Culture of Silence: Women in the 19th Century

Engl 305

Oh my gosh, I haven’t posted here in so long. Enjoy this essay that I am about to submit. May finals begin and end successfully.

There is a pervasive culture of silence that both women and men navigate, one that manifests not only in everyday life, through unequal pay and domestic roles, but also in the media, literature, and cultural norms that perpetuate this silence into this present day. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, a groundbreaking novel by the brilliant English author, delves into these dynamics. The story of Victor Frankenstein, a young scientist who creates an extremely conscious creature through an unconventional experiment, serves as a intense analysis of the patriarchal structures of Shelley’s era. Written in 1818, Shelley’s work goes in hand with the revolutionary ideas of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, which advocates for women’s education and autonomy while condemning systemic silencing. Even today, Frankenstein remains a valuable piece of work, offering readers a viewpoint to examine enduring societal inequities and the power structures that sustain them. 

Though Frankenstein is shaped by two male figures, Victor Frankenstein and the creature he brings to life, it is written by a woman who delays introducing even the concept of feminism until midway through the novel. This choice not only mirrors Mary Shelley’s own life, often shaped and silenced by men but also underscores the absence of women’s voices in the fictional world she creates. The women in Frankenstein are portrayed as passive, self-sacrificing, and even voiceless at times, reflecting the societal expectations of the past time. As Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar argue in The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Ninteenth-Century Literary Imagination, 19th-century women writers often faced significant constraints and were forced to carry out strategies to express their ideas within the confines of patriarchal society. Despite being far removed from the 19th century, the modern day world still struggles with the lingering limitations of gender inequity. By centering the narrative on male characters, Shelley criticizes a patriarchal structure that suppresses women’s perspectives and autonomy while intelligently navigating a culture that might have dismissed her work outright if it did not conform to male-dominated norms. Her deliberate decision speaks volumes, and an intellectual understanding of the “culture of silence” and the strategies required to challenge it from within. 

Elizabeth Lavenza is portrayed as the epitome of the idealized, selfless woman in Frankenstein. Elizabeth holds intelligence and warmth though these qualities seem to exist solely to support Victor Frankestein’s emotional needs as his fiance. Elizabeth’s letters are filled with genuine care and concern, yet her own fears and desires remain absent, overshadowed by her devotion to Victor. For example, she writes, “…if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness..” This statement highlights her unwavering selflessness and willingness to define her happiness entirely in relation to Victor’s well-being, silencing her own needs and identity. Throughout the novel, Elizabeth never directly challenges Victor’s decisions, even when they endanger her life. This is most evident when Victor is impulsive in planning their wedding despite knowing that the creature, warped on revenge, poses an extreme threat. Ultimately, Elizabeth’s murder at the hands of the creature is a direct consequence of Victor’s secrecy and choices, a fate she has no power to resist or influence. Her tragic end underscores the dangers of subordinating women’s voices and agency, a theme that resonates beyond the novel and into real-life patterns of silenced and self-sacrificing women. Elizabeth embodies the cultural expectation that women prioritize others over themselves, reflecting the oppressive gender norms of both Shelley’s time and even at this present moment. 

Turning to Justine Moritz, another tragic female figure in Frankenstein, her fate is a direct result of Victor’s reckless and selfish decisions. Justine becomes a victim of silence and systemic injustice when she is wrongfully convicted and executed for the murder of William Frankenstein, Victor’s brother — a crime actually committed by the creature. Despite professing her innocence until her final moments, the oppressive societal structures leave her powerless, forcing her into a state of hopeless resignation. Justine states, “I did confess; but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my other sins.” Her confession forced bu coercion rather than guilt, underscores her inability to effectively advocate for herself. Victor’s silence throughout her trial, despite his knowledge of the truth and his authority as a man, amplifies this tragedy. His inaction highlights the societal systems that not only silenced women but actively condemned them, especially those in subordinate positions like Justine. Her story reflects the broader theme of how patriarchal structures suppress and marginalize women which leads to tragic consequences.
Moving on to Safie, who stands out as a fascinating female character who resists the passive, submissive archetypes typically assigned to women in Frankenstein. Introduced midway through the novel, she becomes a symbolic representative of feminism, as Shelley gradually unfolds her story after the audience is already invested in the narrative. However, Safie’s voice is mainly mediated through other characters, primarily the creature, who observes the De Lacey family, where Safie resides. Her father, a Turkish merchant, enforces patriarchal norms by attempting to dictate her life, particularly by trying to prevent her union with Felix De Lacey. When Safie is introduced the creature reveals, “Safie related, that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom spurned the bondage to which she was now reduced.” This moment highlights the societal biases of the time, which dehumanized and marginalized women, especially those outside of European cultural norms. Safie’s mother becomes a poignant symbol of contrast representing the so-called “civilized” Christian values juxtaposed with the oppressive portrayals of Eastern culture. 

