I have a question. Is working class literature about or by working people? I was surprised this story was by an upper class womanI would say it should be by someone with roots in the working class even if they have been able to gain an education. So although Elizabeth Gaskell wrote well about Manchester in the industrial revolution with sympathetic working class characters I would not call it working class literature as she was middle class (just need to remember to say middle class in UK has narrower definition than in US. Professional managerial class not mainstream workers) .Working class literature had to wait for the likes of DH Lawrence and Thomas Hardy who were born in poor working families. I can't right now think of a woman equivalent so I will go and research! Is having the personal lived experience of being working class necessary? Or is literart imagination enough? Be really interested in others thoughts on this
I believe most working class lit is being written by authors who were not actually part of that class, but were of the higher classes. This makes sense to me, however, because people from the working classes would not have had access or time to materials to write anything. Of course there was Tillie Olsen, who was from the working classes. Maybe Haley can jump in here.
Excellent insight, Nancy! Consider this also: people from the working classes often did write a lot of literature and made a lot of art! But why couldn't their communities and societies *see* it or access it?
I'll write more about this in the next post on this story — but want to plant the seed here. :) A lot of working class literature indeed comes from authors who are not working class, themselves. Why is that? What kinds of arguments or appeals about the working class can come from upper class members? Why might their arguments hold more weight among their peers? Why might working class artists, and their writing and literature and art, be easy to ignore by those upper classes?
All good things to explore mentally and emotionally here. Especially because Davis's story is wildly emotional, isn't it? She's really wanting us to feel the pain and fatigue and heartache and losses of these people. *Why?* is a key question we can explore.
Yes, this is a fantastic point. Given that the many of the writers of working class lit were not working class themselves, it does introduce this idea of why they are doing it. Is it a sense of guilt? A sense of moral outrage and a feeling of responsibility in bringing to the fore? Great questions, Haley.
You are asking *all the right questions* here — and the beautiful thing about them is that there's not easy answers here. These are the kinds of inquiries that spark entire essays and anthologies and new works of fiction.
Think about this: Davis writes this story. But who does she write it *for*? Whose minds is she attempting to influence? And why? (And why does her perspective perhaps offer more persuasiveness than if this plea of noticing the overworked working class came from within that class?)
Think also about this: Davis writes this story. But who does she write it *about*? Who is Hugh? What does Hugh create? What is that "rough ungainly" art he crafts with this working hands—and what does it offer us? How does Davis evaluate his artistry? Is she using her story to elevate someone or something? To illuminate? To despair?
Consider the "pathos," of the emotional weighting of the story. How does the language of the story make you feel things? What does it make you feel? Who does it make you feel for?
Oh. I need more time with this! The sense of dread builds from the first introduction of the characters - "when I tell you about this night". I have the same claustrophobic anxiety as when I'm reading The Yellow Wallpaper. As we've been reading Wharton and Austen, whose characters live in the rarefied atmosphere of wealth, I've continually wondered about the people who live in the "real" world and whose labor supports their lifestyles. And I'm having a real crisis of conscience considering the people whose labor supports my comfortable lifestyle. I need to linger with this story and these thoughts longer. I am barely making it through a paragraph at a time.
Isn't it a beautiful story? You're SO good at attuning to the emotional textures of stories, Maryann, that I'd venture to guess this story in particular might feel extra heavy for you! (I remember so well how quickly you attuned to the women in Wharton's novels!)
I am glad you can feel the tension between the upper-class ladies we've been reading—and now the sharp turn into another kind of lived reality. This is truly a moment of "how the other half lives," and it's worth asking yourself: "How does Davis write the story to inspire my crisis of conscience? Does she *want* me to experience that? To what end???"
I'm looking forward to the discussion for this reading and the next. Short story, novella, whatever we call this, I wish it had continued. There's a point where it just sort of turns and stops and I wasn't ready.
I've started the read and it's totally riveting. I took Victorian literature as a grad student from a fantastic prof and read Elizabeth Gaskell's Mary Barton. I am being reminded of that wonderful novel now. Thank you, Haley!
Yes!!! Isn't it a kind of remarkable bridge piece between the rhythms of Victorian lit and the more "naturalistic" writing we'd start to see in the United States around this time? I love how genre-bendy it is!
I have a question. Is working class literature about or by working people? I was surprised this story was by an upper class womanI would say it should be by someone with roots in the working class even if they have been able to gain an education. So although Elizabeth Gaskell wrote well about Manchester in the industrial revolution with sympathetic working class characters I would not call it working class literature as she was middle class (just need to remember to say middle class in UK has narrower definition than in US. Professional managerial class not mainstream workers) .Working class literature had to wait for the likes of DH Lawrence and Thomas Hardy who were born in poor working families. I can't right now think of a woman equivalent so I will go and research! Is having the personal lived experience of being working class necessary? Or is literart imagination enough? Be really interested in others thoughts on this
I believe most working class lit is being written by authors who were not actually part of that class, but were of the higher classes. This makes sense to me, however, because people from the working classes would not have had access or time to materials to write anything. Of course there was Tillie Olsen, who was from the working classes. Maybe Haley can jump in here.
Excellent insight, Nancy! Consider this also: people from the working classes often did write a lot of literature and made a lot of art! But why couldn't their communities and societies *see* it or access it?
I'll write more about this in the next post on this story — but want to plant the seed here. :) A lot of working class literature indeed comes from authors who are not working class, themselves. Why is that? What kinds of arguments or appeals about the working class can come from upper class members? Why might their arguments hold more weight among their peers? Why might working class artists, and their writing and literature and art, be easy to ignore by those upper classes?
All good things to explore mentally and emotionally here. Especially because Davis's story is wildly emotional, isn't it? She's really wanting us to feel the pain and fatigue and heartache and losses of these people. *Why?* is a key question we can explore.
Yes, this is a fantastic point. Given that the many of the writers of working class lit were not working class themselves, it does introduce this idea of why they are doing it. Is it a sense of guilt? A sense of moral outrage and a feeling of responsibility in bringing to the fore? Great questions, Haley.
You might be interested in the LitHub article on working class literature referenced above! I think it does a great job addressing your question.
Yes! It's a fantastic essay!! Thanks for pointing us back there, Lauren!!
You are asking *all the right questions* here — and the beautiful thing about them is that there's not easy answers here. These are the kinds of inquiries that spark entire essays and anthologies and new works of fiction.
Think about this: Davis writes this story. But who does she write it *for*? Whose minds is she attempting to influence? And why? (And why does her perspective perhaps offer more persuasiveness than if this plea of noticing the overworked working class came from within that class?)
Think also about this: Davis writes this story. But who does she write it *about*? Who is Hugh? What does Hugh create? What is that "rough ungainly" art he crafts with this working hands—and what does it offer us? How does Davis evaluate his artistry? Is she using her story to elevate someone or something? To illuminate? To despair?
Consider the "pathos," of the emotional weighting of the story. How does the language of the story make you feel things? What does it make you feel? Who does it make you feel for?
Oh. I need more time with this! The sense of dread builds from the first introduction of the characters - "when I tell you about this night". I have the same claustrophobic anxiety as when I'm reading The Yellow Wallpaper. As we've been reading Wharton and Austen, whose characters live in the rarefied atmosphere of wealth, I've continually wondered about the people who live in the "real" world and whose labor supports their lifestyles. And I'm having a real crisis of conscience considering the people whose labor supports my comfortable lifestyle. I need to linger with this story and these thoughts longer. I am barely making it through a paragraph at a time.
Isn't it a beautiful story? You're SO good at attuning to the emotional textures of stories, Maryann, that I'd venture to guess this story in particular might feel extra heavy for you! (I remember so well how quickly you attuned to the women in Wharton's novels!)
I am glad you can feel the tension between the upper-class ladies we've been reading—and now the sharp turn into another kind of lived reality. This is truly a moment of "how the other half lives," and it's worth asking yourself: "How does Davis write the story to inspire my crisis of conscience? Does she *want* me to experience that? To what end???"
I'm looking forward to the discussion for this reading and the next. Short story, novella, whatever we call this, I wish it had continued. There's a point where it just sort of turns and stops and I wasn't ready.
I've started the read and it's totally riveting. I took Victorian literature as a grad student from a fantastic prof and read Elizabeth Gaskell's Mary Barton. I am being reminded of that wonderful novel now. Thank you, Haley!
Yes!!! Isn't it a kind of remarkable bridge piece between the rhythms of Victorian lit and the more "naturalistic" writing we'd start to see in the United States around this time? I love how genre-bendy it is!