"I can't convince myself that I am..."--The Awakening

There is so much to respond to within The Awakening that I hardly know where to start. I agree with the comments of countless critics about the regionalism and accurate depiction of lazy, hospitable Southern life Kate Chopin portrays. She mentions shady gardens and cats napping in sun-streaks and stiff winds from the Gulf. Her style creates a multi-sensory experience for any reader, whether seasoned in Southern summers or imagining the idle, hot days. I think Chopin does a nice job at the beginning of the novel of sneaking in Robert and Edna’s romance. Because Robert has a reputation for spending time with married women, at first I did not suspect a budding romance by any means. Chopin beautifully timed Edna’s awakening in such a way that it seemed neither rushed nor stagnant. Thus Edna’s awakening to herself dawned on me at much the same time it dawned on her. One of the first hints of Edna’s awakening—what separates her from other women on Grand Isle—is her nature itself. Chopin says of Edna: “At a very early period she had apprehended instinctively the dual life—that outward existence which conforms, the inner life which questions” (35). Perhaps it is her very reserve, her internal contemplative nature that makes her more likely to let the lines between inner and outer blur. Though she begins to do “whatever she wants,” Edna’s actions still seem like an externalization of her former inward action—“the inner life which questions.” She wants to paint but is unsure of her talent. Her decision to paint seems more of a question of herself, about herself, that is externally exhibited rather than an outward act of defiance to be noticed by society. Moving out of her house into the “pigeon house” seems more of a question to herself about whether she can make a comfortable home and feel more alive in a different setting, rather than a defiant message to society. She does not seek to change life for everyone; her awakening is much more about her internal processes being externalized, about answering her own questions about who she is.

I find Chopin’s ending a fascinating decision on the part of the author. The suicide is somewhat unexpected, though the reasons behind it are foreshadowed earlier in a conversation between Edna and Madame Ratignolle. Essentially, she realizes that to do the best thing for her children would be to deny every glimmer of awakened light she has realized. She seems to answer her own final question: “Can I live as I wish?” with a resounding “No, so I will not live at all.” This martyrdom for self almost sets up Edna to act as a tragic hero. She dies for her ideals, though she has no intention of influencing anyone else. She will not live against what she has formed as her own principles. A tragic hero often seems destined or doomed to die at the end. Chopin hints at this tragic end: “She had abandoned herself to Fate, and awaited the consequences with indifference” (127). By the end of the novel, it appears that Edna almost has no choice but to let the consequences decide her Fate. Throughout the novel, others point to Edna’s tragic flaw as her impulsivity—her propensity to “act without a certain amount of reflection which is necessary in this life” (119). Yet somehow, Chopin constructs Edna’s actions in such a way that they do not necessarily look reckless from an impulsive standpoint. When she states a conclusion, such as the decision to move to the “pigeon house,” I got the sense that she had unconsciously ruminated over the matter for weeks and announced the decision suddenly. I wonder whether Chopin would classify Edna’s fatal or tragic flaw as something more like “independence” or inability to act a part.

I find the relationship between Edna and Mademoiselle Reisz very interesting. Edna seems freed by Mme. Reisz’s distaste for “popular society” and proper conventions. The older woman is disliked, and being disliked seems to offer her a freedom to do as she pleases that I think Edna finds enviable. Mme. Reisz notices as Edna begins to grow in vitality throughout the novel; her complexion and outer appearance mirrors the same awakening her soul is undergoing. Chopin spends little time on developing Mr. Pontellier, which I would suppose is intentional. The lack of characterization devoted to Edna’s husband makes Chopin’s point even more shocking. If Mr. Pontellier had been well characterized and extremely dislikable with numerous shocking qualities, Edna’s story would not have been as disagreeable or socially abhorrent at the time. But because Mr. Pontellier is somewhat vague, he can serve as a type for all husbands who are fairly good fellows who view their wives as possessions of a sort. Suddenly Edna’s story becomes infinitely more threatening to society. If a woman like Edna can move away from and essentially “unmarry” an ordinary man like Mr. Pontellier, then scarcely any marriage might appear safe from such a scandal. I would think Edna’s ultimate choice of herself over her children would be even more shocking to society. At some level, a woman’s ability to bear children seems to have played a larger role in determining her societal value than her ability as a wife. Or at least, the two roles were inherently tied together.

I love what Edna says about herself: “One of these days,” she said, “I’m going to pull myself together for a while and think—try to determine what character of a woman I am; for, candidly, I don’t know. By all the codes which I am acquainted with, I am a devilishly wicked specimen of the sex. But some way I can’t convince myself that I am. I must think about it” (105).