Dissertation and Title Page.Pdf
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
1 Abstract “In Maiden Meditation”: Readership and the Victorian Girl Sophie Weeks My project argues that a private, autodidactic model of girls' readership is challenged within mid-Victorian culture, as formal education for girls became more accepted and itself underwent reform. While discourses of public and private spheres dominated Victorian ideology related to women and girls, the schoolroom became an imagined space where larger concerns about the social and political role of women were played out as understandings of the role of reading shifted. I examine the ways that readership and education interacted in the period as the purpose of reading was culturally determined and redetermined. My dissertation uses literary criticism and cultural history to investigate different models of education: fictional and real, formal and informal. Fictional portrayals of girls' reading and their education provides a way to chart changes in the public understanding of what girlhood meant in the Victorian period. While I examine models of readership provided for girls by various authorities, I also use women's and girls' life-writing to shape my understanding of how girls perceived their own reading. My work intervenes in the field of readership studies primarily, complicating current understandings of how girls shaped and were shaped by their literature. 2 Acknowledgements I wish here to express my gratitude to my committee members: Helena Michie, Robert Patten, Martin Wiener and Thad Logan. I would also like to thank Joseph Campana for permitting, in his course on early modern literature, me to explore girls' education and readership, thus forming the nucleus of my dissertation efforts. Dr. Christine Joy from the Manchester High School for Girls was extraordinarily helpful in assisting my archival research at that institution. My family and friends have been endlessly supportive of my academic efforts and to them, as well, I owe my profoundest gratitude. 3 Table of Contents Introduction 5 Chapter One: Ruskin, Eliot, and the War for Girls' Minds 33 Chapter Two: "Something Worse than Itself": Romance and the Education of Girls in the Nineteenth Century 67 Chapter Three: The Novel of Education 94 Chapter Four: “What shall I read?”: Positive Reading Models 123 Conclusion 154 Bibliography 156 4 Introduction Till lately I have never read Spenser, and therefore was not personally acquainted with his beauties. Neither do I mean to say that now I have read his " Faerie Queene;" but, having accidentally met with an extract from his " Hymn of Heavenly Love," a long poem, I went to papa's study and read the whole poem, which is most exquisitely beautiful, and is perhaps equal to anything Milton ever wrote. It is very simple, but highly poetical, and a pious feeling runs throughout. Emily Shore, The Journal of Emily Shore1 In the 1832 writings of Emily Shore, above, we can see, in miniature, an entire model of one form of early Victorian readership. Shore, aged twelve, begins with one of the extracts that were so common during girls' education of the period, the sort parodied in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey. Yet, unsatisfied, she seeks a greater depth of understanding; therefore, she moves to a private space of paternally-sanctioned readership, “papa's library,” in order to read the entire poem. Within the poem, Shore finds a “pious” feeling, thus extracting socially acceptable meaning from her readership. Throughout, Shore functions as a model of a particular autodidactic mode of learning for girls, one that encouraged unfettered access to knowledge within a safe, private space. “Turn [your girl] loose into the library every wet day and let her alone,” insisted John Ruskin in 1864, praising an individualistic autodidacticism. “She will find what is good for her; you cannot.”2 My dissertation works through some of the reigning polarities of the nineteenth century and examines how girls during the period are influenced by the understanding of these polarities. I examine, of course, the doctrine of separate spheres, but I also interrogate the 1 Emily Shore, The Journal of Emily Shore. London: Kegan Paul, 1898, p. 12. 2 John Ruskin, “Of Queen's Gardens,” Sesame and Lilies, ed. Deborah Epstein Nord. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 2003, p. 83. 5 educational philosophies that underpin concepts of formal and informal education. At the juncture between these models of instruction is reading; for Victorian girls reading was both escape and prison, education and delight, a means of accessing knowledge as well as a way of finding imaginative meaning in one's own life. Yet for all my interest in polarities, my investment in a subversion/containment spectrum, whereby every text either reinforces or challenges gender inequities is minimal. Although I try to draw on historical and biographical detail where appropriate (as in the case of Ruskin, whose work is one of the primary focuses of my first chapter), my inquiry pushes beyond a work's stated purpose to examine also the ways it models, questions, and undermines its own terms. Further, ideas of containment and subversion are dangerous for the way they reduce complicated debates to a single gradient between progressive and reactionary. During the Victorian era, progressive and reactionary did not exist on a single plane, even within the struggle for women's rights. Famous educators of girls were anti-suffragists. To try and decide whether the conservative factor “outweighs” the liberal would be ridiculous. I am therefore perfectly confident in arguing, as I do in the course of my third chapter, that Charlotte Yonge promotes an ideal of public service that is liberating even though Yonge disapproved of schools for girls and women's suffrage and rights generally. Even if I were to assume that Yonge herself was unilaterally conservative, which seems improbable, her books have meaning beyond those with which she imbues them. Communities of readers take from literature what they want to find and make meaning in the process, and perhaps there is no reader more imaginative and intellectually flexible than the reader who has not yet reached adulthood. Girls (and boys) like a good story without much caring about the politics of the story-makers. Even as Victorian poets reached into the medieval era for images of strong women without questioning the laws of that period that made women into property, Victorian 6 schoolgirls took what they desired from their favorite novels without consulting the authors for direction on the shape of their own lives. My purpose, then, is to construct a history of the reading girl in the Victorian era, interweaving literary representations with nonfictional cultural constructions and first-person testimony. By moving between these rich sources of cultural history, I hope to analyze the different modes of discourse on readership and education for girls while also being sensitive to the voices of historical women. Throughout, I will demonstrate that as formal education becomes more important over the course of the Victorian period, private readership continues to play an equally large role in forming a cultural and personal identity for girls, even as it seems to disappear from discourse. Yet my strongest claims in this dissertation are not for feminism; those claims do not, I hope, need to be rehearsed in this case. Though I am not the new feminist who believes that all battles have been won, I hope that some have, and the idea that girls should be given access to formal education is by now beyond uncontroversial in mainstream society. But the kind of education given during the Victorian period, a liberal arts education in which readership forms the main part of serious study, is far from uncontroversial. “There are no jobs in the humanities,” modern students are instructed again and again, as they are told to learn quarks or brick-laying or something useful to their fellow man. This refrain is often heard within the academy, but even more persistently from without. When President Obama suggested that everyone should be able to go to college, he drew considerable fire from conservatives for suggesting that everyone ought to have an elite education. Plumbers do not need a college education, but neither did Victorian wives and mothers. In my arguments, then, the strongest parallels are not with modern girls or women, but with modern working classes. For as tuition rates rise with unprecedented rapidity, making what was once a birthright 7 of the middle classes a difficult-to-afford luxury, the question is, and should be, asked over and over again. What is the value of a liberal arts education? For Victorians, looking at unpaid female labor, the answer was that it would help them to perform that labor better—to become better mothers. Indeed, as claims of social mobility, career preparation, and citizenship all falter as we try them out in the twenty-first century, we might do well to look at their model and note that we are educating parents. But to advance even so seemingly humble a claim, we must look again at what we are offering; is this Ruskin's treasury of kings, or merely a warehouse filled with outdated texts? We must decide whether the humanities and liberal arts constitute a good in themselves and if so, what that good is. Perhaps the good is not in the content of our instruction, but in the mode, and for the humanities in general and English in particular, reading is that mode. When undergraduates are instructed in the sciences, they are asked to study, but not to really read; how many biology instructors put Darwin as required reading? When they are instructed in the social sciences, students are taught to read data, but not books. Thus the great storehouses of human learning are closed to all but a select few acolytes in modern education.