Literary Feminists: How the Women of Classic Short Stories Challenged the Status Quo
Melissa Trezza
Ottawa University
LAS 40123 Integrative Seminar in Criticism
Abstract
The female characters in the short stories “Désirée’s Baby” and “The Story of an Hour”, by Kate Chopin, “The Yellow Wallpaper”, by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and “The Chrysanthemums”, by John Steinbeck are analyzed in regards to their restrictive living environments. All four women, within the body of their respective fictions, exist in time periods when women were placed into roles made them feel claustrophobic and unfulfilled. Male domination, which prevailed during the same time periods, is shown to be major source of their unhappiness.
Literary Feminists:
How the Women of Classic Short Stories Challenged the Status Quo
While it is obvious that a major part of literature’s purpose is to entertain, fiction is also capable of revealing insights into human nature, particularly in regards to the social issues present in the time it reflects. The following short stories are examples, as each illustrates the female protagonist’s frustration with the constraints of marriage and societal confines, which leads to problems regarding self-fulfillment. In the following stories, the characteristic societal norms stemming from male dominance crush the spirit of the female characters because they are unable to free themselves from both marital and social restrictions. Although some of the women are arguably stronger than others, each fights against the stereotypic female role she is expected to follow. The stories in question are “Désirée’s Baby” and “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and “The Chrysanthemums” by John Steinbeck.
“Désirée’s Baby”, first printed in 1893, is one of Kate Chopin’s most famous stories. While most critics debate the obvious racial themes, the story also delves into themes of “male possessiveness” and domination (Voteller, 1991, p. 92). From the beginning, Désirée is presented as a conventional female character, with “typically female traits” (Peel, 1990, p. 93). She is portrayed as weak, meek, and, of course, physically beautiful throughout the tale:
Her hair was uncovered and the sun’s rays brought a golden gleam from its brown meshes … She walked across a deserted field, where the stubble bruised her tender feet, so delicately shod, and tore her thin gown to shreds. (Peel, 1990, p. 94)
It is probably due in part to this “feminine vulnerability” and her apparently tragic ending that the reader sympathizes with her character so (Peel, 1990, p. 94). If Désirée did, in fact, commit suicide, this presents yet another stereotypical female victim trait – death by suicide. In addition to her docile personality, Désirée comes to her adoptive parents as an orphan, nameless, with no identity. Désirée is a blank slate upon which both her parents, and eventually, her husband, can “project their desires” (Peel, 1990, p. 92). Madame Volmónde became convinced that Désirée had been sent to her “to be the child of her affection, seeing that she was without child of the flesh” (Chopin, 1892, p. 181, in Charters & Charters, 2001. All future quotes from selected stories come from Charters & Charters, 2001). And, of course, Armand was determined to have her as his wife, “The passion that awoke in him that day … swept along like an avalanche, or like a prairie fire, or like anything that drives headlong over all obstacles” (Chopin, 1892, p. 181). Nothing, it seemed was going to get in his way – not even a force of nature. Even the last name given to Désirée by the Volmondés, is stripped away when she marries Armand (Peel, 1990, p. 93). Just as she had no choice in the name given to her upon adoption, she has no choice in her married name. Prior to their marriage, Désirée’s father reminds Armand of her unknown roots, in particular, her name. Armand does not hesitate, as he is able to give her “one of the oldest and proudest [names] in Louisiana.” Paula Anca Farca (2007) contends that the “patriarchal tradition which enforces men’s power over women” is to blame for “all of Désirée’s misfortunes” and that she had no choice but to marry Armand and bend to his will (p. 122). The marriage and name change is yet another step in the subjection of Désirée, as her identity now depends upon her husband – a man who views her as a “prized possession” (Voteller, 1991, p. 93). Désirée began her life in a passive manner and her adult life married to Armand is no different.
Although at first glance, Désirée may appear to be content in her marriage to Armand, further observation reveals much unhappiness on her part. Ellen Peel (1990) asserts that, along with Armand’s racism and lack of concern for blacks, comes an overabundance of “concern for women” and “excessive concern can be debilitating for women by defining them solely as victims” (p. 94). Clearly, Armand is violent and this frightens Désirée. Chopin writes that “when he [her husband] frowned she trembled, but loved him” (Farca, 2007, p. 122). This sounds eerily like the reaction of a battered wife, one who walks daintily, as to avoid angering her impetuous husband. Later in the story, Désirée feels that “something menace[s] her peace”, which foretells of the pending tragedy to come her way (Farca, 2007, p. 122). Clearly, this is not the blissful marriage Désirée wished for herself, but her submissive nature holds her there for a time.
