While Gulliver’s Travels tells a satirical story of politics in eighteenth century England, there are many other themes that run through these adventures as well. In addition to criticisms of English parliament, there are many references to the monarchy, religion, and women as well. It is the thread of misogyny running through Swift’s text that surprises me most; since Swift favored the monarchy (and the queens that came with it), it seems unnatural that Gulliver should have such a negative attitude toward women.
Be that as it may, misogyny is definitely prevalent in this text. In Gulliver’s visit to Lilliput, he does not criticize the female characters much for their appearances – they are too small for him to find fault with. In fact, he finds them to hold “decency and cleanliness” (2354) in high regard, which he also respects. Gulliver does, however, make a comment that the girls are taught about domestic life since “a wife should be always a reasonable and agreeable companion, because she cannot always be young” (2354). This is a very deliberate statement on our storyteller’s part; even though it is the maxim of the Lilliputans, he relates it as though it should be a lesson for all women. This “lesson” insinuates that women are only tolerated because of their beauty and youth; not because they are intelligent or strong.
Gulliver’s visit to Brobdingnag results in more obviously misogynic descriptions. Although Gulliver seems fond of Glumdalclitch, he often criticizes her privately for worrying about him so much, as though he is unaware of how desperately he needs her protection. Whereas he was a product of super-masculinity in Book 1 with the Lilliputans, who viewed him as god-like in size, Gulliver is highly feminized in the world of Bribdingnag. His dependency on people such as Glumdalclitch, the servants, and the queen to care for him could possibly explain his lashing out at women characters in this text. Another alternative is that Swift uses Gulliver in this situation to represent his own views of the secret ugliness of women. Since the women of Brobdingnag are huge, it makes it easy for Gulliver to find fault in their “skins [that] appeared so coarse and uneven” (2386) and the “offenseive smell [that] came from their skins,” (2386) although he does claim he still has respect for these ladies. Regardless, the theme of criticizing women and rendering them disgusting, offensive, and crass continues.
In his final adventure, Gulliver leaves his wife, whom is very far along in pregnancy, for the fourth time. I find this misogynic in action; Gulliver does not even respect his wife enough to stay with her when she gives birth. In fact, every time Gulliver returns she asks him not to travel anymore, and he responds with an attitude of boredom and indifference. Clearly her opinion does not matter to him. Once Gulliver lands in Houyhnhnmsfinds, he few faults with the female horse-like creatures of the land. The Yahoos he finds despicable, but most times Gulliver is fair in his criticisms of both the male and female creatures. However, when this storyteller finally returns home after many years, he meets his wife with extreme displeasure. This woman receives his “hatred, disgust, and contempt” (2458) for simply being who she is.
Although he claims to now hate all people equally, he goes on to say that he “had compelled [him]self to…converse with Don Pedro de Mendez” (2458). Why? Don Pedro de Mendez is a man, and therefore closer to Gulliver himself in rank and decency. Clearly, Swift’s opinions about women are not high; he perceives them unequal to men in ability, strength, natural beauty, and intelligence. Gulliver’s actions reinforce this belief – it is as though he would be content in a world without women at all! He makes this idea clear by buying two horses and spending his time talking to them instead of his spouse. What does it say about the respect Swift believes women deserve when a man would rather converse with a beast than his wife? It says everything: women deserve nothing.

The thing that I find most interesting about Margaret Cavendish’s “The Convent of Pleasure” is the literary technique of appearance versus reality in accordance to the female characters’ names. Before reading this play, the list of characters such as “Lady Happy,” “Madame Mediator,” and “Lady Amorous” immediately appear to represent qualities that are beneficial to have, either in a relationship or in general life. However, it was not long until I realized that these names are ironically bestowed upon each character; none of them are very accurate in their description of these women.
Two smaller roles in the play, those of Lady Amorous and Lady Vertue, both contradict the names they hold. While “amor” represents love (indeed it means “love” in Italian), the Lady admits to her companion that she is “not so well as [she] wish[es] [she] were” (2.3.3) since she got married to her husband. Clearly, she is not as “amorous” as I expected her to be. Similarly, Lady Vertue is altogether very interested in Lady Happy’s Convent of Pleasure, despite the fact that a virtuous woman has few to no vices. Lady Vertue says she wishes to “see and know, what Pleasures they (the women in the convent) enjoy” (2.3.18); here, Cavendish puns on pleasure, making it seem more sexual and thus more immoral. Even the convent itself is ironically portrayed in this sense; when one thinks of “pleasure,” they think of sexual gratification, not the pleasing of the senses Lady Happy describes. To her, pleasure is more derived from companionship, nice furniture that alters with the seasons, tasty treats, and good music.
Madame Mediator is another woman in the convent who does not live up to her given title. A mediator can be described as a person who intervenes in situations in order to prevent conflict and further trouble from ensuing. This mediator is quite the opposite. Because she does not agree with Lady Happy’s convent, she explains to the suitors how to force her out. By petitioning the state, she says, they may be able to continue their pursuit of her. This definitely has the potential to create conflict! Another way Madame Mediator neglects the duties coupled with her name is by simply refusing to do them. Once the “Princess” is exposed as a prince, Madame Mediator confesses her shame that she could not prevent these events from occurring. The Courtly responses by saying, “Why, you are a Madame Mediator; you must mediate and make a friendship” (5.2.29-30), to which Madame Mediator claims she will do no such thing; it is too late.
Lady Happy is the final woman whose name does not quite explain her demeanor. She expresses a frustration with the male sex throughout the entire play, and never seems content with her decision to establish a convent. While she has many ladies to keep her company, the lady attaches herself to one in particular: the Princess (later revealed to be the Prince). This results in isolation from the rest of the convent, which leads to unhappiness. Lady Happy also struggles with the feelings that she has for the Prince(ss). She cries out, “why may not I love a Woman with the same affection I could a Man?” (4.1.2-3), emphasizing the internal struggle she faces. It is almost as though Lady Happy chooses to be unhappy – she would rather banish men, be potentially miserable with the Prince, and cloister herself away than use her money and influence to make a difference in the world. With power, Lady Happy could have attempted to change the ways women are perceived in the world; she could have tried to give them more respect, which would have brought about more general happiness for all women. Instead, her solution is to run away and hide from that which makes her unhappy, thus bringing about new forms of unhappiness.
Lady Happy is probably the character that deviates most from her given name, but as I have pointed out, all the women seem to act according to their antithesis. Then again, no woman is really who we expect her to be – we’re all enigmas.

The discussions in class about free will versus pre-ordinance and God’s omnipotence have really made me think these past few days. For people raised under the Christian doctrine, Milton uses his text, Paradise Lost, to expose many problems both with the idea of God “knowing all” and the concept that we as humans have free will in spite of God’s knowledge. Being of the Christian faith himself, I was hoping Milton would elucidate these problems, not make them even more unclear. What he does instead is ask the really hard questions: If God knows everything already, are we really being given a choice?

The character of God in Book three says that he “made them [humans] free, and free they must remain,” (3.124) emphasizing the fact that mankind is able to make their own decisions. He acknowledges that there would be no point in creating humans if it was solely to compel them to do his will. God wants his creations to love their maker of their own choosing – it cannot be forced. He asks, “What pleasure I from such obedience paid” (3.107) if they were only obedient because they had no choice. However, shortly thereafter God also claims that he already has knowledge of Adam and Eve’s fall. This means that God is aware of the choice Eve will make when facing the serpent in Book nine before she has even encountered him. It is as though she cannot change her mind – it is foretold.

This poses a serious problem to me. How can it be both? God knows Eve will be tempted, so she cannot resist the temptation, otherwise God would be wrong. It is as though her “destiny” ordains this error, but destiny cannot be changed. How is this a choice? Is it merely because Eve does not know that God is aware of her future mistake? In that case, I still would argue that it is not a true choice – just the appearance of one. No matter how you look at it, it seems as though Milton is setting God up to be more tyrannical and dominating than most Christians are comfortable with.

God tries to answer this problem in Book three. He addresses his foreknowledge of the fall of man, saying “foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, / Which had no less proved certain unforeknown” (3.118-119). Milton tries to make a point here: God is partially responsible for the fall of man. To this claim, I reply: of course! This is how you solve the problem of God’s foreknowledge with free will! Simply because God knew about Satan tempting Eve does not mean he had to do anything about it. That would have been messing with free-will! To intervene so that Eve never met the serpent, or to remove the tree from the Garden so that she could not find it would have altered what he already knew (and in changing the “plot” he no longer knows what will happen). By letting Adam and Eve run their courses, he not only allows them to make their own mistakes, but he can now justify sending Jesus to save them later. This is the price of free will: Christ’s coming and sacrifice of himself in order to save them.

Had God interfered and Adam and Eve still fallen, he would have no reason to bestow mercy upon them. They would be a lost cause, unable to be saved. If even God could not stop them from falling, that would say something terrible about his power as well – Satan would have “won.” In letting them fall on their own, God appears gracious and powerful when he sends his Son to redeem mankind. Plus, God loves his creations. If they had been tempted even after he tried to prevent it, he would lose those that he loved. By sending Christ, he will give them a chance to remain with their Maker eternally. This is what he ultimately wanted, and he gave them free will in order to achieve it.

Redcrosse, the knight of Holiness, is exposed to a foul semblance of the evilness of woman right away in his part of “The Faeire Queen”. In Cantos 1, he fights Errour, a half-woman, half-serpent entity that feeds venom to her babies and dwells in darkness. As we have discussed in class, darkness is a large part of this text, and the fact that the first creature that Redcrosse encounters is a woman who lives in a “darksome hole” (line 120) implies that by entering her realm, our knight is going into a dangerous situation. The “hole” can represent the abyss of a female, symbolizing the ability of such a powerful, dark creature to consume Redcrosse and possibly destroy him. In fact, he is nearly defeated by her, and only the cannibalistic nature of her babies feeding on her after her death (thus killing themselves) prevents him from having to contend with her offspring afterwards as well. This first battle is not optimistic about the role of woman as adversaries in the text.

However, more of my interest lies in the character of Una. Despite the evilness of womanly figures such as Errour and Duessa (whom we do not read about), Una represents a guiding light to Redcrosse. Whenever he is in trouble, she is there as a protector. Before he faces Errour, she warns him to be careful, “lest suddain mischiefe ye too rash provoke” (line 101). In Cantos 9, when Redcrosse visits Despaire, he nearly kills himself. Despaire is so tempting in his arguments for suicide, that if it were not for Una rushing to Redcrosse and grabbing the dagger from him, he may have died. She is a tempering force against his rashness, chastising him for being a “faint harted knight” (line 465). Finally, in Cantos 12, she comes to Recrosse’s aid when her father questions him about his alleged engagement to Fidessa. She explains that it is a trick of Duessa, and that he is not to blame. Time and time again, Una saves Redcrosse. If woman are portrayed so vilely with characters such as Errour and Duessa, why is Una such a contrast?

The answer lies in more than just the fact that she is a damsel; a heroine. While she may very well be those things, there is a much more symbolic and religious context to her as well. While Errour is cloaked in darkness, Una represents light and purity. “Una” as a name aligns itself with the one True Church (the Protestant Church), and the church is where people go to be spiritually “saved”. Thus, Una as a character represents the salvation of this knight of Holinesse. She continues rescues Redcrosse, just as the church tries to save people from committing sins such as being unchaste, killing oneself, or committing adultery. Their unity, then, symbolizes the joining of the Protestant church and mankind and gives men attempting to achieve righteousness hope that even though they may falter and sin along the way, the church is always there to save them.

Albany, the husband of Goneril, was a definite surprise to me throughout this text. Having overlooked his role in Act I, Scene IV, it was not until Act IV, when he curses his wife, that he became prominent in my mind. Flipping back through the text, I wondered why his displeasure with Goneril had not been more obvious to me earlier. The answer? I overlooked the fact that he was completely ignorant of Regan, Cornwall, and Goneril’s plot to strip King Lear of all his power.

Mistakenly I assumed that Albany was already a counterpart to the plan leading to the destruction of the king. Glazing over Albany’s cries of “Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well” (1.4.344) as he tries to convince Goneril to stop whatever plot she is conniving, I consequently believed Albany to be aware, and simply neutral to, the situation. Despite the fact that the text denied this interpretation, there is a reason Albany’s ignorance is so simply overlooked: he is a male; a duke no less. Why should a male be left out of the decisions his kingdom and wife makes? Cornwall clearly knew and supported the “cause” against Lear. So should Albany…right? Wrong.

In class, we have discussed Shakespeare’s use of women as masculine figures. Conversely, Lear is also understood to be highly feminized. However, as much of our focus has been on Lear, we have not paid much attention to other males who portray womanly characteristics. Albany is such a man. The only real explanation for his lack of knowledge, his inaction, in his own home is that he allowed his wife to assume the position of the male head of house. This is reinforced many times throughout the text – ranging from when Goneril tells him, “Never afflict yourself to know the cause [of Lear's anger]” (1.4.287) all the way until Act IV, when she cries out, “Milk-livered man! / That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs” (4.2.50-51). Between these two lines, Goneril has not only denied Albany knowledge of his father-in-law, but has called him cowardly and a cuckold (which he indeed was, having not found out yet about Goneril and Edmund). She accuses him of being less of a man for condemning her actions against Lear, as though she is behaving in a more masculine fashion by advocating war and deception.

Albany reacts to Goneril’s antics in a highly feminized way. Emotionally charged, he rants that nature does “contemns” (4.2.32) her life and that she is no better than the devil. The more Goneril acts in the role of an emotionless, goal-oriented male, the more Albany reacts with passion, provoking even his wife to imply that he is female: “Marry, your manhood, mew!” (4.2.68). I will admit relief though, at Albany’s fervor in rebuking his wife. It is nice to see someone who would stand up to her dominating character, however difficult it was.

On a final note, I find it worth mentioning the irony that the two most “masculine” characters of the play – Goneril and Regan – end up dead. With Cornwall’s death earlier, and witnessing the deaths of Cordelia and Lear thereafter, Albany is left to rule. The land is bestowed to the most feminized character living. But even now, Albany cannot rule as a man would. He immediately turns to Kent and Edgar, requesting that they “Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain” (5.3.320) with him. It is as though he knows he cannot bear the burden of actually ruling a nation alone – his delicate state of mind will not allow it. Perhaps he wants to reward Edgar and Kent for their loyalty and service to Lear, but this atypical act of willingly sharing the land goes against the power-hungry stereotypical perception of a ruler. Just as Goneril and Regan wanted all the power for themselves, a king is expected to seek autonomy and “divine right”; how kind and compassionate of Albany to be willing to share. How feminine!

Malvolio is a crucial character in this play, because he is the man who takes over the position of “man of the house” once Olivia’s brother dies. Though he is still a servant to her; is under her direction, he is the man who would now be referred to as the protector of Olivia. Malvolio is not, however, just the dominating male character in this play; he is also what is known as the blocking character in a comedy. Malvolio is both a serious, stuffy, man who does not appreciate the light-heartedness with which people such as Toby, Andrew, and Maria live their lives.

These two roles can be easily seen many times throughout the play. Malvolio, though he has good intentions, easily gets full of himself. For example, when he goes to Viola to “return” the ring Olivia gave to him, he tells Viola, “You might / have saved me my pains to have taken it away / yourself,” (2.2.5-7). Other conversations that Malvolio has suggest a severe problem with his imagination as well. He often lets ideas get carried away with him, and ends up wholeheartedly believing that Olivia is in love with him. This again projects Malvolio as a vain or self-absorbed person. He even has the audacity to say, “She uses me with a / more exalted respect than anyone else that follow her,” (2.5.25-26). He truly believes he holds a special place in Olivia’s heart beyond servitude.

Malvolio also uses his seriousness and vanity to take more control than he otherwise would have. Being the “man of the house” also makes it easier for him to be the blocking character of this comedy. He is the man who tries to keep everyone else from having fun. When Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria are enjoying themselves and drinking one night, Malvolio is very quick to disband the gathering. He yells, “Have you not wit, manners, nor honesty but to / gabble like tinkers at this time of night?” (2.3.88-89). Even though they are loud, their fun is harmless. Malvolio is too much of a “precisian” to enjoy it for himself. Instead, he chastises them and tells Maria that Olivia “shall know of it,” (2.3.123). This is what leads Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria to derive the devious plan of revenge. The ultimate product is Malvolio suffering from what Olivia believes to be “very midsummer madness!” (3.4.61) and she orders him to be cared for. Maria, Toby, and Andrew proceed to take the imagined madness too far. They throw Malvolio in a dark room, tell him he is a madman, and torture him more by sending in Feste to confuse him.

Even though Malvolio is a pompous character, who is overbearing, vain, and has too deep an imagination, Maria, Toby, and Andrew went much too far in their treatment of this madness. Torturing an elderly man with ongoing darkness, leaving him alone in the room; those things could make a sane man crazy on its own. Listening to Malvolio plea, “I am well in my wits as any / man in Illyria,” (4.2.112-113) was nearly heartbreaking. The tone seemed much more serious and mean once Malvolio was locked away. Without him to try and block the fun, it is harder to appreciate the fun that was being had. A lighter-hearted tone no longer existed; it was solemn and undesirable.

The problem with Malvolio is that he represents an extreme case of what is wrong with every other character in this play. His characteristics of vanity and self-absorbedness are no different than they are in Olivia, or Orsino; his are just amplified and made fun of, because he is in a low enough social standing that people like Maria can make fun of him without getting into trouble. Possibly, Sir Toby and Andrew, as well as Maria, became uncomfortable with the realization that they were slightly like Malvolio, (all of them being vain at times as well), and so sought to appease themselves by ruining his reputation. So, in the end of the play, Malvolio is even more of an angry character than before, and yelling “I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you!” (5.1.401) Malvolio exits – a threatening premonition, perhaps?

The knight in the Wife of Bath’s tale comes to the conclusion that “wommen desire to have sovereinetee” (1044) more than anything in the world. I am definitely not going to disagree, because “maistrye” (1046) is a concept that women from any class and any time period can relate to. However, it is always interesting to reflect on what mastery truly consists of. Is mastery the totally and obvious domination of another person? The Wife of Bath implies that mastery is much more subtle and powerful than anyone could imagine. The old woman exemplifies this theory; after finishing her tale, I am particularly impressed with the complete and utter domination the old woman has over her knight.

I am more intrigued; however, by the blatant similarity of the Wife of Bath to the main character of her tale. Despite differences in appearance, age, and lifestyle, these two women together demonstrate that the desire to have sovereignty over their lovers does not know time, class, or any other social distinctions – it’s universal. What’s more, both women responded the same way once they had achieved true governance. The Wife of Bath says that she, “was to [her husband] as kinde / as any wif from Denmark unto Inde” (829-830), indicating that once he had given her what she sought the most, she returned the favor. Her struggle against him and his power ceased to exist once he told her to “Do as [she] lust” (826). It is as though he understands that she is truly in control, but she will allow him to appear as though he has the power in the relationship. This “submissive dominance” seems contradictory as a concept, but it is exactly how the old woman approaches her relationship as well.

In her case, the old woman chastises the knight for calling her old and foul. Asserting that gentleness and kindness are blind to class, she gives him the final option of having a “foul and old” (1226) wife who will be true to him, or a “yong and fair” (1229) wife and deal with her infidelity. When he allows her to choose for herself she exclaims that she has “gete of [him] maistrye” (1242), and she rewards him for his submission to her by becoming both fair and humble. In fact, these two women are so similar that one wonders if it is possible that the Wife of Bath and the old woman are so parallel because they are a projection of one another. Perhaps the Wife of Bath uses her tale as an escape to the woman she can no longer be. In a fantasy land, one can be anyone they choose, and the Wife can continue to win over young, rich men when she is in control of the tale.

There was a contradicting view mentioned in class today, asking whether or not it is possible that the women really have no power at all. One sees the potential of this observation within the story. The knight in the tale knew that women seek mastery. He probably could figure out for himself that if he gave the woman what she wanted, perhaps he would get what he sought in return. If this is the case, then the knight is much wittier than we give him credit for. This is total manipulation. However, I find this opinion unlikely simply because of the Wife of Bath’s character. I do not believe she would fabricate a story that gives men ultimate power when she herself always dominated her relationships. Even the ending of her tale disputes this theory by condemning stubborn, controlling men: “And eek I praye Jesu shorte hir lives / That nought wol be governed by hir wives…” (1267-1268). Although those lines are extreme, the Wife of Bath preached mastery and the power of women over their spouses, and this is why these tales are such a rich text – they confront the power dynamic and social construction that had gone unchallenged before.

Throughout the story of Beowulf, we are exposed to the divide between pagan beliefs and Christian philosophy. While often this “layering” of the two serves to better the reader’s understanding of the differences between the beliefs, it leaves one wondering whether or not the original story has been hindered as a result. By the end of the tale one question lingers: was this translation meant to be the tale of a hero, or a moral sermon on the effects of denying God?

Our dear bard functions almost as a preacher, evangelizing through this tale. Whenever Beowulf speaks of fate, the bard includes Christian values as an alternative. Though Beowulf explains (when he wins) that fate simply has not marked him, our narrator decides that “holy God decided the victory,” (1553-1554) and this conflict of ideas continues throughout the text. Unfortunately, Beowulf eventually succumbs to fate, and he dies fighting the dragon. This is the price to pay for not honoring the Lord. Had he put his faith in God rather than fate, perhaps Beowulf would have survived the dragon. “So may a man not marked by fate \ easily escape exile and woe \ by the grace of God,” (2291-2293) the bard says. In other words, fate cannot save people, but God does it with ease. This clear struggle between the story and the storyteller of Beowulf shows a definite condemnation of the Anglo-Saxons’ lifestyle.

The religious struggle leaves unanswered questions. Would Beowulf have lived? Or do fate and God work hand-in-hand, much as the poem entwines pagan and Christian views? The bard says that there is no place for paganism with God. So while Beowulf is the story of a brave man, let it serve as warning to those who place fate above God. This is the bard’s sermon to us all.