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 XXV-XXX

Dear Mary Beth,

I think you made a very good point with the passage you quoted about Shirley not doing much with her gift. The Bronte sisters are certainly not the only literary greats whose destitution drove them to write. Dickens and Poe come immediately to mind, but of course there are many others. So although the Bronte sisters endured much misery in their lives, the world is a much better place because of it. These writers driven to the pen out of need were fortunate enough in their misfortune to have had the requisite education needed to write what they did. As you pointed out, how many people had that same potential and education but lived in luxury and thus had not the need to make money by writing? And how many more had the potential and the need to make money, but not the education to make them literate? How many geniuses have gone utterly undiscovered simply because of their situations? I suppose we should be grateful for the ones history produced for us.

As for this section of the novel, I think there are some important things going on here. First, we find out (as does Caroline) that Mrs. Pryor is actually Caroline's mother. After this revelation, Caroline's health immediately begins to improve. I think this is significant because it shows that Caroline's illness is not just the result of her pining after Robert (I admit, that's what it seemed to me at first). It's much bigger than that and gives, I think, Caroline's character more depth.

Shirley, too, has a lot going on in these chapters. Her family comes to visit, including the family tutor, Louis Moore, who is also Robert's brother. Thus begins a parade of suitors before Shirley and pressure for her to marry as soon as possible. The major hint of where her heart truly lies, though, comes when she is bitten by a dog. She fears she now has rabies and will die soon but tells no one what happened, despite the obvious change in her disposition. No one, that is, but Louis. She tells him the truth. We find out in the following chapter that Louis is in love with Shirley and begin to suspect that she returns his affections.

Louis's arrival in the novel made me realize that Charlotte seems to include doubling consistently in her novels. When Caroline first sees Louis approach Robert and Hortense's house, she thinks it is Robert but at the same time knows it is not. They also both have a relationship of some kind with Shirley. Robert mistakenly thinks that Shirley loves him, but it is Louis that she truly loves. There is some doubling with Caroline and Shirley, too. Shirley is, as I've mentioned before, what Caroline wants to be. Robert even proposes to Shirley (as is revealed in this section) although he has all along loved Caroline. There is also some doubling in Charlotte's other novels, famously in Jane Eyre with Jane and Bertha, and in Villette with Lucy and Polly. I think it's particularly interesting in Shirley that there is doubling with both men and women, whereas in Charlotte's other novels (and in most novels of the period), the doubling is limited to female characters, a reflection of the Victorian attitude that women are essentially interchangeable.

I think it's time to wrap up this letter. I'll let you finish off the final 7 chapters of this wonderful book and be the first to give your opinion of the ending. Before I do, though, I'll prod you with the cliffhanger from the end of chapter 30: Robert is shot by one of the workers!

Your Friend,
Amber

Shirley, Chapters XVIII-XXIV

Dear Amber,

At long last, I’m revisiting Shirley again!

You’ve summed up those less exciting middle chapters (XV-XXI) nicely, so I won’t go into those too much. I have two points: first, “Which the Genteel Reader is Recommended to Skip, Low Persons Being Here Introduced” is a such a great name for a chapter. I don’t really associate Charlotte Bronte with humor, but there’s a sly wit about chapter titles like that one, and as we will later encounter, “Wherein Matters make some Progress, but not much.”

Second, Charlotte’s description of Caroline’s despair in chapter XX is almost painful in its accuracy. It immediately brings to mind those dark times in my own life when I felt exactly that way. And as much of Shirley does, it reminded me of Charlotte’s own life, and what she must have been going through when she was writing this part of the book. According to the timeline in my book, Charlotte finished the first volume of Shirley – chapters I-XI – in September 1848. Branwell Bronte died Sept. 24, 1848, and of course, Emily followed just a few months later. Charlotte went back to her writing after Emily’s death, but of course, Anne became ill and died in May of 1849. According to “The Life of Charlotte Bronte,” Charlotte picked up with chapter XXV after Anne’s death.

