Another Cause of Female Depravity?

The author of this week’s article makes the point that novels—“tender tales abounding with fine feeling”—fill young women’s heads with unrealistic ideas about love. He (like always, I just assumed upon the first reading that the author was a male) believes that female readers will aspire to mimic the romantic experiences of their novels’ heroines. One of the article’s most interesting passages is that after she has fallen, “too often does the infatuated fair one take pleasure…because, forsooth, she is just in the same point of view as the hapless, the distressed, the love-lorn Sappho of some novel or other.” I can’t imagine that a woman who has been abandoned by a rake, wound up pregnant, or shunned by society would be feeling blissful. However, the author’s overall point is one that easily translates to the modern day.

Given our media-infused society, I think that the author would be extremely critical of movies aimed at a female audience—the romantic comedies and sappy tear-jerkers. Although our present-day culture provides us with stronger portrayals of women, the damsel in distress hasn’t disappeared. By the end of two hours, even Miss Independent has often been swept off her feet. Moreover, the “chick flick” is certainly not a genre that lends itself well to sad endings. Regardless of how many tissues it takes to get there, the characters and viewers usually get their happily ever after.

I think that most women are smart enough to separate fiction from reality, but the author would probably disagree. He would propose that women, filling their minds with “fine feeling” and “soft ideas” in the movie theatre, develop a desire to find the type of romance depicted onscreen. The problem, he would scoff, is that it’s an unrealistic, grownup fairytale. We can sigh over Noah Calhoun in The Notebook all day, but good luck finding a man who takes you rowing among swans and then kisses you in the rain. These situations are literally too good to be true, but—the author would say—the deluded woman wouldn’t recognize this. Enamored with the thought of having that kind of love, she would place all her high hopes on the next man who enters her life.

I think that the author would also be scandalized by the rampancy of sex scenes in today’s movies. In the article, he seems concerned about a young couple’s choice to “dispense with the ceremony,” winding up instead with a “base-born infant.” If he were writing today, I’m sure that the author would make a big point about the poor example set by promiscuous heroines and how that influences a woman to give up her virtue. She would discover too late that “happily ever after” only happens in the movies.

Retrospective Readings

The portrayal of the fallen woman in our recent texts has disappointed me, because it doesn’t seem to be changing much. I think I approach each batch of readings with a little hope that maybe we will see a slightly stronger and more respected woman slowly emerging from the delicate, susceptible, swooning female whose only valuable attribute is virtue. The portrayal of women is fairly stagnant. It’s also a little disappointing that we continue to see all male-authored texts, as well.

That’s not to say that I haven’t gotten anything out of the texts. If anything, the consistency continues to show me just how concerned late eighteenth-century society was with rakes and persuadable young women. I will admit that I appreciate that the texts are holding the male more responsible than they used to (e.g., the infanticide narratives). The authors still slip in their female instruction and assertions about female worth, but at least the rake is getting some of the blame he deserves.

That’s probably why I enjoyed reading “The Passenger” this week. It jumped out at me because the theme of domestic abuse was different than the preceding texts, and the story of a woman locked inside a chamber was a little more riveting than the usual sob stories. However, what made me connect to it was the fact that the article emphasizes the husband’s fault. One of the characters—Mrs. Short Metre—suggests that both the husband and wife were at fault. The doctor immediately rejects her idea by telling the story of the imprisoned woman. He even mocks Mrs. Short Metre in a rather scathing last line. I find it interesting that a male character stands in defense of the female, just as the male author is concerned that men who don’t “fulfill their obligations” in marriage are not held accountable. And it pleased me that the wife, although she was tempted by a rake, did not fall as most of the "weak" women in recent texts have done. Instead, she "spurned him with indignation."

So encountering the readings this week, there were some frustratingly familiar stories (particularly Arrabella Artless), but there were also a few pleasant surprises. As I said earlier, I’d certainly like to see more of them, and I think it would be good for discussion!

What's Love Got To Do With It?

There’s no doubt that our recent readings have been strewn with expressions of romantic love. I wouldn’t say that we’ve seen any examples of true love, since the amorous sentiments are completely one-sided. Whereas unsuspecting Amelia (in the "Story of Amelia") develops deep feelings of devoted affection, the rakish Alonso tricks her by “what he seemed to feel.” However, the idea of romantic love was clearly growing in popularity with the late eighteenth-century audience. In her letter to a friend, Amelia explains that her seducer “told me that love was the supreme bliss of human life…no emotions could have been planted in our breasts by the great Creator merely to be repelled.” I imagine that contemporary readers—though they were expected to look disdainfully upon Amelia’s fall—were able to relate to such statements and recognize their persuasive power.

I do think that a move toward romantic love rejected the patriarchal structure; that makes complete sense given the trends we’ve witnessed over the course of the semester. The patriarchal power of Cotton Mather’s society has steadily diminished, particularly since we began reading post-Revolutionary texts. That’s not to say that young women are openly encouraged to exercise independence. But the fact that the men in this week’s readings are courting, flattering, and making promises of marriage says something about the father’s weakened role. The interaction between daughters and suitors is emphasized, while he receives little or no mention.

In "The Sorrows of Amelia," I like the explanation that she was easily deceived because she was “unversed in the secret villainies of a base degenerate world [and] ever imagined all mankind were as spotless as herself.” Society forced her to live a sheltered lifestyle because this was viewed as the way to protect her virtue. But as the texts ironically point out, Amelia’s naiveté contributed to her fall. Continuing (or returning to) the practice of arranged marriage would have prolonged an unhealthy limitation of female freedom. Of course, during this period, women like Amelia were occasionally the victims of rakes, but time has since shown that exposing women to the wider world is a positive thing. Today’s independent 20-something female is much more savvy and worldly-wise—she generally knows how to recognize the rakes, and she can detect when the feelings are one-sided. The modern woman is therefore capable of choosing a husband for herself. Arranged marriage wouldn’t resonate with our present-day culture; there isn’t a need for it. Rather, it would be a detrimental recipe for affairs and divorce!

Depictions of a Rake

My roommate of three years had an ongoing love affair with the show Grey’s Anatomy, so I've had a hefty serving of Seattle Grace Hospital. The first person who came to mind when I read the blog prompt was the infamous McSteamy, otherwise known as Dr. Mark Sloan. I lost interest in the show a while back and can’t say I’m up to date on the character; perhaps McSteamy has changed his philandering ways. But even on a show where everyone is sleeping with everyone else, he stood out as the womanizer. His long history of one-night stands and affairs was well known among the female doctors and interns, but thanks to his “steamy” looks and personality, he didn’t have much trouble attracting—or seducing—them.

Mark Sloan’s similarities to Florio, the rake in the article “On Seduction,” are obvious. Florio possessed all the accomplishments of the gentleman, except virtue.” In class, we pointed out that what made a man a gentleman was his sharp dress, polite manner of speaking (or flattering), and education. So Mark Sloan—handsome, smooth talking, and one of the most renowned plastic surgeons on the East Coast—fits the basic description. Like Florio, whose “vices were too frequently repeated to be concealed,” Sloan still maintains his excellent professional reputation and rubs shoulders with the well-to-do.

I like the line in “On Seduction” that says, “His having a spice of the rake in him did not render him less pleasing in their eyes.” Florio’s dangerous streak makes him more agreeable to “the fair.” On Grey’s Anatomy and several other shows, it’s all too common to see women, including the virginal good girl, attracted to the irresistible bad boy character. Today’s rake, like those of the past, doesn’t try too hard to conceal his behavior, because a wild reputation often works in his interest.

Not to go off on a tangent, but I think specifically of Desperate Housewives. Susan’s sweet daughter, Julie, can’t help but fall for Edie’s nephew Austin and (like the fallen women we’ve been reading about) questions whether to give up her virginity—her “virtue.” I think Austin is another good example of a modern Florio who “had so long wantoned among the vicious of the other sex, that…virgin innocence alone seemed capable of affording him the desired pleasure.” Of course, that didn’t keep Austin from cheating with Danielle on the side, but he found the innocent Julie difficult to resist.

McSteamy certainly doesn’t have many virgins to choose from at Seattle Grace, but similar to Austin and Florio, he wants what is off-limits. He develops an interest in Dr. Hahn, who repeatedly refuses his advances. At one point, she tells him that he isn’t attracted to her but rather to the fact that she isn’t attracted to him in return. She has become a conquest, the precise word used to describe a boastful rake's exploits in a few of the early American articles. And once the man has conquered, there isn’t much reason to stick around. The one-night stand hasn’t changed, and 18^th century seducers inevitably left the woman crying—or dying. Most modern women don’t end up like Philenia, although there are often tears involved when a modern rake never calls back.

So honestly, I wouldn't say that the rake--his characteristics, desires, and aversion to committment--has evolved much over the past two centuries. Florio is still breaking hearts all over primetime TV.

Lessons for the Ladies

The theme of female instruction in the latest batch of texts is hard to miss. Men obviously had a clear idea of what they wanted in a woman—in so many words, eighteenth-century perfection (as they defined it). I have to smile in response to Alphonso’s fluffy description of “sweet little beings, with voices as melodious as the notes of the nightingale…whose hearts are as pure as the falling snow-drop.” I can hardly imagine this delicate woman, and it is a wonder to me that anyone viewed Alphonso’s ideal as attainable.

The bottom line in these instructive texts is that a woman is to learn how to please men. She is not to be a prude or a coquette, because—as Alphonso puts it—“both are equally disagreeable to our sex.” In contrast to early eighteenth-century texts, there is no pretense that the rules for female behavior are dictated by religious statutes. The highest power in this text is the man, and gratifying his desires is the key to becoming a woman of excellent character. Walking the fine line between flirting too much and flirting too little is a tough charge, and the following paragraphs' assertion that a woman must demurely accept the flattery of “suspicious” men reveals the double standard for the sexes.

Alphonso urges women to “exert your talents most successfully in benefiting society,” but the definition of female talents is strictly limited by gender roles. Fitting employment for women is, unsurprisingly, confined within the domestic sphere. The man handled the more “hardy exercises." For a woman to engage her mind or body in any activity outside her prescribed position is to commit the cardinal sin of "offend[ing] her husband."

Just as a woman is limited physically to hearth and home, there is also a limit to her mental education. She should acquire a healthy “knowledge of the human heart and the graceful accomplishments.” I assume this refers to the type of things a woman could learn at finishing school—like an appreciation for music and art, maybe a bit of poetry, and certainly a flair for table setting. However, she is not to wander too close to the realm of academia. While women are encouraged to read books that will furnish them with “valuable treasures of knowledge,” I have to wonder what kind of knowledge Alphonso means. (Were there books on table setting?) Just a few sentences earlier, he warns that a “predilection for the sciences” is undesirable and will distract women from their familial duties, so the higher planes of knowledge are reserved for men. Yet, women are not to turn to “fictitious nonsense” or become overly attached to books. Alphonso’s instruction seems riddled with subtle contradictions (a characteristic of much of “An Address to the Ladies”), and I'm still not sure what or how much he wants his ideal woman to read.

In examining our current texts, the message that consistently surprises me is that if a woman follows male advice faithfully, she will achieve personal fulfillment. Alphonso claims that his utmost desire is to see women happy. However, the difficulty of living up to male standards doesn’t seem like a surefire recipe for bliss.