The dehumanization presented in Frankenstein echoes a broader pattern of silencing women, rooted in fears of the disruption they might bring to male-dominated systems. Shelley is not alone in evaluating this silence. In Jonathan Swift’s  A Modest Proposal, a satirical analysis of class oppression and systemic neglect, women are similarly reduced to passive, dehumanized roles. The proposal suggests that impoverished families sell their children as food, reducing women to “breeders’ whose societal value lies solely in their reproductive capacity. Swift’s exaggerated depiction of women’s objectification underscores the cruelty and absurdity of societal norms that suppress women’s agency, stripping them of individuality and humanity. Like Swift, Shelly examines these oppressive structures, though her approach is much more nuanced. While Safie resists traditional passive roles, her voice is filtered through male narrators, maintaining the novel’s patriarchal framework. Both Frankenstein and A Modest Proposal highlight how women are often reduced to silenced figures, their individuality and agency overshadowed by societal expectations. Through Safie’s story, Shelley analyzes the persistent marginalization of women, reflecting the systemic control of their voices both in literature and clearly in society. 

And last but not least, the female creature who exists solely as an idea before being destroyed by Victor, serves as a striking example of silencing in Frankenstein. The creature pleads with Victor to create a female companion, his request stemming from intense loneliness, a longing for acceptance, and a desire for connection — longings inspired by Paradise Lost by John Milton. Identifying with Adam in Milton’s epic, the creature yearns for an “Eve” to alleviate his isolation and provide solace. Initially hesitant, Victor agrees to create this companion but ultimately destroys her before she can come to life. This act is an earnest denial of the female creature’s potential existence, erasing the possibility of a female voice or perspective within the narrative, a perspective that might have provided the companionship and acceptance the creature so desperately needs. Victor’s reasoning is steeped in fear: fear of female autonomy, the disruption she might bring to male-dominated order, and the loss of control over creation and reproduction. This anxiety reflects broader patriarchial fears, reminiscent of the concerns surrounding Eve in Paradise Lost. Eve’s own desire for independence foreshadows her fall in Milton’s narrative. She questions the value of faith and virtue untested, stating,  “And what is faith, love, virtue unassay’d / Alone, without exterior help sustain’d? / Let us not then suspect our happy state / Left so imperfect by the Maker wise, / As not secure to single or combin’d.” (Paradise Lost, Book IX, Lines 335–339). Here, Eve expresses a wish for autonomy, reasoning that independence would strengthen her eventual temptation by Satan. An audience could interpret this as Milton portraying female independence as dangerous or disruptive, a fear that is echoed in Victor’s rationale. Victor’s dread of the female creature asserting her independence is clear when he imagines her becoming “… ten thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness.” His destruction of the female creature therefore reflects not only his personal fears but also societal anxieties about women’s autonomy and the perceived threat it poses to patriarchal order. 

To support my claim, Amy Watkin’s essay, “Women Who Should Be Pretty Pissed Off; Vindicating Mary Wollenscraft,” critiques the systemic silencing of women, particularly through the lens of Mary Wollstonecraft’s life and groundbreaking contributions to feminist thought. Despite her transformative ideas, Wollstonecraft’s personal life was weaponized against her, overshadowing her intellectual achievements and perpetuating the cultural silencing of women. Watkin writes, “Wollstonecraft’s ideas lurked in shadows for a long time because after she died her husband tried to do a nice thing. Damn him, anyway.” This refers to Wollstonecraft’s husband, William Godwin, who inadvertently tarnished her legacy by revealing intimate details about her life, such as her motherhood while she was unmarried and her unconventional relationships, which society at the time defined as scandalous. These confessions without the acknowledgement of Wollstonecraft’s feminist philosophy, marginalized her voice in both intellectual and social spheres. In A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Wollstonecraft writes, “If women are educated for dependence; that is, to act according to the will of another fallible being, and submit, right or wrong, to power, where are we to stop?” This quote captures her argument for female autonomy and equality, emphasizing the dangers of societal structures that enforce submission and suppress women’s voices. Ironically, Wollstonecraft herself becomes a victim of this silencing and this is not because of her ideas, but due to society’s rejection of her personal choices. Her life reflects the very oppression she sought to dismantle. 

Watkin further highlights that the culture of silencing women is neither new nor unique stating, “This is not to discount other feminist voices, only to emphasize that Wollstonecraft was perhaps the loudest and best-known, therefore any backlash against her would certainly make others shy away from making similar arguments, lest their own personal lives be trotted out for everyone to judge.” This phenomenon, judging women by their personal lives rather than their intellectual contributions reflects a broader societal trend of dismissing women’s voices and downgrading them to subordinate roles. This insight directly connects to Frankenstein’s portrayal of female characters like Elizabeth and the female creature, whose narratives are shaped and silenced by the men around them.

