North and South, chapters XVII-XIX

Dear Amber,

It’s funny you should mention Margaret’s differing treatment of the Thorntons and the Higginses, because it’s something I was thinking about too. I think you’ve hit on it—she does see her visits to the Higginses as charity, doing her “Christian duty” by spending time with poor, sick Bessy and her family. At least, that’s how it starts, but Margaret actually grows to care about Bessy and Nicholas and seems  to develop a real friendship with them.

I find it interesting that Gaskell has really made Margaret what I’ve been thinking of as a “transitional character.” Margaret is in a position to visit people in all walks of life without damage to her reputation. Mrs. Thornton likely would not be making calls on the Higgins family — it’s not her place. And Margaret’s cousin Edith would have been horrified at the prospect of visiting a poor factory worker’s home. But Margaret can take tea at the Thorntons’, read the Bible with Bessy Higgins, and attend fine society dinners as she did in London before Edith’s marriage, and as she does later on in the novel. Margaret is truly the “middle class” here.

By the way, I believe you’re right about the constant cycle of calls. With little else for refined and moderately wealthy women to do, visiting and being visited would give the women something to do and prepare for and talk about. Once again, I’m glad I’m a woman of the 21^st century. I’m basically a homebody and would hate having to go out visiting all the time!

You mentioned the fickle nature of the Milton factory workers, which makes for a good transition into these next few chapters which deal with the strike. I reread the passage you talked about, with the workers wanting more wages to work in a factory with a fan—but I don’t think the workers are fickle. The reason they oppose the fans is because they’re used to inhaling fluff all day and it fills their stomachs so they’re not as hungry. Those who worked in factories with fans were going home hungry and wanted higher wages as compensation.

As we move into chapter 17, Margaret notices that there are a lot more people out and about and there’s a nervous energy in the air. When she reaches the Higginses, she is told that there is a strike in the works. Margaret, innocent of such things, asks what a strike is, and notes, in her prejudicial way, that such a thing was unlikely to happen in her idealized South (“I think they have too much sense.”). Nicholas is contemptuous of this and says that in the North, when the workers aren’t being treated fairly, they stand up for themselves. He explains that the masters seem to be getting quite prosperous, while the workers are still making the same wage they’d been earning for the past two years. And so the Milton workers are planning to strike to get the masters to share the wealth a bit more.

It seems fair enough, but ironically, ignorant Margaret hits the nail on the head as she suggests that maybe the masters have a good reason for not giving out higher wages and that maybe “the state of trade may be such as not to enable them” to give the workers higher wages.

In fact, in the very next chapter, as Mr. Thornton is discussing the state of affairs with his family, he notes that because of the abundance of American yarn in the market, the British mill owners have to sell at a lower rate — things aren’t as prosperous as the Milton workers seem to think. Mr. Thornton also announces his intention to hire cheap, Irish labor should his workers go through with the strike.

Now, this is why I often find myself feeling out of place in the highly pro-union Mahoning Valley. I tend to see both sides of the issue, much like Margaret in this instance. And it seems to me that when it comes to union contract negotiation, there’s a tendency to ignore the valid points the other side might be making—yes, it would be a hardship to have to start paying more for health insurance when you haven’t paid for it before, but at the same time, if the company doesn’t have the money to continue to pay for it, what are you going to do? You see the same back and forth in politics these days as well—the recent struggle over the budget—and it seems that both sides are too willing to cut off their noses to spite their face rather than give an inch to the person on the other side of the table.

But I’ll get off my soapbox now, and get back to our story. In the midst of the strike preparations, we’re also given accounts of several different sickbeds—Mrs. Hale, who’s much more tolerable in her dying state, I have to say, is far sicker than anyone had realized, and her end is approaching quickly. And I’m somewhat smugly satisfied that the true nature of Mrs. Hale’s condition is kept secret from her husband. Though Margaret says it’s for his own health and peace of mind, it brings to mind his own instance of keeping important information from his spouse.

