Preparing

Spring is coming.  I am feeling a bit ironic as I write this, since I am sitting in front of a window watching the snow falling.  I live in a place where snow is rare and exciting, and I wouldn't have it any other way (on both counts).  But, still, it will be warm before we know it, flowers will bloom, and my students will decide it is tanks-and-shorts-weather.  There are things I like about each season, but I think most people really look forward to spring each year.

I have already been out in the yard, working.  This is our first year of owning "a bit of earth" as Mary says in The Secret Garden.  When we lived in our apartment, I longed for a yard.  Last weekend, I raked out flower beds and set out bulbs.  Yesterday, we took advantage of the warmer weather and completed some epic tasks: transplanting a crepe myrtle, a dogwood tree, and a small magnolia, as well as pruning all the crepe myrtles.  It was very hard, messy labor, but I loved it.  And, even though all our work is being currently covered over with a blanket of snow, I know that beneath the soil, the plants are getting ready.

Spring is a time of preparation.  For Christians, we prepare to celebrate Easter.  Although many of us, especially in Protestant churches, don't give the days before Easter as much thought as we do about the weeks leading up to Christmas, I certainly think that this is a perfect time for reflection.  This year, I am working through an Easter devotional recently published by my friend Kirsten, called Consider the Cross: Devotions for Lent.  It contains 40 days of devotions that reflect on the last week of Jesus's life before the crucifixion.  What I appreciate about the book is that although it is not a heavy, exegetical study, it is a serious reflection that asks some really intriguing questions.  The goal, as a Christian, is to always know Christ better, and this allows for such an intimate look at this point in His life.  I will be doing a more in-depth review later on, but right now, if you are interested in adding an Easter devotional to your day, you should certainly check this out.

Lent is an interesting word, by the way.  If you are Baptist, like me, you might view the word with a bit of suspicion.  Growing up, my only exposure to the concept was hearing Methodist friends discussing what they were "giving up" for Lent.  At a conference last year, a fellow panelist offered me the cookie that came with our box lunches, explaining he had given them up as a Lenten vow.  "Sure, thanks," I said, "I'm Baptist, we eat our cookies all year."

The word lent comes from an Old English word for spring (actually from a word that means "lengthen"--as the days get longer in spring.)  The word was adopted in the Middle Ages by the church to indicate this period of preparation during which many people fasted, prayed, and reflected on the Cross.  While I am not planning on giving up cookies this year, I do think that observing a period of reflection is a good idea, no matter what denomination you are from.

Book Review: Ann Patchett's State of Wonder

At first, I resisted Ann Patchett's recent best-seller, State of Wonder.  It begins with death, and I have a cowardly disposition toward such painful subjects.  But, it kept appearing on "must-read" lists, so I gave it a shot, and the novel proved worth it.  It does begin on a somber note: the protagonist, Dr. Marina Singh, a research scientist at a pharmaceutical company, learns of the death of her colleague Anders Eckman and must face, first, relaying the news to Eckman's wife, and then, traveling to the Amazon where Eckman died while trying to locate a rogue scientist.  The first part of the novel is uncomfortably morbid, as Marina reflects on the Eckman's death and the resulting destruction in the life of his wife and sons.

The novel picks up pace, however, as Marina transitions to Brazil, commissioned both by Eckman's wife and her employer to discover what happened to Eckman and locate Dr. Swenson, the scientist Eckman was trying to reach.  Swenson was also Marina's professor during her medical residency years earlier, and Marina harbors a deep reverence and also fear of her former teacher.  Swenson is formidable, growing almost legendary before she ever enters the novel midway through.  Her research centers around extended fertility among an Amazonian tribe--a pharmaceutical gold-mine that could deliver babies to women in their 60s or even 70s.  The company is then, understandably worried that Swenson has apparently gone AWOL.

Marina's adventures are many: breaking through the gates and gatekeepers Swenson has left behind her, surviving fevers, snakes, and angry tribesmen.  The novel, however, is not merely action-packed.  It raises a number of interesting questions, especially when measured against what obviously must have been the inspiration for the story: Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.  The disciple-like reverence that so many develop for Swenson mirrors the devotion shown to Kurtz; thus, a good part of the novel is spent considering how Marina will, like Marlow, experience the disillusionment that comes from seeing the dark heart of the idol.  The novel, too, raises questions, if obliquely, about colonization and its effects, both on the  native populations and the environment.  Indeed, even the research that seems so miraculous, comes under intense and painful scrutiny.

