D. H. Lawrence: A Brief Biography

On D. H. Lawrence’s birthday week, I take a quick look at his eventful life. David Herbert Lawrence is most well known for his erotic novel, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ but people often forget that he was also a poet and painter. ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ probably gets the most attention because of the 1960 obscenity trial that it precipitated. Penguin Books were taken to court over the publication of the novel and won the case. The novel then promptly sold three million copies. But what led Lawrence to write this novel, and how did his life and upbringing affect its subject matter?

Lawrence was born on September 11th 1885 into the mining community of Nottingham. He had three older siblings. He was deeply close to his mother, Lydia Beardsall, but had a tempestuous relationship with his father, Arthur John Lawrence. It is through his father however that Lawrence developed a deep love of nature. His mother hailed from a higher class than his father, who was known in the local area for his drinking.

Throughout his life Lawrence had poor health, and a bout of pneumonia aged nineteen plagued him for the rest of his life. Lawrence never properly settled in one place either, and for several years after school, he worked as a clerk, and then as a teacher. He developed a close bond with fellow bookworm Jessie Chambers, and their bond became so close that his family encouraged him to marry her, or break contact with her completely. He chose the latter in 1910. It was that year that his mother also died from abdominal cancer.

After his brief teaching career, Lawrence decided to become a lecturer in Germany. He enlisted the help of a former professor, Ernest Weekley to help him do this. When arriving to discuss the matter with Weekley at his home, Lawrence instead was welcome by his wife Frieda. Frieda had just engaged in a love affair with Otto Grosse, a Freudian analyst. It was here that Lawrence and Frieda discussed the love and sex, deciding that all desires should be freely expressed and enjoyed. Frieda was to have a profound impact on Lawrence, as he persuaded her to leave her husband and three children and elope with him.

Lawrence published ‘Sons and Lovers’ in 1913. The book is almost semi autobiographical, and chronicles the life and losses of Paul Morel. The novel focuses on his relationship with his mother, and his relationships with two women, Miriam Levers and Clara Dawes. The novel almost tries to analyse what went wrong with Jessie Chambers. In the novel, Paul has sex with Miriam, and then sex with Clara. He notes that sex with Clara is physical, not spiritual, whereas sex with Miriam is the reverse. Paul cannot integrate a sexual relationship with a spiritual one, and it would appear that this is what Lawrence was seeking in his life. Frieda helped him write the novel, and told him how it would be seen through Freudian eyes. Her notes are present in his manuscripts. It is conceivable to think that Freud would have picked up on Paul’s closeness with his mother, and would have made further comment on this. Her death in the novel marks a major turning point for Paul.

Lawrence’s next novel ‘The Rainbow’ was much broader than ‘Sons and Lovers,’ and covered several generations of the same family. The material again was controversial, and as was his reputation. Ezra Pound even described Lawrence as a ‘detestable person.’ Frieda and Lawrence married in 1914, and their neighbours noted that, although they would literally tear each other’s hair out in rage, they were deeply attached to each other. Lawrence once recounted to a friend that he wanted a woman who challenged him. During this time, as Lawrence struggled to get his work published, Frieda and Lawrence were so poor that they relied on charity to live.

Lawrence finally decided to leave England after the war. Although not a pacifist, he detested the war so much that he became alienated from his own homeland. For the rest of his life, he would continue to travel.

Lawrence began his ‘savage pilgrimage’ in 1919, and his travels took him to Sri Lanka and America. He eventually settled in New Mexico. It was in 1925 that Lawrence received his tuberculosis diagnosis. His rapidly declining health affected his ability to work, and wit much effort, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ was published privately in 1928. While Frieda had several affairs during their marriage, Lawrence only had one with Rosalyn Banes. Scholars think that this one night of passion in 1920 partly inspired the novel, as did Frieda’s liberal feelings about sexuality. Rosalyn herself may have been a model for Constance, as both had similar upbringings. The novel may have also been inspired by Frieda’s affair with Angelo Ravagli, the couple’s landlord. ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ might have been Lawrence’s way of telling Frieda that she needed to explore her sexuality.

In 1929, an exhibition of Lawrence’s paintings ended in a police raid, and thirteen of his paintings were confiscated for obscenity. Lawrence succumbed to his tuberculosis on 2nd March 1930, and he died in France in the presence of Frieda and novelist Aldous Huxley. Frieda would go on to marry Angelo in 1950. Angelo was tasked with bringing Lawrence’s ashes to be interred at Lawrence’s former ranch in New Mexico, at a shrine Frieda had built for him. However, on discovering that Angelo had to pay a tax to take Lawrence’s ashes on the boat, he decided that the Mediterranean sea would be a better resting place for him. The urn was then filled with dust and dirt, and interred in a concrete block in the chapel in New Mexico that Frieda had erected.

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‘Bates Motel’ TV Series: An Analysis

‘Bates Motel’ ran for five seasons from 2013 to 2017, and centred around the trials and tribulations of Norma and Norman Bates. Both characters appear in Robert Bloch’s 1959 novel ‘Psycho,’ and Hitchock’s acclaimed horror film of the same name the following year. The series starts with Norma and Norman moving to White Pine Bay, and buying their infamous hotel. Throughout the fifty episodes the two become embroiled in the politics of the Bay, and leave a string of corpses behind them.

It is clear from the beginning of the show that Norma (Vera Farmiga) and Norman (Freddie Highmore) are very close. His name is literally an extension of hers, as he is a physical extension of her, as her son. She does not act like a mature woman in the opening scenes, as she runs around the new motel, and jumps on the bed. She wears pretty clothes, mainly dresses with floral prints. The flowers emphasise her femininity, as does her girlish behaviour. Her blonde bob and pretty face, which is usually done up, make her appear more like a pretty dolly than a human woman. This of course foreshadows Norman’s cross dressing as his mother, and his digging up of her corpse in the fourth season. His preservation of her body is also flagged by his unnerving interest in taxidermy.

In the first episode, he witnesses her being raped by an intruder. After breaking free, Norma straddles him and repeatedly stabs him. This scenario already creates an unhealthy relationship between sex, violence and death, a trio that Norman carries with him. Bodies with multiple stab wounds are usually suggestive of a ‘crime of passion,’ and it is this passion that is simulated when Norma kills her assailant. Her repeated stabbing, and the spurting of blood, acts as some kind of release and carries sexual undertones. Although Norman is not physically involved in this act, seeing his mother kill somebody, and witnessing the act of sex for the first time in this way effectively ends his innocent childhood, and forces him into the reality of adulthood… suffice to say, this is no normal adulthood. It is here where he enters Norma’s world – she had to cover up Norman’s father’s death, and also suffered abuse at his hand. This is Norman’s first glimpse into his mother’s world and it is this world, specifically his mother’s persona, that he will totally adopt.

Throughout the series, the lines between sex and authority are regularly blurred. Although Norma tries to stop Norman having sex with other girls, and describes other women as whores, she has several sexual relationships throughout the series. One of these is with Sheriff Romero, which blurs the lines between sex and authority. Blaire Watson only complicates Norma and Norman’s relationship. She acts as a pseudo-mother to him, but also tries to seduce him. This blurs the relationship between sex and authority, and only intensifies Norman’s attraction to his mother. Norman adopts the mother personality and kills the women that Norman is sexually attracted to. Because of this, Norman is continually abandoned by women who he likes and who he thinks care for him, like teacher Blaire Watson and schoolmates Bradley Martin and Emma Decody. Norma is the only woman that does not reject Norman, which only intensifies their bond.

Norma and Norman also act like a couple. They share intimate moments, he zips up her dress, they sleep in the same bed. They have numerous shared experiences. In the fourth season, Norman remembers Norma being raped as a child. Norman hides under the bed, and takes Norma’s hand. He jolts as she does, making her rape by her husband an almost shared experience. This idea of shared experience goes further, as Norman later becomes Norma and dresses up in her clothes.

On the night of Norma’s death, weirdly their roles switch. Norman sings Norma a lullaby as she drifts to sleep, which ultimately infantilises her. She is infantilised just like she has infantilised Norman, and it is this that kills her. Norma’s death has a tragic element, as Norman is now alone in the world. His plan has massively backfired. Norma had to die in season four, to ensure that season five could sufficiently delve deep into Norman’s downward spiral.

The following events have a ‘Wuthering Heights’ vibe, as he begs his mother not to stay in ‘the abyss where I cannot find you.’ Heathcliff says a similar thing when Cathy dies, and at one point digs up her corpse just to feel close to her. Norman does this same, meaning that the writers are intentionally, or unintentionally, comparing the mother and son to Heathcliff and Catherine. Both couples have a doomed, destructive love, and both couples never enter into a sexual relationship. It is more a relationship of the mind. Heathcliff and Catherine speak as if they are two halves of the same soul, and Norman and Norma are the same. Like Norman, Heathcliff dreams that Catherine is still alive.

When Norman dreams about Norma, he dreams that she stays at home and does the housework, while he goes out as the breadwinner. The two sound like a traditional 50s couple. Norman seeks to recreate his mother by dressing up as her, and then by having Madeleine Loomis dress up on her. It saddens him that her dresses will go ‘unanimated.’ The use of the term is strange. He does not say that he does not want the dresses to be wasted, he is saying that he does not want them to be stationary. He wants to see them inhabited and moving, and wants the dresses to be inhabited in front of him – by Madeleine. He wants the dresses to come alive again, because he wants his mother to be alive again.

One of the bigger shocks of the series is seeing Rihanna rock up to the motel as Marion Crane. Her characterization, and survival, allows the show to remake Hitchcock’s ‘Psycho’ with a feminist lens. Marion is trying to survive in a male dominated world, and finds herself belittled by her male peers at work and manipulated by Sam Loomis, who has not told her that he is married. Norma manipulates Norman into killing Sam Loomis in the shower, instead of Marion. Norma tells Norman that Sam was like his father, blaming him for their misfortune.

Norman and Marion’s story converges at this point, as in killing Sam, Norman is killing someone who is representative of his own father, who was abusive to his mother, Norma. It is from his father that Norma and Norman’s problems both started, as he was abusive towards Norma. Norman was subjected to the effects of this trauma. Sam dies for the sins of man, and effectively, Norman is taking a stab at the corrupt patriarchy that abused his mother and abused Marion. Sam’s death is Norman’s attempt to retcon his previous trauma, and undo his and Norma’s crimes. Unfortunately, it is too late for that.

It is here that Norman finally realises what HE has done. The killing of Sam Loomis is the first killing committed by Norman, not Norma. While Norman is questioned about the death of Sam, in place of Norman we see Norma. Several shots show Norman staring at his reflection, that reflection being his mother. Norman has now stopped dressing up as his mother, or in other words, stopped pretending to be her. He now IS her. By having them both in shot as the same person, the idea is reinforced that they are two halves of the same person, like Heathcliff and Cathy. They both are fully amalgamated, and therefore cannot escape each other. It is here that the five year story arc reaches its completion. Norman and Norma cannot be separated. If you put their two names together it is ‘Norman’ they both converge inside Norman’s physical body, where Norman and Norma both reside. This is why Norman has to die, as he cannot survive any longer without Norma. Norman’s death affords him some sort of redemption, as he realises that what he has done is wrong.

