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1. 1 2017-01-13T01:10:14-05:00 Kathleen Hurlock 62afa4649e1001ffbb7bf4bbefc88dc48d384c26 Annotation Kathleen Hurlock 2 plain 2017-01-13T01:10:52-05:00 Kathleen Hurlock 62afa4649e1001ffbb7bf4bbefc88dc48d384c26

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• 1 2016-11-26T10:29:31-05:00 Introduction 12 plain 2017-01-13T01:12:03-05:00

  I do not intend to present “New Woman Fiction” and feminist utopian fiction of the Victorian period as universally one and the same; the naming of this anthology is intentional in that sense (New Woman and Feminist Utopian Fiction). First, and most simply, many included texts date from prior to 1894 when Sarah Grand coined the term New Woman. That said, most texts come from the latter third of the 19th century, when mass publications began to raise what Sally Ledger calls “the woman question”, referring to increased interest in the women’s rights movement and individual women’s independence (Ledger 3). (A few included texts--notably Cranford (1853)--date from slightly earlier. I have included these texts as they present similar themes as women’s utopian fiction from the more traditional New Woman period).

  Secondly, much of New Woman fiction, particularly that which receives much critical attention, is not necessarily utopian or speculative fiction. Certainly many of the critical texts I am using examine Corbett, Dixie, Schreiner, and Clapperton in particular, and even lesser known writers like Mears, Spence, and Dugdale are situated as New Woman fiction by some critics. Still, general critical works addressing the New Woman and associated fiction tend to minimize the utopian subgenre. Ledger, for example, writing in The New Woman: Fiction and Feminism at the Fin de Siècle, only addresses “the uses of Utopia” in a chapter regarding The New Woman and Socialism, using Clapperton and others to suggest that New Woman writers were interested in participating in the more masculine Victorian socialist utopia genre, dominated by male writers like Morris (50-58). Likewise, Ann Ardis, in New Women, New Novels, does not truly address New Women’s use of utopia; she discusses Dixie and Clapperton, but, much like Ledger, frames them as part of a larger discussion about socialism and New Woman, not addressing the significance of New Woman writers developing idealized, speculative worlds in their own fiction. Similarly, writers who focus more on late 19th century Victorian feminist utopias do not always examine their context of such works within the New Woman movement (which does differ from more general feminist movements; I will discuss the contrast shortly). Nan Albinski, writing in Women’s Utopias In British and American Fiction, addresses the context and social ramifications of the works of Corbett, Dixie, and others, but tends to associate them exclusively with the umbrella “feminist movement” or “women’s right” in general--not the specific “New Woman” movement. Angelique Richardson does present a sinister undercurrent supporting eugenics within the New Woman movement in Love and Eugenics In The Late Nineteenth Century, but does not examine how such an idea functions in utopian literature. Again, while late 19th century utopian fiction has been associated with the New Woman ideal in some ways, major writers regarding either topic do not always clearly connect them.

   

  Thus, one of the primary goals of this anthology is to better situate the utopian novel as a subgenre of New Woman writings. To do so, I would like to first define and examine the New Woman concept for my purposes. As stated previously, Sarah Grand coined the term in 1894, after, in the words of Ledger, Ouida “extrapolated” it from Grand’s “The New Aspect of the Woman Question” (9). In this essay, Grand states that the New Woman is a “little above the comprehension of” men she calls the “Bawling Brotherhood,” “who have hitherto tried to howl down every attempt on the part of our sex to make the world a pleasanter place to live in” (Grand 270-271). So, per Grand’s definition, New Women are feminists of sorts; she goes on to explain that New Women “perceived the sudden and violent upheaval of the suffering sex in all parts of the world” (emphasis added), suggesting an alliance with earlier and perhaps more ‘mainstream’ feminists, without being the initial “upheaval” participants themselves. (271) In fact, Grand seems to be proposing the New Woman ideal as a response to the “women question” that early feminism posed. Using a sarcastic imagining of the “Bawling Brotherhood’s” words, Grand poses this question as, "If women don't want to be men, what do they want?" (270). Despite her satirical tone, this idea of women’s wants, particularly on an individual basis, seems central in defining the New Woman.