I can’t read the middle section of this book, especially the chapters dealing with Caroline’s long illness, without thinking of Charlotte and her siblings. How many nights did Charlotte sit up with a sick sister, like Mrs. Pryor did with Caroline? I’m reminded, too, of how Charlotte became the “woman of the family” after losing two older sisters, her mother, and her Aunt Branwell. Like Caroline, she must have longed for a mother – someone to comfort her through all the tragedies and heartbreaks she endured. Caroline’s prayer is granted, and she pulls through because she has her mother at her side at long last. Charlotte, however, must soldier on alone, having given her literary doppelganger the happiness she could never have.

But I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. There’s an interesting part in chapter XXII I’d like to touch on.

As I mentioned before, I’ve read that Shirley Keeldar is an idealized version of Emily Bronte. And in chapter XXII, Charlotte describes Shirley in more detail than we’ve had before. We learn that Shirley is restless. Sitting and sewing quietly are practically impossible for her; she greatly prefers visiting the animals on her estate and talking to her foreman, John. Shirley enjoys reading, but again, sitting still is not her forte. Instead, she lies on the rug, like a child, with her dog beside her. She is imaginative and keenly appreciative of beauty, but Charlotte makes a point of noting that Shirley does nothing with this gift of seeing all that is good and wonderful in the world. She writes:

“If Shirley were not an indolent, a reckless, an ignorant being, she would take a pen at such moments; or at least while the recollection of such moments was yet fresh on her spirit: she would seize, she would fix the apparition, tell the vision revealed. Had she a little more of the organ of Acquisitiveness in her head – a little more of the love of property in her nature, she would take a good-sized sheet of paper and write plainly out, in her own queer but clear and legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the song that has been sung to her, and thus possess what she was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless she is, and most ignorant, for she does not know her dreams are rare – her feelings peculiar: she does not know, has never known, and will die without knowing, the full value of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart keeps it green.”

So if the Bronte sisters had been better off in health and wealth, would we not have Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Agnes Grey, and our Shirley? Charlotte seems to be saying that Shirley’s leisure makes it unnecessary for her to pursue her inborn gift of creativity, while the Bronte sisters turn to writing for a living only when the other avenues open to them fail to be fruitful. If Shirley, the idealized Emily, is not inspired to write, does this mean Charlotte believes that in better circumstances, Emily’s genius would have gone untapped as well?

And yet, writing was in the Brontes’ blood, as evidenced by the thick volume of juvenilia currently residing on my bookshelf. Before it became a means of making a living, writing was an engaging pastime for the young Brontes. Was it because they grew up poor in Haworth Parsonage? Does Charlotte believe that poverty nourishes genius and talent better than wealth?

 I’m getting long-winded again, so I’ll leave off here for now.

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth

Shirley Chapters XV-XXI

Dear Mary Beth,

I have been done with Shirley for about a month now, but it lingers in my thoughts. It's one of those books that makes me hesitant to begin a new one because the next book couldn't possibly be as good as Shirley (though I have read a handful of nonfiction books in the meantime).

I agree with you--we are both lucky to be women of the twenty-first century! I get all riled up when I read comments or reviews of period films where (obviously naive) women say things like, "I wish I lived back then with all those handsome men and pretty dresses!" Puh-lease! I think Shirley is a painfully accurate picture of how miserable and pointless life was for many Victorian women.

Speaking of pointlessness, I feel that the timing of my reading and contemplating Shirley is significant. Since leaving school in December, I haven't worked a single day. At first, I had plenty to do: researching the job market, putting together resumes and cover letters, catching up on some reading I wanted to do, and getting to other things that I had put off. But by now, I'm only sending out a couple of job applications a week (sometimes not even that), and quite frankly, I'm getting tired of reading so much. I am beginning to feel a lot like Caroline--reluctant to get out of bed and craving a sense of purpose. Also, like Caroline, I'm trying to put myself to good use: I'm researching and applying to volunteer opportunities in Cincinnati.

Back to what's happening in Shirley. To be honest, this part of the novel was my least favorite section, and it took some slogging to get through it. The part about the school feast was particularly uninteresting to me. I suppose it was just Charlotte ramping up and feeding everyone's expectations that Robert would marry Shirley. However, I think there are two important events in this section. The first is pretty obvious--the attack on Robert's mill. The attack sets in motion the chain of events that continue through the rest of the novel and makes the townspeople even more convinced that a wedding is immanent. The other important event is when Mrs. Pryor opens up to Caroline about her marriage and about being a governess. Mrs. Pryor also reveals just how much she cares for Caroline (side note: I knew about the true relationship between Caroline and Mrs. Pryor when I got to this point) and invites Caroline to come live with her. For me, this was the first time that Mrs. Pryor seemed like a real person; until then, Charlotte had portrayed her as more of a robot.