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Raksha Bandhan: A Brief History

Raksha Bandhan is a Hindu festival that takes place every year. Although the date changes each year, traditionally the festival falls in August. This is because the festival occurs on the last day of the Hindu lunar calendar month of Shraavana. Although traditionally Hindu, the festival has been absorbed in the culture of India and is celebrated by many different faiths of the country, including Sikhism. On this day, sisters tie a decorative thread around their brother’s wrist, which is supposed to protect them. These threads are called ‘rakhis.’ The thread itself literally represents ‘the bond of protection, obligation, or care’ which actually is the meaning of the Sanksrit phrase ‘Raksha Bandhan.’ In return, brothers would give a gift to their sisters, sometimes in the form of money. The ceremony does not take place only for direct brothers and sisters, but cousin-brothers and cousin-sisters also. Some people take this one step further, and form voluntary kin relations by partaking in the festival along with those who are not blood relatives.

The relationship between brother and sister is at the heart of the festival. This is integral to the culture of India, as, for example, when young women get married and move out of the family home, the brother is supposed to act as the intermediary between their family and the in laws.

The festival itself is inspired by many different stories in Hindu scripture, but a popular one revolves around the god Vishnu. Vishnu had left his wife Lakshmi to live with King Bali. She travelled to King Bali to tie a rakhi on him, and when asked what she wanted in return, she asked for her husband to come home. This is meant to communicate the generosity of Hindus.

Another potential source for the festival is the Mahabharata. In the ancient Hindu epic, heroine Draupadi tears her sari and ties it around Krishna’s wrists to stop them bleeding. Krishna was so touched by this that in return, he vowed to protect her. Although this story is an example, there are many other religious myths that surround the festival, which causes debate amongst historians.

Another important moment in the history of Raksha Bandhan happened in the 1500s. Widowed queen Rani Karnavati sent a rakhi to the Mughal emperor asking for help defending her city. Although not explicitly brother and sister, the idea of asking for protection is still an important part of the festival.

In 1905, Rabindranath Tagore started a mass Raksha Bandhan festival to combat the Partition of Bengal. He encouraged Hindu and Muslim women to tie rakhis on Hindu and Muslim men, and take them as brothers. This was supposed to heal the divide between Hindus and Muslims that the British were encouraging. Different regions in India celebrate Raksha Bandhan in different ways. In North India, kites are often flown. Some puja and prayers are also performed. While rituals vary, the core focus of the festival remains the same: the bond between brother and sister.

Happy Raksha Bandhan!

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‘Ophelia’ 2018: An Analysis

The 2018 film ‘Ophelia’ is based on the original ‘Hamlet’ character who was the protagonist of Lisa Klein’s novel. The film tells the story of ‘Hamlet’ but from Ophelia’s perspective. The film follows Ophelia’s life from when she was a child, who first entered court, to her whereabouts at the end of the play. While remaining faithful to the source material, the film deviates from it significantly. Ophelia is generally considered to be a side character in the original play, one that exudes excessive femininity. Being a woman of the Elizabethan age the plot lines and themes that surround her focus on her sexuality, honour and madness.

The film opens with Ophelia floating in a lake. This is probably Ophelia’s most iconic scene in the play, even though it is only referenced by Gertrude and not actually seen. Gertrude’s speech, recounting Ophelia’s death, has been the subject of many paintings, by the likes of John Everett Millais and John William Waterhouse. Much like these paintings, Daisy Ridley dons red hair throughout the film. This immediately makes her standout at court, and as a child, she is forced to be washed and wear fine clothes. The court domesticates her, implying that, before entering court, Ophelia was not the feminine beauty that is depicted in the play. Her dancing is also likened to a ‘goat’… which does not paint the most feminine picture.

Ophelia is regularly seen with her hair open, perhaps a reference to her infamous mad scene in Act 4 scene 5. In Elizabethan theatre, open, messy hair was associated with madness and acted as a sign of sexual discordancy.

From the get go, Ophelia’s affiliations with nature are made explicit. She is frequently seen swimming in a lake, and runs to nature for solace. This is where she meets Hamlet as an adult, when he returns from his studies at the University of Wittenberg. She is mocked for wearing flowers in her hair. Ophelia’s later use of flowers in her mad scene are referenced here. Ophelia’s identification with nature emphasise her untameable and free spirit, as well as her child-like innocence. This innocence is further emphasised by her reading of romantic texts. It appears that she dreams about romance and love, and its only upon Hamlet’s return that these wishes are fulfilled.

In the play, Ophelia is more of a pawn used by men for their own gain. For example, Claudius uses her to assess Hamlet’s feigned madness. However in the film, she has more agency and witnesses key plot developments. She witnesses an adulterous kiss between Gertrude and is sent by Gertrude to collect tonic from a local witch named Mechtild. It is Ophelia that also sees the Ghost first – even though it is just Claudius in disguise. She becomes embroiled within the politics of Denmark from the beginning of the film, and is probably more aware of this than her original counterpart.

Ophelia also has a subtle feminist edge. While rejecting Hamlet’s advances, as she recognises that he is a Prince, Hamlet references her frailty. In response she notes that it is more likely that the trait of frailty runs within families, not exclusively womankind. Hamlet’s winning over of Ophelia in the film proves that he genuinely cares for her, something that is questioned in the original play.

The film diverts from the play with Hamlet and Ophelia’s marriage. They marry outside in a field, again referencing how comfortable Ophelia is within nature. The film also tackles the infamous ‘get thee to a nunnery’ scene, 3.1. Ophelia is aware that she is being used by Claudius to assess Hamlet’s sanity, and she is aware that Hamlet is playing up to it. He is concerned for her welfare, and advises her to flee Denmark. In the play he is unsympathetic towards her, and even though Hamlet might be faking his assault of Ophelia, there is no apology or repentance afterwards.

Hamlet puts his plan in motion when he engineers the Dumb Show, a play that re-enacts the murder of his father by Claudius. It is here that he catches ‘the conscience of the King,’ meaning that effectively, he confirms Claudius’ guilt. Hamlet lunges to kill Claudius, but it is Ophelia that stops him – again, she is central to the action. In the play, Hamlet stops himself from killing Claudius when he hears Claudius praying for forgiveness, and absolving his sins.

The next chain of events occurs quickly. Hamlet is carted off to England, and is thought to be killed by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ophelia is forced to wed another, and when she refuses she is thrown in jail. Ophelia here pretends to be mad, to elicit sympathy from Gertrude, which proves effective. This again emphasises Ophelia’s agency and ingenuity. When she hands out her flowers, she dishes out rue, which is for remembrance. Whereas in the play her choice of flowers are thought to be the results of madness, the film makes it clear that Ophelia is being strategic, as she subtly insults the King and Queen through her use of foliage.

Ophelia then fakes her death, by taking a strong sleeping draught. There is no mention of the ‘willow’ and Ophelia’s fall from it, but like in the original play, it is through Gertrude that we discover that Ophelia has died in a lake. Horatio then digs up Ophelia’s grave, finding her alive. After learning the truth from Mechtild, she returns to Hamlet to tell him that Claudius is indeed guilty of killing King Hamlet. Ophelia resolves this instrumental plot thread, which heightens her importance in the film.

The portrayal of Gertrude also impacts Ophelia. Naomi Watts plays Gertrude and Mechtild, and the two characters are sisters. Mechtild was considered a witch because she had a miscarriage. The death of her baby was thought to be the work of the devil, and so she was to be burned at the stake. Interestingly, the child was Claudius’. However, she faked her death and escaped. What does this mean, that both characters are played by Watts? Perhaps it is two different extremes of womanhood, the outcast and the queen. Ophelia inhabits some sort of space between the two, as the future king of Denmark’s wife, and the fleeing outcast. Unlike in the play, where Gertrude accidentally drinks the poisoned wine, she kills Claudius. She stabs him with a sword which pushes through the back of his throne. The white throne and spurt of blood may be a reference to penetration. This reverse act of penetration, as female penetrates the male, is dangerous and deadly to Claudius. Gertrude reclaims her narrative, in an act that appears to reclaim her sexuality. It is only after this that Gertrude poisons herself. She dies in control of her story, as does Ophelia. The difference is, Ophelia lives.

Ophelia notes that she ‘did not lose my way to vengeance.’ By the end of the film, and play, someone is baying for the blood of someone else. Throughout the play, Ophelia was never vengeful, and the film retains this key character trait. It is her inherent goodness that saves her. Ophelia gives birth to a daughter, and lives with her in a convent. Ophelia is safe in a female-dominated environment, and it is here that she is able to flourish. Gertrude is starved of this. The film is suggesting that it is men who use and corrupt women, it is their fault that women fall.

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Christian Allegory in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’

C. S. Lewis’ 1950 children’s classic has been adapted multiple times for stage and screen. While the novel is consistently cited as a fan favourite, what is less obviously cited is the Christian allusions within it. Some adaptations play this up more than others, and after re-reading the book, I would say that they do have an ambiguous quality. Such allusions would probably only be recognised by those who understand and have knowledge of Christianity. Lewis himself stated that such allusions were not intentional, but modern critics have nonetheless identified that they are there.

An obvious reference to Genesis is the Pevensie children’s statuses as Daughters of Eve, and Sons of Adam. I was never entirely sure what this meant, but perhaps the use of Adam and Eve was meant to emphasise the humanity, and therefore purity, of the four children when in comparison to figures such as the White Witch. The children’s status as descendants of the first men and women seem fitting, as it is they who take seat at Cair Paravel and restore harmony to the kingdom of Narnia.

However, it is also Adam and Eve that bring sin into the world. Perhaps Lucy brings sin to Mr Tumnus, by placing herself in his way and tempting him to betray her to the White Witch. Susan and Lucy fit the image of the subservient Eve, as majority of the arduous physical activities are left to the men. What they lack in physical action they do make up for in kindness and compassion and serve as council to their brothers.

When looking at Milton’s depiction of Eve in ‘Paradise Lost,’ one may draw some similarities between her and Susan. Jumping forward to ‘The Last Battle,’ the last book in the series, Susan comes under fire for her growing obsession with ‘nylons and lipstick and invitations.’[1] She is no longer deemed a friend of Narnia. It appears that Susan has grown up, and has essentially become a stereotypical, teenage girl. It is implied that she is particularly materialistic and selfish. Perhaps her obsession with looking pretty and attracting invitations, maybe a reference to the attention of boys, might imply her growing promiscuity? This may be a bit of a jump, but in the way that Milton sees Eve as a sinner, Lewis appears to imply that Susan has become a sinner. She has fallen from grace much like Eve. It is unclear whether she makes it to Aslan’s country in the end, and her barring from heaven may be a result of a combination of materialism, hedonism, immaturity, and promiscuity.

Both Susan and Lucy are side-lined slightly by Peter and Edmund. Peter fills the role of the apostle, much like his biblical namesake. St. Peter is given his name by Christ, as Peter is given the name Sir Peter Wolfsbane by Aslan.

