Category: Feminism and the Gothic

Revisiting Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” After Childbirth

A Summary of “The Yellow Wallpaper”

Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s short story “The Yellow Wallpaper” (1892) is considered a classic within the Gothic genre and it’s likely that you’ve encountered it at some point or another in your life. I know I’ve encountered it a few times: the first time was in high school when we read and analyzed it; the second time was in graduate school when I was a teaching assistant and taught it for first-year English; and the third time was just recently after giving birth to my daughter. Overall—because I taught it and was expected to familiarize myself with the details of it—I’ve probably read the story at least ten times.

But if you’re not familiar with “The Yellow Wallpaper,” let me give you a synopsis.

The story is narrated by an unnamed woman who is staying in a vacation home with her newborn baby and doctor husband, John. The narrator reveals that she has nervous and anxious tendencies—though John does not believe the narrator is sick at all—and has therefore been prescribed a “rest cure” that consists of rest (of course), light exercise, fresh air, and absolutely no overly stimulating activities such as writing. She disregards the last part of her prescription and continues to write, anyway. 

During their stay at the vacation home, John insists that he and his wife reside in one particular room which—according to the narrator—has a few peculiarities: a heavy bed that appears to be bolted to the floor, barred windows, and hideous yellow wallpaper with a strange pattern (or, rather, strange lack of pattern). Although it’s clear that the room may very well have been used as a holding cell for mentally unstable individuals in the past, the narrator insists that it was likely used as a nursery. 

The story revolves around the narrator’s increasingly unhealthy obsession with the disturbing yellow wallpaper—as well as the woman or women she claims to see lurking behind it—and ends with her ripping it down while John is away. When John returns, he faints at the sight of his wife creeping on the floor around the outskirts of the “nursery.”

A seemingly simple yet eerie tale.

Some Common Interpretations of “The Yellow Wallpaper”

As with all literature, “The Yellow Wallpaper” could have any number of interpretations depending upon the reader. 

One of the most common interpretations, however, is that the yellow wallpaper—with its horrid colour, odour, and lack of followable pattern—represents the patriarchal shackles that women are often forced to wear simply because they are women. In this interpretation read through a feminist lens, it is not only the narrator who is affected by the yellow wallpaper but women in a more general sense. This explains why the narrator sometimes sees other women lurking behind the wallpaper. The ending of the story—the narrator ripping down the yellow wallpaper—could then signify her rejection of, and freedom from, the patriarchal norms used to oppress her and the other women trapped behind the paper. Alternatively, one might read the ending as the narrator ultimately and unfortunately accepting the domestic role that she and other women are expected to occupy by literally becoming a part of the house as she slithers around the outskirts of the room with the yellow wallpaper.

Another common interpretation of the story—and one that could very much be connected to the above interpretation—is that the yellow wallpaper represents the narrator’s mental state. This interpretation might be bolstered by the fact that the room in which she is staying is suitable for a mentally unstable patient. Throughout the story, she becomes more and more obsessed with the yellow wallpaper—she is constantly looking at it, analyzing it, day and night—until she tears it down indicating her final descent into insanity or psychosis. It’s quite obvious that the narrator’s psychosis is worsened by her doctor husband since he constantly invalidates her feelings and treats her like a child. If you’re a fan of blood and gore—like myself—the more gruesome version of this interpretation is that the yellow wallpaper is not wallpaper at all: it is the narrator’s skin. This means that, by the end of the story, the narrator reaches a point of mental instability where she actually tears off her own skin, and perhaps this is the real reason why John faints at the sight of her.

Regardless of the way that you choose to read “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the feminist underpinnings are undeniable.

Postpartum Depression in “The Yellow Wallpaper”

After experiencing Postpartum Depression (PPD) for myself for the first month after giving birth to my daughter, the part of “The Yellow Wallpaper” that interests me most is the narrator’s illness and her mistreatment by her doctor husband. It could easily be argued that the narrator is suffering from PPD. In addition to the fact that the narrator has recently given birth, she also experiences many symptoms associated with PPD: anxiety, depression, and irritability; not being able to bond with the baby or take care of the baby’s basic needs (another woman takes care of the baby rather than the narrator); restlessness and insomnia; difficulty concentrating or focusing; crying episodes; and—if one chooses to interpret the yellow wallpaper as the narrator’s skin rather than wallpaper—self-harm.

