Jake heart Bill, Bill heart Jake: Post-WWI culture and the lost generation

I wanna preface this by saying that I'm aware of the fact that this is my third blog post in a row about sexuality, making  3/3, 100%, all of my blog posts about 'gay stuff' in modern fiction. I'll get into why I find it so interesting in a hot second, but yeah, jus' sayin'

So, I guess this post is more sorting out some of the passages in The Sun Also Rises which seem (so far) a little homoerotic, and looking at their context within the 20's, and maybe looking at how they work with Woolf's queer story line within Mrs. Dalloway. Idk, we'll see where it goes.

To start, let's look at Jake. Hemingway seems to write him in a way that is conscious of Jake's homophobia; in the scene in which he's describing the group of young men Brett enters the bar with, he skirts around slurs, and instead uses very... particular wording to describe the boys so that the point is gotten across without Jake coming out and saying what it is that bothers him about them. This creates a sort of "shh, don't directly confront that" vibe, which comes up later. In the scenes where he talks about the jazz drummer and Bill talks about the fighter in Vienna, however, there is no hesitation to let on that they're both openly a bit racist; whether a conditioned Kansas white man mentality, or genuinely a picked up trend of Jake's, Hemingway let's the reader see that Jake still aligns with old world ideas about race. Also, he's a tad bit antisemitic, and just seems like a more conservative guy in a liberal area. So why does Hemingway seem to make Jake's homophobia so subtle? I only really picked up on it when we talked about it in class. The language he uses is very specific, very intentional.
Before we get into Jake's psychology (i guess that's what to call it??), let's look at his relationships to Brett, the woman he is madly in love with, and Bill, his dude friend. Brett is clever, loves to banter with Jake, and is described in sort of feminine-but-masculine terms. Jake claims she was rocking that particular look before it was cool, before it was socially acceptable for women to cross into a more masculine aesthetic while maintaining a certain lady sex appeal. There are more obviously "dude" qualities about her, too: her name is almost always a man's name, and she asserts a sense of typically "male" sexual promiscuity (guessing it was a little more taboo then for women to be open about their numerous marriages, affairs, and flings). So,  we see Jake madly in love with this woman who, for the 1920's, tends to be cool with a little bit of line blurring. Then, we meet Bill. Bill loves bantering with Jake, drinking heavy (which Brett also loves), and is generally rough n' tough in a way that, I think, Jake really admires (hint hint). He is loud and ironic, and isn't afraid to be considered "offensive." There are some subtle parallels between Bill and Brett I would argue are pertinent here! I think they're important because, essentially, they show who Jake likes to be around, the type of person he gets along with well (again, hint hint).

Keeping all that stuff in mind, let's move on. When the novel first got to the Spain narrative, there was an obvious shift into a pastoral mindset; Jake seems more relaxed, time seems to move slower. He becomes more "honest" and indulges in classically romanticized ideas of labor and country livin'; he even goes to church for the first time in the novel while they are in Spain. Jake and Bill share a hotel room, and one morning Jake leaves the room to collect worms, leaving Bill to sleep in late. When Jake gets back to the room, a long banter-fueled conversation ensues, with this little part that I found particularly, like, cute? Here (on page 118):

"I saw you out of the window," he said. "Didn't want to interrupt you. What were you doing? Burying your money?"

"You lazy bum!"

"Been working for the common good? Splendid. I want you to do that every morning."

"Come on," I said. "Get up."

He climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up to his chin. 

"Try and argue me into getting up."

I went on looking for the tackle and putting it all together in the tackle-bag.

"Aren't you interested?" Bill asked.

So, this scene could be taken in the Vaudeville, straight-man-and-comedic-relief sort of way, but it also reminded me of the classic domestic trope of the upright, organized wife bantering with her goofy husband. That sort of hand-on-the-hip, "oh, you!" Thing that can be seen in a lot of rom coms. This scene could totally be taken in a way that insists they're just bros being dudes in rural Spain; but I think the pastoral romance that Hemingway seems to emphasize makes it really hint at maybe, maybe something more. Taking the passage out of context and reading it, I could absolutely see it being between a wife and husband; there's just something endearingly flirty about the way they talk to each other.

Another excerpt to drive home the point would of course be on page 121, where Bill admits how fond he is of Jake. This scene was a really telling show of Bill's vulnerability to me, but he of course picks up his slack instantly with a little ironic joke at the end. It creates this sort of hushed dynamic between Jake and Bill, which I think is pretty reflective of both of them on more personal levels. They let people see their sensitive sides, but quickly cover them up afterward. With that,  I'm going to get into the old school vs. modern ideology stuff.

Jake lives in Paris in the 20's, a place that was a hub of liberalism and culture at that time. Yet he seems to be pretty conservative. Why? Part of it could definitely be accredited to his upbringing. He is from Kansas, a state we can guess wasn't the most liberal or diverse place in the country during the 1900's and 1910's . So, yes, that's a part of it. But, Brett is American (I'm pretty sure), and she's liberal in her beliefs. What pushes Bill and Jake into these conservative, prejudice mindsets? How about World War I? The harsh idea and culture soldiers were taught to conform to can be seen in Mrs. Dalloway, in the impact it leaves on Septimus. He went from being a reasonably romantic young poet to a hardened, numb veteran. Perhaps this same transformation could be applied to Jake and Bill in a different way. Where Septimus joined to "become a man" and get a bit tougher, Jake and Bill presumably had their beliefs and ideologies confirmed by wartime social dynamics. In short, WWI's emphasis on masculinity and the straight, white, Christian default of what it meant to be "a man" enforced these already ingrained ideas within Bill and Jake. Also, I'm not saying the role women played in WWI was any less difficult, but it was undoubtedly different; that would explain why Brett, who was a nurse during the war, didn't feel this pressure. 

Jake and Bill have been conditioned most of their lives to be cool with these racist, xenophobic, and generally bigoted ideologies, and especially since the war have they been fed the idea of hyper masculinity. After the war ends, Jake settles in Paris, on the left bank. Black musicians could make a living there, gay men could go out in pubic and have fun. He's caught between old world, wartime complexes and the real world, the world he is now surrounded by. This brings up the whole idea of the world "passing around you," which in my brain ties into the lost generation theme. So, I guess, I'm saying war veterans had these ideas smashed into their head about conforming then had to go live in a world that just wasn't like that anymore, and being honest and genuine and in the moment with all that going on in their heads must have been, like, super hard. 

In terms of modern ideas of gender and sexuality, I have written all three of my blog posts about such because I think the post-WWI landscape, as far as social issues tended to go, was a really new one; never before had one event rocked the world so hard. When the war ended, there was this sort of big exhale, a sense of relief. Then, of course, came the roaring 20's, and along with them this growing sense of social acceptance. Obviously these new ideas were mostly popular in big cities and certain scenes (think: art, philosophy, literature, etc.), but they opened the way for a lot of voices to be heard. Therefore, I think pulling evidence of this "big sigh" out of literature written in that time is pretty interesting. We can see ideas bubble up that are confronting the post-WWI world, the aftermath, the scars. Whether that's through tragic plot lines like Septimus, or more social-issue driven ones like the subtle exploration of queer affairs like Sally and Clarissa's -- and maybe something going on between Jake and Bill-- it's definitely there, and that's super cool to me. 

This post is kind of all over the place, but I just needed to lay out all my ideas. Huh! Lots to think about. Maybe Hemingway isn't as insufferable as I thought he would be.

Sexuality and suppression in The Hours

During our discussion right after watching The Hours, we really briefly touched on the idea of sexuality in relation to mental health and emotional suppression in the movie. We didn't really get far into the thought, I think we got sidetracked, or maybe the idea itself was a sidetrack of a different point. Regardless, I've been thinking about the concept since then. Mr. Mitchell posed this question: could the mental breakdown/possible insanity of Laura (Julianne Moore) be due to sexual suppression? In her timeline, which took place in 1951, the idea of the good housewife was to rear children, care for the husband, primp and maintain the home, and so on; all while gracefully keeping a smile, all while showing no sign of a problem. Could Laura have been driven to the state the film finds her in because of a lack of fulfillment in this situation? Almost definitely, I would say. The housewife's blight was an actual thing in that time frame -- a large number of housewives reported feeling disappointed in their lives, felt guilty for wanting more, etc. But, do you think Laura's depression could have been and extension of some suppressed sexuality?
I would say there's always a chance that that could be the case. We never learn Laura's backstory, but considering how old she looks and the way Dan described their early relationship, it seems like there wasn't much time for her exploration before she married, especially considering how limited access to queer communities must have been in middle America in the 40's and 50's.
On the other hand, the kiss could also be seen as a desperate reaching-out of sorts, paralleling the kiss between Virginia and Vanessa.Virginia Woolf had, irl, an affair with a married woman, so we know she felt romantic attraction to women, but the kiss between her and her sister was obviously a plea for help, an attempt to appeal to those she could not relate to. After that moment, she steps away and desperately asks if she seems better now; the whole shot feels like Virginia trying her hardest to prove she's okay, to an audience she doesn't know how to please, an audience she just isn't on the same plane with. Now, think about Laura and Kitty's kiss in the same context: a mentally atypical person trying to reach out, trying to make human connection in one of the most human ways they know how, by kissing (and subsequently crying).
But, let's think about what the implications of assuming its a sign of her suppressed sexuality would be. If her depression and almost attempted suicide were due to some recently unearthed idea about her own sexuality, would that imply that someone living in an open community would lack that mental instability? Take Clarissa: a queer woman of some sorts (its unclear; she's in a committed relationship with Sally, but had something romantic with Richard at one point in time), living in New York City in 2001, presumably within a community of other LGBT+ people who support her and her partner Sally. Yet, Clarissa still has a breakdown, is still missing a little something.
We like (or, at least I like) to think that in the novel, had Clarissa gotten involved with Sally and let that side of herself be explored more, things would have been all cheeky and cute and like, some sweet indie movie about young lesbian love. But The Hours shows a side of life that Virginia Woolf herself seemed to emphasize as much as possible in the novel; anyone can cross the cusp between sanity and insanity; the ledge is thin, and as we approach it, blurry as well.
Despite sexual freedom, Clarissa loses her hold multiple times in the movie; despite having everything she "could ever want," Laura comes moments away from suicide. I guess I don't really have a point, besides that I really liked the way the movie depicted this idea that "losing it" doesn't need to have a direct reason, it just happens. Also, here's a link to a song that kind of reminds me of Clarissa in the movie when she's having her breakdown. It just exemplifies that cusp I was talking about; to be on the edge, and to look down and see where you're headed (like Virginia Woolf right before the end). I would say its the overall vibe of the song, but you listen and take away what you will: https://porchesmusic.bandcamp.com/track/le-pluis

Richard v. Sally: Clarissa's love & emotions & stuff

In our current book, Mrs. Dalloway, The title character describes her many emotional connections: romantic, platonic, those in the grey area between. We really get a sense of the sort of bonds Clarissa forms throughout the text as she describes her different experiences with love, etc. Two such relationships that seem to have a lot  of weight in her life -- all be it for very different reasons-- are with her husband, Richard, and a friend from her youth, Sally Seton. 

Clarissa is obviously nostalgic about her time with Sally; after all, she does call that moment in the garden the most exquisite one in her life, which really makes it seem like more than a platonic relationship. I would venture to say it was romantic, but Clarissa doesn't really talk about it in romantic words, more so in adoring platonic ones; she seems to admire Sally intensely. However, I don't think we can rule out romance just based on Clarissa's thoughts -- they don't always realistically express all of the elements of what is going on! But I'll get at that in a minute when I look at Clarissa's relationship with Richard. Though it may not be romantic love, it is definitely LOVE of some variation. Clarissa thinks of Sally as she gets dressed, anticipating the moment Sally sees her in her as she comes downstairs; she watches Sally at dinner, can't stop thinking about her, looking at her, admiring and pondering her from afar. For now, I think it's easiest to call it a blurred love, stuck close to platonic but edging into romantic- admiring and delicate. 

Sally and Clarissa's love seems young in a sense of adventure, of we-shouldn't-be-doing-this impulse and fireworks and all that mushy, classic love stuff. We don't really get a sense of how Sally saw the relationship (at least not yet?), so it's pretty hard to say if the feelings were mutual, but Clarissa seemed to love Sally deeply and truly. Woolf certainly entertains and hints at the idea of a queer romance here, which is absolutely like her; having read The Waves, which contains more queer themes, this wasn't particularly unexpected from Woolf. It WAS unexpected from Mrs. Dalloway, though. I assumed while reading that Clarissa would be an upright, reasonably "well-behaved" character; a weak assumption to make with any Woolf character, apparently.

While Clarissa seemed more passionately and excitedly in love with Sally, her love with Richard is different. It is more sweet, more of an "I appreciate all the things you do for me, that is why I love you" kind of love. They consider each other, and care in smaller, sweeter ways. Clarissa thinks of it as if it were a more lasting love, the kind of love to grow old with. It struck me when I first got to Richard's passage, the one around page 115. Originally, Clarissa described her marriage with Richard in a way that came across as passionless -- it seemed as if it were understood between the two of the that it was based more on safety. She posed the relationship like something where, when they're in a room together, they have little to talk about; they see each other and eat together, host parties together; an effective team, not so much a passionate, deeply in love pair (but still a strange kind of appreciative-love, nonetheless). Don't get me wrong, though: Clarissa thought about Richard in sort of a "oh, my silly little boy" mindset. He was endearing and gentle, and absolutely deserving of affection! When the narrator entered Mr. Dalloway's head, though, i was quite surprised. He seemed to see Clarissa in a VERY different light! He giddily anticipated seeing her, thought about her throughout his business lunch, toiled over how to present her with flowers and let her know he loved her. His love seemed endearing, considerate, almost childlike. He made her get her rest, insisted she sleep alone to aid her recovery. Richard cares about and loves Clarissa deeply, wishes the best for her. 

In my mind, Richard and Clarissa's love seems to parallel Clarissa and Sally's in this way: where Clarissa looks up to Sally, thinks about her and ponders her Sally's actions and thoughts, Richard does the same for Clarissa. In Clarissa's description of Sally, Sally is this cool, collected, higher force, this power in Clarissa's life that she can't help but to think about and be drawn to; Richard seems to feel a similar way about Clarissa -- she is a miracle, a gift, his close friend and sweetheart.

I'm of course not saying Richard and Clarissa's love is in any way the same as Clarissa and Sally's, but there definitely seem to be parallels! Another one seems to be a lack of desire for a sexually charged relationship. Though I can't say for sure since we never get Sally's perspective, it feels like when Sally and Clarissa kiss it totally catches Clarissa off guard -- if Sally hadn't done it, it might not have ever happened.(?) In the same way, Richard and Clarissa don't seem to really need or desire more than being each other's romantic-best-friends.

Overall, I think Clarissa and Sally's love is sweet, young, passionate and exciting because it's so new. Clarissa can't stop thinking about Sally, and a moment with Sally is Clarissa's most magnificent one, in her LIFE. Richard and Clarissa are much different: they are in love out of respect, safety, understanding, and a sort of sweet little-kid-love; they love to hold hands, Richard gets the butterflies when he gives Clarissa flowers and hopes what goes unsaid gets across to her, so he doesn't have to speak up. Though there are so many elements I'm leaving out (cause I don't want to rant even MORE), I really do think some vague similarities can be drawn between the two relationships. What this says about Mrs. Dalloway, I'm not really sure; maybe it shows her sort of development from admirer to admired, her growth into the everyday, away from adventure? It'll take more thought to really be able to say for sure!