When talking about sinners, Edmund is the obvious contender. While he does not commit any form of fratricide, his feud with brother Peter, and betrayal of all the Pevensies can be likened to the conflict between Cain and Abel. A more obvious allusion is to that of Judas, who betrays Christ with a kiss. Edmund’s betrayal is more unceremonious, as he just sneaks out of the Beavers dam. Allusions between Edmund and Eve can also be drawn, as he is tempted by a food product, Turkish Delight. It is his indulgence in this food that acts as a metaphor for the betrayal of his siblings.

Speaking of Judas, the main contender for the role of Christ is Aslan. This allusion is brought to the fore when he sacrifices himself for the sins of mankind, as represented by Edmund, and is promptly resurrected. It is he who is supposed to save Narnia, and does so by guiding the children in the right direction to do so. It also makes sense for Aslan’s country to be heaven, the children’s final destination. Lucy and Susan’s witnessing of Aslan’s death places them in the role of the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, who watched Jesus die on the Cross.

It also Aslan who also defeats the Witch, who is evil personified. While the novel notes that the two of them ‘rolled around’ on the battlefield, it does not explicitly say how the Witch dies.[2] In the 2005 film adaptation, Aslan explicitly bites her head off. While not very Christ-like, it is finite and it does hammer the point home that good has triumphed over evil. The Witch’s status as ice, and Aslan’s orange mane as fire also adds to the image of evil being extinguished.

The White Witch’s origins are touched on briefly in the text, and she is described to be a daughter of Lillith, Adam’s first wife, and descended from giants. Lilith is traditionally portrayed as some sort of she-demon, so it is obvious that Lewis is trying to explain where the Witch gets her nefariousness from. The Beavers recount that there is no ‘Human blood in the Witch.’[3] This again asserts the superiority and purity of the Pevensie children.

Her backstory of further elaborated upon in ‘The Magicians Nephew.’ While her family ruled as the kings and queens of Charn, the Witch’s uttering of the ‘Deplorable World’ wiped out all life in Charn except her own. After being resurrected by Polly and Digory, she attempt to conquer the human world, and then is transported to Narnia at the moment of its creation by Aslan. Here she tries to battle Aslan with a fragment of a London lamp post… yes this is true. After the lam post is fairly ineffective, no surprises there, she flees to a garden on a mountain west of Narnia and eats an apple that she believes will grant her immortality. It does, but as a result, her skin is bleached white and the evil in her heart causes her eternal misery. One thousand Narnian years later, Lucy stumbles upon the same fragment of the lamppost, which has grown into a fully working one. The garden conjures up thoughts about the Garden of Eden, and Adam and Eve’s fall from grace. It could also allude to the Jesus’ time in the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus suffered emotional turmoil before his arrest. I could not tell you if the Witch goes through some existential crisis in the garden, as I have not read ‘The Magicians Nephew’ in a while, but surely some thought must have led to her decision to eat the fruit?

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[1] C. S. Lewis The Last Battle (London: HarperCollins, 2009).

[2] C. S. Lewis The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (London: HarperCollins, 1998) p. 185.

[3] Ibid., p. 88.

Colonialism and the Crusades: Evaluating Joshua Prawer’s and Lucy Anne Hunt’s interpretations

This essay will critically evaluate two historiographical approaches to the nature of the crusades. An examination of these approaches will focus particularly on the concept of colonialism. Prawer’s 1973 work on the subject identified the Crusades as the ‘first European colonial society,’ due to the crusaders policy of non-integration with the natives.[1] Hans Mayer’s ‘Latins, Muslims and Greeks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,’ published six years after Prawer’s work, largely agrees with Prawer’s views, that the Kingdom of Jerusalem was a colonial state, as proved through the examination of social and legal divides.[2] However Lucy Anne Hunts 1991 work on ‘the Problem of ‘Crusader’ art’ argues that artistic development during the Crusades demonstrates a degree of cultural hybridity which would negate the idea of colonialist separatism. This essay will examine the respective arguments, methodologies and limitations of Mayer and Hunt with respect to their contribution to the existing arguments concerning the nature of colonialism at the time of the Crusades.

Mayer and Hunt have distinctly different arguments concerning the nature of the crusader states. Mayer asserts that the crusader states were colonialist states, like Prawer. Although the word ‘colonialist’ is not used, Mayer paints a picture of a world in which the native Muslims were ‘devoid of political rights,’ and that there were many divisions within the crusader societies.[3] His assertion that Muslims were perceived to be simply ‘objects of taxation’ by the crusaders reinforces the perception of native inferiority, and does not illustrate a harmonious picture between conqueror and conquered.[4] Mayer explores the exploitation of the natives by looking at the law. When assessing property, throughout the crusader states, if a family had ten gold pieces worth of property, they were forced to pay one percent of this money as tax. However, the rich manipulated this rule, and by declaring that they had been overcharged, and swearing the value of their property under oath, their property could not be extorted. The rich would therefore swear that their property was worth less than what was originally judged, allowing them to keep their money. The native Muslims were not afforded this loophole and were therefore exploited by the crusaders.[5] Mayer appears to select appropriate evidence when making his argument, as it is clear that the rich were willing to manipulate and exploit the poor native Muslims for their own financial gain. This would naturally create an imbalance of social and legal equality, as the Muslims were treated as inferiors by the colonisers.

Hunt’s article concerning artistic developments in contrast argues that cultural mixing occurred within the crusader states. She argues that art can tell us about local traditions and change in taste, proposing that religion is the cause for cultural change.[6] Hunt uses the Church of the nativity to epitomize this, which was completed in 1169.[7] The Church demonstrates the collaboration between the king of Jerusalem and the Byzantine emperor, and from this Hunt argues that crusader art can be termed neither exclusively western or Byzantine.[8] She uses S. Bochner to support her view, who argued that different cultures ‘mutually exert influence on each other’s ethnicity.’[9] Hunt and Bochner both agree that the colonialists and Byzantinists were influenced by each other, and therefore adopted each other’s artistic styles. The arguments of both historians concerning the crusades are radically different, as Mayer asserts the view that the crusader states maintained legal and social divides, much like the colonial states, whereas Hunt argues that through art, the crusader states were places of cultural mixing and hybridity.

The methodologies and evidence of both interpreters also differ. Mayer primarily uses written and eyewitness accounts to support his view. Mayer cites the account of Fulcher of Chartres, who notes that the Saracens mourned the death of King Baldwin I in 1118, along with the Franks and Syrians.[10] Chartres was a chronicler of Baldwin I, and by citing this account Mayer affirms his belief that there were social divides within the crusader states, as he notes that Muslims could only participate in public life upon the death of a king.[11] Another written source comes from William of Tyre, who reported that Muslims also attended the funeral of King Baldwin III.[12] Prawer too had mentioned this six years previously in his work, arguing that the only function of the indigenous Muslim population was to mourn the deaths of Frankish kings.[13] Mayer’s methodology, and information about the social and legal standing of the natives, comes purely from first-hand accounts and written texts, which differs greatly from Hunt’s evidence, who prioritises that of physical buildings.

Hunt uses the inscriptions in the Church of the Nativity in Jerusalem to further her argument. Inscribed in the nave is the name Basil, and Ephraim in the south side of the apse.[14] Ephraim was a monk and artist, who completed his work in the Church in 1169.[15] Cutler describes Ephraim as a byzantine mosaicist who was called from Constantinople by the Byzantine Emperor Manuel.[16] This western influence can be seen in the Church. Western saints, such as the Virgin, are heavily featured and represented, as is St John the Baptist, whose Jordan monastery was also restored by Manuel.[17] The abundance of Christian iconography, Hunt believes, demonstrates that there was not one distinct culture in the crusader states that influenced the building of the Church of the Nativity.[18] Basil’s own inscription appeared twenty years after Ephraim’s, in Syriac, an unspoken language affiliated with the orthodox church.[19] Hunt asserts that Basil was a Syrian Melkite, who could have been a deacon controlled by the Latin clergy, as Orthodox Syrians were favoured by the Latins over the Greeks.[20] The differing heritage of the artists demonstrates, in Hunt’s eyes, that the crusaders adopted different cultural and artistic techniques in the crusader states, proving them to be areas of cultural mixing and hybridity. She described the Church of the Nativity to be the epitome of such ideas, as both native and western artists worked on the Church, as inferred from the artists’ inscriptions and the western art itself. This appears logical, as one can visually understand and see the artists’ difference in heritage and design, which clearly demonstrates the amalgamation of western and Byzantine ideas within the crusader states.

However, when critically assessing the articles, both present limitations. Mayer focuses on an account from a Spanish traveller, Ibn Jubayr, who travelled to Acre, in 1184.[21] The account reinforces the idea that there was separation between different groups of people in the Kingdom of Jerusalem at the time of the crusades, but paints an idyllic view of their life, particularly in the coastal regions.[22] One can criticise Mayer’s selection of evidence here, as there is conflict between maximalist and minimalist interpretations. When taking the maximalist approach, one could argue that the source has worth as there are accurate descriptions of the ruling class within it, and it supports the colonialist argument, much like Prawer. However, one could downplay the value of the source as Jubayr takes a minimalist view, as he makes generic assumptions about the entire kingdom based on one village that he very briefly visited. He was an elite Muslim himself, and it is unlikely that he was shown areas of squalor and suffering on his tour, proving that Jubayr only provides a snapshot of life within Jerusalem. Written accounts are also open to interpretation, as proved by Jubayr’s mentioning of a functioning Mosque in Acre.[23] From this one can ascertain that Mosques were allowed by the Latin settlers in major urban settlements such as Acre, but this begs the question as to whether they were permitted in other places. Jubayr’s account does not provide an explicit answer, as he did not travel enough of the kingdom to ascertain this knowledge. The source therefore is open to interpretation and cannot reliably be used to learn about the crusader states as a whole.

Hunts use of physical evidence too presents problems, as well as her own background. Dumbarton Oaks is an American research institute, focussing on Byzantine studies. Hunt herself is a Byzantinist, and therefore may be biased and willing to over highlight the importance of the Byzantine images within the Church of the Nativity. Her main problem is that art is subjective, and that Hunt cannot categorically confirm how the art was received at the time. Like some of Mayer’s chosen texts, she provides a snapshot of the conditions and excludes other communities in the process, such as religious ones. Her article would be further improved if she looked at artistic developments over an extended period of time, and widened her sources. The Church of the Nativity is a special case, as it is an important site, its presence does not mean that all artwork in the Kingdom of Jerusalem displayed such cultural integration. It is also worth noting that such huge artistic works would have been designed by the elite, and perhaps used for political gain, as it was the elite groups in society that decided how cultural integration was perceived and represented.[24] Response art and graffiti would have also been helpful to Hunt. The presence of such in art in churches, like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, could demonstrate the presence of other cultures and strengthen her argument.

Despite these limitations, there is a brief crossover between the two sources, as Mayer notes the different figures that contributed to the repairing of the Church of the Nativity. Emperor Manuel I was the protector of the Greek church by office and extended this protection to the crusader states.[25] The merging of the kingdom of Jerusalem with the Byzantine was influenced by the marriage of King Amaury of Jerusalem to Byzantine princess Maria Komnene, sparking an alliance with Emperor Manuel.[26] Following the couples’ state visit to Constantinople, Emperor Manuel repaired parts of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and in 1169, ordered the building of new mosaics in the Church of the Nativity. The Latin inscriptions mention the ‘payments of the Emperor,’ and the Greek inscriptions mention the ‘overlordship of the Emperor.’[27] This demonstrates that there was collaboration between the Latins and the Byzantinists in repairing the Church, advocating the presence of hybridity in the crusader states. Manuel himself too was painted in various places around the church as a reward from the Bishop of Bethlehem for his work.[28] Although the arguments of Hunt and Mayer differ, the evidence cited by Mayer can be used to support the idea of cultural hybridity within the crusader states.

Both articles appear to contribute to the already existing arguments about the crusader states. As noted previously, although Mayer’s article does not include the word ‘colonial’ it appears to be heavily influenced by the work of Prawer. Speaking in 1984 at a symposium, Prawer maintained that the crusader states were forged with a ‘colonial attitude,’ and that invaders did not accept local cultures and would not integrate with the Muslims, resulting in an ‘apartheid.’[29] Mayer’s findings about the legal and social divides within the crusader states harks back to Prawer’s idea, and contributes to it. Art was not explicitly mentioned at the symposium, but Hunt’s advocation of cultural hybridity within the crusader states, was reflected in the words of Professor Moses Finley, who criticised Prawer and noted that the rulers of the Kingdom of Jerusalem asked the west for help, and maintained many links with Europe which could have led to cultural mixing between the two.[30] Finley rejects the idea that the aim of the crusader states was independence, and although he does not discuss art as explicitly as Hunt does, her idea that the crusader states were not devoid of Byzantine influence can be linked back to Finley’s ideas.

The work of both Mayer and Hunt are indirectly cited in a 2017 book by Andrew Jotischky, demonstrating their continued relevance. Again, Mayer’s ideas are explored through the work of Prawer, as Jotischky discusses the legal and social institutions in place in crusader states. His assertion, based on Prawer’s, that the indigenous population were marginalised by the crusaders, too echoes back to the work and argument of Mayer, even though Mayer is not explicitly mentioned.[31] Jotischky also mentions the artistic culture within the crusader states, implying that the work of Hunt may have been present in his mind. Jotischky uses the example of the Church of the Nativity like Hunt, and notes that, due to the amalgamation of eastern and western artistry, the Church displays ‘cultural synthesis.’[32] The presence of western artistry is confirmed by the presence of western saints, perhaps showing Hunt’s influence on Jotischky’s work. Jotischky also cites the background of the artists Ephraim and Basil as Hunt does, to illustrate the hybridity of culture within the church. The similarities in the works of Hunt and Jotischky imply that the latter was directly influenced by the former, demonstrating the relevance of Hunt’s work and its impact upon the wider critical debate.

The works of both Mayer and Hunt differ greatly in their arguments and methodology. They both sit at opposite ends of the spectrum when discussing whether the crusader states can be seen as colonial states or states that allowed cultural mixing. Both works are well researched and argued, but are also both flawed. Written texts appear to lack credibility upon interpretation, and the subjectivity of art should not be ignored, but also should not dampen the significance of Meyer and Hunt’s work. Such flaws can perhaps explain why the debate about the true nature of the crusader states continues. Despite their differences and flaws, the work and arguments of Mayer and Hunt are clearly still relevant to the crusader debate, as they can be seen to, indirectly and directly, influence Jotischky’s recent work on the topic.

[1] B.Z Kedar (ed.), ‘The Crusading Kingdom of Jerusalem – The First European Colonial Society? A Symposium’, in The Horns of Hattin (Jerusalem, 1992), p. 341.

[2] H.E. Mayer, ‘Latins, Muslims and Greeks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem’, History, Vol.63 (1978), p. 175.

[3] Ibid., p. 175.

[4] Ibid., p. 177.

[5] Ibid., p. 178

[6] L-A Hunt, ‘Art and Colonialism: The Mosaics of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (1169) and the Problem of ‘Crusader’ Art’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, Vol. 45 (1991), p. 71.

[7] Ibid., p. 71.

[8] Ibid., p. 69.

[9] Ibid., p. 71.

[10] Mayer, ‘Latins, Muslims and Greeks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem’, p. 180.

[11] Ibid., p. 180

[12] Ibid., p. 180

[13] A. Jotischky, Crusading and the Crusader States, (London, 2017), p. 17.

[14] Hunt, ‘Art and Colonialism: The Mosaics of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (1169) and the Problem of ‘Crusader’ Art’, p. 74.

[15] Ibid., p. 74.

[16] Ibid., p. 75.

[17] Ibid., p. 76.

[18] Ibid., p. 77.

[19] Ibid., p. 75.

[20] Ibid., p. 76.

[21] Mayer, ‘Latins, Muslims and Greeks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem’, p. 181.

[22] Ibid., p. 181.

[23] Ibid., p. 186, n. 41.

[24] Hunt, ‘Art and Colonialism: The Mosaics of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (1169) and the Problem of ‘Crusader’ Art’, p. 70.

[25] Ibid., p. 190.

[26] Ibid., p. 190.

[27] Ibid., p. 190.

[28] Ibid., p. 190.

[29] B.Z. Kedar (ed.), The Horns of Hattin, p. 364.

[30] Ibid., p. 345.

[31] Jotischky, Crusading and the Crusader States, p. 18.

[32] Ibid., p. 158.

Queer coded villains in children’s films

Every film, especially children’s ones, have a good villain. It is a key part of the plot. While these characters are feared, respected and enjoyed, it is modern criticism that has now pointed out that majority of these villains have been ‘queerly coded.’ But what does this mean? Effectively, queer coding a character means that said character is implied to be queer, perhaps through their speech of mannerisms. Their homosexuality is not explicitly confirmed, but implied in the subtext. In children’s films, it is common for these characters to be portrayed as villains, creating an unhealthy, and unnerving link between queerness and villainy.

Why might characters be queer coded? Well, in 1934, Will H. Hays produced the ‘Motion Picture Production Code.’ These contained guidelines for self-censorship of content, and warned against depicting, what was then classed as, the ‘perversion’ of homosexuality. Homosexuality was banned from being explicitly depicted, and therefore it was implied. Homosexuality was implied through stereotypical and at times, derogatory mannerisms. Although the Hays Code, as it was colloquially known, was officially abandoned in the late 60s, these stereotypical traits and characters continued to bleed through. These films do not imply that certain villains are evil because of their queerness, but it does create an unethical relationship between queerness and villainy, a relationship which is regularly seen in children’s films.

While more of a family film, the Child Catcher in ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,’ is queer coded. The Child Catcher was played by Robert Helpmann, an openly gay ballet. It is undeniable that the character has camp mannerisms, and because of this some commentators have argued that the character fills the stereotypical role of the ‘gay paedophile.’ It is this that makes the character even more scary, and dangerous, towards children. This stereotype does seem to imply a relationship between queerness and villainy. Interestingly, The Child Catcher does not appear in Fleming’s original novel, and instead was fully fleshed out by the director, Ken Hughes. Perhaps the Child Catcher was played this way to act as a foil to Dick Van Dyke’s character, Caractacus Potts.

Turning our attention to Disney now, two notable, queerly-coded villains include Jafar and Scar. Both were animated by Andreas Deja, who himself was gay. This led many to believe that Jafar and Scar were based on him, something that Deja himself has denied. Deja claimed that Jafar’s appearance was based on Conrad Veidt. Jafar’s voice actor, Jonathan Freeman, also claimed that his work was inspired by Vincent Price and Boris Karloff. Both latter actors were famous for their villainous roles. Although Jafar does possess stereotypical camp mannerisms, throughout the film he is motivated by a potential marriage to Jasmine. This might complicate things, and based on Deja’s comments, perhaps means that Jafar has not been queer coded. Maybe it is our perception that has foisted this upon him.

In terms of Scar, again, Dejas said that he based the character on Jeremy Irons. Scar’s limp paw, and melodramatic tendencies, is what probably leads people to suggest that he may be queer, but again, like Jafar, he pursues a heterosexual relationship with Simba’s mother. Perhaps motivations and characteristics are not related… and if they are not related, then maybe queerness is not related to villainy? Again, perhaps it is just our outdated perceptions. Deja did also animate Gaston, whose villainy is based on his toxic masculinity, so perhaps Deja is truthful when he says that Scar and Jafar were unintentionally queer. Scar and Jafar also tap into ideas about colourism, as in their respective films, their skin colour is darker than the other characters in their respective films.

Maleficent and Ursula also join the line-up. Ursula appears as the stereotypical butch lesbian, and was based upon drag queen Divine, who regularly appeared in film. Due to this, Ursula herself has become a gay icon. Given Ursula’s movements and voice, and her appearance as Vanessa, it is clear that the production team wanted Ursula to have some sort of seductive, alluring quality. Maleficent possesses the same quality, and although is villainous, is not exactly ugly. It has long suggested that her appearance was based on Maila Nurmi’s turn as Vampira, a camp icon of the 1950s. While Maleficent is not as animated, and camp as Ursula, both are portrayed as much paler and sallower than their opposites, Ariel and Aurora. Both are outcasts, witches and determined to thwart romantic, specifically heterosexual, relationships. Perhaps this is implying some sort of queer-jealousy? A hatred of heterosexual relationships due to their own queerness?

I would also like to throw Miss Trunchbull into the mix. Again, she matches Ursula and fulfils the butch lesbian stereotype, but her behaviour pushes this trope a bit further. She appears obsessed with the feminine Matilda and Miss Honey, and berates Amanda for her excessive femininity, symbolised by her pretty pigtails. She is slightly Child Catcher-esque, as the film appears to suggest that queer people cannot be trusted around children. Again though, she does enter into a heterosexual relationship with Miss Honey’s uncle, as Jafar and Scar sought to do. Although Pam Ferris played her in the film, a man, Bertie Carvel, played her in the musical adaptation, perhaps in an attempt to push the butch lesbian trope further.

One character that appears devoid of sexuality, and is not involved in any sort of relationship is Cruella de Vil. Perhaps this is supposed to suggest her asexuality, but as other critics noted, it appeared that in Disney, characters were either explicitly heterosexual, or nothing. Again, she has a greyer complexion than characters such as Anita and Roger. In fact, all Disney villains I have commented on have a much more different complexion than the heroes of their films. Perhaps this is meant to show that they are devoid of heterosexual feeling and/or love? Or was it purely to point out that they were the films big bad, marked through their physical difference? Either option is probably just as bad as the other.

Perhaps Shrek can save us… or maybe not. While some critics identify Prince Charming as a metrosexual, others have argued that he is queer coded due to his dubious motivations. Does he really want Fiona, or does he just want his mother’s approval? Or does he just want glory? If he is actually attracted to Fiona, then fair enough, perhaps we can put his queer coded-ness to bed, but if not, does it leave him more open to interpretation, as the stereotypical ‘mummy’s boy.’

So… what conclusions do we draw from this? Would it be worth asking why these villains have all been portrayed in this way? Perhaps it is simply because producers wanted to create a foil between the virile, masculine hero and his villainous counterpart. In terms of female villains this also applies, they are not nearly as beautiful and feminine as the heroines of the film. Although this clearly does mark a divide, and flag up who is ‘bad’ and who is not, it does not make it right. Perhaps the audience is at fault, for still adhering to age-old stereotypes. Whether intentional or not, it does create an unhealthy link between queerness and villainy, something that does need to be addressed.

Thanks for reading!

How was individual identity expressed materially in Tudor England?

This essay will argue that different forms of material culture allowed the people of Tudor England to express different aspects of their individual identity. A persons ‘identity’ is influenced by several different affiliations. The people of Tudor England were associated with concepts such as heraldry and social standing, religion, and gender. Each of these different concepts were expressed through different material means. Firstly, this essay will examine how architecture allowed the Tudors to express their social identity. Secondly, the essay will discuss how books allows the Tudors to express their religious identity. Thirdly, the essay will recognise that activities, such as needlework, allowed people to assert their gender identity. By studying material culture, historians can understand the individual identities of the people of Tudor England.

It was the inclusion of heraldic imagery within architecture that allowed the Tudors to express their social identity.  ‘Social identity’ refers to how people relate to different social groups within society. Examples of heraldic images can be seen in what Sir John Summerson calls ‘prodigy houses.’ This describes large houses that were built to house, and impress, Elizabeth I and her entourage when she toured the country on progresses. John Guy notes that, courtiers competed to build more impressive houses, with the aim of winning the favour of the queen. This is demonstrated by Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire, which was designed by Robert Smythson for Bess Hardwick, and was built between 1590 and 1597. The chimney piece boasts Bess of Hardwick’s coat of arms, which appears several times throughout the building. They also appear on the house’s exterior in stone. By including this image throughout the hall, Hardwick expresses her social identity, as she is clearly pointing out her familial heritage using visual imagery. Those who recognised the crest would have ascertained that Hardwick came from a rich and respected family. Due to this, Hardwick’s inclusion of her family crest allows her to express her social superiority to her contemporaries.

In the High Great Chamber, Hardwick included the royal coat of arms of Elizabeth I. The High Great Chamber was used to receive important guests, and the presence of the arms would have indicated to them that Hardwick herself was affiliated with the crown. This connection to the crown would have enhanced Hardwick’s social status further. As well as asserting her own authority amongst her peers through this royal connection, Hardwick’s inclusion of the royal arms also demonstrates her loyalty to Elizabeth I. Tara Hamling notes that displays of the royal coat of arms were common in urban areas, especially in gentry houses. This allowed members of the gentry to assert their higher social standing in contrast to others within the locality. The use of heraldic devices allowed Hardwick and members of the gentry to enhance their social authority within the community, as this was elevated by their connections to the crown.

A stained-glass window at Montacute House in Somerset also demonstrates that architecture was used to express social identity. The house was owned by Edward Phelips, designed by William Arnold and built in 1598. The window depicts the coats of arms of fourteen local families. This visual imagery allowed Phelips to demonstrate his multiple social connections, which he had acquired through numerous familial marriages. As well as displaying his connections, this window would have encouraged people to recognise the authority and influence that Phelips held within the community. The placing of the shields on a window meant that they were clearly visible to all who walked past, meaning that Phelip showcased his social identity. To understand which arms represented which families, people would have needed a book of heraldry. Inclusion in such a book would only enhance one’s social status within the community, as it would only validate the families’ respectability.

Books were used to express religious identity. An example of this is a Book of Hours, which was popular before the Henrician reformation. These decorative books would contain prayers and psalms, as well as instructions as to when these prayers should be recited during the day. Books of Hours were created for the purpose of private religious practises. They were usually owned by members of the elite, who would have them personalised. An example is Anne Boleyn’s Book of Hours, which was made in Paris in 1500 and is currently held in the British Library. The pages are parchment and are particularly notable due to the personal messages inscribed inside. On a page depicting Christ suffering from the wounds of his crucifixion, Henry VIII wrote in French ‘If you remember my love in your prayers as strongly as I adore you, I shall hardly be forgotten, for I am yours. Henry R forever.’ Henry implies that his yearning for Anne is of a similar pain to Christ’s afflictions. Anne Boleyn replies with ‘by daily proof you shall me find, To be to you both loving and kind.’ This is inscribed on an image of the angel Gabriel telling the Virgin Mary that she will birth the son of God. Anne is using this religious imagery to tell Henry VIII that she is loyal and faithful to him, and that she will deliver him a son. As well as facilitating her romance with Henry, this book allowed Anne to privately express her religious identity and piety.

Following the reformation, Puritans, such as Nehemiah Wallington used notebooks to express their religious identity. Wallington filled fifty notebooks from 1618 to 1684, and detailed sermon notes to divine judgements. ‘A Record of Gods Marcys, or a Thankfull Remembrance’ was written by Wallington during the 1620s and 1630s, and was part diary and part commonplace book. In it, Wallington writes that he has ‘lived in sinne all my childhood heitherto. Likwise I knew that these sinnes were against the expres commandment of God in Exodus 20.’ Jonathan Willis recognises that Wallington’s focus on the Decalogue speaks to the Puritan desire to follow the word of God, which Puritans believed should be considered in all aspects of life. Wallington’s writings uphold the Puritan belief that they should be introspective about the word of God and their own lives. Andrew Cambers recognises that keeping notebooks was a ‘key component’ of Puritanism, as notebooks facilitated their deep contemplation of faith, as they provided Puritans with a space to write their feelings down. Wallington’s activities validate this idea, and prove that material objects were essential to the construction of religious identity. Books facilitated the expression of peoples’ religious identity by allowing them to engage in private devotion.

Susan Frye recognises that undertaking of activities allowed individuals to express their gender identity. This is supported by a linen needlework sampler, sewn in 1598 by Jane Bostocke. It is held in the V&A, and measures 42.6cm by 36.2 cm. It was made to commemorate the birth of her cousin, Alice Lee, two years earlier, and contains imagery relating to the Lee and Bostocke family crests. There are also demonstrations of different stitches. The V&A recognises that originally, samplers were used as reference pieces, but during the seventeenth century, they were used as a way of recording the maker’s skill. Embroidery was an encouraged occupation for young girls in gentry families. They would begin with samplers, then progress to caskets and embroidered pictures. Frye notes that needlework was seen as an exclusively domestic pursuit, which allowed young women to express agency and identity. Such an activity inculcates gender roles, as the domesticity that this activity encouraged informed girls of their place within the home: as the housewife. Susan Dwyer Amussen recognises the family as the basis for political and social order, suggesting that this was the reason women were encouraged to undertake tasks that educated them in domesticity from a young age. Matthew Johnson argues that gender roles were performed through action, and this sampler examples this.

Johnson provides another example of how performative action allowed people to express their gender identity. Johnson describes a folk custom from the Yorkshire Dales in which women would clean the flagged stone floor of their threshold with sand. Wives would lay out the sand in different patterns, which would remain until they were cleared in the afternoon. Johnson argues that the preservation of these patterns establishes the integrity of the household and wife, which is made visible to the community. Even though these patterns do not survive, Johnson’s recounting of this activity provides an example in which women expressed their gender identity, and drew authority from their role as housewife.

I have demonstrated that different forms of material culture were essential to expressing different aspects of individual identity. Architecture, specifically heraldic imagery, was used to express peoples’ social identity and peoples’ authority within the community. Books, in facilitating people’s worship and contemplation, allowed people to express their religious identity. Certain activities, such as needlework allowed people to express their gender identity. This proves value of studying material culture, and how it can be used to improve current historians’ understanding of the people living within Tudor England.

My Dissertation: ‘It’s too late!’ An exploration of the conflicts that Tess Durbeyfield and Catherine Earnshaw encounter in ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles’ and ‘Wuthering Heights’

‘It’s too late!’[1] Tess Durbeyfield’s haunting utterance comes at the climax of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1891) and expresses Tess’s anguish at her husband, Angel Clare’s, return. Although Angel and Tess wish to reunite, they cannot, as Tess has become the mistress of Alec D’Urberville, the man who sexually abused her in her youth, in exchange for financial support for her family. Catherine Earnshaw in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (1847) finds herself in a similar scenario, as she cannot reunite with her lover, Heathcliff, upon his return, because she is married to Edgar Linton. As well as being unable to reconcile with their romantic preferences, Catherine and Tess find themselves in conflict with different conceptions of womanhood and social expectations of how they should behave and appear. This conflict is caused by Catherine’s and Tess’s experiences of Alec, Angel, Edgar and Heathcliff. Tess must contend with Alec’s and Angel’s contrasting perceptions of her body, leading Penny Boumelha to liken Tess to a ‘blank space’ who is subjected to their views.[2] In contrast, Gilbert and Gubar recognise that Catherine’s conflict revolves around the different conceptions of ‘ladyhood’ that Edgar and Heathcliff are associated with.[3] The effect of this is both heroines’ realisation that these different conceptions of womanhood are restrictive to them. Catherine and Tess also come into conflict with Christian religious orthodoxy, which is caused by their associations with the natural world. Shirley A. Stave attributes Tess’s conflict with religious orthodoxy to her paganism, describing these systems of belief as antithetical to one another.[4] It is Parson Tringham who alerts Tess to her incompatibility with religious orthodoxy. Similarly, Francis Fike recognises that Catherine comes into conflict with the ‘religious formalities’ that servant Joseph forces upon her.[5] The effect of Catherine’s and Tess’s associations with the natural world is their rejection of religious orthodoxy. The outcome of these conflicts is Catherine’s and Tess’s deaths. I will first explore the cause, effect and outcome of Catherine’s and Tess’s conflict with religious orthodoxy, by drawing on the views of Stave and Fike. Then, I will explore the cause, effect and outcome of Catherine’s and Tess’s conflict with different conceptions of womanhood, by drawing on the views of Boumelha, Gilbert and Gubar. Finally, I will recognise that Catherine’s daughter Cathy Linton and Tess’s sister Liza Lu do not possess their predecessors’ flaws, meaning that they are able to avoid the conflicts that their predecessors encountered. This extended essay will explore the conflicts that Catherine and Tess encounter in conjunction with each other, a task that the above critics have not undertaken. By examining the conflicts that Catherine and Tess encounter in relation to each other, this essay will argue that both novels detail the stories of two heroines who are in constant conflict with the male dominated societies that they inhabit, which prevents them from living as their primal selves.

Catherine’s and Tess’s associations with the natural world cause their conflict with religious orthodoxy. Tess’s associations with the natural world are demonstrated by her paganism. Stave argues that Hardy’s conception of paganism describes a scenario in which humanity cannot be separated from the natural world.[6]  When Tess is introduced, she is partaking in the ‘local Cerealia’ (p. 13). This ancient festival celebrates the Roman goddess of agriculture, Ceres (p. 403, n. 3). In celebrating agriculture, Stave recognises that the Cerealia celebrates the fertility of the Earth.[7] By observing the Cerealia, Tess appears to be recognising Ceres, the Earth Goddess, as her principal source of divine authority.[8] The continuing practice of the Cerealia implies that Tess’s village, Marlott, has not yet been exposed to religious orthodoxy. As it is ‘solely women’ (p. 13) who partake in the Cerealia, it appears as an exclusive, female space which connects Tess to her matrilineal heritage.[9] The Cerealia is illustrative of a prelapsarian world, in which Tess is in a state of innocence as she is shielded from men.[10] The Cerealia takes place during springtime, a season which is associated with rejuvenation and growth. Tess’s body mirrors these ideas, as she displays a ‘handsome womanliness’ (p. 15). Tess’s body is maturing from that of a child into that of a woman, in conjunction with the foliage that surrounds her. This association implies that, she will soon be fertile like the natural landscape. Tess’s worshipping of nature and her reflection of it make her indistinguishable from the natural world because it informs key aspects of her life, thus affirming her paganism.

In contrast, it is Catherine’s character that mirrors the natural landscape. Wuthering Heights is subjected to an ‘atmospheric tumult.’[11] ‘Tumult’ refers to the din caused by the volatile weather, and also implies its uncontrollability. Servant Nelly recounts that, one of Catherine and Heathcliff’s ‘chief amusements [was] to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at’ (p. 46). Catherine’s desire to ‘run away’ from Wuthering Heights indicates that she uses the moors to escape from the ‘punishment’ that her brother Hindley and Joseph inflict upon her. Catherine’s defiance of their authority is implied by her laughing at it. This suggests that Catherine herself is untameable, much like the natural landscape that surrounds her. Catherine and Heathcliff plan to ‘grow up as rude as savages’ (p. 46). ‘Savages’ in this simile refers to the unconstrained nature of man before the advent of organised society and implies that the children intend to disregard the propriety that society encourages. In desiring to grow up as a savage, Catherine wishes to live a life in which she does not have to answer to authority. Catherine recognises that the moors facilitate this life, as only she and Heathcliff are present there. The natural landscape is therefore essential to Catherine and explains why she and Heathcliff ‘remain there all day.’ By running to the moors, Catherine is retreating from society in order to live an unconstrained life based upon her primal impulses. In contrast to Tess, it is only Catherine’s character that mirrors the natural landscape, meaning that Catherine’s paganism is not as explicit as Tess’s. Despite this, it is still apparent that Catherine’s and Tess’s associations with nature constitute a primal aspect of their beings.

The effect of Catherine’s and Tess’s associations with nature is their rejection of religious orthodoxy. After being raped by Alec D’Urberville, Tess gives birth to their son Sorrow the following spring. By giving birth, Tess exhibits the fertility that was celebrated at the Cerealia and is associated with springtime. However, Parson Tringham refuses to bury Sorrow in consecrated ground for the ‘liturgical reasons’ (p. 97) that he has not been baptised within the Church, but by Tess. This was because Sorrow lacked ‘legitimacy’ (p. 93), as he was born out of wedlock. For this reason, religious orthodoxy does not celebrate Tess’s fertility. In focusing on whether Sorrow has been baptised, Parson Tringham ignores the fact that Sorrow is not to blame for the violence enacted upon his mother’s body. In an attempt to get Parson Tringham to sympathise with her, Tess asks him not to ‘speak as saint to sinner, but as you yourself, to me myself!’ (p. 97). Tess implores Parson Tringham to abandon the religious orthodoxy which endorses the binary of ‘saint and sinner,’ because it does not account for the complexity of her situation, as her fertility was realised by an act of rape. Religious orthodoxy punishes Tess for the sins of Alec, which exposes the patriarchal nature of the Church.[12] This contrasts with the matriarchal nature of the Cerealia, indicating that Tess’s paganism is irreconcilable with religious orthodoxy.[13] By refusing to bury Sorrow, Parson Tringham punishes Tess, prompting her to exclaim that she will ‘never come to your church no more!’ (p. 97). This double negative emphasises Tess’s desire to reject the church, but her distress, implied by the exclamation mark, affects the clarity of her speech. Although it is Tess’s distress that motivates her decision to reject religious orthodoxy, Hardy implies that this rejection occurs as a result of Tess’s overt paganism.

Like Tess, Catherine rejects the religious orthodoxy that is forced upon her. After attending church, Joseph berates Catherine and Heathcliff as ‘t’ sound o’ t’ gospeil still I’ yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! […] sit ye down, and think o’ yer sowls!’ (p. 21). Joseph is angered to find Catherine and Heathcliff ‘laiking,’ meaning ‘larking about,’ so soon after hearing the ‘gospeil.’ Joseph believes that hearing the gospel should encourage the children to restrain their unruly behaviour. What Joseph considers unruly behaviour however could be compared to innocent, childish mischievousness. Joseph’s aggression suggests to the children that their behaviour is incompatible with religious orthodoxy, as it is immediately after church that he reprimands them for their behaviour. In an attempt to restrain them, Joseph orders the children to ‘sit ye down, and think o’ yer sowls!’ Brontë’s use of eye dialect draws attention to Joseph’s Yorkshire accent, and his elongation of the diphthong in ‘soul’ places greater emphasis on the word. Joseph’s focusing on the children’s ‘sowls’ implies that he believes their current behaviour will prevent them from achieving salvation.[14] In response to Joseph’s orders, Catherine ‘riven th’ back off ‘The Helmet o’ Salvation’ (p. 21). Catherine violently tears off the back cover of the religious book that Joseph has instructed her to read. In defacing a book about salvation, Catherine specifically rejects the doctrine of salvation that Joseph had previously used to threaten her. Fike recognises that in order to live as she chooses, Catherine must reject the religious orthodoxy that Joseph uses to constrain her, as it does not account for her character or chosen way of life.[15] Catherine’s and Tess’s rejection of religious orthodoxy confirms their incompatibility with it.

The outcome of Catherine’s conflict with religious orthodoxy is the creation of her own belief system that is based upon her connection with Heathcliff. Catherine recognises that ‘if all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and, if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the Universe would turn into a mighty stranger’ (p. 82). The personification of the ‘universe’ as a ‘stranger’ implies that, without Heathcliff, everything that exists would become unfamiliar to Catherine. Catherine’s understanding of the world is dependent on Heathcliff’s presence, as is her own existence. Catherine idolises Heathcliff and displaces the faith she is encouraged to have in religious orthodoxy with her faith in Heathcliff. The presence of Catherine’s ghost at the start of the novel validates her belief that she will ‘still continue to be’ as long as Heathcliff does also. Catherine’s ghost tries to enter through the window of her childhood bedroom at Wuthering Heights, repeating the phrase: ‘Let me in!’ (p. 25). This repetition emphasises Catherine’s desperation to re-enter Wuthering Heights. Catherine explains that she has been a ‘waif for twenty years!’ (p. 25). A ‘waif’ is an abandoned child, confirming that without Heathcliff, Catherine is left to wander the moors alone. Without Heathcliff, Catherine’s ghost cannot be at rest, which explains her desperation to be let back inside Wuthering Heights, so that she can reunite with him. Following Heathcliff’s death at the end of the novel, Nelly meets a boy who claims to have seen the ghosts of Catherine and Heathcliff wandering the moors. Catherine’s belief in Heathcliff is rewarded, as in death, they are reunited. Catherine and Heathcliff’s afterlife does not conform to the ideas of heaven and hell that Joseph and religious orthodoxy endorsed, as it is exclusively based upon Catherine’s faith in Heathcliff. Although this does not reconcile Catherine with religious orthodoxy, it offers a resolution that allows both conflicting forces to co-exist. Tess is not afforded such a resolution.

The outcome of Tess’s conflict with religious orthodoxy is her death. Before her death, Tess’s conflict with religious orthodoxy intensifies. Stave recognises that at the core of Hardy’s works is a story about the ‘Sky God interacting with an Earth Goddess.’[16]  Tess becomes this Earth Goddess when she baptises Sorrow, in a ceremony that ‘apotheosized her; it set upon her face a flowing irradiation’ (p. 95). ‘Apotheosized’ implies that baptising Sorrow imbued Tess with divine power. ‘Irradiation’ suggests that she possesses this divine power in such excess that it flows out from her. This is noticed by her siblings, who ‘gazed up at her’ (p. 95). The spatial distance between Tess and her siblings speaks to their difference in divinity, as Tess is now viewed by them with ‘more and more reverence’ (p. 95). Tess’s siblings recognise Tess’s power as Tess recognised the power of the Earth Goddess at the Cerealia. As Tess draws her divine power from the role that Nature assigns to her, the role of mother, she becomes the Earth Goddess. Tess’s status as the Earth Goddess is also strengthened by her associations with nature, as outlined previously. Stave argues that Hardy’s Sky God is typically the ‘Christian triune God,’ implying that the novel is driven by the conflict between Tess, a divine matriarchal force, and the Christian God, an antithetical patriarchal force.[17] Tess’s newfound divine power intensifies her conflict with religious orthodoxy, as it grants her the ability to transcend it, and rival the power of the Christian God.

At the end of the novel, Tess murders Alec, and flees with Angel. They come across Stonehenge, which Tess recognises as a ‘heathen temple’ (p. 393). ‘Heathen’ describes something that does not belong to a widely recognised religion, thus identifying Stonehenge as a pagan temple. Tess recalls that ‘one of my mother’s people was a shepherd hereabouts’ (p. 393). Hardy implies that, at the end of her life, Tess’s natural inclinations have led her to the seat of her pagan and matrilineal heritage. Angel points out that Tess is ‘lying on an altar’ (p. 393), and explains that in ancient times, people would make sacrifices to the sun at Stonehenge. By lying on the altar ‘in the direction of the sun’ (p. 394), Tess unconsciously places herself in the role of the pagan sacrificial victim. The rising of the Sun at the moment in which the police officers approach to arrest Tess is symbolic of the Sun rising to claim its pagan sacrifice.

Following her hanging, Hardy writes that the ‘President of the Immortals (in Æschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess’ (p. 397). In Aeschylus’s tragedy, Prometheus Bound, the cause of all suffering was a supreme deity who Hardy calls the ‘President of the Immortals’ (p. 461, n. 2). In likening Tess to ‘sport’ Hardy implies that she has been reduced to the plaything of a supreme God and has lost her life as a result. If this were the case, Tess was not drawn to Stonehenge by her natural inclinations, but by a supreme deity that has been influencing her throughout the entirety of the novel. This theory deprives Tess of agency, by suggesting that she was never fully in control of her life. The presence of religious orthodoxy, and Stave’s observations, suggest that this supreme deity is the Christian God. This would mean that Tess was led to Stonehenge by, and sacrificed to, the Christian God, who sought to neutralise His divine rival. The outcome of Tess’s conflict with religious orthodoxy is her death.

Richard Nemesvari describes Tess’s death as a ‘call to change the social order that has generated the situation that kills her.’[18] Parson Tringham and Joseph subjected Catherine and Tess to religious orthodoxy, in attempts to maintain ‘social order.’ Social order is again contested through different conceptions of womanhood which, like religious orthodoxy, are communicated to Catherine and Tess by men. Catherine’s and Tess’s conflict with different conceptions of womanhood is caused by their experiences of Alec, Angel, Edgar and Heathcliff.

Tess’s conflict with different conceptions of womanhood is caused by Alec and Angel’s differing perceptions of her body. When first meeting Tess, Alec’s eyes ‘rivet themselves upon her. It was a luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth (p. 42). Alec’s stare is unmoving because of Tess’s physical ‘luxuriance’ and ‘fulness,’ which refer to Tess’s developed breasts. This emphasises her femininity, and therefore beauty, to Alec. ‘Luxuriance’ suggests that Tess possesses physical beauty in abundance. This makes her attractive to Alec, which leads him to sexualise her. As mentioned in the introduction, Boumelha likened Tess to a ‘blank space for the imposition of male, or authorial fantasies.’ Alec simulates his fantasies about Tess by forcing strawberries into her mouth, which, ‘In slight distress she parted her lips and took it in’ (p. 42). Alec’s refusal to let Tess eat the strawberries herself implies his desire to control her body. Alec’s forcing of strawberries into Tess’s mouth alludes to the act of penetrative sex and proves to Alec that Tess can be subdued by him, which would allow him to enact his sexual fantasies upon her. Tess’s ‘distress’ also foreshadows the pain that she will suffer as a result of Alec’s realising of his sexual fantasies. In fulfilling his sexual fantasies about Tess by raping her, Alec also induces Tess’s fall from the prelapsarian world of the Cerealia. Alec’s actions towards Tess are repercussions of his perception of her body, which he sexualises.

In contrast, Angel perceives Tess’s body to be indicative of her purity. On their wedding night, Angel explains to Tess that he ‘loved spotlessness, and hated impurity’ (p. 224). Angel’s idiosyncratic ideology is based on ‘spotlessness,’ indicating that he loves all things that are spiritually and physically untainted. Angel asks Tess to marry him because, based on her appearance, Angel believes that Tess complies with his ideology of spotlessness. This explains why Angel called Tess ‘Artemis, Demeter’ (p. 130). Artemis and Demeter are the Greek goddesses of chastity and fertility, respectively (p. 426, n. 5). Angel’s choosing of Artemis implies that Angel equates purity with the physical state of being a virgin. Tess is viewed by Angel as a set of ideals, specifically the ideals of virginity and fertility, as characterised by these faceless Goddesses. Angel’s obsession with purity blinds him to Tess’s status as a complex, physical being, not one of transcendence. To assert her individuality, Tess asks Angel to ‘call me Tess’ (p. 130). Tess implies that her given name most accurately captures her complexity, unlike the unobtainable ideals that Artemis and Demeter represent. It is Tess’s experiences of Alec and Angel that subject her to two different conceptions of womanhood, one that sexualises her and one that recognises her purity, based upon their perception of her body.

Catherine’s experience of Edgar Linton introduces her to a conception of womanhood that is based on propriety. After Catherine is bitten by the Lintons dog Skulker, she is forced to recuperate with them at Thrushcross Grange. The influence of the Grange upon Catherine is indicated by her appearance. Upon Catherine’s return, Nelly states that she ‘should scarcely have known you – you look like a lady’ (p. 53). By calling Catherine a ‘lady,’ Nelly implies that Catherine looks more feminine, in contrast to the ‘hatless little savage’ (p. 53) of her youth. ‘Lady’ also implies that Catherine looks like a higher social class of person. This separates her from Heathcliff, who in her absence, has been reduced to Hindley’s servant. When reunited with Heathcliff, Catherine exclaims: ‘Why, how very black and cross you look! and how – how funny and grim!’ (p. 54). Heathcliff’s untidy appearance is now unbecoming to Catherine, as she has become accustomed to the civilised inhabitants of the Grange. This is also reflected by the changes in Catherine’s personality.

Nelly describes that, when with Edgar, Catherine ‘had no temptation to show her rough side in their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of being rude where she experienced such invariable courtesy’ (p. 67). Catherine’s lack of ‘temptation’ implies that her time at the Grange has matured her, as she now represses the mischievous impulses of her youth. Catherine recognises the unwavering kindness that Edgar offers her, and in response refrains herself from displaying discourtesy towards him, for fear of embarrassment. Catherine’s newfound sense of propriety wins her a marriage proposal from Edgar, which she is tempted to accept because ‘he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood’ (p. 78). Catherine is drawn to the material wealth that Edgar possesses. The superlative of ‘greatest’ suggests that it is specifically the superior social status that this wealth would grant Catherine that she is attracted to. Edgar’s proposal demonstrates that, Catherine is rewarded by conforming to his conception of womanhood, specifically with the prospect of social advancement.

The life that Catherine would live at Thrushcross Grange directly contrasts with the childhood that she enjoyed with Heathcliff. As previously mentioned, in her youth, Catherine rejected the propriety that society encouraged. Due to this, Heathcliff did not have a conception of womanhood that he expected Catherine to conform to, and instead encouraged Catherine to live as her authentic self. However, following her maturation at the Grange, Catherine now understands that ‘it would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now’ (p. 81), as she would be marrying below her station and consigning herself to a life of penury. Nelly recognises that Catherine has a ‘double character’ (p. 67), Catherine Linton and Catherine Earnshaw. These two personas are indicative of the two different conceptions of womanhood that Edgar and Heathcliff are associated with. Catherine’s ability to conform to these different conceptions of womanhood demonstrates her capacity to adapt to reflect the dominant male in her life. Unlike Catherine, Tess does not adapt to conform to these conceptions of womanhood but is adapted to them by Alec and Angel.The effect of Catherine’s and Tess’s experiences of men is their realisation that different conceptions of womanhood are restrictive to them.

The effect of Tess’s experiences of Alec and Angel is her realisation that different conceptions of womanhood are restrictive to her. Tess registers this when she learns that she has been misunderstood by those around her. When Tess tells Angel about her rape, Angel concedes that he loved ‘another woman in your shape’ (p. 229). As Angel learns that Tess is not the spiritual ideal that he envisioned, he protests that her physical appearance was deceptive, as it misrepresented her. Tess believed that Angel loved ‘me – me, my very self!’ (p. 228). Up until this point, Angel has never fully understood Tess, as he did not know about her past. Boumelha recognises that although Tess has never advertised herself as ‘virginal or sexually available’ it is these ideas that inform all experiences in her life.[19] Tess cannot help that her body appears to conform to multiple conceptions of womanhood, meaning that she cannot choose how people perceive her and is instead subjected to their interpretation. Elizabeth Bronfen recognises that these differing interpretations cause a ‘division’ within Tess’s character, horrifying Angel.[20] Ironically, it is Angel who divides Tess’s character by only recognising her spiritual purity, not her status as a complex, physical being. Angel renders Tess as irreconcilable with his conception of womanhood, as she is not physically pure. As Tess no longer possesses the purity that Angel loved, he abandons her. Angel’s conception of womanhood, when applied to Tess, is ultimately reductive, as it does not account for her complexity. In an attempt to conform to Angel’s conception of womanhood, Tess ‘mercilessly nipped her eyebrows off’ (p. 280). Tess believes that it was her beauty that resulted in the loss of her purity, and therefore Angel. To prevent further sexualisation of her body, Tess attempts to make herself less sexually appealing. However, Tess’s defacement of herself does not negate her physical impurity. Tess’s inability to conform to one exclusive conception of womanhood means that they are all restrictive to her, and that she will never be accepted for who she really is, complexities and all.

The effect of Catherine’s experiences of Edgar and Heathcliff is her internal conflict, as she is unable to reconcile her two personas of Catherine Linton and Catherine Earnshaw. Catherine is aware that if she were to marry Edgar, she would be separated from Heathcliff. Catherine is reluctant to be separated from Heathcliff because she loves him. To Nelly, Catherine describes that her ‘love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees’ (p. 82). Brontë uses elemental imagery to explain that Catherine’s love for Edgar is impermanent, and will deplete over time, as foliage depletes and dies in the winter. In contrast, her love for Heathcliff ‘resembles the eternal rocks beneath – a source of little visible delight but necessary’ (p. 82). Although the rocks may not be as beautiful as the foliage, they are permanent, as is Catherine’s love for Heathcliff. ‘Eternal’ recognises that this love is endless, unlike Catherine’s fleeting love for Edgar.

As well as loving Heathcliff, Catherine notes that he constitutes a primal part of her being. Catherine recognises that ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire’ (p. 81). Catherine understands that her and Edgar’s souls are the antithesis of each other and are therefore incompatible. Based on Catherine’s exclamation of ‘I am Heathcliff!’ (p. 82), Gilbert and Gubar argue that the relationship of Catherine and Heathcliff is androgynous, as Catherine asserts that they are the same person.[21] It is therefore ironic that Catherine would marry Edgar, as she is not only betraying Heathcliff, but also betraying herself by depriving herself of Heathcliff. Heathcliff hears Catherine’s words and abruptly leaves Wuthering Heights. This temporarily resolves Catherine’s internal conflict, as with Heathcliff’s absence Catherine has no other choice but to marry Edgar, and no choice but to embrace the persona of Catherine Linton. Catherine’s and Tess’s inability to conform exclusively to one conception of womanhood forces them to realise that all conceptions of womanhood are restrictive to them. These restrictive conceptions of womanhood prevent Catherine and Tess from living the lives that they desire to, as demonstrated by the loss of their romantic preferences. The returns of Heathcliff and Angel reignite the conflicts of Catherine and Tess, the outcome of which is their self-destruction.

The outcome of Catherine’s conflict with different conceptions of womanhood is her self-destruction. Catherine realises that she cannot reunite with Heathcliff, and so resolves to ‘break their hearts by breaking my own’ (p. 116). Catherine blames Edgar and Heathcliff for the predicament that she finds herself in, and in an attempt to hurt them, she harms herself by refusing to eat. In delirium, Catherine tells Nelly ‘that is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he’s in my soul… the thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here’ (p. 161). By telling Nelly ‘that is not my Heathcliff,’ Catherine explains that she seeks to reunite with the Heathcliff of her childhood, not the one that has returned. This version of Heathcliff is in Catherine’s ‘soul,’ and in order to free it, she must escape from the ‘shattered prison’ of her body. ‘Shattered’ suggests that, in starving herself, Catherine’s body has physically weakened. ‘Shattered’ may also refer to Catherine’s fractured identity, which has now become unsalvageable due to her separation from Heathcliff. Without the destruction of her body Catherine cannot be free to reunite with Heathcliff.

