The Clockwork Muse: Rituals of Writing in Nineteenth-Century Britain
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THE CLOCKWORK MUSE: RITUALS OF WRITING IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY BRITAIN Grace Campbell Vasington West Hartford, Connecticut Bachelor of Arts, University of Connecticut, 2013 A Dissertation presented to the Graduate Faculty of the University of Virginia in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of English Language and Literature University of Virginia May 2019 Acknowledgements This dissertation is a project about daily life and daily writing. The daily experience of writing these pages has been infinitely enriched by the people who have seen me through it. I can only begin to tally up their contributions and their time. Suffice to say, without their advice, creativity, and boundless generosity, this dissertation would not have been possible. To my brilliant committee, who shepherded this project out of an ungainly adolescence and have by now read far too many drafts. Thank you to Andy Stauffer for always knowing the right questions to ask, and for foreseeing the pitfalls along the way. Thank you also to Steve Arata, who reads novels with such astonishing insight and who has responded to this material with generosity and care at every stage of the process. And to Chip Tucker, who has supported this project day in and day out, and whose wisdom and wit have made this work such a joy. Thank you for allowing me the freedom to follow this topic where it led me, even and especially when the path felt beyond my abilities. I owe many other debts, not least to Susan Fraiman, who has given more of her time over the years than I have any right to expect. Thank you for your mentorship and your endless encouragement. I can only hope to one day write with your incisiveness and clarity of purpose. To the members of UVa’s nineteenth-century working group, who offered such thorough feedback on material from this project and who have pushed me to write and think more transatlantically. To Mollie Washburne, the best managing editor I could ever ask for, who has been an indefatigable cheerleader since I began working at NLH in 2014. To Miss Lucy Felski, who kept me laughing during this last year (and to Rita Felski for entrusting her to my care). To my wonderful dissertation writing group, DeVan Ard, Emelye Keyser, Caleb Agnew, and Kelli Shermeyer. You are brilliant, kind, and hilarious, and I could not have made it through without your humor and your friendship. To Sarah Berkowitz, for the many movie dates and the fresh-baked bread. To Samantha Wallace and Ali Glassie, who have listened to, encouraged, and laughed with me so much over the past four years. To Lara Musser, the Sherlock to my Watson, who never lets me take myself too seriously and who always tells me I am smarter than I think I am. And to all my wonderful non-UVa friends who have made that long-distance friendship feel so effortless—especially to Carol Fabricant, who has been inspiring me with her intelligence, kindness, and curiosity for twenty-two years (and counting). And finally, to my family. My mother, whose goodness and passion for learning amazes me every day. My father, who has always believed so fiercely in his children’s ability to determine our own paths. My sister, my better half, who has been my best inspiration and biggest support. And to the rest of our sprawling clan, both here and departed, who love each other so well. Thank you. 2 Contents List of Illustrations 4 Introduction 5 Midnight Chapter One: Victorian Vigil and Attentive Reading Practices 18 I. Vigil and Faith 27 II. Midnight Domesticity 50 III. The “Social Problem” of Vigil in the Mid-Victorian Novel 73 The Dinner Hour Chapter Two: Untimely Timekeepers and the Aesthetics of Disagreement 99 I. Before Standardization 112 II. Minor Characters and Side-plots in the Victorian Realist Novel 126 III. The Other Side of Standardization 148 IV. Hardy, Einstein, and the Comic Universe of Relative Time 165 Six at Dawn Chapter Three: “A-Throb to Feel out for the Mutual Time”: Poetic Labor in the Age of the Industrious Clock 177 I. Cyborg Seriality 189 II. Tallying the Poetic Hour 208 III. Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Clockwork Epic 238 Bibliography 260 3 List of Figures 2.1 – Illustration, F. J. Britten, Old Clocks and Watches and Their Makers (London: B. T. Batsford, 1899), 94. 3.1 – Tower of the Chimes, David Maclise, The Chimes (1844). 3.2 – Prospectus advertising for Master Humphrey’s Clock, Hablot Browne (1840). 3.3 – Frontispiece to volume 3, Master Humphrey’s Clock, Hablot Browne (1841). 