We're coming up on the last third of the novel, which I think is the most exciting part in many ways. I'm anxious to read what you have to say about it, and I'll let you lead the charge. Onwards!

Most Sincerely Yours,
Amber

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

Shirley, Chapters X-XIV

Dear Mary Beth,

I, too, love to hear other people's interpretations of and ideas about a story, and that's why I love this project and why I've always loved literature classes. Books are always better when read and discussed with others. There are so many facets of meaning that one reading--or even one person doing multiple readings--will never reveal them all. Like you, I often read through a feminist lens, though I often have an eye for gender issues in general and class struggles as well. I enjoy discussing literature with you because of our similar reading perspectives, but our differences make it interesting as well.

This section of "Shirley" is, I believe, the critical part of the novel, the events that shape the rest of it. The novel prior to this part is all set-up and after is all Caroline's reaction and development as a result (although I obviously haven't finished yet--so this is part theory). It all starts with Mr. Helstone and Mr. Moore having  a political disagreement, prompting Helstone to forbid Caroline from visiting, seeing, writing to, or interacting with her cousins. Caroline is devastated, although she doesn't show it. She's in love with Mr. Moore and enjoyed learning under Hortense's instruction. Now, Caroline begins to question her very existence: "What was I created for, I wonder? Where is my place in the world?" Shortly thereafter, Caroline meets several women, who I like to refer to as "potential future Carolines."

(Before I get into these women, I'd like to point out that Mr. Helstone is completely oblivious to Caroline's unhappiness and doesn't want to be bothered by it. Caroline asks him if she can look for a position as a governess, explaining that she needs some purpose to her life, but he quickly dismisses her wish, telling her to "run away and amuse [herself]." Poor Caroline. I can see how this character could have been modeled after one of the Bronte sisters.)

The first woman is Miss Ainley, an old maid that Caroline is acquainted with but never really paid much attention to (much like everyone else). Caroline pays Miss Ainley a charity visit but realizes that the old maid is a good, kind woman who has devoted her life to the service of others. Caroline then visits another old maid, Miss Mann, who isn't as pleasant as Miss Ainley but also isn't as bad as the men make her out to be. The narrator sums up Caroline's lesson well: "Reader! when you behold an aspect for whose constant gloom and frown you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you by its apparent causelessness, be sure that there is a canker somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding because concealed." The old maids are possible future versions of Caroline because she has decided that she will never marry if she can't marry Mr. Moore.

The next woman that Caroline meets is Shirley, along with her governess, Mrs. Pryor. Shirley has recently come of age (she's 21) and moves into the property she inherited. Mr. Helstone wants Caroline to meet Shirley, thinking it will lift her spirits. Shirley is independently wealthy and thus has no need to marry to survive. Mr. Helstone intends to provide for Caroline, even after his death, but she would never be rich like Shirley. Shirley regularly talks business with the men of the town and conducts business herself. One of the men Shirley does business regularly is her tenant, Mr. Moore, and the two take an instant liking to each other, something Caroline immediately notices. Despite a possible love triangle, Caroline and Shirley quickly become close friends. At this point, Shirley has and is everything Caroline wants.

Mrs. Pryor seems to be a significant figure, even though she's "just" a governess. She instantly likes Caroline, despite her (Mrs. Pryor's) picky nature. As a governess, Mrs. Pryor tries to talk Caroline out of the trade, citing hardships. It is known that Mrs. Pryor was married, but that she doesn't talk about her marriage and that she shares Mr. Helstone's views of the institution: foolish. Again, another "potential future Caroline." After meeting all of these women and learning about the very different lives they lead, Caroline has a lot to think about.

I don't mean to change subjects so abruptly, but this letter is getting long, and I have one more thing to discuss with you. I have noticed that Charlotte Bronte likes to do a little gender-bending in her novels. We saw it in "Jane Eyre" when Rochester dressed up as a gypsy woman and tricked his guests, including (the least-duped, however) Jane. We saw it in "Villette" when Lucy was dressed as a man for the play and flirted pretty aggressively with Ginerva. We see it now in "Shirley" as well. When Helstone and Caroline meet Shirley, she explains her name (a man's name at the time): "They gave me a man's name; I hold a man's position. It is enough to inspire me with a touch of manhood; and when I see people...before me, gravely talking to me of business, really I feel quite gentlemanlike." Helstone plays along, referring to Shirley as "he" and "him" to Mrs. Pryor and addressing Shirley as "Mr. Keeldar" and "Captain Keeldar." (In other respects, however, Shirley is pretty feminine. She's attractive and wears fancy dresses.) To the modern reader, these things would probably go unnoticed, but to the very strict and uptight Victorians, it would have been unsettling at the very least.

I'm anxious to see what effects the different women of the novel have on Caroline, although it appears that Shirley will have the greatest effect. I just hope that Caroline's lot improves soon; her low spirits are described in such detail and with such emotion that it actually taints my mood for a short time after I put the book down. I am, however, always eager to pick it back up again.

Your Friend,
Amber

Shirley, Chapters V-IX

Dear Amber,

What I love about literature and this project of ours is how two people can read the same text and end up reading two different things. I was so absorbed in the labor aspects - looking at "Shirley" through the lens of Marxist criticism, I suppose - that I completely missed the strongly feminist thread that you picked up on. (Incidentally, if I have one regret about my graduate school education, it's that I didn't take any classes in literary criticism. I did know enough to know that I usually approach things from a deeply feminist angle, which makes my sudden oblivion all the more unusual.)

I'm reminded of what must have been going on in Charlotte's life to bring out that bitterness - if I'm remembering correctly, she was writing "Shirley" at the time when the reading public was in a furor to know who Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell were, whether they were different people, or one author writing under three different names, and whether or not the authors might actually be women. Not to mention the fact that Charlotte had been told by Robert Southey, the poet whom she admired, that "Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life." Then you have three young women who are trying to bring in some kind of income when that sort of business was the responsibility of men, and the only respectable career for a young woman was to be a governess or to teach, options that didn't work out well for the Bronte sisters. It was bound to bring about frustration, and I think that's what we see in these early chapters of "Shirley."

You are absolutely right about the rich characterization we see in "Shirley," and these four chapters bring us some of the best examples. First we have Robert Moore, his sister Hortense and Caroline Helstone. I really find myself identifying with Caroline - when she's with people she's comfortable around, she opens up and isn't afraid to take Robert to task over what she perceives are his main character flaws. But when she's faced with guests for tea in "The Curates at Tea," she inwardly wishes for an evening alone (or with Robert) while putting on the best face possible. Her discomfort during the tea is obvious, but she tries to soldier on - I've been there!

As for Robert Moore, these chapters give us two sides of him - first we have the gentleman at home, entertaining his young cousin. He is revealed through Caroline's observations and his own actions to be gentle and kind, though he's firm in his opinions. But when confronting Moses Barraclough, he's stubborn to a fault. Yes, Barraclough was in the wrong and deserved to be punished, but Robert's reaction to William Farren is overly harsh. He is speaking in the heat of the moment, and as we see in the next chapter, once he's calmed down, Robert wants to do what he can for Farren, but that quick flash of temper seals Farren's negative opinion of him.

This again made me think of how relevant this story is today - that clash between laborers who need to make a living for their families and the business owners who are trying to run a successful business. The needs of the workers and the needs of the business owners are unfortunately mutually exclusive in the case of Robert Moore and William Farren and in too many circumstances today.

And I agree with you that the characterization of William Farren is exceptional - and he's not even a main character! That's the mark of a truly great author, I think - when even the most minor characters seem to live and breathe. I'm reminded again and again why I love this book!

I'm a bit behind on my reading, so I will leave it up to you to move us along to the next chapters. I'm looking forward to seeing what you think of Shirley Keeldar. (Another thing that just struck me - I remember reading somewhere that a good author introduces the main characters within the first few chapters of the book. And here we are, 10 chapters in without meeting the book's namesake! Yet I wouldn't say that anything is lacking in these chapters. Literary genius is the exception that proves the rule, I suppose!)

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth