Precis

Winn, Harbour. “Echoes of Literary Sisterhood: Louisa May Alcott and Kate Chopin.” Studies in American Fiction 20.2 (1992): 205-208.

In “Echoes of Literary Sisterhood: Louisa May Alcott and Kate Chopin,” Harbour Winn outlines the various similarities between Alcott and Chopin both in the subjects they write about and in their literary careers. Winn begins by acknowledging the large amount of attention given to Alcott’s impact on her female readers, stating that she wishes to extend the conversation to the ways in which Alcott’s writing impacted other female writers. While Winn sees similarities between Alcott’s Little Women and Chopin’s most well-known novel, The Awakening, she asserts that the parallels between Little Women and one of Chopin’s late stories, “Charlie,” are much more straightforward and intentional. Both Jo and Charlie have masculine nicknames, dress in an “unorthodox manner,” cut their hair, have sisters who parallel each other, must help care for their wounded fathers, and fall in love with older men. However, while the characters are incredibly similar, Winn sees “Charlie” as a more progressive rendition of Little Women in which Chopin’s time (30 years later) and her audience (adults rather than children) proved less restraining than those of Alcott. Winn also sees a similar “uncertainty towards patriarchal culture” in both Alcott and Chopin, reflected in their use of pseudonyms for “stories that dealt with adultery and seduction” and in their publishers’ recommendations to write children’s books (Winn 207). Thus, with so many similarities between the two authors, Winn concludes that Alcott undoubtedly had a “nurturing” impact on Chopin’s writing career, making the two women “literary sisters” who both sought to “unmask the forms of conventional female identity” (Winn 205).
The strongest aspects of the article are the long lists of parallels between Jo and Edna and between Jo and Charlie, which are especially insightful. The connections Winn makes between the sets of characters are both clear and extensive, leaving little room for doubt in the reader’s mind. She describes similarities both on a basic level (personality characteristics and storylines) and on a more complex level (similes and metaphors used, themes, and morals). However, Winn’s argument also has some weaknesses. While the article is supposed to be about the ways in which Alcott impacted Chopin, Winn focuses more on Chopin’s writing than on Alcott’s; most of the quotes used to support Winn’s argument come from “Charlie” rather than from Little Women. Additionally, Winn seems to contradict herself by initially stating that Chopin “did not include children in her audience…and was thus not restrained by this taboo,” but then later stating that both Alcott’s and Chopin’s “larger audience[s] [were] created in children’s magazines” (Winn 206-207). While Winn likely means that Chopin gained her initial popularity by writing for children and later moved to a strictly adult audience, we nonetheless experience a lack of clarity regarding this matter. Essentially, Winn fails to acknowledge why Chopin’s fan base of children did not have an impact the content of her later writing. However, despite its minor shortcomings, the article nonetheless proves useful in understanding the extent of the feminist connections between Louisa May Alcott and Kate Chopin. Overall, Winn effectively demonstrates the ways in which Chopin took Alcott’s characters and storylines and pushed them a few steps further, deepening the “impact…on the imagination of female readers” (Winn 205).

Charles Chesnutt

First off...I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed Chesnutt's practice of putting a twist at the end of his stories. He totally caught me off-guard every single time, constantly surprising me. You would think that I would catch on to his tactics by the fourth story, but his lack of foreshadowing or set-up for the narratives constantly left me blindsided, shocked, and thoroughly amused.

These twists reminded me a lot of the Southwestern humor we talked about earlier in class -- both in the elements of the trickster being tricked and in the use of dialect. The "trickster tricked" part is especially interesting. In Chesnutt's stories, it's always the supposedly smart white man being outsmarted by the black man. While Dick's father thinks he is being so smart and "tricky" by convincing Grandison how evil the abolitionists were and how much better off he would be at the plantation down South. However, his efforts only end up aiding the ploys of Grandison, who parrots his master's ridiculous statements in order to sound like a good slave.

True, the stories all seem to fall into the same formulaic pattern and preach the same anti-racist, anti-slavery message at the end. It seems that the stories would become predictable and uninteresting to readers. However, I think that the particular stories we read were so well-received partially because of this pattern. For the general population (which is not necessarily made up of literary scholars!) such a pattern probably helped them feel comfortable with Chesnutt's writing, giving them the feeling that they were acquainted with an author. Also, having an element of surprise to look forward to at the end was probably somewhat addicting, especially because the endings are so unpredictable!

The Damnation of Theron Ware

In class today, Dr. Campbell asked an important question about the book: Do illumination and damnation go hand in hand?

