Sandra M. Gilbert sözleri ve alıntılarını, Sandra M. Gilbert kitap alıntılarını, Sandra M. Gilbert en etkileyici cümleleri ve paragragları 1000Kitap'ta bulabilirsiniz.
Kadını, melek gibi davranmadığı takdirde canavar gibi gören bir toplumda, melek olmadığını bilen kadın kendini canavar gibi görmek ya da bu bilincin suçluluğuyla bir sürü hastalıkla, delilikle, histeriyle boğuşmak zorunda kalmıştır.
For, as Gaston Bachelard explains, the miniature "allows us to be world conscious at slight risk." While the creators of satirically conceived diminutive landscapes seem to see everything as small because they are themselves so grand, Austen's analogy for her art — her "little bit (two Inches wide) of Ivory" — suggests a fragility that reminds us of the risk and instability outside the fictional space.
Indistinct and yet rapid, barely perceptible but inexorable, the progress of that cloud shadow is not unlike the progress of nineteenth-century literary women out of the texts defined by patriarchal poetics into the open spaces of their own authority. That such an escape from the numb world behind the patterned walls of the text was a flight from dis-ease into health was quite clear to Gilman herself.
As Woolf 's comments imply, women who did not apologize for their literary efforts were defined as mad and monstrous: freakish because "unsexed" or freakish because sexually "fallen." If Cavendish's extraordinary intellectual ambitions made her seem like an aberration of nature, and Finch's writing caused her to be defined as a fool, an absolutely immodest, unapologetic rebel like Aphra Behn — the first really "professional" literary woman in England — was and is always considered a somewhat "shady lady," no doubt promiscuous, probably self-indulgent, and certainly "indecent.
...But critics who patronize or castigate Austen for her acceptance of limits and boundaries are overlooking a subversive strain in even her earliest stories: Austen's courageous "grace under pressure" is not only a refuge from a dangerous reality, it is also a comment on it.
Similarly, Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, staring into a mirror where her own mouth appears as a "hideous wound" bleeding "in silence and in secret," strives for a "voice to speak her dread."
Each of the "subjects" in which a young girl is educated may be sickening in a specific way. Learning to become a beautiful object, the girl learns anxiety about — perhaps even loathing of — her own flesh. Peering obsessively into the real as well as metaphoric looking glasses that surround her, she desires literally to "reduce" her own body.
I stand in the ring
in the dead city
and tie on the red shoes
They are not mine,
they are my mother's,
her mother's before,
handed down like an heirloom
but hidden like shameful letters.
"...Constantly considering their nerves, urged to consider them by well-intentioned but short-sighted ad- visors, [women] pretty soon become nothing but a bundle of nerves."
What the lives and lines and choices of all these women tell us, in short, is that the literary woman has always faced equally degrading options when she had to define her public presence in the world. If she did not suppress her work entirely or publish it pseudonymously or anonymously, she could modestly confess her female "limitations" and concentrate on the "lesser" subjects reserved for ladies as becoming to their inferior powers. If the latter alternative seemed an admission of failure, she could rebel, accepting the ostracism that must have seemed inevitable. Thus, as Virginia Woolf observed, the woman writer seemed locked into a disconcerting double bind: she had to choose between admitting she was "only a woman" or protesting that she was "as good as a man."