December 7, 2006
Research Portfolio (Take Two): Review # 4
Pugh, Tison. “Queer Pandarus? Silence and Sexual Ambiguity in Chaucer’s Troilus
and Criseyde.” Philological Quarterly, 80:1 (2001 Winter), pp. 17-35.
Tison Pugh analyzes Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde from the perspective of queer criticism, opening his essay with a loaded question: “is Pandurus queer?”(17). He tempers this question with a disclaimer, admitting that he cannot prove that the homosocial relationship between Pandarus and Troilus is unequivocally homosexual. However, he argues that through ambiguities within the text, Chaucer leaves open possibilities for a queer reading of Pandarus’s character.
Pugh begins by examining medieval conceptions of sexuality. He identifies a parallel between the literary relationship of Pandarus and Troilus and the historical relationship of King Richard II and his councilor, Robert de Vere, who were widely assumed to be engaging in a homosexual relationship. Pugh argues that Chaucer would have been aware of this relationship, and is perhaps allegorically referencing it in his portrayal of the relationship between a nobleman and a “non-heteronormative” advisor (18). Pugh continues his exploration of medieval sexuality, noting that it is inappropriate to apply contemporary understandings of sexuality to a medieval text. In the Middle Ages, he reveals, sexuality was not as closely associated with identity as it is today; homosexuality and heterosexuality were behaviors and not labels. Therefore, medieval views towards sexuality make it possible for us to read homosexual meaning into male-male relationships that we might otherwise view as asexual.
Next, Pugh discusses the ways in which Pandarus’s dialogue and, more importantly the gaps in his dialogue, reinforce a queer reading of his character. For textual support, he turns to Pandarus’s account of his beloved in Book I. Pandarus’s dialogue, Pugh argues, provides very little information about Pandarus’s lover, leaving his identity a mystery. Through this textual hole, Chaucer allows readers to construct the identity of Pandarus’s love for ourselves. In other words, ambiguities in the text allow us, if we so desire, to imagine Pandarus’s lover as homosexual.
Pugh also explores the ways in which Pandarus’s gaze serves to construct him as queer. Pandarus’s gaze, Pugh argues, not only reveals Pandarus’s homosexual desire for Troilus, but is also the means by which he fulfills that desire; he sates his lust for Troilus through voyeurism, watching the love affair unfold between Troilus and Criseyde.
Pugh’s argument concludes with the assertion that Pandarus’s “polymorphous” sexuality serves to highlight the poem’s central meaning, the “ephemerality of human love” (24); Pandarus’s homosexual love fails Troilus just as Criseyde’s heterosexual love fails him.
Pugh ends his argument by “laying down a friendly challenge” to those who deny the possibilities of a queer reading; he asks them to “prove that Pandarus is heterosexual” (35). He is confident, however, that the textual ambiguities within the text make a conclusive reading of Pandarus’s sexuality impossible.
Tison Pugh’s queer analysis of Pandarus lacks decisiveness; he refuses to claim that either Pandarus or his behavior is homosexual. His analysis primarily proves one point; that the text of the poem is ambiguous enough to support either a heterosexual or a homosexual reading of Pandarus’s character. This being true, it would have been nice if Pugh had more assertively argued the case for a queer Pandarus, rather than simply awakening the possibility.
However, Pugh is to be credited for engaging with a queer reading of Pandarus; his discussion was needed. Very few of the scholarly articles I have read are willing to even consider the possibility that Pandarus harbors homosexual desire for Troilus. Many scholars summarily and irrationally dismiss the textual evidence that Pandarus is gay simply because they find the idea personally distasteful. For this reason, I wish that Pugh were more assertive in both his argument and his choice of language. It seems rather ludicrous to be temperate when the other side is so vocal.
Despite the overall mildness of Pugh’s argument, he is generally very adept at supporting it. I found his discussion of textual ambiguity to be particularly compelling, and to merit application beyond a queer reading of Pandarus. For example, in class lecture we discussed the possibility that Pandarus is a representation of Chaucer, and that Pandarus’s “pandering” serves as a textual reference to Chaucer’s alleged role in kidnapping. If Pandarus is a self-portrait, it is notable that the silence and ambiguity regarding his lover mirrors the silence and ambiguity surrounding this historical event in Chaucer’s life.