   

  In her analysis of the Grand article, Ledger suggests the central desire and impetus of the article is what Grand calls the “marriage problem”, which Ledger defines as “the double standard in bourgeois Victorian marriage whereby sexual virtue was expected of the wife but not of the husband” (20). Immediately, New Women are situated as concerned with a private sector, non-governmental issue; here, the “marriage problem” is not, for example, laws related to married women’s property and inheritance. I do not mean to create an oversimplified dichotomy between New Women and more ‘traditional’ or ‘liberal’ feminists; the latter were certainly concerned with issues outside of policy. That said, this desire for individual freedoms, particularly and, perhaps most significantly, sexuality, seems to define the ethos of New Women more so than other contemporary women’s interest groups. Ardis explains such an idea in her attempt in “Naming the New Woman”. She writes that “the New Woman is always distinguished from the ‘old’ woman, the Victorian ‘angel in the house’...she has sex outside of marriage, and for pleasure, not for purposes of procreation” (Ardis 13-14).  Ardis goes on to differentiate New Women from “Independent Women” (a term coined by Martha Vicinus), who were women concerned with feminist issues who did not attempt to shift their private lives away from traditional notions of femininity, particularly sexuality (16). Essentially, the New Woman is strongly defined by a focus on sexual equality and private concerns; adapting this personal attitude of a liberated sexuality seems to be a central facet to New Woman identity, as opposed to simply advocated for such an idea theoretically or for other women.

   

  After this personal sexual freedom, perhaps the most defining characteristic of New Womanhood is an intrinsic link with contemporary socialist and other radical movements. Ledger devotes an entire chapter to the connection between both movements, beginning with Olive Schreiner (“arguably the first New Woman novelist”), who authored Woman and Labor, and describes fin-de-siècle feminism’s roots in Owenite socialism (37). Ardis again draws a distinction between the “New Woman” and the “Independent Woman” in this regard, arguing that the former “refused to assume that distinctions of class were more fundamental than sex or gender distinctions” (17). Ardis presents the “Independent Woman” as bourgeois feminists, who “used their middle-class status to establish themselves professionally” (16). The New Woman embrasure of such socialist movements (including equating the woman’s struggle with the male worker’s struggle, a phenomenon I will discuss briefly in the “Violence” chapter introduction), particularly when considered in tandem with their sexual openness, suggests a new sort of radical woman, unseen in earlier, more “Independent Woman” oriented feminist movements. This New Woman seems invested in a more drastic, total social change regarding women and other oppressed people, unlike earlier feminists and activists, who, the words of Ardis, “presented only local challenges to Victorian social conventions” (15).

   

  Considering this radicalism, it is perhaps unsurprising that a third quality of the New Woman important to this anthology’s purposes is how mainstream commentators looked upon them with a particular disdain. Some of the critiques resembled more broad anti-feminist sentiments, like Eliza Lynn Linton’s “Wild Woman” articles, which depicted “a creature who opposed marriage, who vociferously demanded political rights, and who sought ‘absolute personal independence coupled with supreme power over men’” (Ledger 12). More specifically to New Women, criticism frequently addressed solely their desire for personal sexual liberation; Ledger describes the 1895 novel The Woman Who Did by Grant Allen, which portrays a sexually liberated New Woman as, ultimately, a fallen woman. Ledger suggests that the novel specifically criticizes Herminia for believing she can “strike a blow for feminism by living in a ‘free union’ with a man rather than marrying” (14-15). Oftentimes, sentiments against the New Women did specifically address their progress in forging a new path of womanhood, doubting not only the validity of that path, but of New Women’s ability to make any progress through their radicalism and sexually liberated lifestyles. An article in a 1900 periodical called Fun, for example, asserts that the New Woman “is only a revised edition of the Old Woman”: “The New Woman, like the Old Woman, shrieks at the sight of a mouse, hammers her thumbnail with misdirected skill...she falls in love the same sweet old way, and displays her jealously in the same sour old way” (Fun). Another article, in an 1894 edition of The Review of Reviews, suggests that the New Woman should learn from “the French ‘insurrection of women’ a century ago”, suggesting that like earlier female revolutionaries, New Women will effectively fail (The Review of Reviews). Again, New Women did face more traditional feminist critiques focusing on their threat to traditional gender roles, but more specific to New Woman critiques is the sense that New Women, regardless of their specific goals, will fail.

