Self-Fulfilling Prophecies
Deconstruction’s Empathy in Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper and James’s The Turn of the Screw
A newly married couple enter their new Victorian home. As the pair revel in the price of purchase (tens-of-thousands below market value), they enter through the arched entryway that engulfs them in the dark, warm brown of the wood paneling and the delicate arabesque in each cravase of the home. The husband goes to obtain their luggage, leaving his pregnant wife to soak in the psyche of the home. She begins to slowly whirl, as if to dance, admiring every nuance of the home’s delicate architecture. The door slams shut. The loud noise sends a pang through the wife’s delicate frame as she clutches her belly in anticipation of danger. She looks for ways to escape when she hears footsteps at the top of the stairs. No, rolling. A severed head (who might it be?) slowly rolls, heating each stair with heavy anticipation like a bell tolling. Stair by stair, the wife gawks at the sight until it lands on the red carpet just before her feet, the closed eyes and vacant expression mocking the elegant intruder. A voice, no, not a voice. A force compels the wife closer to reach and to feel the skin of the severed head (why did it look so familiar?) to see if there was any warmth. The eyes open. She shudders and recedes and the head booms with an inhuman shrill, “Something wickéd this way comes!”
“Are you alright, sweety?”
The husband snaps her back into reality. The door never shut. The carpet seems much more maroon than red, when she comes to think of it; that’s not a shrill at all, but the structurally creaking from a hundred-year-old home from the strong, Santa Ana winds.
“I think I need to stop teaching Macbeth,” the wife concludes to her husband.
The haunted house is a staple of the American Horror and Gothic genre and it often acts as an extension of the family structures of the characters or of the character’s internal psychology. The physical home can be seen as a mirror that forces the characters to confront elements from their past or their own debilitating psychological structures. Those characters’ ability to process their trauma, family history, or cultural history is directly reflective of how they interact with the home and the ‘haunting’ of the home itself is more of a reflection of that haunting, incomprehensible nature of human history. The vacancy of the home then acts as a canvas for the interpreter’s internal, an internal that is “fluid rather than static in nature; the senses act as a source of images and the human mind manipulates these images to compensate… The fluidity of human memory is… an adaptive mechanism” (Soloman 14). Solomon’s exploration of The Haunting of Hill House draws these conclusions with the foundation that “fear and anxiety [are] ejected from the self [and are then] relocated, finding space in the haunted house” (27); the horror from haunted houses is self-created and mirrored from the horror found within the internal of the interpreter.
Yet, the haunted house itself is only a single element used to explore the deep recesses of the human mind. The list of literary American ‘haunted houses’ is long and the novels that use these settings to create an atmosphere of dread (without personifying the house itself) is even longer. More interesting is not necessarily the objects themselves (like the haunted house), but the language the characters use to construct their conceptualizations of their reality. The objects are often extensions of the characters themselves, but more important are the linguistic structures the narrators and characters create to dominate their world view. This exploration, thus, will center around Henry James’s The Turn of the Screw and Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, narratives that contain arguable variations of the ‘haunted house,’ but more importantly have their respective narrators project their internal mind onto their external. Their projection results in the creation of binary oppositions that are deconstructed to varying degrees, resulting in contrasting approaches from the narrators that lead to contrasting results (and subsequently creating a binary in its own right). Using Derrida’s framework, the varying successes of the characters to deconstruct the binary, hierarchical oppositions that dominate their lives drive them to their eventual freedom or demise.
Derrida’s Binary Oppositions
For Jacques Derrida, language functions necessarily by comparison. These comparisons result from “the differences by which we distinguish one signifier from another,” meaning that the only meaning that language can possess stems from its ‘différance’ from the words that are associated with it (Tyson 253). These differences are often created in dichotomies or binary oppositions, oppositions that are constructed with the illusion of opposing qualities. Concepts such as ‘good’ and ‘evil,’ for instance, exist in polar, linear relation to each other and have qualities that contrast, just as ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ or ‘sane’ and ‘insane.’ From there, the interpreters of these dichotomies would structure them hierarchically, with one term functioning in superior moral, intellectual, or other qualities in relation to the opposite (Lawlor xii).
These descriptive claims then lead Derrida to some prescriptive arguments that centered around undermining the hierarchical structure imposed on the terms: “reutilization.” To deconstruct the binary opposition, the interpreter must initially identify traits between the binary oppositions then explore how those various traits are found on opposite ends of the dichotomy: “the superior term presupposes traits found in the subordinate term” (Lawlor xii). Afterwards, the “old names inherited from these oppositions and hierarchies” are to be “reutiliz[ed],” or repurposed into a new concept that exits “the terrain of the philosophical opposition” (13). In essence, the whole process can be narrowed into five steps: (1) identification of the binary, (2) identification of their hierarchical structure (the ‘superior’ term) of the binary, (3) identification of the traits of each binary, (4) critical deconstruction of the binary by revealing the prevalence of traits in both ends of the binary, and (5) reutilization of the term outside the realm of the original binary opposition. The whole process is motivated by “the desire for truth and for the transformation of all values” (Lawlor xii) and a critical evaluation of the subjective, interpretive nature of language. Through the act of deconstruction, subjectivity and personal perspective are highlighted as key driving forces to the creation of meaning in language, making it easier to identify the potential ‘traces,’ or the only real meaning left behind my signifiers (Tyson 253), and attain access to a truth beyond the scope of language.
These binary oppositions consequently drive the creation of world views to all characters (and readers alike). Characters of varying awareness would use these binaries to construct their world view, then possibly limit their existence within the binary to fulfill a psychological necessity. The binary could also be imposed onto a character, and that character’s ability to navigate and deconstruct the binary would be the key to their survival. In either case, awareness of the key features of their binary oppositions is essential for the character’s survival, especially in the American Gothic.
A Heroic Governess
In the opening of The Turn of the Screw, Henry James frames the narrative of the Governess around a dialogue between Douglas and an unnamed narrator. The frame front-loads the expectations of “apparitions” for the reader, stating that it is “the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child” (1). Yet, the narrator leaves the identity of the apparition ambiguous and up for misinterpretation. Ambiguity is then further established as a key element of the tale yet to be narrated as the story “won’t tell… not in any literal vulgar way” (3) or that the narration “was n’t so simple as [sheer terror]” (1). Consequently, the reader’s first interpretation of the tale as a simple ghost story in which two, vulnerable children and a heroic governess fight the malevolent, ghostly entities that haunt them seems undermined by Douglas, the initial framer of the tale. Consequently, the reader should be critically analyzing and expecting turns to various claims from Douglas about the Governess, where she “struck me as awfully clever and nice” or that she “was a most charming person” or the “most agreeable woman I’ve ever known in her position” (2). These claims lie with solidity at the opening of the narrative, but seem undermined by the prevalence of an essential binary opposition that dominates the thematic grounding of the text: aesthetic beauty or appearance and a reality that may oppose the initial impression made by aesthetics.
The Governess’s narrative seems like a stable, authoritative recreation of events, but a careful analysis of how she creates binary oppositions reveals her lack of critical awareness and analysis of her own biases. The Governess creates, among others, binaries between aesthetic beauty and grotesque appearances, education and ignorance, civility and incivility, and most importantly heroism and villainy. Seeing herself as the hero to her own narrative, she abandons notions of subjectivity and slights realities that undermine that narrative. Consequently, she places Miles and Flora in danger and leaves herself victim to her immediate impulses.
On the surface, the Governess is heroic. Her valor in directly accosting the various apparitions is admirable as she had “no terror” and felt “in a fierce rigour of confidence, that if I stood my ground a minute I should cease… to have him to reckon with” (39). Then again, in chapter 20, the Governess sits down, in silence, aware of the “mortal coldness” of the air and bears Miles despite his independence. She moves ruthlessly to conquer the apparitions especially in the closing of the novel, where she aims for the “supreme surrender of [Peter Quint’s] name and [Miles’s] tribute to [her own] devotion” (85), her “sternness… all for [Miles’s] judge, his executioner” (84). From her perspective, the Governess is incredibly brave in her direct approach of these phantoms and it is only at the closing of the novel that she acknowledges that her pride may have lead to the demise of Miles: “With the stroke of the loss I was so proud of he uttered the cry of a creature hurled over an abyss” (85).
From her perspective, these events and these judgements hold true. However, the Governess creates and molds her judgments with an incredibly high emphasis on her subjective experience as if it is the objective truth. She further ignores her own reaction to the aesthetic biases of her perception that exist from the onset; the Governess creates judgements of Miles and of Flora based on their perfect appearances. This bias is immediately established, then challenged throughout the course of the novella as their perfect beauty is either morphed or upheld as other-worldly. In chapter 20, for instance, the Governess challenges Flora and her “incomparable childish beauty had suddenly failed, had quite vanished” (70) when Flora defied the Governess. Thus, James elevates the judgemental arrogance of the Governess and her own ignorance of this arrogance because she distorts her conceptualization of the kids depending on how obedient they are to her. She further makes claims to these distortions as declarative facts, refusing to acknowledge her own subjective biases because her language refrains from that subjectivity, too. Miles is also accosted with these biases and is contained within an unearthly aesthetic appearance in the Governess’s reality: his intellect was far too unnaturally gifted and he “really lives in a setting of beauty and misery that no words can translate; there was a distinction all his own in every impulse he revealed; never was a small natural creature, to the uninformed eye all frankness and freedom, a more ingenious, a more extraordinary little gentleman (63). The Governess, to her own admission, was “dazzled by their loveliness,” was “under the spell” of their aesthetic beauty and her perception, from this moment forward, cannot be counted as anything but unreliable. Even the “mortal coldness” mentioned earlier is a direct reflection of her own internal imposed on the child because he does not comply with her strict notions of childhood obedience. Miles is independent and this makes her feel powerless and reminds her of her subservient role to male members of the house as a Governess.
The bias goes further with the apparitions where the Governess provides numerous concrete details to help identify both Peter Quint and Miss Jessel. She describes in detail to Mrs. Grose every minute detail of their characters, from his missing hat to his “somehow darker” eyebrows to the eyes that are “sharpe, strange-awfully.” Yet all judgements on the quality of the features are once again left to the subjective biases of the Governess. She mentions that Peter Quint was mostly “clean-shaven” and that he looked like “an actor” (23), but the features described are rather ordinary aesthetically; there are no missing teeth, deformed eyes, or scars from a physical incident. Instead, the reader is only given a a “stare,” a stare where his eyes were “markedly fixed” on her (17), yet he had “come for some one else” (20).
All these aesthetic biases are then molded by the Governess’s hero complex, the key feature that creates a dominant, binary opposition identified simply as ‘heroism’ or ‘villainy.’ Heroic acts “give meaning to people” and “guide how people think about and evaluate their lives and goals,” but it also places heroes on a pedestal and “increases the status difference between hero and observer” (Beggan 25). The Governess then falls closer to the category of a Meddling Hero, or someone who “performs a misguided act of heroism” with good intent, but poor awareness or ignorance of the context for that action (10). They are a “misguided hero whose interventions may create self-harm as well as harm to others” because “it may be difficult or impossible to know the full implications of what appears to be a heroic action” (11). James’s Governess feels extraordinary pride in her “heroism” on the “occasion demanded” of her position (James 27) and she allows herself to be placed into a position of seeming use (that is, she is being used) in order to feed into this sense of importance. Then she begins to feel a sense of jealousy associated with Miles’s and Flora’s growing independence and their relationships with the ghosts: “...whatever I had seen, Miles and Flora saw more.” What the ghosts supposedly communicated to them was “more infernal message or more vivid image than they had thought good enough for [the Governess]” (51), and her tone shifts, briefly, into jealousy. Douglas mentioned that the Governess was “in love,” or that “she had been” (3) in the opening of the novel, yet a better claim would be that she was in love with her position and the potential for praise and heroism that it brought.
Combined with her actions and her wanting pursuit and confrontation of the apparitions, the Governess seems far more unintentionally duplicitous than her initial narrative might imply. Furthermore, she fails to critically analyze the villain-hero binary that dominates her world view: she is a hero and those that challenge or offend her aesthetic or authoritative sensibilities are villains. Within the steps outlined earlier in this exploration, the Governess fails to take a single one; she never even acknowledges the binary and allows herself to be dominated by a subjective experience that masquerades as objective reality. Miles dies because of her lack of awareness and she recedes into her “victory” with only briefly considering her own guilt: “if [Miles] were innocent what then on earth was I?” (83). The Governess was always more interested in ownership and possession, rather than the children’s growth. She was proud of what she perceived to be a noble, heroic struggle against the demonic spirits that haunt the home, proud of her ‘ownership’ of Miles when she states “I have you” (85) in a decisive victory of what she perceived to be their tormentors. Yet, she was the one to be feared. She was the villain whose tale was molded to fit her hero complex. The terror of the tale is then amplified and Douglas’s discomfort is justified for it is fully possible that the ghostliness of the tale touches the framers of the narrative directly: the Governess is a ghostly figure herself (figureatively and possibly literally) and stuck in a limbo of reality because of her inability to deconstruct the binaries that place her there.
Deconstructing the Code
Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper functions in contrast to The Turn of the Screw, for while the Governess fails to acknowledge and deconstruct the binaries that dominate her life, Gilman’s ‘Jane’ uses them to communicate the historical injustices of the rest cure and patriarchal constructs that dominate women’s lives. When Gilman underwent Weir Mitchell’s ‘rest cure,’ she didn’t stand idly by to watch other women be subjected to the same psychological torture that she was forced to adhere to. The rest cure started out as a good-intentioned experiment on patients with PTSD, but psychology was still in the stages of infancy and much of Sigmund Freud’s influence on psychology was yet to occur. The term ‘post traumatic stress disorder’ was not conceived until 1980 and prior to then, varying ranges of terminology were associated with the behavior today known broadly as trauma. ‘Shell shock’ was a common term, and so was neurasthenia (Crocq). However, the medical profession was dominated by male figures that didn’t consider their own gender biases and limitations in perspective. Dr. Weir Mitchell attempted to address a broad category of then-perceived mental illness, as ‘neurasthenia’ was a “watch-all diagnosis for the host of nonpsychotic emotional disorders that were not understood and not responsive to medical therapies” (Martin). Mitchell worked with a variety of patients, both male and female, and claimed that many benefited from the strict regimen of care and Mitchell’s “authoritative demeanor” (Stiles). That regimen consisted of strict restrictions on diet (heavy on dairy), limitations to physical activities, limitations to “morbid thoughts” and family/friends visits, and heavy psychological manipulation. Psychological manipulation played an essential role for Mitchell as he attempted to reduce his patience to a childlike state of obedience, often writing with contempt about his patients (Martin).
The Yellow Wallpaper is a direct response to Weir Mitchell’s treatment in particular. The text contains heavy overtones of manipulation that create a division in the narrator and the language of the narration itself. It is also a direct reflection of the time’s emphasis on the physical elements of health as they were mostly ignorant of the mental divisions that can occur with mental illness. One of the most striking dialogues to showcase this division occurs in the middle of the narrative as the mostly unnamed ‘Jane’ is speaking with her husband, ‘John,’ who is a doctor and a direct extension of Weir Mitchell’s psychological doctrine. He states, “Really, dear, you are better!” and the narrator retorts, “Better in body, perhaps” (Gilman 140). This short dialogue is a direct reflection of psychology during Gilman’s time as it was attempting to make sense of the internal psychological frameworks of an individual. During her time, the emphasis of treatment was on the physical and the internal framework of a person was largely secondary to their physical health: “I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was. / John is so pleased to see me improve!” (142). Numerous binaries are created as a consequence and the binaries act as guides for the various characters molded or misguided by them: healthy and unhealthy (through the physical lens only) and men and women (with men in the hierarchically superior position). These binaries then guide all the secondary characters (not the narrator) to become antagonists as the narrator desperately attempts to escape both the characters and the binaries.
The strong emphasis on the physical health and the subservient behavior of ‘Jane’ led her to create a schism in her own identity. Forced into the submissive role by the men in power in her life, she created a binary opposition within her own character: the subservient housewife and the creeping, female lunatic. The division is essential to the language of the text as she speaks entirely in ‘code’ with consistent, verbally ironic statements that indicate the narrative stance in her ‘subservient housewife’ persona. For instance, she states her husband is “very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction” (132), suggesting a strong, oppressive presence of the husband in every action she makes. Then, when describing the wallpapers with “heads” that “strangle” and “turn… upside-down, and makes their eyes white!” (143), she is referencing her own strangled state as she attempts to climb out of her restricted gender roles only to be ‘strangled’ (figuratively) by the men in power. Even ‘white’ in this instance, commonly associated with purity, is overturned in meaning as it is associated with perceived purity within a social structure that places women on a pedestal.
The other side of the binary opposition (the ‘creeping lunatic’) is her true form, but that label is not necessarily one that she gives to herself. Instead, her language is gendered with the masculine social norms and structures in mind. In that world, she is a creeping lunatic for she does not fit the mold of a subservient housewife. It is not until the end that she is able to kill off her subservient, gendered self that she is capable of undermining the structure of the patriarchal figures: “I’ve got out at last… in spite of you and Jane! And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” (147). In the closing lines of the narrative, Gilman introduces the name ‘Jane’ (the sister’s name was Mary), indicating that the narrator was writing from her ‘Jane’ persona, a persona crafted to fit into the strangling, limited structures of ‘John’s’ patriarchal society. In crafting this duplicitous persona, she was able to finally ‘feminize’ the men and undermine their power: “Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!” (147). Gilman fittingly uses the common masculine and feminine names of ‘Jane’ and ‘John’ to extend the American universality of her characters.
In The Turn of the Screw, the Governess’s primary flaw was her incapability to acutely deconstruct her own binary oppositions, leading her to live a deluded life destined for her own destruction; she has all the makings of a Shakespearean tragic hero. However, Jane from The Yellow Wallpaper functions in a contrasting light because she actively deconstructs her reality in order to place herself in direct opposition to the oppressive hierarchical binaries that place her in a feminine state of supposéd madness. In doing so, her language itself becomes less comprehensible and the stability of her descriptions and her reliability are called into question. This is a necessary effect for the same societal structures that control her behavior control her language. Thus her ‘madness’ is not so much a reflection of her mental state, but of the state of societal values of her time. The patriarchal societal structures she is forced to adhere to have created their own, hierarchical binary oppositions and her attempt to break the binary is seen as a form of madness. In a world fraught with madness and control, she may be the only ‘sane’ person present.
Debased Architecture
In these pieces, deconstruction functions as a necessary tool for the acquisition of truth. The function fits Derrida’s original purpose which is associated with the construction of truth and empathy. For Derrida, deconstruction contained negativity as a necessity, only to develop love and empathy: “... love means an affirmative desire toward the Other - to respect the Other, to pay attention to the other, not to destroy the otherness of the Other… You have to criticise, to ask questions, to challenge and sometimes oppose… To ask a question, you must first tell the Other that I am speaking to you” (Padgaonkar 2). In this light, the Governess fails to understand the perspective of others because of her failure to deconstruct and potentially challenge the binaries that dominate her life. Jane, conversely, not only deconstructed her oppressive binaries, but used them to subvert the reliability of her narrative; The Yellow Wallpaper does not function narratively without keen awareness of the binaries that dominate Jane’s life. Gilman therefore asks readers to deconstruct her work, for through that deconstruction readers are able to create empathy for the women subjugated by the binaries she repurposes. Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper is the ultimate form of “reutilization” for this reason as it creates a narrative that goes beyond the binary existences that initially plague or dehumanize the characters. It further asks the reader to empathize in a world recreated outside the original binaries and the reader is better able to identify more wholly with the ‘traces’ left by Jane's language.
This constant deconstruction of perspectives within The Yellow Wallpaper creates serious tension between the traditions of the characters and their attempt to create a new identity separate from those traditions. Derrida argues that “...in order to invent something new, or to make something new happen, you have to betray the tradition or to forget the tradition” (Padgaonkar 3), which aligns with the narrative conflicts of The Yellow Wallpaper. Yet, the Governess from The Turn of the Screw refuses to challenge the traditions of her role, her expectations of gender, or of the expectations imposed on the kids. The binaries that dominate her traditions are then left unrestrained and submit her to their rule. Miles’s death therefore functions on a symbolic level, just like Jane’s. However, while Jane’s death was a symbolic escape from the binaries that oppose her life and limit her language, Miles’s death was a submission to the binary oppositions and a submission supported by the overpowering presence of the Governess.
The consequence of this particular approach to American Gothic literature is rather fascinating because it validates the emotional turmoil and violence of the texts in the name of either presenting a cautionary tale or subjecting the binary structures of society and the language surrounding it. It’s an appropriate approach to other American Gothic artists, too: Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House as a cautionary tale of the binary associated with Humesque intellectualism and the emotional and psychological unknown; Poe’s various tales of instability and ‘madness,’ all stemming from a strict binary associated with madness and sanity (like in “The Black Cat” or “The Tell Tale Heart”) or objective reality and the horrors of humanity’s own imagination (like in “The Premature Burial” or “The Raven”); Brown’s religious and moral binaries explored in Wieland. In all of these cases and more, the survival of the characters and those around them is dependent on their ability to navigate their reality by deconstructing the binaries that dominate their lives. In doing so, deconstruction is a necessary tool for survival as the persistence of existential threats within the scope of American Gothic and Horror literature ensures that characters incapable of deconstructing these binaries are punished in the most cruel manner: Theodore Wieland’s murders in Wieland, the loss of Miles and Flora to the Governess in The Turn of the Screw, the loss of John’s wife in The Yellow Wallpaper, the eventual suicide for Eleanor in The Haunting of Hill House, and more. For those of us gifted with an existence detached from these extreme existential threats, deconstruction remains a necessary force for empathy and a tool to escape the perils of a binary existence. It is through this empathetic goal that people should evaluate their own biases and deconstruct their own binaries as they function to create haunted houses laced with debased moral architecture in a world where the real can seem like a haunting prophecy gifted by the rolling head of a Scottish King.
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Written May 1, 2022
Last Edited March 9, 2023