In this day and age, the narrator’s illness would be recognized as PPD and treated as such. However, during the time that the story was written, PPD wasn’t necessarily a recognizable illness. This is confirmed in “The Yellow Wallpaper” by the fact that the narrator’s doctor husband doesn’t believe that she is suffering from any kind of illness. At times, it seems as though he acknowledges the narrator’s illness and goes along with the “rest cure” simply to appease her.

And the negligent doctor husband isn’t even the worst part about the narrator’s medical misdiagnosis and mistreatment in the story. The worst part is that “The Yellow Wallpaper” is often thought to be a semi-autobiographical piece of literature based upon Perkins Gilman’s personal experience of misdiagnosis and mistreatment after the birth of her own daughter. So, the medical negligence we see throughout the story is not fiction. It was something that was indeed a regular occurrence for women during the nineteenth century. 

After my experience with PPD, I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have those symptoms minimized and rejected by a medical professional like they were in Perkins Gilman’s case. In fact, it’s dangerous and can lead to further illness, which is exactly what she shows us in the story. Now, I’m not saying the medical industry is perfect at this point in time: far from it. They could definitely still do more to help individuals combat and cope with PPD in contemporary times—I was lucky that my midwife was so supportive when I was going through my bout with PPD and she provided me with resources to aid with that difficult time—but at least it’s recognized as a serious illness nowadays and there are treatments that can be offered.

I hope that there are no longer women suffering in silence alone during postpartum and being tortured by the menacing yellow wallpaper staring back at them from across the room. And if there are, myself and countless other women are always around to provide support.

Book Review: Stephen King’s Finders Keepers

*BE WARNED: SPOILERS AHEAD*

A Little Summary

For all of you Stephen King fans out there, you probably already know that Finders Keepers (2015) is the second part of the Bill Hodges Trilogy: a series of novels that follows the adventures of retired detective, Bill Hodges. For all the rest of you, well, now you know.

The first part of the Bill Hodges Trilogy, Mr. Mercedes (2014), tells the tragic and twisted tale of how a disturbed young man, Brady Hartsfield, commits a mass murder by driving a stolen Mercedes into a crowd of unsuspecting victims. We then see Bill hunting down Brady with the help of a couple unlikely friends: a young high schooler named Jerome Robinson and a socially awkward middle-aged woman named Holly Gibney. Brady is still alive at the end of the novel but living in a care home or hospital after Holly smashes his head in with a sock full of ball-bearings known as the “happy slapper.”

Fittingly, Finders Keepers is centered upon one of the families affected by Brady’s mass murder: the Saubers’. The father, Tom Saubers, is injured during the incident, which directly leads to him not being able to work or contribute income to their household. After resorting to moving to a less expensive area of the city, Tom’s son Pete stumbles upon a buried treasure chest—quite literally, a chest—in the undeveloped land behind their new home. The chest is filled with cash and dozens of unpublished novels written by an author who was murdered decades prior to Pete finding the treasure chest. Pete anonymously sends the cash to his parents at regular intervals over an extended period of time to help get them back on their feet financially while hoarding the novels for himself. What Pete doesn’t know is that the man—the murderer—who buried the cash and novels in the first place is not only still alive but has recently been set free from prison.

The rest of the narrative follows Pete in his struggle to keep secretly providing for his family financially, which subsequently leads to his violent encounter with the murderer, Morris Bellamy. Of course, Bill, Holly, and Jerome reenter this narrative early on and eventually come to Pete’s rescue. It wouldn’t be the Bill Hodges Trilogy without Bill, right?  

All the Good Stuff

So, it’s no surprise that I love a good Stephen King novel. I mean, I spent two years in graduate school writing a thesis that praises his works. The Bill Hodges Trilogy—or at least the first two parts of the trilogy—is very different than anything I’ve read from King, though. It’s a straight up detective story: retired detective who just can’t quit; mysterious and violent crimes; unlikely friends working together to piece together said crimes. Additionally—unlike many of King’s older works which depend upon a supernatural framework—the first two parts in the Bill Hodges Trilogy are supernatural-free. Well, there’s the tiniest glimpse of the potential to connect to the supernatural in some way at the end of Finders Keepers, but I’ll have to wait and see where that goes in the last part of the trilogy, End of Watch (2016).  