It has been established that Désirée is a generally submissive, yielding character, who allows her husband to command their relationship and household. She has found “herself in an unequal relationship, one in which she is afraid and powerless,” as Farca (2007) claims (p. 122). Désirée’s personality is almost beyond that of a weak woman; she actually possesses many child-like qualities. She seems oblivious to the fact that her child is obviously not one hundred percent white, as she is the last to notice. She also involuntarily blurts out or remains silent at times when it is not appropriate. When she finally realizes that her son is part black, she cries out, “Ah!”, and when she tries to speak to the “quadroon boy,” she is not able (Chopin, 1892, p. 183). This general unawareness and inappropriateness she displays are the qualities of a child. Ellen Peel (1990) points out that Désirée is passive throughout almost the entire story:
- She is found by her foster parents, having been left abandoned.
- She is also “discovered by Armand.”
- Her mood depends solely upon her husband’s.
- She goes along with Armand’s values and beliefs in regards to “racism, sexism . . . [and the] treatment of slaves.”
- In the end, she disappears, rather than truly confronting and fighting against her husband. (p. 96)
Not only does Désirée possess a timid personality, but everything about her life seems to place her in this submissive role, which she seems to accept as her role in the world. Despite the obvious fact that Désirée is not the source of the black bloodline, she wants “only to regain her place as the beloved wife of this ‘tainted’ man” (Voteller, 1991, p. 92). It matters not that he rejects both her and their child simply because he believes they have black ancestry. Immediately, “the old love-light seemed to have gone out” and “Désirée [is] miserable enough to die” (Chopin, 1892, pp. 182-3). Even at the end, after he tells her he wants her to go, she continues to hold on to the hope that he will call her back. She wants acceptance from him, no matter his faults, no matter what it takes. Désirée’s weakened mind, caused by the people and pressures surrounding her, forces her to bind her own contentment to the happiness of her those around her.
In spite of Désirée’s weaknesses, her actions, as well as the situation in which she is placed, show some resistance towards the restrictions placed upon her. Armand wants control of the purity of his wife and bloodline, but Désirée challenges this control – even if not purposely (Farca, 2007, p. 122). He believes she is the cause of the “impurity” in his son. Since he chose her as his wife and chose to bear children with her, he appears a fool (Peel, 1990. p. 92). When Désirée and Armand are arguing over the race of their son and who is responsible for it, she challenges his belief that she is the cause. She immediately points to the physical proof, showing him that her skin is actually whiter than Armand’s. Here she exhibits a rare show of power over him in this (Farca, 2007, p. 122). While some critics believe that Désirée’s last act – leaving Armand – was an act of weakness, others believe the opposite is true. Peel (1990) argues that Désirée’s power comes from her last move – leaving Armand (p. 95). Her last act is actually never fully revealed, but it is suggested that she commits suicide, perhaps with the baby, but no answer is confirmed. If she did not kill herself, her power lay in the fact “that life is worth living even if she is black and has lost Armand’s love,” as she has “freed herself from those who once projected their desires on her” (Peel, 1990, p. 95). However, if she and her baby did in fact die in the end, Désirée’s power comes from the knowledge that she chose to do so. She had the ultimate control over their lives and the power to make such a decision.
“The Story of an Hour” is another of Kate Chopin’s short stories, which focuses on a female character who has been oppressed by the obligations of her role as a woman and wife. Along with Chopin’s most famous work The Awakening, Voteller (1991) states, “The Story of an Hour” is “one of [her] most memorable statements of female-assertion” (p. 108). As much of Chopin’s other writing, “The Story of an Hour”, was met with a good deal of resistance from the publishing world. Century, which typically accepted and printed her work, rejected it. Vogue initially rejected the story, but the editors later changed their mind after the success of Bayou Folks, and purchased “Story” for ten dollars (Voteller, 1991, p. 108). Not surprisingly, most people in the late nineteenth century were not ready for such an intense feminist theme.
When the audience is first introduced to Louise Mallard, it is indicated that she suffers from “heart trouble.” But it soon becomes apparent that this “trouble” goes far beyond the physical and into the emotional realm, as her husband’s “overbearing nature” becomes clear (Voteller, 1991, p. 108). When Louise is told of her husband’s sudden death, she does not go through the “standard” stages of grief, which begin with denial; instead she immediately sobs into her sister’s arms, then shuts herself into her bedroom to be away from the others in the house. As she slumps into the chair, she is “exhausted” (Chopin, 1894, p. 185). She could have been tired from the short bout of crying, but it seems more likely that she is worn-out from the years of repression she suffered within her marriage: “She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength” (Chopin, 1894, p. 185). In addition to this repressive fatigue Louise experiences, she also appears to enjoy a release of all the pent-up frustration that has built up over the years. As the realization of her freedom, relief, and happiness comes over her, she seems to have an almost orgasmic experience:
- Her “bosom rose and fell tumultuously”.
- The feeling “possess[ed]” her.
- She was “powerless” against its force.
- “When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath.”
- “Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.” (Chopin, 1894, p. 185)
There are others who believe that this experience is not a euphoric event, but more along the lines of a panic attack, suffered at the thought of her newly acquired freedom, which “leaves her unable to cope with the everyday reality to which she is abruptly restored” (Voteller, 1991, p. 109). Whatever the cause of this adrenaline release, immediately following it, Louise no longer feels the guilt she had been experiencing previously. Despite all of the giddiness she is feeling, it is to be understood that Louise does not wish any ill will upon her husband. She acknowledges that she will, in fact, “weep again” at his funeral, but she also welcomes the future unencumbered by the needs and desires of a husband (Chopin, 1894, p. 186). Mrs. Mallard longs for a life of her own, without the “blind persistence” of a man pushing his will upon her. Prior to the news of Brentley Mallard’s demise, she had dreaded a long life, but now, she prays for an enduring existence. During this short time of joy, Louise’s heart trouble seems to disappear, but returns with a vengeance upon her husband’s arrival at the front door. The doctor claims Louise dies of “heart disease – of joy that kills,” as he assumes it stems from the “conventional view of female devotion” to her husband (Voteller, 1991, p. 109). Louise Mallard was teased with the blessings that freedom brings. Alas, at the end, when she discovered that her husband was indeed alive, she was able to find freedom only in death.
“The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman was not initially revered as the feminist document it is considered to be today. At the time it was published, people were used to deranged madness in literature due to Poe’s macabre work, but they were not easily able to associate such insanity with the life of a “comfortable middle class wife and mother” (Kasmer, 1990, p. 162). Much of society also could not comprehend how such a life could be so “oppressively maddening” to the female protagonist in the story (Kasmer, 1990, p. 162). “The Yellow Wallpaper” was originally published in 1892 in New England Magazine, but was later reprinted in William Dean Howell’s, The Great Modern American Stories, in 1920, as a horror story (Harris, 2000, p. 151). Howell commented that the tale had the power to “freeze our … blood” (Hedges, 1973, p. 119). While “Yellow” may have originally been noticed for its’ “Poe-esque” horror, it eventually became known as a “feminist document, dealing with sexual politics at a time when few writers felt free to do so, at least so candidly,” according to Elaine R. Hedges, who wrote the “Afterword” for The Feminist Press’ reprinting in 1973 (p. 119). Hedges also points out that The Yellow Wallpaper had been severely “overlooked, as [had] its author, one of the most commanding feminists of her time” (p. 119).
In “The Yellow Wallpaper”, the narrator’s husband John constantly treats her as if she is a child – or at least not capable of doing anything on her own – and she seems to accept his unfair treatment. The narrator readily admits to her husband, John’s, overly practical ways. She writes that he has “no patience in faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures” (Gilman, 1892, p. 274). John regularly reminds his wife to retain self-control over any and all emotion, as “lack of control is so dangerous to a temperament like [hers]” – a blatantly parental command, if ever there was one. (Kasmer, 1990, p. 163). As Lisa Kasmer contends, John’s banishment of writing and visits from friends and family removes her ability to communicate and express her thoughts. This resembles a father/daughter relationship, as parents often limit their children’s ability to communicate as a means of punishment. Additionally, John demands that his wife stay in a room that was previously a nursery; makes her take naps; has his sister watch her when he is out; reads to her before bed; and calls her his “little girl” (Kasmer, 1990, p. 163). At one point, the narrator is trying to persuade her husband to allow her to change rooms, when he embraces her and calls her a “blessed little goose” (Gilman, 1892, p. 276). Later, John threatens to send her to Dr. Weir Mitchell if she fails to get well faster – yet another parent-style threat of punishment. When she begins to question his belief that she is getting better, he sits up and looks at her with “such a stern reproachful look that I could not say another word” (Gilman, 1892, p. 280). Many a parent has simply given his or her child a “look” which stops the child in his or her tracks. In practically every encounter with his wife, John employs a child-rearing method to get her to bend to his will.
Time and again, the narrator excuses her husband’s demeaning ways, claiming that he simply loves her and is trying to help her get well. In the beginning, the narrator explains that she finds it odd that the house they are renting was offered at such a low price and, yet, remained empty for so long. She writes, “John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage” (Gilman, 1892, p. 274). From the start, the reader is well aware that the narrator’s husband laughs at her often and that she accepts this condescension as a part of married life. Just a little further into the story, she again seems to be throwing her hands in the air in frustration and acceptance of the situation, “If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression – a slight hysterical tendency – what is one to do?” (Gilman, 1892, p. 274). She sees no recourse, but to accept her husband’s orders of total rest, and appears content only to log her frustrations in her journal. Her acceptance of his overbearing nature, as well as her ability to excuse it, is repeated several times:
- He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.
- He takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
- John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.
- It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so. (Gilman, 1892, pp. 275-276, 279)
If a woman endured this treatment from her husband today, she would more than likely speak up much more forcefully and would not accept it as gospel as the narrator does. Perhaps if she lived in this century, she would have done the same, but she is stuck in a time period which allows for virtually no independent thought or action from women.
Most critics assert that the hideous wallpaper represents the couple’s dysfunctional marriage. The narrator describes the wallpaper in a way that is somewhat reflective of the couple’s relationship:
The pattern is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide – plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions. The color is hideous enough and unreliable enough and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing … You think you have mastered it and then it knocks you down, slaps you. (Gilman, 1892, pp. 164-165)
The couples marriage is, perhaps, dull and irritating, and it is certainly interesting enough to “provoke study.” However unintentionally, John does infuriate and torture his wife enough to cause her to “commit suicide,” as her description of the wallpaper suggests. In addition to the “bars” of confinement on the wallpaper, the narrator begins to see a woman, and eventually several women, behind those bars. She feels like the women behind the bars – held back by an oppressive husband and the society surrounding her. Therefore, she tears off the wallpaper to free the women (and, symbolically, herself) from their confinement (Kasmer, 1990, p. 162). She also finds the excitement she seeks in her own life within the world of the wallpaper, “Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch” (Gilman, 1892, p. 282). Since John has cut out all forms of enjoyment in her life, she is forced to turn inward for that pleasure. The last thing the disturbed narrator says aloud truly sums up the entire story, “I’ve got out at last in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” (Gilman, 1892, p. 285). Indeed, despite all of John’s efforts to keep his wife locked out of life and her freedom, she manages to free herself – and he may not be able to put her back together.
John Steinbeck provides a male writer’s perspective on the issue of gender inequality with “The Chrysanthemums”, a story which critics have called “one of the world’s great short stories” (Owens, 1985, p. 226). Owens contends that the story is about “repression of powerful human impulses . . . [and the] human urges [that] throb just below the surface of everyday life” (p. 226). There are certainly words left unspoken and passions kept hidden between Elisa and her husband, Henry. Feminists allege that Elisa is the only one in the relationship with any reason to complain. As Stanley Renner (1985) points out, the women’s movement read the story in a rather one-sided way, proclaiming that:
[It is a] story about a strong, capable woman kept from personal, social, and sexual fulfillment by the prevailing conception of a woman’s role in a world dominated by men. Her husband, decent but dull, excludes her from the important business of the ranch. Content with the way things are in their marriage, he ignores her lack of fulfillment in keeping house and raising flowers. (p. 333)
While critics’ contentions are not too far off course, the negative attitudes expressed in regards to Elisa’s husband Henry are a bit excessive. Elisa has been constrained by her marriage and society to remain where she is, and Henry may be “dull,” but he does not entirely disregard her desires.