   

  I do not mean to suggest that these three aspects (focus on personal sexual liberties, socialist and radical tendencies, and specific sorts of criticism) are all that make up New Woman identity. To borrow a term from Ledger, New Woman identity is fluid, with women using new and varying definitions of what the ideal “New Woman” looks like. I have yet to address, for example, connections between New Womanhood and modernism or the tensions regarding whether or not New Women should become mothers. That said, I have opted to emphasize these three characteristics because they most strongly help situate most of the included texts as specifically New Woman utopian fiction, not just feminist utopian fiction. These three qualities feature heavily in the included utopian texts, positing them as embodiments of, again, New Woman hopes, concerns, and tensions, not merely those of feminists or women in general.

   

  The clearest connection here, of course, is the prominence of socialism and other radical social reforms in the Victorian utopian genre. As I discussed earlier, writers like Florence Dixie attempted to equate women’s struggles with the worker’s struggle, though Gloriana and Isola portray a more idealized version of solidarity between the two groups than what actually occurred in Victorian times, suggesting more of a desire for unity than a reflection of reality. Nearly every included text that portrays a society in detail depicts elements of socialism: New Amazonia, Margaret Dunmore, the works of Dixie and Spence, Mercia, etc. Similarly, nearly every society is depicted in a world with now total global peace, further suggesting the New Woman ethic of radical social change in general. Within these novels, women’s rights and radical social change are frequently depicted as having some sort of causal relationship. In Gloriana, Handfasted, and New Amazonia, for example, women earn or are given more dominance, rights, and political efficacy, and, subsequently, the radical social changes unrelated to gender occur, suggesting that women’s leadership led to them. Mercia depicts the reverse: global peace is achieved; socialist revolution takes place; and, subsequently, women are inspired to demand their rights. Either way, the included utopian novels tend to depict women’s rights and other radical social changes (particularly socialism and pacifism) as equally important, along with conveying that they influence each other. Such a construction particularly reflects the values of New Women, who, unlike “Independent Women”, did not only concern themselves with a singular issue and rejected bourgeois values. I will discuss this idea (and a few subsequent variations) more in the “Social Systems” chapter. Also, I will briefly address the focus on revolutions reminiscent of victorian socialist uprisings in the “Violence” chapter, and, in “Nation and Empire”, I will discuss similarly radical ideas of the New Woman (ignored by the “Independent Woman”) regarding pacifism and colonialism.

   

  Subsequently, it is perhaps unsurprising that New Woman utopian fiction heavily emphasizes revolutions and other origin stories, more so than other Victorian fiction, which tended to spend more time on the glorified societies themselves. I will discuss this phenomenon in more detail in the “Origin Stories” chapter. Aside from the connection between socialist leanings and affinity for revolution, the tendency towards a heavy ‘origin story’ focus in the selected texts suggests tensions in the New Woman movement regarding the sort of criticism that they often received. Again, New Women, more so than other feminists and activists, faced intense criticism regarding their ability to achieve anything. In the “Origin Stories” chapter, I will discuss Matthew Beaumont’s (one of the few scholars who does make a more concrete connection between the utopian novel and New Woman ideals) concept of “latent content”; i.e., the idea that New Women placed more value on writings that suggested change and revolution were possible than writings regarding what the actual changes looked like. Anxious New Woman readers perhaps regarded an affirmation of their ability to make change in higher regard than anything else.

   

  Furthermore, this anxiety about critiques of New Womanhood, along with more general anti-feminist critiques regarding gender roles and promiscuity, is likely reflected in New Woman writers’ treatment of men in their novels. British, Victorian New Women were generally more sympathetic to men than their American counterparts (with a few notable exceptions--most were not the traditional white or English New Women). They portrayed women as taking over masculine roles and power, but men typically remain in the societies, and, in most cases, have not become the oppressed sex. I will discuss such an idea more in the men and masculinity chapter.