Meanwhile, Bessy Higgins’ condition is worsening, and when Margaret spends another afternoon with her, she meets the Higginses’ neighbor, John Boucher, who is in a state of panic and despair regarding the upcoming strike — if he is without work due to the strike, his young children will starve to death. However, if he does not go along with the union, he will be shunned and his children will likely starve to death anyway. This is what’s really at stake here, and Nicholas acknowledges Boucher’s difficult position, but he says he’s thought about it from every angle, and the only thing he can do is trust in the union, have faith in the union and hope that Boucher will do the same.

As the visit ends, Margaret is very moved by the scene she has witnessed, and leaves money with Bessy for Boucher and his children, though Bessy assures her that they would not have let the Bouchers starve in any case. “If neighbours doesn’t see after neighbours, I dunno who will,” she tells Margaret.

And now, I’ve gotten long-winded again, so I’ll leave off here. As we’ve seen, both sides have a lot to lose should it come to a strike. I’ll let you take us through the drama that follows!

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth

The Ending of "Shirley"

Dear Mary Beth,

I'll give my reflections on the ending of Shirley by discussing the fates of its two main characters, Shirley and Caroline.

You mentioned that part of Shirley's disappointment in Robert's proposal was because she was probably aware of Caroline's feelings for Robert. I agree with you. Shirley and Caroline know each other quite well by the end of the novel. And Caroline seems to be the only person (other than Shirley) who sees Shirley's feelings for Louis. Caroline tells Robert, in Chapter 35 when he's confessing to his proposal to Shirley, that she thinks Shirley is in love with someone who has not yet made Shirley an offer. Clearly Caroline is referring to Louis. If Caroline can pick up on Shirley's feelings for Louis after such a short time, then surely Shirley is aware of Caroline's feelings for Robert, which have been obvious for the entire novel.

As for Shirley and Louis's relationship, I suppose I see things a bit differently than you do. I don't think Louis sees himself as unworthy of Shirley (at least, no moreso than any Victorian man sees himself as unworthy of the woman he loves); rather, I think Louis is painfully aware of the class/fortune differences between the two, and the likely objection of Shirley's uncle to such a match (and geez, is he right, yikes). Louis always seemed to me to be very self-confident, self-aware, and socially aware, not to mention very intelligent. As for Shirley, I don't see her as giving up her purpose to marry Louis. Sure, she backs off on the running of Fieldhead, as she confesses to Louis after they're married, but I think she did that to give Louis a chance to step up and be seen as her equal by the people at Fieldhead and in the community. I imagine the two of them running the show together before long.

As for Caroline's fate, it reminds me quite a bit of Jane Eyre's. Both women long for more than an ordinary life but end up in seemingly ordinary endings with their husbands. I find both endings a bit difficult to reconcile with the feminist messages that precede them. However, I tell myself that Charlotte Bronte felt the need to give the reader happy endings to sort of sugar-coat her message. At the same time, Robert indicates that he hopes to build up the community around his mill should he continue to be successful, and that Caroline will teach Sunday school, and Caroline and Shirley may someday run a day school for the children of Robert's workers. I think such an arrangement would suit both women particularly well, especially given some of the points you have made about their characters.

Feel free to have another go at the ending of Shirley. There's no such thing as being done discussing something when it comes to Charlotte Bronte! On the other hand, there's also the burning question, what do we read and discuss next? I'll leave the choice up to you!

Your Sincere Friend,
Amber

Shirley, Chapters XXV-XXXVII

Dear Amber,

I think that while we’re meant to think that Caroline’s illness is the result of pining over Robert Moore, it’s really a culmination of all the things we’ve been talking about with regard to Caroline – her lack of purpose and the benign neglect she’s subjected to growing up in her uncle’s care. She also seems to be a person who needs someone to love and care for – and I think this is why Robert’s apparent indifference wounds her so much. As we’ve read, she’s developed detailed fantasies of what it would be like to be Robert’s wife and to care for him. Shirley cannot fill this need for her because she is so supremely independent.