Even though King steps away from the horror genre in Finders Keepers, there are still many things to love about the novel; the first being the fast-paced nature of the novel. Now, I haven’t read many detective novels, but Finders Keepers—as well as Mr. Mercedes, for that matter—are both fairly fast-paced (in my opinion, anyway). There are no lulls in the plotline and King always finds a way to end each chapter with a bang. So, it’s quite enjoyable to read in that sense.

The second aspect of the novel that I deeply enjoy is how King switches character perspective from chapter to chapter. For instance, the novel starts with Morris and the murder of renowned author, John Rothstein, followed by a chapter that takes place decades later from the perspective of the Saubers family. And we get this back and forth of character perspective throughout the novel. I think this contributes even more to the fast-paced nature of the novel.

The last aspect of the novel that I would like to mention—though I could definitely add a few more to this list—is Holly Gibney. As far as relatable characters go, Holly is it for me. She’s quiet, reserved, a touch socially awkward, a logical and critical thinker, and describes a couple situations as poopy throughout the novel. I don’t think I’ve related to a character more in my life. In fact, one of the first things my dad mentioned to me when he recommended the Bill Hodges Trilogy is how the main female character uses the word poopy just like I do. I know it’s strange to fixate on this one characteristic, but I’ve never read a character written this way in a book up until the Bill Hodges Trilogy and it makes me feel weirdly connected to Holly. 

Aside from the language, I also appreciate the way that Holly grows as a character throughout Mr. Mercedes and Finders Keepers: she goes from being an almost-mute stranger in Bill’s eyes to his best friend and basically detective partner. I love the friendship King builds between Bill and Holly. It’s refreshing to see a male-female relationship in a novel that does not turn into a romantic entanglement. I can’t wait to see how Holly develops further in End of Watch.

If she dies, I will start an uprising. Only kidding. But I will be extremely disappointed. 

Some Critique

On the subject of Holly, my main critique of the novel is that I wanted to see more of her. I understand that, being a naturally quiet and reserved character, it would be uncharacteristic to have her in the spotlight too much, but I would have liked to see her just a little bit more. Don’t get me wrong, she is very involved in saving Pete at the end of the novel and plays a major role in piecing together the story of Morris’ connection to the chest Pete finds buried behind his home, but I just wanted to hear and see her more. Do you know what I mean? I think she’s a more well drawn character than Bill, actually, so maybe that’s why I wanted to see her more. Bill can come off as flat and one-dimensional at times while Holly is a fully rounded-out character, and that’s impressive since she doesn’t seem to have as much page-time in the novel as Bill.

My other critique of Finders Keepers is that the plotline is oftentimes predictable. There are no real twists or turns in the narrative and the plot plays out exactly as the reader would expect. The only real mystery in this novel is Brady: Bill visits Brady in his care home or hospital several times throughout the course of the novel because he suspects that Brady is not quite as debilitated as he appears to be. And at the end of the novel, it appears that Bill was right all along. After Bill leaves the care home or hospital room, we see Brady turning on an electronic device beside him, turning on the faucets in his bathroom, and knocking over a framed picture of him and his mother without even touching anything. This is the hint of supernatural I referred to earlier on in this review.

Is it possible Brady gained psychic abilities after Holly slapped him upside the head with the “happy slapper”? It appears so. 

Should You Read Finders Keepers?

Overall, it is my opinion so far that Mr. Mercedes and Finders Keepers are both worth reading. I think the fact that King steps away from the horror genre in these two novels makes them more appealing to a wider audience than his older works. However, if you prefer the old-school King novels, you might not like these two novels as much and find them a bit disappointing in the sense that they’re not necessarily bone-chilling or spooky in any way, shape, or form. 

If End of Watch is awful—which I’m not expecting it to be—then I might change my mind.

But so far, so good.

Stay tuned.    

Feminism and the Gothic: Walpole’s Castle

My Little Feminist (and Gothic) Heart

I realize I’ve used this phrase a couple times on this blog already regarding activist Tarana Burke and some of Stephen King’s works but—what the hell—I’m going to use it again: the Gothic holds a very special place in my little feminist heart.

The Gothic is where I planted my feminist roots and the place from which I continue to grow as a feminist. I even wrote my graduate thesis from both feminist and Gothic perspectives, and I’m still heavily invested in Gothic literature today (currently reading Peter Straub’s Ghost Story, in case you’re looking for a spooky read).

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on feminism and the Gothic. I mean, my thesis is about sixty pages long and I could still blather on and on about it.

And I will. Right now.

What is “the Gothic”?

My apologies, I probably should have started with this (the Gothic just gets me excited, okay?): what even is “the Gothic”?

It may come as a disappointment to some of you, but—unfortunately—when I refer to the Gothic, I am not referring to those individuals who wear all black everything, try to avoid the sun (and suntans) at all costs, listen to death metal, and refer to themselves as “goths.” Though if you could tell me a bit about them, I’d be happy to listen. I kind of always wanted to be one but I have a year-round tan (blasted genetics!) and can’t stand death metal.

No, the Gothic—for me, anyway—will always refer to that period of time characterized by grandiose architecture, a general sense of melancholy in the air, and novels placed in spooky settings. These spooky settings usually—but not always—consist of some sort of abandoned or haunted house and a set of characters being haunted by whatever is in that abandoned or haunted house. 

You can also throw in a thunderstorm and a black cat on an iron gate, why not?

It was Horace Walpole who basically created the framework for the entire Gothic genre with his groundbreaking novel, The Castle of Otranto (1764).

Indeed, Walpole’s castle now represents the stereotypical Gothic setting with its winding staircases, hidden underground tunnels, huge spires, and the apparitions and other supernatural beings that haunt the place and its tenants. 

The Connection Between Feminism and the Gothic

You might now be wondering: how does a spooky old castle tie into feminism?

Although setting obviously plays a large part in a novel being classified as “Gothic”—the stereotypical haunted castle with the hidden passages—so, too, do the themes and plotlines of the narrative. 

The Gothic tends to focus quite heavily on family relations (incest is weirdly common in the Gothic genre), fighting over some kind of estate or power (the domestic, or the home, is very big in the Gothic), and the breaking down and critiquing of stereotypical gender roles. 

Walpole checks off all these boxes with The Castle of Otranto, which is to be expected since Walpole created the damn checklist.

The Castle of Otranto starts with an overtly patriarchal character, Manfred, attempting to marry his dead son’s fiancé, Isabella—there’s that incestual undertone already—so he can maintain ownership over the family estate, Otranto, and carry on the family line. Isabella ultimately refuses Manfred and there are suggestions laced throughout the novel that Manfred intends to become violent with Isabella if she does not comply with his desires.

This sounds incredibly problematic, doesn’t it? Manfred only wants to marry Isabella—and basically believes he has a right to marry her—so he can maintain power over both her and Otranto. To Manfred, Isabella is simply a damsel in distress who needs saving.

And the novel only becomes more problematic when you continue reading: Manfred finally ends up killing his own daughter, Matilda, because he mistakes her for Isabella. You can’t get much more patriarchal than killing your own daughter in the pursuit of property and power, can you?

Walpole’s novel sounds kind of awful at this point and you’re probably wondering how The Castle of Otranto—and the Gothic in general—could possibly fit into the feminist tradition.

And this is where the supernatural comes into play.  

The Significance of the Supernatural in the Gothic

If The Castle of Otranto was just run-of-the-mill Realism—a literary genre that is typically classified as representing the everyday, somewhat mundane lives of individuals with no inclusion of the supernatural—then, yes, Walpole’s representations of gender could very well be seen as problematic and reinforcing stereotypical gender roles. 

However, it is critical to note that Walpole cushions his novel with images of the supernatural. For instance, Manfred’s son, Conrad, is crushed and killed by a massive piece of armor right before he is supposed to marry Isabella. This is not natural, right? We would never experience this in our everyday lives. There are also apparitions consistently wandering and haunting the halls of Otranto. Again, not natural.

What these images of the unnatural—or the supernatural—do is get us thinking about what else might be considered unnatural and natural within the novel. Is it natural that Manfred wants to divorce his wife and marry a young woman just so he can carry on his family lineage and maintain power over his estate? Is it natural that Manfred resorts to murder at the end of the novel? Is it natural for women to be viewed only as damsels in distress who require saving?

No, none of these things are necessarily natural. We just live in a society that has already chosen what is natural and unnatural for us; a society that has chosen what is normal and abnormal. 

And this is why the Gothic holds such a special place in my little feminist heart: it gets us thinking about what needs to change, especially when it comes to the outdated and problematic gender roles that continue to regulate how we all function in society.

The Gothic allows us to see how unnatural gender roles are in the first place.