   

  The desire for sexual freedom and personal liberties in general is, perhaps, slightly more difficult to place in the included texts than the other two factors. After all, New Woman utopian fiction certainly did not ignore more conventional, ‘public’ feminist issues like suffrage and workplace equality; indeed, these issues are central in most of the included texts. Per Sally Ledger, desire for sexual freedom often manifested in New Women as organized opposition to the Contagious Disease Acts of the 1860s; in the “Reproduction and Medicine” chapter, I will examine several texts that support more bodily and reproductive freedom for women, often seemingly attacking these laws and others regulating the female body. (Along these lines, I will also address the prominence of eugenics in many texts in this chapter, which suggests what may be an underlying tension about sexual liberation for all.) I will also use this chapter and “Social Systems” to address motherhood, a particularly contentious issue regarding New Women and sexuality.

   

  In fact, opinions on motherhood diverged so greatly across New Women that there really is no New Woman ideal regarding motherhood; to use a term from Sally Ledger again, it is a particularly ‘fluid’ issue. Although drastically varied, many included texts do address motherhood in some respect, so I have included a brief supplemental section regarding motherhood. I have done the same regarding race and technology, two other recurring themes in the included texts. Lastly, I have also included a brief supplement regarding contemporary American feminist utopian novels to help provide a point of reference.

   

  Ultimately, the utopian genre clearly provides a strong platform for new women ideals; the speculative, futuristic fiction allows for New Woman writers to espouse their hopes for changes in both women’s rights (particularly sexuality) and more radical, large-scale changes regarding socialism and global conflict. At the same time, these writers can use the genre to express their anxieties and frustrations about their perceived or actual inability to make real change for women. Again, I do not mean to reduce New Women, a deeply complex, fluid category, to these three categories. Instead, these three categories show the clearest connection between New Woman ideals and 19th century, feminist utopian literature, a connection that, as I previously discussed, has been traditionally minimized by scholars. Situating these texts as New Woman utopian fiction, not merely feminist utopian fiction, helps to illuminate themes that go beyond mere general feminism and help to further the currently rather limited scope of New Woman scholarship.

   

  This “limited scope” brings me to my second, more minor goal for the anthology. Aside from situating the utopian novel as a significant New Woman subgenre, I would like to simply raise more awareness of many of the included texts and encourage subsequent scholarship. The only included texts which are widely available in print, edited editions are Cranford, Sultana’s Dream, Handfasted, and New Amazonia. All others are only available in unedited, obscure reprints of earlier editions and online texts. Many of the included texts have received essentially no critical attention; others, including the works of Spence, Dugdale, Mears, Clapperton and (beyond Gloriana) Dixie, have received so little critical attention that I have included virtually all of it in this anthology. The New Woman speculative, utopian novel is very quickly becoming a lost genre, which, most likely, contributes much to the fact that scholars tend to not situate it as a genre at all. In gathering all the texts here, I hope to, again, help with their preservation, encourage further scholarship regarding them, and, again, situate the New Woman utopian novel as a genre in its own right.

   
   
• 1 2016-11-26T17:17:42-05:00 Men and Masculinity 8 plain 1988 2017-01-18T19:26:31-05:00

      Unlike their American counterparts (Herland, Mizora) British Victorian, feminist utopias tend to portray men still existing in society in some respect. In New Amazonia, their position in politics and the workforce is diminished, and in Gloriana, Isola, and Margaret Dunmore, like-minded men work alongside women to achieve feminist revolution. Men exist in nearly every text, though their role is typically not central. Oftentimes, women take on more “masculine” social roles, defending themselves, having jobs, and running the nation, but, at the same time, many of the texts sympathetically and positively portray “good” men who accept the feminist agendas of female characters.

      Gaskell’s Cranford serves as a strong example of this model. As discussed in the social systems chapter, the women of Cranford take on a more masculine social role; they own all property, dictate social mores, and drive away new male residents who are unwilling to cooperate with the unique rules of the village. However, in chapter two of the novel (excerpted in this chapter), the ladies of Cranford begin to admire and accept the new resident, Mr. Brown, due to his abject poverty (one of the social mores of Cranford) and his willingness to care for a sick daughter. Only Miss Jenkyns continues to resent him, but it is because Mr. Brown prefers the works of “Mr. Boz” (presumably Dickens) to those of Ben Johnson. This source of dispute, in combination with Mr. Brown’s attempt to make amends through making a wood stove for Miss Jenkyns, suggests she is being a bit irrational, and that there is no good reason for even the ladies of Cranford to reject a man like Mr. Brown, who respects their laws. After his death, the Cranford ladies attempt to take on a further masculine role by financially supporting the Brown daughters, but willingly cede this position to Major Gordon, an old military friend of Brown who, similarly, does not violate the social code of Cranford. In spite of Cranford’s reputation, the matriarchs seem very willing to turn over their social position to men of whom they approve.
  
  

      Again, only Miss Jenkyns (who is, perhaps, the foremost matriarch of Cranford prior to her sudden death) persists in her rather unfounded disapproval of Brown, though, ultimately, she does treat Major Gordon rather kindly and supports his relationship with Jessie Brown. Rosenthal, writing in the same “Gaskell’s Feminist Utopia” essay which first presented the novel as a feminist utopia (as discussed in section two of the anthology), quotes from earlier scholars, like Martin Dodsworth, who “argues that Deborah (Jenkyns) represents the text’s ‘dangerous elements of...feminism’ (143), which must be purged before ‘the community of Cranford is restored to a fuller life’” (Rosenthal 78). Rosenthal then disputes the claim that the novel presents such an anti-feminist message, asserting that            

  Deborah...neither represents nor exemplifies feminism, but she does instead illustrate the fairly common role of deputy husband...what Deborah does, and perhaps widely, is to recognize the possibility for the attainment of power through cooperative participation in the very political system that limits her. She chooses to maximize her opportunities and, as a result, gains as much control as a woman might under her circumstances (78-79).

  In other words, Miss Jenkyns takes on a masculine role within a patriarchal society when she sees opportunities, but never operates with an explicit intent or attempts to take down such a system. Thus, she does not fully “exemplify feminism”. Such an assertion, however, seems to dismiss the fact that multiple Cranford women take on this pseudo-masculine role. Cranford is not a “patriarchal society”, but rather exists as a sort of refuge from a larger patriarchal society (England), with an extent of gender role reversal. Furthermore, in spite of the (per Rosenthal) apparent antifeminist agenda of Dodsworth, his assertion that Miss Jenkyns represents a “dangerous feminism” does not appear totally unsubstantiated; again, Miss Jenkyns’ hatred of Brown seems deeply irrational, and she softens regarding Major Gordon only shortly before her death. I do not intend to argue that Cranford is an anti-feminist novel, but, rather, one that seems to purport support for sympathetic men as part of its feminism. Unlike the other matriarchs, Miss Jenkyns truly, irrationally hates Mr. Brown, despite his following of the Cranford social code and lack of challenging the town’s female leadership. Thus, Miss Jenkyns seems to be portrayed rather negatively and, of course, ultimately dies early in the novel. Her differentiation nearly recalls more modern feminist arguments, which, in attempts to gain sympathetic audiences, purport that feminists “do not hate men” or appreciate male allies. Perhaps Gaskell attempts something similar in order to obtain a larger audience or more sympathy: a lightly feminist novel, which portrays a rather stereotypical, overly radical woman as out of touch. Essentially, the feminism of Cranford seems to lie mainly in its gender role reversal, with the town’s matriarchs taking on a more masculine role and emasculating men who will not cooperate. That said, the men who will cooperate are protected and even revered, suggesting, once again, support of a sort of early male allyship, as opposed to more total matriarchy presented in other novels. Although Cranford, is not, per se, a New Woman novel, it seems to establish this model of value in a slight gender role reversal; later novels like New Amazonia, Gloriana, Margaret Dunmore, and Mercia all operate similarly. Men still exist, and are generally relatively well-off, but women take on much of their role and power, leading to utopian society.

  In a particularly sharp contrast, Annie Denton Cridge’s Man’s Rights; Or, How Would You Like It presents a complete gender role reversal with essentially no sympathy or positivity demonstrated towards men. Cridge presents the short narrative as a series of dreams that the narrator has; dreams one through three are excerpted here. In Man’s Rights, the narrator dreams of a detailed world in which men have taken on an entirely feminine role: they do all housework, can only get jobs as maids, love fashion and sewing, and live only to marry a woman. Like women, a few men in this fantasy world have obtained degrees or published books, making the narrator ponder why they cannot be equal to men. The narrator portrays the men as deeply unhappy in their oppressed position (one male maid dreams of stabbing his supervisors with a knife). Subsequently, the men use a new form of technology, a fantastical machine that can cook and clean very quickly for them, which makes them very happy. In a later dream, the men have developed the titular “man’s rights” movement, attending meetings where they demand social and political equality, like women of the time. Essentially, Cridge appears to be using this total reversal of masculinity and femininity in an attempt to reveal women’s anger and pain to a male audience. She essentially asks men to imagine themselves as women, and, as the title suggests, ask themselves how they would ‘like it’. Cridge is unsympathetic to her male reader, seemingly suggesting that he has never critically considered the plight and pain of women, and, tonally, certainly appears much angrier and more resentful towards men than Gaskell or Clapperton--perhaps even slightly more so than Corbett or Dixie. This explicit anger recalls, Beaumont, writing in Utopia Ltd, who quotes an unnamed female reader of Victorian utopian fiction: “These novels gave me a fictional representation of the unexpressed anger I felt at abuses I saw daily but felt powerless to stop” (87). Cridge’s reversal of gender roles and eschewing of men’s lack of attention seems to epitomize this idea of bringing hidden anger to the surface in these novels, more so than many of her English contemporaries. Cridge did emigrate from England to the United States, where texts like Herland and Mizora similarly appeared angrier and more radical than their British counterparts; perhaps Cridge was drawing from themes more common in her new homeland. Regardless, the treatment of men and reversal of gender roles within her text suggests a level of anger unseen in most of her contemporaries.

  Perhaps the only included writer who may rival Cridge in this respect is Rokeya Hussain, whose short narrative Sultana’s Dream is excerpted here. In the excerpt, the narrator dreams while thinking of the “condition of Indian womanhood” (recalling the unnamed narrator of New Amazonia); she meets someone named Sister Sarah, who tells her about the new, utopian nation they are in, called Ladyland. Ladyland possesses a somewhat similar reversal of gender roles; men must live in the domestic sphere and are shunned indoors all the time. Women run the political and public sphere. Sister Sara posits this arrangement as logical, stating that men are “fit for nothing” and that they cause harm to women and social discord. Like Man’s Rights, this reversal in feminine/masculine roles and explicit resentment and castigation of men suggests a level of women’s anger not seen in other included texts. In sharp contrast with Cranford or even the male allies of Gloriana and Isola, Sultana’s Dream presents men as a problem or enemy and suggests that they should experience the same sort of life that women have for years. Much like Man’s Rights, this construction, which, again, differs so drastically from many of the other included texts, may be attributed to nationality. Roushan Jahan, writing in the introduction to the 1988 Feminist Press edition of the text, explains that the text responds directly to purdah, or the “seclusion and segregation of women” in Victorian Indian society (Jahan vii). Jahan writes, “The Indian context (of Sultana’s Dream) is unmistakable...through the dialogue of Sultana and Sister Sara, the untenability of many of the prevalent Indian notions of ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ character are demonstrated...In Ladyland, men are part of the society but are shorn of power, as women were in Rokeya’s India” (3-4). Hussain responds not to the global plight of women, but to the specific “seclusion and segregation” that men force upon women in India, the purdah. Thus, her concerns diverge greatly from those of white English women, which explains her unique level of anger and radical ideas regarding the social position of men.

  It is not clear why white, English New Woman writers tended to take a more moderate position regarding men; perhaps, as I speculated regarding Cranford, they desired to not be viewed as so radical and hysterical. As discussed in the general introduction, New Woman identities often led to harassment and moral panicking; though many included texts can be called feminist, even radically so, they still tend to protect and support men who believe in their respective causes. Sultana’s Dream, and Man’s Rights present a radical divergence in how men and masculinity are usually treated in the included texts, as they are written by women more unconcerned with the negative attention that generally white, British New Woman writers received.