The novel continues to unfold unexpected twists, and even if you have read Heart of Darkness, the resolution of the novel may come as a surprise.

Ultimately, an exciting story, but one that doesn't leave your mind behind.

The Flight of Gemma Hardy: Book Review

An orphan girl, despised by her aunt and cousins, is sent to a boarding school where privations and abuse are mainstays.  The girl grows up and takes a position in a remote manor house teaching a little girl whose guardian is both charismatic and mysterious.  Sound familiar?  It should.  Margot Livesey's The Flight of Gemma Hardy (Harper Collins, 2012) is a retelling of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre.  Set in Scotland in the 1950s and 60s, the novel is both clever and inventive in how it manages the parallels to the original work.  Gemma, born in Iceland, is taken to live with her mother's brother's family at Yew House when both of her parents die.  The opening chapters closely match Brontë's work, from the "not taking a walk" first lines, to the a "bird book" enjoyed in a secluded window-seat.  Claypoole (read Lowood) is a house of horrors: Gemma is taken on scholarship, and in return, she must serve as a "working girl"--basically an unpaid servant, which allows for interesting class dynamics as the divisions between the working girls and the regular students are severe.

In the first part of the book, the primary differences between Jane Eyre and Gemma Hardy are in the heroine's allies.  Unlike Jane, Gemma not only remembers but loves her uncle, who is a kindly minister who dies just before the beginning of the book.  No Betsy, but there is Mrs. Marsden, Gemma's aunt's housekeeper.  No Miss Temple, but, interestingly, a Mr. Donaldson, the teacher at Gemma's school before she leaves for Claypoole: he tries to warn Gemma off the boarding school, but becomes a victim of his own good intentions.  The Helen Burns character is rechristened Miriam Goodall, an asthmatic regular student who befriends Gemma.  She doesn't seem to have the same degree of influence on Gemma as Helen has on Jane, and lacks Helen's stoic faith.  Faith in general seems to be in short supply in this novel, despite Gemma's uncle's vocation, and, more crucially, despite the overwhelming importance of both Christian themes and images in Jane Eyre.

The second part of the book, Gemma's sojourn at Blackbird Hall (there is an extended bird motif through the whole novel), is perhaps the most enjoyable.  Gemma's advertisements land her in the Orkneys, the islands in northern Scotland, working for Mr. Hugh Sinclair, teaching his niece Nell (rhymes with Adele!)  It is in this section, however, that the story begins to spin away from the Jane Eyre story most clearly.  Gemma as adult is less like Jane than she was as a child.  She lacks Jane's unflinching self-possession, and this is demonstrated most strikingly in her reasons for running away from Blackbird Hall after Mr. Sinclair's secret has been revealed (Mr. Sinclair, by the way, is not nearly as much a bad boy as Mr. Rochester).  Jane leaves Rochester, not because he has deceived her and tried to trick her into bigamy--she forgives him the instant he asks before she ever leaves Thornfield.  She does not leave because she is angry with him.  She leaves because of a moral impulse--she is terribly tempted by his pleading that they remain together even though his wife lives.  She flees because she wants to be able to maintain her self-respect--she would rather risk starvation on the moors than to act on her passion for Rochester.  Gemma leaves because she is angry.  She leaves because she has been deceived.  There is no real moral compulsion to flee, so her reasoning takes on a self-righteous tone.  She leaves because she wants to "find herself."

OK.  Enough fussing.  The novel is actually really good.  I sped through it, intrigued to find out what would happen to Gemma (although, of course, you can probably guess).  The novel is an original work in its own right, and although I feel that the novel didn't truly capture the essence of Jane's character and choices (and I think it could have and still maintained it's originality), it is entertaining nevertheless.  It is fun to find the clever ways that Livesey alludes to the original work, and at times I was reading the novel with the memory of the corresponding passage in my mind, almost superimposed above the words on the page.  This is definitely a novel that I would love to dissect with another Jane Eyre fan---so, get on it!

Recommended if you love or even like Jane Eyre, enjoy coming of age stories, are interested in Scottish geography and a bit of history.

