Creeping: Tragedy in Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”

Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” is a story of tragedy: the tragedy of the narrator’s insanity, the tragedy of a husband’s failure to save his wife, and the tragedy of the social inequality that prevented a sick woman from receiving the care that she needed. Using a Gothic framework and chillingly authentic narration, Gilman explores not only the mind of the mentally ill, but also the role of the traditional subservient woman in relation to her male guardians.

From the very first paragraph, the reader is signaled that there is something strange and unnaturally eerie about the house in which the narrator and her husband, John, are staying. Gilman, through the narrator’s descriptions, uses customary Gothic elements to evoke a sinister and ominous mood. John and his wife are dwelling in an isolated mansion with a murky history of feuds that has been uninhabited for years. The greenhouses are all broken, (425) there are bars on the windows, (426) the floors are scratched and gouged, (427) the plaster has been scraped away from the wall, and of course, there is the wallpaper. The narrator immediately fixates on the wallpaper, noting its “smoldering unclean yellow” color, (426) and its sickly scent – a smell that “creeps” about the house, “hovers,” “skulks,” “hides,” “follows,” and “lies in wait” for the narrator (432). These repeated details convince the reader that there is something terrible yet to happen, even as they reflect the troubled state of the narrator’s mind.

Yet the power of the story lies not only in the narrator’s disturbing insanity, but in the obvious fact that her husband, and even brother, could have prevented it. It is the narrator who presents all of the disturbing details to the reader. She knows that something is wrong, but her husband, the “physician of high standing,” (425) will not admit that she is sick. He tells her to gets lots of bed-rest and to avoid stimulating activities, but he never actually attempts to treat her mental problems. John is a man of science who “has no patience with faith, [and] an intense horror of superstition,” (425) and he attempts to treat her “nervous depression” with only tonics and cod liver oil. She tells him repeatedly that something is wrong with her, but he only scolds her and warns her not to speak of her non-physical problems. In her desperation, she overcomes her desire not to contradict her husband’s rulings, and makes one final attempt to seek his help. At the first mention of a non-physical malady, John delivers such a glare that his wife is unable to finish her sentence. John’s incensed rebuff actually alienates his wife, adding to the destabilization of her mental state. Rather than acknowledge the mere possibility of an intangible disease, John continues to put his head under the sand, allowing his wife’s condition to deteriorate further. His ignorance, stubbornness, and blatant sexism leave his wife susceptible to insanity.

John fails in his duty to his wife, but the narrator also neglects to speak up for herself. She is trapped by her husband’s influence and is simply too timid to overcome it. As the standards of the time dictated, she subjects herself to the authority of her husband. As a doctor and the man of the house, John controls the life she lives. He speaks for her, tells her what she should and should not think, and warns her never to lose her self control. He chooses the bedroom they will stay in, refuses to change the wallpaper, and tells her not to give in to her “nervous weakness” of imagination (427). Despite the narrator’s mental instability, this “nervous weakness,” is clearly a reference to her gender. After all, John refuses to recognize her true disease. Yet, through all of this, the narrator meekly accepts his commands, asking only “What is one to do?” She even confesses to the reader that “he does not believe I am sick” and perhaps “that is one reason I do not get well faster” (424), but out of a desire to obey her husband, never gets the care she needs. Of course, Gilman intentionally contrived this situation to support her politics, but the narrator’s situation is a compelling one, and the reader is left wondering “what if” she had gotten the care she so urgently needed.
(731).





Questions:
1)At what specific point in the story does it become apparent that the narrator is delusional?

2)Is John to blame for his wife’s deterioration, or is he just a well-meaning husband?

3)How do the descriptions of the wallpaper reflect the narrator’s own thoughts?

4)What is the effect of the last six lines? How did you react to the revelation that the narrator created the smooch in the wall?