The silencing of women in Frankenstein parallels the culture of silence Watkin discusses in Wollstonecraft’s life. Elizabeth Lavenza, Justine Moritz, and Safie, like Wollstonecraft, are intelligent and strong women, but their voices are largely absent in regard to the domination of men. Furthermore, the destruction of the female creature symbolizes deep silencing, a deliberate refusal to allow any female presence to challenge the established patriarchal order. Victor’s actions throughout the novel echo the cultural silencing Watkin reviews in her essay: the male fear of losing control over women’s autonomy and the perceived threat of independent female voices. Watkin’s analysis frames Frankenstein, Mary Shelley’s novel emerges as a sharp textual examination of societal structures that perpetuate women’s silence. Just as Wollstonecraft’s groundbreaking feminists were nearly erased from public memory, the female creature in Frankenstein is denied her voice before she even exists. 

Mary Shelley creates an intelligent criticism of the pervasive culture of silencing women, a theme echoed in both literature and society. The novel’s portrayal of female characters, Elizabeth, Justine, Safie, and the non-existent female creature demonstrates how women are denied agency, a voice, and autonomy in a patriarchal world. Victor’s actions reflect a fear of female independence that mirrors the anxieties that persist both in the 19th century and today. This silencing extends way beyond fiction, as Amy Watkin’s essay on Mary Wollstonecraft highlights how women’s personal lives are often weaponized to overshadow their intellectual contributions. Wollstonecraft, like Shelley’s female characters, faced systemic marginalization, illustrating the omnipresent and enduring oppression of women’s voices. By connecting Shelley’s narrative to border cultural patterns of silencing, Frankenstein becomes not just a gothic tale but also a powerful commentary on gender dynamics and patriarchal fears. It challenges readers to face these systemic inequities, underscoring the urgent need to amplify marginalized voices and dismantle the structures that silence them. Through its layered analysis, Frankenstein remains a timeless reflection on the consequences of suppressing female agency and the enduring struggle for equality. 

New York City DOE

Haven’t posted in a while 🙂 Here’s an essay that I am submitting right now.

Literacy in the New York City Department of Education Community

Graduation is what I dread the most, and the New York City Department of Education (NYC DOE) is responsible for this. “All New York City children are guaranteed a seat at a public middle school.” (New York City Department of Education (NYC DOE)). However, the DOE fails to mention that an equal amount of funding will be allocated to every school in New York City. The DOE does not explicitly state that resources are uniform. By the time NYC students completed the high school application process, they had become thoroughly equipped to handle any kind of application. Skills such as application submission, oral speech, essay writing, interview etiquette, and proficiency in Standard Written English (SWE) were competencies that NYC students successfully acquired. Though, this preparation also exposed them to experiences of rejection, sacrifice, stress, and feelings of inadequacy as early as age nine.

During my application process for middle school, I was uninterested, but I also realized how little I cared. My only concern at nine years old was the early curfew my mother imposed on me. I was aware that one middle school, in particular, was blocks away from my Dad’s house. Whenever I liked a school, my mother would try to find out why I liked it. I would answer, “MS 447— The Math & Science Exploratory School” is a name I like. Neither I nor any of my peers could independently achieve our goals of getting into a great school, even if we knew what attracted and concerned us. In the end, I did not get into MS 447. 

The most outstanding schools “are open to all NYC students,” or so the “Citywide programs” put it (NYC DOE). When it comes to ensuring their children have access to the best educational opportunities—especially those that provide a high-quality literary education—parents are prepared to do whatever it takes. Gaining admission to the top schools provided families with access to the most efficient and all-encompassing learning possibilities. NYC institutions helped students succeed in their literary skills, which include writing, reading, and other forms of communication. Private sponsors with strong financial and political power are positioned to fund educational projects that provide resources and financing that impact the standard of education in each school; thus, the benefits of this extend beyond kids and their families. Despite the fact that all children should have access to the best education possible, applying even to be considered for admission to the best schools is disastrous, and stressful due to the “‘…jungle of rules and regulations’ (139)”  (Brandt, 1998, p. 177), that schools and their sponsors impose. These education programs not only give kids a better opportunity to lead prosperous lives, but they also teach them about their civil rights. Learning the values of justice, equality, and fairness at a young age enables individuals to make educated decisions and take the initiative to create a more just world. Sponsors who support these opportunities thus get to enjoy their wealth, advantages, and influence while watching families beg for their children’s opportunities to achieve in the outside world. 