Although Elisa takes on a traditionally female role in her relationship, she exudes many stereotypically male traits. Physically, Elisa is attractive, but not necessarily beautiful, as her face is described as “eager and mature and handsome” – all “masculine” descriptives (Mitchell, 1976, p. 223). She and her husband have no children, so she puts her maternal instincts into her gardening instead. While gardening is an inherently “female” hobby and her “need” to engage in it is perceived as maternal instinct, her “dedication [to it is] masculine” (Mitchell, 1976, p. 221). Marilyn L. Mitchell believes that Elisa struggles “against the limitations of the feminine”, but she is stuck within the box society has placed her in (p. 221). Elisa appears determined to prove to others that she is a capable woman, despite these limitations. When Henry suggests she work on the apple orchard as she does with the chrysanthemums, she responds, “Maybe I could do it, too. I’ve got a gift with things, all right”; and later, with the pot-mender, she rebuts, “You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots, I could show you what a woman might do” (Mitchell, 1976, pp. 223-224). In addition to Elisa’s desire to prove herself equal to men, she also hopes for something beyond the valley in which she lives, again displaying a “male” trait – an adventurous spirit (Mitchell, 1976, p. 224). When the tinker describes his nomadic lifestyle to Elisa, she responds, “That sounds like a nice kind of way to live” (Steinbeck, 1938, p. 608). As the handyman leaves, she whispers, “That’s a bright direction. There’s a glowing there,” but since she is unable to go on a real adventure, she settles for wine with dinner instead. “It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty” (as quoted by Mitchell, 1976, p. 224). Elisa may seek the excitement and independence that men can easily access, but she remains stifled.
Despite Elisa’s adventurous spirit bubbling beneath the surface, some critics suggest that she encloses herself within the confines of her garden. Elisa also protects her femininity and her sexuality from her husband through her choice of clothing. She wears clothing that lacks any femininity, including a “blocked and heavy . . . costume, a man’s black hat, . . . [and] clod-hopper shoes” and no one comes within the fence barrier without her permission (Renner, 1985, p. 336; Steinbeck, 1938, p. 606). Perhaps Elisa prefers the world that she has created within her garden due to the male domineering society she lives in, and has simply succumbed to it rather than fight against it.
As Renner (1985) points out, both Henry and the tinker attempt to persuade her out of her confines or try to get within its borders. When her husband comes up to the fence to ask Elisa about going to dinner, she says yes, but she does not invite him into the garden and he probably knows better than to enter. Initially, the tinker is denied access, until he shows interest in her chrysanthemums; then, he is welcomed warmly (pp. 334-335). Elisa allowed only the person who offered her excitement, as that is what she truly desires in her life.
There is obvious tension between Elisa and Henry, but it is not easy to pinpoint from where it stems. As Palmerino (2004) states, “[E]verywhere there is a conflict . . ., but nowhere is there a fight” (p. 164). One is only able to speculate in regards to the source of the stress because there is not much communication between the two. They say what they need to say, do what they need to do, and let it lie, whatever “it” may be. “Conflict avoidance” is the psychological name of their game (Palmerino, 2004, p. 165). The lack of sexual communication is presented when Elisa is waiting for Henry before going out to dinner; Elisa “stiffens and turns cold” upon his approach (Renner, 1985, p. 334). She had painstakingly prepared for the evening with her husband, yet when he came near, she wanted nothing to do with him. The silent hostility present in their marriage is even more pronounced upon the arrival of the traveling tinker. While Elisa initially disregards his presence, she gleams like a schoolgirl the moment he shows the slightest interest in her flowers. Henry, too, showed great interest in her flowers, but did not receive anywhere near the same response. Elisa accepts the tinker, inviting him into her sanctuary boundaries, despite the fact that he is severely unkept and has only deceitful motives in mind, while she turns away her own husband who has only honest intentions (Renner, 1985, p. 338). In addition, Elisa freezes up sexually with Henry, but with this wandering handyman, she awakens. She throws off her hat and shakes her head about, kneeling before him, breasts swelling, like a seductress. The tinker is the stereotypical “bad boy” – dirty, dangerous, and confident – while Henry is clean, stable, and not exactly brimming with confidence. Clearly, Elisa’s attraction to the tinker lies in her need for adventure and excitement – something she is not getting at home (Mitchell, 1976, p. 225).
