction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), p. 1.

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Amy Kaplan’s essay ‘Manifest Domesticity’ proves enlightening in understanding the relationship and divisions between the ‘outside’ and ‘inside’ in relation to the home. 3 The American domestic is defined as: in intimate opposition to the foreign […] domestic has a double meaning that not only links the familial household to the nation but also imagines both in opposition to everything outside the geographic and conceptual border of the home. 4 The foreign ‘outside’ comprises everything except the home. Kaplan outlines three separate spheres: the domestic; the society; and, the international. She explains that the domestic sphere and societal sphere fall under the larger category of the American nation. Therefore, the home coupled with society equals the country, which is ultimately opposed to the international foreign. As a result of this relationship between the domestic and the nation, it follows that reinforcing the home’s spherical borders helps strengthen the national borders against the international foreign. The reinforcement of the home’s boundaries encourages the separation of the domestic from society, since emphasis on its own border definition differentiates it from the ‘outside.’ However, during the Cold War, the involvement of the state and society in strengthening the home’s boundaries meant that the domestic and societal spheres became somewhat intertwined. This suggests that, in the context of the Cold War, Kaplan’s theory is skewed. Furthermore, as the domestic is traditionally associated with the feminine, women assist in defining ‘the contours of the nation and shifting borders with the foreign.’ 5 This female position as protectress of the home’s borders is simply a means of bolstering ‘the public male arena.’6 The domestic is only important in so far as it strengthens the nation. Women are given a partial role in safeguarding the country but they must remain entrapped on the ‘inside’ while men control ‘outside’ public discourse. May’s presentation of ‘domestic containment’ contextualises these spherical dynamics, showing how the domestic became a political tool in the battle between communism and capitalism. Cold War containment policy was America’s attempt at controlling the spread of communism abroad, and May appropriates this foreign policy term. Her appropriation reveals how foreign policy overlapped with the domestic, as the home was the ideological weapon through which America fought its superior position, politicising it in its function as the new cultural battleground. Foreign policy aimed to control communism, and domestic containment aimed to control sexuality. Moreover, the contained home gave Americans ‘the promise of security in an insecure world,’ and this safeguarding function explains the home’s increased importance; during a time permeated with uncertainty and fear, its protective function was one of the only certainties. 7 In the same way that soldiers in the military must obey orders, the Cold (domestic) Warrior must too, and this came in the form of sexual and gender conformity. The 1950s saw an increase in marriage and birth rates, and a decrease in divorce rates, demonstrating the effects of the ‘homeward bound’ movement.8 Civic duty was demonstrated through marriage and reproduction, to rebel against this was suspicious and ‘un-American.’9 This led to the association between sexual nonconformism and communism, as both menaced the ‘American’ way of life. The nation was to be safeguarded through sexual order. Hence, the containment of sexuality through domestic conformity, which helped bolster the home and national boundaries.

Kaplan relates her analysis specifically to nineteenth century American texts but the basis of her theory about domestic spheres is applicable to Cold War literature. Moreover, there exists a similarity between American literature in the mid-nineteenth century and the Cold War in the way overbearing societal expectations are presented. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter will be compared to several of the texts being discussed. 4 Amy Kaplan, ‘Manifest Domesticity,’ American Literature, iii, 70 (1998), p. 581 (emphasis original). 5 Kaplan, p. 582. 6 Ibid, p. 581. 7 May, Homeward Bound, p. 1. 8 Ibid, pp. 1-19. 9 Ibid, p. 22.

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Even though very different in nature, nuclear energy and uncontrolled female sexuality both represented a serious threat and this lead to their association. Figure 1 and the term ‘bombshell’ demonstrate this: nuclear energy’s powerful and explosive qualities are attributed to sexualised women.10 The comparison was made most frequently and obviously to female sexuality, but any nonconformism was deemed comparably dangerous to the nation. In fact, the rhetoric of nuclear containment bled into that of sexual containment; terms such as ‘contaminate,’ ‘toxic’ and ‘polluting’ can apply to either. The domestic also started to reflect similar nuclear rhetoric. May indicates that the postwar baby boom was in part the reaction against the fears of another pre-empted war. The term ‘nuclear family’ was first used in 1941 (Webster) (during the time of this baby boom) merging the atomic age’s primary concerns: the bomb and family. Children, as the country’s future soldiers, became a psychological defence mechanism, acting as the family and the nation’s safeguard in any potential nuclear war, but because of their vulnerability, they too must be protected. In addition, the state started to actively encourage families to become ‘nuclear-ready,’ building nuclear shelters and making other necessary arrangements for an attack, hence the importance of good housewifery. Domestic containment strengthened the nation by fortifying the home from future attacks, detracting from nonconformity, and controlling sexuality. The McCarthy era is defined as one of ‘public hysteria,’ and this panic impacted the home. 11 The Red Scare/Lavender Scare caused mass fear of the ‘outsider’ and the possibility of a communist/homosexual invasion. It was commonly believed that ‘the Russians could destroy the United States not only by atomic attack but through internal subversion,’ which meant even further enforcement of the domestic boundaries was necessary. 12 Homosexuals were considered emotionally and morally weak and were thus a liability, explaining their exclusion. Highsmith, Jackson and Metalious all convey a distinct feeling of terror and fear. Broadly, in Highsmith’s texts, the fear stems from the damage that an ‘outsider’ can inflict on the home; in Jackson and Metalious’ texts, it is an anxiety related to the contamination and distortion of the sacred space. These authors offer a fantastic gateway into the psyche of the Cold War woman, showing specific contextualised fears and anxieties related to gender and sexuality. Moreover, all three women had slightly unconventional domestic lives, which arguably led to them feeling like societal ‘outsiders,’ increasing their interest in nonconformity. Jackson’s literature shows a distinct fascination with houses and this is particularly the case in The Sundial and The Haunting of Hill House, where the home is depicted as a place of entrapment and incarceration for her female characters. 13 In these two texts, the houses almost function as an additional character contributing to the sense of claustrophobia and terror, also acting as a further enforcer of conformity. Jackson supposedly ‘feared losing herself in domesticity’ and her writing presents domestic expectations as unavoidable, causing her female characters to lose their ability to define their own identities. 14 Her use of the Gothic genre allows her to further deform the symbol of the house, using old tropes that provoke feelings of unease and fear, and giving them Cold War significance. Motherhood is also distorted in this way, by making the mother threatening. The result is haunting novels that render domestic security insecure and help to shed light on the disturbing effects of female Cold War conformity.

May, Homeward Bound, p. 106. Tony Jackson, ‘“The Manchurian Candidate” And The Gender Of The Cold War,’ Literature/Film Quaterly, i, 28 (2000), p. 35. 12 May, Homeward Bound, p. 91. 13 Angela Hague, ‘“A Faithful Anatomy of Our Times”: Reassessing Shirley Jackson', Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, ii, 26 (2005), p. 82. 14 Ruth Franklin, Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life (New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2016), p. 9. 11

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Metalious’ Peyton Place became a pop culture phenomenon in the 1950s. The impact it had with its readership at the time signals that the text taps into specific Cold War anxieties. 15 Peyton Place is most comparable to the soap-opera genre (explaining its success as a television series) in its focus on the relationship between characters’ private dramas and the impact they have on the ‘outside’ community. The disdain Metalious had of the ‘homeward bound’ movement, reflected in her relaxed housewifery and child-rearing methods, caused her community to deem her an ‘outsider.’ 16 This is possibly why she had such an impact on her readership: she accurately reflected the feeling of being an outcast that people feared but also felt at the time. The sexual nonconformity that is depicted in her novel fostered a sense of collective relief that ‘I am not alone.’ 17 The text’s success can be attributed to it showing the reality of America’s ‘dirty’ sexual practices, causing scandal in revealing the truth behind the polished, idealised façade of the 1950s home. Finally, as a lesbian, Highsmith is the author who presents the biggest threat to Cold War sexual conformity. Carol is an exceptional piece, not only because it is so different from the rest of her work, but because it is the first American homosexual love story to feature ‘a happy ending.’ 18 Previously, homosexual characters would pay for their perverse and deviant acts, which is what happens in the other two texts that will be discussed: Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr Ripley. The male homosexual protagonists, Bruno and Tom, present a violent and deathly threat to the home. Bruno’s repetition of ‘A murderer looks like anyone’ throughout Strangers echoes the fear that communists and homosexuals were unidentifiable, thus could unsuspectingly invade. 19 Highsmith depicts female queerness far more sympathetically; Carol and Therese simply desire the creation of their own queer domestic space whereas Bruno and Tom brutally penetrate it. Yet, at the core of all three texts is the desire to be included in the home. This project aims to show how problematic Cold War gender and sexual containment is for the protagonists in the aforementioned texts, all published in the 1950s. Accordingly, chapter 1 will show the increased ideological importance of the home, and the attempt to safeguard it against a nuclear attack and sexual nonconformity. Private domestic actions are portrayed as having a direct impact on society, which justifies the increased requirement to conform within the contained domestic. This amplified pressure to obey societal norms within the ‘private’ boundaries of the home, resulted in claustrophobia and anxiety, and this theme will be explored in chapter 2. The home and the mother figure are distorted adding to the feeling of terror. This is caused by the penal-like qualities of the home, and by the dehumanising effects of capitalism. The consequences this has on the domestic is equally horrifying. The final chapter will focus almost entirely on a queer reading of these texts, looking at the exclusion and alienation that homosexuals, or ‘sexual perverts’ as they were labelled by the Joseph McCarthy administration, encountered. The ideological nature of the Cold War may have justified the attempt to contain the sexual ‘bombshell’ but Highsmith, Jackson and Metalious show its truly negative consequences: submission to domestic conformity results in the protagonists’ entrapment and claustrophobia; and, rebellion is not only impossible but the mere attempt is exclusionary. Cold War propaganda peddled an unrealistic image of domestic bliss that was very far from the truth, as these authors show.

Cameron Ardis, Unbuttoning America: A biography of ‘Peyton Place’ (Grand Rapids, MI, United States: Cornell University Press, 2015). 16 Ibid, p. 62. 17 Ibid, p. 135. 18 Patricia Highsmith, ‘Afterword,’ in Carol (London: Bloomsbury, 2010), p. 311. 19 Patricia Highsmith, Strangers on a Train (London: Vintage, 1999). 15

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Chapter 1 Inside versus outside: the home as the new battleground The domestic sphere became increasingly important in the Cold War; the home’s borders had to be intensified not only to safeguard from foreign threat but because the domestic had become an ideological weapon and was being used by American politicians to promote capitalism abroad. At the American Exhibition in Moscow, Richard Nixon extolled America’s dominance in the Cold War battle, not through discussion of its advanced weapons, but by presenting the superiority of the American household. In what is now commonly referred to as the ‘kitchen debate,’ Nixon centred the promise and success of America in the domestic. 20 The home had become the beacon of capitalism. William Levitt’s statement that ‘No man who owns his own home and lot can be a communist,’ neatly summarises this position, situating the domestic at the forefront of capitalism. 21 This quotation suggests the physical manifestation of the American Dream; the home had become even more central in the American mind-set because it upheld all the values and aspirations to which citizens aspire. It also shows the home as the antithesis of communism, it accordingly must be safeguarded against the ‘outside’ enemy: communists, dangerous sexuality, and the bomb. This caused further enforcement of the domestic borders and the sexual conformity that must be maintained within them. In these texts, domestic boundaries are clearly demarked in the initial descriptions of the house, illustrating the importance of establishing clear territorial delineations to protect the home from the enemy. When Eleanor first encounters Hill House, she is taken aback by the ‘tall and ominous and heavy’ gate, which make her wonder: ‘Since the gate was so clearly locked – locked and doublelocked and chained and barred; who […] wants so badly to get in?’22 The repetition, synonymia and polysendeton employed underline the barrier’s strength. The irony of this question is that in showing the difficulty of penetrating the domestic, it foreshadows Eleanor’s troubled departure in the dénouement. Similarly, in Ripley, Dickie and Tom’s frosty first meeting closes with ‘The iron gate clanged.’23 The onomatopoeic verb closes the chapter and the home not only to Tom but the reader, as the plot is focalised through his point of view. However, the next time they meet, Tom is invited to live with Dickie and ‘The next morning he moved in.’ 24 This rapid shift from being excluded to being included shows the binary through which the domestic limits were defined: you were either in or out.25 In Tom’s second meeting with Dickie in the 1999 film adaptation, Anthony Minghella shows the shifts in boundaries very clearly. The first-time Tom enters Dickie’s house, Minghella uses almost exclusively static close-up and medium close-up shots to demonstrate the fixity and containment of the different spheres these characters occupy. Marge and Dickie are pictured together (Figure 2) and Tom alone (Figure 3); he is indeed ‘intruding’ as the screenplay indicates. 26 Tom then proceeds to imitate Dickie’s father by projecting and changing his voice. This causes Dickie to accept Tom, represented in the final close-up of them together (Figure 4). Through this imitation, Tom has distorted himself into a pre-accepted member of Dickie’s domestic sphere and by doing so grants himself access.

May, Homeward Bound, p. 19. Diane Boucher, The 1950s American Home (London, United Kingdom: Shire Publications, 2013), p. 59. 22 Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House (New York: The Library of America, 2014), pp. 260-261. 23 Patricia Highsmith, The Talented Mr Ripley (London: Vintage, 1999), p. 45. 24 Ibid, p. 55. 25 Containment policy also emphasised these absolute binary categories. One was either a capitalist or a communism, showing support for American ideological values or opposition to them. 26 Anthony Minghella and Patricia Highsmith, The Talented Mr. Ripley: A Screenplay (New York, NY: Miramax Books, 2000), p. 17. 21

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Despite showing this clear demarcation, Ripley also serves as a warning that domestic borders needed further reinforcement because the murderous Tom is still able to invade. This needed fortification came in the form of the nuclear shelter. 27 These structures represented the ‘symbiosis civil defense planners were looking for’ because they sheltered the family from the enemy while encouraging families to bond. 28 The home was reinforced physically as well as psychologically. In addition, this strengthened family unit helped to preserve and enforce heteronormative conformity, showing the merging of the nuclear and sexual threat. The battle had migrated to the home and the nuclear family, together with the nuclear shelter, became a shield against the enemy, preserving conformist values. The fear of a nuclear attack was very real as shown by The Sundial.29 The text uses the Gothic genre, giving it Cold War significance; Halloran House is turned into a Gothic nuclear shelter. As Ruth Franklin notes the text is parodic, as the characters are not prepared in the slightest to face the imminent undefined attack and this satirises how badly equipped the American populous was to face a nuclear one.30 In her first vision, Fanny is told by who she believes to be her deceased father to: Go back to the house. Tell them, in the house, tell them, in the house, tell them that there is danger. Tell them in the house that in the house it is safe […] From the sky and from the ground and from the sea there is danger. 31 ‘Them’ implicitly signifies the family and the repetition of the home designates its importance. In providing the warning, the father shows the protective value of the family. He exemplifies the promises of the ‘homeward bound’ movement in ensuring ‘security in an insecure world.’32 The home is the only surety as the actual attack remains vague and undefined; it could come in any form and from any direction, reflecting the uncertainty of a communist one. 33 The text’s plot and Halloran House pivot around the sundial making it an ubiquitous symbol for the disaster’s approach.34 It is initially described as ‘an inevitable focus […] set badly off center and reading WHAT IS THIS WORLD?’35 This strange quotation, stolen from Geoffrey Chaucer’s ‘The Knight’s Tale,’ was interpreted by Mr. Halloran as being ‘a remark about time.’ 36 His vague reading aligns the quotations with the traditional mottos on sundial’s, which tend to contain a reference to

Families were actively encouraged by Katherine Howard (the administrator of the newly formed Federal Civil Defense Administration) and her cohorts to make their houses ‘attack-ready.’ This included keeping houses tidy, as this was believed to reduce radiation damage, and building nuclear shelters. This was the wife’s role and therefore she became responsible for protecting the ‘new stronghold of national security.’ The ideological battle was given real weighting and citizens were given real responsibility in protecting themselves and their nation. See Laura McEnaney, Civil Defense Begins at Home: Militarization Meets Everyday Life in the Fifties (Princeton, NJ, United States: Princeton University Press, 2000), p. 69. 28 McEnaney, p. 69. 29 May notes that in 1959, ‘two out of three Americans listed the possibility of nuclear war as the na tion’s most urgent problem’ demonstrating how much anxiety this caused during the Cold War. See Homeward Bound, p. 26. 30

Franklin, p. 387. Shirley Jackson, The Sundial (London, United Kingdom: Penguin Classics, 2014), p. 26. 32 May, Homeward Bound, p. 1. 33 The danger here appears physical, which correlates it to a nuclear attack. However, with the increased concern related to brainwashing, a mental attack was also feared by the Cold War readership. This too could be prevented with a strong home, as it would not only provide stronger mental resistance but also help avoid invasion from communists, stopping any attempt at brainwashing from taking place. 34 The sundial is also a symbol in other American Gothic texts, such as Hawthorne’s The House of Seven Gables, where it is used as ‘a marker of time the family has spent on ill-gotten land,’ giving it similar domestic connotations, related to settlement rights. Moreover, the house in Hawthorne’s text ‘overshadow[s] the promise of the New World,’ which is again comparable to The Sundial because of the potential for new world order. See Mary Ellen Snodgrass, Encyclopedia of Gothic Literature (New York: Facts on File, 2005), p. 183. 35 Jackson, The Sundial, p. 11. 36 Ibid. 31

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‘the passing of time and the approach of death.’ 37 However, it can equally be read as a global existential questioning. The intertextual reference to Chaucer’s feudal system decontextualises the 1950s home; the relevance of the question is globally and historically pervasive, and not just relevant to the Cold War. It also indicates the change in world order that has already occurred, highlighting the possibility of further disturbances. This explains why Franklin argues that the sundial becomes a symbol indicating the characters’ loss of control over their ‘fate.’ 38 This domesticated symbol reflects the imminent threat of attack and the possibility of a new post-apocalyptic world existence. Time metaphors permeated the nuclear age because of the uncertainty of when an attack could occur.39 The infamous doomsday clock tried to counter this by measuring the time left to nuclear disaster (midnight was the indicator), placing the unknown in a known temporal framework. 40 The Sundial’s apocalypse is also given a specific date, August thirtieth. 41 The Halloran family refer to the time post-apocalypse as ‘The First Day,’ which should indicate the start of a new month but August has thirty-one days.42 Inherent in the doomsday clock’s circular 12-hour design is the belief that time will continue past midnight/disaster. However, the Halloran’s ‘off center’ view of time signals that a discontinuation and separation from the temporal framework known pre-apocalypse will occur. The Halloran’s version of the doomsday clock does not bring any comfort or certainty because it indicates a complete distortion of the recognised temporal framework. 43 The sundial is a more organic symbol than the doomsday clock, relying on the natural sun to forecast disaster. This echoes Orianna’s projected visions of the natural ‘new world,’ believing that it will be ‘Fresh, untouched, green, lovely […] The kind of life and world people have been dreaming about ever since they first began fouling this one.’44 The contrast is established between the new, virginal, fertile world and the old, stale, dirty world. This correlates with the first settlers’ belief that America offered the possibility of a new Utopia that the ‘ossified and sterile’ Europe could not. 45 Jackson is once again contextualising her Cold War text within a larger history of American literary traditions. 46 The vision Fanny has of a ‘white rock’ in the ‘new world’ reflects the want for virginal, natural land. 47 37

Franklin, p. 389. Ibid. 39 Susan Sontag notes that during the nuclear age, individuals suffered a collective trauma ‘when it became clear that from now on to the end of human history, every person would spend his individual life not only under the threat of individual death, which is certain, but of something almost unsupportable psychologically – collective incineration and extinction which could come any time, virtually without warning.’ Jackson’s novels exhibit this psychological Cold War anxiety, which was rooted in the uncertainty of communal disaster. See ‘The Imagination Of Disaster,’ Commentary Magazine (1965) <www.commentary magazine.co m> [accessed 10 March 2017]. 40 ‘The Clock Ticks,’ in Arms Control Association, i, 10 (1980) <www.jstor.org> [accessed 15 March 2017]. 41 At the time The Sundial was published, the doomsday clock stood at two minutes to midnight after the United States ‘decide[d] to pursue the hydrogen bomb,’ making the clock a minute closer to midnight than what it had been previously, thus increasing the threat. See ‘Timeline,’ published by Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists <www.thebulletin.org/timeline> [accessed 3 March 2017]. 42 Jackson, The Sundial, p. 172. 43 Nuclear energy’s inorganic waste and the long-term effects that it caused became a growing concern during the Cold War. The continued problems that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were encountering created even more anxiety. Not only was complete destruction a fear but the lasting impact were so great that it seemed impossible to picture life remaining unchanged even if one were to survive a nuclear attack. This could also explain this temporal distortion as the nuclear impact will cause of long -term disruption of everything, including time. 38

Jackson, The Sundial, p. 144. Steve Mizrach, ‘The Symbolic Invention of America-as-Utopia’ (Florida International University, 2008), <http://www2.fiu.edu/~mizrachs/utopo-amer.html> [accessed 3 March 2017]. 46 Mizrach notes the difference between American and European Utopian ideals was that American presented the actual possibility of creating it because of the earth’s untarnished quality. The paradox is that the act of constructing spoils the land. Orianna believes she has the opportunity of starting afresh but she does not perceive the irony that she will inevitable ‘foul’ the unspoiled earth in her attempt to recolonise it. 47 Jackson, The Sundial, p. 65. 45

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Guy in Strangers also envisions his house with Anne as projected from a ‘white rock.’ 48 This can be read as a reflection of similar desires for his future domestic life to be untarnished and pure, away from sexual ‘pollution,’ preserving the sanctity of the home. However, the image may also contain subliminal nuclear connotation. White Rock Canyon in Los Alamos New Mexico was the site where the United States nuclear weapons were developed and could be designated in both instances. 49 Nuclear anxieties were so pervasive in the Cold War mind-set that it was near-impossible to imagine a future home without this threat; domestic boundaries would always serve to repel the nuclear and sexual dangers. Domestic containment forced the woman back into the home, making it ‘a woman’s realm,’ enforcing gender and sexual containment too. 50 Man and woman’s distinct spatial spheres gave them separate civic shores: man was the external breadwinner and woman the interior house-keeper. This illustrates Judith Butler’s theory about the ‘culturally constructed body’ and her theory helps further explain why these gendered roles were so heavily enforced during the Cold War. 51 If ‘permeable body boundaries present [danger] to the social order’ then impermeable bodies presented social stability. 52 Social and national strength was to be found in enforcement of gender and sexual binaries. The strengthened domestic boundaries repelled gender, sexual and ideological nonconformity. Nowhere is this domestic conformity more acutely seen than in Peyton Place when Allison is unable to identify her home ‘from all the others in the neighborhood.’ 53 Only Samuel Peyton’s castle is recognisable as all the rest of the house are in the conformist 1950s Cape Cod style. 54 Sally HirshDickinson remarks how this recalls the aerial photographs of Levittown (Figure 5), which demonstrated the vastness of this suburban sameness and conformity. 55 She uses this comparison to highlight Peyton Place’s racial homogeneity but misses the more obvious point that it shows complete homogeneity, not just racial. Suburban dwellers in the 1950s did not have any alternative domestic model; their ability to choose is removed, as well as their ability to reject the lifestyle. 56 If, as Julia Kristeva maintains, identity is formed through differentiation from the abject ‘other,’ then this conformist suburban model reduces the individual’s ability to form their own identity. 57 Domestic conformity was enforced through eliminating the ability to reject the suburban model or to choose an alternative.

Highsmith, Strangers, p. 75. ‘Atomic Energy Commission,’ published by the Atomic Heritage Foundation <www.atomicheritage.org/history/atomic-energy-commission> [accessed 3 March 2017]. 50 Boucher, p. 43. 51 Judith Butler, 'Gender Trouble,’ in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, ed. by Vincent B. Leitch (United States: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001), p. 2542. 52 Ibid, p. 2545. 53 Grace Metalious, Peyton Place (United States: Stellar Books, 2013), p. 13. 54 Boucher notes that the modernist architectural movement that gained popularity in the 1950s was met with criticism as it was believed by some that there exists ‘a communist plot at the heart of the movement, intended to usurp traditional American styles and values.’ This conformist and traditional Cape Cod style can therefore be seen as a manifestation of American capitalist ideological conformity. This also shows how foreign and domestic containment policy merged. See p. 21. 55 Sally Hirsh-Dickinson, Dirty Whites and Dark Secrets: Sex and Race in Peyton Place (Durham, NH: University of New Hampshire Press, 2011), p. 147. 56 Levitt emphasised complete conformity of design. He based his ‘house-building methods on the assembly-line procedures of American car production’ stressing similarity. This also demonstrates the commercialisation of the home; as owning a home became increasingly part of the American Dream so too did the ‘dream’ become progressively commercialised. 49

See Boucher, p. 9. 57 Kristeva’s theory of abjection is primarily corporeal and is not directly related to material. However, the basic premise remains the same: identity is form through differentiation. Chapter 2 will explore Kristeva’s theory in relation to these texts in more depth.

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The only differentiation that can occur is towards Samuel Peyton’s castle, the home of the black town founder. Allison is repelled by the structure: ‘Thinking of the story connected with the Peyton Place, [she] shivered a little in the warm sun, turning her eyes away.’ 58 This oxymoronic physical reaction and the rejection of the very sight of it, shows her objection to it hence her differentiation from it, allowing her to establish her identity. Hirsh-Dickinson’s entire argument is based on Peyton’s Place’s underlying racism, claiming that this is the text’s ultimate source of conflict. Therefore, according to her, Allison rejects the sight of the castle because it ‘remains an ever-present reminder of miscegenation […] And though the castle is the town’s originary home space, it bespeaks difference on all fronts’ in the form of foreign material brought from England and racial difference. 59 She is entirely correct here and accurately pinpoints that Allison rejects the castle because of sexual and racial nonconformity. The castle is racially foreign, representing a racial invasion of the ‘enemy,’ and because of the subsequent miscegenation, a sexual invasion too. The other architectural difference depicted in Peyton Place is the shacks on the outskirts of town, in which the Cross family live. 60 Despite being deemed ‘all right’ by the ‘New Englanders,’ Metalious’ description reveals otherwise as they are ‘like running sores, on the body of northern New England.’ 61 In calling the residents ‘New Englanders,’ Metalious is equating them to the land they reside on. Their identity becomes dependent on their domestic location, which allows their comparable sameness and homogeneity. Hirsh-Dickinson notes the infectious quality that these shacks have on the landscape but does not note the potential communicable effects on the New Englanders; nonconformity to the suburban model is hazardous to the rest of the population. 62 The permeability of bodies is also deemed dangerous, according to Butler, because of the risk of sexually transmitted diseases. 63 The impact that Lucas’ rape causes the whole community, as seen through Selena’s trial and abortion, shows its infectious effect on society.64 The nonconformist wound was left untreated and the sexual infection spread to the whole of Peyton Place. This wound can also be read as causing a ‘racial’ infection because of Selena’s physical otherness. Miss Thornton remarks her dissimilarity from the fair Allison in noting ‘her dark, gypsyish beauty.’ 65 The Cold War domestic lifestyle was immobile, focussed on the static house as this provided the strongest boundaries; the nomadic gypsy comparison makes Selena at odds with this model. Her darkness is linked to her sensuality and this causes Constance’s disapproval of her, as ‘At thirteen, she has the look of a beautifully sensual, expensively kept woman.’ 66 As Hirsh-Dickinson notes ‘Constance attributes to Selena the sexual availability and awareness stereotypically associated with the combination of dark skin, femininity, and low-class status,’ which places her outside the moral code, causing societal threat. 67 Selena’s physical differences, related to her sexual maturity and ethnicity, differentiate her from the rest of Peyton Place, othering her, but also causing communal discomfort.68

Metalious, p. 13. Hirsh-Dickinson, p.48. 60 The term ‘shack’ contains World War II resonances, which helps Metalious place the text within the desired 1930s setting. In doing so it gives the text distinct war-time connotations, allowing the association with the Cold War to be made easily. 59

Metalious, p. 30. Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 57. 63 Butler, ‘Gender Troubles,’ p. 2545. 64 Ardis, p. 51. 65 Metalious, p. 9. 66 Metalious, p. 41. 67 Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 41. 68 Hope Lange, the actress who plays Selena in the 1958 film adaptation (Figure 6), is blond and fair-skinned and this alteration from the novel changes the scandal to one that is purely sexual, eliminating all racial connotations. In general, Hirsh-Dickinson accuses the film adaptation of ‘whitewashing’ the text and this is arguably to make the viewing experience less problematic to a white audience. See p. 181. 62

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Incest is an obvious depiction of sexual nonconformity but what is also emphasised, in Metalious’ description of the act, is Selena’s racial difference; she is racially and sexually ‘other.’ Having never been into the shack, Allison curiously peers inside, witnessing Lucas violently hit Selena and expose her breasts: Why the ends of hers are brown, thought Allison foolishly. […] She panted with the effort to fight off the blackness that threatened her from every side, but she had to give way to the nausea. 69 Disgust is seen in the form of nausea but also the blackness, crucially one of the attributes that causes this reaction. Allison is presented in complete opposition to Selena: Allison is foolish, chaste, and fair; Selena is aware, sexual, and dark. 70 Allison’s body is contrasted with Selena’s but as a result of the focalisation employed, Allison is presented as the norm because she conforms racially and sexually.71 The menacing lexis employed here also correlates this scene to an attack on Allison. Blackness assaults Allison in a comparably ubiquitous manner to the way Fanny envisions the apocalyptic attack in The Sundial.72 These encircling attacks allow no room for escape, showing that Allison cannot flee the racial and sexual threat that this incestuous violence causes her and wider society. Lucas’ assault and rape are accurately blamed on the ‘boundariless interior of their home [that] creates an excess of inappropriate intimacy between family members,’ meaning Lucas can abuse the private sphere.73 The lack of boundaries lead to the following sexual and societal taboos: sex out-of-wedlock, adultery, incest and a subsequent abortion. All the years that Lucas spent sexually abusing Selena correlate to the growth of these taboos. 74 The wound was permitted to privately fester and then grew too big to contain causing an infectious spread to Peyton Place. The wider community is also impacted as seen by the presence of the out-of-town reporters at Selena’s trial. The private domestic is seen to have a direct impact on public life. The home must protect its borders from ‘polluting’ sexual influences, in the same way it defends from a nuclear attack. Metalious significantly chooses to disclose the Carters’ disdain of Selena while Ted prepares to go visit her in hospital as she recovers from her undisclosed abortion. Ironically, the reader knows that the humiliation felt in seeing Ted ‘take up with a shack girl, after his people had worked so hard to escape the same environment’ will be far greater once the scandal is disclosed. 75 Even more ironic is the fact that the Carters are just as entrapped in their current domestic situation as in their last. Their concerns are purely classists; the shacks are lower-class dwellings and they do not desire this affiliation for Ted. The first usage of the verb ‘escape’ in its transitive form was ‘To effect one's flight from prison’ (OED), giving it distinct societal connotations. The Carters have overcome class’ imprisoning borders, establishing themselves as middle-class, and now desire similar upward 69

Metalious, p. 57. Metalious is echoing Simone de Beauvoir’s ‘Myth of the Eternal Feminine’ theory in her antonymic categorisation of Selena and Allison; women are either ‘angelic’ or ‘perverse’ and these classifications render women ‘other,’ contributing to the female myth. Moreover, by making woman ‘other,’ man refuses to ‘grant to woman any right to sexual pleasure,’ which helps explain Selena’s assault. This state of ‘otherness’ was in Beauvoir’s view the cause of female inequality and abuse. 70

See ‘From The Second Sex: “Myth and Reality”’, in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, ed. b y Vincent B. Leitch (United States: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001), pp. 1265–73. 71

Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 43. An alternative reading to this is that Allison is attacked because of her invasion of the domestic. She was not invited into the home and therefore must suffer the defensive sensory attack that follows. 72

Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 59. Incest in postwar America was considered a ‘hushed and guarded secret’ and one that had little importance because it happened supposedly so infrequently. In reality, it was underreported and disregarded, concealed in a veil of secrecy within the home’s confines. The assumption that it can remain hidden is shown by Metalious to be false, as the domestic impacts society. See Ardis, p. 44. 75 Metalious, p. 64 74

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mobility for Ted. In wanting to marry Selena, Ted shows his belief that he will not be impeded by Selena’s lower-class status. Later, however, the disclosure of the scandal proves too much of an obstacle for him and, to borrow Allison’s legal terminology, he cannot ‘jeopardize himself’ in marrying her.76 Sexual pollution must be kept away from the marital institution so it could enforce strong boundaries and provide upward mobility. In Strangers, marital strength is directly correlated to infrastructural strength. As an architect, Guy specialises in designing the very boundaries being discussed: houses. Josh Lukin argues that Guy wishes to ‘upscale marriage to Anne,’ this is entirely true and also highlights the social mobility that marriage accords. 77 However, his argument pivots on the commoditisation of marriage, failing to recognise the infrastructural connotations and how these contribute to the ‘upscale.’ Guy believes that ‘Anne protected him. His work protected him’ and this isocolon shows their comparative qualities; marriage safeguards the private in the same way infrastructure protects the nation. 78 A further comparison is made by Bob who says that Anne is ‘As beautiful as a white bridge’ on their wedding day.79 Although strange, the bridge metaphor is apt considering its connective function. The aesthetics of a bridge arguably lies in its architectural strength and functionality; a weak bridge is ugly whereas a solid bridge is beautiful. Therefore, Anne’s beauty lies in the strengthening qualities she brings to their domestic boundaries, comparable to the strength infrastructure accords society. As Anne is equated to the bridge, marriage can be equated to society and this exemplifies the point that a strong marriage contributes to a strong society. The threat that the nuclear and sexual posed to the domestic were so comparable in Cold War America that the defence strategy for both became the same: enforcement of the domestic boundaries and attempt at containing the spread of these threats. The home became a political and ideological weapon in not only promoting capitalism but also safeguarding it from these ‘outside’ forces. The politicisation of the domestic boundaries as the Cold War battle lines meant that the state bled into the private in its attempt to protect and enforce these borders. The domestic boundaries’ strength derives from protecting the family effectively and successfully sheltering American ideologies.