As someone who places a high value on both education and on religion, I had a very difficult time grappling with this issue throughout the book and, in a larger sense, in my own life. While so many authors frequently allude to the Bible in their books, making at least a basic knowledge of the Bible necessary in almost any English class, it seems that (for the most part anyway) education and Christianity are incongruous. Like Theron, learning more about science, history, or even language (as in the case of the eponyms) force many people to question their faith at the very least.

However (and I may be a bit idealistic here), I would like to think that illumination and damnation do not have to go hand in hand. As we discussed in class today, Theron is too rash and impressionable at many points in the book, leading to his nearly immediate acceptance of everything he hears from other people or reads in books. It's as if he forgets that, while those people he talks to and the people who writes the books are likely more educated than he is, they are still humans, just like him. With so much doubt in himself and such intense hatred for his perceived ignorance, he suddenly puts himself on a level where he is not entitled to his own thoughts or his own opinions.

I would also like to think that education (or "illumination") can actually serve to strengthen faith. Blind faith essentially means nothing more than ignorance. An educated faith means that a person has come to understand many different perspectives and philosophies and then chooses to make an informed decision about what he or she believes to be true. Of course, doing so would require that a person could look at so many different perspectives and form their own opinion--a task that Theron's incredible naivete makes him rather incapable of accomplishing.

Little Women Word Cloud

Inspired by Evan's idea (and very stuck on my own paper) I decided to do a word cloud of Chapter 1 of Alcott's Little Women.

Here's the link! http://wordle.net/gallery/wrdl/240665/_Little_Women_Chapter_1

It's interesting to me that of all the girls, Jo's name is the biggest. Of course, it's obvious that Jo is the main focus (and the model of Louisa May Alcott) in the story. However, in light of some of the other large words, the focus on her is a bit more intriguing.

Some other prominent words were "little," "things," and "much," all pieces of what Marmee wants her daughters to be: selfless, proper, and lacking materialism. While they don't have "much," she expects them to care about the needs of others more than their own. However, it seems that Jo is always the one failing in these departments, causing her great distress and many foul consequences throughout the book.

Maybe this is Alcott's picture of the Civil War -- that materialism and selfishness are the enemies that women must fight on the homefront while the men in their lives are away at war. Focusing on Jo's character, we can see this raging battle take place in the book.

Oh Winterbourne...

In "Daisy Miller: A Study," Winterbourne always seems to miss Daisy's cues and flirtations. I just can't blame Daisy for pronouncing him to be so "rigid"...everything has to be so serious with him! This passage in particular drove me insane:

"Oh Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Winterbourne, are you jealous that I'm talking to another man?
"Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o' clock, mademoiselle?"
"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne. This very minute."
"Do tell her she can't," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. After all, I'm much too lame of a mother to ever tell my daughter "no"!!!
"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. I have no mind of my own! I tell other people what they're supposed to hear!
Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. Of course, I am much too rigid and literal to realize that Daisy is only talking to Eugenio to make me jealous.
"I suppose you don't think it's proper!" Daisy exclaimed, "Eugenio doesn't think anything's proper." See Winterbourne? I want to be improper with you.
"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. Please go on the boat with me!
"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.
"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy's mamma.
The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said.
"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don't care to go now." I wanted everyone to pay attention to me!
"I myself shall make a fuss if you don't go," said Winterbourne. Panicking...does she like me? I like her...just like me back...please? (desperation)
"That's all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. Yes, that's what I want, do pay attention to me.
"Mr Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced, frigidly.
"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Get me the heck out of this awkward conversation!!!
Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" See you later...I hope I could make some sort of impression on the most rigid man alive!
He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. Obviously, Winterbourne.
"Well; I hope it won't keep you awake!" she said, very smartly, and under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed towards the home. Idiot!


Will Winterbourne ever learn? Unfortunately, he doesn't ever seem to catch on to Daisy's ploys for his attention, and he is just much too uptight, literal, and perhaps socially awkward to join in on Daisy's exchanges in the same way that other characters do. Is he the primary reason that things don't work out for the two of them? When I read past his point of view, it certainly seems that way to me.

"Loss and Gain"

Dear Nora,

Upon reading your poem "Loss and Gain" in The Household Book of Poetry, I found I had some suggestions which you may find particularly useful in continuing to edit your poem.