4 Introduction Minutiae and Small Formalisms A refrain threads its way through Thomas Hood’s 1843 lyric “The Song of the Shirt”: “Work—work—work!” Ten times over the course of eleven stanzas, it rings out the hours of a ragged seamstress, “plying her needle and thread” amid the misery of “poverty, hunger, and dirt.” The refrain does not belong to the poem’s speaker. Nor does it come from a foreman ordering the seamstress back to order. It seemingly emerges from the seamstress herself, who must “work—work—work! / From weary chime to chime.”1 Is “work” here imperative or declarative? Is the clock’s discipline externally or self-imposed? In a sense it is both these things at once. The clock chimes out, but the woman’s song converts the clock’s “chime” into speech, synonymous with the order that she both obeys and anticipates. This ability of the clock to “order” the bodies and minds of workers, “melting into the interstices of practical consciousness,” would later gain the name “time-discipline.”2 The clock, and its precise division of time into units of production and value, evoke in texts like Hood’s a 1 Thomas Hood, “Song of the Shirt,” Punch 5 (1843): 260 (lines 42; 49-50). See Lynn M. Alexander, Women, Work, and Representation: Needlewomen in Victorian Art and Literature (Athens, OH: Ohio Univ. Press, 2003), esp. “Slaves to the Needle” (209-228). 2 The term “time-discipline” was coined by E. P. Thompson in “Time, Work-Discipline, and Industrial Capitalism,” an invaluable text to which I refer throughout this dissertation. He was anticipated in many respects by not just nineteenth-century figures like Marx and Thomas Carlyle, who called the century “the Age of Machinery, in every outward and inward sense of that word” ( “Signs of the Times,” Edinburgh Review 49 [June 1829]: 443), but also by Lewis Mumford’s foundational Technics and Civilization in 1934. Mumford named the clock, and not the steam engine, “the key-machine of the modern industrial age . both the outstanding fact and the typical symbol of the machine: even today no other machine is so ubiquitous. In its relationship to determinable quantities of energy, to standardization, to automatic action, and finally to its own special product, accurate timing, the clock has been the foremost machine in modern technics: and at each period it has remained in the lead: it marks a perfection toward which other machines aspire” (Mumford, Technics and Civilization [Chicago: Chicago Univ. Press, 2014], 14-15). John Tresch takes the more expected approach to this question, heralding the nineteenth century’s “replacement of the balanced clock, lever, or balance as symbol of order and knowledge by the productive steam engine”—a replacement that for Tresch also heralds a movement away from “lifeless” classical machinery toward “romantic” machinery, typified by “a spontaneous, living, and constantly developing nature; it produced aesthetic effects and emotional states” (Tresch, The Romantic Machine: Utopian Science and Technology after Napoleon [Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2012], 103; 12). 5 unilateral system of timely commands and human responses that exists somewhere between habitus and hegemony.3 “I have seen . these minutiae,” wrote Karl Marx in Das Kapital (1867), “which, with military uniformity, regulate by stroke of the clock the times, limits, pauses of the work.”4 Marx’s timely “minutiae” in many ways presage an automated world deaf to human cares. While the clock’s language is easily understood and mentally assimilated by the seamstress, the clock appears in Hood’s industrial poetry both unresponsive to workers’ songs and laments, and oblivious to the fatigue, injury, or illness which that labor occasions. Take for example “The Workhouse Clock”: Oh that the Parish Powers, Who regulate Labor’s hours, The daily amount of human trial, Weariness, pain, and self-denial, Would turn from the artificial dial That striketh ten or eleven, And go, for once, by that older one That stands in the light of Nature’s sun, And takes its time from Heaven! (“The Workhouse Clock,” lines 77-85)5 3 Nigel Thrift, “The Making of Capitalist Time Consciousness,” in The Sociology of Time, ed. John Hassard (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1990), 106 (originally published in Thrift’s 1981 Owners’ Time and Own Time: The Making of a Capitalist Time Consciousness, 1300-1880). 4 Karl Marx, Capital: A Critical Analysis of Capitalist Production, ed. Frederick [Friedrich] Engels, trans. Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling (London: Swan Sonnenschein, Lowrey, & Co., 1887) 1:269. 5 Hood, “The Workhouse Clock: An Allegory,” in The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, ed. William Michael Rossetti, illus. Gustave Doré and Alfred Thompson, 2nd series (London: Ward, Lock & Co., 1880), 2:46-48. The posture of surrogate pleading for a voiceless continued a hallmark of 1840s Victorian social-problem poetry, in such works as Hood’s “The Bridge of Sighs” and “The Lay of the Labourer” and Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “The Cry of the Children.” See J. S. Bratton, “Ballads of the Common Man,” in Victorian Popular Ballad (London: Macmillan, 1975), 89-136.