On a related note: my review of Fukunaga's film adaptation of Jane Eyre

Review: The Winter Sea

Susanna Kearsley's The Winter Sea was an enjoyable first read on my new Nook Color.  The novel follows two parallel narratives, one being that of modern-day writer Carrie McClelland who settles into a rented cottage on the Scottish coast to work on her newest historical novel, and the other is that of Carrie's heroine, Sophia Patterson, named, on a whim, for one of Carrie's ancestors.  Carrie's novel, the story within the story, is set in 1708 at Slains Castle and follows Sophia as she finds romance and danger in the midst of an early attempted Jacobite uprising.  At modern day Slains, Carrie becomes concerned when she discovers that her imagined scenes between characters are born out as true by her subsequent research.  She comes to believe that her novel is less fictional that history--she has inherited the memory of her ancestress, and her writing uncovers a variety of twists and surprises that had not been included in the family record.

Despite the quirky framing and occasional references to genetics and DNA to explain how Carrie could possess the memories of her great-great-great-great-great grandmother, the story is less sci-fi /fantasy and more historical novel.  The Carrie narrative arc is gentle: her encounters with the locals who are eager to supply her with material for her novel, the fairly harmless triangle that arises between herself and the two sons of her landlord, and the descriptions of her writing process.  Despite its relative quietude, I liked the Carrie arc--I wanted to know who she ended up with, and as someone who has been attempting a bit of writing myself, I am interested in other writer's descriptions of the process (and surely Carrie and Kearsley share ideas on this subject?).  The Sophia arc was also interesting, if, again, a bit quiet.  There is danger, but most of Sophia's trials are mental--the references to chess games are apt, as she attempts to hide the information she possesses from those who might harm her loved ones and their mission to bring back the Scottish king.  Her's is a more likely true look at the dangers women faced--domestic dangers, the trials of waiting, knowing but being unable to act.

The book reminded me quite a bit of Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series--both take place in 18th century Scotland and involve "time-travel" in a way.  But Kearsley's is a gentler tale--far less sex and violence than Gabaldon's lusty adventures.  I definitely recommend the novel as an engaging but tranquil historical read.

Fukunaga's Jane Eyre: An English Teacher's Perspective

Jane Eyre is quite possibly my favorite book ever (I say possibly because, really, who can pick a single favorite?)  I have read it at least half a dozen times since the fateful first encounter when I was sixteen and absolutely riveted by Jane and Rochester, the breath-catching romance and the flesh-creeping spookiness.

I was, however, rather nonplussed when I first heard that a new film version was coming out.  I have seen several different renditions of the novel in film and am unimpressed with all of them, except for the 2006 Masterpiece Theatre miniseries.  That version, starring Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson was quite good, so much so that I didn't think there really needed to be another version already.  After seeing the film on Saturday, however, I feel that Fukunaga's version has definite merit.

There are a few problems, the most significant being length.  It is just too problematic trying to cram a 500+ page Victorian "loose baggy monster" into a 2-hour feature film format.  Several scenes that I found important (though, admittedly, not essential) were cut, in particular the ones in which Mr. Rochester attempts to deck his fiancee in finery, which she is having none of.  Of course, this is no doubt due to my interest in fashion in literature, but I see these scenes as important in establishing Jane's resistance to attempts to manipulate her sense of self and identity.  The other significant scene cut is Bertha ripping Jane's veil and blowing the candle out in her face the night before the wedding.  I was particularly shocked that this was eliminated, since from the trailer it looked as though the film was going to play up the Gothic elements.  However, Bertha actually gets very little screen time at all.

Also, while overall the casting was quite good (and excellent in Mia Wasikowska as Jane, but more on that later), I was a bit dissatisfied with Michael Fassbender's Rochester.  He's just a bit too....mean.  Particularly in the earliest scenes, he is vicious.  Which doesn't match the Rochester of the book, where he is stern and gruff and commanding, but also funny and tender; Fassbender seems to forget the latter in his efforts to convince us of the former.  Jamie Bell's St. John Rivers is also problematic, but for the opposite reason: he is too nice.  The film insinuates that St. John is actually attracted to Jane and wants to marry her for romantic, as well as evangelical purposes; we have none of the St. John of the book's icy "you were formed for labor, not for love" pronouncements.  And there is, of course, no Rosamund Oliver.  Oh, and Jane being a cousin to the Riverses is not mentioned at all....

But, enough with the problems.  First, the film is gorgeous.  It opens with Jane's flight across the moors as she leaves Thornfield, a red sky with rain in the distance behind her, and it just gets better from there.  There seems to have been a commitment to authenticity in many of the details.  For example, the scenes shot in those dark corridors of the Thornfield appear to be lighted by only the candle the actors are carrying--no mysterious, bright-as-day "moonlight" creeping in--you actually see what it might have been like to live in a pre-electric time.  The clothes are also wonderful, from the chemises, petticoats, and corsets outward.  Jane appears in her blacks and greys of course, but with subtle plaids and stripes.

And, then, Jane herself.  Mia Wasikowska is fantastic.  She looks like Jane, who is described as small and plain.  The plain part is easy: even the prettiest woman stripped of her make-up and forced into that distinctive 1840's hairstyle with that severe center part and braids looping around the ears is going to look plain. But Wasikowska is able to pull off expressions that convey the sense of passion being forced back by reason.  It's all about restraint.  I like Ruth Wilson's Jane, but she is a bit too jolly, smiles a bit too easily, and cries a bit too heartily.  Wasikowska is more subtle: a flicker of flame hinting at (but neither revealing nor hiding) the inferno beneath.

There were so many really good scenes, but I'll just mention two that were particularly memorable--the proposal beneath the oak tree really demonstrates Wasikowska's restraint.  I have told my students that I think the most important lines in the novel are probably the ones where Jane says "Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little that am soulless and heartless?"  And Wasikowska nails it.  It was during this scene that my husband, who has never read the book and does not profess any great interest in classic British literature, looked at me and announced, "This is good."  The other scene that is particularly well-done is the one where Rochester is trying to convince Jane to stay after the discovery of Bertha.  Oh, the agony.  But, oh the restraint.  You can see Jane struggling, not allowing herself to touch Rochester, literally crying out to God for help.  It's breath-taking.

If you haven't seen the film, it is definitely worth watching (and I would love to know what you think).  Good luck finding it in a theater near you: we drove to the next county to find it in a small, artsy theater.  But it was certainly worth it!

Today was a good day at the library...

A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table by Molly Wisenberg

Sunshine by Robin McKinley

The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr

Chalice

I just finished Robin McKinley's beautiful new novel, Chalice.  I love this book - it is lyrical and warm and the first book in a long time that I have devoured in under 24 hours.  McKinley is a young adult novelist who writes fantasies and fairy tale retellings - my favorite is Beauty, a retelling of "Beauty and the Beast."  Her novel The Hero and the Crown won a Newberry Award  and the prequel, The Blue Sword was a Newberry Honor book.
Chalice is set in a mythical world where each region is governed by a Circle - the highest ranking members are the Master and the Chalice.  Marisol is an obscure beekeeper when she is chosen to be Chalice - she bears a cup that has the power to bring people together and to heal.  She is uncomfortable in this new position, but determined to help the new Master - the younger brother of the previous wicked Master.

The story is a mixture of parts - fairy tale, fantasy, romance.  It is knotty in parts - long sections of exposition without dialogue and a convoluted time-line that often loops back on itself - but overall, it is a very enjoyable and engrossing read.

Best Books: Young Adult, Part 2

1) Summer of My German Soldier, Bette Greene:  It's been years since I read this, but it is a powerful work - a young girl hides a German POW, deals with an abusive father, racism, and all the drama of being a teenager in 1940's South. 

2) A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith: Another one that I haven't read in a while, but also a coming of age during difficult circumstances novel - the main character grows up in Depression-era New York in a tenement and deals with poverty and other heavy issues.  I really need to lighten this up, huh?

3) The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster: I do not like math, but this fantasy novel about a world of mathematic principles (it's kind of hard to explain) is very funny and fun to read.

4) The Mozart Season, Virginia Euwer Wolff: This novel about a young violin prodigy struggling to be herself, please her parents, and deal with the identity issues arising from being half-Jewish, half-Gentile didn't receive great reviews, but I loved it and checked it out from the library multiple times.

5) Just as Long as We're Together, Judy Blume: Blume is a nearly ubiquitous feature of teen girl reading lists, and I read them all.  This was my favorite.

There are more, of course.  I'm beginning to see patterns in my reading from younger years.  Why was I so enamoured with these heavy coming-of-age novels?  There were abusive parents, poverty, death, identity issues, on and on.  And I know the adult equivalents of these - you know, the books that read "Sarah thinks her life is perfect until a tragic accident and her husband's death causes her to re-examine the life she loves and to consider the possibilities...."  I put these back down in a hurry - why is teen angst appealing, but adult angst is just depressing?  Thoughts?  Anyone?  It's a problem.  With the young adult novels, I would pick up anything on the shelf at the library and read it.  Now with books for grown-ups, I scan the back, read the first paragraph, ponder and debate and still generally end up hating everything I get from the library.  It has gotten so bad that I hardly read fiction at all - there is so much drivel out there.  And it is all so depressing.  The "good" books, the ones that win Pulitzers and National Book Awards are generally boring and depressing and bleak.  The "popular" books are just awful and depressing and maudlin - Nicholas Sparks, Jodi Picoult, yikes.

I would like to grow up, but the young adult books are much more satisfying.

Best Books: Young Adult

I read. A lot. And not just because I am an getting a PhD in English. Reading is like breathing for me - completely necessary. I would like to share some of my favorites with you. These won't be the obvious choices, although I love the canonical works - Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, etc. Instead, I would like to include some works that maybe you haven't heard of, or the more obscure works by well-known authors. At any rate, these are some real gems. I'm starting with the best YA, a category that I still read and love. Here we go:

1) A House Like a Lotus, Madeleine L'Engle: Although L'Engle is best known for her science-fiction series beginning with A Wrinkle in Time, her realist teen fiction is just as good. A House Like a Lotus centers on Polly, takes place in Greece, and deals with a variety of heavy issues in a smart and insightful way. It is beautiful, and the type of book that makes me want to be a better person.

2) The Blue Castle, L.M. Montgomery: Again, Montgomery is better known for a beloved series (the Anne of Green Gables books), but this single novel is one of my favorites. It is a grown up book about a young woman who gives up trying to please her family and bow to convention and begins doing exactly what she wants. It is more sophisticated than Montgomery's other novels, but still has a satisfying romantic plot.

3) The Chronicles of Prydain, Lloyd Alexander: This fantasy series based on Welsh mythology is fun, and like an easy version of The Lord of the Rings. I am re-reading them now with a little guy that I tutor and he loves them. See, not everything I read is girly!

4) Little Town on the Prairie; These Happy Golden Years, Laura Ingalls Wilder: Although the Little House books are well-loved, most people seem to stop with Little House on the Prairie. The later installments are also good, these two in particular.

5) Jacob Have I Loved, Katherine Paterson: Angsty, full of sibling rivalry (the title refers to Jacob and Esau from the Bible, not a romantic plot), this book also provides a look at a coastal fishing town.

6) Eight Cousins; Rose in Bloom, Louisa May Alcott: Little Women is good, but I also enjoy this duo from the author, which includes Alcott's special blend of didacticism and romance.

This will no doubt be continued in other posts - the list goes on. I also want to point to another aspect of YA books that I love - the covers. I remember all the book covers from my youth, on editions that came out in the 70s and 80s, and I have to say, the more current editions just don't live up. I especially like the work of Jody A. Lee, who did covers for the Dell/Yearling editions of fantasy novels. I have been collecting these versions from used books stores and have almost complete series of the L'Engle books and the Alexander books. The book pictured above is one of her covers.

Anyway, what young adult novels get you all nostalgic? And which ones are you still reading today?

Fun with Rochester and Jane

I recently, at the strong recommendation of a friend, saw the 2007 BBC adaptation of Jane Eyre. Why I had not seen this sooner is a mystery, but it is wonderful. I had previously seen two versions (the 1997 Zeffirelli version with William Hurt and the 1983 BBC version starring Timothy Dalton) and neither of these greatly impressed me, both, primarily because of the leading men: William Hurt came off as too old, and didn't have that charismatic spark that I believe Rochester has, and Timothy Dalton... I mean, come on, Timothy Dalton? He's too pretty to be Rochester. However, the BBC got it right in 2007 with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson. However, the film isn't great just because the casting matches up with my conceptions of the characters. It is surprisingly faithful to the text, both in letter and spirit. Much of the dialogue is lifted directly from the book, and every important event is accounted for. Of course, there are a few minor changes: for instance, Rochester hires a gypsy woman and hides behind a screen while she predicts the future for his guests, which isn't accurate, but it must be a bit unsettling to see the leading man actually in drag. At any rate, the film is definitely worth seeing, especially if previous versions left you a bit cold, and even if you enjoyed them, this is still a great adaptation. It must really mean something if I can get choked up watching a story that I know so well, and that makes me want to read the book again - which I am currently doing for at least the fifth time in my life.

Domestic Vampires: Domesticity in Twilight Part 1

I had planned to respond to a CFP that I was forwarded about Twilight. I had come up with an argument and taken several notes. But then, when I went to write the proposal, I realized that what I wanted to write about would not fit with what the editors wanted (youth, media, culture studies). I, of course, am interested in the domestic aspects of the novel (among other things), and since I won't be writing a chapter for a book (sigh), I am posting my ideas here.

I came across an article in the December 2008 issue of the Atlantic Monthly about Twilight called "What Girls Want" by Caitlin Flanagan in which she discusses the phenomenon of the series, their immense popularity, and their appeal for older readers like herself (and me!) In an almost throw-away comment, imbedded in a parenthetical aside she writes

"Bella is an old-fashioned heroine: bookish, smart, brave, considerate of other's feelings and naturally competent in the domestic arts (she immediately takes over the grocery shopping and cooking in her father's household, and there are countless weirdly compelling accounts of her putting dinner together - wrapping two potatoes in foil and popping them in a hot oven, marinating a steak, making a green salad...)" (112). (emphasis mine)

Bella is a domestic heroine, in an age in which domesticity has fallen out of favor. My argument is that the Twilight series may be read as a parable that re-inscribes nineteenth-century domestic ideology. If domestic fiction imagines the home as the acme of human bliss, then Meyer's work imagines that bliss to occur between the perfect, hyper-masculine (but ever-so sensitive) vampire Edward and the brave, smart, and domestic Bella.

Bella's domestic abilities make her oddly suited to be a Cullen and a vampire. The Cullen family is a model of old-fashioned domesticity - they are necessarily bound as a family and tied to their house, since each foray into the outside world is a risk of exposure. In Meyer's 5th addition to the series Midnight Sun, an early draft of which was leaked onto the internet, followed by Meyer posting an official pdf, a description of the Cullen family paints a picture of domestic leisure: Emmett and Jasper play an elaborate version of chess, Alice works on a design project for Rosalie's wardrobe, Rosalie herself tunes up her car, Esme "hums over a new set of blue prints," and Edward himself composes Bella's lullaby at the piano. An updated, modern image of the middle class domestic family at rest, gathered around the fire with their individual pursuits: reading, games, sewing, etc.

Clearly, there is more to say here, but I will leave that to a later post.... Comment! Please!

Defining Domesticity

The term domesticity hardly seems to need defining. It is not commonly used in everyday parlance, but can quickly be intentified as a derivative of "domestic," which is rather more commonly used. People talk about "being domestic" as in "I am going to be domestic this weekend and do some laundry." On the other end, domesticity as a concept and lifestyle seems to have been assigned solely to stay at home mothers and Martha Stewart disciples. Certainly, there is more to it than this.

Domesticity has a historical context. In the nineteenth century, domesticity was seen as the realm of middle and upper class white women in Britain and America. It indicated wifehood and motherhood as the management of the home as the role for women. Clearly, today, this is problematic, and helps to explain the knee-jerk reaction that many people have when they hear the term domesticity, equating it with oppression and sexism. As Nina Baym says in Woman's Fiction, "domesticity is equated with entrapment" (26). This short-changes the concept of home and family and how women can relate to them. In the nineteenth century, domestic fiction was actually empowering. Prior to the emergence of the genre, most fiction about female characters followed a common plot, one in which women were invariable made into victims; sentimental fiction or novels of sensibility focused on women who were innately good and pious but who are somehow abused, betrayed, seduced, and abandoned. While these novels were perhaps useful in illuminating the plight of women, the fates of these female characters was less than inspiring, usually involving insanity, death, or insanity and then death. In the best cases, the woman was able to reform the rake who was attempting to seduce her, although this makes for questionable husband-material (see Richardson's Pamela).

Domestic fiction, on the other hand, written by women, refused to imagine women as victims. These writers "were unwilling to accept, and unwilling to permit their readers to accept, a concept of woman as inevitable sexual prey" (26). Instead, women had power over the home, and the home was the center of the world. The domestic arrangement and the happy home was the "acme of human bliss." While domestic fiction is often linked to the concept of separate spheres, such a term is perhaps misleading. The home is not cordoned away from the "real world" of the market and public interactions, but instead "everybody was to be placed in the home, and hence, home and the world would become one." This has significant implications for female power: "to the extent that woman dominated the home, the ideology implied an unprecedented historical expansion of her influence" (27).

How does this function today? Do we see domesticity as oppressive? or is there something still empowering in domesticity? In a post-feminist society, does the concept of the domestic world raise hackles or are we seeing an increasing return to home as people become disenchanted with the public realm?