To begin, I believe that your subject has special significance, especially when using the poetic form. It seems that such a sensitive, heart-wrenching topic would be rather difficult to deal with in the form of a short story or novel -- that poetry possesses the unique ability to capture emotions and thoughts with relatively little explanation. However, while your form in general may be correct for dealing with your subject matter, I feel that a different type of poetry may do a better job of communicating your feelings to the audience. The singsong nature of the aabb rhyme scheme and regular meter used throughout your poem truly detracts from its heavy subject matter. At times, I simply could not help but find myself caught up in the musical feel to the point where I nearly forgot that you were writing about the deaths of two small children. By adjusting your poem to free verse (or perhaps just a less rigid pattern) I think you will find that your words can have a greater impact on your reader.

For instance, let's play with the first stanza. Originally, it reads:

When the baby died, we said,
With a sudden, secret dread:
"Death, be merciful, and pass;--
Leave the other!"--but alas!

A possible (clearly imperfect!) adjustment to a more free verse:

After the baby's death, we wavered, pleading,
Secretly dreading,
"Death--
be merciful and pass; Leave
the other..."
However, alas!

Additionally, while I understand your desire to appeal to a mass audience, I find that your poem nonetheless does too much interpretation for your readers. Giving your audience a stand-alone image of an abandoned broken toy cluttered with small fingerprints without explaining the toy's significance for the parents could leave those readers with a greater sense of loss than when you fully explain your symbol (it "will remind them how the boy/And his sister charmed the days/With their pretty, winsome ways."). I would suggest going through your poem and reworking such symbols so that they leave an impression of emptiness and loss.

I have great expectations for your work!

Your editor,
Carolyn

Emily Dickinson

It seems that, when studying Emily Dickinson, many people get caught up on the fact that she was such a recluse. Of course, it's true that Dickinson spent a great deal of her time closed up in her room, but her poetry and correspondence provide further dimension to Dickinson as a social being.

In 236, it seems as though Dickinson speaks directly to those who question her lonely lifestyle, wondering why she does not even venture out to attend church. She somewhat brazenly refutes the notion that one must go to church in order to achieve salvation in this poem, perhaps even suggesting that her Sabbath is superior when she asserts that "instead of getting to Heaven, at last/I'm going, all along" (11-12). Her sarcastic, almost mocking tone is apparent throughout, but especially when she tells us that, at home, "God preaches, a noted Clergyman," suggesting that the supposedly holy people who criticize her have completely lost sight of true faith. In fact, they are so submerged in society that they focus more on human clergy than on God himself.

In the context of 236, Dickinson is clearly aware that others label her as different, that they wonder why she chooses to sit alone, writing in her bedroom. Many of her other poems express a similar awareness of naysayers as she writes a "letter to the World," reads of her "countrymen- [who] judge tenderly - of [Her]," and assertively expresses her belief that "The Brain - is wider than the Sky" and "deeper than the sea." It seems like, in her mind, it is her own views versus the views of the world -- that the two positions are polar opposites.

After reading 225, I honestly can't blame Dickinson for wanting to be separate from the world. To only be a "Wife! Stop there!" would be quite the difficult existence for a woman as strong and talented as Dickinson...

Three Words on "The Brothers"

“Bat”

Though perhaps an odd selection at first glance, Alcott’s comparison of Robert and the bat in Aesop’s fable does an excellent job of capturing the tragedy of Robert’s mixed race, a very important theme throughout her story. In the beginning of “The Brothers,” Robert explains to Miss Dane that he would “rather be up here with the fever than down with those niggers; and there a’n’t no other place fer [him]” (2). At that moment, Alcott takes pity on him, realizing the isolation that Robert experiences every day simply because, “like the bat in Aesop’s fable, he belonged to neither race” (2). However, as the story develops, we begin to realize that, as the “bat,” Robert is not only misunderstood by others; he does not understand himself or his own place in the world either, forming the central conflict of the story and paving the path for Robert’s self-discovery.

“Gentleman”

At one point in the story, Miss Dane says that “the captain was a gentleman in the world’s eye, but the contraband was the gentleman in [hers]” (3). This realization truly serves as the basis for her mission to teach Robert to respect himself – to see himself as she sees him. In the end, when Robert chooses to be the bigger person and not kill his brother, he proves Miss Dane right, dispelling stereotypes and embodying the expectation anyone would have of a perfect gentleman.

“Poisonous”

While Alcott originally used this word to describe the captain’s breath, I think that the “poisonous” has racial and relational significance in the story as well. We see the poison of racism running rampant in the story, forming the way in which others, blacks and whites alike, view Robert. Racism truly poisons Robert’s sense of self, making it difficult for him to see himself as fully human and causing him to expect less of himself than what he is truly capable of. In terms of relationships, we cannot deny how racism poisons families; Robert’s mixed blood essentially excuses the captain’s rape of Lucy, nearly causing one brother to kill another.