Anna Harberger
In Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë plays with notions of polarity and sameness to undermine ideas of heteronormativity and conventional gender expression. Togetherness versus separation, singularity versus duality, and bold rebellion versus cultural conformity all create grounds in which heterosexuality exists in opposition subtextual queerness. In presentations of innate connectedness, or sameness, as echoed in by characters and their doppelgängers, Brontë introduces elements of queer identity. Through the “doubling” of both Heathcliff and Catherine and Edgar Linton and Linton Heathcliff, Brontë problematizes the idea of the heterosexuality relationship based on difference. In disrupting “separate spheres” where men are forced to behave “masculine” and women to behave “feminine,” and emphasizing instead the value of sameness, even creating attraction based on sameness rather than (heteronormative) difference, Brontë provides the basis for queer readings. Repeated motifs of “sameness” and “difference” through doubling of identities work to blur the traditional lines of gender and sexuality; therefore, heteronormativity is challenged and troubled rather than reinforced and supported by Brontë’s text.
Before looking into how Brontë specifically undermines structures of gender and sexuality in the text, one must consider the specific and narrow presentations of identity deemed socially acceptable by Victorian standards. In Part II of “Sesame and Lilies,” mid-19th-century social philosopher John Ruskin comments:
“[A] man’s power is active, progressive, defensive. He is eminently the doer, the creator, the discoverer, the defender. His intellect is for speculation, and invention; his energy for adventure, for war, and for conquest… But the woman’s power is for rule, not for battle – and her intellect is not for invention or creation, but for sweet ordering, arrangement, and decision… She must be enduringly, incorruptibly good; instinctively, infallibly wise -wise, not for self-development, but for self-renunciation: wise, not that she may set herself above her husband, but that she many never fail from his side.”
Radically, the characters throughout Bronte’s text defy these expectations. In presenting male figures as feminine and the female figures as masculine, Brontë confuses the separate spheres of gender and power as described by Ruskin. The blurring these social spheres, then, becomes intrinsically connected to depictions sameness and difference through “romantic” relationships as presented by in Wuthering Heights.
From youth onward, the inhabitants of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange subversively represent queer gender inversion through Brontë’s presentation of the Feminine Man and Masculine Girl. The qualities of respective characters are both mimicked and amplified by their doppelganger counterparts while serving Brontë’s subtextual objective: to blur and break down confines placed around traditional gender and sexual expression. First, Brontë presents Edgar Linton and Linton Heathcliff as weak, effeminate children who aptly grow into weak, effeminate men who have failed heterosexual relationships with their respective Cathy(s). The reader’s introduction to Edgar Linton is not one of classical masculinity rooted in stoic strength; rather, his feminine nature is expressed in his response to one of his first altercations with young Heathcliff. After Heathcliff becomes angered by the cruel words of Edgar, the young boy who stands as a representation of everything he can never be, he throws a bowl of hot apple sauce at him. To this, Edgar is described by standing “on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them,” (48). Even as a young child, Edgar is categorized by his fragility. As he silently “weep[s],” Brontë goes further to compare him to a “little dog, shaking its paw and yelping.” Not only does this description feminize the boy by depicting him as overly emotional and weak, but in drawing parallels between him and the skittish dog, Edgar is emasculated further. In dehumanizing his emotionally dramatic reaction to Heathcliff’s relatively insignificant action as both bestial and feminine, Brontë (through the narration of Nelly Dean) taints what could have been a presentation of traditional masculinity– a man of stoic, machismo strength. The feminization of Edgar Linton only continues as he grows into a man obligated by social convention to enter a life of marriage with an enigmatic, masculine woman whose heart belongs elsewhere. Upon Lockwood’s arrival into the spare room of Wuthering Heights, he comes across a portrait of Edgar Linton. He observes the painting and comments, “I discerned a soft-featured face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet picture. The long light hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too graceful,” (67). Even in his older age, as depicted in his household portrait, Edgar is marked by his “soft-featured face,” that “exceedingly” resembles his daughter, Cathy Linton-Heathcliff, by his “long light hair curled slightly on the temples,” and by appearing “almost too graceful.” Edgar’s femininity presents itself not only in his heightened emotion but in his physicalities. In being described as “soft,” Edgar becomes understood as delicate and fragile, while also “too graceful.” This view, held by Nelly Dean, the voice of conventionality, adds a notion of skepticism toward his unconventional presentation of masculinity.
This feminine presentation of men is doubled in Linton Heathcliff, Edgar’s nephew and Heathcliff’s son. Linton Heathcliff emerges as an emasculated, unusual representation of manhood that both parallels and amplifies that of Edgar Linton. Upon meeting with young Cathy Linton and Nelly Dean after being retrieved from the deathbed of Isabella Heathcliff, Linton is described by Dean as a “pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for my master’s younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had,” (200). Immediately, Linton is marked by his “delica[cy]” and “effeminate” nature in a way that echoes descriptions of Edgar’s appearance and manner. However, Nelly adds that Linton had a “sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had.” This “sickly peevishness” inherited by his surly and tormented father, Heathcliff, distinguishes Linton Heathcliff from the “Linton” part of his name. While Brontë mirrors Edgar in Linton, she uses his younger doppelgänger to heighten Linton’s uncompromising femininity. In asserting that Edgar Linton “never had” the air of irritability of Heathcliff violent, passionate connection to the identity of Catherine Earnshaw, Linton Heathcliff is more overtly connected to the rash, impassioned feminine. These notes inverted gender presentation muddle the lines of gender and sexuality as dictated by convention in Linton Heathcliff. As him and teenage Catherine Linton embark on a strange courtship, the feminization of Linton Heathcliff continues amidst the presentation of a growing, semi-dysfunctional heterosexual relationship. Rather than lusting over Linton, Catherine Linton “strok[es] his long soft hair: ‘if I could only get papa’s consent, I’d spend half my time with you. Pretty Linton! I wish you were my brother,’” (238). Catherine fawns over his “long soft hair” and describes Linton as “pretty,” instead of than being attracted to any presentation of virility or accepted performance of “manhood.” Not only does Brontë disrupt spheres of gender, but she also hints at blurring the lines between familial and romantic attraction when Catherine “wishes [Linton] were [her] brother.” Through the voice of his potential female suitor and cousin, Brontë continues to distort presentation of gender and sexual attraction as a way to undercut prevailing ideals of her time.
Brontë continues to confuse typical gender presentation in her depiction of Catherine Earnshaw (later Catherine Linton) as a masculine woman. As a boyish kid, Cathy becomes fully connected with Heathcliff as they gallivant together on the English moors that surround the Heights. This is later echoed the formation of their joined identity, a connection based on sameness rather than difference. Reflecting on Catherine’s nature as a young child, Ellen comments “she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Joseph’s religious curses into ridicule, baiting me,” (53). Rather than being presented as docile, kind, or congenial, as Ruskin expected young woman is expected to behave, Cathy Earnshaw is the opposite. Instead of becoming upset when she is criticized for doing something wrong, Nelly informs Lockwood and the reader that she was “never as happy as when we were all scolding her at once.” She revels in punishment, depicting an insolence that mirrors that of a young boy. Cathy is characterized by her “bold, saucy look” and quick retorts toward authority figures, which dismantles the Victorian presumption that women are to be passive and meek, adherent to their superiors. Ruskin personifies this Victorian misogyny in “Of the Queen’s Gardens.”
“Her great function is Praise: she enters into no contest, but infallibly adjudges the crown of contest. By her office, and place, she is protected from all danger and temptation. The man, in his rough work in open world, must encounter all peril and trial: — to him, therefore, the failure, the offense, the inevitable error: often he must be wounded, or subdued, often misled, and always hardened. But he guards the woman from all this; within his house, as ruled by her, unless she herself has sought it, need enter no danger, no temptation, no cause of error or offense.”
Simultaneously, Heathcliff joins and amplifies Catherine’s masculine tendencies as children. When both become ill with measles, Nelly refers to their behavior citing “Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly,” (48). For, Heathcliff and Cathy are defined in terms of the other. It is never Heathcliff who “harass[es]” Nelly, and Cathy tells him to stop. Instead, they “harass [Nelly] terribly” together; their shared ill-mannered and obnoxious boyishness conveys sameness of disposition. After the death of Mr. Earnshaw, Nelly further describes the interconnectedness of Cathy and Heathcliff. She goes on to state, “the little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no person in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk,” (55). While not inherently an image of their shared gender expression, this moment of grief reflects the deeper interpersonal link between Heathcliff and Cathy. Nelly notices that they were “comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on.” The space held by one in the heart and soul of the other creates an attachment of deep, untainted harmony. It is only the other (Heathcliff to Cathy, Cathy to Heathcliff) that understands the best way to alleviate the others pain. Their connection bolsters the merit of relationships as based off of shared sameness, rather than difference.
Brontë’s promotion of sameness as more conducive to healthy and true relationships is rooted in singularity, or shared nature, of people’s character. This is continually made explicit in Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw’s relationship beginning in their youth, but following them into adolescence, Nelly notes “[Cathy] was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than any of us on his account,” (56). Nelly asserts that the “greatest punishment” for Cathy was to “separate” her from Heathcliff, highlighting their one identity. From Cathy’s perspective, separation from Heathcliff poses a looming threat. because of their inherent oneness, the execution of such separation would be ultimate damnation. While their relationship could be written off as infatuation, it becomes increasingly clear that their bond is more meaningful, more rooted in shared identity. After she confides in Nelly about her accepting Edgar Linton’s marriage proposal, Catherine claims that Heathcliff “shall never know how much I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he is more myself than I am… Nelly, I am Heathcliff– he is always, always in my mind– not as a pleasure… but as my own being,” (82). Here, Catherine boldly and overtly addresses the singular nature of Heathcliff and herself. She announces to Nelly (and Victorian society) that her relationship with Heathcliff is not about how “handsome” he is nor is it about indulging in romantic “pleasure.” For Catherine, their relationship is so much more because she describes Heathcliff as “more myself than I am.” Catherine asserts that not only is she Heathcliff, but goes even further to disrupt the bounds of traditional femininity in her claim that Heathcliff, a surly, wildly emotional man is “more” herself than even she. Echoed in the repetition of “always”, Heathcliff occupies constant space within her mind and soul, like any other aspect of one’s identity. Heathcliff isn’t merely on Catherine’s mind, but “in” her mind. He is her and she is him. In Letters from A War Zone (1993), Andrea Dworkin explores the representation of the shared love and identity that exists between Heathcliff and Catherine. In “Wuthering Heights,” Dworkin comments “Each knows the other because each is the other. This is not altruistic, self-sacrificing love, Christian self-effacement and self-denial; instead, it is greedy and hard and proud, the self not abnegated but doubled, made stronger, wilder, more intemperate. Together, they are human, a human whole, the self twice over; apart, each is insanely, horribly alone, a self, disfigured from separation, mutilated.” This kind of love, based in sameness, is a product of their “doubled” identity and works toward further puzzling the divisions created by oppressive seperate spheres of Victorian ideals of gender and sexuality. By nature, their joined love and identity is a masculine one, noted for being “stronger, wilder, more intemperate” than any kind of typically weaker, feminized Victorian romantic ideal (“self-sacrificing love, Christian self-effacement and self-denial”). In depicting this kind of attraction as more honest, rewarding, and sincere than heteronormative “self-sacrificing love” described by Dworkin, Brontë debunks the perception that attraction based on difference (in which parties engage in “self-denial” and “self-effacement”) is the only legitimate emotional option. Heathcliff further illustrates this point once Catherine has gone through with an incongruous marriage with Edgar Linton and he returns from his disappearance to visit Catherine at the Grange. Having temporarily come out of mad hysteria, Heathcliff addresses Catherine, exclaiming “You know you lie to say I have killed you: and, Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence,” (161). Though both parties are equally distraught by Catherine’s decision to carry out marriage with Edgar, their pain runs much deeper because it created a forceful separation between two parts of one whole. Heathcliff echoes Catherine’s protestation of sameness when he says he could “as soon forget [Catherine] as my existence.” Similar to Catherine, Heathcliff equates his “existence,” his identity, with Catherine. They are inexorably one. When characters, like Catherine and Heathcliff, present gender and sexuality in a similar way, they form an inseparable attraction based on sameness. This challenges Victorian heteronormativity because both Catherine and Heathcliff present as two spiritually identical, masculine individuals whose love and connection is truly authentic. Mimicking a queerer love between two forces of masculinity, Brontë validates this kind of attraction based on sameness. This authenticity lies in stark contrast to the relationships of attraction based on grounds difference in terms of gender and sexual presentation. Relationships of difference ultimately fail, and, in that failure, Brontë weakens the very structure of heteronormativity.
Brontë also repeatedly presents moments of overstated difference; unlike sameness, motifs of difference in Wuthering Heights connote separation, repression, and result in violence, chaos, and failure. Difference is depicted in the heterosexual relationships of Catherine/Edgar and Cathy/Linton, where “attraction” is based on contrasting elements of identity. In Catherine and Edgar’s relationship, Catherine’s masculine passion is opposite to Edgar’s feminine weakness. While it could be argued that both are “feminine” in nature, Cathy and Linton’s relationship based on fundamental difference in their opposing idealizations of Heaven, varied attraction, and differing commitment to a true relationship with the other. In their failure and toxicity, the presentation of these relationships work to prove the futility of Victorian heteronormativity, only continuing to disrupt heteronormative constructions of sexuality. In “Heterosexual Plots and Lesbian Subtexts,” Marilyn Farwell explores difference and defines what she calls the “lesbian narrative space.” Presented within fiction, Farwell argues “the construction of difference according to the dichotomies which structure Western thought…such as active/passive, mind/body, presence/absence, which ultimately rely on the gender dualism, male/female. . . . This dualism, this division of narrative space by gender, is also necessarily heterosexual…” Farewell continues by adding that the “lesbian narrative space” works to “confuse the boundaries between subject/object and lover/beloved, [which thereby] undercuts the heterosexuality which is based on this dualism.” Here, difference, or “duality,” is defined as heterosexual, or heteronormative, making the disruption an act of queering. Jean E. Kennard comments further on the phenomena in her essay “Lesbianism and the Censoring of ‘Wuthering Heights,’” where she states that when “difference is undermined and sameness substituted, homosexual takes over heterosexual space,” (9). In Wuthering Heights, difference is not able to be truly “undermined” because sameness-based attraction is never allowed to prevail. Instead, difference is forced upon individuals, creating damning relationships.
Forced difference is first depicted in with Cathy Earnshaw’s “transformation” into a proper, heterosexual woman after she is fixed by the Linton family. As she is taken into the Thrushcross Grange to be heal from a dog bite, the Lintons look to correct Cathy’s boyish masculinity. No longer a “wild, hatless savage,” Hindley remarks that he “should have scarcely known you-– you look like a lady now” (53). This remark emphasizes the difference between Cathy’s appearance pre-Linton as “wild” and “savage” and post-Lintons as befitting of a “lady.” The dark and repressive nature of this change, however, lies in the notion of Cathy being unrecognizable (“I should have scarcely known you”). As a result of her transformation, the wildness, subversive part of Cathy’s aspect appears to have been lost, at least outwardly. Cathy is introduced to this difference when she is taken from the comfort of her home and placed in Thrushcross Grange, an estate of proper civility and beautiful regularity. The Grange exists in stark opposition to the intensely overgrown, wildly unkempt Wuthering Heights, which parallels wayward, troubling parts of Cathy’s gender expression. This is the first of several initiatives taken by an outside power to regulate gender expression. Befittingly, this action is taken by the Linton’s, whose status and influence reinforces bourgeois and heteronormative views of gender and sexuality. This attempt is not fully successful, though. Just as Cathy re-enters into her old home, she immediately “takes off her gloves” and asks for Heathcliff. By physically removing the gloves a symbol of delicate femininity and aristocratic respectability, Cathy momentarily rejects her new identity as crafted by the Linton’s. She immediately longs to be reunited with Heathcliff, the other part of herself, but is unable to fully connect with him or herself because her hands are “too clean.” Cathy is tainted by difference and she has becomes altered. Heathcliff undergoes a similar transformation of character in response to Catherine’s marriage to Edgar Linton, the ultimate betrayal of her innate character and connection based on sameness with Heathcliff. While dignified the surface, Nelly notices that a “half-civilized ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued” (96). While Heathcliff maintains his true essence (“half-civilized ferocity”), separation from Catherine and his increased cultural conformity expose him to difference. In this exposure, his oneness and identity based on sameness becomes “subdued.”
Difference becomes forced onto individuals and becomes the basis of romantic relationships between the inhabitants of the Heights and the Grange; as the force of false coercion into socially acceptable attraction, difference creates and destroys one’s own identity and the allegedly shared love. The basis of the attraction between Catherine Earnshaw and Edgar Linton exists upon difference: contrasting natures (impassioned versus mild), class distinctions (middle class versus upper middle class), and varied levels of perceived attraction (superficial versus deep). Created by the culture in which they live, Catherine and Edgar live under the expectations not to marry for real connection or love that sameness might bring, but to uphold difference as to efforts move up in class or uphold social normalcy. This obligation to the status quo instructs both parties to betray their innate sense of self (Catherine’s masculinity and Edgar’s femininity) to form an incongruous and unhappy union. The repercussions of their marriage become evident once Catherine is pregnant with Edgar’s child and Heathcliff finally returns after hiatus to visit now-married Catherine at the Grange. Immediately threatened by invasion of sameness into their constructed world of convention and heterosexual difference, Edgar forces Catherine to make the ultimate decision: “Will you give up Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me…It is impossible for you for you to be my friend and his at the same time; and I absolutely require you to choose” (117). Edgar looks to impose difference upon Catherine and her true nature by “choos[ing]” between Heathcliff and himself. That same choice could better be described as Catherine having to choose Edgar or herself. For Catherine, having to choose her socially ordained marriage with Edgar is impossible without being severely destructive; by that fact, she’s unable to make that choice. Once Edgar forcibly prohibits Heathcliff from returning to Catherine at the Grange, she loses touch with her reality. After locking herself up in her room and starving out of protest, Nelly “was summoned by a piercing shriek… ‘Why what is the matter?’ cried [she].” to which Catherine said “Who is coward now? Wake up! That is glass– the mirror Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it and there I am too by your side” (124). After the relationship based on difference (Catherine and Edgar) is aggressively and involuntarily placed above the relationship based on sameness (Catherine and Heathcliff), Catherine is unable to recognize herself in her mirror. It is only after she’s told by Nelly, the watchful third party, that she knows who or what she sees. In her frenzied haze, Catherine refers to herself as a “coward,” as to imply that she lacked the courage and strength to stay true to herself in uniting with the other part of her person: Heathcliff. The heterosexual relationship based on principles of difference fails on account of Catherine’s eventual madness and Edgar’s blind, subconsciously forced, inattention to the needs of his chosen life partner. Within their relationship, aspects of each parties’ self are diminished, overshadowed, damaged in brutal obedience to difference.
Difference-based attraction continues to wreak havoc on the lives of individuals, while simultaneously breaking down sense of individual selfhood in the relationship of Cathy Linton and Linton Heathcliff. Just one generation later, Cathy (child of Catherine and Edgar) and Linton (child of Isabella and Heathcliff) engage in a strange and contrived courtship for the financial gain of Heathcliff, who hopes to acquire power through assumption of wealth and property. Much like Catherine and Edgar, the basis of the relationship of Cathy and Linton is based on difference in distinct dispositions, opposing views of Heaven, and constant physical separation or tension. Upon one of their meetings, Brontë presents the physical and emotional dissonance of Cathy and Linton directly. From the eyes of Nelly, Linton is described as having “recover[ed] a little from Catherine’s embrace; while she stood by looking very contrite,” (237). After Catherine goes in for an enthusiastic “embrace,” Linton has to “recover” from the act of physical affection. This resistance to difference-based attraction is demonstrated through Linton’s instinctive opposition to Catherine’s physical advances. Having created awkward tension, Catherine is described as “looking very contrite,” or full of guilt for too intensely forcing her affection onto the fragile and feminized Linton. From the get-go, Cathy and Linton are on different places, yearning for distinctly different gains from their relationship. While Cathy, longs for emotional connection and support, Linton wishes to be left mostly alone, though given sporadic, childlike attention when he see feels it necessary. During the surreal, horrifying imprisonment of Nelly and Catherine in Wuthering Heights as to violently obtain consent for the unfit marriage of Catherine and Linton, Linton grows increasingly insolent and uncaring toward Catherine’s needs and wishes. In response to her mistreatment, Catherine questions why Linton “cannot say at once” that he doesn’t want her. She continues by remarking that “It is strange, that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides… If I pitied you for crying and looking so very frightened, you should spurn such pity… Rise, and don’t degrade yourself into an abject reptile – DON’T!’” (267). Rather than basing his advancements of romantic attraction on any foundation of real feelings, Linton performs a heterosexual suitor. Considering the ambiguously forced love letter writing and his resistance to physical or deeply emotional contact with her, Linton is never the chivalrous or romantic suitor of Catherine. Rather, he engages in summoning Catherine to his home multiple times “on purpose, apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides.” While she is still subjected to the prevailing ideology that attraction based on difference is more real and valid, Catherine is overt is describing the facade of attraction Linton attempts to create. In her rebuke of Linton’s actions, Catherine assumes a new assertive masculinity, shouting derogatory names and forcefully commanding him not to “degrade” himself in exclaiming “DON’T.” At the same time, Catherine feminizes Linton by emphasizing his “crying” and “frightened [expression].” She goes further to tear away his masculinity through dehumanizing him, warning him not to “degrade [himself] into an abject reptile.”
The example of the relationship of Linton and Catherine as an example of the workings of forced, destructive difference becomes interesting when looking at the additional layer of confused gender presentation in their interactions. While the relationship mirrors heterosexual courtship, what it becomes is far stranger, more hostile, and more dysfunctional than even Catherine and Edgar’s relationship. The relationship and eventual marriage is both stifling based on fundamentally different ethics and convictions, while an oddly poetic representation of blurred gender and sexual expression. Rather than assuming subservient wife, Catherine takes on a parental role in caring for a weak and ailing husband. Sometimes “Mother” when she displays sympathy for Linton’s disrespectful selfishness; sometimes “Father” during instances in which she openly scolds him for mistreatment. Catherine’s own mixing up of gender expression coupled with Linton’s constant emasculation further serves Brontë’s objective throughout the text: to confound the spheres of conventional Victorian gender and sexual expression.
In the entirety of Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë radically bends the rules; she fearlessly stirs the pot as to disrupt the status quo. In doing this, she actively makes it difficult to define what it means to be “female” or “male” in the narrative and subverts the widespread idea that relationships and attraction must be based on mutual difference. While her depictions of queerness are not overtly homosexual in our modern sense, Brontë plays with ideas of sexual inversion in which conventional, heterosexual desire is turned upside down while dually implying a wider range of cross-gender behavior. Through repeated motifs of sameness and difference when portraying imperfect romance within the text, Brontë engages in “queering,” “confusing,” “disrupting” existing heteronormative belief systems. In dismantling the steady trust in the structures and types of attraction that have continually been fed to individuals, Brontë opens up doors of queer visibility. All the while, the complexity of the characters and of the relationships she presents work toward upsetting the repressive domains of the Victorian social structure that confine people into narrow boxes of identity.
Works Cited:
1. Dworkin, Andrea. “Wuthering Heights.” Letters from a War Zone, by Andrea Dworkin, Lawrence Hill Books, 1993, pp. 72–90.
2. Farwell, Marilyn R. Heterosexual Plots and Lesbian Subtexts. New York University Press, 1996.
3. Kennard, Jean E. “Lesbianism and the Censoring of “Wuthering Heights.” NWSA Journal, Vol. 8, No. 2, Summer, 1996, pp. 17-36.
4. Marsh, Jan. “Gender Ideology & Separate Spheres.” Victoria and Albert Museum , Victoria and Albert Museum, Cromwell Road, South Kensington, London SW7 2RL. 4 Apr. 2013, http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/g/gender-ideology-and-separate-spheres-19th-century/.
5. Ruskin, John. Sesame & Lilies, Second Lecture. Of Queens’ Gardens. Maynard, 1896.
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As a student, Editor-in-Chief of her institution’s literary magazine and newspaper publications, and lifelong writer, words have and continue to fuel Anna Harberger’s life.