Chapter 2 Inside: entrapment, claustrophobia and distortion The enforcement of these domestic borders may have helped defend against the ‘enemy’ but it also entrapped its inhabitants, imprisoning them within its conforming walls. All three texts display a distinct feeling of claustrophobia, contributing to an overarching feeling of anxiety and uneasiness. Characteristic of the genre writing in question is the created sense of terror and suspense. On a metaliterary level, as all the texts discussed work within the confines of genre writing, they too must function within claustrophobic boundaries. Adding to the feeling of terror is a distortion of the home and motherhood (the female domestic function), warping the structure. The domestic was meant to ensure security and contentment, a refuge from the insecurity and danger of the ‘outside.’ In making it a source of fear, these authors are intensifying the horror factor and showing the disturbing reality: female characters were not free as capitalism proclaimed but trapped within the household walls, and the required conformity made them prisoners to the system. Capitalism also negatively impacts the

Metalious, p. 333. Josh Lukin, ‘Identity-Shopping And Postwar Self-Improvement In Patricia Highsmith's Strangers On A Train,’ Journal Of Modern Literature, iv, 33 (2010), p. 23. 78 Highsmith, Strangers, p. 214 79 Ibid, p. 175. 77

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domestic in dehumanising women and their roles. The image of the polished and happy 1950s housewife was simply an ideological façade; the truth was a distorted version of the idealised front. The Gothic tradition was originally employed by American authors to profess anxieties about America’s relationship with Europe and establish a uniquely American identity. Jackson and Metalious employ its usage to express similar national anxieties but within a Cold War context. Both Samuel Peyton’s castle and Hill House are ‘quintessentially haunted house[s]’ drawing on the Gothic tradition to instil fear in the reader. 80 The main difference between the two castles is how the characters relate to the structures. Peyton Place’s characters never actually enter the castle; they are only forced to confront it visually. 81 On the other hand, Jackson’s characters in entering Hill House become fully immersed in its haunting qualities. This is relevant to Kristeva’s theory of abjection because Hill House arguably removes the ability to fully ‘abject’ in forcing the residents to completely and repeatedly confront the ‘grotesque.’82 For Kristeva, abjection also becomes a mission in defining borders between what one is and what one is not. The ‘ultimate abjection’ is seen when one is unable to form these borders and ‘identity, system, order’ is completely disturbed.’83 After Eleanor’s first attack, she laments ‘I should not be on the walls of this house.’ 84 The inscription of her name incorporates her identity into the house’s borders, distorting her concept of what the ‘object’ and ‘subject’ are, and troubling her ability to self-define.85 A further boundary blurring is revealed through her thinking ‘madly’ that she is ‘outside.’ 86 She is not ‘outside’ but so far ‘inside’ that she has lost all ability to locate herself, demonstrating her inability to abject and to outline her identity. This concept of Eleanor going ‘mad’ has further Gothic connotations; the Gothic woman is frequently ‘locked in a madhouse’ by male characters, representing the entrapment of the female mind. 87 88 The personification of Hill House as ‘not sane’ equates the house’s mental state to that of Eleanor, showing that in entering the house she is confronting her psyche. 89 In this way, Hill House becomes 80

Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 59. The position of Samuel Peyton’s castle and the effect it has on the town’s characters make it comparable to Franz Kafka’s The Castle. The hostility and wariness to the ‘outsider,’ as seen in the protagonist K.’s foreigner status and his consequent inability to permeate into the community and initially the castle, is perceived in Peyton Place too. Furthermore, the importance of community is noted, but it is one that is trapped by its ‘unreasoned reverence for tradition.’ This intertextual comparison underlines Metalious’ preoccupation with ‘inside’ versus ‘outside’ dynamics, desired communal acceptance, and society’s stress on outdated conformities that make characters feel entrapped. 81

See Ritchie Robertson, ‘Introduction,’ in The Castle (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), p. xvii. 82

Kristeva, Julia, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, translated by Leon S Roudiez (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982). 83 Ibid, p. 4. 84 Jackson, Hill House, p 345. 85 Kristeva, p. 4. 86 Jackson, Hill House, p 345. 87 Ruth Bienstock Anolik, 'The Missing Mother: The Meanings of Maternal Absence in the Gothic Mode,’ Modern Language Studies, 1/2, 33 (2003), p. 25. 88 As Tim Weiner notes, during the 1950s, panic spread about the Chinese communists’ ability to brainwa sh American prisoners of war. Their supposed aim was to ‘conquer America’ through conquering the mind. It represented an invasion of the psyche, which considering the Cold War was an ideological battle was a daunting concept. The psychological aspects of Jackson’s text play into this fear and make them all the more terrifying, as she shows that the mind can be disturbed within the supposedly safe realm of the domestic. The Cold War ‘mad house’ can also be read as an attempt at separating the mentally ‘weak’ from the dangerous ‘outside,’ reducing the risk of psychological invasion; the characters’ incarceration is justified as a way to keep them and society safe. See ‘Remembering Brainwashing,’ in New York Times (2008) <http://www.nytimes.com> [accessed 8 March 2017]. 89

Jackson, Hill House, p. 243.

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comparable to Sylvia Plath’s mental hospital in The Bell Jar, as both structures require the women to confront their sanity, which is conflicted because of domestic expectations placed on them. 90 However, a crucial difference lies in Esther finding ‘freedom’ through having a diaphragm fitted. 91 The immense relief birth control gives her underlines how overbearing reproductive expectations were for the Cold War woman. This ‘freedom’ is purely mental but also contributes to her implicit release from the hospital, giving it physical significance too. Eleanor, on the other hand, is fully ‘aborb[ed]’ by the house in the dénouement, entrapping her forever and never allowing her to escape domestic expectations. 92 Also typical of the Gothic tradition is the ‘Gothic space’ emblematic of the physically absent mother.93 Correspondingly, Jackson makes Hill House mother-like. Luke exclaims that the house is ‘so motherly. Everything so soft. Everything so padded […] and hands everywhere.’ 94 The house comes to symbolise the maternal womb here because of the adjectives denoting comfort and nurture. 95 The repetition of ‘everything’ stresses that the whole house possesses these qualities. According to Kristeva, the original abjection is that towards the mother ‘with our earliest attempts to release the hold of maternal entity even before ex-isting outside of her.’96 To separate from the mother is to form one’s original identity, therefore to return to her is problematic, as it signifies the return to the undefined semiotic state. As Halloran House symbolises the womb, the guests metaphorically re-enter the mother, meaning there is a complete disturbance of identity in this symbolic recreation of the original abjection. Furthermore, Luke’s comment indicates that hands have maternal meaning in Hill House, which helps answer the question ‘whose hand was [Eleanor] holding?’ during one of the hauntings, as it can be deduced that it belongs to the house. 97 In traditional Gothic literature, ‘the young woman’s attempt to get out of the enclosing castle […] emblematizes the attempt to separate from the mother’; she is trying to re-birth herself and re-abject the mother. 98 The incidence indicates the house’s refusal to let her leave, pulling her back into the womb, in a reversal of the birthing process, and an effort to force her re-attachment to the mother. Haggerty argues that the hand emerges from her ‘subconscious’ and this is right in that the house embodies her psyche. 99 His analysis has further impact here as it indicates that it is her own mind that is making her lose the ability to abject, thus define herself. This can be seen as a criticism of the ‘homeward bound’ movement in that domestic conformity removes the ability for female self-definition: women must stay at home and reproduce. In fully ‘absorbing’ the childless Eleanor, the house is also removing her reproductive decision and identity, forcing her ‘domestic containment.’ In general, the representation of the mother-figure in these texts is noteworthy. In Highsmith’s work, Russell Harrison notes that parents are ‘virtually vanquished’ and that with rare exception do couples reproduce.100 Harrison’s reading of Highsmith is reductive though, as mothers do appear in her texts, but does underline the lack of significance parenthood plays. 101 In Jackson’s work, the mother is Originally published in 1963 The Bell Jar’s objections to domestic conformity are also contextualised within the Cold War. However, Plath’s text is more explicit in its revelation of female entrapment and claust rophobia because, with the rise of second-wave feminism during the 1960s, women became more active and vocal in denouncing gender inequality. 90

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (London: Faber and Faber, 2005), p. 232. Hague, p. 82. 93 Anolik, p. 30. 94 Jackson, Hill House, p. 390. 95 George E. Haggerty, Queer Gothic (United States: University of Illinois Press, 2006), p. 136. 96 Kristeva, p. 13 (emphasis original). 97 Jackson, Hill House, p. 358. 98 Anolik, p. 27. 99 Haggerty, p. 148. 100 Russell Harrison, Patricia Highsmith (New York: Twayne Publishers Inc., 1997), p. 9. 101 Carol is an obvious exception to this rule, but it is commonly accepted that the text differs from the rest of Highsmith’s work. 92

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threatening. The Sundial’s opening presents the mother as a murderer, in Fanny declaring that ‘[Orianna] pushed [her father] down the stairs and killed him.’ 102 Victor Lavalle extolls this line’s humorous qualities, claiming that the text, in general, is ‘funny as hell.’103 Despite its parodic qualities, the reader, especially the Cold War one, must read the text as more hellish than funny, as it presents the mother as deadly, making the domestic dangerous. However, due to the ‘outside’ threat, the characters must remain inside this menacing environment. To a certain degree, Jackson and Highsmith’s presentation of the mother is oppositional (one virtually eliminates her importance and the other makes her one of the principal sources of danger), but they both distort her conventional portrayal during the Cold War, which is one of security. In Peyton Place, the principal mother-figure is Constance who represents ‘a particularly troubling type of womanhood: [one] whose sexual pleasures and desire operated outside the confines of marriage.’104 Her sexuality has not been contained and she, therefore, threatens wider society. Constance can be read in juxtaposition with Hester from A Scarlet Letter.105 In both texts, shame is feared and occurs through the revelation of sexual sin (religious or societal) to the ‘outside’ world. Hester is unable to hide her sin and the public marketplace becomes symbolic of shame. On the other hand, Constance manages to avoid being shamed by creating ‘a respectable fiction for herself.’ 106 Through this guise of widowhood she manipulates the system, entering ‘the masculine world of the marketplace,’ traversing gender boundaries, thus asserting her control. 107 However, this respectability refers to the conformity fabricated by society. Consequently, even though it may seem that Constance has gained some freedom in her ability to create and define her persona, she is still conforming to society by moulding the fictionalised version of herself to its expectations. Thanks to capitalist consumerism, Constance can run her shop, maintaining her financial freedom. This liberation exemplifies the Cold War propaganda that extolls the beauties of capitalism. America proclaimed itself as the leader of the ‘free world’ in contrast with the communist ‘slave world,’ establishing another antonymic quality by which to contrast the two ideologies. 108 It was seen as a civic duty to consume as ‘without consumption, capitalism will crumble.’ 109 This obligation paradoxically curtailed individual’s freedom. The main consumption was of domestic goods, as this reinforced the home, hence the superiority of the American way of life. 110 In subscribing the

See Fiona Peters, Anxiety and Evil in the Writings of Patricia Highsmith (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2011), p. 128. 102 Jackson, The Sundial, pp. 1-2. 103 Victor Lavalle, 'Foreword', in The Sundial (London, United Kingdom: Penguin Classics, 2014), p. xi. 104 Ardis, p. 128. 105 As Hirsh-Dickinson notes, Peyton Place’s strict moral code ‘punishes girls and women who embark on sex lives outside of marriage’ through shame but also through ‘withdrawing them from the financial means to support themselves and their children in the abs ence of a working husband.’ Constance has managed to avoid this, but it could have been her fate, meaning that it could be considered worse than Hester, as she still maintains some way of financing herself. In any case, the Cold War and Puritan moral codes are comparably punishing. See p. 79. 106

Metalious, p. 17. Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 79. 108 Susan L. Carruthers, Cold War Captives: Imprisonment, Escape, And Brainwashing (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), p. 10. 109 Robert Whitney, the president of the International Distribution Congress, voiced this belief in 1955. He also extolled the ‘new system’ of consumption as ‘the hallmark of American freedom.’ See Lawrence B. Glickman, Buying Power: A History of Consumer Activism in America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), p. 264. 110 These commodities in strengthening the home life also helped ‘uphold traditional gender roles.’ Therefore, this ideology of consumption helped enforce the home’s boundaries as well as gender binaries, increasing the entrapping qualities of the domestic in this way. See Elaine Tyler May, 'The Commodity Gap: Consumerism and the Modern Home', in Buying Power: A History of Consumer Activism in America (United States: Not Avail, 2014), p. 301. 107

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consumption of specific commodities, the Cold War capitalist ideology entrapped individual consumers into this American lifestyle. This lack of freedom is most clearly seen in Highsmith’s work, who takes a particular interest in exploring the negative effects of consumerism. Humans and consumer goods are disturbingly compared in the texts discussed. After Bruno murders Miriam, his thought process is voiced through free indirect speech: ‘nobody knew what life was, everybody defended it, the most priceless possession, but he had taken one away.’ 111 He is questioning the common belief that life is valuable despite its lack of material worth, and the oppositional ‘but’ shows his ability to defy the norm and play out his counter-argument. Bruno does not kill Miriam, he ‘takes’ her life and in doing so makes her an object, which can be attributed value. 112 Cold War capitalist propaganda equates American goods to American life, which, by reduction, equates goods to life. This reflects Bruno’s thought process and allows him to justify his action. Therefore, arguably capitalism condones murder because of its dehumanising effects. In Ripley, Tom’s homosexual feelings for Dickie overlap with the fetishisation of Dickie’s possessions. Having murdered Dickie, Tom fantasises about ‘all the pleasures that lay before him now with Dickie’s money, other beds, tables, seas, ships, suitcases, shirts, years of freedom, years of pleasure.’113 Like in Strangers, consumerism allows for violence by reducing the value of human life to its material worth. Tom’s murder proves that he gains more gratification from objects than he does from Dickie and his homosexual desires; material needs trump sexual. Moreover, in placing ‘freedom’ at the end of the list of objects accords it comparable worth and shows that it can be materially acquired. Speaking generally, Harrison complains that Highsmith’s obsession with objects ‘shifts the weight of the sentence towards the objects, away from the person […] creating a claustrophobia in which there is no room for anything other than things.’ 114 This supposed fault of Highsmith’s should actually be seen as a strength. It is precisely this shift that makes Highsmith’s thriller even more terrifying as it justifies murder; putting a price on human life devalues it, allowing for the same disposal of life as of an object. The claustrophobia also intensifies the suspense in Highsmith’s thriller, demonstrating the entrapping effects of capitalist consumerism, and its dehumanising consequences. Carol also expresses claustrophobia and entrapment because of the protagonists’ inability to find space.115 The discussion that Therese has with Carol about her response to her dismissal reveals this theme: “I just disappeared. I suppose it was my idea of starting a new life, but mostly I was ashamed […]” Carol smiled. “Disappeared! I like that. And how lucky you are to be able to do it. You’re free.” 116 She removes herself from her family and friends (her social sphere) only keeping in contact with Richard. Even though they are unmarried because they are romantically affiliated and essentially live together, he forms her domestic. The shame she feels is comparable to what Constance fears and Hester experiences, but here it is attributed to her unemployment, which shows her inability to function properly in a capitalist society. Furthermore, ‘freedom’ derives from the Old Saxon friehan meaning ‘to love’ (OED) and ‘disappear’ denotes ‘of things immaterial’ (OED); it is Therese’s 111

Highsmith, Strangers, p. 94. A simplistic and reductive view of Karl Marx’s critique of capitalism is that human objectification occurs through alienation as well as commodity fetishism. Therefore, Highsmith is demonstrating an anti-capitalism viewpoint that would have been professed by the Soviet Union’s Marxist-Leninist state. 113 Highsmith, Ripley, p. 97. 114 Harrison, p. 12. 115 The alienation felt links specifically to the protagonists’ homosexuality and will be discussed in further detail in chapter 3. 116 Highsmith, Carol (London: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 2010), p. 69. 112

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supposed ability to remove herself from the material world that allows her to ‘love’ freely. Carol envies Therese’s freedom from consumerism and domestic conformity because Carol is not free to love whom she pleases due to the confinement of marriage. 117 Despite what Carol voices, Therese is just as entrapped within the capitalist world. The department store she works in is ‘so much like a prison, it frightened her.’ 118 Highsmith attributes the feeling of claustrophobia, terror and suspense, typical of a thriller, to the store; capitalism becomes the setting for her thriller. There are two reasons one goes to prison: societal punishment; or, as ‘a person taken in war and held as a captive’ (OED). Therese is a prisoner of (cold) war, as it is societal expectations that derive from the ideological battle that confine her. Furthermore, Therese’s job is given a domestic dimension through selling dolls, which are ‘the next best thing to a baby.’119 This personification associates the store with the home and objectifies the maternal role. In equating toys to humans, Highsmith is showing that the gendered Cold War roles enacted by her characters likens them to puppets being used for the sake of strengthening America’s ideological standpoint. Butler’s gender performance theory is epitomised but the actors she uses to conceptualise her thoughts are switched for toys.120 The performance is objectified and made passive; Butler’s actors actively participate in the enactment whereas Highsmith’s dolls are handled and manipulated. Jackson and Metalious also employ the doll metaphor. In The Sundial, Fancy equates her doll’s house to the real world in saying ‘When my grandmother dies all this is going to belong to me […] When my grandmother dies […] I am going to smash my doll house.’ 121 The two houses are juxtaposed, ‘the “real” house [being] a scaled-up version of the toy.’122 Fanny is desensitised and this affects her concept of violence: if she can smash her dolls and doll’s house, then she can destroy the human equivalents. The implication that she kills Orianna proves this point. Similarly, in Peyton Place, Kathy’s arm loss at the carnival organised by Leslie Harrington is described as ‘just like a toy doll.’123 Leslie’s complete monopoly on Peyton Place’s industry allows him to control the trial through his economic power, as it would have been ‘impossible’ to find jury members who were not reliant on him financially in some way. 124 Capitalism corrupts the justice system and legitimises Kathy’s dolllike treatment. The violence inflicted upon her is the same as Fanny inflicts upon Orianna and both avoid punishment thanks to capitalism and consumerism’s dehumanising effects. Entrapment is also seen in Peyton Place through repression, as the individual contains their traumatic experiences from the ‘outside’ world and themselves. The reader is made aware of the rape that sparked Constance and Tom’s relationship through a flashback: It was like a nightmare from which she could not wake until, at last, when the blackness at her window began to pale gray, she felt the first red gush of shamed pleasure that lifted her, lifted her, lifted her and then dropped her down into unconsciousness. 125 Due to its placement in the text, this scene is problematic. This violation is unveiled after it is established that they plan to be married. Their love is founded upon this abuse, making their relationship fundamentally abusive. Constance represses the memory from her conscious mind, which It is repeatedly mentioned throughout Strangers that Guy envies Bruno’s ‘freedom.’ One of the main differences between the two male characters is their differing marital and domestic situations. Therefo re, this envied freedom can be seen as stemming from the entrapment Guy feels in his domesticated marriage. 118 Highsmith, Carol, p. 4. 119 Highsmith, Carol, p. 11. 120 Judith Butler, ‘Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,’ Theatre Journal, 40 (1988), pp. 519-531. 121 Jackson, The Sundial, p. 18 (emphasis original). 122 Rich Pascal, ‘New World Miniatures: Shirley Jackson's The Sundial And Postwar American Society’ in Shirley Jackson: Essays On The Literary Legacy, ed. by Bernice M. Murphy (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2005), p. 87. 123 Metalious, p. 252. 124 Ibid, p. 276. 125 Metalious, p. 148. 117

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is why it is called a ‘nightmare.’126 However, this is an actual occurrence and Constance’s attempts at concealing it in her unconscious demonstrates its traumatic qualities even more. The effect it has on the modern-day reader is shocking due to its violent and explicit content and the revelation of the possibility that this may continue to take place. 127 Despite its graphic nature, not a single letter addressed to Metalious objected to the violence and this is revelatory of a Cold War attitude towards female sexuality. 128 The ‘cult of mutual orgasm’ that pervaded the 1950s insisted that joint sexual pleasure was necessary to maintain a strong marriage and home.129 Ardis is correct in asserting that Constance represented the early twentieth century ‘frigid women,’ and it is because of this that she poses threat to the domestic structure. 130 The imagery of ‘red gush’ is comparable to that normally employed to illustrate sexual awakening during the loss of virginity.131 Tom represents the archetypal 1950s man in being ‘strong, forceful, masculine,’ and is simply fulfilling his civic duty in forcing sexual pleasure upon Constance. 132 The trauma inflicted upon her is a necessary evil, like that typically seen during the female loss of virginity. She must be ‘lifted’ out of her frigid ways in order to participate in the necessary joint orgasm. Hirsh-Dickinson suggests that it is because of Constance’s abuse of boundaries that the rape must occur. Supposedly because ‘Constance has domesticated herself and her home to excess […] she must be broken of the habit and her body broken into.’133 This argument is not particularly strong when considering domestication during the Cold War was actively encouraged and any invasion of the home disapproved of. However, it can be seen as a punishment for her deception and abuse of the privacy granted by the domestic borders in feigning widowhood. As mentioned previously, shame is linked to public disapproval and in this way, Constance receives a warped version of a public punishment, acting as a warning against the abuse of domestic privacy. In general Peyton Place’s revelation of secrets is explosive and this is why it is so frequently compared to the Kinsey Reports because of the scandal they both produced in revealing America’s hidden sexuality. The text was perceived as the ‘literary H-bomb’ threatening domestic stability. 134 Selena’s various abuses and abortion in addition to Constance’s rape and out-of-wedlock child are the text’s main ‘bombshells.’ Despite the attempts to contain them in keeping them hidden, they are all revealed explosively. This entrapment of sexuality within the private sphere is problematised by all three authors, as it produces distortion and claustrophobia. McCarthyism’s obsession with curtailing the spread of communism and nonconformist sexuality produced such intense expectations to portray ideological and sexual ‘normalcy’ that the pressure distorted the home, the mother and human values. The idealised vision of the 1950s housewife is shown to be a propaganda veneer, aimed at showing America’s ideological superiority. These authors present the terrifying reality of the contained Cold War domestic woman.

