. Spinning .

Finished this novel last night, being a bit surprised by the ending but wondering as I came close how Chopin would wrap things up in a few pages.  Unfortunately, I felt that it was done with the same lack of depth with which the main character made most of the decisions in her bid for self-freedom.

The character of Edna may be typical of her time, a 29 year-old woman in a marriage of propriety.  Her husband adores her and yet it is obvious that his means of keeping her happy are very much by way of material things, a large house, elaborate furnishings, servants, the proper friends, and two nice little boys.  I don’t fault Edna for her rebellion; if this isn’t what you want, or worse, not what you’re given any expression in wanting, then all the trinkets and seaside resorts just won’t make you happy.  But Edna did choose this marriage partner, even though she knew she didn’t love him.  In fact, the "loves" of her life prior were not real relationships but merely fantasies and girlhood crushes.

So she wakes up one day and wants to feel those passions again.  Gives up all she has to find the freedom of expression that society withholds because of its emphasis on male supremacy and the happy, doting wife and mother image–which Edna just doesn’t want to keep up anymore.

Chopin’s writing is fine, not particularly beautiful or exploratory, but nicely paced producing a strong story arc and a sense of conflict within the character herself–which I feel to be more the theme rather than a woman against society.  She has quite a bit of freedom, more so than many other women of her time, and a caring husband who would likely take the time away from his business matters to discuss her unhappiness–though just as likely he wouldn’t understand or do more than make allowances to compromise.

As mentioned in a prior post, I find Edna to be not so put upon to take such drastic measures, nor so sensitive to anyone other than herself to comprehend what she is doing.  In fact, I think that Edna’s friend, Mademoiselle Reisz hints at the weakness she sees in her friend:

"I do not know you well enough to say.  I do not know your talent or yuour temperament.  To be an artist includes much; one must possess many gifts–absolute gifts–which have not been acquired by one’s own effort.  And, moreover, to succeed, the artist must possess the courageous soul."  (p. 106)

Chopin’s Edna does not. Her freedom is based upon one man, Robert, than another, Arobin, rather than her own self-esteem.  When they fail her, she falls. 

Chopin had the opportunity for–and in fact has been credited with–raising the consciousness of her readers of the time regarding the subservient position women held in their own households.  Perhaps it is my own mistaken notion that her protagonist is not quite representative of the ladies of that particular position of status, but I feel that Chopin has let us down with Edna. Perhaps in retrospect with the evolution of women’s liberation eventually forming a different brand of wife, our understanding of Edna is limited to her desire rather than inclusive of her behavior.

In other words, this doesn’t do it for me:

Before dinner in the evening Edna wrote a charming letter to her husband, telling him of her intention to move for a while into the little house around the block, and to give a farewell dinner before leaving, regretting that he was not there to share it, to help her out with the menu and assist her in entertaining the guests.  Her letter was brilliant and brimming with cheerfulness. (p. 136)

I well understand Edna’s happiness at the prospect of freedom from the burden of house, husband and kids–no, I really, really do–but to expect her husband to receive this letter with dismay because he couldn’t select the beef or the chicken for a party she’s giving to celebrate her leaving him, well come on!

Something that Chopin could have done to make this more realistic (that is, I hope it would be more realistic to think that Edna would have some thought of those around her) would be to show her notice of this little house she intends to move into, to show it drawing her into it and away from her family, and to have at least a twinge of remorse at hurting her husband and two little boys.

There needs to be a more gradual change to this character who indeed is making a major move not just as an individual, but as a woman of the times.  Flaky and pompous she can be, but it does not elicit the necessary empathy from the reader.  There is the additional confirmation of this character’s lack of same in that she is not truly in love with either man, Robert or Arobin who have paid her so much attention, and doesn’t grasp somehow that the men, regardless of their avowals of love, offer not freedom but yet another constraint similar to what she’s desperate to escape.

It is easy to see why this novel, written by Chopin in 1899 might have caused such an uproar.  In such times, the life the protagonist, Edna, leads is very much in keeping with the norms of society, that is, of course in particular the American and European wealthier classes.  The idea of a woman putting her own desires and wants above that of her husband’s and children’s, and in fact, the idea of her family not being of the utmost importance to her (referentially, to fit in with society and decorum), would be tantamount to rebellion.  And Edna’s behavior is indeed of a rebellious nature in her sudden insistence about spending her time in her own interests and pursuits.

There are some dissimilarities however in Chopin’s Edna and the women of her time that indeed did begin to recognize their second-class status.