Catherine’s mention that she is ‘enclosed’ is reminiscent of her confinement in pregnancy, and also suggests that she feels trapped within Thrushcross Grange.[22] This implies that Catherine specifically feels trapped by her role as the lady of the Grange. Despite desiring the social prestige that this role granted her, Catherine now wants to reject this conception of womanhood, as she rejected societal propriety as a child. Catherine’s desire to reunite with the Heathcliff of her childhood demonstrates that she wishes to return to the freedom of her childhood with Heathcliff. This desire prompts Gilbert and Gubar to recognise Catherine’s childhood as a ‘prelapsarian world.’[23] Catherine fell from innocence when she was bitten by Skulker and was forced to enter into the Grange. This began her maturation to adulthood, which was completed by her marriage to Edgar. Effectively, it was the influence of Edgar that tore Catherine away from her childhood, and by extension, her primal self. Catherine now believes that she can only return to her childhood self by dying. After her death, Nelly takes a lock of Heathcliff’s and Edgar’s hair and ‘twisted the two and enclosed them’ (p. 170) in a locket around Catherine’s neck. This symbolises a reconciliation between the men who informed Catherine’s conflicting identities. This implies that Catherine’s death was the inevitable outcome of her conflict with different conceptions of womanhood, as some form of reconciliation can only occur when she herself is dead.

The outcome of Tess’s conflict with different conceptions of womanhood is similarly self-destructive. Tess explains that she murdered Alec ‘for the wrong he did to me in my simple youth’ (p. 384). Tess now recognises that it was Alec’s sexualisation, and subsequent rape of her, that destroyed the purity that Angel saw in her. In Tess’s mind, Alec is responsible for her loss of Angel. Tess therefore believes that it is appropriate that Alec’s life should be taken, as hers was by him. She explains to Angel that ‘I was unable to bear you not loving me! Say you do now, dear, dear husband; say you do, now I have killed him!’ (p. 385). Alec is a physical reminder of Tess’s rape and is therefore an obstacle between her and Angel. By killing him, Tess removes this obstacle, and believes that her physical impurity will die with him. As this will negate any division within herself, Tess believes that Alec’s death should restore Angel’s love for her. Tess’s repetition of ‘say you do’ emphasises that Angel’s love is all that she desires. Ironically, Alec’s death destroys Tess’s entire body, the site upon which his violence was originally enacted, as she is hanged for his murder.[24] It is Catherine’s and Tess’s desire to reunite with their romantic preferences that motivates their self-destructive behaviour. Although Tess does not seek to destroy herself as explicitly as Catherine does, both women’s actions highlight the extreme lengths that they feel they must go to in order to break free of the restrictive conceptions of womanhood that they have been subjected to. The conflicts that Catherine and Tess have encountered throughout their lives finally extinguishes them.

Catherine and Tess are survived by Cathy Linton and Liza Lu, who do not possess their predecessors’ flaws. Gilbert and Gubar recognise that Catherine’s flaw was her confusion over her identity, as this is what drew her away from Heathcliff.[25] Cathy never deserts the belief that Thrushcross Grange is her home.[26] This influences her behaviour, as she exclusively conforms to Edgar’s conception of womanhood. It seems that Cathy is rewarded for her behaviour, as unlike her mother, she is able to fulfil her romantic preference, by marrying her cousin Hareton Earnshaw. The couple are so united that they could ‘brave satan and all his legions’ (p. 337). This implies that the couples’ love is so strong that they could overcome the devil himself, negating the possibility of any separation between the two. In marrying Hareton and moving back to Thrushcross Grange, Cathy reconciles the Linton’s and Earnshaw’s, succeeding in the task that killed her mother.

Liza Lu has the capacity to avoid the conflicts that Tess encountered. Tess asks Angel to marry Liza Lu after her death, describing her as ‘the best of me without the bad of me’ (p. 394). ‘The best of me’ refers to Liza Lu’s appearance, which mirrors Tess’s purity. Liza Lu does not just appear pure, but is so, as she does not possess the ‘bad,’ or flaw, in Tess’s character: her rape. Liza Lu resembles the Tess that attended the Cerealia, meaning that she can be fully reconciled with Angel’s ideology of purity. Cathy and Liza Lu are portrayed as perfected versions of their maligned predecessors, as they are used to highlight Catherine’s and Tess’s flaws. Cathy and Liza Lu are the socially acceptable versions of Catherine and Tess, as they, along with Hareton and Angel, have the ability to avoid the conflicts that Catherine and Tess encountered.

Religious orthodoxy and different conceptions of womanhood were key aspects of Catherine’s and Tess’s lives, and it was these concepts that both women found themselves in conflict with. Religious orthodoxy attempted to force Catherine and Tess to conform to social laws that they were incompatible with. The different conceptions of womanhood that they had to compete with did not recognise their complexity and were therefore restrictive. The outcome of these conflicts was Catherine’s and Tess’s deaths. These two social institutions drew Catherine and Tess away from their childhood, in which they lived freely as their primal selves. This demonstrates that, despite their differences, Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Wuthering Heights both depict societies in which women are oppressed and subdued, and ultimately punished, if they did not conform. The instruction to conform was forced upon Catherine and Tess by the men that surrounded them, whose appearance also induced both women to fall from the innocence of their childhoods. This paints religious orthodoxy, and different conceptions of womanhood as two institutions that are explicitly connected by their purpose to serve male interest. In this respect, I conclude that it is Catherine’s and Tess’s inability to conform specifically to the views and desires of men that leads to their destruction. As Catherine and Tess were subjected to patriarchal societies from birth, unfortunately for them it was always ‘too late!’

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[1] Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles (London: Penguin Classics, 2003), p. 378.Subsequent references will be given in parentheses in the text.

[2] Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles: A Sourcebook, ed. by Scott McEathron, (Oxfordshire: Routledge, 2005), p. 50.

[3] Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 2000), p. 269.

[4] Shirley A. Stave, The Decline of the Goddess: Nature, Culture and Women in Thomas Hardy’s Fiction (Westport, Connecticut: Prager Publishers, 1995), p. 6.

[5] Francis Fike, ‘Bitter Herbs and Wholesome Medicines: Love as Theological Affirmation in Wuthering Heights’, Nineteenth-Century Fiction, 23(2) (1968), 127-149, (p. 148).

[6] Stave, The Decline of the Goddess: Nature, Culture and Women in Thomas Hardy’s Fiction, p. 3.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid., p. 4

[10] Ibid., p. 7.

[11] Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (London: Penguin Classics, 2003), p. 4.Subsequent references will be given in parentheses in the text.

[12] Stave, The Decline of the Goddess: Nature, Culture and Women in Thomas Hardy’s Fiction, p. 6.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Fike, ‘Bitter Herbs and Wholesome Medicines: Love as Theological Affirmation in Wuthering Heights’, p. 129.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Stave, The Decline of the Goddess: Nature, Culture and Women in Thomas Hardy’s Fiction, p. 1.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Richard Nemesvari, ‘The Thing must be Male, we suppose’: Erotic Triangles and Masculine Identity in Tess of the d’Urberville and Melville’s Billy Budd’ in Thomas Hardy: Texts and Contexts, ed. by Philip Mallett, (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 87-110, (p. 107).

[19] Penny Boumelha, Thomas Hardy and Women: Sexual Ideology and Narrative Form (Totowa, New Jersey: Barnes and Noble, 1982), p. 124.

[20] Elizabeth Bronfen, ‘Exchanges of Bodies and Signs’ in The Sense of Sex: Feminist Perspectives on Hardy, ed. by Margaret R. Higonnet, (Champaign, Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 1993), pp. 75-87, (p. 81).

[21] Gilbert and Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, p. 265.

[22] David Punter and Glennis Byron, The Gothic (New Jersey: Wiley-Blackwell, 2004) p. 212.

[23] Gilbert and Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, p. 268.

[24] Bronfen, ‘Exchanges of Bodies’, p. 82.

[25] Gilbert and Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, p. 300.

[26] Ibid., p. 276.

Pop Art: A Brief History

Pop Art is known for being visceral, bright and eye-catching. Although it has been around for less than one hundred years, it is probably one of the most instantly recognisable art movements. Originally developed in both Britain and America, Pop art was intended to move away from abstract expressionism, a movement which utilises grand, gestural brush strokes giving the appearance of spontaneity. Pop Art sought to make art more relatable to the viewer, and move away from the fairly ambiguous works of expressionists such as William de Kooning.

The Independent Group, founded in London in 1952, is generally seen as the birth of the Pop Art movement. This group sought to move away from abstract works and instead focus on popular culture, elements of mass advertising, comics and movies. This ensured that the work would be instantly recongisable and relatable to the viewer. Veteran pop artist Richard Hamilton described Pop Art as the following to friends Peter and Alison Smithson:

‘Pop Art is: Popular (designed for a mass audience), Transient (short-term solution), Expendable (easily forgotten), Low cost, Mass produced, Young (aimed at youth), Witty, Sexy, Gimmicky, Glamorous, Big business.’

Pop Art in America really took off in the 60s, and also aimed to reflect popular culture back to the audience to enhance its relatability. This brought art closer to the general public, and attempted to distract them from the Cold War that had plagued the 50s. Some modernists disliked the movement because of depictions of mass media images, and at times, content that was deemed cheap. However, the movement captured the imagination of the public, as it had intended.

American artist Andy Warhol was a big figure in the movement and is probably one of the most famous. His work ‘Campbell’s Soup Cans’ exemplifies the movements ability to reflect popular culture back to the audience, and it’s bright colours make it for vibrant viewing. The piece made Warhol famous, and sparked debate over the merits, or lack of merits, that the work exhibited as well as Warhol’s ethics and ability as an artist. The works’ mundane and realistic nature directly combated abstract expressionism.

Roy Lichtenstein’s work is different to that of Warhol’s but their focus on colour still emphasises their important within the Pop Art movement. Lichtenstein was an American artist, who was inspired by the idea of parody and comic books. Lichtenstein focused on ‘strengthening of the formal aspects of the composition, a stylization of motif, and a ‘freezing’ of both emotion and actions.’ This snapshot of drama and emotion can be seen in his famed ‘Drowning Girl,’ an image which focuses on a girl engulfed by waves. She claims that she would rather drown than call ‘Brad for help!’ Lichtenstein used Ben-day dots to create the piece, a printing technique dating from 1879. This demonstrates that Pop Art used and responded to the art and technology that had preceded it. The effect is commonly used in comic books. The scene itself was inspired by one, ‘Secret Hearts.’ The image itself builds on emotion and melodrama, and the colours and outlines make it instantly recognisable.

Drowning Girl - Wikipedia
‘Drowning Girl’

Lichtenstein’s other work ‘M-Maybe’ also follows the same ideas and is in the style of a comic book. The beautiful heroine, as Lichtenstein’s often were, has her own thought bubble, and bright yellow hair, which contrasts with the blue, red and white backgrounds. The story cannot be contained in a singular panel, and her speech indicates that there is a past and future to the singular image, much like ‘Drowned Girl.’ Her worry and anticipation heightens the melodrama, and it is implied that the heroine is in some sort of emotional turmoil.

M-Maybe - Wikipedia
‘M-Maybe’

Traditional Pop Art survives today in the form of mainstream comic books, and in other artwork that shares the same ideas of eye-catching colour. Jeff Koon’s balloon animals are an example of this, and also provide relatable images for the viewer, as the original movement intended to do.

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