Caroline’s yearning for a mother, which she had also expressed prior to her illness, is not only a wish to be mothered, but a wish to do some mothering of her own. Indeed, she acts on this almost immediately upon learning that Mrs. Pryor is her mother – “lecturing” Mrs. Pryor on fashion and declaring that she should have a new dress.

This is a side of Caroline we have not seen prior to this – Caroline in charge, Caroline being “bossy.” This interlude with Mrs. Pryor and Caroline sets up the interaction between Robert Moore and Caroline later.

After Robert is shot and is convalescing in the Yorke home, Caroline conspires with young Martin Yorke to sneak into the home to visit Robert. We could not imagine the Caroline of the first part of the book, timid and shy, defying the inexorable triumvirate of the Mrs. Yorke, Hortense Moore and the brutish, drunken nurse, Miss Horsfall.

But what a reward Caroline receives for her daring! Robert Moore confesses that he has wished for her, and Caroline tells him that had she even dreamed that he would want to see her, she would have found a way to see him sooner. Again, could we imagine Caroline, prior to her illness, making such a bold declaration?

But let’s talk about Robert Moore for a while. As we have seen throughout the novel, Robert is a man of great ambition combined with a cool head and a willingness to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. Indeed, his actions can be considered cold at times – his actions seem heartless to the workers who lost their jobs when Robert decided to bring in the mechanized frames. He does not care about public opinion and shows that he is willing to literally back up his beliefs with firepower. Though he is not too proud to ask Shirley for financial backing, he does have a rather high opinion of himself. He even describes himself in mechanical terms to Mr. Yorke when describing his ill-fated proposal to Shirley: “The machinery of all my nature; the whole enginery of this human mill: the boiler, which I take to be the heart, is fit to burst.”

Before he can be considered worthy to have Caroline for his wife, he must be completely humbled – first, by Shirley.  He admits to Mr. Yorke that he proposed to Shirley not out of love but out of self-interest. He admired Shirley a great deal, but his only motive for marrying her was money. Shirley sees right through him (and notes that she respected and admired and liked him as a brother, for in her heart of hearts, she did want him as a brother!) and lambastes him for his mercenary impulses. I wonder, though, if some of Shirley’s disappointment is for Caroline’s sake. Surely she sensed Caroline’s affection for him.

Next he is humbled by injury and illness, left helpless to the mercies of Mrs. Yorke, his sister Hortense and Miss Horsfall. And it is at this time that he realizes who his true match is, and Caroline gets her happy ending.

What a contrast Robert Moore is to his brother, Louis! Though Louis is a man of keen intellect, patience and reserve, he does not think himself worthy of Shirley, whereas Robert Moore sees himself worthy of any woman, at least, until Shirley sets him straight. To wander into a different genre for a moment, Louis Moore reminds me of Remus Lupin — another man of keen intellect, patience and reserve who, due to poverty and lycanthrope, did not think himself worthy of a woman’s love.

What I find curious, though, is how after everything is settled and Shirley and Louis have declared their love for one another, Shirley becomes completely passive, leaving all decision-making to her fiancé. I find this a little hard to swallow. As I mentioned in my last letter, Shirley was not a woman to whom housewifely pursuits came easily. She was too quickly bored with sewing, her housekeeper cheated her constantly, and so forth. Her real interest lay in the affairs of her estate. But if she gives those over to Louis, what is left for her to do? Shirley is a woman of energy and spirit, and though rich, never idle. It’s odd that at the end of the book, Caroline, who has longed for purpose, finds it, and Shirley abdicates hers.

Once again, I’ve grown long-winded, and I didn’t even touch on some of the things I wanted to address: All of Shirley’s proposals and the battle of wills with her uncle; the incident with the mad dog — based on a true story! — and Martin Yorke and the shifting of the narrative to his point of view during the chapters covering Caroline and Robert’s courtship.