Pugh’s queer analysis of Troilus and Criseyde opens the possibility for a homosexual reading of Pandarus’s character. However, his argument is far too conciliatory, refusing to take a firm stand.
Rebecca Harpine
University of Mary Washington
December 6, 2006
Research Portfolio (Take Two): Review # 5
Mann, Jill. Feminizing Chaucer. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2002. 194 Pages.
In her critical study, Jill Mann explores the works of Geoffrey Chaucer through the lens of modern feminist criticism. Her analysis encompasses several Chaucerian texts, and balances primarily on the assertion that Chaucer’s perception of morality is conspicuously feminine. Mann spreads her study over five chapters, each of which tackles a specific aspect of Chaucerian femininity. For example, one chapter focuses on antifeminism in Chaucer, while another discusses portrayals of betrayed (and betraying) women. Although her work deals primarily with women, Mann does not condemn the concept of “masculinity” to the realm of binary opposition. Rather, she stresses the necessity of understanding cultural notions of masculinity as a means of fully appreciating the significance of femininity. Therefore, the gendered title of her book does not preclude an examination of masculinity in Chaucer, but requires it.
Mann’s brief introduction places Chaucer within both a historical and literary context. Dominant medieval attitudes, she argues, served to polarize women as “Eves” or “Marys;” victims or shrews. Mann traces the origin of these paradoxical feminine roles to classical literature, specifically in Ovid’s Heroides and Jerome’s Against Jovinian. Further, she identifies these two texts as influential source material for Chaucer. Therefore, Chaucer is writing within a historical and literary tradition that simplistically represents women as “good” or “bad.” Mann contends that Chaucer does not attempt to break free of traditional representations and meanings associated with femininity. Instead, she argues that Chaucer normalizes women, depicting them as moral centers of gravity.
Mann weaves minor references to masculinity (as it relates to femininity) throughout her book. However, it is only in the final chapter, entitled “The Feminized Hero,” that she exclusively addresses the subject of Chaucerian masculinity. In this section, Mann approaches gender in terms of actions rather than biology; she isolates certain “feminine behaviors” and “masculine behaviors,” contending that Chaucer’s perception of an ideal male hero is a “feminized hero.”
Mann begins her analysis in this section by noting the quantitative discrepancy between male and female heroes in Chaucerian texts. This incongruity becomes particularly apparent in the Canterbury Tales, in which only female characters personify morality. Therefore, Mann first turns to Troilus and Criseyde to provide textual support for her thesis, as “it is only in Troilus that a single male consciousness becomes the central locus of poetic meaning” (129). The “poetic meaning” which Mann uncovers in Troilus and Criseyde is the transience of human pleasure. Continuing, Mann argues that Chaucer meticulously constructs Troilus as an admirable man, as the reader can only accept the “poetic meaning” of the poem if they understand that Troilus is a “true” hero who achieved “true” happiness. Chaucer achieves this benevolent portrayal of Troilus, Mann states, by bestowing Troilus with traditional feminine virtues. The most important and recognizable of these “feminine” qualities is Troilus’s characterization as passive victim. Through a feminized characterization, Mann aligns Troilus with Chaucer’s patiently suffering female heroes, such as Constance and Griselda. Mann maintains that, like Constance and Griselda, Troilus serves as a moral focal point. However, she is careful to disclaim the notion that Troiulus’ feminized behavior emasculates him, cataloguing several points in the text that portray his manly valor.
Mann presents further textual examples from The Canterbury Tales, the most notable of which comes from The Knight’s Tale. She presents Theseus, who is, like Troilus, a valorous fighter, as a feminized hero. Unlike Troilus, Theseus’s feminization generates from his pity rather than his passiveness. Mann provides several instances in the text of the tale in which Theseus submits to pity at the behest of women. For example, he takes pity on the procession of widows, and takes pity on Arcite and Palamon due to the tearful pleas of Emelye. Therefore, Mann maintains, Chaucer portrays ideal masculinity as a fusion of traditional masculine and feminine roles. His moral heroes are skilled in the traditional pursuits of manliness, most particularly fighting. However, they also possess distinctive qualities that traditionally fall under the label of “feminine.”