There are several moments within “The Chrysanthemums” when Henry indicates his willingness to make Elisa more content. Unfortunately, he is not aware that nothing he can do will satisfy Elisa’s desires. While she is working on her treasured chrysanthemums, Henry makes it a point to compliment her hard work and even suggests that she work her magic on the apple orchard. Although Elisa is pleased with her flowers and her obvious knack for making things grow, this talent will never make her life complete. In this same exchange, Henry suggests the two go out to dinner and a movie later on that evening. Elisa agrees, but she is far from enthusiastic in her response. Finally, Henry suggests two times that they go to see a fight, as Elisa appears to show some interest in the event. Of course, Elisa being the “good” wife she is, turns down her husband’s offer. Henry has good intentions, but he does not realize that he can not “fix” Elisa’s problems with dinner and a movie. He wants a simple fix, of which there is none. Henry’s desire to solve his wife’s problems is yet another trait of the “typical” male of the time; a man who thinks he is responsible for his wife’s happiness in life and that he is the one capable of fixing them.
Elisa’s feelings of oppression are evident through her dealings with the two men in the story – Henry and the tinker. At the opening of the story, her husband is speaking to some men in regards to ranch business. She continues to look over at them as she is tending her garden and she is “overeager” and “overpowerful” with the scissors. Her interest in the men’s conversation in addition to the roughness she applies to the flowers indicates some level of frustration. Perhaps she is annoyed about not being in on the conversation taking place nearby. Although Elisa quickly becomes enamored with the tinker, she does engage in a squabble with him in regards to what kind of life a woman should lead:
‘You sleep right in the wagon?’ Elisa asked.
‘Right in the wagon, ma’am. Rain or shine I’m dry as a cow in there.’
‘It must be nice,’ she said. ‘It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things.’
‘It ain’t the right kind of life for a woman.’
Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. ‘How do you know? How can you tell?’ she said. (Steinbeck, 1938, p. 610)
In the beginning of the conversation, Elisa acknowledges her “place” as a woman, in spite of the fact that she wishes it were not so. But as soon as he concurs, that his nomadic way of life is not the “right” kind of life for a woman, she becomes defiant. A little further on in the story, and she is even more stern with the tinker, telling him that she could fix things just as well as he can and that she could “show [him] what a woman might do” (Steinbeck, 1938, p. 611). Of course, she later appears to sexually desire him. It is after this encounter that Elisa feels ashamed of her desires, scrubbing herself clean to rid her body of her “filthy” thoughts. Lusting after anyone – especially someone other than one’s husband – was certainly not a woman’s role and Elisa is aware of this, even if only on an unconscious level. Her guilt comes from the pressures of a male dominated society that does not allow women the right to be sexual beings. By the end of the story, Elisa’s submission to society’s pressures is complete. When she shows interest in boxing matches, despite Henry’s willingness to take her, Elisa turns down his offer, rejecting even the tiniest bit of adventure she can attain. It ends with Elisa “crying weakly – like an old woman,” which is the antithesis of Elisa’s goal – to be thought of as the strong and capable woman that she is.
In retrospect, it is easy to look at these stories today and contend that these women had a choice and did not have to live as they did, so unhappily. However, one must look to the time periods in which they lived. During the former times represented in the stories, it was not nearly so simple to leave one’s husband and live independently as it is now. Besides the lack of availability of careers for women, there were also social stigmas attached to unmarried and/or divorced women – it simply did not happen. For the most part, all these characters could do was sit in “silent rebellion against the passive role required of her as a woman” (Renner, 1985, p. 333). Just as minorities found (and still often do) it is difficult to make their way in a world controlled by a majority race which looked down upon them as inferiors. So did the women represented in this study of realistic fiction. As depicted by their respected authors, they were given a narrow world in which to live and find happiness. Sadly, in the four works cited, they were all unsuccessful and some suffered a devastating demise as a result. Thanks to the women’s movement, along with stories such as these, the vast majority of women today do not have to endure the suffering felt by the women in these stories.
References
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