I may have to come back and discuss these end chapters a little more!

In the meantime, what’s your take on the end of Shirley?

Sincerely yours,

Mary Beth

Shirley, Chapters X-XV

Dear Amber,

At long last – a letter! I am pretty far along in “Shirley,” but I’ll respond to your last letter before we move along to the next chapters.

I love your idea of the characters Caroline meets in these chapters we’re discussing as “future Carolines,” and I wonder if, as she was writing, Charlotte thought of them as “future Charlottes.” Like Caroline, Charlotte was separated from the man she loved, Constantin Heger (though there was the additional obstacle of his wife …), and the words she wrote could have applied to her own situation as well as Caroline’s. Like Caroline, she sought some sort of employment to occupy her mind as well as to support herself and her family. She and her sister, Anne, spent time working as governesses, and I wonder if her caution to readers to be more understanding of “old maids,” was also a gentle “note to self” that she, too, was likely to go down that path. (Actually, she was probably already thought of as an “old maid,” since she was in her early 30s when she wrote “Shirley.”)

I do love Caroline, though. When faced with heartbreak and ennui, she picks herself up and determines to do as much good as she can, following in the example of Miss Ainley and Miss Mann. Despite the fact that she likely already knew the answer she was going to get from her uncle when she asked him about working as a governess, she faces him anyway and states her situation plainly and clearly. Though her wishes are denied, she soldiers on, believing that she can never be happy again, but that perhaps she won’t be in such misery forever.

And at last, we meet our title character!

I think Shirley Keeldar is the reason I got so mad at Emily Bronte when I read “The Life of Charlotte Bronte.” If this vibrant, energetic, confident character is what Emily Bronte was like, it makes it all the more infuriating that she essentially committed slow suicide through stubbornness and neglect.

My favorite chapter in the book so far is “Shirley and Caroline,” where we get to see these two very opposite characters connecting and watch their friendship blossom. I know the feeling they discuss, of being in perfect harmony with a person and knowing that a third party would change the flavor of the outing. This chapter reads so true to life. I can think of countless conversations with my closest friends where we talked about the same things – marriage, the future, careers, the lives of mutual acquaintances.

And not even a man can come between this friendship – when Caroline realizes that Robert Moore would be a likely suitor for Shirley, it does not mar their relationship, though Caroline does avoid Shirley for a day.

Again, I wonder how autobiographical this is. Caroline tells Shirley, “I never had a sister – you never had a sister; but it flashes on me at this moment how sisters feel towards each other. Affection twined with their life, which no shocks of feeling can uproot, which little quarrels only trample an instant that it may spring more freshly when the pressure is removed; affection that no passion can ultimately outrival, with which even love itself cannot do more than compete in force and truth. … I am supported and soothed when you – that is you only – are near, Shirley.” It makes me want to be a fly on the wall at the Haworth parsonage, and it makes me feel all the more for Charlotte, losing her brother and two sisters in such a short period of time.

In these chapters, I switched my Marxist perspective for my feminist perspective again, which ties into your observations about Shirley’s gender-bending. There’s such a strong cry for purpose for women. Caroline nearly makes herself sick due to want of purpose. Shirley’s circumstances allow her to act as a man in a man’s world, and she knows this allows her to get away with things that no other woman could do.

In addition to our Bronte read-along, I’ve been reading Gillian Gill’s “We Two,” a biography of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Victoria finds herself in similar circumstances to Shirley – inheriting property / a kingdom solely due to a lack of male heirs and being allowed to interact in a man’s world as a result. Victoria and Shirley are examples of how women can thrive and even prosper when they are able to do what’s usually considered “man’s work.” And Caroline falls into the same category as George Eliot’s poor Maggie Tulliver – a cautionary tale (and God knows how many more there were in Victorian Britain) of what can become of repressed and oppressed women.

Aren’t you glad that we’re women of the 21^st century?

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth