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Feminist Aspects of The Yellow Wallpaper
Learn more. Not all doctors condemned women for their ambition — many advocated more rounded lives embracing intellectual and physical pursuits alongside domestic roles. Other patients treated by Mitchell, including the critic and historian Amelia Gere Mason and writer Sarah Butler Wister, tailored their treatments to suit their lifestyles, with Mitchell encouraging their intellectual and creative pursuits. Writing years later about the short story, Gilman described how it was written to celebrate her narrow escape from utter mental ruin. A copy was sent to Mitchell but did not receive a response.
Courageous Leaders: promoting and supporting diversity in school leadership development — Cambridge, Cambridgeshire. The Maldon UP! Edition: Available editions United Kingdom. Hilary Marland , University of Warwick. Rest, take tonics, air and exercise. Nervous exhaustion The story highlights the plight of many women during the 19th century. Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Silas Weir Mitchell. I don't want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough. I'm feeling ever so much better!
I don't sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime. There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously. It is the strangest yellow, that wall-paper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw--not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things. But there is something else about that paper--the smell!
I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here. I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs. Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.
But now I am used to it. A yellow smell. There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even SMOOCH, as if it had been rubbed over and over. I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for.
Round and round and round--round and round and round--it makes me dizzy! Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over. Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard. And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern--it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads. They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white!
It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight. I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.
Feminism and Psychoanalysis in The Yellow Wallpaper, a Novel by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can't do it at night, for I know John would suspect something at once.
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And John is so queer now, that I don't want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don't want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself. I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind. If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.
I have found out another funny thing, but I shan't tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much. There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to notice. I don't like the look in his eyes. And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very good report to give. This is the last day, but it is enough.
John is to stay in town over night, and won't be out until this evening. Jennie wanted to sleep with me--the sly thing! That was clever, for really I wasn't alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her. I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper. And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me, I declared I would finish it to-day! We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before.
Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing. She tried to get me out of the room--it was too patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for dinner--I would call when I woke. So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it. I've got a rope up here that even Jennie did not find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her!
I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner--but it hurt my teeth. Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek with derision!
I am getting angry enough to do something desperate.
Feminism and Psychoanalysis in The Yellow Wallpaper, a Novel by Charlotte Perkins Gilman | Kibin
To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try. Besides I wouldn't do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued. I don't like to LOOK out of the windows even--there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope--you don't get ME out in the road there! But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.
And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.
And I've pulled off most of the paper, so you can't put me back! Now why should that man have fainted?
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