Updike’s Authentic “A & P”

Mark Eisenberg

Mr. Coon

AP English IV

September 21, 2008

In his “A & P,” John Updike paints an accurate portrait of a young man caught between youth and adulthood. The narrator, Sammy, still has the sarcastic irreverent attitude that is the hallmark of teens the world over. He very clearly does not think his actions through. However, he is taking on the task of working at the local A & P and is moving into the world of adult responsibility.

Perhaps the most compelling aspect of Updike’s story is the authentic tone of Sammy’s inner thoughts. Bored with his job as a cashier, Sammy makes up labels for each of the people in the store. He explains that “in walks three girls,” (15) walks, not walk. To Sammy, they are an indivisible unit. His pithy descriptions convey a great deal of information about each person in the A & P and the reader feels that he or she truly knows even the most minor of characters.

First, there is Stokesie, the twenty-two year old married man at the next register, who still enjoys joking with Sammy about the allure of the girls, even with two children at home. Then there is the “witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows,” (15) who enjoys berating Sammy for his mistake, and who would have been burned at the stake if she’d been born at the right time. “Queenie,” (16) the pretty girl who exudes confident superiority and arrogant wealth, struts around the store barefoot with her straps down looking for expensive things to buy, while Sammy’s eyes are glued to her. Permanently attached to the queen are her two followers who lack the confidence of their leader, “peeking around and making their shoulders round” (15). McMahon wearily stands at the meat counter where Sammy imagines that he views the entire world through the lens of a butcher, even admiring the girls by “sizing up their joints” (16). Finally, there is Lenger, the religious store manager who haggles with the produce supplier and scuttles about the store righting moral wrongs. Through Sammy’s descriptions, the reader gains a sense of the dreary boredom that overcomes the store in the slow hours. It is these simple, yet revealing descriptions by Updike that make “A & P” so memorable. The issues of consumerism, socio-economic background, religion, and modernity are of secondary importance. The relationships between the characters are what drive this story.

Sammy’s realization that he wants to quit, and his impulsive decision to do so based in part on a desire to impress the girls show his immaturity. He feels that he cannot take back what he has said because “once you begin a gesture, it’s fatal not to go through with it” (19). However, Sammy is clearly bored and unhappy with his job. He wants a change in his life; and the girls give him an excuse to make one. He knows that this is an important decision that he will feel for the rest of his life, and just how “hard the world was going to be” (19) from then on, but the certainty of his earlier words and the fact that he has been working for a close family friend demonstrate that Sammy may, in fact, need a chance to assert his independence. When Lengel asserts that he thinks Sammy doesn’t know what he’s doing, he replies that “I know you don’t. But I do” (19). Sammy may have made a rash decision, but he has finally taken an active role in deciding the course of his life.

(607).

A Reaction to Tyler’s “Teenage Wasteland”

I really don’t like Cal. I mean I really don’t like him. In fact, I might just deign to use the word despise. Cal’s subversive, calculated plot to lure in troubled teens is absolutely contemptible. Granted, the blame for Donny’s eventual disappearance does not lie entirely at his feet – his parents are certainly not models of discipline – but Cal’s abuse of his power as Donny’s counselor as well as his exploitation of the trust Donny’s parents put in him, leave me with absolutely no compassion for him as a character.

Some other characters at least have semblances of excuses. Daisy is an extremely flawed character, worrying too much about appearances, not giving her daughter enough attention, and putting too much stock in Cal’s soothing words. However, she truly cares for her son and tries to help him with his homework. She sacrifices her time and money to give Donny the support he needs. As a reader, I may dislike her, but I feel sympathy for her. Even Donny can claim the excuse of poor parenting and a dysfunctional family. Yet Cal’s only justification for his actions is that he was once married to a woman who was “too controlling.” After he has further destroyed Donny’s life, he blames it all on Donny and does not accept any responsibility. No, Cal is not deserving of our sympathy. He is a worthless leach who preys on the most vulnerable group in society, its youth. (248)