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This quotation could also be read using Freudian psychoanalysis because of the mention of dreams and repression of traumatic memory, and this reading would help increase the understanding of Constance’s troubled psyche. However, in the same way that Sigmund Freud argues that individuals can only ever hope to analyse their psyche, one can never escape or change it, Constance will always be afflicted by these violent memories, entrapping her forever. Hirsh-Dickinson is entirely correct in noting that the ‘idea that Tom does Constance the favor of assaulting her back to her sexual senses is indeed horrifying, especially in light of the novel’s reputation for being the opening salvo in sexual revolution.’ This passage glorifies and condones rape, showing it as necessary for Constance’s sexual awakening. See p. 81. 128 Ardis, p. 142. 129 May, Homeward Bound, p. 128. 130 Ardis, p. 141. 131 Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 81. 132 Ardis, p 142. 133 Hirsh-Dickinson, p. 80. 134 Ardis, p. 108. 127

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Chapter 3 Outside: exclusion and alienation Child-rearing was such an important civic duty that any acts deemed counter-reproductive were met with a rejection from society and the home. Reproduction has traditionally been perceived as woman’s natural responsibility, and the Cold War gave it a societal dimension in proclaiming it as a tangible endorsement of capitalist political goals as well as being an ‘an expression of [the family’s] citizenship.’135 136 With this in mind, the comparison between communists and homosexuals that characterised the Lavender Scare becomes clearer as both threatened the fabric that 1950s American culture was based on: capitalism and domesticity. 137 This also explains the comparable rhetoric of contamination and toxicity used to describe the nuclear threat and homosexuality because both were ‘polluting’ influences on the home and, therefore, must be repelled as best as possible. The McCarthy administration labelled homosexuals as ‘sexual perverts,’ linking them to ‘national weakness.’138 The first usage of the noun ‘perversion’ was to signify a change from ‘Christian belief to non-Christian belief or falsity’ (OED). In using this historically religious term, McCarthy underlines religion’s centrality in strengthening America citizenry, as it binds the nation together through shared ethical and religious values. 139 Abortions can therefore be included in the category of ‘sexual perversion,’ as it weakens society through inverting Christian beliefs and rejecting the duty to reproduce; Selena’s abortion in Peyton Place is comparable to the homosexuality of the other protagonists under discussion because of the similarity in supposed societal impact. Lee Edelman also compares abortion and homosexuality. He writes that ‘queerness names the side of those not “fighting for the children,” the side outside the consensus by which all politics confirms the absolute value of reproductive futurism.’140 Homosexuality and abortions represent a fatal sterility that cannot be abided by heteronormative society because with no children, there is no future hence death. Cold War propaganda adds a further dimension to this heteronormativity because children served as an ideological weapon, safeguarding America’s future in the nuclear age. The paradox is that children's vulnerability means they need further protecting. Their weakness is also increased when taking into account their innocence, which must be preserved from ‘perversion,’ thus homosexuality must be kept away. With apocalyptic visions pervading the American mind, ‘sexual perverts’ could not be abided because of their deathly associations and their weakening influence on the home; those that did not conform to heteronormative reproductivity were deemed ‘outsiders’ and not party to the domestic dream.141

135

May, Homeward Bound, p. 151. May writes that the assumption that women were naturally designed for motherhood was so prevalent that ‘anxiety or ambivalence surrounding pregnancy was actually considered a pathological condition.’ In addition to this, some obstetricians believed miscarriages were the result of an ‘unconscious rejection’ on the behalf of the mother. Women were meant to child-rear and anything that prevented them doing so was their own fault. See ibid, p. 141. 137 According to David K. Johnson, in the 1950s, ‘many politicians, journalists and citizens thought that homosexuals posed more of a threat to national security than Communists.’ This attitude was met with a ‘cleaning’ of all homosexuals from public office. They were a political risk and therefore were not allowed any power over the ‘outside’ public domain. See The Lavender Scare: The Cold War Persecution of Gays and Lesbians in the Federal Government (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2004), p. 2. 138 May, Homeward Bound, p. 92. 139 Ibid, p. 29. 140 Lee Edelman, No Future: Queer Theory And The Death Drive (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004) p. 3 (emphasis added). 141 During the 1980s in America, the hysteria related to the HIV/AIDS epidemic was fuelled by the belief that this ‘gay disease’ menaced the general population. Homophobia was legitimised because of the direct threat 136

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Highsmith identifies homosexuality as having deadly implications. Bruno in Strangers ‘bears all the stigmata of homosexuality’ as does Ripley’s Tom.142 143 It is not coincidental that they are killers. These homosexuals are seen as a direct threat to the domestic stability as their assassinations have effects on heterosexual relationships; through murder, Bruno aims to kill Miriam and Guy’s marriage and Tom after his murderous act, kills Marge and Dickie’s relationship with his toxic letter writing. 144 Ripley’s Tom is presented as a direct threat to heteronormative values. Having seen Marge and Dickie kiss, he ‘bang[s] the gate shut’ and runs ‘all the way up the road home,’ creating a physical and spatial barrier between him and the heterosexual act because of his disgust. 145 He returns home and dresses himself in Dickie’s clothing, and the following episode occurs: “Marge you must understand that I don’t love you,” Tom said into the mirror in Dickie’s voice […] He shook her, twisted her, while she sank lower and lower, until at last he left her limp on the floor […] “You were interfering between Tom and me” 146 Tom’s Lacanian mirror-stage is echoed here and allows insight into the form Tom’s ‘Ideal-I’ originally took; it reflects his homosexuality, which could have been shaped as a socially unaware infant without heteronormative disapproval repressing it.147 Marge is occupying the space in Dickie’s domestic that Tom craves. The verb ‘interfere’ can mean ‘to molest or assault sexually’ (OED), depicting Marge as a sexual violator and highlighting that his desired position in Dickie’s home is sexual too. The only means by which Tom can envision his inclusion is through murder because heteronormativity will always reject homosexuality in favour of conformity. It is later indicated that the Marge depicted here was ‘imaginary’ but due to the lack of clarifying adjectives, Highsmith tries to fool the reader into believing the reality of the violence. 148 Furthermore, the use of ‘at last’ highlights the urgency and immediate desire of this vision’s fulfilment, proving that Tom poses a direct and real threat to their current domestic situation. The homosexual implications of this episode are highlighted in Dickie confirming to Tom that ‘I am not queer.’149 In confirming his heterosexuality, he differentiates himself from Tom’s implicit homosexuality, creating the contrasting sexual imagery through which Diana Fuss describes heteronormativity: there are clear sexual boundaries and one is either ‘inside’ or ‘outside,’ either

homosexual activities supposedly posed to society. Therefore, even though the texts in discussion were published before this scare, the rhetoric surrounding homosexuality is comparable; nonco nformity menaces conformity. See Robert Mcruer, "Queer America", in The Cambridge Companion To Modern American Culture, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 215-234. Josh Lukin, ‘Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train as Tragedy of Mann ers,’ in Fifties Fictions, ed. by Josh Lukin & Samuel R. Delany (Vashon Island, WA: Paradoxa, 2003), p. 173. 143 Haggerty, p. 166. 144 Bruno’s name alludes to Bruno Richard Hauptmann, the murder and kidnapper behind the Lindberg kidnapping. In 1932, Charles Lindberg, a famous aviator in the military, and his wife Anne had their son kidnapped from their home by Bruno Richard Hauptmann. Ev en though it occurred in the 1930s, because of the crime’s notorious nature, Highsmith’s readers may have picked up on the reference. Bruno is thus given a name that has connotations for those born in the 1930s of domestic infiltration, death and disregard of military importance. See Lukin, ‘Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train as Tragedy of Manners,’ p. 170 and ‘Lindbergh kidnapping,’ published by Federal Bureau of Investigation <www.fbi.gov/history/famous -cases/lindberghkidnapping> [accessed 22 February 2017]. 145 Highsmith, Ripley, p. 68. 146 Ibid, pp. 68-69 (emphasis original). 147 Lacan, Jacques, ‘The Mirror Stage as Formative of the Function of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience,’ in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism ed. by Vincent B. Leitch (United States: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001), p. 1164. 148 Highsmith, Ripley, p. 69. 149 Ibid, p. 70. 142

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heterosexual or homosexual. 150 Fuss’ boundary definitions can be related to the domestic borders: heterosexuality denotes inclusion whereas homosexuality is met with exclusion, forcing the individual outside the home. Dickie is here confirming his inclusion, thus emphasising Tom’s exclusion, and subsequent to this ‘outing,’ Tom is asked to leave, signifying his rejection from Dickie’s domestic sphere. The unattainability of his ‘Ideal-I’ is made clear but he can still fulfil his desire of acceptance; in killing him, Tom curtails his ejection, ‘becomes’ Dickie and dominates his domestic sphere. Through this control, he corrupts Dickie’s home with his sexuality, which clearly intertwines with the fears that many 1950s readers would have had related to homosexual/communist infiltration. Similarly, in Hill House a confirmation of homosexuality is met with domestic exclusion. According to Jackson, the second haunting is supposedly the ‘key’ to her novel. 151 This is true as it blatantly shows the homophobic attitude of the heteronormative house. The defilement of Theo’s clothes in blood is a forceful way of outing her from the metaphorical closet, and shows her ejection from the heterosexual boundaries Fuss identifies. 152 In remarking that ‘so much blood one would almost have to …’ Luke insinuates death, making the reader question who has died. 153 As this passage is so loaded with queer meaning, it can be read as the death of her heterosexual persona: she can no longer pretend to conform to heteronormativity. However, regardless of this interpretation’s accuracy, Luke’s morbid insinuation link homosexuality and death. Haines calls Theo a ‘scarlet lady’ because in his view this bloody message relates to Hugh Crain’s book of moral instructions, acting as a label for her immorality. 154 His reading makes Theo comparable to The Scarlett Letter’s Hester, like Constance in Peyton Place. Furthermore, Judie Newman likens this scene to ‘Bluebeard’ in referring to the closet as the ‘bloody chamber.’ 155 156 Bluebeard’s wife cannot remove the blood from the key, in the same way Theo cannot remove the blood from her clothes and Hester cannot remove the scarlet ‘A.’ All three of these bloody taints designate an exclusion because of sexual misconduct. Blood, normally symbolic of kinship and family, here becomes a symbol of precisely the opposite, as it is with this bloody marking that Theo is shown to be ‘outed’ from her guise of domestic heteronormative conformity. 157 As it has previously been established that the house is representative of the womb, the blood here can be seen as menstrual. The tainting thus becomes a graphic reminder that Theo’s homosexuality is preventing her from upholding her civic and ethical duties to Edelman’s ‘reproductive futurism.’ Comparably, in Carol, there are four instances of Therese eating eggs, all of which are in Carol’s presence. The consumption of eggs is an extended metaphor for the negation and destruction of her reproductive capabilities. She is also given milk to drink by Carol:

150

Diana Fuss, 'Inside/Out', in Inside/Out: Lesbian Theories, Gay Theories, ed. by Diana Fuss (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 1–10. 151 Colin Haines, ‘Frightened by a Word’: Shirley Jackson and Lesbian Gothic (Stockholm: Uppsala University, 2007), p. 148. 152 Ibid, p. 160. 153 Jackson, Hill House, p. 351. 154 Haines, pp. 159-160. 155 Judie Newman, 'Shirley Jackson and the Reproduction of Mothering: The Haunting of Hill House', in American Horror Fiction: from Brockden Brown to Stephen King , ed. by Brian Docherty (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1990), p. 129. 156 Perrault wrote the tale of ‘Bluebeard’ in order to warn his children about the dangers of female sexuality, thus had a similar pastoral aim to Hugh Crain. Furthermore, ‘Bluebeard’ can be read as a retelling of the myth of Pandora’s Box or the Biblical Fall, as it entails a woman succumbing to temptation and having to pay severe consequences for it. With this reading in mind, it becomes clear that Theo is being punished for succumbing to queer sexual temptations. See Seltzer, Sarah, ‘Fairy Tales and Female Sexuality,’ in Rewire (2017). <www.rewire.news/article/2011/03/14/fairy-tale-female -sexuality/> [accessed 23 February 2017]. 157 Michael Feber, ‘Blood’ in A Dictionary of Literary Symbols (Online: Cambridge University Press, 2007) <www.credoreference.com> [accessed 15 March 2017].

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The milk seemed to taste of bone and blood, of warm flesh, or hair, saltless as chalk yet alive as a growing embryo […] Therese drank it down, as people in fairy tales drink the potion that will transform, or the unsuspecting warrior the cup that will kill. 158 The maternal symbol is perverted and given cannibalistic meaning. What is described here is similar to abortive medicine: she is killing her child-rearing potential. Similarly, in many Western fairy tales, potions have poisonous qualities. In ‘Snow White,’ the potion’s curse, which comes from eating the poisoned apple, can only be lifted with the prince’s kiss, highlighting the power of heteronormativity.159 Carol cannot grant Therese this heterosexual salvation. The ‘warrior’ acts as a reminder of the Cold War state of battle and shows homosexuality’s detrimental civic effects. These reproductive symbols are Jackson and Highsmith’s way of reminding their readers that homosexuality is counterproductive to the national defence efforts. As religious and ‘American’ values were so closely connected, the notion of reproductive duty in the 1950s is comparable to the Biblical procreative responsibility, explaining why ‘sexual perversion’ in these texts is intertwined with religious rhetoric. This is most clearly seen in Peyton Place, through the Catholic nurse Mary’s internal dialogue: A Catholic, she told herself, would never have performed this shocking, horrifying, repulsive act, and she had been shocked, horrified and repulsed, as any good Catholic girl would have been.160 Commoratio and polyptoton emphasise her absolute horror. This would have also been felt by a 1950s readership, as abortions were seen as a direct threat to ‘sexual morality and family life.’ 161 Mary is purely focused on the religious consequences of the abortion, which is significant considering abortions were illegal. 162 Her disregard for the legal implications, stresses her concern for the religious ones. Conversely, Dr Swain is preoccupied with civic law, consistently repeating ‘Rules are rules’ in his internal dialogue related to the situation. 163 The two medical professionals involved therefore represent the two laws that are being broken: religious and civic. In the 1957 film adaptation, Dr Swain becomes the spokesperson for both in exclaiming he will not ‘Break the law of man and God.’164 Religious and national interest coincide because of their shared preoccupation in safeguarding the domestic. The hauntings in Hill House also have religious significance that underlines nonconformist sexuality’s ‘perverted’ nature. The picnic haunting is a turning point in the text, marking sexuality switches in Theo and Eleanor. In the location that Theo and Eleanor had thought of having a picnic, they witness a ghostly version of their anticipated one: ‘They could hear the laughter of the children and the affectionate, amused voices of the mother and father.’ 165 They are presented with ‘an idealized image of reproductive, heterosexual family life,’ underlining Theo’s separation from it. 166 The scene is a warning of what Eleanor would be discarding in succumbing to the queer temptation presented by 158

Highsmith, Carol, p. 66. Brothers Grimm, ‘Snow White’, in The classic fairy tales: texts, criticism, by Maria Tatar (United States: Norton, W. W. & Company, Inc., 1998). 159

160

Metalious, p. 152. May, Homeward Bound, p. 145. 162 Abortions were legalised in Roe v Wade (1973) case. As Deborah Nelson notes, the case sanctified the privacy between the doctor and his patient, thus privatising the doctor’s office and female sexuality. With this ability to withdraw from the public eye, women were given the ‘right to self-determination and autonomy.’ By legalising this privacy, it is showing that these spaces were previously perceived as public domain, making female sexual health a public issue. See Pursuing Privacy in Cold War America (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), p. 112. 163 Metalious, p. 142. 164 Peyton Place, dir. by Mark Robson, with Lana Turner, Lee Philips, and Lloyd Nolan (USA, 1958). 165 Jackson, Hill House, p. 367. 166 Haines, p. 163. 161

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Theo, thus rejecting heteronormativity. Nevertheless, Eleanor does not perceive it this way, and sees it as a horrifying revelation of heterosexuality: she subsequently crosses the heteronormative boundary Fuss describes, in asking Theo if they can live together upon leaving Hill House. In fleeing this scene, Theo urges Eleanor ‘don’t look back – don’t look – run!’ which leads Haines to compare the episode to Lot’s flight from Sodom, a Biblical tale typically read as condemning homosexuality.167 168 Crucially, like Lot’s wife, Theo looks back and as Lot’s wife is turned into a pillar of salt, so too must Theo suffer repercussions. The reader is not made privy to what she witnesses but her subsequent conformity to heteronormativity is marked. She refuses Eleanor’s domestic invitation, asking her ‘Do you always go where you’re not wanted?’ highlighting her lack of desire for her.169 She also starts to show increased sexual interest in the Biblically named Luke, plainly showing her religious confirmation of heteronormativity. She then suffers no more attacks, marking her reinclusion and acceptance into Hill House. On the other hand, Eleanor continues to suffer increasingly serious attacks until she is evicted from Hill House, marking her ultimate domestic exclusion. According to Butler, the importance that sexuality is given by society relates to the fact that it breaks the body’s boundaries and this can either be stabilising, in the case of heterosexuality, or ‘polluting.’ 170 In the same way that the nuclear bomb and a communist invasion threatened the sanitation of domestic environment and ideologies, homosexuality had ‘toxic’ impact. Once Eleanor crosses the sexual boundary, she is ‘outed,’ and her ‘contaminating’ presence must be removed to safeguard the home’s heteronormativity. Robert Corber argues that implicit in the house’s demands to ‘HELP ELEANOR COME HOME’ is the request that Eleanor acknowledge her desire for Theo and this is why she refuses to obey, as she does not want to admit her homosexuality. 171 Although he was speaking in relation to the 1963 film The Haunting, his comments are relevant because the elements in question remain unchanged in the adaptation. Accordingly, his analysis must be rejected because Eleanor does not refuse the house’s request but actively seeks its acceptance. She states before committing suicide that ‘Hill House belongs to me’ showing her desire to gain material possession, forcing her inclusion. 172 173 Instead, Eleanor’s misunderstanding of what constitutes ‘home’ is the cause of her deathly ejection; she comprehends the boundary distinction between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ but does not understand their sexual implications. She associates the home, with the feeling of being ‘wanted’ and this is why she changes her behaviour according to what she believes will create this state of inclusion. 174 Contrary to Corber’s view, the house enforces heteronormativity, explaining why the bloody message targets Theo as she poses threat to this stability. Eleanor’s suicide illustrates her final attempt at acceptance. Hague’s view that she is ‘absorbed’ into the house in the dénouement infers that she is required to abide by heteronormative rules; she is accepted back into the domestic sphere but this forces her to conform. 175 Before leaving in the car, Eleanor confirms that she has ‘No home,’ making the car a symbol of boundary transition and an indicator of homelessness. 176 Similarly, Carol and Therese’s relationship is

167

Jackson, Hill House, p. 368. Haines, p. 163. 169 Jackson, Hill House, p. 390. (emphasis original). 170 Judith Butler, 'Gender Trouble,' pp. 2540–2553. 171 Robert J Corber, in Cold war femme: Lesbianism, national identity, and Hollywood cinema (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011), p. 187. 172 Jackson, Hill House, p. 417 (emphasis original). 173 The negative effects of capitalism that were discussed in chapter 2 can also be perceived here, as the desired material possession of the house is what causes Eleanor to commit suicide. She has a dist orted view on how to acquire access to the house, which can also be attributed to the distorting qualities of consumerism. 168

174

Jackson, Hill House, p. 390. Hague, p. 82. 176 Jackson, Hill House, p. 412. 175

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only allowed to form on the road, away from the domestic. 177 Before their departure and when ending her relationship with Richard, Therese symbolically breaks the Madonna figurine, which she previously had thought of as ‘the one beautiful thing in her apartment.’ 178 The shattering of her prized possession marks her rejection of domesticity and religion, designating her homelessness. Unlike Eleanor, she actively and knowingly chooses to cross the sexual boundaries and accepts the consequences. In Todd Haynes’ film adaptation, the car is seen as the central location for Carol and Therese’s relationship. His scene depicting Carol and Therese journeying in the car for the first time highlights this state of transitionary bliss. The piano score reflects Therese’s peaceful state of mind. It continues to be foregrounded when Carol turns on the radio on; Therese has transcended the situation. She is not focussed on her space and surrounding, only Carol, shown by the close-up shots (Figure 7), extreme close-up shots (Figure 8) and gradual camera focus on Carol’s features (Figure 9). Carol also calls Therese ‘My angel […] Flung out of space’ just before they have sex. 179 They believe their love is so ‘right’ that they have been able to evade heteronormative society and find their own ‘space’ that is not defined by religious and societal definitions of what constitutes right/wrong sexuality. 180 Carol’s insistence on going ‘West’ for their road trip alludes to the Frontier: the line of most rapid and effective Americanization,’ idealised for its Utopian potential because of its untainted state. 181 182 She wants to take advantage of this ‘virginal’ land, which should technically not have heteronormative values imposed upon it. The irony is double: the Frontier had already been declared closed in 1890; and, settlement taints the land thus the mere act of attempting to colonise destroys the territory’s Utopic potential.183 Moreover, the car’s movement allows them to run away from homophobia but they cannot flee it forever, and become stationary when they rest, which is how the detective catches them. Carol and Therese will never be able to find a space that is untarnished by heteronormativity; they will always be forced to comply with it. Their inability to escape society’s glare and judgment is illustrated by the detective’s actions. Victoria Hesford remarks that while on their journey, the emptiness of Carol’s house ‘stands as a symbol of Harge’s impotence – his inability to satisfy his wife sexually,’ the only penetration he is able to perform is through the ‘phallic “spike.”’184 This is entirely true and in ‘dr[iving] a spike into the wall’ the detective is designating his border control. 185 The phallic penetration of the pudendal barrier is by heteronormative definition a heterosexual act, juxtaposing with the lesbian sex occurring on the other side of the wall’s border.186 The product of this heterosexual act is fruitful and powerful: the

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The car became an important feature of suburban life allowing female independence as they could venture away from the domestic. Yet, it also dissipated community spirit because it meant that women became more individualistic, as they had the means to care for themselves without the help of fellow female neighbours. See Boucher, p. 55. 178 Highsmith, Carol, p. 21. 179 Highsmith, Carol, p. 201. 180 The reference to ‘space’ may also alludes to the Cold War Space Race. The competition between the Soviet Union and America was primarily centred on superiority of technological advancements. However, it also represented a desire to further colonise untainted land, symbolically making it the new American Frontier. 181 Highsmith, Carol, p. 155. 182 Frederick Jackson Turner, ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History,’ Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1893 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing, 1894), p. 199. 183 Mintz, S. and S. McNeil, ‘Closing The American Frontier,’ in Digital History (2016) <www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/> [accessed 14 March 2017]. 184 Victoria Hesford, 'Patriotic Perversions: Patricia Highsmith’s Queer Vision of Cold War America in ‘The Price of Salt’, ‘The Blunderer’, and ‘Deep Water’', Women’s Studies Quaterly, 3/4, 33 (2005), p. 227. 185

Highsmith, Carol, p. 196. It should be noted that Butler argues that descriptions of the body’s genitals and how they relate to sexual practices are subject to an ‘imaginary schema.’ The gendered importance accorded to genitals is misconstrued and therefore homosexuality should not be interpreted as love ‘of’ the same sex. 186

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Courtroom evidence used against Carol. Cold War government surveillance of sexual practices was also pervasive, causing homosexuals to be unmasked and attacked. 187 Highsmith shows the overwhelming power of heterosexuality over homosexuality. Sexual perversion in all of these texts is met with exclusion. Just like communism and the nuclear bomb, it cannot be accepted in the contained domestic sphere because of its polluting qualities; Cold War containment policy primarily aimed to control communism, but because of the link because communists and homosexuals, they too were affected and were not granted any space in which their relationships could grow. However, so pervasive was the Cold War desire for domesticity that these ‘sexual perverts’ continued to strive for inclusion in the home but could only achieve it in a distorted form. Bruno in Strangers consistently refers to Guy as his ‘brother’ in the same way that Theo and Eleanor in Hill House repeatedly call each other ‘cousins.’ These familial terms evoke incest taboos, thus in their misguided attempts to create domesticity, they are actually further ‘perverting’ themselves. Peyton Place shows a similar confusion in relation to familial terminology. Metalious was horrified when her publishers forced her to change Lucas’ position from father to stepfather. 188 The switch makes it more nuanced though as it distorts the familial boundaries. 189 Dr Swain ‘knew that Lucas Cross was guilty of a crime so close to incest that the borderline was invisible,’ denoting the boundaries between domestic and undomestic, acceptable and inacceptable, inclusion and exclusion.190 The accusation of incest widens the category of the domestic to non-biological members. There therefore does exist an inconsistency in naming the domestic boundaries, which is what Jackson and Highsmith’s characters try to capitalise on by adopting familial terminology. Nevertheless, the state has the final judgment on what is deemed domestically appropriate, as shown through the Courtroom scenes in Peyton Place and Carol. As Ardis notes ‘incest was not only a sexual crime but also a collective social failure’ and homosexuality is seen in the same light, hence the requirement of the detective in Carol to maintain sexual order. 191 What occurred in the privacy of the home had supposed direct impact on society and the nation, which is why increased scrutiny of the domestic was justified in order to enforce conformity, as seen through McCarthy’s surveillance of government employees. Conservative sexuality was to be maintained in order to safeguard security, thus the individual was pressured into conforming at all times.

See ‘The Lesbian Phallus and the Morphological Imaginary,’ in Bodies That Matter, (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 57-93. 187

Nelson, p. 13. Ardis, p. 50. 189 Not only can incest be included in the category of sexual perversion because of its distorted and counterproductive qualities but also in 1950s public discourse, alcoholism was ‘closely associated with same sex desire.’ Consequently, Lucas due to his alcoholic portrayal can be associated with the homosexuals discussed in this chapter. See Johnson, p. 8. 190 Metalious, p. 154. 191 Ardis, p. 51. 188

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Conclusion American patriarchal and heteronormative culture during the 1950s proved particularly problematic for those who were marginalised. The control that was exerted over gender and sexuality caused intense anxiety; individuals were stripped of the ability to define their own gender or sexual identity and instead were forced into conformity. Increased scrutiny meant that any rebellion would be ‘outed,’ and this was not only undesirable but meant that nonconformity would never be tolerated. Therefore, Jackson, Metalious and Highsmith’s character must simply suffer the constraints and pressures of societal expectations. These texts are particularly passive and to a certain extent complicit in the unfair treatment of the marginalised groups in question. The cause of the oppression is pinpointed: domestic containment. However, no real attempt is made to show an alternative female existence or to challenge this patriarchal system; the female protagonists simply continue to suffer within the confines of the home. Carol is an exception to this, as the dénouement marks Carol’s dismissal of her maternal role in according Harge custody of Rindy. Yet, Therese and Carol’s search for space is so inextricably bound with a quest for a queer version of the domestic ‘dream’ that the text can be read as submitting to conformity. Born in the 1960s Cold War years, second-wave feminism created a productive response to the issues that these authors present, actively fighting for female choice over the individuals’ bodies and societal roles. Betty Friedan’s seminal text The Feminine Mystique exposed female domestic unfulfillment and anxiety. She shows how women were trapped and unhappy in the home but their lack of resistance perpetuated the myth that they were content and fulfilled. 192 The cure for this female unhappiness: say ‘“no” to the housewife image.’193 The elimination of the ‘image’ allows for a more realistic perspective on the position. Friedan was not calling for the complete rejection of the female domestic role, but instead the right to choose whether to accept it or not. The brief comparison between Plath and Jackson slightly exposed the contrasting authorial approach to dealing with the same female issues, but there is further room for this to be developed. This project is also lacking a racial dimension. Due to poverty and institutionalised racism, the whitewashed American suburbs were not part of the ‘black experience.’ 194 The racial homogeneity of the American suburbs was overviewed in the analysis of Peyton Place. However, considering the extent to which African American women were marginalised, additional discussion is warranted in order to get a full perspective on gendered Cold War issues. A text that would make for good comparison is Alice Childress’ Like One of the Family. Mildred’s role as a domestic worker shows her alienation from white middle-class domesticity. Moreover, in paying her to complete housework, her white employers are truly commercialising the domestic role in a way that Highsmith, Jackson and Metalious only allude to. Mildred’s fierce vocal opposition to the patronising and sometimes deceitful treatment of her white employers shows an active challenge to this segregation and discrimination. The comparison of Highsmith, Jackson and Metalious’ work published in the 1950s allows considerable insight into the conformity that was expected of women during the Cold War years but it does not give a complete picture. It shows the negative effects of this domestic containment, but it does not demonstrate the reaction against it. Expanding the analysis done in this project to include racial perspectives and a wider historical framework would show that the ‘bombshell’ could not and would no longer be contained, eventually exploding. 195 In her chapter entitled ‘The Happy Housewife Heroine,’ Friedan uses Jackson as an example to demonstrate how women perpetuated this myth. See The Feminine Mystique (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963), p. 50. 192

193

Ibid, p. 297. May, Homeward Bound, p. 13. 195 S. J. Kleinerg, "Women In The Twentieth Century", in The Cambridge Companion To Modern American Culture, ed. by Christopher Bigsby (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 194-214. 194

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Appendix

Figure 4 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Bombshells: illustration of women presented as radiation rays, as seen in a civil defence pamphlet (Credit: May, Homeward Bound, p. 105).

Figure 2 - Marge and Dickie framed together (Credit: The Talented Mr. Ripley, dir. by Anthony Minghella (1999)).

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Figure 3 - Tom pictured in solitude (Credit: ibid).

Figure 4 - Dickie's acceptance of Tom (Credit: ibid).

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Figure 5 - Aerial view of Levittown (Credit: â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Levittown Through the Years,â&#x20AC;&#x2122; photographic online exhibition curated by The New York Times (2015)).

Figure 6 - Readers of Peyton Place should be immediately shocked by the choice of Hope Lange to play Selena, as the character becomes void of all racial otherness (Credit: Peyton Place, dir. by Mark Robson (1958)).

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Figure 7 - Therese looking lovingly at Carol in a close-up shot (Credit: Carol, dir. Todd Haynes (2015))

Figure 8 - Extreme close-up of Carol's face (Credit: ibid)

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Figure 9 - Carol's hands are focalised, adding to the sensual feel of the scene (Credit: ibid)

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Bibliography

Primary sources Texts Highsmith, Patricia, Strangers on a Train (London: Vintage, 1999) ———, The Talented Mr Ripley, (London: Vintage, 1999) ———, Carol (London: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 2010) Jackson, Shirley, The Haunting of Hill House (New York: The Library of America, 2014) ———, The Sundial (London, United Kingdom: Penguin Classics, 2014) Metalious, Grace, Peyton Place (United States: Stellar Books, 2013) Film adaptations Carol, dir. By Todd Haynes, with Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara (USA, 2015) Peyton Place, dir. by Mark Robson, with Lana Turner, Lee Philips, and Lloyd Nolan (USA, 1958) The Haunting, dir. Robert Wise, with Julie Harrie and Claire Bloom (USA, 1963) The Talented Mr. Ripley, dir. Anthony Minghella, with Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Jude Law (USA, 2000)

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Cameron, Ardis, Unbuttoning America: A biography of ‘Peyton Place’ (Grand Rapids, MI, United States: Cornell University Press, 2015) Carruthers, Susan L., Cold War Captives: Imprisonment, Escape, And Brainwashing (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009) Chandler, Marilyn R., Dwelling In The Text: Houses In American Fiction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991) Chiang, Howard H., ‘Sexuality And Gender In Cold War America: Social Experiences, Cultural Authorities, And The Roots Of Political Change,’ in Cold War And Mccarthy Era: People And Perspectives, ed. by Caroline S. Emmons (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2010), 111-128 Childress, Alice, Like One of the Family (Boston: Beacon Press, 1986) Corber, Robert J, Cold war femme: Lesbianism, national identity, and Hollywood cinema (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011) Edelman, Lee, No Future: Queer Theory And The Death Drive (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004) Feber, Michael, A Dictionary of Literary Symbols (Online: Cambridge University Press, 2007) <www.credoreference.com> [accessed 15 March 2017] Franklin, Ruth, Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life (New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2016) Friedan, Betty, The Feminine Mystique (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963) Freud, Sigmund, ‘The Interpretation of Dreams,’ The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, ed. by Vincent B. Leitch (United States: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001), 807-824 Fuss, Diana, 'Inside/Out,’ in Inside/Out: Lesbian Theories, Gay Theories, ed. by Diana Fuss (London: Routledge, 1991), 1–10 Glickman, Lawrence B., Buying Power: A History Of Consumer Activism In America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009) Goldfield, David R, Encyclopedia Of American Urban History (Thousand Oaks [Calif.]: Sage Publications, 2007) Grimm, Brothers, ‘Snow White’, in The classic fairy tales: texts, criticism, by Maria Tatar, 1st edn (United States: Norton, W. W. & Company, Inc., 1998) Haggerty, George E., Queer Gothic (United States: University of Illinois Press, 2006) Hague, Angela, ‘“A Faithful Anatomy of Our Times”: Reassessing Shirley Jackson', Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, ii, 26 (2005), 73–96 Haines, Colin, ‘Frightened by a Word’: Shirley Jackson and Lesbian Gothic (Stockholm: Uppsala University, 2007) Harrison, Russell, Patricia Highsmith (New York: Twayne Publishers Inc., 1997) Hawthorne, Nathaniel, The Scarlet Letter (Ware: Wordsworth Classics, 1992) Hesford, Victoria J., ‘“A Love Flung Out of Space”: Lesbians in the City in Patricia Highsmith’s The Price of Salt,’ in Fifties fictions, ed. by Josh Lukin & Samuel R. Delany (Vashon Island, WA: Paradoxa, 2003), 118–136 158

———, ‘Patriotic Perversions: Patricia Highsmith’s Queer Vision of Cold War America in “The Price of Salt,” “The Blunderer,” and “Deep Water”’, Women’s Studies Quaterly, 3/4, 33 (2005), 215– 233 Highsmith, Patricia, Plotting and Writing Suspense Fiction (London: Poplar Press, 1983) ———, ‘Afterword,’ in Carol (London: Bloomsbury, 2010), 308-311 Hirsh-Dickinson, Sally, Dirty Whites and Dark Secrets: Sex and Race in Peyton Place (Durham, NH: University of New Hampshire Press, 2011) Frederick Jackson Turner, ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History,’ Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1893 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing, 1894) Jackson, Shirley, Novels And Stories: The Lottery, The Haunting Of Hill House, We Have Always Lived In The Castle, Other Stories And Sketches (New York, NY: The Library of America, 2014) Jackson, Tony, ‘“The Manchurian Candidate” And The Gender Of The Cold War,’ Literature/Film Quaterly, i, 28 (2000), 34-40 Johnson, David K, The Lavender Scare: The Cold War Persecution of Gays and Lesbians in the Federal Government (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2004) Kaplan, Amy, ‘Manifest Domesticity,’ American Literature, iii, 70 (1998), 581-606 Kleinberg, S. J., ‘Women In The Twentieth Century,’ in The Cambridge Companion To Modern American Culture, ed. by Christopher Bigsby (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 194214 Kristeva, Julia, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, translated by Leon S Roudiez (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982) Lacan, Jacques, ‘The Mirror Stage as Formative of the Function of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience,’ in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, ed. by Vincent B. Leitch (United States: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001), 1163–1169 Lavalle, Victor, ‘Foreword,’ in The Sundial (London, United Kingdom: Penguin Classics, 2014), ixxii Lootens, Tricia, ‘“Whose Hand Was I Holding?”: Familial and Sexual Politics in Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House,’ in Shirley Jackson, Essays on the Literary Legacy, ed. by Bernice M. Murphy (North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2005), 150–169 Lukin, Josh, ‘Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train as Tragedy of Manners,’ in Fifties Fictions, ed. by Josh Lukin & Samuel R. Delany (Vashon Island, WA: Paradoxa, 2003), 157–211 ———, ‘Under Gray Flannel,’ in Fifties Fictions, ed. by Josh Lukin & Samuel R. Delany (Vashon Island, WA: Paradoxa, 2003), 1–8 ———, ‘Identity-Shopping And Postwar Self-Improvement In Patricia Highsmith's Strangers On A Train,’ Journal Of Modern Literature, iv, 33 (2010), 21-40 Mallon, Thomas, and Anna Holmes, ‘What’s It Like Reading “Peyton Place” Today?,’ in The New York Times (2014) <www.nytimes.com> [accessed 17 March 2017] May, Elaine Tyler, Homeward bound: American Families In The Cold War Era (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2008) 159

———, ‘The Commodity Gap: Consumerism and the Modern Home,’ in Buying Power: A History of Consumer Activism in America, ed. by Lawrence B Glickman (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014), 298–313 McEnaney, Laura, Civil Defense Begins at Home: Militarization Meets Everyday Life in the Fifties (Princeton, NJ, United States: Princeton University Press, 2000) Mcruer, Robert, ‘Queer America,’ in The Cambridge Companion To Modern American Culture, ed. by Christopher Bigsby (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 215-234 Mintz, S. and S. McNeil, ‘Closing The American Frontier,’ in Digital History (2016) <www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/> [accessed 14 March 2017] Mizrach, Steve, ‘The Symbolic Invention Of America-As-Utopia’ (Florida International University, 2008) <www.fiu.edu/~mizrachs/utopo-amer.html> [accessed 3 March 2017] Minghella, Anthony and Patricia Highsmith, The Talented Mr. Ripley: A Screenplay (New York, NY: Miramax Books, 2000) Nelson, Deborah, Pursuing Privacy in Cold War America (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002) Newman, Judie, ‘Shirley Jackson and the Reproduction of Mothering: The Haunting of Hill House,’ in American Horror Fiction: from Brockden Brown to Stephen King, ed. by Brian Docherty (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1990), 120–134 Parks, John G., ‘Waiting For The End: Shirley Jackson's The Sundial,’ Studies In Contemporary Fiction, iii, 19 (1978), 74-88 Pascal, Rich, ‘New World Miniatures: Shirley Jackson's The Sundial And Postwar American Society,’ in Shirley Jackson: Essays On The Literary Legacy, ed. by Bernice M. Murphy (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2005), 81-104 Perrault, Charles, ‘Bluebeard’, in The classic fairy tales: texts, criticism, ed. by Maria Tatar, (United States: Norton, W. W. & Company, Inc., 1998), 144–48 Peters, Fiona, Anxiety and Evil in the Writings of Patricia Highsmith (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2011) Plath, Sylvia, The Bell Jar (London: Faber and Faber, 2005) Robertson, Ritchie, ‘Introduction,’ in The Castle (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), xi-xxvii Rubenstein, Roberta, ‘House Mothers And Haunted Daughters: Shirley Jackson And The Female Gothic,’ in Shirley Jackson, Essays On The Literary Legacy, ed. by Bernice M. Murphy (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2017), 127-150 Seltzer, Sarah, ‘Fairy Tales and Female Sexuality,’ in Rewire (2017) <www.rewire.news/article/2011/03/14/fairy-tale-female-sexuality/> [accessed 23 February 2017] Shannon, Edward A., ‘“Where Was The Sex?” Fetishism And Dirty Minds In Patricia Highsmith's “The Talented Mr. Ripley,”’ Modern Language Studies, i, 34 (2004), 16-27 Snodgrass, Mary Ellen, Encyclopedia Of Gothic Literature (New York: Facts on File, 2005) Sontag, Susan, ‘The Imagination Of Disaster,’ in Commentary Magazine (1965) <www.commentarymagazine.com> [accessed 10 March 2017] Strangers On A Train, dir. Alfred Hitchcock, with Farley Granger and Robert Walker (USA, 1951) 160

Tatar, Maria, The Classic Fairy Tales (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1998) Weiner, Tim, ‘Remembering Brainwashing,’ in The New York Times (2008) <www.nytimes.com> [accessed 8 March 2017] White, Patricia, ‘Female Spectator, Lesbian Specter: The Haunting,’ in Inside/Out: Lesbian Theories, Gay Theories, ed. by Diana Fuss (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 142–173 Wilson, Elizabeth, The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, the Control of Disorder, and Women (California: University of California Press, 1992) Additional unauthored sources ‘America And The Utopian Dream,’ online exhibition curated by Yale University <www.brblarchive.library.yale.edu/exhibitions/utopia/> [accessed 4 March 2017] ‘Atomic Energy Commission,’ published by the Atomic Heritage Foundation <www.atomicheritage.org/history/atomic-energy-commission> [accessed 3 March 2017] ‘Levittown Through the Years,’ photographic online exhibition curated by The New York Times (2015) <www.nytimes.com> [accessed 16 March 2017] ‘Lindbergh kidnapping,’ published by Federal Bureau of Investigation <www.fbi.gov/history/famouscases/lindbergh-kidnapping> [accessed 22 February 2017] ‘The Clock Ticks,’ in Arms Control Association, i, 10 (1980) <www.jstor.org> [accessed 15 March 2017] ‘Timeline,’ published by Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists <www.thebulletin.org/timeline> [accessed 3 March 2017]

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Danielle Pearce graduated in June 2017 from Collingwood College, Durham University, with a degree in Modern Languages and Cultures. During her studies, Pearce studied a broad range of cultural issues, including sex and gender studies. This paper was prepared as part of the ‘Representing Women: Sex and Power in Colonial Latin America’ module under the guidance of Dr Yarí Pérez Marín.

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz is celebrated as a seminal feminist icon, with her works challenging the gender politics of print, education and religion in colonial New Spain. Lauded as the Tenth Muse, Sor Juana escaped the confines of seventeenth-century ideas on gender roles, becoming the only early modern Mexican woman to have had works ‘printed and circulated in Spain and beyond’ (Kirk 2016: 145), ‘one of only three women whose works appeared under their own names from the Mexican printing press’ (2016: 150), and ‘the only one whose works demonstrated training in rhetoric and classics’ (2016: 150). Her autodidactic studies and subsequent writings, comprising both poetry and prose, all illustrate the challenge Sor Juana posed to period ideas on gender roles; to assert that she did this does not break new ground, nor is it indeed contestable. This essay does not, thus, raise it as a novel concept, but rather highlights the various ways in which Sor Juana presented this challenge, with focuses on how the nun’s works – namely La respuesta, A su retrato and Villancico VI – evaded the erasure of female authorship faced by many contemporary female writers, whilst using both form and content to protest female exclusion from intellectual society, and contesting gender roles in religion. Before even considering the form and content of Sor Juana’s poetry and prose, one should consider the fact that having successfully published these works is, in itself, anomalous for a woman at the time, and thus challenges period ideas regarding the gender politics of print. In a society in which a clear divide between the public and private body was imposed on women, Sor Juana, a nun, ‘possessed the most private body of all’ (Kirk 2016: 7). Consequently, the publishing of texts by any female authors, let alone those of nuns, was deemed ‘unseemly and inappropriate’ (2016: 6). Furthermore, both Sor Juana’s financial and social standings as a nun would have worked to her detriment, as she had neither the money nor status generally needed to publish. She was, therefore, dependent on finding a patron – a difficult feat in a society which largely disregarded the rationality and intellectual capabilities of women (Peet and Hartwick 2009: 243). However, Sor Juana was supported and favoured by the vicereine, the Condesa de Paredes, a powerful female patron. Given that – even of those of the upper classes – few women had the necessary finances or education to participate in artistic patronage, it is an extremely unusual case for a woman to ‘engage in acts of patronage of female artists or writers’ (Kirk 2016: 149). In her support of Sor Juana, the Condesa thus helped the nun to preserve her authorship, whilst that of other female writers was often erased (2016: 149), due either to male patrons assuming authorship upon print (2016: 176), or to their texts being printed either anonymously or under male pseudonyms. Whereas contemporary female authors often published anonymously or under male pseudonyms in order to enter the male-dominated realm of print, Sor Juana did not hesitate to attribute her name to her works. For example, Sor Juana did not use pseudonyms in the publication of texts that would have been considered heretical (Kirk 2016: 136), which implies a disregard of the potential consequences from the Church and the Inquisition. Similarly, the few texts that she penned for religious purposes ‘were the only works published anonymously’ (2016: 137); it would not appear that Sor Juana printed under particular names to satisfy the Church. However, her choices seem intended for a purpose. In the few instances in which Sor Juana published under a male pseudonym, the nun used anagrams of her real name, suggesting that her intention was not truly to disguise her identity, as it would have 162

been known at the time that she was in fact the author. On the contrary, one could argue that, in using these anagrammatic pseudonyms, Sor Juana highlighted ‘the anomaly of her participation, drawing attention to the exclusion of women from institutional education’ (2016: 138). It therefore appears that Sor Juana’s use of pseudonyms was in fact a method of making a statement; it was a subtle way to stress her own exception to the exclusion of women from the intellectual sphere. In this way, Sor Juana shows a great understanding of the period gender politics of print – namely the expectation for women to publish anonymously or under male pseudonyms – and manipulates them to her own advantage; the nun playfully claims her own authorship, and, in doing so, underscores her own status as a ‘rara avis’ (Merrim 1991: 31). In La respuesta, however, Sor Juana claims that almost all her works were published without her permission, in a similar way to how the Bishop of Puebla published her Carta Atenagórica (2009: 100). This seems unlikely to be true, having considered the close relationship Sor Juana had with her friend and patron, the Condesa de Paredes, which is illustrated by her affectionate poems, such as Romance decasílabo and Divina Lysi mía. In untruthfully eschewing responsibility for the publication of her texts, however, Sor Juana emphasises ‘the private nature of her writings’ (Kirk 2016: 148), thus underscoring the Bishop’s betrayal without explicitly accusing him, to avoid further difficulties for herself. Sor Juana is asserting her rights as an author to decide whether to print, and reclaiming the authorship which the Bishop had partially removed from her upon printing the text; in renaming it Carta Atenagórica – originally titled Crisis de un sermón by Sor Juana – he emphasised his ownership of the work (2016: 155). One could, therefore, argue that even in denying her involvement in the publication process, Sor Juana is in fact challenging the period gender politics of print, in which the erasure of female authorship was commonplace. In terms of education, Sor Juana’s La respuesta serves as an example of how the nun inverted period ideas of gender roles, in terms of both form and content. The text is a highly structured document, following the arrangement of classical oration. This demonstration of an understanding of classical literary form – not only in La respuesta, but shown throughout Sor Juana’s works by her clear knowledge of Latin and conventional traditions (Kirk 2016: 62) – despite lacking the institutional schooling afforded only to boys and men, exemplifies the nun’s efficacious autodidactic education and therefore contradicts the period notion that women were not suited to intellectual culture. With regard to content, La respuesta is a clear challenge to seventeenth-century gender politics of education. Primarily, Sor Juana expresses a clear ‘spirited defence of her right to study’ (Franco 1994: 24), asserting that this desire was given to her by God (Cruz 2009: 72). Sor Juana presents her yearning to study as natural, as it manifested itself from a young age (2009: 48), and irrepressible (2009: 72), and she expresses resentment at her inability to study at university (2009: 48). However, despite her exclusion from educational institutions, Sor Juana discusses her studies of Latin. Although such teachings were generally prohibited to women (Marín 2005: 208), Sor Juana states that she did indeed take classes, although ‘no llegaron a veinte las lecciones que tom[ó]’ (2009: 50). In emphasising how few lessons she required to master Latin, Sor Juana implies that she was able to achieve in a limited number of classes what men did following years of institutional education, thus challenging the period notion that women were intellectually inferior. Moreover, Sor Juana’s La respuesta deals with topics which were not generally open to women, namely ‘philosophy, theology, [and] science’ (Kirk 2016: 150). Due to her lack of a formal education as a woman, her interaction with such topics is in itself unusual and underscores the success of her autodidacticism. However, beyond this, she discusses such topics with proficiency and ease. For example, when reviewing the children playing with the spinning top and her subsequent calculations, Sor Juana not only uses scientific language, such as ‘la forma esférica’ and ‘el impulso’ (2009: 74), but one could interpret that she also uses such an example as a subtle analogy for her scientific aptitude; it is, to her, child’s play. In doing this, Sor Juana refutes the idea that these topics are beyond the intellectual capabilities of a woman, thus challenging period ideas regarding female intelligence and education. Sor Juana challenges gender roles in education as much in her poetry as in La respuesta, at times through her use of learned form, at others through her message. An extremely erudite poem, A su retrato (Cruz 2009: 158-59) demonstrates the nun’s intelligence and autodidactic education, thus can 163

be argued to challenge period ideas on gender roles without need for this as the topic of discussion in the poem. A su retrato is a direct response to another poem – that is, Góngora’s Sonnet CLXVI – which illustrates Sor Juana’s engagement with contemporary works of literature, and the poem shows a clear comprehension of the Baroque literary context, which is to say that it conforms to the characteristics of the period, in terms of both form and content, despite the realm of education being closed to women. For example, the Baroque had a focus on distortion and sensory deception (Picchione 2009: 69), which A su retrato acknowledges both explicitly, with the reference to ‘engaño del sentido’ (Cruz 2009: 158), and more implicitly, by means of ekphrasis; the poem does not discuss reality, but rather a work of art. When considered alongside the fact that this poem is a response to another, this builds layers of distortion, common of the Baroque. The poem opens with the pompous periphrasis of ‘engaño colorido, que del arte ostentando los primores’ (Cruz 2009: 158), where ‘portrait’ would have been sufficient for understanding. This convoluted means of expression, too, is typical of the Baroque, with its tendency towards embellishment and excess (Beverley 2008: 5). Moreover, the preoccupation with decay and ruin, seen often in the Baroque (Maravall 1975: 380), is clear throughout Sor Juana’s poem. With the idea first introduced in the second stanza, Sor Juana states that the flattery of the portrait ‘ha pretendido excusar de los años los horrores’ (2009: 158). This notion then builds tension with the anaphoric beginnings of verses 10 to 16, that is, ‘es’, before the gradation of the final verse, from ‘cadáver’ to ‘nada’ (2009: 158), leads to the anticlimactic finish with the powerful imagery of decay so characteristic of Baroque literature. This is heightened using asyndeton in the final verse, in which conjunctions are omitted, creating the effect of resignation and departure. Furthermore, the extremely erudite nature of Sor Juana’s poem is reflected in the regular, consonant rhyme scheme. To maintain such a scheme within the rigid form of a sonnet is particularly challenging, given the reduced choice of vocabulary faced by the poet. However, unlike a typical sonnet, the second part of A su retrato does not offer a resolution to the problem posed – that is, the preoccupation with the passage of time and decay. One could argue, though, that this is in itself typical of the Baroque, an innovative style in which artists and authors tried to offer something new and unexpected, in this case within the constraints of the sonnet form. Despite these numerous adherences to the scholarly, Baroque literary context in which she was writing, there is an aspect of A su retrato which contradicts a typical characteristic of the Baroque. According to Beverley, the ‘literary Baroque does not propose or even attempt to imagine the possibility of a radically different social order’ (2008: 11); on the contrary, ‘it will insist on the necessity of these [social roles] remaining as they are’ (2008: 10). Although Sor Juana’s poem does not explicitly refute this in its content, she is, in having written such an erudite poem as a female, doing the exact opposite. It is therefore possible to argue that by conforming to only certain aspects of the Baroque whilst refuting others, Sor Juana is ‘challenging [both] social and literary conventions’ (Franco 1989: 23), as she is contesting the gender politics of education by illustrating clearly her intellect and capacity for rationality whilst engaging with a style which generally promoted the continuation of current social order. As well as challenging period ideas on gender roles as they pertained to print and education, Sor Juana also disputed gender politics of piety and religion, in both La respuesta and her poem Villancico VI, which takes as its theme Saint Catherine of Alexandria. This is perhaps most obviously apparent in La respuesta, which can be considered a perversion of Catholic dogma. The primary reason for this is that, whilst women were permitted to study the Bible, ‘they were forbidden from preaching and discussing theological matters’ (Marín 2005: 208). Sor Juana, however, disregards this rule and participates in theological debate, challenging the interpretation of the Bible by men who, in her opinion, do not know how to understand it (2009: 88). It is Sor Juana’s interpretation that such Scriptures as “Let women keep silence in the churches” and “Let the women learn in silence” have, by male interpretation, been taken out of context. She argues that enforcing the first disregards a similar passage in which both men and women are told to be silent (2009: 88), whilst the second actually favours women, as it states that not only should women learn, but that silence is necessary for them to do so (2009: 88), thus giving value to female silence, which was generally expected both in 164

terms of print, as discussed previously, and in church. This creates a division between the notions of speaking and knowing; silence does not mean that women do not possess the same knowledge as men, nor does permitting men to speak mean that they are wiser than women. Sor Juana uses the arrangement of classical oration to systematically refute every aspect of the male interpretation of these Scriptures, concluding that not only should women be permitted to learn and write, but they should also be permitted to teach (2009: 90). Having proven this to be true through skilled disputation, Sor Juana can argue that the exclusion of women from education and scholarly culture ‘goes against the accepted tradition of the Church’ (Kirk 1999: 135) – a heretical interpretation, as it was not a nun’s place to engage in such theological discussion. This certainly challenged gender roles at the time, in terms of both religion and education. Finally, Sor Juana’s poem Villancico VI (Cruz 2009: 178-81), dedicated to Saint Catherine of Alexandria, can also be argued to challenge period ideas of gender roles within religion and piety. Unlike A su retrato, Sor Juana’s Villancico VI is not an academic form of poetry; it is, rather, celebratory, and the topic of celebration is the ‘triumph of female knowledge over male ignorance’ (Kirk 2016: 195). This knowledge is defined as “ciencia divina” (Cruz 2009: 178), which conforms to Sor Juana’s writings in La respuesta, in which she claimed that her wisdom and desire to study was God-given (2009: 72). This notion is supported by the nun’s affirmation that ‘no la quiere ignorante el que racional la hizo’ (2009: 180). Saint Catherine of Alexandria is commended by Sor Juana for having used this intellect and ‘razón’ (2009: 178) in what was, essentially, a theological debate – in other words, the very thing that the Church prohibited women from participating in. Furthermore, Saint Catherine is praised as a teacher for having conquered learned men with her intellect, thus contesting the period idea in the Church that women were unsuitable as educators, a notion similar to that expressed in La respuesta. This concept, along with the celebration of her success in theological debate, is supported by Sor Juana’s claim that Saint Catherine’s studying, disputing and teaching ‘es de la Iglesia servicio’ (2009: 178). Far from criticising such activities, despite their being limited to men in seventeenth-century colonial New Spain, Sor Juana praises them, contesting the gender politics of religion and promoting the modern idea that ‘el sexo no es esencia en lo entendido’ (2009: 178). Sor Juana also challenges period gender ideas in religion by her focus on Saint Catherine of Alexandria’s intellectual mind and life, rather than on her physical suffering and torture, as is typical particularly in representations of female martyrdom (Tracy 2012: 62). In drawing attention instead to the saint’s intellectual abilities and achievement, Sor Juana not only promotes female participation in activities, such as studying and teaching, prohibited to women in seventeenth-century colonial New Spain, but also rejects the notion of female suffering as a divine gift and a way of connecting with God (Kirk 2016: 194). For Sor Juana, as has been previously discussed, it was knowledge and the desire to learn which were the divine gifts attributed to both Saint Catherine and the nun herself. Although she does not fail to mention that the saint suffered, her only explicit reference to this is in saying that she ‘dejó con su sangue escritos [sus doctos silogismos]’ (Cruz 2009:180). Through this, Sor Juana relates the suffering female body with ‘the site of everlasting knowledge’ (Kirk 2016: 196). One could interpret that Sor Juana perhaps intended such an association to reflect her own life, in which, as aforementioned, the nun felt wronged and mistreated because of her intellectual capabilities. In this way, Sor Juana ‘re-works the traditional representation of female martyrdom’ (2016: 195) in order to reflect the relationship between female knowledge and suffering, thus confronting gender roles in religion and martyrdom. To conclude, it has been demonstrated that Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz contested the gender politics of print, education and piety in seventeenth-century colonial New Spain in works including, but not limited to, La respuesta, A su retrato and Villancico VI. She achieved this in countless ways, some explicit, for example by openly criticising male interpretation of Catholic dogma and expressing frustration at her exclusion from the intellectual sphere, and some more subtle, such as her skilled use of classical oration, Baroque literary techniques and selective use of pseudonyms. Through a combination of all these techniques and more, Sor Juana skilfully negotiated the boundaries of seventeenth-century gender roles, becoming a rara avis and a Tenth Muse. Having preserved her 165

authorship with the support of the Condesa de Paredes, Sor Juana is still today regarded as a feminist icon and an advocate for women’s rights and intellectual freedom.

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Zara Kesterton is a first-year English Literature and History student at University College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as part of the module ‘The Birth of Western Society, 300-1000’ under the guidance of Ana Dias.

Queen Fredegund was undoubtedly one of the most brutal queens in European history, who gained power using ruthless manipulation, torture and assassinations. However, the assertion that she was ‘emotional, vindictive and needlessly cruel’ seems to be a distortion of her character. I will argue that the violence Fredegund employed should not be seen in overtly ‘feminine’ terms of emotionality and vindictiveness, but instead as fitting into a wider framework of the Merovingian code of honour. The standards of her day legitimised brutality as a means of gaining and keeping power, especially if personal or family honour was at risk. Fredegund may have been cruel, but her cruelty was far from needless. The charge of being ‘emotional’ implies that Fredegund was not in control of her actions, and would scarcely be applied to male kings of this period. According to Nina Gradowicz-Pancer, female violence in this era should instead be ‘de-gendered’ from feminine vocabulary, and viewed instead as ‘a class characteristic or strategy’.1 The medieval historian Gregory of Tours is mostly to blame for the picture of Queen Fredegund as a deviant queen, due to his political involvement in the situation. He attempts to present her as an emotionally unstable woman, often focusing on her grief for her dying sons. When Fredegund’s child Chlodobert was dangerously ill, Gregory writes that she ‘repented of her sins’, lamenting to Chilperic and ‘beating her breast with her fists’ in an atavistic manner.2 Later on, in her grief for her son Theuderic, she ‘collected together anything that had belonged to her dead son and burned it […] so that nothing whatsoever remained intact to remind her of how she had mourned for her boy.’3 Yet this grief-stricken reaction is hardly a surprising sign of feminine emotion, considering that each death of a male offspring caused Fredegund’s position to become more precarious. According to Salic law, Merovingian Gaul was a patriarchal society in which only male heirs could inherit. 4 Pauline Stafford has established that, ‘with divorce so easy, a wife’s very survival depended on the production of sons’. 5 Having persuaded Chilperic to give up his previous wives, Fredegund could have easily been deposed herself. Nira Gradowicz-Pancer, ‘De-gendering female violence: Merovingian female honour as an “exchange of violence”’, Early Medieval Europe 11 (2002), p. 4. 1

Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks, Lewis Thorpe, trans. (London, 1974), V.34 p. 297 – hereafter referred to as HF. 3 HF, VI.35, p. 366. 4 ‘But of Salic land no portion of the inheritance shall come to a woman: but the whole inheritance of the land shall come to the male sex.’ Title LIX, ‘Concerning Private Property’, Medieval Sourcebook: The Law of the Salian Franks, Paul Halsall (1996), accessed online at <https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/salic-law.html> (last accessed 4 Dec. 2016). 5 Pauline Stafford, Queens, Concubines and Dowagers: The King’s Wife in the Early Middle Ages, revised edn (London, 1998), p. 86. 2

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Furthermore, it seems that Fredegund capitalised on her apparent grief, and the grief of her husband following the death of their sons, to achieve her own political aims. During the illness of Chlodobert, Fredegund persuaded Chilperic that what Gregory of Tours calls hugely unpopular ‘iniquitous tax demands’ – which she had instructed him to implement a few years earlier – should all be burned in order that they may ‘escape eternal damnation’ and try to save their son’s life. 6 Instead she was most likely attempting to rescue her own reputation, using her son’s death as a political opportunity. Similarly, after the death of Theoderic, Fredegund chose to blame the prefect Mummolus (‘whom she had long hated’) of using witchcraft to exchange his life for her son’s. 7 Thus she provided a reason for her husband to torture to death one of her greatest enemies. Instead of being overcome by emotional grief, Fredegund manipulated the situation to secure her status in a highly unstable society. The charge of emotionality is linked to the claim that Fredegund was ‘vindictive’. Gradowicz-Pancer defines vindictiveness as ‘primarily a relief of intense emotion through action’, and inseparable from spontaneous passion.8 While Gregory of Tours attempts to portray Fredegund in this light, later chroniclers show more respect for Fredegund’s calculating intelligence. The anonymous author of Les Grandes Chronicles describes her as ‘supplying the intellect that her husband lacked, like a woman who was more cunning than any man at doing evil’. 9 This judgement bears out in the description of Fredegund’s method of gaining her position as Queen, not related in Gregory of Tours’ account, but included in the later Liber Historiae Francorum. Tired of being merely Chilperic’s concubine, Fredegund persuaded the King’s pregnant wife Audovera to baptise her newborn child immediately, with herself as godmother since (as Fredegund pointed out) ‘we will never be able to find your equal to hold her’.10 In Merovingian times, the godparents of a child were forbidden to be conjugal spouses. Chilperic had to banish Audovera to a nunnery, then installed Fredegund in her place as queen. 11 Instead of relating this anecdote, Gregory records that Audovera was instead ‘murdered in the most cruel fashion’, with Fredegund partly to blame. 12 However, the story told by the author of the Liber Historiae Francorum, also cited in Les Grandes Chroniques, depicts a queen with far more cunning intelligence than the vindictive emotionality with which Gregory of Tours credits Fredegund. This cunning is also particularly evident in Fredegund’s treatment of the former exile Leudast. He had been banished for accusing her of adultery with the Bishop of Bordeaux, and on his return to the kingdom Chilperic warned him to avoid the Queen, ‘for you have done everything you could to antagonise her’. Yet the ‘reckless’ Leudast sought an audience with her anyway and ‘threw himself at Fredegund’s feet in the cathedral, begging her for forgiveness’. 13 Gregory describes her reaction as ‘furious’: in his account, ‘she burst into tears’, itself an implicitly feminine and emotional reaction. Moments later ‘some of the Queen’s men caught up with him’, and having been tortured and humiliated, Leudast eventually died a horrible death. 14 This appears to be a spontaneous vindictive reaction on the part of the Queen, but Gregory also reveals his own personal communication with Fredegund a few months earlier, in which she instructed him ‘not to make your peace with [Leudast] and not to give him the consecrated bread, until I have had time to see clearly what my future action should be’. Gregory is immediately suspicious that ‘the Queen was planning to have Leudast killed’. 15 Thus, reading between the lines it is clear that Leudast’s murder was not vindictive rage, but instead a carefully devised plot by Fredegund, who waited patiently for an opportunity to put it into action. 6

HF, V.34, p. 294. Ibid., VI.35, p. 365. 8 Gradowicz-Pancer, p. 14. 9 Levine, Robert, ed., France Before Charlemagne: A Translation from Les Grandes Chroniques, (Dyfed, 1990), p. 112 – hereafter referred to as LGC. 7

Bernard S. Backrach, ed., Liber Historiae Francorum (Kansas, 1973), p. 78 – hereafter referred to as LHF.

LHF, §31, pp. 78-79. HF, V.39, p. 304 13 HF, VI.32, p. 362. 14 Ibid., VI.32, pp. 362-3. 15 Ibid., VI.32, p. 362. 12

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The final assertion that Fredegund was ‘needlessly cruel’ is in fact antithetical to the truth. In all the descriptions of her heinous crimes, not once does Fredegund appear to act for motives other than selfpreservation, self-advancement, defence of her honour, or defence of the honour of her family. As the Liber Historiae Francorum makes clear, Fredegund ‘was from a family of low rank’. 16 Thus her position was incredibly unstable and she faced much opposition from members of the established royal family. Brutality was a ‘a powerful and ungendered tactic to display power and maintain precedence and superiority in a very precarious social hierarchy’, especially in a patriarchal society where displays of strength emanated from violent acts. 17 As merely a favoured concubine, Fredegund could not compete with the large dowry and political advantages brought by a royal match. In order to become queen, she had to have Chilperic strangle his wife Galswinth through her own ‘wicked counsel’. 18 Soon after becoming Queen, Fredegund also had Sigibert assassinated – the King’s brother, one of his greatest enemies and husband to Fredegund’s rival Brunhild.19 Thus she used violence in order to secure and stabilise her own position. However, her success meant little unless she could ensure the continuation of her own line by having her sons succeed to the throne. This meant eliminating Chilperic’s sons from previous marriages. Gregory reports her frequent attempts to assassinate Merovech, and to place Clovis under house arrest. Although neither of their deaths can be explicitly linked to Fredegund, Gregory judges that Merovech was probably ‘murdered in secret at her command’,20 and that Clovis was most likely murdered by Chilperic with encouragement from the Queen. 21 To ensure that no further competing line of succession could be founded, Fredegund also sent Clovis’ sister to a nunnery. 22 These actions were undoubtedly cruel. However, they were not needlessly cruel since Fredegund was ensuring the continuation of her power through her own sons, rather than those of her predecessors. Some of Fredegund’s most shocking acts can be explained by her regard for the honour of herself and her family. Most horrifying is her attempt to strangle her own daughter Rigunth, shutting her in a chest and pressing ‘so hard against the girl’s throat that her eyes were soon standing out of her head’.23 Perhaps this was not as irrationally brutal as Gregory implies: as Stafford points out, ‘Merovingian political methods were nothing if not violent’. 24 Gregory comments that Rigunth ‘was always attacking her mother’, even saying that ‘her mother ought to revert to her original rank of serving woman’.25 Fredegund resorts to the brutality with which she is used to dealing with opposition, and attacks her daughter to preserve her own honour. Perhaps Fredegund is even attempting to protect Rigunth’s honour by giving her a warning: Gregory mentions that the cause of their frequent quarrels was ‘Rigunth’s habit of sleeping with all and sundry’. 26 An unchaste daughter, possibly even illegitimate sons, would call both of them into severe disrepute and harm prospects of marriage and the succession. The question remains, therefore, why Fredegund has left a legacy of being ‘emotional, vindictive, and needlessly cruel’. Evidence suggests that she was not even outstandingly violent amongst female monarchs of the time. Les Grandes Chroniques provides more information on the brutality of other rulers, particularly Brunhild, who is described as ‘more vicious than any savage beast, and ‘outrageously brutal’ since ‘she arranged many murders’. 27 Furthermore, later chroniclers do not represent Fredegund as unique among violent women. She is often linked to generalities, for example 16

LHF, §31, p. 78. Gradowicz-Pancer, p. 18. 18 LHF, §31, p. 78. 19 HF, IV.51, p. 248. 20 Ibid., V.18, p. 282. 21 Ibid., V.39, p. 304. 22 Ibid., V.39, p. 305. 23 HF, IX.34, pp. 521-522. 24 Stafford, p. 14 25 HF, IX.34, pp. 521. 26 Ibid., IX.34, pp. 522. 27 LGC, p. 101. 17

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in the description of how she ‘had deceived and blinded king Chilperic in his gluttony and lechery, as women know how to do to men who utterly abandon themselves to them’ [added emphasis].28 This suggestion is backed up by legal evidence for female violence in the period. The werguld for women who committed murder was three times what it was for men, which Gradowicz-Pancer argues ‘suggests a strong wish to curb female aggression if not to eradicate it completely’. 29 Not only was Fredegund not especially violent among Merovingian royals, it seems she was part of an increase in female brutality during the period. However, the dominant impression of Fredegund was created by Gregory of Tours, whose writing is strongly biased. Helen Jewell argues that religious chroniclers such as Gregory need ‘the queen to fit a particular role (often biblically based) and to persuade his readership to see her in this light’. 30 Queens Fredegund and Brunhild were often presented as deviant figures, compared to Jezebel, and thus could be used to support the general argument that women were not fit to rule: ecclesiasts argued that women ought not ‘to teach, nor to usurp authority over a man, but to be in silence’. 31 Fredegund was certainly not a woman to remain ‘in silence’ and be dominated by a husband, even if he was king. Gregory’s reasons for slandering Fredegund over other rulers such as Brunhild are more personal, however. Not only was Gregory appointed to his post by Brunhild, but he represented her interests at the court of King Guthrum for a period. 32 Thus he was bound to show Brunhild in a positive light against her greatest enemy, Fredegund. Gregory was even brought to trial by Queen Fredegund on the accusation that he spread slanderous rumours about her. 33 His account is the most contemporary, originating from the heart of the Merovingian court, and later chronicles such as Les Grandes Chronicles and the Liber Historiae Francorum are compilations of previous sources. However, his evidence is strongly biased against Fredegund and therefore the secondary chronicles can be useful to provide a more balanced picture. Their descriptions suggest that, removed from the political biases of the day, Fredegund was viewed much more favourably. Therefore, the image of Fredegund given by Gregory’s account as ‘emotional, vindictive, and needlessly cruel’ needs to be examined against the evidence. Contrary to the traditional idea that in this period ‘women’s power’ could ‘only derive from their position as wives, sexual partners, and mothers and grandmothers’,34 Fredegund’s example shows that violence was the most important way that both genders could gain and maintain royal power. Ultimately Fredegund’s violent methods raised her to the position of Queen, ensured her line of succession, and saw her die a natural death and given a prestigious burial. This does not suggest that she was an outstandingly deviant and ‘needlessly cruel’ character in the period, but instead a successful manipulator of the Merovingian social system.

LGC, p. 154 Gradowicz-Pancer, p. 18 30 Helen Jewell, Women in Dark Age and Early Medieval Europe, c.500-1200 (Basingstoke, 2006), p. 84. 29

1 Timothy 2:12, The King James Bible. E. T. Dailey, Queens, Consorts, Concubines: Gregory of Tours and Women of the Merovingian Elite (Leiden, 2015), p. 142. 33 HF, V.49, p. 316. 34 David Rollason, Early Medieval Europe, (Harlow, 2012) p. 132. 32

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Bibliography Primary Sources ‘The Holy Bible, King James Version’, King James Bible Online (2016) accessed online at <www.kingjamesbibleonline.org> (last accessed 5 Dec. 2016). Backrach, Bernard S., ed., Liber Historiae Francorum (Kansas, 1973). Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks, Lewis Thorpe, trans. (London, 1974). Levine, Robert, ed., France Before Charlemagne: A Translation from Les Grandes Chroniques, (Dyfed, 1990). Title LIX, ‘Concerning Private Property’, Medieval Sourcebook: The Law of the Salian Franks, Paul Halsall (1996), accessed online at <https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/salic-law.html> (last accessed 4 Dec. 2016). Wallace-Hadrill, J. M., ed., The Fourth Book of the Chronicle of Fredegar with its continuations, (Edinburgh, 1960). Secondary Sources Bitel, Lisa M., Women in Early Medieval Europe, 400-1100 (Cambridge, 2002). E. T. Dailey, Queens, Consorts, Concubines: Gregory of Tours and Women of the Merovingian Elite (Leiden, 2015). Gerberding, Richard A., ‘A Critical Study of the Liber Historiae Francorum’, PhD thesis (Oxford: 1982). Gradowicz-Pancer, Nira, ‘De-gendering female violence: Merovingian female honour as an “exchange of violence”’, Early Medieval Europe 11 (2002), pp. 1-18. Jewell, Helen, Women in Dark Age and Early Medieval Europe, c.500-1200 (Basingstoke, 2006). Rollason, David, Early Medieval Europe, (Harlow, 2012). Stafford, Pauline, Queens, Concubines and Dowagers: The King’s Wife in the Early Middle Ages, revised edn (London, 1998). Wood, Ian N., The Merovingian Kingdoms 450-751 (London, 1994).

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Beatrice A. Calver is a fourth-year Combined Honours student at Collingwood College, Durham University, reading Art History, Spanish and English Literature. This paper was prepared as part of the ‘Art and Design in Belle Époque France 1870-1900’ module under the guidance of Dr Anthony Parton.

Artists of the Belle Époque frequently engaged with the concept of watching and of being watched, choosing women as the aesthetic subjects of their paintings and presenting them as freely available to be gazed upon by members of bourgeois society. This is a topic famously addressed by Baudelaire (1821-1867) in his 1863 essay, ‘The Painter of Modern Life,’ which reinforces the male as the spectator and the female as the passive object of his gaze. In response to Baudelaire’s work, this essay aims to reassess the gender roles Baudelaire prescribes through an analysis of Mary Cassatt’s (18241926) oil painting, In the Loge (1878) (Fig. 1). In the glamorous bourgeois world of Belle Époque Paris, masculinity and femininity had come to form a binary opposition, each assuming separate characteristics and privileges, or - as experienced by many nineteenthcentury women - limitations. Marie Bashkirtseff famously complained in her 1882 diary: ‘Ah! How women are to be pitied; men at least are free’ (Smith 1995: 66), emphasising how, within the public sphere particularly, gender prescribed very different levels of opportunity. This inequality is reflected in the art produced: male artists were at liberty to move through the city as they wished, drinking in the sights and sounds of the new consumer society of which they were the masters, in pursuit of developing their artistic practice. Female artists, meanwhile, did not share this freedom. In assessing nineteenth-century gender disparity, the theatre as a social space is of particular significance: a ‘site of overt sexual commerce and thus possible compromise to a lady’s reputation’ (Pollock 1998: 144), in which the women in the audience provided a spectacle of equal interest to the performance on stage. The opera glasses - usually only held to the eyes of men, as in Renoir’s La Loge (1874) (Fig. 2) - thus become symbolic of the male gaze. Increasingly employed in their new function of studying the women in various theatre boxes, the women themselves, to an extent, were suddenly ‘on show’ and providing a most enjoyable spectacle to their male audience.

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Fig. 1 Mary Cassatt, In the Loge, (1878), oil on canvas, (81 cm x 66 cm). Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Deborah Bershad gives an analysis of the language used around the concept of the gaze, noting how, in an 1808 dictionary of slang published in Paris, the phrase lorgner une femme had already become a sexualised notion of ogling at a woman, an action imposed upon her by a man. By 1864, the verb voir had come to mean sexual intercourse (Kendall and Pollock 1992: 98). This progression of events expresses the extreme power of the male gaze in nineteenth-century Paris, and, indeed, in the context in which both Baudelaire and Cassatt were working.

Fig. 2 Pierre-Auguste Renoir, La Loge, (1874), oil on canvas, (80 cm x 63.5 cm). Courtauld Institute of Arts, London.

Baudelaire’s essay makes frequent reference to the Belle Époque world of watching and of being watched. His extended descriptions of the typical ‘dandy’ aristocrat of Paris note the middle-class man’s vast quantities of both time and money, allowing him to carry out his fantasies as he pleased and thereby idly continuing in his ‘perpetual pursuit of happiness’ (Baudelaire 1964: 26). The flâneur was known ‘to be away from home, and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world’ (9), as based upon the example of Constantin Guys, which much of Baudelaire’s essay idolises.

It is exactly this depiction of the typical Parisian flâneur that Cassatt addresses in her work. In the Loge (Fig. 1), now held by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, shows a woman dressed entirely in black, sitting in profile and squinting sternly through a pair of opera glasses. Sat alone in a theatre box, she looks directly to the stage, fully engaged with the performance taking place. Cassatt has taken a very different approach to portraying the social space of the theatre to many of her contemporaries. Typically, at the theatre, the middle-class woman would dress in colour so as to stand out, her jewellery glinting seductively from across the auditorium. The middle-class man, meanwhile, wore black, disappearing from view as the lights dimmed and thus leaving him easily able to browse the women on offer in the knowledge that he himself would remain largely unnoticed. Nevertheless, Cassatt presents a very different type of woman. Her hair half covered by a black veil and little skin on show, she, like the men of the audience, blends subtly into her dark theatre box. Even her creamcoloured fan, a typical accessory of the theatregoing woman, is kept clasped firmly shut on her lap rather than fluttered before her eyes. Cassatt’s In the Loge (Fig. 1) also demonstrates the artist’s somewhat unconventional use of pictorial space. The principal figure is placed at the very forefront of the canvas, as if the viewer were sitting next to her - or, perhaps, watching her through a pair of opera glasses. As the row of theatre boxes swirls outwards from the stage, her box feels cordoned off, withholding a sense of pressurised placement. As Pollock’s Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity (1988) describes, through this claustrophobia of spacing the viewer is forced into a confrontation with the figure in front of them; although in this case it is a confrontation in which the woman, engaged as she is with the performance on stage, is presumably uninterested in. To take Pollock’s view, the protrusion beyond the picture space comes as ‘a comment on the containment of women and […] a statement of resistance to it’ (1988: 63). Cassatt brings her central figure close to the viewer, and yet pronounces the figure’s gaze away, extending it beyond the picture space. Cassatt’s woman is therefore, by implication, pushing outwards from the confinements of bourgeois society, and in doing so Cassatt may offer a subtle feminist message that speaks against the duties assigned to women in Belle Époque Paris. 173

In extending this theory, as the viewer follows the gaze of the woman, projected directly to the left, they come into direct opposition with a man in a separate theatre box. This is Cassatt’s representation of the flâneur, Baudelaire’s ‘rich and idle’ (1964: 26) man who freely ogles at the women he pleases, seen here as staring so intently through his opera glasses that he has come out of his seat. Shockingly, Cassatt seems to suggest that he is the mirror image of the viewer, as both stare unashamedly at the woman sat alone. Both the dandy man and the viewer, therefore, are engaging with the masculine role pronounced in Baudelaire’s essay. In Griselda Pollock’s essay, ‘The Gaze and the Look: Women with Binoculars - A Question of Difference’ (Kendall and Pollock 1992), she discusses Cassatt’s In the Loge as having been influenced by Degas’ Woman with a Lorgnette of c.1886 (Fig. 3). Degas, understood throughout much of Art History as engaging leisurely in ‘scopophilia,’ is remembered by much Art Historical criticism for his graphic brothel scenes and his paintings of women bathing. Nicholson quotes in Charles Bernheimer’s 1897 essay, ‘it is not that he treats woman as though she were a horse: he treats her with more savagery’ (248). Indeed, Degas is associated with having pushed the male gaze through a ‘keyhole’ viewpoint and onto the nude and unassuming female, presenting her in thickly textured pastels upon highly sexualised surfaces. Nevertheless, Woman with a Lorgnette offers a very different view of Degas’ work, as he presents a woman unafraid to stare directly at both the artist and, by consequence, the viewer: a woman who returned the male gaze. Pollock’s ‘second hypothesis’ (1992: 122-125) suggests that Cassatt took Degas’ oil sketch and, through In the Loge, placed it back into the modern world, ‘at the theatre where femininity and modernity were allowed to mingle’ (122). In Woman with a Lorgnette, Degas attempts to capture and control the female gaze, perhaps finding it frightening, as he isolates the figure in pictorial space. Cassatt, however, overwrites this. In her painting, the female figure may extend her gaze straight across the picture plane and beyond, outside of the picture frame. Pollock’s hypothesis therefore supports the notion of Cassatt’s female figure as powerfully independent. Uninterested in the audience around her, she looks forward with determination, literally to the stage, but, through implication, beyond this, in ‘suspecting that there is more than the social world envisages for her’ (124). In this way, Cassatt is making a comment on women’s place in Belle Époque society and expressing a desire for something better. This suggestion gains greater significance when placed firmly within the glittering bourgeois world of Baudelaire’s essay. Fig. 3 His ‘The Painter of Modern Life’ sets out the role of the Edgar Degas, Woman with a nineteenth-century woman, prescribing her with a duty to Lorgnette, c.1866, oil sketch on pink ‘astonish and charm’ men (1964: 33), thus implying that it is paper, (28 cm x 22.7 cm). men who grant women value in society. Baudelaire highlights British Museum, London. the relationship between a woman's beauty and her shallowness. He presents her as ‘a kind of idol, stupid perhaps, but dazzling and bewitching’ (30), and writes of ‘the invisible unity’ (30) of a woman and her frilled and flowing dresses. Most importantly, Baudelaire writes of the female theatregoer, describing her as follows: ‘Some are grave and serious, others blonde and brainless. Some flaunt precocious bosoms with an aristocratic unconcern, others frankly display chests of young boys. They tap their teeth with their fans, while their gaze is vacant or set; they are as solemn and stagey as the play or opera that they are pretending to follow’ (1964: 34-35).

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Baudelaire’s image of women as mystical, otherworldly creatures of beauty, with no voice or ideas of their own, comes in stark opposition to the one seated, craning her neck towards the stage, in Cassatt’s dark theatre box (Fig. 1). Cassatt has chosen to present a woman who opposes Baudelaire’s definition: a woman who finds her role in more intellectual pursuits, separated both literally and symbolically from the other members of the audience, and who feels no need ‘to adorn herself in order to be adored’ (Baudelaire 1964: 33). Unaccompanied and wearing black, the viewer may presume that the central figure is a widow. Nevertheless, Susan Fillin-Yeh is one of a group of critics to suggest that the figure of Cassatt’s painting, sitting alone and dressed in a business-like outfit, must have been attending a matinée performance. Originally only performed on Sundays, the matinée was first introduced in 1869, and as its popularity increased ‘owed its existence to the increasing financial autonomy of women’ - that is, ‘a new type of female, the woman who participates in cultural events’ (1976: 360). Actively engaged with the onstage spectacle, this supports the argument that the woman painted is an independent and intellectual figure. To use the words of Smith, understanding the scene to be set at a matinée theatre performance ‘should make us read this theatregoer as a woman of education with a serious interest in contemporary culture’ (1995: 141). A member of the intelligentsia herself, Cassatt was often invited to the opening nights of new plays and would have been aware of the new phenomenon of the matinée performance and the opportunities it provided (Mathews 1994: 114). It therefore becomes possible to read into In the Loge a message that both opposes the bourgeois understanding of womanhood and challenges the traditional notion of the male gaze. As a result, the painting also objects to the concept of men actively painting whilst women sit charmingly to be painted. In the place of the watercolour still-life paintings that were expected of the female artist, Cassatt confidently takes on the sticky oil paints and the serious subject matters of her male contemporaries. It is interesting to note William Wells’ tentative claim that the binocular-clad woman of Degas’s oil sketch was, in fact, Lydia Cassatt, Mary’s sister, as another sketch in the series shows ‘Lyda’ inscribed in the top corner (Bershad in Kendall and Pollock 1992: 95). The woman who stared back, perhaps, was the sister and closest companion of the woman who painted In the Loge six years later. Both express the experience of the nineteenth-century middle-class woman, and both resist the power so easily granted to the male artist. Both present the image of a woman who is not posed to be gazed upon. We may therefore infer that Cassatt’s In the Loge in many ways redefines the constricted gender role assigned to middle-class women in nineteenth-century Belle Époque society. This is a role dramatized by Baudelaire, whose essay claims that ‘in truth, (women) exist very much more for the pleasure of the observer than for their own’ (1964: 35). It is the same role later responded to by Cassatt, as she places new light upon the typical male gaze, so as to present an independent, intelligent and culturally engaged woman who fiercely pleases herself before pleasing those around her.

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Artworks Cited:

Fig. 1

Mary Cassatt, In the Loge, (1878), oil on canvas, (81 cm x 66 cm).

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Fig. 2

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, La Loge, (1874), oil on canvas, (80 cm x 63.5 cm).

Courtauld Institute of Arts, London.

Fig. 3

Edgar Degas, Woman with a Lorgnette, c.1866, oil sketch on pink paper, (28 cm x 22.7 cm).

British Museum, London.

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Bibliography Callen, Anthea (1995), The Spectacular Body, Science Method and Meaning in the Work of Degas, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Bernheimer, Charles, (1897), ‘Degas’s Brothels: Voyeurism and Ideology,’ Representations, No. 20 (Special Issue), Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, pp. 158-186. Kendall, Richard and Pollock, Griselda (eds.) (1992), Dealing with Degas, Representations of Women and the Politics of Vision, New York: Universe. Mathews, Nancy Mowll (1994), Mary Cassatt, A Life, New York: Villard Books. Baudelaire, Charles (1964), The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays / by Charles Baudelaire, Translated and edited by Jonathan Mayne, Oxford: Phaidon Press Ltd. Pollock, Griselda, (1988), ‘Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity.’ Vision and Difference, London: Routledge, pp.50-90. Pollock, Griselda (1998), Mary Cassatt: Painter of Modern Women, London: Thames and Hudson Ltd. Smith, Paul (1995), Impressionism, London: George Weidenfeld and Nicolson Ltd. Fillin-Yeh, Susan, (1976), ‘Mary Cassatt’s Images of Women,’ Art Journal, Vol. 35, No. 4, New York: College Art Association of America, pp. 359-363.

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Grace Long is a final-year Combined Honours student at St. Cuthbert's Society. Within this, Long has explored the mediums of comedy and autobiography with a focus on their potential to define the female/feminist self. This paper was prepared as her dissertation in English Literature under the guidance of Professor Patricia Waugh.

Introduction Christopher Hitchens sparked a global outcry when his 2007 Vanity Fair article controversially yet unequivocally declared that women are incapable of being truly, authentically funny. Whilst he concedes that women can ‘make great wits and comedians,’ he swiftly qualifies this statement with the demeaning assertion that these women ‘are hefty or dykey or Jewish, or some combo of the three.’1 Crucially, Hitchens exploits the findings of a 2005 study executed on ten men and ten women at the Stanford University School of Medicine to proclaim that differences in the configuration of the male and female brain afford men an aptitude for humour that women lack. Accentuating his point further, Hitchens quips that men wield comedy as a means of ‘impressing the opposite sex,’ and as the female role within the gender dynamic is to silently observe the male performance, women consequently ‘have no corresponding need’ to develop an independent comedic voice.2 In essence, Hitchens suggests that women’s capacity for humour is unavoidably limited due to the constraints of their gender and the historic social conditioning that has forced them to suppress intellect and by extension, humour, in order to conform to the prevailing social order and male-dominated gender hierarchy. In spite of this, the past decade has witnessed the international proliferation of successful female comedians. From Lena Dunham and Caitlin Moran to Amy Schumer and Tina Fey, the mediums of television and film have been seized by female comics in all aspects: onscreen, in the writer’s room and in the director’s chair. Melanie and Wilhelm Verwoerd determine that this new wave of professional comediennes in the United States and the United Kingdom is ‘breaking the silence’ previously imposed upon the female voice and indeed, the female comic voice, contributing to the shifting structures of the comedic realm. 3 However, the rise and increasing success of women in comedy has had a far greater impact than merely transforming the world of humour; as Linda Mizejewski contends, ‘women’s comedy has become a primary site in mainstream pop culture where feminism speaks, talks back, and is contested.’4 Cultivating an extensive public platform as a result of their comedic talents, Mizejewski signifies that these female comedians possess a unique power to bring feminist issues to the forefront of their comedic discourse, thus contributing to the development of a feminist consciousness amongst their audience. Although Harold L. Smith determines that there has been a notable ‘divergence among Christopher Hitchens, ‘Why Women Aren’t Funny’, Vanity Fair (2007), last accessed 17 December 2016, <www.vanityfair.com>. 2 Ibid. 3 Melanie Verwoerd and Wilhelm Verwoerd, ‘On the Injustice of (Un)Just Joking’, Agenda: Empowering Women for Gender Equity, 23 (1994), 67-78, at p. 73. 4 Kathryn Kein, ‘Recovering Our Sense of Humor: New Directions in Feminist Humor Studies’, review of All Joking Aside: American Humor and Its Discontents by Rebecca Krefting, Pretty/Funny: Women Comedians and Body Politics by Linda Mizejewski, and The Queer Cultural Work of Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner by Jennifer Reed, Feminist Studies, 41/3 (2015), 671-681, at p. 677. 1

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feminists as to what feminist ideology and goals should be,’ Jenny Robinson underlines that the feminist movement’s universal, unifying and indeed ‘defining ambition is to transform gendered power relations.’5 Significantly, humour complements this effort in that as a form, it is essentially interested in the empowerment of the humourist on a level that surpasses socially constructed boundaries, including that of gender. Jonas Liliequist and Anna Foka avow that ‘as far back as Antiquity,’ the nature and meaning of humour has been a preoccupation for ‘philosophers, moralists, and dramatists.’ 6 Historically, humour has been recognised as a formidable tool in the art of social subversion, both ‘acknowledged and feared’ for its ability to either affirm or renounce social constructs. 7 Indeed, when considered in relation to modern feminist humour, most notable is Foka and Liliequist’s notion of humour as ‘both inclusive and exclusive and, with respect to prevalent norms, affirmative or destabilizing.’ 8 Humour is framed as a force for social and cultural change, as through comedic observations upon contemporary society and power structures, the humourist is able to engage and disarm the listener. As Mizejewski concurs, comedy is endowed with an exceptional potential for ushering ‘cultural critique and feminist discourse’ into the public arena ‘under the guise of jokes.’ 9 With its inherent destabilising potential, humour and laughter are thus fundamentally ‘powerful rhetorical tools for subversion and change’ in the field of gender norms and identities, establishing them as essential weapons in the modern feminist’s arsenal. 10 The aforementioned feminist comediennes have utilised their public platform as a channel through which to enter the political discourse. Particularly prominent were Dunham’s efforts throughout Hillary Clinton’s contentious 2016 US presidential campaign; the comic participated in conventions targeted at rousing millennial voters in support of the first female Democratic nominee. Additionally, British comedienne Moran contributed her fiercely feminist political views to the cause in a Clintoncentric monologue on her YouTube channel. Moran humorously proclaims that Clinton’s presidential run had a direct impact upon her self-perception, declaring that Clinton had ‘exploded’ her ‘unexamined presumption…that for women, it’s all downhill after the menopause.’ 11 Moran furthers her praise for the politician who ‘rewired [her] entire subconscious chronology of what it is to be a woman’ by passionately applauding Clinton’s significance as proof that post-menopause, women have ‘another 30 years minimum in which [they] can continue to grow, empower, achieve wisdom, accomplishment, ambition, and lady balls.’12 Moran’s rhetorical style exemplifies the power of humour when interwoven with intelligent and impassioned social and political commentary, elucidating its immense potential to empower the self, and particularly the female self. Since its conception, the modern Western feminist movement has experienced many fluctuations and evolutions in its motivations, methods and mission aims. After first gaining momentum in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the feminist movement emerged into the public sphere with renewed vigour in the early 1960s, with a surge of activity known as the Second Wave. As Nancy K. Miller remarks, ‘one of the original premises of seventies feminism…was that “the personal is the political,”’ reflecting women’s desire to regain control over their bodies, reproductive rights and

Harold L. Smith, ‘Introduction’, in Harold L. Smith, ed., British Feminism in the Twentieth Century (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1990), 1-4, at p. 1; Jenny Robinson, ‘Feminism and the Spaces of Transformation’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 25/3 (2000), 285-301, at p. 285. 6 Anna Foka and Jonas Liliequist, ‘General Introduction’, in Anna Foka and Jonas Liliequist, eds., Laughter, Humor, and the (Un)Making of Gender: Historical and Cultural Perspectives (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 1-3, at p. 1. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid. 9 Kein, p. 678. 10 Foka and Liliequist, p. 2. 11 Caitlin Moran, ‘Caitlin Moran on Hillary Clinton (and lady balls)’, Caitlin’s Moranifesto (2016), last accessed 04 January 2017, <www.youtube.com>. 12 Ibid. 5

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identities as women. 13 Through the availability of the contraceptive pill and the legalisation of abortion (in 1967 for British women and 1973 for American women), the Second Wave marked a new era of sexual and political freedom for women, achieved as a result of the politicisation of the feminist mission. Following on from the progress made between the 1960s and 1980s by second-wave feminists, the Third Wave surfaced. For Alyson Bardsley, third-wave feminism was triggered by women born ‘in the late 1960s at the earliest’ with a limited appreciation for second-wave feminism, who also ‘critique other aspects’ of the movement.14 Distancing themselves from the second-wave movement ‘decried as too white, too middle class, too heterosexist and/or anti-sex, and not enough fun,’ third-wave feminism is characterised by an individualistic current. 15 With the aim of expanding and diversifying the reach of feminism, this Third Wave is reflective of the millennial predisposition for equality regardless of gender, ethnicity, sexuality or class. Featuring both an inclusive, collective ambition to unite all women, as well as an individualistic strain, these traits of third-wave feminism carry distinctive similarities with qualities found in female autobiographical writing. According to Miller, ‘feminist theory has always built out from the personal,’ therefore the female autobiographical endeavour that is ‘anecdotal, and shaped by the intensity of personal voice’ successfully takes on elements of the thirdwave feminist self in the form of ‘authorized personalism.’ 16 As a creative form, autobiography has faced similar considerations to humour in that it has also been deemed as necessarily different for men and women. Classified by Shari Benstock as ‘the unique medium of the individual and the individual’s special, peculiar psychic configuration,’ the art of autobiographical writing must then differ based on gender as per the revelation put forth by Hitchens regarding the divergent compositions of the male and female brain. 17 Gusdorfian logic asserts that ‘the cultural precondition for autobiography…is a pervasive concept of individualism,’ however the female condition automatically problematises this notion as ‘the self, self-creation, and selfconsciousness are profoundly different for women’ than for men. 18 In Gusdorf’s view, autobiographical writing has allowed men to fortify their masculine cultural hegemony both ‘literally and literarily,’ as the genre represents ‘the expression of individual authority in the realm of language.’19 Nevertheless, these comediennes have approached autobiographical writing in a way that harnesses individualistic power whilst also embodying a collective feminine spirit, utilising the form to launch an exploration into their culturally defined selves and their authentic, personal selfhood. Benstock argues that the female autobiographical act is a powerful ‘way by which to find a “voice”’ through writing.20 Whereby women have previously existed in silence, denied a voice or individual identity, the development of female autobiography and female humour has enabled and empowered women to contribute to their own cultural narrative. For Nancy Walker, engaging in autobiographical writing involves a ‘consciousness of self-presentation’ as the writer considers themselves at different points in their lives from a somewhat objective standpoint, offering new perspectives on thoughts and behaviours that can perhaps be constituted as fictitious, or certainly as deviating from the truthful self.21 Yet Walker’s views align with those of Benstock, as she expresses the importance of female 13

Nancy K. Miller, Getting Personal: Feminist Occasions and Other Autobiographies (New York: Routledge, 1991), p. 21. 14 Alyson Bardsley, ‘Girlfight the Power: Teaching Contemporary Femin ism and Pop Culture’, Feminist Teacher, 16/3 (2006), 189-204, at p. 189. 15 Ibid. 16 Miller, p. 15; Ibid., p. 25. 17 Shari Benstock, ‘Authorizing the Autobiographical’, in Shari Benstock, ed., The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings (London: Routledge, 1988), 10-33, at p. 10, (A). 18 Susan Stanford Friedman, ‘Women’s Autobiographical Selves: Theory and Practice’, in Shari Benstock, ed., 34-62, at p. 34. 19 Ibid., p. 35. 20 Benstock, ‘Introduction’, in Shari Benstock, ed., 1-6, at p. 5, (B). 21 Regina Barreca, ‘Nancy A. Walker: Courage, Humor, and Subversion’, Studies in American Humor, 3/9 (2002), 5-10, at p. 9.

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autobiography in acting as ‘the insertion of the self into historical narrative,’ as ‘for a woman to do this at all is to revise traditional concepts of who counts, who is worthy of a life story.’22 Both Benstock and Walker support the autobiographical form as a vessel for validating the female self; by reclaiming control of the narrative, female writers are able to exact agency over their place in cultural history. Following on from the success of the television shows and films that they have written and starred in, the aforementioned American comediennes Dunham and Fey have released autobiographical works in the past decade composed of memoirs, anecdotal essays and lists offering advice to their readers. Similarly, after establishing a reputation in the world of stand-up comedy and journalism, British comedienne Moran has spearheaded a sitcom and published numerous works, including an autobiographical memoir and a humorous, wide-ranging political and cultural manifesto. Distinctive in their comedic stylings yet united by their forthright feminist outlooks, the written works produced by these female comics are remarkable in that they harness the dual power of humour and autobiography in order to seize back control of their own narratives. Female autobiography and feminist humour overlap and complement one another as both are ultimately concerned with the reclamation of power and authority over the construction and presentation of the self. Moreover, both modes aim to establish a community through relatable, engaging techniques including laughter and the sharing of intimate, personal experiences. Firstly, shared laughter is a renowned means of forming a bond between creator and recipient, yet for women this connection is augmented due to the collective nature of the female experience. As the abovementioned comediennes draw upon everyday experiences in the life of a woman for their comedic material—mocking and critiquing the presiding social and cultural order that dictates certain aspects of their lives—their humorous delivery attracts other women who find cathartic release in the presentation of these inherently familiar situations. Secondly, these comediennes have written autobiographies whereby the reader, namely another woman, is encouraged to move beyond the alienation imposed upon them by the dominant male culture, and rather join in a ‘collective solidarity with other women’ in order to reshape what it means to be a modern woman. 23 Through the retelling of their own life stories, the writers hope to inspire a spirit of community amongst women who are able to relate to the inner thoughts and feelings of women struggling to succeed in both an industry and a society predisposed to masculine hegemonic rule. Thus this dual offensive, composed of humour and autobiographical writing, allows these comediennes to redefine themselves for the advancement of their personal identity, and also for that of the modern feminist movement.

Chapter One: Lena Dunham ‘I am twenty years old and I hate myself.’ 24 Brutally frank, honest and direct, the opening line of Lena Dunham’s 2014 work Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She’s “Learned” perfectly encapsulates the writer’s hallmark openness. As the central creative force behind remarkable, award-winning show Girls, Dunham is widely heralded as a leading voice for feminism in the entertainment industry, having marked a new era for women in television. In Not That Kind of Girl, Dunham’s refreshing comedic candour enables her to deftly manoeuvre between deeply personal anecdotes detailing menstruation, non-consensual sexual experiences and insecurities with ease and wit. Throughout the narrative, Dunham imparts her most intimate self along with her innermost struggles as a modern woman in order to encourage a sense of kinship between writer and reader. Entitled ‘Love and Sex,’ the first section of Dunham’s memoirs uncovers the romantic attachments and sexual intimacies that have informed her current status as a sexually independent and confident 22

Ibid. Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 40. 24 Lena Dunham, Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Girl Tells You What She’s “Learned” (London: Fourth Estate, 2014), p. 1. 23

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young woman. Particularly resonant with ‘the lucrative 18-34 female market’ whose awareness of feminism is derived increasingly from social media and popular culture representations of women, Dunham addresses menstruation, virginity and sexual relationships with astonishing candour. 25 Symbolically, the first memory Dunham unveils is that of losing her virginity, reflecting the intensity of the bond she is about to enter into with the reader, as well as the lack of inhibition that supports her endeavour to achieve a sincere connection with her readership. Dunham employs humour to eliminate the importance that society has imposed upon this event, often perceived as a milestone in the life of a young woman that alters her identity in some, as of yet, undefined way. Indeed, Dunham illustrates this in Girls when college student Shoshanna is compelled to justify that she is ‘the least virginy virgin ever’ in order to maintain the interest of her romantic pursuit, fearful of the judgement she will be subjected to for not losing her virginity at an age deemed to be more acceptable by societal standards.26 Dunham’s account of her own experience ridicules the elevated expectation surrounding this event. She states the belief she held prior to losing her virginity, that ‘once I let someone penetrate me, my world would change in some indescribable yet fundamental way.’ 27 The implication of the forceful verb ‘penetrate’ highlights the writer’s anticipation of a forceful and profound effect on her body and sense of self in the aftermath of her first full sexual encounter. Yet Dunham quickly injects a shock of humour into the narrative to negate the impact of the event, questioning ‘how could I ever experience true solitude again when I’d had someone poking around my insides?’ 28 The childish curiosity evoked by Dunham’s imagery—simultaneously nonchalant and graphic—serves to shatter any barriers remaining between herself and the reader; in this instance, her honest account alerts the reader to Dunham’s extreme level of comfort within her own persona, both as a narrator and as a woman. As Heidi M. Hanrahan identifies, an ‘accepted truth about women’s humor’ is that ‘it very often finds its source in marginalization, pain, and frustration.’29 Dunham’s treatment of virginity, and specifically the loss of virginity, stems from her dissatisfaction with society’s imposition of a heightened importance regarding the event for young women, but not necessarily for young men. Laura M. Carpenter articulates this notion further, arguing that in the United States, young people have traditionally ‘experienced virginity loss in divergent ways based on their gender.’ 30 Carpenter also underlines that for the vast majority of men, virginity is perceived as a ‘stigma’ that they are consequently ‘concerned with expunging…preferably as soon as possible.’ 31 In a culture dominated by men, this pressure is filtered through to condition the female perception of virginity loss. Dunham expresses the discomfort she experienced as a high school and first year college student when she ‘felt like the oldest virgin in town,’ developing this sentiment further as she retrospectively wonders whether she ‘had unwittingly crossed the divide between innocent and pathetic’ as she waited for the loss of her virginity to occur. 32 Within this statement lies an allusion to Dunham’s views towards the dichotomous societal expectations women face to maintain an air of innocence, whilst also under pressure to lose their virginity before they reach their twenties. Dunham’s implicit critique of this issue aligns with Walker’s proposition that for ‘American women’s humor,’ a central concern is the female figure’s struggle ‘to live up to expectations for her behavior

Leanne Bibby, ‘Feminisms’, in Neil Badmington and David Tucker, eds., The Year’s Work in Critical and Cultural Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 43-66, at p. 46. 26 Lena Dunham, ‘Hannah’s Diary’, Girls, Season 1 Episode 4, Home Box Office, 06 May 2012. 27 Dunham, p. 8. 28 Ibid. 29 Heidi M. Hanrahan, ‘Funny Girls: Humor and American Women Writers’, Studies in American Humor, 3/24 (2011), 9-13, at p. 9. 30 Laura M. Carpenter, ‘Gender and the Meaning and Experience of Virginity Loss in the Contemporary United States’, Gender and Society, 16/3 (2002), 345-365, at p. 345. 31 Ibid., p. 352. 32 Dunham, p. 4. 25

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emanating from a culture dominated by men.’33 By exposing the standards placed upon a young woman’s loss of virginity by society as somehow unlocking the ‘vault of true womanhood,’ and relaying the true reality of the event’s ‘inconsequential’ impact upon her identity, Dunham successfully employs humour to dilute the stigma surrounding a woman’s loss of virginity. 34 As Walker concurs, the ‘underlying message’ of Dunham’s narrative ‘is that the standards—and those who seek to enforce them—are at fault,’ thus promoting female agency with regards to sexuality and experience rather than succumbing to societal expectation and the gender inequality that accompanies those expectations.35 Dunham’s comedic current continues in other essays detailing her early sexual experiences, as the writer exhibits a desire to confront her readership with graphic images and descriptions that render them shocked, and to a certain extent, uncomfortable. Thus, as the narrator decodes the ‘mystery’ surrounding sex, the reader is launched into this intimate journey through Dunham’s incredibly visual accounts.36 Although the writer declares that being the object of the male sexual gaze can often make her feel desired, or even affirmed, the sexual act continues to feel like an ‘invasion of [her] insides,’ furthering a lexical field of force and violence in relation to sexual intercourse. 37 Exacerbating this notion is the abrupt and somewhat alarming depiction of ‘intercourse’ as feeling ‘often, like shoving a loofah into a Mason jar,’ whereby Dunham’s comical metaphor intimates a deeper dissociation between physical intimacy and sentimental love. 38 Dunham’s accounts of youthful sexual encounters display an anxiety in relation to her sexual worth and body image, both of which impact her identity as a woman. When sharing a bed with a man whose fatigue renders him incapable of engaging in intercourse, Dunham’s feeling at the time was that of ‘being desexualized in slow motion, becoming a teddy bear with breasts.’ 39 Humorous in the outlandish image it constructs, the characterisation of her figure as an object that is inextricably linked to childhood evokes the impression that when not valued sexually, Dunham’s sense of self as an adult woman is negated and undergoes a regression as a result of the perceived rejection of her body. For Dunham, ‘this wasn’t comfort, this was paralysis,’ signifying a stasis in not just that moment in her personal history, but also with regards to the development of a positive body image that isn’t entirely centred upon sexual appeal. 40 Moreover, Dunham’s narrative unveils that her younger self felt a tension between sexual freedom and intellectual integrity as a feminist woman. Stating that she ‘deserved to be treated like a piece of meat but also respected for [her] intellect,’ the lexis arouses an opposition between primal sexual instinct and a woman’s capacity for intelligent thought and contribution. 41 In this way, Dunham relays a progressive feminist outlook to her readers by justifying that a desire to be sexually dominated and the possession of intellect are not mutually exclusive character traits. In voicing a somewhat salacious inner desire, the humour of this phrase is derived from both its controversial subject, yet also the fact that freely expressing such a notion is still deemed controversial for a twenty-first century woman. As Walker recapitulates, female humour such as this is significant in ‘expressing a hostility toward rigid role definition’ in order to propel the ‘social continuum’ towards a more evolved view of the female self and its incredible complexity. 42

Nancy Walker, ‘Humor and Gender Roles: The “Funny” Feminism of the Post-World War II Suburbs’, American Quarterly, 37/1 (1985), 98-113, at p. 100. 34 Dunham, p. 8; Ibid., p. 9. 35 Walker, p. 104. 36 Dunham, p. 10. 37 Ibid., p. 11. 38 Ibid., p. 10. 39 Ibid., p. 19. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid., p. 20. 42 Walker, p. 113. 33

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For Benstock, ‘women’s autobiographical writings’ are typically ‘vulnerable’ as a creative form, as the female self has historically been denied the individualism and social autonomy that has been afforded to the male self, which has had the freedom to develop without inhibition or judgement. 43 Conversely, the female self has been repressed and rendered incapable of flourishing to the same degree. Expanding upon this diagnosis, Benstock identifies several categories or ‘“subjects” of women’s autobiography,’ including ‘public women defying patriarchal definitions to open new avenues of professional and personal experiences for women.’ 44 Dunham can be understood within this category of female autobiography, as her unflinchingly honest and humorous autobiographical accounts are conveyed with the intention of raising awareness and a feminist consciousness within a female readership. Dunham elevates her work to a level of extreme vulnerability when she recounts a non-consensual sexual experience from her past. The writer appeals directly to the reader in the essay entitled ‘Barry,’ labelling herself an ‘unreliable narrator’ as she admits that she had ‘fabricated…another essay in this book’; initially postured as a tale of youthful sexual exploration on the part ‘of a girl who was new to sex,’ the narrator reveals that in actuality this encounter ‘didn’t feel like a choice at all.’ 45 The narrative fluctuates in time throughout, interspersing childhood memories with details of the incident. This shifting structure serves to displace the reader, particularly with striking temporal markers such as ‘When I was seven I learned the word “rape”’ which juxtaposes childhood innocence and curiosity with the severity of the act perpetrated in the narrative present. 46 Furthermore, the narrative moves quickly from ‘when I was young, I read an article about a ten-year-old girl who was raped’ to ‘the day after Barry,’ deepening the frenzied temporal framework surrounding this account. 47 Dunham heightens her vulnerable sense of fallibility and humanity by highlighting that she has ‘told the story to [herself] in different variations,’ citing it as a ‘memory [she] turned away from.’48 By openly participating in a selective retelling of this memory, the writer discloses her ‘awareness of the meaning of the cultural category woman’ in that she consciously constructs a narrative with a consideration for her readership in mind.49 Stanford Friedman underlines that ‘the self constructed in women’s autobiographical writing is often based in…group consciousness,’ and the purpose of relaying a memory that is both intensely painful and personal to the author is certainly to raise awareness about an issue that will resonate with the readership. 50 Dunham’s narrative mode in this section shifts from the controversial, lively comedic writing seen throughout to a style referred to by Krefting as ‘charged humor.’ 51 In Kathryn Kein’s exploration of Krefting’s work on American humour and its expression of social and cultural discontent, she focuses in particular on Krefting’s theory of charged humour and its significance. Charged humour essentially involves the intentional production of humour which targets and challenges inequality and injustice. Kein reveals that ‘charged humor is not as marketable to the mainstream,’ yet Dunham’s screenwriting has often exhibited this politicised comedic format which has unquestionably transferred over into her first literary work. 52 The writer prefigures the charged retelling of her nonconsensual experience earlier in the narrative, when an adolescent online friendship goes awry and a police officer ‘implies’ that Dunham ‘shouldn’t have been so nice to him if [she] didn’t like him,’ rendering her confused and ‘ashamed.’53 As ‘Krefting is…interested in the intent of the performer’ employing charged humour, Dunham’s anecdotal experience with law enforcement reflects a 43

Benstock (B), in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 3. Ibid., p. 5. 45 Dunham, p. 51. 46 Ibid., p. 55. 47 Ibid., p. 60. 48 Ibid. 49 Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 40. 50 Ibid. 51 Kein, p. 674. 52 Ibid. 53 Dunham, p. 31. 44

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politically motivated criticism of the entrenched, systematic sexism that accuses women of inviting unwanted, sexual advances rather than placing blame on unprovoked, predatory male behaviour. 54 Within the chapter ‘Barry,’ Dunham advances this charged setting with the physical description of her attacker, presenting Barry to the reader as a figure who ‘commanded attention with his aggressively masculine physicality and a voice that went Barry White low.’ 55 This depiction of Barry is laced with suggestions of an underlying aggression, with the seemingly innocent reference to Barry White creating an implicit link between sexual intimacy and the writer’s violent aggressor. In contrast, Dunham describes herself as ‘pulling…up messily like a just-born foal,’ emphasising her naivety and vulnerability as she constructs an image of herself as helpless and innocent within that scenario. 56 In Kein’s view, although charged humour is an effective medium through which to express discontent and confront injustices, as a style it resonates more as ‘moments of sincere political activism peppered among…recognizably comedic material, but not…comedic themselves.’ 57 Dunham herself acknowledges this with several pointed references throughout the text. Firstly, Dunham states that ‘jokes aren’t just jokes,’ clarifying in a footnote that she is ‘paraphrasing Freud.’ 58 As both a writer and an autobiographical narrator, Dunham demonstrates that she is fully aware of the inherent power of humour and the comedic narrative. In relation to the narration of the comedienne’s sexual assault, Dunham once more employs charged humour in the chilling moment when the morning after the attack, her friend’s ‘pale little face goes blank’ as she ‘whispers, “you were raped.”’ 59 In response, Dunham ‘burst out laughing,’ composing an unnerving juxtaposition between her personal reaction and the reaction of an outsider. 60 The reader is not invited to laugh with the narrator in this instance, but rather is encouraged to share the retrospective understanding of the event that Dunham imposes upon this retelling, ensuring that this younger version of herself is positioned as ‘alien’ to both herself and the reader.61 Secondly, as the narrative moves forward in time the narrator finds herself in a similar position when she pitches ‘a version of the Barry story…a sexual encounter that no one can classify properly’ in a television writer’s room, claiming that ‘all kinds of terrible things’ are often woven into a script. 62 Instead of the laughter Dunham anticipated, her anecdote was met with sympathies such as ‘I’m sorry that happened to you…I hate that.’63 These moments of gravity, perceived by the narrator as humorous yet taken seriously by those around her, reflect the capacity for charged humour to treat the underlying importance of issues such as sexual assault by illuminating the pain and vulnerability belying the carapace of humour. Ultimately, the narrator is unable to make peace with this traumatic event until she addresses the truth within her ‘deepest self.’64 Within the narrative, Dunham retells this anecdote three times: once to her friend, once to her fellow writers, and lastly to her boyfriend. By presenting several versions of the same event throughout the narrative, featuring a progression in the narrator’s understanding of the assault, Dunham exemplifies the way in which the autobiographical act supports the construction of the desired self. The writer inflicts retrospective wisdom upon these three varied versions in order to create a final account whereby the self presented echoes the authentic self. In this final retelling, Dunham states that ‘I still make joke after joke, but my tears are betraying me.’ 65 Once she has undergone a cathartic release and found acceptance from her partner, the narrator goes to the mirror 54

Kein, p. 676. Dunham, p. 57. 56 Ibid., p. 59. 57 Kein, p. 675. 58 Dunham, p. 35. 59 Ibid., p. 61. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid., p. 58. 62 Ibid., p. 64; Ibid., p. 63. 63 Ibid., p. 64. 64 Ibid., p. 65. 65 Ibid., p. 64. 55

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and is surprised to find that her appearance is ‘intact’ and unchanged. 66 In fact, she declares that ‘I look all right. I look like myself.’67 Dunham’s approach to the autobiographical narration of her sexual assault therefore embodies several aspects of Benstock’s interpretation of the mirror stage. In her exploration of Lacanian mirror theory, Benstock examines its role in the ‘psychic development’ of a child in serving up ‘a false image of the child’s unified self.’ 68 Invoking a ‘false symmetry’ in the subject’s selfhood, Benstock argues that the disparity of self developed in the mirror stage is particularly significant in the field of autobiography. 69 Utilising the findings of Gusdorf, Benstock recapitulates that the ‘autobiographical act’ mimics the effects of Lacan’s mirror stage in that it requires the writer ‘to take a distance with regard to himself in order to reconstitute himself’ in the focus of his or her ‘special unity.’70 As Dunham retells different versions of this memory, situated at different points in time, she participates in this distancing and recognises ‘the alienating force’ that the ‘reflected image’ has had upon her understanding of the event. 71 Although a gap exists between the comedienne’s ‘unity of self’ in the present and her understanding of self in the past, Benstock elucidates that the autobiographical act allows for this to become ‘the space of writing’ whereby reflection upon one’s own image and transitioning selfhood facilitates the discovery of a more ‘cohesive self.’72 Despite Benstock’s admission that as autobiography places the ‘Subject’ as ‘an Object of investigation,’ a greater division occurs between the actual self and the mirrored self as a result of the space between ‘the present moment of…narration and the past on which the narration is focused,’ Dunham’s infusion of charged humour and manipulation of narrative timeframe signify her presence of mind and control over presentation of self, so that her autobiographical self is fully representative of her authentic self. 73 Dunham’s public reputation is incontrovertibly linked to the precarious body image and self-worth of women in a male-dominated world. The narrator relates that her feminist indoctrination commenced from an early age, as her mother clarified an ‘essential gender difference’ between men and women. 74 Dunham’s focus upon the female body—both its functions and its form—serves to highlight that ownership of these differences can bolster an individual’s ability to define the female self. The writer’s accounts of her experiences with menstruation exemplify the notion that acceptance of the body is vital to a woman’s self-acceptance. The narrator conveys that ‘menstruating is the only part of being female I have ever disliked,’ reinforcing its ‘demoralizing’ effect through clichéd images of the female reaction to this biological function with ‘we want chocolate…we are angry…our stomachs puff out like pastries.’75 Moving away from collective language, Dunham details her troubled experiences with menstruation with characteristic humour when she depicts her monthly mood fluctuations as analogous to ‘a character on Dallas, obsessed with subterfuge and revenge.’76 Hyperbolic language heightens the humour of this scenario, as Dunham categorically states that ‘when menstruating, I am the definition of inconsolable. Cannot be consoled,’ furthering the emotional angst surrounding the narrator’s relationship with her body’s natural processes. 77 Sara Mills proposes that women are united by collective experience, in that ‘all women are oppressed by patriarchy’ and therefore have a resolute common ground from which to establish a united sense of self.78 Significantly, Mills asserts that ‘biological functions such as menstruation…and child-rearing,’ 66

Ibid., p. 66. Ibid. 68 Benstock (A), in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 12. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid., p. 14. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid., p. 12; Ibid., p. 14. 73 Ibid., p. 19. 74 Dunham., p. 77. 75 Ibid., p. 116. 76 Ibid., p. 115. 77 Ibid. 78 Sara Mills, ‘Authentic Realism,’ in Sara Mills, Lynne Pearce, Sue Spaull and Elaine Millard, eds., Feminist Readings/Feminists Reading (Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989), 51-82, at p. 55. 67

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which are all essentially female experiences, enable women’s literary texts to construct a female collectivity through the representation of these shared experiences. 79 Thus Dunham’s documentation of her resentment towards menstruation, though comedic in its exaggerated and dramatic portrayal, has a deeper resonance in that it draws upon a ‘common denominator of events’ that allows a collective women’s consciousness to develop. 80 Dunham’s comedic treatment of this female experience and her skilful autobiographical narration of them allows for an ‘experience of sisterhood and a sense of belonging’ to bind the female writer and reader together, strengthening female unity. 81 As part of her personal feminist agenda, Dunham’s approach to body image and the female form firmly resonates with the reclamation of control and self-presentation that the comedic and autobiographical forms complement. Dunham sarcastically comments on the humiliating ‘subtext’ she is constantly faced with when asked how she feels about revealing her body onscreen, when the true meaning is ‘definitely how am I brave enough to reveal my imperfect body.’82 Yet upon discovering nude polaroid portraits taken of her mother ‘in the early seventies,’ Dunham juxtaposes social expectation with the reality of the female form. 83 With particularly visual, descriptive language, Dunham depicts her mother’s body as ‘slim…a long torso, loose arms.’ 84 Plosive alliteration serves to highlight imperfections, such as ‘the ripple of fat below her butt, the sharp knob of her knee,’ in order to heighten the writer’s emotive message that ‘the power of it’ lies in revealing who she is, ‘as much to herself as to anybody.’85 In contrast, Dunham constructs a sharp juxtaposition as she humorously defames the culturally idealised form with the damning statement that ‘Barbie is disfigured,’ thus imploring her female readership to ‘keep in mind’ the value of their own form.86 By creating a clear dichotomy between the reality of the female form and the unreality of the culturally idealised form, Dunham’s treatment of this matter echoes Walker’s views regarding the placement of female narratives in the cultural dialogue. As aforementioned in the Introduction, Walker supports the autobiographical endeavour as a means of inserting the female self into cultural history, and reclaiming creative control over self-presentation. Just as Dunham’s mother understood the power of capturing her body in a realistic light, Dunham’s narrative is infused with recognition of the power and authority she is able to wield through the medium of the comedic voice and the autobiographical act. In Not That Kind of Girl, moments of sincere vulnerability and pain are interspersed between raucously funny personal anecdotes to great effect. Subversive humour and charged humour intertwine to communicate Dunham’s critique of societal tendencies towards sexism and rigid definitions of female identity. By sharing intimate details of distinctively female experiences, the autobiographical act bonds Dunham and the reader together in a shared sense of self, whilst her unique comedic voice and implementation of creative control enable the writer to define her individual self. Echoing the sentiments of Mizejewski put forth in the Introduction, Dunham successfully marries comedy and autobiography in order to express feminist views in a palatable package that has a profound impression upon the consciousness of modern women.

Ibid. Ibid., p. 56. 81 Ibid. 82 Dunham., p. 105. 83 Ibid., p. 99. 84 Ibid., p. 101. 85 Ibid; Ibid., p. 102. 86 Ibid., p. 107. 80

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Chapter Two: Caitlin Moran Since 1992, Caitlin Moran’s opinionated feminist voice has earned widespread renown through her longstanding column in The Times. Similar to Dunham, Moran’s forthright and unfiltered approach to comedy, writing and feminism has helped to establish her status as one of the UK’s leading female comedians. Characterised as ‘part memoir, part modern feminist rant,’ Moran’s acerbic wit and riotously funny autobiographical anecdotes assured that her 2011 work How To Be a Woman became essential reading for the modern feminist. 87 Praised by The Guardian for ‘giving a realistic face and voice and the bare essentials of consciousness to girls,’ Moran furthered her success with her comical self-inspired 2013 sitcom Raised By Wolves.88 Finally, by fusing her political views, feminist insights and cultural commentary in her 2016 publication Moranifesto, Moran expressed once more a desire to ‘fuel…a new era of comedy’ by reclaiming the female voice and reversing the historical repression it has been subject to.89 Regina Barreca proposes that female comedic writings are notable in that within every humorous tale and anecdote, there lies a ‘subversive edge under the apparently complacent cover.’ 90 In Moran’s case, however, humour is wielded with overtly rebellious and feminist insinuations. Whilst the young adolescent memoirs relayed in How To Be a Woman may be tinged with subtle, subversive humour, Moranifesto represents a fully-fledged comedic critique on the current status of feminism, as well as a rallying call for change. With a narrative style that is much more colloquial in tone and vernacular in language than that crafted by any other comedienne, Moran consciously positions herself as a feminist everywoman in order to disseminate empowering and progressive ideals to her female readership. The opening anecdote of Moran’s How To Be a Woman draws a significant parallel between the writer and Dunham, as both begin their narratives by depicting events where they stood on the precipice of womanhood. Moran invites the reader to her ‘13th birthday,’ the distinct moment her younger self attributed to ‘becoming a woman.’ 91 Instantly, Moran distinguishes the difference between girlhood and womanhood; whilst societal expectation is less pressing upon children, who are ‘benevolently generally ignored,’ once a girl has crossed the threshold into womanhood she is ‘suddenly fascinating to others.’92 Angela McRobbie supports Moran’s hypothesis that from adolescence, a young woman is exposed to a far greater level of scrutiny and public opinion as ‘young womanhood…exists within…public debate as a topic of fascination, enthusiasm, concern, anxiety and titillation.’93 Indeed, both Moran and McRobbie indicate that masculine hegemonic rule begins to dictate the conditions within which women exist from the moment they reach adolescence. Moran observes that in order to delay social conditioning and judgement upon their identity as women, many of her contemporaries had actively attempted to regress ‘back to their five-year-old selves’ by ‘filling their beds with teddies’ and ‘talking in baby language.’ 94 Moran appears to condemn the practice of ‘teenage girls’ who are ‘aggressively regressing’ and are consequently participating in McRobbie’s notion of the ‘production of girlhood,’ whereby societal pressure and regulation idealises girlhood and problematises womanhood. 95 Moran humorously links the historical oppression of women to menstruation, furthering her insight into the challenged and conflicted identity of the adolescent woman as opposed to the girl. Marking Amy Grier, ‘Review: How To Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran’, Stylist (2011), last accessed 20 February 2017, <www.stylist.co.uk>. 88 Rachel Aroesti, ‘Caitlin Moran: ‘The funniest people in the world are all women’’, The Guardian (2015), last accessed 11 March 2017, <www.guardian.com>. 89 Ibid. 90 Barreca, p. 5. 91 Caitlin Moran, How To Be a Woman (London: Ebury Press, 2011), p. 1; Ibid., p. 9. 92 Ibid. 93 Angela McRobbie, The Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture and Social Change (London: Sage Publications, 2009), p. 57. 94 Moran, p. 10. 95 Ibid; McRobbie, p. 57. 87

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her reluctant transition from girl to woman is Moran’s unhappy progression from ‘blithe child into a bleeding, weeping, fainting washerwoman.’96 With a mocking, sarcastic tone, Moran jibes that ‘women have been oppressed by men for so long’ as a result of menstruation, as whilst preoccupied by ‘scrubbing dried blood out of cotton,’ women were simply incapable of agitating ‘for the vote until the twin-tub was invented.’97 In alignment with the proposition made by Mills in Chapter One— whereby menstruation and other female experiences are relayed in order to encourage a shared sense of self through shared experiences—Moran exposes her relationship to menstruation and unsteady transition to womanhood in order to appeal to her female readership. Indeed, Moran furthers her humorous complaint about menstruation by condemning it as ‘a woman’s monthly faultiness’ in Moranifesto.98 For Sheila Rowbotham, ‘the indignity of femininity has been internalized for millennia,’ and the antidote for this historic repression is the art of female autobiographical writing and reclamation of voice. 99 Through her outspoken narration of deeply personal experiences, Moran steadfastly externalises her internal thoughts, feelings and desires rather than succumbing to social criticism and pressure to ‘wind her neck in’ and maintain silence. 100 Mocking societal discomfort surrounding the open discussion of menstruation, Moran invents a series of comical lexical alternatives for the term ‘which women find vaguely shaming, and which men are confused and horrified by.’101 Her euphemistic substitutions invoke hilarity with both the terms Moran devises, yet also the way in which the writer characterises each term. Describing a first period as when ‘Paul McCartney’s Magic Fairy Potion first waltzes into your life,’ Moran effectively deflates the discomfort of the issue whilst employing lexis strongly linked to immaterial, magical constructions, thus highlighting the ridiculous concept that society is more comfortable with the intangible and the unreal, as opposed to the reality of the female form and its biological functions.102 Further accentuating her disapproval of society’s ‘blasé’ acceptance of ‘all other human viscera’ with the exception of menstruation, Moran utilises popular culture euphemisms including ‘Mother Nature’s Enforced Kit-Kat Break’ and ‘a woman’s Great British Bake Off Christmas Special’ as a means of illuminating that menstruation is a process which plays an unavoidable role in the life of women, and should therefore be treated with as much openness and nonchalance as insignificant popular culture references.103 Jane Marcus supports the style and subject matter presented by Moran, stating that whilst autobiographical works by public women often display an ‘intellectual…achievement,’ it is their capacity to invite the reader into the ‘ordinariness and materiality of their womanhood’ that elevates the work and enables a female readership to connect with it on a deeper level. 104 As Moran playfully derides societal temptation to banish issues affecting women’s daily lives into a ‘Birdtopia’ whereby unrestricted, unashamed communication would occur ‘only sporadically with the menfolk by email,’ her humorous approach to the female experience of adolescence and menstruation is driven by a current of subversive comedy which emphatically implores for the female voice and experience to become a commonplace, unobstructed topic within mainstream cultural discussion. 105 Though Moran identified as a feminist from a young age, she praises the works of Dorothy Parker for inducting her into the world of humorous feminist literature. Hailed as the ‘holy Dorothy Parker,’ Moran is emphatic in her belief that Parker was ‘the first woman who has ever been capable of being funny’; indeed, the writer comically inverts traditional Biblical tropes by stating that ‘Parker is the

Moran, p. 21. Ibid., p. 19. 98 Ibid., Moranifesto (London: Ebury Press, 2016), p. 183. 99 Sheila Rowbotham, Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), p. 4. 100 Moran, Moranifesto, p. 182. 101 Ibid., p. 183. 102 Ibid. 103 Ibid., p. 184; Ibid., p. 185. 104 Jane Marcus, ‘Invincible Mediocrity: The Private Selves of Public Women’, in Shari Benstock, ed., 114-146, at p. 127. 105 Moran, Moranifesto, p. 181. 97

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Eve of female humour.’106 Joseph L. Coulombe indicates that for Parker and other feminist writers, ‘humor allows a psychological liberation from restrictive situations’ which thus enables the work to transgress cultural limitations and deliver a ‘progressive feminist agenda.’107 Although Moran recognises that Parker was ‘stuck in the wrong century’ and therefore incapable of fully escaping the hold of masculine hegemonic rule, Moran’s style and that of other comediennes has certainly taken inspiration from Parker’s pioneering literary voice. 108 Particularly significant in Coulombe’s observations on Parker’s style is the assertion that by witnessing the writer’s ‘intellectually flexible and culturally subversive humor,’ readers are encouraged to ‘partake in her rebellion against the norms of conventional femininity.’109 Moran indubitably rejects cultural definitions of the female self, and by actively constructing an authentic persona, the writer invites her female readership to refuse external influence regarding their perception and presentation of self. Throughout the anecdotal memoirs relayed in How To Be a Woman, Moran is simultaneously at her funniest and her most poignant when she considers language and culture in relation to self-perception. Firstly, the narrator contemplates the frequent misinterpretation of both the meaning and connotations of the term feminism. Claiming that it is ‘a political, lexical and grammatical mess,’ Moran argues that ‘we need to reclaim the word ‘feminism’…real bad.’ 110 Shedding a comedic light on the ‘bafflingly inappropriate contexts’ within which the word feminism has increasingly found itself, Moran wishes to steer the cultural and linguistic conception of feminism away from ‘ugly clothes, constant anger and, let’s face it, no fucking.’111 Through the use of profanity and a direct appeal to the reader, Moran’s humorous narrative destabilises the reader’s previous understanding of the term and consequently broadens their capacity to comprehend an alternative meaning. Similarly, Moran infuses the narrative with her personal vision for the future focus of the feminist movement as opposed to the ‘important issues’ dealt with by ‘traditional feminism.’ 112 Employing simplistic, unsophisticated lexis such as ‘those littler, stupider, more obvious day-to-day problems’ contrasted with elevated language as evidenced by ‘deleterious to women’s peace of mind,’ Moran constructs the impression that feminism must be relatable to the everywoman and their daily life rather than restricted to the realm of ‘feminist academics…and discussed at 11pm on BBC4.’ 113 In this way, Moran subscribes to the proposition put forth by Mizejewski in the Introduction, whereby feminist discussion is removed from scholarly circles and infused with wit and humour so that it can reach and be understood by all women. Reiterated in Moranifesto, Moran analogises her vision for modern feminism to great comedic effect by entitling the collective movement for equality and justice as the ‘Feminism Quilt Club.’114 Citing the continuing efforts of the women’s movement as ‘working on a massive patchwork quilt,’ Moran emphasises that feminism must be ‘a team sport’ involving academics and the everywoman alike, in order to truly make progress. 115 By utilising her extensive mainstream platform to call for feminist collectivity, Moran’s use of humour furthers her ability to unite her female readership in a progressive consciousness whilst also positioning herself as a relatable everywoman figure. Moreover, Moran explores the implications of language in shaping a culturally defined sense of self. In How To Be a Woman, Moran claims that ‘language tells us exactly what we think of the unattached woman,’ employing collective language to implicate the far-reaching cultural and social impact of

106

Ibid., How To Be a Woman, p. 74. Joseph L. Coulombe, ‘Performing Humor in Dorothy Parker’s Fiction’, Studies in American Humor, 3/28 (2013), 45-57, at p. 45. 108 Moran, How To Be a Woman, p. 73. 109 Coulombe, p. 50. 110 Moran, How To Be a Woman, p. 84; Ibid., p. 80. 111 Ibid., p. 81. 112 Ibid., p. 13. 113 Ibid., p. 13; Ibid., p. 12. 114 Ibid., Moranifesto, p. 179. 115 Ibid. 107

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certain linguistic signposts.116 In this case, Moran illuminates the deeply entrenched paradox between ‘bachelors’ and ‘spinsters,’ as whilst ‘bachelors have it all to play for…spinsters must play for it all, and fast.’117 Furthering her implication of language and its cultural effect upon women’s identity, Moran hilariously juxtaposes the great achievements of Elizabeth I in laying the ‘groundworks of the British Empire’ with the fact that the cultural canon places greater focus on her failure to marry, sarcastically lamenting the supposed failure of this ‘poor, pale, mercury-caked queen.’118 Subverting the cultural notion that one of the ‘great tragedies that can…befall a woman’ is that of ‘being unloved, and therefore unwanted,’ Moran’s comedic critique upon the narrowing effect of linguistic labelling echoes Coulombe’s assertion that ‘humor is the primary strategy…that refuses one-dimensionality’ and thus allows the female self to develop beyond the restrictions placed upon it by the conventions of language and culture.119 In her exploration of the power of language in shaping a woman’s understanding of self, Moran’s narrative exhibits aspects of Benstock’s previously discussed interpretation of Lacanian mirror theory regarding the female autobiographical act. However, Moran’s style has a greater resonance with Stanford Friedman’s analysis of Rowbotham—in particular her theory of female autobiography whereby ‘the prevailing social order stands as a great and resplendent hall of mirrors.’ 120 Whilst Stanford Friedman acknowledges a parallel between Gusdorf and Rowbotham in that both use the ‘metaphor of mirrors’ to delve deeper into the ‘development of woman’s consciousness,’ Rowbotham’s method is of particular interest in Moran’s narrative as it places emphasis on the ‘cultural hall of mirrors.’121 Moran’s personal, poignant and comical anecdotes display the way in which language informs a culturally defined sense of self, whereby it contributes to a ‘cultural representation’ of women which subsequently ‘projects an image of woman’ as a category onto the individual self, thus prohibiting the development of a ‘unique, individual identity.’ 122 In a vulnerable retelling of her teenage years, Moran highlights her struggle with weight and body image with the repetitive construction ‘I’m 16 I’m 16 I’m 16,’ swiftly followed by ‘I am 16, 16, 16 and 16 stone.’123 The focus on the personal pronoun, the frenetic pace of the first phrase—propelled by asyndeton—along with the rapidity of repetition in both all serve to intensify the frantic emotion associated with the narrator’s vulnerable self-worth. Fluctuating between half-hearted declarations such as ‘I’m clever, so it doesn’t matter that I’m fat’ and the assertive affirmation that ‘I am fat,’ Moran humorously augments the pervading uncertainty that often governs the consciousness of adolescent women. 124 The narrator decisively proclaims that ‘teenage girls are supposed to be lithe, and hot,’ therefore the ‘teenage girl’s body’ that does not conform to this image renders the teenage girl herself ‘of no use to anyone.’125 Significantly, the narrator refers to the powerful linguistic implication of the word ‘fat’ by remarking that ‘it’s not just a simple, descriptive word like ‘brunette’ or ’34.’’126 Indeed, Moran heightens the importance of the word when stating that ‘It’s a swearword. It’s a weapon,’ continuing to build an impression of dissatisfaction with ‘it’s an accusation, dismissal and rejection.’127 In a direct appeal to the reader, Moran questions whether ‘the word ‘fat’’ is making her readers ‘wince,’ as the word has become so ‘furiously overloaded’ and charged with meaning that ‘it is still effective even if it has no basis in the truth whatsoever.’ 128

116

Ibid., How To Be a Woman, p. 147. Ibid. 118 Ibid., p. 146. 119 Ibid; Coulombe, p. 52. 120 Rowbotham, p. 27. 121 Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 38. 122 Ibid. 123 Moran, How To Be a Woman, p. 105. 124 Ibid., p. 106. 125 Ibid. 126 Ibid. 127 Ibid. 128 Ibid., p. 108; Ibid., p. 109. 117

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Yet, rather than succumbing to the ‘distorting identities’ imposed upon women by language and culture that Rowbotham condemns, Moran’s reclamation of the word and its meaning serves to ‘shatter’ the cultural predisposition to reject that which deviates from the norm. 129 Whilst vulnerable and impressionable, the narrator’s perception of her younger self is comically that of ‘a 16-stone triangle, with inverted triangle legs, and no real neck.’ 130 However the autobiographical form allows Moran to apply retrospective insight to the narrative, enabling her to subvert traditional ‘norms of beauty’ and reformulate the cultural idea of ‘fat’ with the ‘sensible definition’ that to look ‘recognisably, straightforwardly human’ is preferable to women basing their self-perception upon the culturally prescribed norm. 131 The narrator delivers imperative instructions to her readership, including ‘say it until you lose the nervousness around it, say it until it seems normal,’ both of which amplify the writer’s support of the female voice whilst also demonstrating how the female autobiographical act facilitates an empowerment of the self as well as the female readership, encouraging them to actively engage with the material. 132 Moran resumes her critique of the presiding social and cultural obsession with scrutinising the female image by blithely acknowledging that ‘how women look is considered generally interchangeable with who we are.’133 As she recapitulates in Moranifesto, once a woman has departed from the ‘safe, unisex world of childhood’ they are susceptible to people ‘evaluating and owning’ their sense of self.134 When reminiscing on an ill-fated relationship, Moran laces the narration with moments of selfreflection through the lens of her partner, as well as through her own eyes. Sharing an intimate internal monologue, the narrator pensively considers that ‘the people around you are mirrors, I think to myself.’135 Just as Rowbotham contends that the female self and consciousness are warped by the image projected onto them by ‘the great cultural hall of mirrors,’ Moran concurs that although ‘you might be a different person to different people,’ external ‘feedback’ is of paramount importance ‘in order to know yourself.’136 The narrator’s boyfriend Courtney acts as a metaphorical tool in the narrative, representing a wider cultural mirror that is inherently ‘broken, or cracked, or warped.’ 137 The narrator’s vulnerability is evident when through ‘Courtney’s eyes,’ her sense of self is diminished to that of a ‘crazy, overbearing woman’; with adjectives that are incontrovertibly linked to clichéd female stereotypes, Moran’s narration aligns with Rowbotham’s view of the culturally reflected, inauthentic self as despite acknowledging that ‘the reflection is not true,’ the narrator is conditioned to ‘believe [she is] this…bad reflection.’138 Injecting humour into this contemplative study of selfperception, Moran humorously implies that the ‘ingredients for…the perfect couple’ are simply that ‘he’s a man, I’m a woman, and we live in the same house.’ 139 However, Barreca’s assertion that underlying the complacent carapace of humour is a subversive motivation is applicable in this instance, as Moran ironically divides men and women into categories to enhance the separation between male and female identity. As the narrator finds a ‘true mirror’ in her sister, Moran intensifies the importance of Rowbotham’s female ‘collective solidarity’ first alluded to in the Introduction. 140 By refusing to succumb to the image of herself prescribed by Courtney—and by extension a maledominated society—the writer successfully reclaims her individuality whilst simultaneously underlining the necessity of ‘constructing a group identity’ amongst women so as to overcome the influence of a cultural hall of mirrors. 141

129

Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 41. Moran, How To Be a Woman, p. 111. 131 Ibid., p. 110. 132 Ibid., p. 109. 133 Ibid., p. 210. 134 Ibid., Moranifesto, p. 176. 135 Ibid., How To Be a Woman, p. 157. 136 Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 39; Moran, How To Be a Woman, p. 157. 137 Ibid. 138 Ibid. 139 Ibid., p. 154. 140 Ibid., p. 160; Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 40. 141 Ibid. 130

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In a soaring combination of direct rhetoric, unfiltered humour and a confident call for a collective movement towards a feminism that suits the everywoman, Moran’s subversive style confronts the conventions of a masculine cultural hegemony. Tinged with moments of vulnerability, the anecdotes and articles shared by Moran in How To Be a Woman and Moranifesto merge her personal experiences of womanhood with a wider critical commentary on the role of society and culture in shaping the female sense of self. Just as Moran’s relatable, comical anecdotes engage the female reader in a shared camaraderie, the writer harnesses creative control to position herself as a feminist everywoman, with humour and the art of female autobiography coalescing to empower Moran’s presentation of both the personal and collective female self.

Chapter Three: Tina Fey From renowned Chicago-based improvisational comedy group The Second City, to becoming the first female head writer for Saturday Night Live in 1999, Tina Fey’s comedy career thus far has been extensive, enduring and undeniably exceptional. Her 2011 publication Bossypants features autobiographical accounts of childhood and adolescent awkwardness, crafting a comedic voice and most importantly, carving a path for women in the male-dominated world of comedy writing. Highly respected for satirical yet sentimental comedic stylings and writing, Fey’s memoirs and essays illuminate the difficulties for a woman in a predominantly masculine industry and the way in which comedy has allowed her to transcend these pervasive and conventional boundaries. Hanrahan commends Fey’s collection of essays for their humorous and wide-ranging coverage of personal anecdotes, from ‘her childhood in the suburbs…to women’s beauty tips…and motherhood.’142 Reiterating McRobbie’s notion regarding the ‘production of girlhood,’ Fey humorously confronts the societal obsession with the female form and appearance in a pithy essay entitled ‘All Girls Must Be Everything.’143 Significantly, Fey conveys that from the age of thirteen her entire conception and ‘everything [she knows] about womanhood’ was derived from the presiding social commentary on what a woman is expected to be. 144 When Fey overheard as her ‘cousin Janet scoffed’ at ‘the hips’ on a teenage girl who had ‘walked by in a bikini,’ Fey was exposed to the socially and culturally defined prerequisites for achieving the ideal female form. 145 Prior to this moment, Fey’s naivety is evident as she states that she ‘thought there was just fat or skinny,’ employing ironically simplistic oppositions to highlight the new era of complexity that conditions societal perception of the female image. 146 Infusing a subversive and witty tone into this moment of realisation, Fey constructs a list comprised of the ‘“deficiencies”’ that ‘at any given moment on planet Earth, a woman is buying a product to correct’; Fey’s generalised, hyperbolic approach is significant in unifying women’s collective experience in relation to beauty and body image.147 From ‘cankles’ and ‘fivehead’ to ‘crotch biscuits’—a ridiculous term coined by Fey referring to ‘the wobbly triangles on one’s inner thighs’—Fey’s use of bizarre, comical terms attached to imperfections of the female form serve to pass critique upon the necessity to create new language in order to reflect society’s predisposition to pass continual judgement on the female body. 148 Considering Walker’s characterisation of female humour as ‘necessarily debunking’ and ‘always culturally motivated and directed,’ Fey’s comedic critique of conventional standards of beauty are 142

Hanrahan, p. 9. McRobbie, p. 57. 144 Tina Fey, Bossypants (London: Little, Brown Book Group, 2011), p. 18. 145 Ibid., p. 20. 146 Ibid. 147 Ibid. 148 Ibid., pp. 20-21. 143

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embedded with a deeper resonance. 149 Fey notably underlines the overriding influence of male cultural opinion and its impact on ‘real change in women’s body image.’ 150 Building her argument around popular culture icons, Fey humorously remarks that ‘when JLo turned it butt-style,’ male desire provoked a shift in public opinion so that ‘having a large-scale situation in the back’ became a desirable component of influential ‘mainstream American beauty,’ conditioning women’s sense of self as they struggle to conform to culturally defined beauty norms. 151 Quipping that ‘what felt like moments later, boom—Beyoncé brought the leg meat,’ Fey’s conversational tone highlights the normalised rapidity of changing beauty standards and her subsequent distaste for the ever-growing ‘laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful.’152 By listing features ranging from ‘Caucasian blue eyes’ and ‘hairless Asian skin with a California tan,’ to ‘full Spanish lips’ and ‘a Jamaican dance hall ass,’ Fey ridicules the incongruity and impossibility of the culturally idealised vision of female beauty.153 Evoking an amalgamation of features considered desirable from each corner of the globe, Fey powerfully highlights the insurmountable task women face in conforming to an image that has been yoked together based purely on specific traits which appeal to the male gaze, or that are sensationalised as a result of the popularity of celebrity icons. The narrator comically lists ‘the abs of a lesbian gym owner’ and ‘the hips of a nine-year-old boy’ to great effect, employing hilariously absurd examples to accentuate the ludicrous expectation imposed upon women to obtain an entirely unrealistic form. 154 Aligning with Rowbotham’s concept of the ‘cultural hall of mirrors’—whereby presiding male influence and cultural standards reflect an inaccurate, unachievable image of the self onto women—Fey’s rejection of societal expectation is motivated by a desire to empower the self and the collective female self-image.155 The autobiographical act allows Fey to reclaim creative and narrative control over her own image and, in essence, her sense of self. As Barreca proposes, autobiographical writing requires a ‘consciousness of self-presentation,’ which is vital for women in their efforts to ‘compose an image of the self’ that is personally defined rather than distorted by external cultural influence. 156 In a systematic list, Fey takes ‘a personal inventory of all’ the ‘healthy body parts’ that she appreciates, regardless of their mainstream appeal. 157 The writer masterfully subverts conventional norms by comically manipulating commonplace images, stating the pride she has attached to her ‘heart-shaped ass,’ swiftly contradicting the appeal of the image as she nonchalantly remarks that ‘unfortunately, it’s a right-sideup heart; the point is at the bottom.’158 Another artful witticism occurs when Fey assures that she ‘would not trade any of these features’ in order to conform to an idealised image, as ‘even the acne scar’ on her cheek represents an intrinsic part of her identity as ‘that recurring zit spent more time with [her] in college than any boy ever did.’159 By contrasting fluctuating cultural trends and pervasive standards with the permanent impact that self-image has upon the female sense of self, Fey’s narrative emulates McRobbie’s observation that ‘female bodily anxieties are intricately tied up with the need for social approval,’ and thus ‘spectacularly coded’ definitions of the female body condition women to believe that ‘other capacities’ of their identity are not of equal worth to their appearance.160 Through humorous descriptive imagery, Fey actively reclaims her own image and

N.B., ‘Review’, review of A Very Serious Thing: Women’s Humor and American Culture by Nancy Walker, American Studies, 29/2 (1988), p. 96. 150 Fey, p. 22. 151 Ibid. 152 Ibid., p. 23. 153 Ibid. 154 Ibid. 155 Stanford Friedman, in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 39. 156 Barreca, p. 9. 157 Fey, p. 24. 158 Ibid. 159 Ibid., p. 25. 160 McRobbie, p. 118. 149

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implores her female readership to reject the culturally defined image of female beauty in order to develop a cohesive, empowered sense of self. Commencing her autobiographical narrative with the address ‘Welcome Friend,’ Fey immediately signals her understanding of a collective female group, supporting Rowbotham’s insinuation that ‘by communicating with one another’ through autobiography women are able to redefine the self in a realm set apart from the ‘existing male world.’161 Within her memoirs, Fey retrospectively confronts difficulties and prejudices she has faced throughout her career as a comedy writer, based upon the position of her gender in a male-dominated field. Following her case-study on the relationship between women and stand-up comedy, Andrea Greenbaum determines that female comics encounter a ‘dual burden’ which their male counterparts exist without; firstly, female comics must overcome ‘societal prohibitions against women speaking in public,’ and secondly, in order to successfully deliver a subversive comedic discourse they must appropriate ‘rhetorical, assertive, masculine mechanisms’ into their style. 162 Fey addresses the problematic position she has encountered throughout her career as a female comic invading a longstanding ‘boys’ club,’ infusing raucously funny insights into her narrative in order to thoroughly disprove any impression that women are not equal to men in the comedic realm. 163 For Fey, the improvisational style at The Second City in Chicago was not only extraordinary ‘as a way of creating comedy,’ but also as a way of shaping and expanding the way one interacts with the world around them.164 Whilst listing the various rules that are crucial when engaging in an improvisational sketch, Fey’s rhetoric shifts from informative when listing rules, to imperative when underlining those which have not traditionally been associated with women. The repetition of imperative orders to ‘make statements, with your actions and your voice,’ to ‘speak in statements instead of apologetic questions’ and the reminder that making statements ‘also applies to us women’ intensifies the reader’s understanding of comedy as a domain to which women have historically been denied access. 165 Indeed, Fey highlights the absurdity of the ‘institutionalized gender nonsense’ she personally experienced when told by a director or producer that ‘“the audience doesn’t want to see a scene between two women,”’ or that ‘“there won’t be enough [parts] for the girls”’ in a sketch.166 The narrator’s response is laced with derisive humour when she declares that ‘this made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury.’ 167 Deviating from the lighthearted quips favoured by Fey throughout the narrative, her sarcasm here denotes an underlying anger and frustration that resonates with charged humour. Recapitulating Walker’s categorisation of female humour as driven by discontent with the presiding cultural conditions, Fey’s sarcastic tone amplifies her condemnation of the male authority figures who unequivocally stated that there were not enough parts for women in an improvised piece, even when the comics ‘were making up the show [themselves].’ 168 Stating her vision for the future of sketch comedy shows as a ‘gender-blind meritocracy of whoever is really the funniest’ rather than the inherently sexist conditions that mark her personal experiences, Fey’s sardonic criticism of the limitations imposed upon women in comedy exemplifies her progressive feminist desire for women to be valued equally for their contribution in all fields. 169 Returning to her characteristically playful comedic persona, Fey recounts her attainment of a coveted writing position on the Saturday Night Live team. The writer furthers her retrospective appraisal of 161

Rowbotham, p. 37. Andrea Greenbaum, ‘Women’s Comic Voices: The Art and Craft of Female Humor,’ American Studies, 38/1 (1997), 117-138, at p. 137. 163 Fey, p. 86. 164 Ibid., p. 82. 165 Ibid., p. 85. 166 Ibid., p. 87. 167 Ibid. 168 Ibid. 169 Ibid., p. 88. 162

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gender inequality in comedy when sharing that she was hopeful prior to her interview as she had ‘heard the show was looking to diversify,’ before swiftly and sarcastically qualifying that ‘only in comedy…does an obedient white girl from the suburbs count as diversity.’170 By repeating ‘diversify’ and ‘diversity’ in quick succession, the shared etymological root of the words links them and thus augments the reader’s awareness of the extreme lack of diversity in comedy, and by extension Fey’s critique of this situation. 171 Yet Fey’s immediate focus is on her individual experience with gender stereotyping, the limitations prevalent within the domain of comedy writing, and the agency she exacted in order to inspire positive progress and change for female comics. The narrator expresses that once hired by Saturday Night Live, the climate was intimidating to such an extent that her ‘trademark obedience kicked in’ and forced her to repress notes that she had on prospective scripts, or on the performance of a celebrity guest, for fear of retribution for exacting agency and authority in a distinctly masculine environment. 172 Reflecting Greenbaum’s observation that ‘women, in general, are socially conditioned to avoid confrontation,’ Fey demonstrates that by asserting a comedic voice, women can manipulate prevailing male-dominated power structures in their favour.173 Mocking the nonsensical belief that ‘a dude in drag would be funnier’ than a female comic performer, Fey’s colloquial lexis highlights her confidence in the knowledge that by allowing women to empower themselves through voice and agency within the comedic discourse, they have the capacity to subvert masculine cultural hegemony. 174 Fey’s autobiographical and comedic style within Bossypants both prescribe to Greenbaum’s characterisation of the ‘delivery’ of material by female comics as inherently ‘conversational’ and ‘friendly.’175 When treating the ‘freaking always-asked question’ of what the true, definitive ‘difference between male and female comedians’ is, Fey’s narrative approach remains nonchalant and laced with wit and poise. 176 First offering a generalised summary of the divergent styles between male and female comics, Fey jokes that ‘men may prefer visceral, absurd elements like sharks and robots’ whereas women commonly have a greater affinity for ‘character-based jokes.’177 Just as Greenbaum depicts stand-up comedy as a ‘narrative style that is decidedly aggressive and confrontational’ due to the predominantly male influence that has historically shaped the discourse, Fey concurs that ‘men are in comedy to break rules.’178 Expanding upon her acknowledgement of the essential differences between male and female comics, Fey jokingly offers further ‘room-clearing generalizations’ by speculating that the female perception of comedy is that ‘it is a socially acceptable way to break rules and a release from our daily life.’179 In this way, Fey confirms Mizejewski’s proposition that women’s feminist comedy provides an excellent platform for women to convey subversive, confrontational views through a palatable, mainstream medium. However, though offering differences in the style and preferences of male and female comics, Fey’s narrative also conjures the writer’s underlying frustration with the debate and its continual insistence on the separate categorisation of men and women in comedy. By retelling two anecdotal experiences, Fey firmly outlines her consideration of the matter as tiresome and ‘boring.’ 180 Firstly, Fey seemingly inflates the gravity of her tone with the phrase ‘here’s the truth,’ suggesting that she will impart her intimate, personal thoughts and opinions. Announcing that she is ‘going to reveal’ the truth presently to her readers, the heightened tension is quickly deflated as the narrator unveils that the ‘actual

170

Ibid., p. 119. Ibid. 172 Ibid., p. 134. 173 Greenbaum, p. 118. 174 Fey, p. 135. 175 Greenbaum, p. 128. 176 Fey, p. 136. 177 Ibid. 178 Greenbaum, p. 118; Fey, p. 138. 179 Ibid. 180 Ibid., p. 136. 171

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difference between male and female comedy writers’ is that ‘the men urinate in cups.’181 Fey’s introduction of vulgar humour corresponds with Greenbaum’s impression that ‘female comics must eschew conventional notions of social behavior’ and femininity in order to compete with men on a comedic level.182 Yet rather than fully appropriating a homogeneous masculine comedic voice, the narrator assures that her disgust at the habit adopted by her male co-workers of ‘peeing in a cup…when they were too lazy to go to the bathroom’ is evident, thus underlining that personal reactions do not necessarily inform comedic stylings.183 Indeed, Fey’s intention throughout this anecdote is to suggest that although male and female gender differences are inevitable, elements of comedy are universal and therefore strict divisions between male and female humour are often unproductive. Reiterating this concept is Fey’s deduction that although ‘four or five of them out of twenty did…not all of the men whizzed in cups.’184 Expressing her frustration that ‘anytime there’s a bad female stand-up somewhere’ women are categorically decried as unfunny, Fey uses ‘that same math’ to comically declare that by the very logic used to denounce women’s capacity for humour, all ‘male comedy writers piss in cups.’185 In a subversive feminist twist, Fey’s autobiographical account and her manipulation of conventional ideas of comedy and gender divergence within that realm represent a deeply sarcastic and critical condemnation of societal tendency to divide men and women so thoroughly, with regards to both comedic concerns and greater social relations. Secondly, Fey relays the contentious creative process behind writing a commercial for Saturday Night Live that would meet with the approval of her male comic peers and superiors. The narrator shares with the reader that ‘this is the story of my proudest moment as one of the head writers’ of the show, alerting her readership to the significance of this passage and its powerful impact on her sense of self.186 Considering Benstock’s aforementioned assertion regarding ‘public women’ and the power of the autobiographical act to unveil ‘new avenues’ of experience in the professional domain, Fey’s momentous rebellion against ‘patriarchal definitions’ is of particular significance. 187 Fey’s personal experience in this instance is certainly illustrative of Benstock’s hypothesis, as the feminist overtones of the narrator’s account achieve an empowering resonance. Fey immediately sets this experience apart from others by outlining its uniqueness as not another ‘normal SNL show week,’ but rather an exception.188 Emphasising the remarkable atmosphere surrounding the event is Fey’s systematic depiction of the scene, guiding the reader from ‘the beginning of each season’ to the specific process of submitting scripts for consideration, building anticipation so the ‘commercial parody’ appears to be of the utmost importance. 189 Indeed, Fey’s employment of the superlative with ‘they could repeat forever’—reinforced by the ‘permanent’ existence of ‘commercials…shot on film’ as opposed to the show’s habitual sketches— effectively constructs an anticipatory atmosphere for the reader. 190 The narrator reveals that the ‘parody script’ she had ‘really fought for’ was a ‘very very funny’ advertisement for the ‘Kotex Classic,’ which is alternatively described as one of ‘those old 1960s maxi pads that hooked to a belt.’191 Liliequist and Foka propose that humour provides ‘powerful rhetorical tools for subversion and change,’ and the narrator underscores this notion by exacting her agency and voice in order to produce this particular parody. 192 Deemed ‘a little shocking and silly’ by the male comedy writers at 181

Ibid. Greenbaum, p. 118. 183 Fey, p. 137. 184 Ibid., p. 138. 185 Ibid. 186 Ibid. 187 Benstock (B), in Shari Benstock, ed., p. 5. 188 Fey, p. 139. 189 Ibid. 190 Ibid. 191 Ibid., p. 140. 192 Foka and Liliequist, p. 2. 182

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Saturday Night Live, Fey’s persistence as she ‘kept bringing it up in meetings’ eventually uncovered that the male writers were not uncomfortable with the sketch as a result of its subject matter, but rather their lack of understanding as to what this intimately female experience involves. 193 The narrator teasingly recounts the naive influx of questions from her male colleagues, from ‘“is it a thing that comes up the front?”’ to ‘“would we see blood?”’ 194 Beneath the surface of this humorous and triumphant account for Fey is an undeniably feminist message, as the narrator comes to the realisation that male discomfort with female experiences such as menstruation does not occur exclusively due to an ‘“institutionalized sexism,”’ but rather the fact that ‘sometimes they just literally didn’t know what we were talking about.’195 Juxtaposing the ‘normal custom’ of men ‘pissing in jars’ with women being ‘handed a fifteen-year-old Kotex product by the school nurse,’ Fey illuminates the necessity for open discussion of the female experience as well as the male experience in order to establish an egalitarian society where feminist values can flourish and prosper. 196 Fey’s comical essays and memoirs address the ‘Darwinian limitations on women in comedy,’ implicitly signifying that although historic repression has traditionally silenced the female comic voice, it is in fact equally as natural and worthy of a platform as the male comic voice. 197 Infusing a strong feminist initiative into her autobiographical narrative, Fey’s Bossypants is laced with imperative appeals for women to ‘do your thing and don’t care if they like it.’198 Presenting her personal and professional self as empowered, Hanrahan asserts that feminist comedians such as Fey use humour to ‘open doors, disarm resistant readers, identify with other women’ and most significantly, to ‘participate in important cultural conversations.’199 By constructing an empowered sense of self and imploring her female readership to embrace their voice, Fey’s implementation of autobiography and humour symbolises the potential for the individual and collective female self to transcend culturally imposed boundaries and redefine their narrative.

Conclusion When participating in a Comedy Actress Roundtable in 2015, Dunham applauded the vital role her fellow comediennes play in extracting feminism from ‘the ivory tower of…Judith Butler intellectual conversation.’200 By harnessing the transformative, subversive medium of comedic discourse, public women such as Fey, Dunham and Moran are uniquely positioned to transpose feminist views and ideals from the world of academia into a contemporary sphere that resonates with the modern everywoman. Walker eloquently summarises the exceptional power and potential of the female comedic voice, declaring that although the female comic may be trapped within an existence or a ‘world that constantly demands more than she can handle,’ her resistance is momentous in that ‘beneath the façade of the humor is a serious challenge to societal expectations.’ 201 Indeed, the driving force behind each performance, script and autobiographical essay created by the feminist comic is the intent to reverse the overwhelming history of denial that the female voice has endured. Yet in spite of the inclusive mission that the female comic voice and the female autobiographical act both pursue, the current public platform for such efforts is undeniably dominated by the white, Western feminist perspective. Whilst Indian-American comedienne Mindy Kaling has carved a 193

Fey, p. 140. Ibid. 195 Ibid., p. 141. 196 Ibid. 197 Ibid., p. 206. 198 Ibid., p. 145. 199 Hanrahan, p. 9. 200 Dunham, ‘Amy Schumer, Lena Dunham, Gina Rodriguez and More Actresses on THR’s Roundtables: Emmys 2016’, The Hollywood Reporter (2015), last accessed 18 February 2017, <www.youtube.com>. 201 Walker, p. 113. 194

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similar career path to the comics discussed in this project, her comedic voice is certainly lesser known amongst the works of her white, female comic counterparts. Her 2015 memoir Why Not Me? merged autobiographical writing with sharp wit to champion feminist values and agency, yet her narrative— and those of other comediennes of colour—continues to be overshadowed in the cultural canon by the predominance of the white, Western voice. Indeed, whilst Mills projects the notion that female autobiography is endowed with a great capacity for portraying a collective female experience, she acknowledges that ‘any experience that we share as women is a changing heterogeneous concept’ and that to collate all experiences into a unified female definition ‘veers dangerously close to prescriptivism.’ 202 Just as the multiculturalist feminist comic perspective is underrepresented, the white Western feminist comedic discourse is perhaps incapable of truly uniting all women in a cohesive, shared identity. Although Dunham recently penned an open letter stating that ‘feminists have always been emboldened by the acts of immigrant women,’ her own comedic and autobiographical offerings and those of other white feminist comics do little to insert the authentic, multiculturalist female experience into the overriding cultural narrative. 203 Although the modern feminist movement must address its own shortcomings in representing the experience of women of all ethnicities and backgrounds, the dual offensive of the female comic voice and female autobiography delivers an essential step towards empowering the female sense of self. As ‘their comic voices craft a distinctly feminine narrative,’ Fey, Dunham, Moran and their fellow comediennes are overwriting the historic representation of the female self and thus emboldening women to reject the culturally defined self. 204 Propelled by the act of writing their own experience, crafting their own narrative and reclaiming the representation of their individual identities, these women are laughing their way into history as pioneering figures in feminist comedy. As their powerful voices present a path for women to transcend the culturally imposed self, this new era of feminist women are redefining the course of history, simply by rejecting masculine cultural hegemony—the biggest joke of all—and daring to define their true, authentic selfhood.

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Mills, in Sarah Mills, Lynne Pearce, Sue Spaull and Elaine Millard, eds., p. 77. Dunham, ‘Here’s what we’re fighting for on International Women’s Day’, CBNC (2017), last accessed March 9 2017, <www.cnbc.com>. 204 Greenbaum, p. 137. 203

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Bibliography Primary Sources Dunham, Lena, Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She’s “Learned” (London: Fourth Estate, 2014). Fey, Tina, Bossypants (London: Little, Brown Book Group, 2011). Moran, Caitlin, How To Be a Woman (London: Ebury Press, 2011). — Moranifesto (London: Ebury Press, 2016). Secondary Sources Aroesti, Rachel, ‘Caitlin Moran: ‘The funniest people in the world are all women’’, The Guardian (2015), last accessed 11 March 2017, <www.theguardian.com>. Bardsley, Alyson, ‘Girlfight the Power: Teaching Contemporary Feminism and Pop Culture’, Feminist Teacher, 16/3 (2006), 189-204. Barreca, Regina, ‘Nancy A. Walker: Courage, Humor, and Subversion’, Studies in American Humor, 3/9 (2002), 5-10. Bayless, Martha, ‘Is the Comic World a Paradise for Women? Medieval Models of Portable Utopia’, in Anna Foka and Jonas Liliequist, eds., Laughter, Humor, and the (Un)Making of Gender: Historical and Cultural Perspectives (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 31-46. Benstock, Shari, ‘Introduction’, in Shari Benstock, ed., The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings (London: Routledge, 1988), 1-6, (B). — ‘Authorizing the Autobiographical’, in Shari Benstock, ed., The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings (London: Routledge, 1988), 10-33, (A). Bibby, Leanne, ‘Feminisms’, in Neil Badmington and David Tucker, eds., The Year’s Work in Critical and Cultural Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 43-66. Bordo, Susan, ‘The Cultural Overseer and the Tragic Hero: Comedic and Feminist Perspectives on the Hubris of Philosophy’, Soundings: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 65/2 (1982), 181-205. Carpenter, Laura M., ‘Gender and the Meaning and Experience of Virginity Loss in the Contemporary United States’, Gender and Society, 16/3 (2002), 345-365. Coulombe, Joseph L., ‘Performing Humor in Dorothy Parker’s Fiction’, Studies in American Humor, 3/28 (2013), 45-57. Dunham, Lena, ‘Hannah’s Diary’, Girls, Season 1 Episode 4, Home Box Office, 06 May 2012. — ‘Amy Schumer, Lena Dunham, Gina Rodriguez and More Actresses on THR’s Roundtables: Emmys 2016’, The Hollywood Reporter (2015), last accessed 18 February 2017, <www.youtube.com>. — ‘Here’s what we’re fighting for on International Women’s Day’, CNBC (2017), last accessed 09 March 2017, <www.cnbc.com>. Foka, Anna, and Jonas Liliequist, ‘General Introduction’, in Anna Foka and Jonas Liliequist, eds., Laughter, Humor, and the (Un)Making of Gender: Historical and Cultural Perspectives (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 1-3. 200

Greenbaum, Andrea, ‘Women’s Comic Voices: The Art and Craft of Female Humor’, America Studies, 38/1 (1997), 117-138. Grier, Amy, ‘Review: How To Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran’, Stylist (2011), last accessed 20 February 2017, <www.stylist.co.uk>. Hanrahan, Heidi M., ‘Funny Girls: Humor and American Women Writers’, Studies in American Humor, 3/24 (2011), 9-13. Harris, Geraldine, Staging femininities: Performance and performativity (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999). Hitchens, Christopher, ‘Why Women Aren’t Funny’, Vanity Fair (2007), last accessed 17 December 2016, <www.vanityfair.com>. Kaling, Mindy, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) (London: Ebury Press, 2013). —Why Not Me? (London: Ebury Press, 2015). Kein, Kathryn, ‘Recovering Our Sense of Humor: New Directions in Feminist Humor Studies’, review of All Joking Aside: American Humor and Its Discontents by Rebecca Krefting, Pretty/Funny: Women Comedians and Body Politics by Linda Mizejewski, and The Queer Cultural Work of Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner by Jennifer Reed, Feminist Studies, 41/3 (2015), 671-681. Marcus, Jane, ‘Invincible Mediocrity: The Private Selves of Public Women’, in Shari Benstock, ed., The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings (London: Routledge, 1988), 114-146. McRobbie, Angela, The Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture and Social Change (London: Sage Publications, 2009). Miller, Nancy K., Getting Personal: Feminist Occasions and Other Autobiographies (New York: Routledge, 1991). Mills, Sara, ‘Authentic Realism’, in Sara Mills, Lynne Pearce, Sue Spaull and Elaine Millard, eds., Feminist Readings/Feminists Reading (Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989), 51-82. Moran, Caitlin, ‘Caitlin Moran on Hillary Clinton (and lady balls)’, Caitlin’s Moranifesto (2016), last accessed 04 January 2017, <www.youtube.com>. N. B., ‘Review’, review of A Very Serious Thing: Women’s Humor and American Culture by Nancy Walker, American Studies, 29/2 (1988), p. 96. Robinson, Jenny, ‘Feminism and the Spaces of Transformation’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 25/3 (2000), 285-301. Rowbotham, Sheila, Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973). Schumer, Amy, The Girl With The Lower Back Tattoo (London: HarperCollins, 2016). Smith, Harold L., ‘Introduction’, in Harold L. Smith, ed., British Feminism in the Twentieth Century (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1990), 1-4. Stanford Friedman, Susan, ‘Women’s Autobiographical Selves: Theory and Practice’, in Shari Benstock, ed., The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings (London: Routledge, 1988), 34-62.

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Verwoerd, Melanie and Wilhelm Verwoerd, ‘On the Injustice of (Un)Just Joking’, Agenda: Empowering Women for Gender Equity, 23 (1994), 67-78. Walker, Nancy, ‘Humor and Gender Roles: The “Funny” Feminism of the Post-World War II Suburbs, American Quarterly, 37/1 (1985), 98-113.

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Siân Round is a third-year student reading English at St John's College, Durham University. Round's paper was produced for the module 'The Brontës' under the tutelage of Dr Sarah Wootton.

‘I was absorbed in the execution of these nice details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St John Rivers’. 1 In this chapter in Jane Eyre, St. John interrupts Jane’s painting and passes commentary on the verisimilitude of her work. Scenes of this nature are common in the Brontës’ works: the visual arts are inextricably linked with male interference. A more obvious text to discuss in regards to the visual arts in the Brontës is Anne’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, being one of the first novels containing a professional female artist. 2 Yet, by comparing the two texts, distinct similarities in how art is treated emerge, particularly in regards to the way men interact with women’s art. I will consider the presentation of the visual arts alongside theories of the male gaze firstly through exploring the importance of art for the female protagonists, then by looking at how men interact both visually and physically with women’s art. By examining the power dynamic of the gaze in the two novels, we will see that the female artist aims to make herself the subject of the gaze through the visual arts but, through constant interference by men, she is re-objectified, thereby restoring traditional patriarchal social patterns. To begin to consider male interaction with the visual arts in the two novels, it is useful to look at the theory of the male gaze. In her essay, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Laura Mulvey establishes the dynamic of the female object being watched by the male subject, with the male projecting his fantasies on to the female figure. 3 By practising as artists, therefore, women are making themselves the subject of the gaze with their work as the object. In this way, we can link the visual arts with independence as a way of reversing traditional social patterns in providing a voice for women. However, through the exploration of male interaction with women’s art in Tenant and Jane Eyre, we can identify an attempt to re-objectivise women through acting as art critic and by assimilating artwork and artist. By re-appropriating the gaze, men are not only restoring social norms but are asserting their dominance through manipulation of women’s art, the dangers of which are demonstrated by the visual interaction crossing over to the physical. In incorporating theories of the gaze into the works of the Brontës, the role of the visual arts takes on a new precedence as an indication of male dominance and the suppression of female independence. With this in mind, I will first consider the value of painting for the protagonists of Jane Eyre and Tenant. For Helen in Tenant, art is her livelihood which she requires to raise her son, free from her alcoholic husband. The novel, chronologically, charts her growth from a casual artist to a professional and thereby we can link Helen’s paintings to women’s economic liberation. For Jane Eyre, art plays a more traditionally feminine role in her life. Her drawings are primarily portraits, created to please herself or her friends; she is an accomplished woman rather than a professional artist, as acknowledged by Ann Bermingham.4 While this immediately forms a contrast with Helen Graham, who ‘cannot afford to paint for [her] own amusement’ (TWH, p.43), Jane’s portraits, such as that of Rosamond Oliver, have a different kind of value than monetary. By creating a likeness of her companions, she gains approval as a middle-class woman and therefore Jane’s artistic growth parallels her rise to an equal social standing 1

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (London: Penguin, 2006), p. 429. Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (London: Penguin, 2012). 3 Laura Mulvey, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Screen, 16.3 (1975), pp. 6-18. 4 Ann Bermingham, Learning to Draw: Studies in the Cultural History of a Polite and Useful Art (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), p. 3. 2

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with Rochester. Helen’s and Jane’s artistic pursuits operate on separate trajectories, one leading to financial independence and one to marriageability, but both Brontë sisters use art as a way for women to achieve something which would otherwise be beyond their capacity. The visual arts’ role as a catalyst for independence can be extended to a symbolic representation of female desire. Artistic self-expression in Jane Eyre has been well-documented by critics such as Christine Alexander, who argues that Jane’s art reveals ‘her depth of character and aspirations for independence’.5 This is most clearly shown in Chapter Thirteen, in which Jane describes three of her paintings from her portfolio. The paintings, which have come from her imagination, appear to echo the various sufferings of her life — at Thornfield, on the moors, with St. John Rivers — outlined by Barbara Gates amongst others. 6 The narrator Jane, writing the novel as Mrs Rochester, projects her past fears and anxieties onto the character Jane’s art. For example, the cormorant holding a bracelet in the first picture with a ‘drowned corpse [which] glanced through the green water’ (JE, p.147) sinking below it resembles Jane’s reaction to Rochester’s lavish gift-giving during their courtship. The narrator Jane gives a subjective description of her art which appears to reveal her concealed emotions. In contrast, Helen’s self-expression in her art is erased by critics, with Margaret Berg extending this idea in arguing that the novel itself is a treatise on the ‘uneasiness on Anne Brontë’s part with the notion of self-expression’.7 Berg reads the trajectory of the novel as Helen’s movement away from selfexpressive art and towards a more neutral, professional art. Little attention is given to Helen’s description of her painting in Chapter Eighteen, dismissed by Berg as ‘naïve representation of romantic fancies’.8 However, while the ‘immaturity’ of the leaves and the ‘amorous pair of turtle doves’ (TWH, p.164) do indicate naivety, Helen’s absorption in her work reveals her personal attachment to her painting. The immaturity of her art does not detract from its representativeness of Helen’s feelings for Huntingdon. Berg fails to acknowledge that, in Markham’s narrative, we are not given descriptions of Helen’s artwork and therefore we cannot tell whether it is less expressive. Although the false name and location on her later paintings represents an emotional separation from them, there is no real indication that this is Anne Brontë’s reaction against self-expressive art. The trajectory of the novel is not one towards a more professional type of art but an erasure of the artwork altogether through the eyes of Gilbert Markham. Having established that, by placing themselves in the subjective role of the artist, the female protagonists of the novels can gain independence and express their emotions and desires, I will concentrate on how men interfere with women’s art. Most discussion of male interaction with art in Tenant focuses on Arthur Huntingdon, Helen’s alcoholic first husband. Antonia Losano outlines in detail how Huntingdon biographizes Helen’s art, struggling to separate art from artist. 9 In Chapter Eighteen, Helen’s lengthy technical description of her work is abruptly interrupted by Huntingdon’s entry. Huntingdon immediately associates the woman in the painting with Helen herself, stating that he ‘should fall in love with her, if [he] hadn’t the artist before [him]’ (TWH, p.165). He uses sexualised language to describe the girl in the painting with phrases such as ‘ripening into womanhood’ and ‘verging on fruition’ (TWH, p.164), suggesting sexual maturity. By linking Helen’s artwork with his own private fantasies, he is turning her into an object fit only for admiration, as revealed by his annoyance that the girl in the painting has light hair, as opposed to Helen’s dark hair. Huntingdon’s invasion of Helen’s private activity allows him to repurpose the value of her art to fit his own desires.

Christine Alexander, ‘Educating “The Artist’s Eye”: Charlotte Brontë and the Pictorial Image’ in The Brontës in the World of the Arts ed., Sandra Hagan and Juliette Wells (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 11-30. 6 Barbara Gates, ‘“Visionary Woe” and its Revision: Another Look at Jane Eyre’s Pictures’, ARIEL: A Review of International English Literature, 7.4 (1976), pp. 36-49. 7 Margaret Berg, ‘“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”: Anne Brontë’s “Jane Eyre”’, Victorian Newsletter, 71 (1987), p. 14. 8 ibid., p. 14. 9 Antonia Losano, ‘Anne Brontë’s Aesthetics: Painting in “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”’ in The Brontës in the World of the Arts ed., Sandra Hagan and Juliette Wells, pp. 45-66. 5

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However, Losano’s analysis limits itself by not giving proper significance to how Markham interacts with Helen’s art, nor does she draw parallels between the two men’s behaviours. An obvious comparison is how Markham turns Helen’s paintings to face the front, just as Huntingdon had previously done the opposite way. Although this shows the men’s different approaches – Huntingdon who wishes to expose Helen’s hidden feelings as opposed to Markham who seemingly just wants to see Helen’s artworks – both men are granting themselves access to property which is representative of Helen’s ‘secret desires’ which she feels she must hide from male usurpation. 10 It is of further significance that Markham’s turning of the paintings comes at a point when Helen is distancing herself from him by working at her easel, which Losano describes as a ‘physical barrier against his admiring gaze’.11 In looking at Helen’s hidden paintings, he is removing the barrier and proving that he has dominance over her. Markham is persistent in watching Helen paint, even when unwelcome, often resulting in uncomfortable interactions. For example, in Chapter Six, when Helen asks him not to watch her, he immediately says he will ‘talk to Arthur, till [she’s] done’ (TWH, p.50). In this way, he is moving his control from her to her son, causing her to ‘shut up her sketch-book’ (TWH, p.51); Helen must stop being an artist and start being a mother. Through his actions, Markham implicitly indicates his dominance over her and pushes her away from artistry towards a more traditional female role. Markham can also be compared to Huntingdon in his equation of art and artist through his obsession with Helen’s body. Markham repeatedly looks at Helen and not her work. In Chapter Six, he looks at her pencil ‘dexterously guided by those fair and graceful fingers’ (TWH, p.50). The phallic suggestion of this phrase indicates the projection of his own fantasies onto her body, but the dehumanising of her body, demonstrated by the word ‘those’, rather than ‘her’ for example, reveals how he sees her purely as an object. Similarly, in the following chapter, he follows her to her secluded painting spot and again watches her hand, as well as her neck and hair instead of the painting. This both deprives the reader of a description of her art, thereby denying Helen’s artistic merit and self-expression, and establishes the artist as the object to be observed rather than the work. The focus on individual body parts dismembers Helen, stripping her of her identity as a woman and reducing her to a collection of parts. The independence granted by Helen’s artistic practices is usurped and manipulated in Markham’s narrative by his voyeurism. Although Helen has been established as a professional artist, her work is viewed by men simply as a way of accessing the artist’s hidden feelings. While Markham is less threatening in his interference, he is perhaps more dangerous than Huntingdon because his narrative attempts to erase the art itself. He doesn’t attempt to gaze at Helen through her artwork but ignores the artwork altogether. Male attempts to re-objectivise women through looking at and critiquing their art are less frequent in Jane Eyre. The most notable occasion of the gaze is in Chapter 13, in which Rochester calls upon Jane to show him her portfolio, placing himself in the role of the art critic. He claims to know immediately whether her art is of someone else’s hand and he is quick to agree with her dismissal of her abilities. The imperative mood of his words, ‘approach the table’ (JE, p.146), establishes the scene as an interview and the dialogue takes the form of question-and-answer. From the outset, therefore, Rochester establishes an inherently power-based, oppositional situation in order to establish dominance. As Jane Kromm argues, in his judgement of her art, Rochester succeeds in ‘maintaining the hierarchical values that kept the creativity of the lady amateur on a demoted level of artistic production’, diminishing her abilities through his vocabulary by calling her ‘elfish’ and a ‘school girl’ (JE, p.148). 12 The reduction of the work’s value goes further than Kromm’s argument, however, because Rochester, like Huntingdon and Markham, connects the work to Jane’s emotional state, asking her whether she was ‘happy when [she] painted these pictures?’ (JE, p.148). Rochester uses the artworks to attempt to understand Jane’s character. By diminishing the art, he is implicitly belittling the artist. Alternatively, Linda Gill reads Rochester’s judgement of Jane’s portfolio not as a way of asserting dominance but as an appreciation

Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth -Century Literary Imagination (London: Yale University Press, 2000), p. 81. 11 Antonia Losano, ‘The Professionalization of the Woman Artist in “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”’, NineteenthCentury Literature, 58.1 (2003), p. 26. 12 Jane Kromm, ‘Visual Culture and Scopic Custom in “Jane Eyre” and “Villette”’, Victorian Literature and Culture, 26.2 (1998), p. 380.

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of her artistic skill and originality, in other words he sees her as a subject rather than an object. 13 Yet, although Rochester is explicitly asking about Jane’s artistic ability, his focus on authorship and Jane’s emotional state reveal his true interest is in understanding her character. Gill is correct, however, to associate this scene with the romantic connection between Jane and Rochester. Despite the obvious dynamics of the gaze being in play, Rochester is not presented as a villain or a voyeur like Huntingdon or Markham. It is only through comparison to other scenes in the novel and to Tenant that Rochester’s interaction becomes threatening. Rochester removes Jane’s own opinions from the dialogue, forcing her to express them directly to the reader. He not only assumes a position of dominance as the interviewer but manipulates Jane’s achievements so that what is in her head becomes ‘furniture’ (JE, p.146); she is objectified. Although the male gaze does not initially seem to be a threat to women’s artistic practices, rather just a way of diminishing their value, both Brontë sisters extend the visual interaction to a physical one. By using something which is primarily visual as an object of physical assault, the implicit violence inherent to the power structure of the gaze is revealed. The weaponization of art is most frequently seen in Tenant. In Chapter Eighteen, Huntingdon demands to see Helen’s unfinished sketches, wanting to see the ‘bowels’ (TWH, p.165) of her work, in response to which Helen tears the picture in two and throws it in the fire. As Richard Sha notes, the use of the word ‘bowels’ suggests that Huntingdon is associating the art with sexuality in a grotesque way, a view which is supported by Huntingdon’s earlier fixation on the young girl painted by Helen who is ‘ripening into womanhood’ (TWH, p.164). 14 The visceral, bodily language implies that Helen’s work is an extension of her own body. In her reaction, Helen demonstrates that she is the sole proprietor of her art and that it is not subject to unsolicited external judgement but this can only be achieved through destroying her work. Since the reader already knows of Helen’s later venture as a professional artist, her destruction of her painting takes on a new significance. In destroying something which gives her pleasure and independence, Helen is submitting to Huntingdon’s will since her art provides a barrier to his ideal of marriage and of the submissive woman. While women can demonstrate the power art provides them by using it against men, this situation is more frequently reversed. Helen’s burning of her painting creates a contrast to Chapter Forty in which Huntingdon destroys all of Helen’s artistic equipment. This chapter immediately follows the one in which Helen holds her palette knife against Hargrave as a way of protecting herself from his sexual advances. Read symbolically, Helen’s artistic endeavours protect her from Hargrave’s masculine assertion of dominance. The power of this action is usurped, however, by Huntingdon’s iconoclasm when the palette knives are ‘snapped in two’ (TWH, p.387). The language of this chapter has many echoes to Helen’s burning of her own painting in Chapter Eighteen, including the use of corporeal language, establishing Huntingdon’s actions as a kind of revenge. Amongst the items thrown into the fire are ‘bladders’ (TWH, p.387) which, whilst being a type of paint tube made of pig’s bladder, reminds the reader of the aforementioned ‘bowels’. In addition, the materials are ‘consumed’ (TWH, p.387) by the flames. By drawing artistry to the body, Anne Brontë is not only evoking the grotesque sexualisation and allusion to rape in the scene but is reminding the reader of Markham’s fixation on Helen’s body parts, thus providing a parallel to how men assimilate art and artist and revealing the undercurrent of violence in Markham’s narrative. In destroying her artistic materials, Huntingdon removes Helen’s potential financial independence but, more significantly, he destroys her ability to represent herself, reducing her to an object. Violence is less obviously related to art in Jane Eyre, an indication of Jill Matus’ view that ‘whereas in Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë invests male dominance and mastery with allure, men are least attractive when most commanding in Tenant’.15 Anne Brontë wishes to extend the metaphor of the male gaze Linda Gill, ‘The Princess in the Tower: Gender and Art in Charlotte Brontë’s “Jane Eyre” and Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott”’, Victorians Institute Journal, 35 (2007), pp. 109-136. 14 Richard Sha, The Visual and Verbal Sketch in British Romanticism (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998), p. 159. 15 Jill Mahus, ‘Strong Family Likeness: “Jane Eyre” and “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”’ in The Cambridge Companion to the Brontës ed., Heather Glen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 109. 13

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representing repression of female desire to a literal enactment while Charlotte maintains Rochester as a romantic figure despite the power he holds over Jane. The only notable weaponization of art is in the first chapter of the novel, in which Jane is looking at the vignettes in Bewick’s History of British Birds. Upon seeing this, John Reed tells her she has ‘no business to take [their] books’ (JE, p.13) and proceeds to throw the book at her, causing her significant pain and bleeding. Reed is simultaneously depriving her of art and weaponizing it against her. The violence of this scene provides explanation for Jane’s comment that she ‘feared nothing but interruption’ (JE, p.11). This early episode in the novel sets a precedent for art offering liberation for women and the literal dangers of male interference, but in a more muted way than in Tenant. In both novels, practising art is a privilege controlled exclusively by men. Extending the visual metaphor of the gaze to the physical allows both Brontë sisters to indicate the power of male domination and the vulnerability of the women artist, even when she appears to be most liberated. In the most complete survey of the art of the Brontës, Christine Alexander acknowledges that ‘drawing and painting provided [them] with a language and experience that could be used in their writing’. 16 I would go further than this and argue that the visual arts in Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall provide the reader with an alternative reading of the novels, through which the power dynamics of the male gaze, and their implicit threat, are revealed. By applying gaze theory to the novels, men’s judging, criticising and (mis)interpreting art can be read as an attempt to re-objectivise the female artist by diminishing her artistic credentials. Perhaps the most telling indicator of men’s success in reducing women to objects is that neither protagonist paints after her marriage. When the art is subtracted, the artist becomes the object of the gaze.

Christine Alexander and Jane Sellars, The Art of the Brontës (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 29.

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Bibliography Primary Brontë, Anne, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (London: Penguin, 2012). Brontë, Charlotte, Jane Eyre (London: Penguin, 2006). Secondary Alexander, Christine, and Jane Sellars, The Art of the Brontës (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). Berg, Margaret, ‘“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”: Anne Brontë’s “Jane Eyre”’, Victorian Newsletter, 71 (1987) 11-15. Bermingham, Ann, Learning to Draw: Studies in the Cultural History of a Polite and Useful Art (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000). Gates, Barbara, ‘“Visionary Woe” and its Revision: Another Look at Jane Eyre’s Pictures’, ARIEL: A Review of International English Literature, 7.4 (1976) 36-49. Gilbert, Sandra, and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination (London: Yale University Press, 2000). Gill, Linda, ‘The Princess in the Tower: Gender and Art in Charlotte Brontë’s “Jane Eyre” and Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott”’, Victorians Institute Journal, 35 (2007) 109-136. Hagan, Sandra, and Juliette Wells ed. The Brontës in the World of the Arts (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). Kromm, Jane, ‘Visual Culture and Scopic Custom in “Jane Eyre” and “Villette”’ Victorian Literature and Culture, 26.2 (1998) 369-394. Losano, Antonia, ‘The Professionalization of the Woman Artist in “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”’ Nineteenth-Century Literature, 58.1 (2003) 1-41. Mahus, Jill, ‘Strong Family Likeness: “Jane Eyre” and “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall”’ in The Cambridge Companion to the Brontës ed. Heather Glen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) 99-121. Mulvey, Laura, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Screen, 16.3 (1975) 6-18. Sha, Richard, The Visual and Verbal Sketch in British Romanticism (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998).

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