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ARSENIC IN THE SUGAR By Sophia Reutter

In partial fulfillment of the degree Bachelor of Arts with Honors in English Wittenberg University

22 April 2020

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Coveted Course or Chief Calamity—The Happy Housewife

The existence of women in the realm of domesticity has been acknowledged, yet rarely ever questioned in our cultural past; however, the realm of domesticity in more modern years has vexed gender politics and has created a significant debate, especially concerning the dysphoria that sometimes occasions women’s identity. Barbara Welter, a feminist historian, identifies in her renowned work “The Cult of True Womanhood” the collective voices of various feminists from the 19th century, applying them in a modern context, such as S.E. Farley who claimed that

“As society is constituted, the true dignity and beauty of the female character seem to consist in a right understanding and faithful and cheerful performance of social and family duties,” women were to work in the roles that were built for them (Welter 157). There were other writers that felt that “There is a composure at home; there is something sedative in the duties which home involves. It affords security not only from the world, but from delusions and errors of every kind:” a thought that perhaps paves the way for the thoughts that identify the agency that women built necessarily out of their domestic roles (Welter 157). Welter’s thoughts, though more reflective of her times, follow much of the same ideas on domesticity that exist in the modern day. This assertion that women were making about domesticity serving as a place of sanctuary, a place in which they could retreat away from their other worries, incidentally, brought them out of the shadows and into their own light. Judy Giles mentions in her work The Parlour and the

Suburb that “the domestic and moral virtues ascribed to women also enabled some to challenge assumptions about private and public space, and to create identities for themselves in public movements,” women were becoming more sure of themselves in unsure roles (Giles 12). 3

One of the surest of these women is an author out of the 1950s, Shirley Jackson. Her works, originally found in domestic life magazines (Charm and Ladies’ Home Journal), dealt with topics of the daily housewoman’s life, and in the 1950s included gardening, cooking, and child rearing. These topics found their homes among women before Jackson later extended her writing to the international press. Her stories, including her penultimate work We Have Always

Lived in the Castle, were widely read and she received national acclaim as a writer. In her works, this image of domesticity that is familiar and, for some, welcoming, is manipulated to demonstrate the complex and rather ambiguous relationship that women have with their domestic roles and how the stories of these women change with the addition of gothic story-telling. Her stories primarily struck a chord with women, which doesn’t come as a surprise given her previous affiliations with primarily female audiences. Unlike many of Jackson’s critics, these women, who were mainly comprised of housewives, sent the author hand-written letters, often thanking Jackson for her writing and even reaching out to her admitting their own desires for wanting to write. Within this group of women, there were two distinct, and ultimately unequal, halves: those who wished to write because writing “offered them an opportunity for extending and even challenging those domestic ideals,” and the majority who wrote expressing “their own desire to be an author…describe[ing] it with considerable self-deprecation,” while also stating that they “wanted to find their (literary) voices—to become speaking subjects,” which presented an interesting query (Neuhaus 117). It seemed that only a minority of these women truly sought the absolute dissolvement of their positions as housewives. Many of these women, however, seemed to, if not enjoy their position as a housewife, value it.

For many women like Jackson, domesticity played an important role in finding their voices, so much so that feminist guilds, formed with the means to start conforming less to the 4

“housewife ideal,” started embracing the identity as a womanly force, an icon of sorts. The

Women’s Co-operative Guild (WCG) of the 1950s, originally set up to give voice to marginalized housewives, made the assertion that “marriage and motherhood was ‘the greatest career of all,’” ultimately toppling any sort of traditionally “feminist” stance that it took to begin with and instead reclaimed the hyper-subordinated role into one that had a voice (Beaumont 2

150). Women, instead of casting off the housewife role, began making it their own, writing about their experiences and relating themselves to the writers, such as Jackson, that they saw taking control of their experiences and talking about the topics that were previously full of so much societal taboo. Gaining much needed ground, these women writers began shifting the pieces in the classic game of power, challenging the traditional power complexes.

So, women were placed into these familiar roles that had been set out for them in society for centuries, yet some had trouble feeling happy or feeling like they were in a place where they fit into society, hence the dysphoria. Yet, there was still something drawing women to these roles, an internal voice. Renowned feminist critic, Betty Friedan shared this sentiment in one of her earlier articles found in the popular home magazine “Good Housekeeping,” claiming

A woman may live half her lifetime before she has the courage to listen to

that voice and know that it is not enough to be a wife and mother, because

she is a human being herself. She can’t live through her husband and

children. They are separate selves. She has to find her own fulfillment first

(Friedan Women are People Too)

These thoughts were instilled into the women of “Good Housekeeping’s” readership that it was understood if they found no satisfaction in their places in society. There were plenty of women 5

who were feeling the same thing after all. Friedan, quite adamant against the housewife role, represents the mindset that many women had concerning the restrictions of their societal roles, in which agency was constrained.

Feminist politics have, since their invention, always had this conflict with domesticity and the extent to which women should play a role in it. Women who find themselves opposed to the roles have spoken out against it, calling attention to the fact that women have more to say and do than appease their husbands at the dinner table. However, there are also the women within domestic roles who appreciate the experiences that they have had as mothers, wives, housekeepers, and more. Defined as domestic “angels,” these women who found value and enjoyed their domestic roles were subjected to an unwanted “liberation” by way of the women’s resistance beginning in the 1970s (Fraiman 2). No damsels in distress, these domestic angels did not feel the oppression of the patriarchy as overtly as women like Friedan did. Thus, ambiguity surfaced as a crucial theme in women’s history. Those against the drone of domestic life claim that those residing within are suffering from a false sense of happiness, while others are reassured by the kind of agency that they have born out of domesticity. The struggle in determining whether the domestic is something to be admired or despised maintains one of the greatest debates in feminist politics and continues on into the fictional stories being told by women serving resolutely within the grey area of houseslave and New Age Woman.

The 1950s manifested a presence in the very depths of the human cerebrum, primarily due to the constricting cultural roles. It is an era that is associated with a definite set of looks, social mores, and its own political crises that has fixated today’s contemporary thinking. To be a person in the 1950s, somebody had to exude a tragic air of postwar confidence, concealing the 6

traumas of a newly healing society, all the while maintaining their social aptitude and willingness to serve in the “normal” machine that plastered itself across the various local advertisements found among the pages of Home Beautiful magazine. “New Speed Heat BENDIX

Heats its Own Water” flashes across the page to catch the readers’ desperate eyes. “50%

FASTER!” it claims with all the urgency that clean clothes can bring within a three by two-inch ad – the limited space the ad is allotted to grab the readers’ eyes (Johnson 126). And yet, a certain comfort is instilled by the graphic, a mother and daughter standing in their matching dresses, both seemingly caught in a gleeful laugh at the sight of their new machine. Ads like these were not uncommon during this era. In fact, the deliberate frequency of the call for new shiny kitchen appliances suggests an ultimate call for normalcy through the all-too American medium of capitalism – America’s universally applicable final resort.

Within this call back to normalcy came a new onslaught of social norms and, ultimately, tired roles that were spruced up and gifted back to women. The iconic women found flexing their biceps in war effort posters were offered new roles that had little to do with rivets and, perhaps, a different kind of washer. The familiar 1950s trope smiling across an ad for Dawn dish soap is none other than the “Happy Housewife.” It is with her brilliant ruby-red lips and pearly white smile that entire nations of unitedly disturbed men were comforted. Women’s jobs were to tend to their husband’s every need, after all “ensuring his meal is ready when he comes in from work, his food is good, his clothes are ready to wear ‘buttons on, shirts clean, [and] trousers pressed,” are only some of the components creating these “happy” households (Beaumont 62). Women were constantly reminded that to be a good wife one should get home before her husband because she “should revolve around her husband and no one else’s needs, least of all her own,” causing negligence to build and leaving room for women to think (Beaumont 62). 7

As well as creating prosperous households, many of these supposedly happy women came from war-effort jobs and even upheld having a profession next to their domestic positions.

In fact, by the 1950s, the total percentage of married women workers was around 44%, which was a percentage that steadily increased throughout the decade (Beaumont 2 149). The pressures from home limited potential career options for many of them, so writing became a popular profession for women. This way women could work from home, ultimately keeping near their families and writing when she could find the time. “Housewife writers,” as they have been coined, wrote about what they knew best: working around the house and the art of domestic living.

For these housewives, the monotony of daily life and the chores to be completed became the basis for a newfound source of humor and wit in their writing. Soon the line between writer and housewife became indistinct and the humor that was infused into the constricting lifestyle of these women didn’t settle well with other women in similar situations. Betty Friedan, felt that these women wrote in such a self-deprecating way, as they utilized descriptions of domestic chaos juxtaposed with interactions that could only be described as loving between the author and her child, that the writing “encouraged women to simply laugh off any feelings of discontent or isolation” (qtd in Neuhaus 116). Friedan believed that domesticity was a trap for women and that these housewife writers were perhaps shrugging off some of the more serious undertones that domesticity played within the lives of these women. Ultimately, she found them less than humorous, stating in The Feminine Mystique

There is something about Housewife Writers that isn’t funny—like Uncle Tom, or

Amos and Andy. “Laugh,” the Housewife Writers tell the real housewife, “if you 8

are feeling desperate, empty, bored, trapped in the bedmaking, chauffeuring and

dishwashing details. Isn’t it funny? We’re all in the same trap.” Do real

housewives then dissipate in laughter their dreams and their sense of desperation?

Do they think their frustrated abilities and their limited lives are a joke? Shirley

Jackson makes the beds, loves and laughs at her son—and writes another book.

Jean Kerr’s plays are produced on Broadway. The joke is not on them. (57)

The thoughts that Friedan expressed outlined the common objections of critics during the time.

But these thoughts did not seem to align with how some actual housewives were responding to literature like this and the writers behind the work.

Establishing Jacksonian Domesticity

Rather than abiding by the conventional female identities that were created within the realm of the old domestic ideal, Jackson worked toward the building of an identity that, although still under the will of domestic power, was capable of establishing her own agency within her domestic roles. Jackson’s domesticity is not simply congruous to the previous ideas of the culturally accepted domesticity. Jacksonian domesticity comprises itself on the preexistence of the past generations’ voices, a sort of domestic regime, that women establish themselves under in order to express a sense of agency. Similar to Foucaultian discipline principle, Jacksonian domesticity implies the constancy of an all-seeing presence that subconsciously dictates the performance of hyperaware individuals. This becomes more important as the identity of what compels women to remain in their domestic roles is revealed. Jackson’s own history with domestic life was complicated, and she struggled to identify with a certain type of belief. There were instances in her life when the domestic role caused happiness, but there were also instances 9

when she felt, much like Friedan, that the domestic roles were a vice, trapping women into roles where their potential struggled to gain any ground. This ambivalence that Jackson felt within her lifetime reveals itself in her writing. Although the women in her stories find this sense of agency under the domestic regime, the characters are not in any way admirable people, and the mechanism of domesticity becomes ultimately destructive to the people that it affects. This destruction indicates Jackson’s weariness of domestic roles and the toll that it takes on the lives of women, whereas the establishment of agency for her characters implicates Jackson’s affinity or respect for the tradition that is associated with domesticity where admirable characteristics are bequeathed from mother to daughter. Jackson’s relationship with her own mother was a catalyst for finding her voice and establishing the relationship to domestic roles that her own characters would later face.

To understand Jackson, her biographical information is one place to start. There are elements of Jackson’s life that emulate the complex relationships that she would later write between the women and womanly forces later in her work. Shirley Jackson was born on

December 14, 1916. Her mother and father married early in 1916 and had Jackson somewhat earlier than expected. One of Jackson’s daughters, Joanne Hyman Jackson later revealed, “The pregnancy was very inconvenient,” which started the first bloom from a very bitter seed

(Franklin 23). Jackson’s mother, Geraldine, was a socialite, often appearing in the society pages in long gowns at theatre premieres. As Jackson’s son Laurence Hyman put it, “She was a lady,” and it became obvious that, as a lady of society, it was only logical to try to shape daughters in the same image as their mothers (Franklin 23). As for the conventional Geraldine, she gave birth to a very unconventional daughter, and it became clear that the fact she was not going to be able to raise a young lady horrified her. Her spite came at Jackson in the form of harsh criticism, 10

especially concerning her weight and red hair when she was younger, and eventually turning toward her housekeeping and child-rearing later (Franklin 24). It seemed to Jackson that “her mother had never loved her unconditionally—if at all,” and she expressed this rejection throughout her writing, often creating heroines in her novels who were motherless (Franklin 25).

Jackson was later quoted having said “the first book is the book you have to write to get back at your parents” (Franklin 30). In most of Jackson’s stories, the mothers of her characters are either not present or have died in a way that remains unrevealed and nebulous to her audiences.

Jackson’s principle biographer, Ruth Franklin, promoted the life that existed in Jackson’s relationship to her mother, emphasizing key points, like her mother’s unwillingness to raise anything but a proper young woman. Geraldine was not pleased with having such a “wilful [sic] child…who insisted on her own way in everything—good or bad,” and whether she meant to or not, Jackson was not interested in having such a stubborn and conventional mother, but the two were not always at war with one another (Franklin 30). Geraldine taught Jackson how to play the piano, something which they could both find common ground on. Moments like these, though fleeting and often rapidly dissolved by her mother, meant something to Jackson (Franklin 31).

Although there was no force strong enough to make a Geraldine out of Jackson, there was nothing stronger yet to stop domesticity from finding her: “Jackson was an important writer who happened also to be—and to embrace being—a housewife,” which ultimately gave birth to a new

Jackson—both writer and mother (Franklin 5). Before Jackson’s death in 1965, there was no indication that Jackson regretted any of the time that she spent with her children. It seemed as though “her devotion to her children coexists uneasily with her fear of losing herself in domesticity,” yet Jackson seems to utilize the space of domesticity as a safe-haven, or an area where she gains her power from, especially within her writing (Franklin 9). Despite having an 11

unloving mother, aspects of Jackson’s childhood reveal an interest in pleasing her mother and maintaining some level of affirming relationship and respect.

Foucaultian Regimes

Michel Foucault had this idea that people are not governed by societal powers, rather they are governed by one larger form of power from which comes many different discursive regimes. This form of power “demanded constant, attentive, and curious presences for its exercise; it presupposed proximities; it proceeded through examination and insistent observation; it required an exchange of discourses, through questions that extorted admissions, and confidences that went beyond the questions that were asked,” and then the power wraps itself around a person completely so that they may start gaining power from it (Discipline 44). If

Foucault’s idea of discursive regimes is applied to domesticity in Jackson’s work, it gives readers the ability to understand how these women in life and Jackson’s characters may have utilized the regime of domesticity with its history of diminishing the female voice, to ultimately come to their own source of power through those domestic roles. Those roles that were once the only way that women were defined is now a way that women can switch up the mastery complex in society and, instead, define themselves or put themselves in service to a kind of power that is less vulnerable to alienation and oppression.

It is also crucial to point toward Foucault’s theories on discipline and punishment, which utilized J. Bentham’s illustration of the Panopticon as the center of its ultimate fruition. The panopticon is a building with a tower placed centrally, surrounded by a multitude of cells within the periphery. At the top of the tower is a room surrounded by glass windows, so light penetrates through. Within each cell, anybody in need of supervision or oversight— “a madman, a patient, a 12

condemned man, a worker or a schoolboy,”—is placed there (Discipline 360). In the tower, a singular supervisor should be able to stand, but that isn’t the important part. Each cell has its own distinct view of the tower; however, with the light being able to penetrate through all sides of the tower, thereby reflecting onto all of the cells, there is no way for the prisoners to know whether or not a guard actually stands in the tower. Foucault’s thought is that the idea of power becomes subconscious. There is a never-ending relationship with visibility and the prisoners of the panopticon. The possible absence of a guard and, therefore, the promise of escape is enticing, but the undeniable visibility that they constantly occupy caused by the light shining from that beacon of power is what makes it impossible. A power’s invisibility guarantees order by inducing “in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power” (Discipline 361). In this instance, the power takes on the role of a guard, and the submissive, a prisoner. What should happen if Jackson’s domesticity and housewives are applied to the same disciplines?

Domesticity within Shirley Jackson’s works serves as its own source of power. In the panopticon example, domesticity would be the guard in the tower. It is sensed by the women that work under it, but it is not necessarily something that they can identify as an ultimate power, much like the guard in the tower, who’s invisible because of the light. Domesticity is a reigning power that has been around for centuries and in Jackson’s works, she accesses that sort of archaic quality that domesticity has and shows just how domineering a force it can be, so it may be difficult to imagine how any person could get a form of their own agency through something as strong as domesticity. Thinking again to the panopticon, the cells within the structure are all themselves individual cells, provided by the primary source of power. In this instance, if the cells are thought of as individual characters, then it is not too far-fetched to suggest that the primary 13

power, domesticity, is providing a space for individuality to exist, thereby creating in relation to the primary power this sort of agency for individuals. Sure, the power is always present—and it must be—but it is not always working against its subordinates. Though an individual may serve under one of these power regimes, they actively make their own decisions within the regime, thereby affecting the way that they interact with the traditional roles inside. Thus, there are cases when a power will incidentally lead to power elsewhere in more diminutive forms.

Foucault’s History of Sexuality explains this diminution but also dispersal of power in a similar way. In reference to maintaining and perhaps repressing the catalogue of different sexualities, Foucault states, “Perhaps the point to consider is not the level of indulgence or the quantity of repression but the form of power that was exercised. When this whole thicket of disparate sexualities was labeled, as if to disentangle them from one another, was the object to exclude them from reality?” a question which brings up a valuable point (History 41). Although new definitions of sexuality were created to perhaps condemn the actions or identify societal taboos, the goal of the creation of those titles was not to erase their meaning entirely. Foucault continues on identifying the ways that the “persecution of the peripheral sexualities entailed an incorporation of perversions and a new specification of individuals,” so in this instance as well,

Foucault once again falls back on the idea of the creation of this individual (History 42). Even as this higher power is trying to diminish different sexualities by naming and defining them, the act of simply giving them titles creates an individual and, in this way, gives those different peripheries a sort of power of their own—agency, or a sense of agency that lies outside of the control of the surveilling power.

The Investing of Power in Women 14

Of course, there is an opposite and not entirely equal force acting against these individuals’ new-found agencies. This force borders the domestic and often influences or challenges the power that has been built within the regime. Specific gazes are often cast onto people performing within the domestic, similar to Foucault’s idea of the panopticon, representing the subconscious voices of patriarchal society, women of domestic past, and the other women serving the domestic. It is vital to distinguish the fact that these gazes are primarily independent of one another. In other words, the patriarchal gaze is not the same, or coinciding with the same thoughts represented with the women of domestic past. They are all entirely their own and portray different societal views of the working domestic individual. The presence of the patriarchal gaze in Jackson’s work is often indicative of a challenge to the power instilled within women. Women who have not previously had power and have come into it raise tensions within society that is primarily masculine, or masculine run. In an attempt to right the position of power, the male society’s gaze can become ever-present and keep individuals of the domestic from stepping out of their own roles within the domestic to mingle with the outside society. The gaze of women also serving within the domestic is an interesting one and is not obvious in any way.

Domesticity is not a unique concept, which has resulted in building of an entire community of women working these domestic roles. As a community, they have built up this network of duties and expectations, previously set up by the women of the domestic past, which they abide by and use as common ground with each other. They have all shared the same experiences which means that a specific point of view has developed for these women over the centuries. It is an important factor within the domestic to abide by these expectations, otherwise, you have the potential to be judged. The feminine gaze here, works by subliminally keeping women working in their roles with the risk in mind that they may be judged critically by their peers. It is represented as this 15

sort of “need” to impress the forces around you, whether a person is actually present to enforce those ideas. Although not altogether critical, the gaze toward domesticity is ambiguous at best.

Both helping these women come to their own agency, while also trying to tear them away from any sense of power, the gaze works as this force with an intended effect. It is entirely subconscious, yet the gazes focused on domesticity help to define the roles of these women and, by challenging, even emphasize the immensity of the power that women can attain within the domestic.

Jackson’s own writing utilizes a higher power of its own in domesticity, which creates these domestic spheres in society that women can live in, the spheres being one of the primary places that a woman could find herself at ease, or perhaps in her own element. This ease would come with Foucault’s idea of the higher power specifying these individuals, which is not ultimately excluding women from reality. It is, in fact, producing a space where these women can be themselves and find individuality. Of course, the domestic sphere is a force that will always loom over them, but it is not something that truly seeks out ways to harm them. The identity that the domestic sphere creates for these women, therefore, also creates in part a sense of agency that comes from serving a disciplining power aligned with one’s own gender, ultimately, a source of power through that agency.

Foucault’s theory is just one tool that lends a hand in understanding the works of Shirley

Jackson. One of the primary differences between the conventional domestic and the Jacksonian domestic is the incorporation of the gothic that co-exists within the texts. Over time, authors took notice of many recurring patterns, themes, and symbols used throughout the Gothic tradition that paved the way for a new understanding into the female psyche. Gothic writers mention “Images 16

of enclosure and escape, fantasies in which maddened doubles functioned as asocial surrogates for docile slaves, metaphors of physical discomfort manifested in frozen landscapes and fiery interiors,” as the normal backgrounds for these stories, all stemming from, so it seemed, the same female narrative (Gilbert xi). The Gothic itself had some of its own recurring themes that came about regardless of the gender of the story being told. Writers like Nathaniel Hawthorne and

Edgar Allan Poe utilized the typical tropes of repression, disease, and decay that defined the

Gothic in the 16th and 17th centuries, respectively.

As for Jackson, being too detached in both time and material from the original Gothic writers to necessarily find herself home among them. She should take on a different category of these writers than had ever been seen before. Previously known extensively for her writing on her life as a housewife and the absurd hilarity and hysteria that was associated, it was a surprise for many that she also dabbled in writing that was just as gothic as it was domestic. Jackson’s writing combines effortlessly newer traumas of the 1950s and blends them with those common themes of the original Gothic. Her “descriptions painted a funny picture of a busy, happy family life, but they also contain a distinct flavor of the gothic consistently hinting at the darker side of housekeeping and childrearing,” keeping her just inside the realm of the Gothic but making her different from her counterparts of the past whose focuses were not necessarily on housekeeping or childrearing (Neuhaus 117). It is said by some scholars that “Jackson reveals the contours of human madness and loneliness in a disintegrating world generally bereft of the meliorating power of love and forgiveness,” ultimately exposing the broken worlds that her stories mainly pertain to and her own life didn’t exist without (Parks 15). Since Jackson is living in the modern world, new wave feminism has hit the ground running and the patriarchy has been held accountable for the criticism that is being given to it. In most instances, the female psychological 17

state is sacrificed in the wake of society which is “a universe dominated by masculine energy, which, in itself, manifests a kind of collusive madness in the form of war or sexual oppression and is thereby threatening to feminine psychological survival,” and these new traumas of the postmodern society are what become the defining feature for writers like Jackson and give them their name of Contemporary Gothic writers (Parks 16).

The primary focus of Jackson’s work settles onto another Gothic theme of ambiguity; although not all of her writing utilized the gothic, the introduction of the gothic in her later pieces works together nicely with ambiguity, a topic which frequents many gothic texts. The use of ambiguity in her work is rather ambiguous itself, rather, it seems that Jackson has a complex relationship with domesticity and how it has acted upon her life and, now, has infused it in her writing. It may seem obvious that Jackson writes to support the idea of domesticity and the housewife (as long as they’re happy), but there are other elements to her writing that suggest the contrary. In most of her works, the characters that Jackson utilizes to fill the role of the housewife figure are not often role-model material. There are either gaps in personality, or questionable morality that leads readers to believe that maybe the character should not be quite so cheery as she appears to be. The women that she portrays, although living in that domestic sphere, seem like they shouldn’t be there.

Jackson’s ambivalence toward domestic roles and domesticity as a regime is what later shaped the form that her writing took. The ambiguity strongly presented in each of her texts concerns the power dynamics that play between women and society and how they are viewed within the roles that they incorporate themselves into. In “Like Mother Used to Make”, Jackson extracts these traditional positions in power relations and switches the masculine and feminine 18

roles. By doing this, she creates a new medium, through which we can understand the ways that some women find that they are drawn to the roles that women from past society had filled before them, and the vulnerability of these roles to masculine appropriation. Haunting of Hill House, without the same devotion paid to gender politics, highlights the effects of the domestic regime on the people it influences and how those effects can be both a positive agency builder and also a source of personal destruction, emphasizing the pride and hesitations Jackson had concerning the fulfillment of domestic positions. In her penultimate work, We Have Always Lived in the Castle,

Jackson pulls together in a fantastic amalgamation, the power relations and the entity of the domestic regime to tell a story that exemplifies her ambivalence toward the domestic, but also the caustic power relations that occurs between the collide of the patriarchal and the feminine.

Domesticity is comprised of positive and negative components. As a result, Jackson’s literature lends insight into the historical questioning behind the simultaneously venerated and despised domestic woman.

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Live or Let Pie: A Switch in Traditional Power Dynamics

Shirley Jackson began her authoring path by writing and publishing short stories within women’s magazines such as Charm, Mademoiselle, and The Woman’s Home Companion, making her audience primarily women during her early writing years. Not yet known for her morbid and more Gothic writing that would be seen in her later works, like “The Lottery”

(1948), Jackson’s focus was on women and how they navigated domestic life. Writing in magazines, where domesticity would also be the focus, gained Jackson a wide readership among women, which lent a hand in giving her the confidence to write short stories about her everyday life in a way that was both humorous and daring. These stories would later come together to form her memoirs, Life Among the Savages (1953) and Raising Demons (1957). During the late 1940s,

Jackson began to write prolifically in the domestic genre, providing portrayals of relationships and the power involved in them inside the domestic spaces.

After “The Lottery’s” publication, Jackson wrote and published a new work of short fiction that pulled together a culmination of domestic norms and flipped them on their heads.

This was done via an entire role reversal between the primary male and female characters. Now, in a setting where men typically held the power, Jackson’s women’s roles were the ones gaining force by being recognized as roles that supported or created a sense of agency. The reversal of roles in Jackson’s “Like Mother Used to Make” provides men with their own agency when placed in a role associated with typically feminine traits and characteristics that are normally found within the domestic sphere, thereby granting the women who are normally in those roles a sense of agency of their own. By insistently ascribing domestic tasks and pre-occupations to

David, Jackson invites readers to consider the incentives that draw him into a role that runs 20

counter to convention, and among those incentives are the sense of control that he enjoys over his environment, the social admiration that derives from that control, and the identity reinforcement that follows from that admiration. The nuances between David’s relationship to

Marcia in the short story explores the positions of men and women within the domestic space and how the gravitation toward traditionally female domestic roles puts into question who the powerholder may truly be between men and women. Within context of the story, the focus will be on David and Maria, the breeding ground of conflict set between them, and the results of domestic service.

To give the needed context: David Turner, after returning from an outing to retrieve some butter, settles into his perfectly furnished apartment to begin cooking an involved dinner for himself and his neighbor, Marcia. Marcia, an aloof girl, used to leaving the tending of her own apartment to David, comes to David’s residence after a hard day of work. She bustles into the tiny apartment and while plopping onto the couch, props her feet up on the table and watches over David as he makes his preparations. The two entertain each other with small talk before there is a knock at the door. Marcia invites in her coworker, Mr. Harris, whom she is delighted to see, while David recognizes her boss’s presence as more of an inconvenience, though his attention to decorum compels him to keep his frustration managed and concealed. While David finishes cooking in the kitchen, Marcia and Mr. Harris talk. All the while, David sees the imbalance that has disrupted the perfect world of his apartment and silently wishes that Mr.

Harris would leave. Marcia brushes off any air of hostility emanating from David and sits down to dinner with Mr. Harris. David hardly ever gets to sit because he constantly serves the two. As

David dishes out food, Marcia comments on David’s ability to make everything so wonderful: the apartment, the food, the pie. David insists that the pie he has made is not very good, likely 21

implying that the finished dessert was not quite like what his mother used to make. Marcia wishes that somebody would teach her to prepare food this way and returns to her conversation with Mr. Harris. Not being able to take much more of the two’s antics, David announces he must be going and retires to Marcia’s apartment across the hall without much contest. He sits on the bed, looking around at all the clothing and papers scattered around the apartment, and begins to tidy them up.

The protagonist of Jackson’s story, David Turner, is a man placed almost entirely out of his conventional masculine role within the patriarchy. Jackson gives him characteristics that make him stick out and go against the grain of “normal” men that were represented in the 1940s.

Worries that women occupied their time with, and jobs that they would usually tend to, become integral parts of David’s character and ultimately affect how he responds to the world around him. The first time David is seen, he is stopping at the grocery to purchase butter. During the 40s it was not just women wanting to do the shopping, it was an expectation. Men worked all day as the primary breadwinners of the family, leaving no time to shop for groceries, unless it was convenient for them to pick something up on the way home. Along with managing the shopping,

David also prepares his own meals and cooks for his guests.

The story centers around a dinner that David is putting on for his neighbor, or significant other (it is never made clear as to the extent of their relationship), Marcia. David takes pride in the preparation of dishes such as “a little pot roast…fried potatoes…salads…” and the penultimate “cherry pie” (32). His presence in the kitchen is an experience completely recognized by housewives around the globe. Sherrie Inness comments in her book, Dinner Roles, that “A woman who could prepare the perfect Jell-O mold, whip up a cake with her new electric 22

mixer, and still maintain a spotless kitchen and a sunny disposition was the envy of other housewives across the nation,” which is only part of the perfection associated with David (Inness

45). As for his cooking and the entirety of his home, there is an attention to detail that is intrinsic to David as he makes conscious choices concerning his presentation. David has an eye for decorating and color coordinating his home, “His plates were orange, almost the same color as the couch cover,” indicating the conscious choices that women often made to ensure that their homes were agreeable to, not only their guests, but themselves as well (32). It could be suggested then that David finds his sense of authority through his management of his domestic space.

Along with the conscious eye for detail, David is also organized, to the extent that disorder causes him minor grief. When he steps into Marcia’s apartment, he is appalled by the lack of organization and cleanliness and he is instantly taken back to “his first day in his own apartment, when the thought of the careful homemaking to be done had left him very close to despair,” where his constant need for organization created his own, much more agreeable, home

(31). The organization of homes was entirely up to the women. Men often expected a clean home to return to, with all the practices of housekeeping being put into play. In this story, however, it seems as though David works toward his impeccable cleanliness so that when faced with an apartment like Marcia’s, his ability to judge her own lack of management gives him his power within the domestic spaces. In a way, David recognizes that how she maintains her own spaces is altogether inadequate for both residing within the domestic regime and the respect that she should be paying to the domestic tradition. Organization plays a bigger role in the latter part of the story as Marcia gradually removes David from his own home and as David seemingly

“performs” for the eyes of the domestic gaze. 23

The sense of agency associated with the domestic sphere in Jackson’s short story can be denoted by the happiness and comfort that David experiences while within his domestic space.

For David, his kitchenette serves as the domestic space where his sense of agency is the strongest. While he is in it, the sphere itself becomes seemingly impenetrable, allowing nobody else but David to reside within. Despite Marcia’s attempts to make David join the festivities among herself and Mr. Harris, David is held by “the sight of his pretty table covered with dirty dishes,” so he collects all of the plates, cups, and silverware and brings them back to the kitchenette and he “began to wash them carefully (37). As David does this, his spite for Marcia and Mr. Harris invading his private spaces grows. “He could not endure the thought of their sitting there any longer…” it begins to bother him, and David’s domestic space becomes something that he obsesses over and is protective of. The spite that David carries through this scene for Marcia seems warranted. After all, she’s acting a complete mess. It is curious how the switching of gender roles within Jackson’s stories elicits a certain response concerning Marcia. It seems that we are made to think poorly of her and identify more strongly with David. The switching of these roles in this story are not coincidental, nor unintentional. As the roles are switched, suddenly Marcia is viewed in this negative light, but if Marcia were to be switched back into a man in her same position, the negative views would not stay the same. It would be

“normal” to see a man get home and wait for his wife to serve him hand and foot. To see a woman outside of her typical roles is meant to create this dichotomy of perspectives, so that

Jackson can get her readers to think about the possibility of power exchange within society. To also see a man outside his typical roles begs to question why he continues to stay in them, indicating that there is a form of outside influence, or even internal influence.

24

Perhaps, if we allude to the title of the work, “Like Mother Used to Make”, the story itself then suggests that there is some unseen feminine eye watching over David or is in the least observing in the omniscient. “Like Mother Used to Make” is a play on the idea that everything that David’s mother had done in the past is now being done by David himself in a sort of bequeathing of tradition. David performs in a way that he thinks his mother would approve of, hence his strong affiliation with and appreciation of the female spaces of his home. He actively works toward the betterment of his domestic spaces because he is working under the feminine gaze of women from past domestic lives. He does not work toward this expert management to please a known audience, but rather takes pride in knowing that his own spaces may rival that of a woman’s, like Marcia.

David’s counterpart displays anything but the typically feminine characteristics that

David shows above. In fact, Marcia seems to serve as a striking opposite to David’s own mild and organized manner with her own disorder and loud pride. Jackson gifts well-known elements of a “working husband” to Marcia, which, in turn, causes most of the friction surrounding the couple and, later, the three of them as Marcia’s co-worker makes a surprise visit. The first time

Marcia is mentioned, she is referenced to being absent. There is no light on in her apartment and

David must leave a note in her apartment to remind her to come to dinner. Marcia has given a key to David because “she was never home when her laundryman came, or when the man came to fix the refrigerator or the telephone or the windows” much like a working man in the 40s, she was away, most likely at her job, since the visiting man is later mentioned to be a co-worker

(31). 25

Marcia is representative of the more masculine traits associated with domestic roles, which lends her the part of the patriarchal gaze within this Jackson short story. Unlike the perfect interior decorating represented in David’s home, Marcia’s home is “bare and at random,” and at best her décor is limited to an unmade bed and “a pile of dirty laundry” laying on the floor (31).

Unlike the “typical” woman of her age, Marcia does not have the motivation to have the perfect house with all the features that that entails: good cooking, organization, and tidiness. Though she shouldn’t, since the role that Jackson has her playing is not one that immediately identifies the domestic as “home.” Marcia is also bold in all senses of the word. Along with being the primary breadwinners of the household, men also had the expectation to lead the household. This leadership quality in men can often be perceived as extraordinarily bold and even cocky at times.

In film, the businessman comes home, just as his wife is pulling a roast out of the oven, bubbling grease scared to touch her perfectly clean apron, and he flings his briefcase upon the table before landing a kiss on her cheek. Then his boss walks in, because he just had to have him over for dinner. After all, there is a possibility of promotion in the office. With their designated roles within the offices of their jobs, “Being the sole provider for the family gave men a significant amount of power in their homes and contributed to feelings of male superiority,” which Marcia resembles almost identically here (White 2). Jackson, also familiar with these domestic nuances, has Marcia arrive as the potatoes are just finished cooking, “the door burst open and Marcia arrived with a shout and fresh air and disorder,” not limiting Marcia’s personality to the word ostentatious, but all the words that fall under it as well, like loud and disorganized (33). Jackson uses the description for Marcia “a tall handsome girl with a loud voice,” although it would not be fair to assume that every man during this time period could be attributed with a loud and disorganized life, nor a handsome one either (33). However, Jackson’s 26

use of the word “handsome” here is not only appropriate but it also suggests that Marcia is the one with the more masculine traits. Where “handsome” is used, words like “pretty” might have been placed to describe a woman in a “woman’s role.” This is Jackson’s approach to discussing more of society’s heinous gender normative issues without having to paint picket signs.

In a society bursting at the seams with social mores and a certain air of gentility and respect, Jackson gives readers ample cause for admiration, and that fact makes the disrespect from Marcia all the more noteworthy in this story. After maintaining the household for the day in their absence, husbands would flock home to be waited upon and served as they kicked up their feet, much to their wives’ dismay: “Marcia fell into a chair to sit with her legs stretched out in front of her and her arms hanging…[David] walked quietly back and forth from the kitchenette to the table, avoiding Marcia’s feet,” another element of chaos purging David’s clean haven (33).

The disregard by Marcia for the work that has been done by David is entirely reflected by husbands of the past who would arrive home and, at times, even invite over another guest without mentioning it to their wives. In fact, the men of the house, whether they knew it or not, utilized the domestic roles of their wives to their own advantage, often requesting more from their women than had previously been agreed upon. Marcia has her co-worker, Mr. Harris, over and has him sit down. Next, although Mr. Harris makes no mention of wanting anything, Marcia makes these requests from David consecutively one after another: “Davie, how about another cup for Mr. Harris?” so he may drink coffee with them, then Marcia is already asking Mr. Harris if he likes pie, giving him not much time to answer before “Davie, how about cutting Mr. Harris a piece of that pie?” she doesn’t seem to be testing a limit to how David will serve them, because there isn’t one (36). David is willing to serve them as long as there is somebody willing to be served. Throughout Jackson’s works, there is this undeniable limbo of ambiguity where it is 27

uncertain whether she supported women in the typical domestic role, or whether she scorned them for not living up to their full potential.

This push and pull of David’s desire to be in control and have his own sense of agency is constantly being challenged by the way that Marcia appropriates David in his role, using him to serve toward her own advantage, therefore, her own sense of agency. The multitude of requests does not go without spurn on David’s part as his “desire to be rid of Mr. Harris had slid imperceptibly into an urgency to be rid of them both,” which is an interesting turn in the tone of the short story (37). Until this point, David seems to work against himself, complicit in his own domestication, serving Marcia and then Mr. Harris as well, performing the housework, and maintaining the order of his home. It turns out that complicity is not, in fact what David is playing at. David’s game involves an integral knowledge and use of the domestic spaces as a sort of anchoring point for the seed of his sense of agency to grow.

The domestic sphere belongs entirely to David. As the story unfolds, he remains in complete control of his domestic spaces, primarily his kitchenette. Toward the beginning of the story, it is made evident that David could have chosen any smaller studio apartment without the many different rooms; however, “he could not have a foyer and a big room and a kitchenette, anywhere else,” which shows that David is thinking strategically about where he is to settle (30).

He picks a place that will specifically call to his needs with areas like the kitchenette where most of his sense of agency will stem from. David is proud of his home and the careful attention that he has given it, including all of the elements of decoration and the preparation of food. Marcia makes a comment as they sit down to eat that she appreciates everything, saying to David “I mean everything, furniture, and nice place you have here, and dinner, and everything,” to which 28

David responds “I like things this way” (34). It is curious here the way that Marcia then responds back to David. Jackson is careful to use the word “mournful” to describe Marcia’s voice as she says “I know you do…Someone should teach me, I guess,” and suddenly readers are brought somewhere entirely different than where they were before (34). Although it is clear that David owns the domestic space, there are some ambiguities as to whether David will be the one to stay in those spaces or be pushed out by somebody else invading the domestic regime. “Someone should teach me,” being Marcia’s response indicates that she may altogether feel like she is being left out of a role, in which she was intended to be in and, in a way, is demanding to be let into. This enforces Foucault’s discursive regime idea that, although there may be roles that

Marcia wants to take on, some larger power is intrinsically drawing her to the roles that society has already defined her within as a woman. It is like instinct pulling Marcia toward the more historically feminine role. Immediately after Marcia speaks, David begins offering ways that

Marcia could improve her lifestyle by keeping her house neater, buying curtains, and closing her windows when she isn’t home, but Marcia seems resistant to the sudden change, even though she suggested it. This resistance is not unexpected since Jackson’s method of displaying women gaining a sense of agency in this short story includes this idea of role reversal. Marcia being placed within the roles of the typical “masculine” character makes her more likely to resist change in that role, but the looming sphere of the domestic, enforced by the male fantasy, steadily breaks down her character, so that Marcia is attracted from her masculine role and into the feminine role again. This does not become much of a problem for Marcia, though, because she sees the agency that David gains from living within the domestic sphere and she learns from that. This is where that fateful cherry pie comes in. 29

Much can be said about a pie, especially when discussing the hierarchical ladder of the exchange of social power in the situation surrounding it is concerned. It starts out simple, after all, pie itself is not that complex. David mentions that he has made this pie for the evening and

Marcia seems incredulous that it is, in fact, cherry…then she inquires if it is the first pie that

David has set out to make. David admits “I’ve made two before, but this one turned out better than the others,” a positive affirmation for this preliminary pie maker, but when faced by Marcia, a woman, David suddenly becomes critical of himself (35). He is working through these domestic tasks and is critical of himself as he feels that sort of policing, yet familiar, feminine force bearing down on him. He is ultimately trying to please a presence that may or may not be there. The presence, which, in continuance of the title’s analysis, may be his mother: a past archaic force of the domestic regime, whose influence works on David whether he knows it or not. He complains that the pie is sour because he ran out of sugar and, of course, a good housewife, especially one that remembered to stop for butter at the shop earlier, would never.

These thoughts of his are representative of a much larger, perhaps learned, way of life. He has obviously been taught how much sugar must go into a pie,1 and that one must never forget to stop for the groceries. But, where would he have learned that from? Definitely not his own father. David’s ashamed that the pie isn’t sweet, but Marcia reassures him that it is perfect and that she doesn’t find this pie to even be “sour enough.” There is venom in her voice here as she

1 1 cup of sugar. 2½ tablespoons of flour ¼ teaspoon salt 1 quart sour red cherries 1 recipe Plain Pastry (page 121) Mix sugar, flour and salt together. Mix with cherries which have been thoroughly washed and pitted. Then pour into a pie plate which has been lined with pastry. Cover top with pastry and press edges together. Prick top to allow steam to escape. Bake in a very hot oven (450° F.) for 10 minutes, then reduce to moderate (350° F.) and bake 25 minutes longer. Makes 1 (9-inch) pie (Berolzheimer 485). 30

says this, almost as if she is envious of the role that David plays here in the domestic space. He seems happy to her and proud of the pie that he has created, his sense of agency sparking her need to replace him in that domestic space, claiming it as her own. There is an underlying sense of agency within David that he is getting through his domestic space and Marcia is trying to enter the same role, so she is given the same sense of agency.

Now, the elephant in the room must be addressed, and no it’s not Mr. Harris. David’s placement into the female gender role exemplifies the strict set of qualifications that women must earn within their domestic positions. If this story is all about defining female agency within the domestic regime, why is utilizing a male character the best way to go about it? Who’s to say it is the best way to convey that idea? Apparently, Jackson thought so. The story features a deliberate change of gender concerning David so that the glaring obscenities of postwar gender norms became obvious even more so than they were previously. By placing David into the typically feminine role, Jackson reveals the flaws inherently built into the masculine role with

Marcia. Marcia is seen as loud and obnoxious, obviously outside of what society would deem the

“appropriate” role for her. But then what does that say about David? David’s fulfillment of the feminine role is so near complete that the only traditionally male quality that he possesses in the story is his name, so, in essence, David is not within his “appropriate” role either. This role reversal is exemplative of the very narrow set of qualifications that society sets out for women to earn. Jackson, a woman of both the domestic and the career, points not only to how often the career of a woman is disregarded, but also how diminished the agency of a domestic woman can be in the presence of the masculine gaze. 31

Although Jackson chooses to have Marcia move into the domestic space and have David exit from it, the source of power, surprisingly doesn’t change. This is the seed that Jackson plants. Though it’s important to note that when David leaves his own apartment and makes his way into Marcia’s, “he thought miserably of his own warm home,” and then “wearily” begins picking up scattered papers that clutter around her apartment, the sense of agency that has been granted to him under the domestic regime has not been taken away (40). He is clearly not happy about the incident that just took place, but the “source” of power is granted by the domestic sphere. Acting much like its own regime, domesticity insofar as it serves to connect its subject to the community of women empowered within the home. Domesticity makes its subjects vulnerable to masculine appropriation. Marcia saw the sense of agency that was granted to David while he was inside the domestic sphere, and it made her envious of him. This explains why she makes the move to claim David’s domestic actions as her own. Marcia recognizes that subconscious pull toward domesticity and, therefore, begins to act within that sphere, entertaining Mr. Harris, and claiming the cherry pie as her own creation. With Marcia moving into the domestic space, David is forced out of it (literally out of the apartment), and he displaces himself for a moment. Of course, the situation depresses him because he has been moved from his primary place of power. The one that he worked so hard to keep clean and organized—where everything had its own place. His desire to return to a domestic space is strong. This explains why his first action when he enters Marcia’s space is to immediately begin cleaning. Cleaning, an act of domesticity, starts David on the path to rebuild his sense of power within a new domestic sphere, fulfilling the roles that he never left behind. Domesticity ultimately moved with

David as he left his own domestic space, because the domestic regime is not anchored by one 32

place or person, but rather works as a peripheral influence on the people who decide to take up action under it.

The reclamation of a position that is so rarely analyzed as having an associated sense of agency and the risk of being appropriated by men is Shirley Jackson’s primary purpose as she writes her early short stories, and later her novella. The story is all about the potential for women

(and some men) to gain a sense of agency and just exactly how they do that through their actions under the domestic regime. The presence of David within the domestic regime is proof of its existence and proof of the power that it institutes within its occupants. The male perspective is important to Jackson as a writer, who works to convey messages and tell stories to audiences of all genders and, perhaps, those who are especially resistant to listening. By providing a male character, Jackson opens her narratives up to male audiences, although, perhaps, does not directly appeal to them and, therefore, creates a discussion that was missing before. The inverted roles highlight the appealing aspects of the feminine domestic role and emphasizes the gender politics put in play around this identity. The malleability of both David and Marcia in the story is indicative of the flexibility of the domestic regime itself. Sure, society might say that Marcia belongs under the domestic regime, yet it is David who lives under it. What we have in society and what Jackson was emphasizing for her readers to see is not a resistance to the idea of domesticity, but an unwillingness to incorporate ourselves into it and change the same way that women and writers like Shirley Jackson have been doing for lifetimes.

The ambiguity riddling the roles of Marcia and David explores the grey areas in domesticity. Jackson identifies this crucial dynamic expressed between Marcia and David as the domestic lays in the balance. The vulnerability in gender is the catalyst for Marcia as she is 33

drawn toward the domestic role. Although she is representative of the masculine role in this story, her position is challenged, and she seeks to infiltrate the domestic role to claim the sense of agency and power that David lays claim to. What Jackson shows though, is that David relies on the domestic regime to supply his power. There is no power for the woman’s role outside of the domestic regime, or at least it would be difficult to come to. Marcia’s movement into David’s apartment is not her usurping his power, because the physical domestic space is not what gives

David his power in the first place. This misreading of David by Marcia will ultimately lead her to a dissatisfying realization; however, we never get to see that as readers. Instead, our final view is of David moving into Marcia’s apartment, where he begins to tidy: a sign that he still resides under the domestic regime and has not had it taken from him after all.

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I’ve Got You Under My Skin: Domestic Observation

The exploration and analysis of Shirley Jackson’s later works reveal common threads that begin with women’s agency and then transcend into the mechanics of the domestic regime. It is unclear whether Jackson believed that women could work happily under the domestic regime, since oftentimes her characters make questionable choices or are submitted to unfortunate circumstances. In the world of Haunting of Hill House, these ambiguities take the typical gothic trope of a haunted house. 2 The temporary residents of the house endure various “hauntings,” which Jackson utilizes as a way to personify the past feminine lines that are attached to the house via the domestic regime. The less spectral, and yet, perhaps more frightening of the characters,

Mrs. Dudley, Hill House’s housekeeper, is a representative of a long line of different women who carried on the traditional roles built under the domestic regime. The actual haunting that takes place in the house is indicative of the ways that the deceased domestic occupants and the domestic regime itself want to lay claim to the new inhabitants as members of Hill House’s domestic sphere. As a result, The Haunting of Hill House serves Jackson in helping her tell a story of a woman struggling to gain her own sense of agency within the strict confines of domesticity.

The Haunting of Hill House begins with a series of letters being sent out asking for willing participants to volunteer in an experiment at the infamous Hill House. The only people who respond are socially reclusive Eleanor, excessively vibrant Theodora, and Hill House’s heir,

2 Jackson decided to write the noted “ghost story” after she had read the reports of a nineteenth century study within a supposedly haunted house. Jackson deduced of this study that the house was not, in fact, haunted, but the study was performed with several determined people with differing motivations. When beginning to think up her own haunted house story, Jackson looked for a house from which she could draw inspiration. Later, while looking through magazines, Jackson found a house that she believed looked suitably haunted. It turns out that the exact house she was looking at was a house that had been constructed by her great-great grandfather, a San Francisco architect. 35

Luke. Eleanor escapes the clutches of her daily life at home to the mystique of Hill House where she becomes quick friends with Theodora as they bond over the cold shoulders of the housekeeper, Mrs. Dudley. Dr. Montague proves himself to be less than a man of method and more of an observational scientist. They sit around Hill House waiting for, what Dr. Montague believed was, poltergeist activity within the house. The house has a troubled past with several deaths and a feud over the general welfare promised by the wealth of dishes and domestic items inside it. Eleanor recognizes the rich history of the house and becomes respectful and even defensive, at times, of the order that the house is kept in, especially by way of Mrs. Dudley.

Eventually, the phenomena that Dr. Montague had come to the house for occurs, but not with him as a witness. The house only responds to the women occupants of the house. Theodora’s entire room is covered in blood, and Eleanor begins to hear sounds throughout the house. As a result, Eleanor quickly becomes consumed by the house. She rushes up to the library balcony, where the previous homeowner hanged herself, and must be saved by Luke. The team reassess the value of Eleanor participating in the study and insist that she must leave. Torn by being forced to leave Hill House, Eleanor realizes she doesn’t want to leave and, in a last-ditch effort to stay at the house forever, crashes her car into the tree at the bottom of the hill.

Shirley Jackson’s rich familial background in the architectural world inspired her to create a setting for the constricting world of the domestic regime in The Haunting of Hill House.

Hill House became one of Jackson’s most notable works because her critics believed that she had created the perfect haunted house story. The ghosts in this novel, however, are not the usual suspects. There isn’t a man in a mask, nor the spirit of a deceased woman coming back for her revenge. The culprit of the haunting is nowhere to be found, yet the reasons for the generational deaths and the strange occurrences can all be drawn back to one thing—the house. Shirley 36

Jackson utilizes the house in The Haunting of Hill House to demonstrate the grasp that the domestic regime has on the lives of women, but also how the house, ironically, acts as a Venus flytrap, luring in women with the promise of domestic order, and then destroying them from within. The promise of agency through regime would be enough to entice the women into domesticity; however, the house itself proves to be destructive, unfortunate for the women, yet not a complete desolation to the agency that they may find within the house. This destruction of those seeking agency within domestic roles is analogous to the relationship that Jackson had with domesticity. She was not convinced that there was a strictly positive or strictly negative connotation when serving in domestic roles. Thus, her characters, though finding their niches within the domestic space, end up experiencing grisly ends.

The novel begins, not with the expected experiment conducted within the house, but a cryptic message directed towards, perhaps, the people who wished to find themselves under the unfortunate gaze of Hill House, which establishes Jackson’s ambiguity in domestic themes firstly. The gaze of Hill House is associated with the past voices of the women within the domestic roles. This gaze, as we’ll later examine, is reinforced by the presence of Mrs. Dudley, the house’s caretaker. The narrator starts “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality…Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against the hills, holding darkness within…whatever walked there, walked alone,” setting the expectations for this novel to be a happy one at an all-time low (Haunting 1). The quote also suggests that the existence of anybody within the realm of the domestic, or within the confines of the house, is virtually impossible in regard to one’s sanity. Perhaps, this is to infer about domesticity or the domestic regime, that it is difficult to maintain oneself or individuality within such a regime without sacrificing that individuality to the overall benefit of the regime. Jackson utilizes the 37

introduction of her characters and the house to emphasize a singular fact to her readers: it must be questioned whether the house is haunted. Before we get to the answer of that question, however, it should be considered the house is not just a house, but a metaphor for some greater idea that provides a commentary on domestic life and women’s agency within the roles of the house.

The personality of each participant in the house identifies with an element of the domestic regime; however, there is something distinctly feminine about the house itself and the gaze that is associated. This gaze has an affinity toward the two women that the story follows.

Jackson is very purposeful with the type of story that she wishes to tell, so, of course, the novel will cover all necessary elements of haunting, but it is also focused on a very specific type of female story. Dr. Montague, the mastermind behind the Hill House experiment, sends out several letters asking for willing participants. He receives two responses back, both of which come from women. Dr. Montague’s participants are not portrayed as normal by any means. The first participant and the novel’s protagonist, Eleanor, was requested due to an inexplicable circumstance when Eleanor had allegedly been involved with “poltergeist phenomena”, and had caused stones to fall from the ceiling of her house for three days (4). The second participant,

Theodora, was contacted due to her “slight telepathic ability,” which had been discovered during a test where “she had somehow been able…to identify correctly eighteen cards out of twenty, fifteen cards out of twenty, nineteen cards out of twenty, held up by an assistant out of sight and hearing,” her bright, bodacious energy is meant to directly contrast with the quiet, less colorful personality of Eleanor (5). It is vital to point out that the only willing participants are women.

The only other person in the house is Luke, who is described as a “liar” and a “thief,” which are the attributes listed before Jackson even tells her readers that he is the nephew of the owner of 38

Hill House (5). Perhaps it is, then, that readers are not supposed to think very much of him. In fact, Jackson’s usage of male characters in this story does not seem important to the plot much at all. The house seems to only ever respond to the presence of Eleanor and Theodora, with Luke and Dr. Montague only appearing after the spectral events have occurred. Dr. Montague makes it a point after all that he is glad the women were the eager participants because he hopes that in their own ways, Eleanor and Theodora might “intensify the forces at work in the house,” which leads to the assumption that maybe the forces working in the house are female, especially due to the unfortunate background that the house carries concerning the female tradition (52). He does not suggest the same for Luke, who, although is a participant in the study, is not a female. In this way, Dr. Montague hopes that the past generations of female presences under the domestic regime will act out in a response to other women residing within the house. Perhaps, they will serve as new tenants, replacements, of the domestic regime.

The history of Hill House is a grim one, especially concerning the past of its female inheritors. This grim past is one way of understanding the constrictions of gender roles within the domestic; without conformity to the regime, there are grave consequences. Joan Wyle Hall, a

Jackson scholar, suggests that Jackson’s rather ordinary characters “became enmeshed in extraordinary situations that either free them or, more often, trap them,” which is suffice to say what the duality of the domestic is all about (Rubenstein 311). For Jackson, the story of Hill

House was to be written as a family affair. The man to initially build and live in the house was named Hugh Crain. He had three wives who all died tragically, and to bring a terribly ironic twist to Hugh Crain’s life, he was left with two young daughters. These daughters grew up and eventually fought over who would inherit Hill House. The younger daughter married, and it was settled that the house would belong to the eldest. It is mentioned that the elder sister “genuinely 39

loved Hill House and looked upon it as her family home,” which meant that any grievances about the house came from their feud and not the house itself (56). Later on, the younger sister claimed that she gave the house to the older sister because she was promised some of the valuable items inside the house, like jewelry and furniture. Dr. Montague recalls that through further investigation of some family letters, “[the] dishes stand out as the recurrent sore subject,” showing the priorities of both the sisters to lay with simple superficial domestic items. Either convenient or ironic, the older sister dies of pneumonia within the walls of the house (56). The person to whom Hill House was then left to was not the younger sister, but a young girl who had lived with and helped to take care of the older sister. Unfortunately for this girl, the younger sister received the sympathies of the townsfolk. She did not receive the same. In fact, gossip accumulated and as Jackson would have it, the girl kills herself. Eleanor is surprised by this information and asks, “She had to kill herself?” To which Dr. Montague responds “You mean, was there another way of escaping her tormentor? She certainly did not seem to think so,” identifying a tormentor, which does not necessarily coincide with the taunts and gossip of society but rather something inside the house (58). By agreeing to take care of the house’s owner, the young girl agreed to live under the domestic regime, cleaning up after the sister and maintaining the household—her own sense of agency in accepting the role. As a result of this sense of agency, and defining herself under the domestic regime, it becomes nearly impossible to escape from the regime, especially since the house tries to incorporate its inhabitants into a domestic rhythm. Unlike the women of the household before her, who made failed attempts at trying to escape the domestic, the girl decides that there is really only one way out and solves the issue before the house can bring about the consequences anyway. 40

The evil is not the house itself, but the history that comes with it. With the continual generations of women in domestic roles, the role of women in society has written itself much like the fates of the Greek epics. The source of all trouble within this novel seems to stem from one place, which Dr. Montague identifies saying, “the evil is the house itself, I think. It has enchained and destroyed its people and their lives, it is a place of contained ill will,” and yet, is it as simple as this explanation (60)? The saying goes that home is where the heart is, and that the people make the home. Therefore, all the ill will and destruction is being sourced from the people, right? Looking back at Foucault is crucial to understand exactly where this source of power is coming from. Once again, the domestic is acting as the discursive regime, and each time a person files themselves under it, they must succumb to the regulations of that regime in order to remain classified in it. In this novel, Jackson gives us an example of how the domestic regime can ultimately have negative effects on the lives of the people who choose to coincide within it. John G. Parks writes about the effects of the gothic house as a setting in Jackson’s work as serving “not just as the focus of action or as atmosphere, but as a force or influence upon character or a reflection of character” (Parks 21). The domestic, being one of the only places for women to gain agency within, acts as a sort of trap for many because of the history associated and the expectations that reach out from society.

Generational entrapment by the influence of the domestic voices of the past ensures that women will stay in positions that have provided power to a history of women. This helps alleviate the confusion in addressing the reason that women, like the older Crain sister and, later,

Eleanor would ever want to stay in a place that would ultimately threaten their very existences.

Yet, these women seem drawn to the house and even turn against those that force them to leave.

To contrast from the women inside the house, Parks brings in Irving Malin’s terms to help 41

explain the meaning behind the house, claiming that it stands as “the metaphor of confining narcissism, the private world.’ The house not only reflects the insanities of the occupants but serves as a fitting microcosm of the madnesses of the world” (Parks 22). Hill House, in Jackson’s case, serves as a microcosm encapsulating the discussion of generational entrapment under the domestic regime. It is this generational line of women and their duties that seem to influence the newer generations of young women attempting to move into the domestic. Of course, they are accepted into the roles, but then the negative effects of staying within the role are overwhelming.

Hill House and the generations of domestic labor that it embodies has acquired its very own gaze that keeps its inhabitants feeling as though they are being watched, even if nothing is physically around to watch them. This gaze is a subconscious policing force that ensures women begin to work under the domestic regime. On the group’s first evening at Hill House, Dr.

Montague leaves to find a chess set to entertain himself and Luke, and he returns quite spooked.

The others ask what the doctor saw, but he refuses to mention anything. The one carrot that he decides to throw them is that “It watches…The house. It watches every move you make,” before quickly suggesting that it was just his imagination, of course” (62). The disciplining force of the domestic and all the generations of domestic work are felt by those who do not necessarily take on domestic roles. So, Dr. Montague, though not serving under this gaze is subjected to it while under the realm of the house. This same gaze can be tracked throughout the novel, appearing as the head of a boar mounted on the wall with its blank eyes, as well as the unwelcomed darkness and chill that follows each of them from room to room. This gaze, although revealing itself to be parts of the house, are representative of the domestic gaze that has dominated the household. It is incorporated into every part of the house, like the domestic incorporated into itself every woman that existed under it. The house itself is the amalgamation of all the past domestic occupants and 42

their contribution to the domestic sphere, growing in its influence as individuals come through the spaces of the house. This is the reason that the house seems to be alive and why it reacts to the people trying to invade the domestic space. It is the “gaze” of the domestic. This gaze seeps into the very essences of everybody in the house; however, it seems that it is most effective on

Eleanor.

The most crucial character in terms of understanding the gaze of the domestic is the caretaker, Mrs. Dudley. Eleanor and the other characters’ interactions with Mrs. Dudley are scarce and oftentimes odd encounters. She has a stubborn disposition that does not sit well with the rest of the inhabitants, and she insists on doing her duties as diligently and as timely as possible; consequently, she reminds the others “I set dinner on the dining-room sideboard at six sharp…I have breakfast ready for you at nine…” and she is persistent about that, bringing it up over ten other times (27). Mrs. Dudley is responsible for maintaining the typical domestic space, cooking and cleaning for the occupants of Hill House for the duration of their stay. She knows all the inner workings of the house and is constantly aware of the gaze that she is put under, but also the gaze that works itself at the others. Before leaving Eleanor to make herself “at home,”

Dudley mentions that she and her husband live over in the town that is six miles away from Hill

House and that “there won’t be anyone around if you need help,” she goes even further to mention, “We couldn’t even hear you, in the night,” acknowledging not only that there is a potential malice in the house, but that it is highly likely to interact with Eleanor and her “friends” while they are there (27). Yet, this does nothing to deter Eleanor from her stay and Jackson even writes that Eleanor becomes tired while she listens to Mrs. Dudley. Mrs. Dudley seems to be intensely intimate with the way that Hill House runs, both with her around and by itself. Mrs.

Dudley is also innately aware of the type of person that may find themselves attracted to the 43

house and, seeing those qualities in Eleanor, she makes her aware of the house as well. Overall,

Mrs. Dudley ensures that she stays out of the way and remains incorporated into the domestic sphere, in order to maintain her place as a woman within the household and her spot as a person under the domestic regime.

The rapport that Mrs. Dudley establishes with the house is indicative of her devotion to her work under the domestic regime. While showing Eleanor and Theodora around to the different rooms of the house, she overhears Theodora mention sarcastically that Hill House is the home she’s always dreamed of, and Mrs. Dudley responds curtly to Theodora’s impertinence.

She promptly tells them that they are standing in front of the green room and then Eleanor senses that “flippant or critical talk about the house bothered Mrs. Dudley in some manner; maybe she thinks it can hear us,” she thinks, and in this sense, it seems as though a disruption to the normal order is the cause of Mrs. Dudley’s cold shoulder (31). The sudden appearance of Dr Montague and his test subjects does not seem to please Mrs. Dudley in the slightest, and if she wasn’t being paid to serve them, she’d more than likely not be doing it at all. Mrs. Dudley has made her peace with the house by maintaining a respect for the place and its tradition of women working within its walls. As long as she takes care of the house, replacing the dishes when they’ve been used, et cetera, the house will not cause any harm to her. There is an element of safety and privacy that

Mrs. Dudley receives from the house as she agrees to maintain the natural domestic rhythm to keep it alive.

Domesticity is an odd machine. The complexity of its patriarchal origins suggests that domestic life would amount to oppression or its female occupants; however, a sense of security and belonging keeps women within these roles. Domesticity, being an engine of the patriarchy, 44

was designed to keep women in the homes and out of the way in a male-dominated workplace.

So, why wouldn’t women want to move outside of their homes and into the coveted agency of their own jobs and their own positions of power? It could be that women often retreat into their cookbook habits because it offers them a form of privacy, despite being created under the male gaze. The security that a position like this ensures is something that attracts women to the roles in the first place. This security plays an integral role for Mrs. Dudley and will play an integral role for Eleanor as well. For women like Mrs. Dudley, it is important for her to maintain the house’s order so that the house then provides her with her own space and security. As it has already been examined, Mrs. Dudley keeps a strict schedule for herself and for the people she is expected to serve. There is no disputing those times, nor will Mrs. Dudley ever be persuaded to break from her norms, regardless of the interaction. After the inhabitant’s first evening spent in

Hill House, they wake up late to breakfast and eventually gather around the table to discuss their objectives. Mrs. Dudley arrives promptly to clear off the dishes, “I clear off at ten,” she says without hesitation (73). She repeats this as they all greet her as if it’s her mantra, “I clear off at ten…The dishes are supposed to be back on the shelves. I take them out again for lunch. I set out lunch at one, but first the dishes have to be back on the shelves,” and it’s almost obsessive (73).

Theodora goes so far as to test her patience further, “Do the dishes belong to the house,” she quips. Mrs. Dudley replies “They belong on the shelves…The linen…belongs in the linen drawers in the dining room. The silver belongs in the silver chest. The glasses belong on the shelves,” and the attitude belongs entirely to Mrs. Dudley (74). Something is pushing Dudley to make sure the house is back to perfect condition or as she left it before. It wouldn’t be surprising to learn that women in the past had done exactly as she had done years before her. There is a 45

tradition that looms in the house and keeps Mrs. Dudley busy. As a result, she is gifted a space of her own where she can thrive within her own realm of privacy.

Besides the obsessive dish organization and repetitious reminders of when lunch is served

(it’s at one), Mrs. Dudley is also very careful about her movements in the house and even moves, at times as though she is an embodiment of the house itself. As Eleanor had noticed herself, Mrs.

Dudley “walked without sound,” as if she walks around trying not to wake up the great domestic beast (29). She is constantly wary about her surroundings and who exactly is around her. While exploring a bit more of the house, Eleanor and Theodora conveniently stumble upon the kitchen when Mrs. Dudley is preparing their lunch. Of course, she reminds them of the intended schedule before Theodora tells her they would just like to see the kitchen, which is when Mrs. Dudley chooses to do something interesting. She doesn’t stand her ground and remind them yet again; instead, she disappears through a door and heads upstairs. Perhaps this is a test for Eleanor and

Theodora. Will they fulfill the domestic prophecy set out for all women, or will they fail and continue to disrupt the natural order of the domestic household? Eleanor comments that it is in fact, “a nice kitchen,” which is why she ends up as the perfect candidate for the house (81). As for Mrs. Dudley’s kitchen escape, she does not use the only door; there are no less than seven, total. Quite a few doors for a kitchen. Theodora then makes the observation that Mrs. Dudley can certainly “get out fast in any direction if she wants to,” and escape every unwanted set of eyes that she wishes (82). Curiously enough, there are a lot of doors throughout Hill House, which causes the inhabitants to become lost often during the story. But the kitchen wins the award for most doors in a single room. The doors provided by the house in the domestic space of the kitchen are for Mrs. Dudley. Since she is the one restoring order back to the house, it rewards her with the back routes. She knows it like the back of her hand too. She is so entirely intimate with 46

the structure of the house that she knows exactly how to escape any situation from wherever inside the house; however, the kitchen is the stronghold with seven different ways to escape. The doors also allow for the house to watch Mrs. Dudley. Eleanor makes a curious query, “I wonder, actually, just what Mrs. Dudley is in the habit of meeting in her kitchen so that she wants to make sure she’ll find a way out no matter which direction she runs,” she knows that there is something that presents tension between occupant and house (82). Although the domestic is providing Mrs. Dudley with this form of freedom to roam the house, she is also constantly in view of something that is far greater than herself and the domestic role that she fulfills. Here,

Jackson brings to light that ever-present gaze that could stem from past domestic occupants, the patriarchy, or even other women serving within the same roles at the same time. Regardless of who is watching, occupants of the domestic regime are sensitive to the presence of this gaze and, therefore, work harder to appease it by way of their actions. Eleanor struggles with this adjustment as she aims to mold herself into the domestic aspects of Hill House and its ancient regime.

Eleanor is the guest of the house that is most seduced by the security that is offered under the service of the domestic regime. Being, herself, a bit of a loner looking for a permanent home,

Eleanor begins this story living with her sister, commandeering her sister’s car, and then driving out to Hill House for the experiment. It is this loneliness exactly that will cause Eleanor to clutch to Hill House. Rollo May, an existential psychologist describes loneliness as having the potential to become a form of “demon possession. Surrendering ourselves to the impersonal diamonic pushes us into an anonymity which is also impersonal; we serve nature’s gross purposes on the lowest common denominator, which often means with violence,” which will ultimately mirror the ending of the story and the fate of Eleanor (May 162). May’s explanation of loneliness fits 47

Jackson’s analysis of the loneliness that Eleanor is attributed with from the beginning of the story. In a way, Eleanor will have turned against her the fragile version of herself for the integrity of the domestic regime that Hill House offers. She is so desperately lonely that the offer of a domestic role in Hill House becomes attractive to her, which blinds her from any potential threats that this incorporation may involve.

Eleanor does not only have an appetite for the security that Hill House offers, but she also looks to indulge in fantasies not just about living in the house but doing the work of the house. Domesticity ultimately brings her comfort and control, which is dangerously linked to self-annihilation as well. Invited to partake in the experiment because of her past involvement in

“poltergeist phenomena,” Eleanor is not entirely smitten with Hill House at the get go, and yet she fantasizes about becoming an integral part of the house. Before she arrives, she imagines herself living within a house, “Every morning I swept the porch and dusted the lions, and every evening I patted their heads good night” (12). That seems altogether a normal premonition that anybody might have until the very last sentence of the paragraph where she explains that this is all “When I died…” Eleanor does not view a house as a temporary fix to the living situation she finds herself in now; rather, she intends to complete or finish her life in one (12). The fine line between Eleanor’s desire to become a part of the house and delivering her own self destruction, is precarious. The reflection of dusting off the lions shows her fantasy of joining the domestic regime of the house; however, she suddenly turns to the more destructive reasoning and she mentions, likely unknowingly that her participation poses a deadly risk to her. Perhaps, it is not quite May’s idea of demonic possession, but an insistence upon the incorporation of oneself into an already existing entity. Of course, Eleanor does not know what kind of house Hill House is to begin with. Yet, she is pulled toward it. There is some force drawing her to the house 48

unbeknownst to her. Richard Pascal, a Jackson scholar, writes in his article on Hill House that the forces of the house, or the “undead” doing the haunting “walk alone, attempting to impose their personal fantasies and demands upon the communal domain,” arguing that those occupying within the realm of the house may also be influenced by it and play off each occupant’s personal fantasies (Pascal 465). As she arrives at Hill House, her greeting by Mr. Dudley, Mrs. Dudley’s husband, is not welcoming and Eleanor thinks to herself “Hill House is vile, it is diseased; get away from here at once,” which will prove to be difficult for Eleanor to do once she has stepped into the house (23). Muttering to herself all the way to the front door, Eleanor knows that there is something about the house that should have made her turn back, yet she still goes through.

Eleanor serves as Hill House’s perfect domestic candidate. Throughout its history, it has seemingly tried to replace its female host, each woman failing to be capable of proving herself to the house. The only other woman who has successfully incorporated herself into the house is

Mrs. Dudley, who serves the house and its occupants. It is interesting to note that the house does not seem to go after Theodora. Perhaps it is the male associative qualities of her personality that make the house turn a blind eye to her. Going by “Theo,” Theodora seems to be less of a prime choice for Hill House because she combats the typical female norms. Although flirtatious, with a bright personality, Theodora does not fit the bill for Hill House. The house is looking for somebody to stay, permanently within its realm. Somebody who would conform nicely to the domestic ideal and would be happy staying in the house and never leaving. Somebody who does not reject the ideals of the domestic, and instead embraces them. Parks pulls together the loneliness of Eleanor and the captivation of the house, stating “It is this house [Hill House] which welcomes home the utterly guilt-ridden lonely, and loveless protagonist, Eleanor Vance, who surrenders willingly to its dark embraces, her own fragile self-dissolving and fusing with the 49

substance of Hill House,” (Parks 25) thereby bringing Eleanor to a greater system of power, and instilling within her an inherent sense of agency. Pascal also argues that it is unquestionable that

“for Eleanor the allure of the house, and also its horror, is bound up with the sense that it wishes to envelop her in a maternal embrace so comprehensive that her newly won independence and all vestiges of her individuality will be subsumed utterly” (Pascal 469). If the house were to be personified, it would love Eleanor because of her willingness to become a part of the house and the domestic life inside of it. Theodora is often the one projecting her beliefs that Eleanor should leave the house and escape the incorporation. She, like the male characters, Luke and Dr.

Montague, insists that the house is not a healthy place for Eleanor to remain, thus placing into jeopardy the house’s one potential domestic occupant. As the three of them are taking Eleanor to her car and packing up her clothes for her, Theodora insists “Nell, you’ve got to go away from here,” while Luke furthers the argument for her disappearance, “you are no longer welcome as my guest,” destroying any hope for the house that Eleanor will become a part of the domestic sphere (176).

Wanting to stay and become an integral part of the domestic regime present within Hill

House, Eleanor is expectantly resistant to leaving, and she takes it upon herself to ensure that she does not leave. She remarks on the sudden excusal from the experiment that she receives from

Dr. Montague and company, saying, “I am too used already to the comforts of Hill House,” indicating that by the end of the story, Eleanor considers herself fully incorporated into the ways of Hill House and the domestic regime (181). She banters with herself, not fully believing the reasons that they had for sending her away and eventually settles on the conclusion that “Hill

House is not as easy as they are; just by telling me to go away they can’t make me leave, not if

Hill House means me to stay,” which, just like Mrs. Dudley, Eleanor shows that she is now 50

aware of the house’s sentience and the same sort of presence that they feel pressured by under the domestic regime (181). Though the actual house is not the thing wanting to keep Eleanor, what she refers to in reality being the domestic regime, she recognizes that there is an unknown force working with her to bring about this sense of agency, a sense that she hasn’t had throughout the duration of the story, beginning with her living with her sister and unable of going anywhere. She starts chanting to herself in the car “you can’t stay,” to which she responds with “but I can; they don’t make the rules around here. They can’t turn me out or shut me out or laugh at me or hide from me; I won’t go, and Hill House belongs to me,” which is a sudden and complete transformation of Eleanor’s at first meek and quiet personality to somebody who is confident in their own ability to choose (181). She takes complete ownership of the roles associated within the domestic sphere of the house and identifies them as her own. The rules of the household, therefore, are her own, just Mrs. Dudley and any other women that would have come before Eleanor. Her final action is the one that provides a sense of control to its tragic fullness, and she sends her car into a tree and kills herself, adding to her story and, thereby, to those of the women who have come before in this tragic household.

However, even the actions with the most agency are those still liable to doubt, and

Jackson’s motif of ambiguity follows Eleanor to the very end of the story. In the final seconds before the crash, Eleanor asks herself “Why am I doing this? Why don’t they stop me?” defining the domestic regime as, yes, a place where women had been granted a space of control and security, but also as a mechanism that, though its disciplinary authority, transfers that control to powers beyond the self, in fact powers that constitute the self (181). Alfred Kazin, a critic of women’s fiction, claims that Jackson’s fiction relies on “assault, deception, betrayal” patterns to tell the story of a victimized female protagonist and how defenseless she is throughout (Kazin 51

174). To, perhaps, offer support to that statement, it is not that the women that Jackson writes about are not deceived or challenged in some way, but they have the capacity to capitalize on those challenges, like the call of domesticity, and find in them a new source of individual power even if that power comes at significant cost.

Jackson examines the way that women pursue a sense of agency through the association with the domestic regime. The entity of the house comprises itself of the past members of the regime, like the characters of Mrs. Dudley, and works toward the recruitment of curious young women looking to potentially fulfill the domestic roles of the house, like Eleanor, through strict policing. Those who are adamant about rejecting the ideals of the domestic are largely ignored and in some cases concerning Jackson’s works, they are punished as a result of their rejection and disrespect. Domestic respect stems from the way that certain traditions are maintained under the domestic regime. Mrs. Dudley is careful with dishware and sets a strict schedule for serving meals and cleaning up again, which is a direct byproduct of the respect that she has for the domestic regime and the past generations’ traditions that must be performed to maintain it.

Haunting of Hill House provides interesting commentary on the question of ambiguity. There is no clear divide between what is perceived as inherently good and what is inherently evil.

Jackson’s works center on this feeling of ambivalence toward the domestic that supports the idea that although agency can be created for women serving under the domestic regime, there are still limitations working against these women that can ultimately serve in the undermining of their happiness.

52

“You will be wondering about that sugar bowl,” and The Price of Domestic Identity

The final novel in Shirley Jackson’s career is We Have Always Lived in the Castle. The novel’s narrator Merricat Blackwood admits to her audience with the utmost clarity that she enjoys the things that most find disturbing and that everybody in her family has just died, except for herself, her sister Constance, and her Uncle Julian. Everybody believes that Constance is the one that had sent them all to their deaths by lacing the sugar with a bit of arsenic. There is a darkness and a resentment hanging over the Blackwood family line and home. As Merricat leaves to get her errands run, she struggles with the villagers. The adults think the entire house should burn and the children have created a song about the deaths of her family. Once back at the house, the rhythm of the lives of both Merricat and Constance seem to ebb and flow. Constance takes care of the house and everybody in it, while Merricat places protection around the house with various spells and safeguards. Unfortunately for Merricat, her spells seem to fail in keeping people out of their home when their cousin Charles comes for a visit. In hopes of finding the families riches and making off with it, Charles tries to work his way into the family, but his efforts are constantly challenged by Merricat. Toward the end of the story, Merricat sets his room on fire, and it is unknown whether she does so intentionally or not, which attracts the villagers from the bottom of the hill. The villagers are thrilled to see the great Blackwood house burning and begin to pillage and destroy it further. Charles tries to get the safe from the house, but fails and leaves, Constance and Merricat escape, and Uncle Julian dies in the fire. His death has a sobering effect on the mob and people begin to leave. When the fire has died down,

Merricat and Constance start to organize what is left of the house, rebuilding what they had.

Merricat ends the story talking to Constance and revealing to her audience that she had slipped the arsenic into the sugar to end a line of terrible people. 53

The incorporation of domestic discussion alongside Shirley Jackson’s work is critical to our understanding of the past’s “culturally accepted roles” and how our perception of them has changed over time. Delving into this work, the Jacksonian presentation of the domestic follows closely to this atmospheric sense of ambiguity that shows itself most prolifically through this novel. The characters, though we may hope their lives will change, have questionable morality, and often find themselves wedged between the foundations of a loveless upbringing and an odd relationship with power. The premise of this power is that it is gained through the sense of agency made available through the domestic regime. The domestic regime requires an institution of rituals or habitual routines, and through those practices and making the choices that solidify those routines, they earn agency. This sense of agency, though, does not come without its pitfalls. There is a constant hypervigilance associated with the people who have decided to work under the domestic regime, in which that person is always aware of the presence of some form of gaze. This gaze comes in three parts: patriarchal, societal (Although it may be argued that the societal branch is heavily influenced or acts as an extension of the patriarchal regime), or from women within similar domestic roles (like peer criticism). This awareness of the outside forces that influence decisions made within the domestic community provides a commentary on the societal influence on domestic roles while also revealing how the characters utilize the physical spaces of the domestic as a form of refuge and sanctuary from the prying eyes of those outside influences. We Have Always Lived in the Castle provides a unique look into what happens when the spells of domesticity are broken and a house is destroyed; the domestic does not leave the women, nor do they relinquish their newfound sense of agency as they reestablish within their broken castle. 54

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, was published in 1962, just three years prior to the author’s death. Jackson’s writing at this point in time took a different approach from her earlier novels and short stories by touching on topics including both the gothic and the domestic. This novel, now focusing on the ways that gothic and domestic elements weave together to underscore the disturbing truths that lay beneath the seemingly “charming” house life. Jackson goes in depth to show her readers what results from masculine control over women, while also maintaining the idea that strengths and a sense of agency of women come through their sense of sisterly bonds and the construction of their own domestic practice. The novel follows the everyday lives of two sisters, Constance and Mary Catherine (affectionately called Merricat by her sister), and how the repetitious cycle of their copacetic domesticity is disrupted by the malevolence of patriarchal regimes. The unravelling of order into chaos is presented as Jackson’s final look into the minds of the domestic woman through her characters explores the potential of women in power in We Have Always Lived in the Castle, and it all starts with a bowl of sugar.

The resistance to masculine control over women locates itself in Jackson’s central character, Merricat Blackwood, an odd woman with a full capacity for violence which is shown rather immediately through her initial description at the beginning of the novel:

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my

sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a

werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I

have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I

like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the deathcup

mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead (Castle 1). 55

Although it is not revealed at the beginning of the novel, Merricat Blackwood is the murderess responsible for the deaths of many of her family members, or at least she wants to make us believe that (more on this later). She put arsenic in the sugar bowl as her family sat down to dinner nearly six years before she begins telling the story. All but she, Constance, and her Uncle

Julian died that evening. The list of the deceased includes their father, their younger brother, their mother, and Uncle Julian’s wife. It is no coincidence that half of the family members that were murdered were male. The murdering of both their father, and their younger brother destroyed the masculine line of inheritance; their brother was to inherit everything in the house, leaving nothing for the two girls. By getting rid of the line of men, there has been a transfer of power to the women and now the power lies with Constance, the next eldest. Although Uncle

Julian partook in sugar from the bowl, he did not die and was, instead, “in great pain for several days,” which caused him to become mentally inept and, therefore, nothing of a threat to

Constance and Merricat’s inheritance (37). The agency that was originally held within the male line was exchanged and those working under the domestic regime (the act of setting the table, and therefore the sugar bowl laced with arsenic) gained a sense of agency through their everyday acts with the removal of any meaningful masculine surveillance, even though it included murder.

Patterns, rituals, and repetition serve as a way that Constance and Merricat keep in control a sense of agency that had previously been in the male hands of the house. The desolation of the masculine family line may be perceived as a pattern within the story. There is a specific focus on patterns and repetition throughout the entirety of this novel. This focus is obsessive and often results in the keeping of order and extreme performances. Merricat has an extreme obsession with repetition and cyclic rituals that she performs around the house in order to keep her and Constance safe. These rituals are done to ensure that Constance stays in the ultimate 56

place of power within the household and that outsiders do not intrude their peaceful and lonely lives. Instead of having Constance go down into the town for the groceries and other errands,

Merricat is the one to take the shopping list and retreat down the hill out of safety on Fridays and

Tuesdays, which she refers to as “terrible days” (1-2). During her visits to town, Merricat has the misfortune of encountering the villagers, who are unpleasant at best. Merricat finds the villagers truly distressing and often wishes death upon them as a result. Within the span of three pages,

Merricat unleashes a series of violent fantasies that push back against the social pressure embodied in the eyes and the comments of the villagers: “I wish you were all dead, I thought and longed to say it out loud,” “I wished they were dead,” “I would have liked to come into the grocery some morning and see them all…lying there crying with the pain and dying,” “I wished they were all dead and I was walking on their bodies,” “I am walking on their bodies…” et cetera

(8-10). Merricat’s preoccupation with the death of the villagers serves as a front that she puts up when she believes that her sister’s title is being besmirched. The one person who does not outwardly make it a point to defame Constance is Stella, whom Merricat spares in her onslaught wishing of death because she “was the closest to kind that any of them could be,” which she perceives as posing no threat to Constance (11). This could be that Merricat feels the domestic gaze upon herself and Constance. In this instance, she feels it more from their town and its men as opposed to Stella, the female owner of the café. Recognizing in Stella a less than judgmental characteristic, Merricat believes that it is safe to confide in her, if only a little.

The influence of the societal gaze tries to infiltrate the lives of Merricat and Constance, which is indicative of the patriarchal influence outside of their own home. Although Merricat believes that she is doing nothing but helping Constance during these trips to town, Constance herself often tells her sister that “It’s wrong to hate them, it only weakens you,” obviously aware 57

of the power in play here, whether or not she realizes that it is hers, Constance insinuates that paying the villagers any mind at all reduces the overall power that they, as Blackwoods, can take away from society in order to empower themselves (9). After all, being a Blackwood meant that there was a certain way of going about domestic work that detracted from the societally deemed

“normal” ways. The villager’s animosity toward the Blackwoods is not meant on a personal level but serves as a disposition toward that method of domesticity. Merricat, however, is tuned in to the ways that their society is pressuring the Blackwood position of power and manages to keep it in check by imagining the several deaths of the villagers. In a sense, she silences those voices and ultimately turns away from the domestic gaze, although, as will be seen much later, that gaze never truly goes away and includes some consequences for applied ignorance.

Once concealed from the critical gaze of the villagers and freed from the commands of patriarchal presences within the household, the Blackwood sisters employ patterns that, more often than not, fall under the category of the ritualistic and serve as a preservation of their inherited sense of agency. On Merricat’s “good mornings,” not on Tuesdays or Fridays, she has work that she does. They are the same activities each day, on their distinct days, every single week. This habitual routine is just one of the characteristics that define the domestic regime.

These routines are traceable back to the habits of past participants in the domestic regime. Much in the same way that the regimented labor of Mrs. Dudley in Haunting of Hill House offered a way of serving an authority that transcended the people she served within the household and connected her work to past practices, the routines of the Blackwood women are traceable.

Women, like Merricat and Constance’s mother, would establish these routines and then bequeath them onto their own daughters, who would then take them and adapt them as needed. This sense of routine is one of the primary components of a woman’s power within the domestic. The sign 58

of a truly powerful woman is a routine that cannot be broken under any form of duress. Thinking back to description of ways that a woman could keep her husband happy, which included a list of repetitious activities like “ensuring his meal is ready when he comes in from work, his food is good, his clothes are ready to wear, buttons on, shirts clean, trousers pressed,” which was all to ensure that the agency was always held with the man of the house (Beaumont 62). In this novel’s instance, the routines have become self-serving for Constance and Merricat who now hold all the power of the household.