Jill Mann’s provides a thorough, feminist analysis of Chaucer, backing her arguments with ample textual support and connections to classical literature. However, the most remarkable aspect of her study is not her analysis of the feminine, but her willingness to engage with ideas of masculinity. Often, scholars analyzing literary texts based on gender tend to forget that the concept of gender encompasses both the masculine and the feminine. It is commendable that Mann, despite her deliberate fixation on the feminine, nevertheless attempts to reveal the connections between masculinity and femininity. Her final chapter on masculinity reads rather like an afterthought, but this is excusable because her study intentionally focuses on women.
Mann’s reading of femininity in Chaucer is slightly troubling. She presents Chaucer as revolutionary in his approach to women, arguing that he manipulates traditional female roles in order to present women as moral bearers of ideology. However, how can we view Chaucer as an innovator in his portrayal of women if he is embracing harmful gender stereotypes, even for the lofty purpose of ideology? The central female characters of The Canterbury Tales are deeply problematic; as Mann notes, suffering passivity is their primary characteristic. I would disagree that Chaucer manipulates ideals of feminine passivity in order to normalize a “feminine morality.” I believe that Chaucer instead employs passive female characters like Griselda and Constance in order to reveal the harmful effects of artificially constructed gender roles.
Similarly, Mann’s analysis of Troilus gives pause. She maintains that Chaucer makes Troilus admirable by bestowing him with feminine passivity. This theory hinges on the assumption that Chaucer intends for the reader to view Troilus in a favorable light, ignoring the possibilities for a satiric or ironic reading of Troilus’s character. Mann skillfully proves the ways in which Troilus is feminized, but I hesitate to accept to her assumption that he is a “hero.” Certainly, he provides the psychological core of the poem, but his narcissism eradicates any notion that he is a hero.
Feminizing Chaucer is a thorough, feminist evaluation of Chaucer. Mann’s argument provides continuity between several Chaucerian texts, but I disagree with her evaluation of Chaucer’s intentions.
Rebecca Harpine
University of Mary Washington
December 1, 2006
The Illusory Power of Literature in Chaucer’s Franklin’s Tale (Practical Criticism # 3)
In The Franklin’s Tale, Chaucer employs metaphor and setting as mechanisms to condemn the fictions of courtly literature. More specifically, he reveals the dangerous power of literary texts to create and diffuse harmful ideals of courtly love.
In lines 1189-1208, Chaucer develops a figurative relationship equating the sleights of magicians with the fantasies of courtly literature. These lines portray a magician conjuring images for Aurelius and his brother:
He saugh, whan voyded were thise wilde deer,
Thise fauconers upon a fair ryver,
That with hir haukes han the heron slayn.
tho saugh he knyghtes justyng in a playn (Lines 1195-1298).
The images fabricated by the magician are not random, fanciful visions. Rather, they portray common scenes found in the literature of the courtly tradition, such as hunting and jousting. We can rationally assume that these individual scenes serve as a representation of the broader concept of courtly love: the part represents the whole. Through these apparitions, therefore, Chaucer establishes a metaphor by which the images of the magician represent the conventions of courtly love. However, these images are not substantive:
And whan this maister that this magyk wroughte
Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two,
And farewel! al oure revel was ago,
And yet remoeved they nevere out of the hous,Whil they saugh al this sighte merveillous,
But in his studie, ther as his bookes be,
They seten stille, and no wight but they thre (Lines 1202-1208.)
An extension of the metaphor to its logical conclusion reveals that the fictions of courtly love, like the magician’s tricks, are illusory and artificial. The crux of this metaphor, however, lies in Chaucer’s choice of setting; the magician performs his tricks in Aurelius’s study, “ther as his bookes be.” The inclusion of books is not arbitrary, but suggests a link between illusions and literary texts. By extension, “the magician” stands as a figure for “the author.” Just as the magician creates visual illusions, courtly authors construct illusive and damaging paradigms of love.
Chaucer further develops the association between artificial magic and books in lines 1123-1124: “At orliens in studie a book he say/ of magyk natureel.” Within these lines, Chaucer asserts that the art of conjuring is learned from books. Figuratively, the implication is that the artificial constructs of courtly love are also learned from literary texts.