First of all, Edna is not a warm, loving individual:

Even as a child she had lived her own small life within herself. (p. 26)

She was fond of her children in an uneven, impulsive way.  She would sometimes gather them passionately to her heart; she would sometimes forget them. (p. 33)

She grew fond of her husband, realizing with some unaccountable satisfaction that no trace of passion or excessive and fictitious warmth colored her affection, thereby threatening its dissolution. (p. 33)

Edna’s father was in the city, and had been with them several days.  She was not very warmly or deeply attached to him, but they had certain tastes and common, and when together, they were companionable.  His coming was in the nature of a welcome disturbance; it seemed to furnish a new direction for her emotions. (p. 113)

As a young girl, Edna had passionate crushes on men who were out of her reach.  The attentions of Robert over the summer vacation had offered an opportunity for the flirtations and self-confidence that were just again coming to the surface.  The music played on the piano by Madamoiselle Reisz hit her heart at a time of vulnerability; the same with the sea and her mastering the ability to swim that gave her a sense of freedom in the new wide expanse of her world.

These are all indications of a self-centered individual, seeing people not as they are, but as they relate to her.  Her willingness to serve her father during his visit is balanced by his personage welcomed by her friends.  Her unwillingness to go to her sister’s wedding is both a strike at her husband ("She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth.") and a rather selfish notion not to make an effort for her own sister’s celebration of happiness–illusionary or not in Edna’s opinion. While her life is easy with a doting husband and the help of servants, I could easily see the price she and her peers had to pay in the loss of self.  But what Edna’s bid for self expression comes down to is just an extension of her own ego rather than being symbolic of all women of her time.  The gesture is there, but for not quite the right reasons, so my sympathy is not totally with her.

Perhaps if it were the content and proper Madame Ratignolle that had been struck by the lightning of revelation and rebellion, I might take this as a more social question of its time.

Well I’ve gotten halfway through this novel of Kate Chopin’s without posting so far but felt I should keep to my tradition of commenting as I read.

While there’s no special moments that struck me particularly on the writing, I would say that it’s clear and concise and easily read for its flow of plot and structure. Unhampered by fancy language or heavy description, Chopin lays the story out by the interaction of the protagonist with her husband and acquaintances to reveal a growing restlessness and dissatisfaction with her circumstance in life.

Set in the late 19th century, it is the story of Edna Pontellier, spending the summer at a resort near New Orleans with her husband and two little boys, enjoying the life of the well-to-do with little responsibility over that of overseeing the servants and presenting the image of the perfect wife.  Her relationship with her husband has reached a point of realization of her subordination to her husband and this is where Chopin shines. In this scene, Mr. Pontellier returns late from work, his wife is asleep, and he tries to tell her of his day, gives up and goes in to check on their sleeping sons:

He thought it very discouraging that his wife who was the sole object of his existence, evinced so little interest in things which concerned him, and valued so little his conversation.

(…) He turned and shifted the youngsters about in bed.  One of them began to kick and talk about a basket full of crabs.

Mr. Pontellier returned to his wife with the information that Raoul had a high fever and needed looking after.  Then he lit a cigar and went and sat near the open door to smoke it.

Mrs. Pontellier was quite sure Raoul had no fever.  He had gone to bed perfectly well, she said, and nothing had ailed him all day.  Mr. Pontellier was too well acquainted with fever symptoms to be mistaken.  He assured her the child was consuming at that moment in the next room.  (p. 12)

And here is where it starts.  The child is perfectly fine, but it was her husband’s way of showing Edna his dissatisfaction with her behavior as a wife and mother.  Edna finds herself crying as she gives in to this first acceptance of the fact that she has lost her own sense of self.  A bit later in the story, she insists on staying out in a hammock in the night air rather than coming in to her bed, despite her husband’s near orders.  He stays up, smoking cigars, until she after a brief dozing, makes her own decision to come inside.

"Are you coming in, Leonce?" she asked, turning her face toward her husband.

"Yes, dear," he answered, with a glance following a misty puff of smoke.  "Just as soon as I have finished my cigar."  (p. 54)

With the first stirrings of rebellion come the first minor battles of powerplay.  She refusing to do as expected and bid, he pushing to reestablish his dominance.

Chopin has drawn a picture of a woman who has fantasized over small crushes while a girl and who has given up these dreams as a wife.  She is prime then, to return to this tendency as a first harmless yet tenacious handhold on her privacy, her emotions, her self.  She flirts with Robert, a young man at the resort and is devastated when he leaves.  Back home after the summer vacation is ended, she cannot go back to the way things were.  We can see that she is seeking something that she’s just barely tasted, and we are getting prepared for the reaching out and the probable consequences.

The Awakening should be very different from what I’ve been reading lately, and quite a contrast to my ongoing foray into the mind of Borges.  This novel should also call for additional reading powers: noting historical and social significance beyond its story and writing style.