Merricat’s fantasy life serves as an indication of the significance of her domestic rituals which, although do not specifically fall under the category of domestic labor, share the ritual quality that she finds in domestic labor, ultimately pointing to her hunger for the security that she attaches to these routines. On Wednesday mornings, Merricat walks around the entire fence surrounding the Blackwood house, repairing any wires that had broken as well as making sure that the gates were locked. On Sunday mornings, she examines her safeguards, which consist of a haphazard assortment of different “things.” Merricat states that they include “the box of silver dollars I had buried by the creek, and the doll buried in the long field, and the book nailed to the tree in the pine woods,” she even ends up burying things like marbles, pennies, and even her own baby teeth, hoping that they would grow into dragons (41). In any case, the objects are there as a sort of protective spell in order to prevent any harm that may come to Constance or Merricat. It is when the objects are moved that the sisters may come to harm, according to Merricat.

This security within the domestic ritual extends to Merricat’s wearing of her deceased family’s clothes. On Thursdays, which Merricat claims to be her most powerful day, she goes into the attic and is “dressed in their clothes;” though ambiguous here, Jackson pulls the attention 59

back on the family members whom Merricat has killed, readdressing that shift in power (41). Not only does Merricat know that she has caused a shift in power, she is reinforcing the fact that the power has been given to Constance by wearing the clothes of her deceased father and brother in a daring display of her disobedience and of her power. Although an odd way to assert power on the subjective, Merricat nonetheless establishes a certain hierarchy by putting on the clothes and literally donning the same outfit that would have been worn by somebody previously in that position of power. On Mondays and Saturdays, Merricat is at the disposal of Constance, helping her tidy and garden, passing time in the blissful unawareness of domestic life.

Alongside the bizarre compulsion to create safeguards to protect the house and her sister,

Merricat introduces power words that work as a kind of spell within the household to defer any threats that might undermine the power of her sister. There is a rich history of female empowerment in Jackson’s works, some of which professor Lynette Carpenter suggests are derived from the same history of witches. Witches were often persecuted for causing mysterious things to happen to other people, primarily men. Carpenter suggests that Merricat and Constance fit into this idea of the “witch role:” “The witch role permits the women to imagine that she can exercise some sort of power, even if it is evil power” (Carpenter 34). She connects this witch role to Merricat’s necessity to protect Constance, stating “Her [Merricat’s] magic words and charms constitute attempts to gain power in a world in which, first as the second girl child in a patriarchal family and then as a grown woman in a patriarchal society, she is essentially powerless,” and although Carpenter’s use of the word “witch” here is not what would be used to describe the women today, she makes a good point (Carpenter 34). Constance and Merricat are so tied to this history of powerful women by their gender alone; however, they are also, by occupation, linked to women with agency. The lives of the domestic women prior to them have 60

paved the way for Merricat and Constance to work freely within the domestic, while also gaining a sense of agency by manipulating the people around them. Though it isn’t the most honest way to gain agency, it is effective for both Merricat and Constance.

The value of women’s relationships has been identified by Carpenter who identifies the way that Merricat uses charms to fend off the patriarchal forces of society. Merricat selects special words that, when spoken break the seal of protection that she has created for herself and her sister. Merricat chooses her words carefully and then ensures to herself that they will never be spoken. If the words are spoken aloud, then the danger is invited into their domestic sphere.

The words, fittingly enough, are incorporated into Merricat’s acts of domestic life. The first word that she chooses—Melody—she writes “in apricot jam” on her toast with the end of a spoon before eating the toast very quickly, then, she says, she is “one-third safe” (44). The amalgamation of a simple domestic pleasure, like eating breakfast, and her “power words” creates this belief in Merricat that she holds power over the world and its systems. By saying these words and performing a domestic act, she earns the rights to power within the domestic space. She decides on her second word as she brings her breakfast dishes to the sink—

Gloucester—and then she suggests to Constance that she “make a pie for Uncle Julian;” in this instance Merricat not only decides on her power word, but also reinforces the power that she gains by compelling her sister to continue her work under the domestic influence as well (44).

Merricat’s third and final word is unveiled as the family doctor comes to check up on Uncle

Julian—digitalis—but it isn’t good enough (46). It is permeable to the male presence of their family doctor, since it was created by somebody like him—another male—therefore, it is also inadequate. Instead, Merricat settles on a word that exceeds the doctor’s immediate sense of the possible because of its more imaginative origin—Pegasus—a word that might just serve as 61

fanciful enough to escape male detection (46). By utilizing the domestic and the spaces of female imagination, Merricat lays claim to her own power over masculine energies like the family doctor and her uncle. The choosing of these power words is a direct sign of the sense of agency that is upheld by Merricat. Nobody else chooses these words for her, and in any instance where the words would have come directly from a male creator, she abandons them because they aren’t strong enough and could be easily detected by men, thus the destruction of her spell.

Constance develops her own rituals as well in order to maintain the household and uphold the domestic spaces. She finds her own sense of agency through these rituals as they become a way that she can fully manipulate and utilize the people around her to her advantage.

Constance is the primary caretaker of the household. This means that she conducts the order that occurs around the house. She cooks meals, tidies the rooms, watches over Merricat and Uncle

Julian, tends to the garden, and hosts company. All to be typically expected by a woman in the domestic space. At first glance, Constance’s rituals do not appear to present anything out of the ordinary. She is simply serving the role of the provider for the family as she sets out to make meals for Merricat. Judging by Merricat’s description, Constance serves this role as a cook more than occasionally: “When I dressed and came downstairs that morning she was waiting to make my breakfast…” (41). This ritual of Constance’s also serves Uncle Julian as well as she steps in to be his caretaker in the tragic absence of the rest of the Blackwood family, “She was arranging

Uncle Julian’s tray, putting his hot milk into a jug painted with yellow daisies, and trimming his toast so it would be tiny and hot and square…Constance always took Uncle Julian’s tray to him in the morning…” demonstrating this repetitious behavior, once again affirming the establishment of rituals as powerful (43). Those characters who have the potential to threaten the agency of domesticity or undervalue it are associated with the patriarchal side. Jackson’s 62

ambivalence wrestles with that. The repeating of these events is useful for Constance, because it is how she is capable of maintaining order in any situation. Many domestic spaces are dominated by the simple event of eating, so in Constance’s case, this is an area in which she ensures that she excels so that she may always have the upper hand, however, with people like Uncle Julian and eventually Charles, it will always feel like there is somebody or some bigger power working against the women trying to infuse domestic labor with masculine surveillance.

Constance’s demeanor is another vibrant focal point of Jackson analysis, unlike those of the more resistant disposition toward the domestic, she willingly serves the domestic in order to extract the benefit of a sense of agency from it. Constance is always happy. She is rarely seen in a difficult mood, or at least, she does her best to keep it from her onlookers. Constance is in an interesting position as the eldest living Blackwood, save Uncle Julian, who would be in charge of the family inheritance. As a family with a strong financial background coming from their father,

Constance, nor Merricat, seem to have much of a worry for money. Merricat buries it in the ground as a good luck token after all, while Constance treats it only as the means to obtaining the food which she would cook later on. It is only within the male line that money becomes a prominent and, ultimately, defining issue of their existence. Especially reinforced with the presence of their cousin Charles later in the text; however, he is not an inherently critical monomer for the elements of the domestic regime.

Constance and Merricat are close and this bond that they have is integral to the maintaining of power within the household, especially for Constance. This is easy to see within the pages. Constance, as the primary caretaker of Merricat and Uncle Julian, is there to ensure that Merricat lives a charmed life. This could be due to the fact that either: Constance is thanking 63

Merricat for giving her the opportunity to serve in her position of power, or that Constance is manipulating Merricat into helping her keep the same position of power that she helped

Constance to gain in the first place. Merricat safeguards the female line of power, and as a thanks

Constance takes care of Merricat and ensures that she is free to do as she like. Maria Silver claims that their sealed life is made up of these odd behaviors, “some of which seem merely daffy—the way Merricat and Constance call one another “silly,” as if they are taking part in a perpetual child’s game of make-believe,” or Merricat’s own version of a charmed life (Silver

666). Constance controls this environment that Merricat lives in, in order to maintain the illusion of happiness, when it may be Constance’s search for even more power over the individuals within her own family. By manipulating Merricat by waving her off as “Silly Merricat,” or

“Lazy Merricat,” Constance perpetuates this older sister tone that ultimately, whether intentional or not, gives Constance the power to, at its height, disregard the sister that managed to put her in this place of power to begin with (43, 45). Also, as primary custodian of the domestic regime within their household, Constance is the sole person who is afforded the most control over her environment, since the domestic is what supplied these women with it in the first place.

Constance’s manipulation of Merricat helps her to achieve a position of power within the household. However, her manipulation does not only extend to Merricat, but also to Uncle Julian in, perhaps, a more extreme measure.

It seems inappropriate to dismiss Charles though. For this analysis, he is not crucial to much of the primary argument since the majority of his focus is on the Blackwoods’ fortune. His importance stems from his interactions with Merricat, who he views as eccentric and ultimately as a danger to the traditional patriarchal way. He serves as a reminder of the patriarchal forces leaning over the two women as they try to navigate what was previously a patriarchal family. We 64

will see more of this later in the text with the villagers as well. Talking about money again, it seems that there is another subject, something other than money, of Constance’s inheritance that is crucial to her own existence. This is where it becomes important to restate the ideas of Michel

Foucault. His discursive regimes are a way of understanding how people will fit under a certain title in order to fulfill a certain role. The panopticon is Foucault’s idea of this subconscious hypervigilance that will keep a sense of order as opposed to chaos. When combined, these ideas help in forming a theory of domesticity, which helps with the understanding of Constance’s domestic position and why it becomes her area of distinction and power. The patriarchy is undeniably the source of domestic life’s conception. In this case, patriarchy serves as its own discursive regime and its own power source. Domesticity, then, is a kind of sub discursive regime that lays inside the realm of the patriarchy; however, the two act separately from one another. In Jackson’s work, the gaze that we feel focused on Constance and the work that she does is not originating from patriarchy but is instead coming from the domestic. There is, however, a more patriarchal gaze focusing on the two women from the villagers, which will be especially important toward the end of the story. The domestic is an archaic power source that, once established by the male gaze, was manipulated and utilized by women to ultimately serve them in their favor. This method of manipulation is passed down from generation to generation as a way to take agency from the positions originally set out for them by men, therefore displacing male power and making it their own. Constance navigates this domestic inheritance by way of making her life with Merricat into a game, as well as controlling her puppet—Uncle

Julian.

The caveat of Merricat’s poisoning of her family to be rid of them all is the fact that

Uncle Julian survived; however, the amount of poison that he took left him handicapped and, 65

furthermore, mentally incompetent. This incapacity is a sign of the way that Constance and

Merricat are trying to reclaim the domestic from the patriarchal presence in the household. He struggles to remember the evening, during which, the poisoning took place. As a resolution to this problem, he commits to writing everything down into a book, the pages of which he repeatedly makes mention of wishing to complete or work on; however, he never actually touches this project for the duration of the novel. This incompetence makes Uncle Julian a sitting duck within the family, liable to any sort of existence that Constance wishes to place on him as his caretaker. Constance exerts power over Uncle Julian in order for him to serve as a sort of parroting storyteller. He, being a part of the family patriarchy, claims to know so much about the story of the poisoning of the Blackwood family; however, the information that he reiterates into conversations that extend outside of the family, is information that he has heard before by way of

Constance. Constance manipulates Uncle Julian into believing that he is capable of telling the story when, in actuality, he is unknowingly playing the part of the family puppet. This echoes

Merricat’s dressing up in her deceased family members’ clothing as she fills the roles, even if only in fantasy. During the visit of a Helen Clarke and a curious Lucille Wright to the

Blackwood house, Mrs. Wright insists, out of her obsession for the family’s morbid history, that

Uncle Julian tell her all the truths of that fateful evening. At the mention of gardening for strawberries, something switches on inside of Uncle Julian and, as if a trigger word had been spoken, he begins to talk about how curious it was that as soon as the Blackwood family lay dying in their dining room table, Constance took the sugar bowl from the table and into the kitchen to wash it. Uncle Julian calls the act curious before Constance mentions to him that

“There was a spider in it,” then something peculiar happens (36). The following line, Uncle

Julian repeats the exact same “—there was a spider in it,” almost as if Constance works to 66

actively place those words into Uncle Julian’s subconsciousness (36). The navigation and control of Uncle Julian solidifies the location of agency to Constance alone.

It is not only under this one circumstance where Constance exerts her control. As Uncle

Julian continues to tell the story, Mrs. Wright becomes gradually more intrigued and goes so far as to interject the story with her own details, which align with the same narrative that circulates within the town. She mentions that Constance had purchased the arsenic, to which Constance responds with “To kill rats” (37). Uncle Julian responds, yet again, by the next line: “To kill rats,” which he then defends, since the only other use of arsenic is taxidermy, claiming “my niece could hardly pretend a working knowledge of that subject,” vindicating Constance…sort of

(37). The relationship between Constance and Uncle Julian is complex. By keeping under the sphere of the domestic, by way of serving and taking care of Uncle Julian, Constance can feed

Uncle Julian both literally and figuratively. She is the one feeding him the story of what happened on the night that her family was murdered.

Whether it is the truth or not, she actively makes choices to shape the story for her visitors through her puppet, Uncle Julian. Constance is certain that her position in the house, as the domestic woman, ensures her ability to tell the narrative that she wishes for society to hear.

When Helen Clarke and Mrs. Wright visit, it is the perfect opportunity to test out the narrative and take her puppet out for a spin. As the domestic sphere is a regime initially created by men, it only makes sense that Constance has the story told by the new patriarch of the house. After all, this will get society to trust and believe in the narrative that is being told. It could be argued that

Uncle Julian is fully aware of the story that he tells, because he seems so intensely interested in finishing his book about the event. However, it seems that Uncle Julian is not quite that dynamic 67

and cunning. Following the exit of Helen Clarke and Mrs. Wright, Uncle Julian turns to

Constance and asks, “How was I?” indicating that Uncle Julian’s thoughts are anything but his own (39). He is dependent on Constance’s review of his performance. Constance answers him, stating that he was “Superb,” continuing by congratulating him, “You didn’t need your notes at all,” so, perhaps, the notes are not indicative of Uncle Julian’s thoughts. Julian’s request for

Constance’s approval is a sign that the notes of his aren’t actually his at all and if they were, he wouldn’t have ultimately phrased his question the way that he did; however, it is complicated as to why Constance would create a story that incriminates herself. It could be that she is working toward the empowerment of both she and Merricat, in a sort of mutual protection of her younger sister as Merricat protects her. It seems evident that Constance wants Merricat to remain inside the domestic sphere just as much as she. In this case, it would make sense for Constance to create a story that would protect Merricat. After all, if domesticity is looked at as a role that is passed down from generation to generation, perhaps Constance is looking ahead to the future generation—Merricat—whom she must protect for the sake of the domestic line, despite the fact that she may be manipulating Merricat for her current benefit. Therefore, Uncle Julian plays an enormous role in selling Constance’s story to the people of the town and to herself. She does not want Merricat to be revealed as the true murderer, so she goes to great lengths to keep that information from sprouting anywhere that it is not supposed to be.