Chaucer’s criticism of courtly texts assumes a greater level of representational significance when the reader understands that the Franklin himself is telling a tale of courtly love to his fellow pilgrims. He devotes his prologue entirely to the task of ensuring that his audience is aware of his tale’s source; it is a Breton lay: “Thise olde gentil britouns in hir dayes/ Of diverse aventures maden layes/ Rymeyed in hir firste briton tonge” (Lines 709-711). Therefore, Chaucer aims his criticism of courtly love directly at authors of courtly texts, such as the authors of Breton lays.
Within the tale, Chaucer juxtaposes the artificiality of courtly love with the continuous presence of nature and natural cycles. For example, the tale is interspersed with repeated allusions to the moon and lunar phases, as in lines 1130-1131; “the eighte and twenty mansiouns/ That longen to the moone.” An incomplete inventory of other organic elements found in The Franklin’s Tale includes the cyclical turn of the seasons, the sea, the passage of time (often by intervals of two years), and the perilous rocks that so distress Dorigen. By doggedly reminding the reader of natural occurrences, Chaucer highlights the fact that courtly games of power (such as the one enacted between Dorigen and Aurelius) are not natural, but are artificially constructed by harmful texts.
November 10, 2006
Metaphor, Diction and the Female Body in Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale (Practical Criticism # 2)
Medieval modes of marriage often prized women solely for the perceived worth of their bodies. Aristocratic tradition viewed the female body as a commodity, made valuable by its sexual desirability, and, of course, its ability to bear children. This system served to brand women as sexual objects and rob them of agency. In The Merchant’s Tale, Chaucer employs metaphor and diction to portray the sexual objectification of women inherent in the aristocratic marriage system.
The dialogue of Januarie as he describes his criteria for a suitable bride is in the construction of an extended metaphor:
She shal nat passe twenty yeer, certayn;
Oold fissh and yong flessh wolde I have ful fayn.
Bet is, quod he, a pyk than a pykerel,
And bet than old boef is the tendre veel (Lines 1417-1420).
Within this metaphor, Januarie identifies feminine sexuality as an edible object; he directly equates the female body with an assortment of meats, including both “fissh” and “boef.” This metaphor assumes greater significance when viewed in conjunction with the opening three lines of the tale; “And sixty yeer a wyflees man was hee/ And folwed ay his bodily delyt/ On wommen, ther as was his appetyt” (1248-1250.) In these two passages, therefore, Chaucer constructs a figure by which the reader recognizes Januarie’s appetite for the flesh of meat as interchangeable with his appetite for the flesh of women. This figure reveals that Januarie views the female body as a commodity that he will gain control of through marriage. He values women only as sexual objects.
The figurative use of animal meat to signify the female body is particularly relevant through Januarie’s use of the word “veel.” In one usage, the word “veal” refers to a calf raised and slaughtered for its meat (OED.) An extension of the metaphor of “woman as food” to this word meaning reveals that medieval women, like calves, are raised exclusively for the physical value of their bodies.
With this metaphor, Chaucer successfully establishes the fact that Januarie (as well as the whole of medieval society), values only the physicality of women. Because Januarie perceives his wife as an edible commodity, he robs her of her humanity. Throughout The Merchant’s Tale, May possesses little personal agency; she is sadly flat, her characterization reduced solely to her sexuality. Even when she breaks free of her husband’s control, her actions are purely sexual. She engages in an affair with Damyan; “Up to the tree he caste his eyen two/ And saugh that damyan his wyf had dressed/ In swich manere it may nat been expressed” (Lines 360-362).
It is not coincidental that a medieval merchant narrates this tale of women’s sexual objectification. The OED defines a “merchant” as “a person whose occupation is the purchase and sale of goods or commodities for profit.” By constructing his tale as the account of a merchant, Chaucer suggests that medieval marriage modes serve to commodify women and market their sexuality.
Through diction and the metaphor of “women as consumable commodity” in The Merchant’s Tale, Chaucer demonstrates the ways in which aristocratic, medieval marriage modes sexually objectify women.
October 20, 2006
Marriage and Adultery in Courtly Literature: Review 2
Jost, Jean E. “May’s Mismarriage of Youthe and Elde: The Poetics of Sexual Desire
in Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale.” Representations of the Feminine in
the Middle Ages. Academia Press, 1993. 117- 137.
Jean E. Jost’s essay examines the conflict between male and female sexuality apparent in Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale, throughout which male sexual desire is privileged at the expense female sexual desire. Jost argues that May attempts (though ultimately fails) to take her revenge by asserting sexual agency and fulfilling her own sexual desires through an act of infidelity.
Through an examination of Januarie’s opening speech outlining his conjugal desires, Jost reaches the conclusion that Januarie’s decision to take a wife is motivated by sexual desire; he does not want a good wife, but a sexually appealing one. However, Jost identifies the flaw in Januarie’s plan; he does not consider that, as an older man, he might not be able to sexually fulfill a younger wife. Indeed, it soon becomes clear that he doesn’t care if the young May experiences sexual pleasure. His actions on his wedding night, methodically catalogued by Jost, are calculated to enhance his own sexual experience by any means necessary. He never considers the physical needs of his wife; she is the passive receptacle of his sexual needs. By treating May as a passively sexual being and valuing his own masculine sexuality over her feminine sexuality, Januarie robs her of sexual agency. Jost associates May’s lack of sexual agency with her lack of verbal agency.
Joss identifies the moment at which May reads Damien’s note as the pivotal turning point of the lay. Before May reads the note, she argues, she is entirely a passive being; but from that moment on she becomes increasingly active and assertive.
While May is an entirely passive partner in her marriage to Januarie, she becomes the active, dominant partner in her relationship to Damien. However, Jost argues that even in her relationship with Damien, May is denied sexual fulfillment by the return of her husband’s eyesight. Jost argues that this is due to the Merchant’s reluctance to admit and value female sexuality. May can not be allowed to fulfill her sexual dominance by sating her sexual desire with Damien, and so Pluto must intervene.
Jost’s exploration of the struggle for domination between male and female sexuality is skilled and well supported by textual evidence. Her argument that Januarie exerts his sexual desire at the expense of May can not be denied.
But I would argue that there are a few difficulties hindering Jost’s argument. First, she states that May exerts sexual dominance over Damien. It is true that May makes all of the arrangements to meet Damien in the garden. However, Damien is the instigator of their affair; May passively accepts his sexual attentions without a thought. This would lead us to believe not that May is the active sexual partner, but that she herself does not value her own sexuality. It seems that, for May, sex is something carelessly given to a man, not to be valued as a means of agency.
Further, Jost’s analysis would indicate that May and Damien are not successful in their affair. In my own reading, I interpreted the pear tree scene as an indication that May was pregnant, and that the child might be Damien’s.
My major objections to Jost’s analysis lie mainly in her reading of May as a would-be sexual conqueror. I have difficulty digesting the argument that May asserts her agency through her sexual deviation. First, it assumes that a woman’s power is only derived from her sexuality. Agency originating from corporeal revenge is no agency at all. I would argue that sexual power can only be derived from active sexual equality. Second, reading May as a sexually active character does not mesh with the fact that May has absolutely no verbal agency throughout the Merchant’s Tale. How then can the reader judge her actions on any terms? We rarely hear her speak, and more importantly, the narrator never describes to us her thoughts, emotions, or reactions to plot events. We hear of Januarie’s eagerness for conjugality and we observe his enraged reaction when he discovers May’s infidelity; in short, we are psychologically acquainted with him. Even Damien is given a psychological spotlight; we see his emotionality in his discourse with May. May herself, however, is a sadly flat character. Even after she reads Damien’s first love missive, and even after her husband accuses her of infidelity, she never betrays an emotion or reaction. May’s lack of agency is not surprising when viewed within the contextual frame of The Merchant’s Tale, which is narrated by a misogynistic man. I don’t believe that the notion of May’s sexual agency can exist without her verbal and physical agency.
Jost’s analysis of The Merchant’s Tale is one of the most interesting and successful I have read in the course of my research, despite my difficulty accepting the portrayal of May as a woman attempting to achieve sexual dominance over her husband.
Rebecca Harpine
University of Mary Washington
Rebecca's Courtly Blog 