Although Uncle Julian’s feeble mind is malleable and easily manipulated, there is one force that both Constance and Merricat seem perfectly incapable of controlling. For the domestic regime to operate, there must be the presence of some kind of gaze watching over the occupants.

Though the occupants are not always aware of what the source of the gaze may be (i.e. Other domestic occupants or society), they are hyperaware that the gaze is present and even work to 68

impress it at times, either consciously or subconsciously. It can be argued that many different gazes are associated with We Have Always Lived in the Castle, but there is one that seems to have the most effect on the lives of Constance and Merricat and works toward the debilitation of their agency, and thus their power. As it has been mentioned before, the roles within domesticity were created within the minds of men. Women were to be placed within these roles that either men could not fulfill themselves, or they fantasized about, trying to reduce women to the status of subordinate. The town villagers in this instance, the male members specifically, represent this patriarchal gaze that is ever-present throughout the duration of the story. The power that the

Blackwoods have built up and manifested with their great big house on top of the hill brings about the tension that is felt between the villagers and the two sisters. Seeing these women with that much power to do as they please and live unbothered is threatening to the men and they decide to act on it in a last- ditch effort to protect their manhood and reassert their dominance as creators of the domestic, creators of that agency. If they were able to create the domestic, they can destroy it too.

As a result, once it is discovered by the villagers that the Blackwood house is burning (a fire caused by Merricat to cleanse the house of its male domestic intruder, Cousin Charles) they flock to the yard of the house, like vultures to carrion. The firemen are able to put the fire out, but then the real fire bursts to life as the fire chief “took up a rock” and “In complete silence he turned slowly and then raised his arm and smashed the rock through one of the great tall windows,” which Merricat realizes is part of her mother’s drawing room—the domestic sanctum of the Blackwood household (105). The response from the crowd is absolute blissful vitriol.

They laugh and taunt the sisters, throwing rocks through the windows of their house. One man even suggests that they “Put them back in the house and start the fire all over again,” which 69

would not only rid of the women, but also bring about an end to their power within the domestic regime (108). They pose an obvious threat to the power that these men wish to maintain.

Merricat recognizes the sort of shift in power that is in play here. She had seen it once before and it didn’t end well for most of the players. The crowd is finally stopped and sobered when it is learned that Uncle Julian is dead—the family patriarch. They return to their homes feeling satisfied with their handiwork, but Merricat is unsatisfied with the way that it all ended. She remarks on the destruction, “One of our mother’s Dresden figurines is broken,” and the attempted destruction of the domestic stronghold of the house, which was where her mother kept all of the china and where Constance and Merricat were not allowed to be as children lest they disrupt the organization of the domestic (110). She tells Constance, “I am going to put death in all their food and watch them die,” naturally resorting to the method that had last effectively shifted the power onto the females of the household (110).

The destruction of the house does not destroy the women’s sense of agency. As the story comes to its close, Constance and Merricat sit in the ruins of the house and Merricat asks

Constance what they should do. Constance, not indicating to Merricat in any way that something has gone amiss directs her, “First we must neaten the house, even though it is not the usual day,” a clear sign that she is not only still under the domestic regime, and also that she is asserting her right to agency by changing the day that they clean, demonstrating that she is still performing for the feminine domestic gaze (112). Constance and Merricat are perfectly capable of continuing within the domestic tradition and building up from the very beginning yet again. Although they are displaced and are without a physical domestic space, the domestic identities they’ve adopted and perform for each other continues. In fact, it is their shelter from the overwhelming violence of the patriarchal society. 70

The manifestation of Shirley Jackson’s commentary in We Have Always Lived in the

Castle sheds new light on the topic of domesticity. In order to represent the power dynamics at work in gendered identities and in the public and private realms, the two realms come into direct and violent conflict. Jackson makes it difficult for her readers to pick sides because neither side is one that we truly wish to be on. The constant scorn deriving from the patriarchal society of the villagers maintains the kind of hesitations that Jackson and other feminist critics held concerning the fulfillment of domestic roles. While the women of the story are not notable role-models either, working as both a murderer and an accomplice, Jackson gives us this universe of troubled people to emphasize the ambiguity that is served in relation to the domestic. There is a complex range of potential outcomes concerning the events of domestic life. Although Jackson may not know where she stands in it all, she leaves it open for her readers to judge these characters openly and pick where they choose to identify. Perhaps her goal is to not have anybody identify with any of her characters and instead utilize their own agency as a way of working against the idea of perpetuated social norms, and in this way strike up a new society that can be thought of as equal and without the existence of subconscious regime. The usual sense of domesticity as respite from the cruel public world serves no purpose in Jackson’s fiction. The inherent struggle between masculine and feminine makes the domestic a place of murderous violence and a place where the only options for peace are ultimately disturbing. There is a kind of control available to women, but the identities achieved in this work cannot be removed from the gender politics.

71

Three Stories, but a Unified Idea: The Domestic Is Watching

Jackson’s works are a chronological presentation of her development of a conscious thesis on domestic identity. As she published these works, she accumulated thoughts on women’s roles in society and gender politics, while struggling to work within societal standards and her own expectations. The writing of her short stories, such as “Like Mother Used to Make” served as a significant moment in her investigation of domestic identity. She used the space of that story to explore the malleability of gender roles and how they changed for women in different circumstances. She wrote about these circumstances in her later magazine publications and her memoirs as well. And, of course, she comes back to the theme of domesticity again and again and again throughout her novel writing career. Jackson seems to have worked toward achieving publication within a reasonably attainable audience among her fellow housewives and women—her targeted audience for whom she represented domestic forms of power and validation. As she continued to write, Jackson began producing novels that gained a much wider readership. Perhaps it was her introduction of the classic gothic elements into her work that got people excited about reading domestic stories. Haunting of Hill House, reimagines and embodies the same domestic elements, such as the constricting force of the feminine and patriarchal gazes, as well as the honoring of past traditions, involving the cooking of food and the organization of dishware, that were seen in “Like Mother Used to Make,” but rather turns those elements into the living spaces of a house, thereby introducing readers to a new type of Jackson. On the other hand, other modern readers, like Betty Friedan read Jackson to find sympathetic reactions from a fellow domestic woman but came away disappointed by the seeming lack of conviction that

Jackson used in her writing. Friedan failed to acknowledge the complexity with which Jackson wrote about women’s relationships to domesticity. Jackson’s final work is quite the beautiful 72

Frankenstein’s monster of her previous ideas of domesticity and her ambivalence about the maintenance of a role within it; We Have Always Lived in the Castle takes her gothic themes and weaves them masterfully with women in domestic roles to offer a strong commentary on her feelings about the regime. The troubled characters of Merricat and Constance are surrounded by a society that works toward controlling women through the domestic regime even while they are drawn to the prospect of an affirming identity and safe space that they can claim as theirs. A web of equally positive and negative qualities encapsulates domestic identity, and it is through this web of ambiguity that Jackson’s work, though perhaps unintentionally, centralized itself.

The point is though that it is ambiguous, and Jackson focuses on two different clades vital to the existence of women’s roles in the domestic: agency in women, which serves as the more positive of the two, while the reality of facing a society that is critical on women coming to power serves as the negative end of this ambiguity. The issue with domesticity and the issue that so many feminist historians and critics have struggled with is what to do with those roles that have traditionally held women in a position that they felt did not offer them much agency and often subjugated them to the men in society. Part of Jackson’s focus is to emphasize the power made available through these roles that were originally established by the patriarchy. By embracing these roles that have been created specifically for women, and by taking ownership of them through the decisions they make while under those regimes, a gendered source of validation or authority was made available. This is where feminist critics like Betty Friedan fail to see that a position of previous subordination can be manipulated into a position of power through the vulnerability of men and the knowledge within the domestic regime. The women in

Jackson’s fiction are not merely servants to their husbands and children, like Friedan seems to suggest, rather they have navigated a typically subordinated role and found the so-called 73

“fulfillment” that she addressed later in her analysis of the domestic. What past critics frequently misunderstand is that there are not just two options for women—servant or blissful ignoramus.

The roles that women serve in are so multifaceted that they are not as stuck in their positions as it may seem. A woman does not have to choose to be happy or unhappy, a life that simplistic is demeaning in itself. The acquisition of power through domestic roles not only serves these women but is an acutely revolutionary idea. Jackson’s work plays in the middle of this feminist ultimatum and suggests the complexity of the ways in which women may live their lives when given a chance with agency.

The presence of the differing gazes within Jackson’s literature only helps to propel forward this idea that women are coming to their own power because they are constantly challenged by outside forces, like the feminine and patriarchal gazes policing their actions. The turning of the villagers against Merricat and Constance demonstrates this age-old grudge match held between men and women coming to power. When the original source of power becomes

“threatened” by a new source, the outcome is hostile and perhaps destructive; however, although these gazes may be disruptive, the domestic regime maintains this ability to remain undisturbed and its occupants may just as easily bounce back to completing their daily rituals as if they had not been bothered in the first place. These gazes of the patriarchal community and other women working under the domestic sit in place as a kind of ground from which domesticity has been built. As a result of the authority gained by previous generations of women through their capacity to embody the domestic ideal, subsequent generations of women discovered the option of relying on the gaze of other women as a means of validating their performances within the domestic regime, thereby finding the validation and power that belongs to them through it. Their performance and identity are supervised as they serve under the domestic regime, but they have 74

discovered the capacity to do their work under the validating gaze of other women, women who are not threatened when women find power that eludes the disciplining force of a patriarchal gaze. The prospect of power is what draws women toward domestic roles, or what some would argue is their calling to be a housewife or a mother. The rich past of collective female experiences is alluring. To be part of a past infused with widely acknowledged power presented in new and previously unavailable ways an expression of power that had never been seen before in women’s history, and taking control of that previously subjugated position, meant that women could tap into this untouched stream of female potential and power.

This is, of course, not to say that Jackson wrote with the intention to crack wide open these questions surrounding women’s capacity to navigate the gender politics of the happy housewife, the resounding feminist, or somebody in between; however, she was on the verge of groundbreaking writing in the time of the 1950s, which now we can recognize as a part of richly complex and nuanced conversation that continues today. To that end, Shirley Jackson has created some of the most powerful stories that have awakened individual sparks within each of her readers. There is this rebellion along with nuance and complexity associated with her that, when dealing with other pieces on the domestic regime and women’s agency, presents itself as unique, and the work that she unknowingly began is far from complete. The ideas that have been gathered around Jackson’s writing, including the thoughts of Betty Friedan, Michel Foucault, and even Jackson’s own work can be refined into an even sharper thesis.

Betty Friedan is notorious for her work in condemning the actions of women under patriarchal influence, yet her thesis can be revised. There is no defense that Jackson’s intent in her writing was to protect the submissive role of the domestic woman. Friedan’s analysis of 75

Jackson’s work suggests that Jackson’s humor-infused memoirs about the trials of motherhood and wifedom are a ploy to continue the tradition of serving men and households in the way that new wave feminists would scoff at. Entering into the era of the third wave feminists, perhaps it is the element of foresight that allows us to see the gaps in Friedan’s argument. There are three categories in Jackson’s analysis of women’s roles in the domestic: women who value domestic roles, women who don’t value domestic roles, and women who find themselves vacillating between the two in a gray area of ambiguity. Jackson herself falls into this ambiguous category, because, although she does her fair share to protect and honor the traditions of the domestic woman, she also shows that there are some things left to be desired within those roles. Her own characters find power and identity for themselves within their domestic roles but are often sharing the consequences of what it means to serve under one kind of regime. To revise

Friedan’s thesis, one would have to consider both her own point defending female liberation from domestic roles, the point of continuing the traditions founded for women by women, like motherhood and the protection of family values, but one should also consider how to balance the two, being wary of the constrictions that may be associated with such domestic roles, but also the agency that can be found within those roles.

Michel Foucault’s theory of the panopticon serves as a helpful explanation for the complexity of power relationships within society. His idea of the panopticon with an unknown surveillant force presiding over many others, either consciously or subconsciously, dictating the behaviors of each occupant is accurate, but it is not quite complete, or does not delve into the level of complexity that is necessary to explain the Jacksonian domestic. To broaden the lens that

Foucault created, the roles that the occupants have within the panopticon are crucial. Each person identifies to their own discursive regime, and within that regime, they are capable of making 76

choices of their own that will affect their own lives. In this way, there is a certain sense of agency occurring at this basic level. Now, Foucault would argue, or at least struggle with my use of the word agency in a world of his that is so strictly defined by the lack of choice. But it can be argued that this is no “lack of choice” that Foucault defends, but rather this idea of constant surveillance. There is nothing within his literature defending the idea that the occupants of the panopticon are not making their own decisions underneath the specs of the unseen dictator. By serving under this greater force, the individuals in the cells of panopticon gain a sense of agency, not pure agency itself because they are still being policed, but a sense of being able to dictate their own choices to the extent of the regime. In this way, Foucault’s lens can be broadened to consider the individual roles and the choices that occupants make within a governed system.

To end at length however, the most important decision is to decide what to do with the roles that we have given ourselves. Women’s history has been defined by collective experience.

Currently, we face what may be the peak of the #MeToo movement, which has been a definitive experience for not only feminists, but women everywhere. It is experiences like these that have been defined, catalogued, and archived time and time again by women writers, like Shirley

Jackson, that have worked toward the equality of women in society. The stories that Jackson told, though it may not have been her intent, have solidified a space in literature, a space that offers a more nuanced understanding of the power available to apparently submissive women, and for the praise of past servants of the domestic that have created women’s history. As a result, she has shown that there is space for the happy housewives, the Betty Friedans, and the Shirley

Jacksons. The validation of all women’s roles in society has not reached its breaking point, so future writers must continue to experience and open the conversation for change to occur, for 77

progress to be made, and for the pot of the boiling domestic to be taken off the heat and left to simmer.

78

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