The NYC DOE equipped me with the experience of facing rejection. Even though my mother was the one who essentially applied to middle school on my behalf, discovering that I hadn’t been accepted into MS 447 made me feel like my life had come to an end. Nevertheless, as life progressed, I grasped the significance of advocacy. Faced with rejection, my family became even more determined to secure a position at MS 447, and we succeeded. Upon my family’s realization, Maria, a fellow member of our local church with ties to the NYC DOE, advocated for my placement at MS 447. The communities within the NYC DOE demonstrate not just “the lengths people will go to secure literacy for themselves or their children,”  (Brandt, 1998, p.169), but also how an older generation can pass down its literacy sources to a younger one. While these applications only featured my name, my family and friends contributed to my presence there in the first place. 

Three years later, NYC students would need to apply to the “Specialized High School” application, complete a three-hour exam, and then have an interview to get admitted to the most renowned schools. The middle school application process was distinct, particularly because we were younger. However, my peers and I all initiated this process simultaneously at the age of nine. Together, we were introduced to the program’s rules and expectations. We were all “ordinary people largely through the mediations of more powerful sponsors” (Brandt, 1998, p. 173).  However, when it came to gaining admission to specialized high schools, we quickly realized the disparities in economic and political privileges among students. Simply put, it became evident who could afford SHSAT tutoring and who could not, and which parents possessed the most effective skills and teachings to impart to their children. If a child didn’t inherently possess a brilliant, genius mind, families would pray for someone like Maria to come along.

On the day of the SHSAT exam and interview, I adorned myself in a white dress, wearing a smile on my face. I transitioned from telling my close friends and family, “I done told you this is important’” (Melix, n.d.),  to expressing, “This is very important to my future” . When entering the building, the use of Black English diminished, and employing standard English seemed to pave the way for a successful future. Unfortunately, in the end, I did not secure admission to a Specialized High School, a fate shared by many of my peers, particularly those with lower economic status. At this juncture, it became apparent the efforts families exerted to enroll their kids in the most prestigious schools, the economic advantages every student possessed individually, and how elite schools served as pathways to “enhance [NYC students’] social standings” (Brandt, 1998, p. 168). Facing rejection was a familiar experience for NYC students by then, yet we remained optimistic about our successful futures, even if admission to the “Specialized High Schools” eluded us.

For the first time, I must honestly admit that I made a mistake during my interview—I interrupted someone. While it’s true that “…some errors are less serious than others” (Williams, 1981), this particular mistake unfortunately determined my fate. I made a consequential error, one that removed my only shot of getting into a “Specialized High School”. The literacy fostered by NYC DOE, trained students to become experts in interviews, proficient in formal writing, adhere to Standard Written English, achieve academic excellence, and recognize the significance of education. Although, due to the paramount importance of these literacies in today’s world, instead of fostering teamwork and collaboration among students in NYC, these institutions inadvertently fostered competition and it only continues to intensify. The discrepancies in resources and privileges between my peers and I led to significant disparities in our access to essential resources. Access to high-quality education has always been and continues to be the most critical asset. Deborah Brandt states, that there is a “‘literacy crisis’, that is, the perceived gap between rising standards for achievement and people’s ability to meet them…” (1998, p. 169). This raises the question of how young students, regardless of their access to education, can be expected to meet the increasingly high standards set by educational institutions. These standards (i.e. interviews, lengthy exams, rigorous applications) appear demanding and unrealistic for a significant portion of the student population, which contributes to the difficulties in attaining literary education. The feasibility and fairness of the educational standards set for NYC children warrant consideration of the damage they may do to young individual’s confidence, self-assurance, and optimism within. 

The application processes offered by the NYC Department of Education were likely designed to provide equal opportunities for all students to secure admission to the best schools. However, as literacy becomes increasingly valued as a key to financial gain each year, “the pursuit of literacy feels so turbulent and precarious…” (Brandt, 1998, p. 169). Lacking economic privileges and without someone like Maria, my journey would have been significantly more challenging. Though, Maria demonstrated that success isn’t solely about financial resources; community support and advocacy are equally crucial. Navigating the challenges of an education system also requires collective efforts. In my initial exposure to the shortcomings of the education system, all my peers and I could do was observe—learn how to speak, dress, smile, walk, and even gaze appropriately. Despite the pain caused by witnessing disparities, rejections, and enduring anxieties, when the time came to apply for undergraduate programs, NYC students were more prepared than ever. Students were aware of what institutions desired to hear, and see, and the specific way they were expected to dress. Students knew how to align themselves with the faculty’s expectations, and for that, I am grateful for the experiences they provided. 

Throughout my whole academic career, I have excelled in one area: adaptability. Since I was nine years old, I have moved environments every three to four years to further my schooling. I’ve learned how to speak up for myself, to find resources and communities when I know I am struggling, and to seek mentorship. I have learned independence because, yes, even though it has taken a village to get here, when I initiated the interviews, essays, applications, and tests, it was me who started and me who finished it. I have learned to find the people I need. Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing about my journey, but I yearn to hug my nine-year-old self, as well as every child who has faced, or will face the “turbulent and precarious”  battle for the best possible literacy education. 

References

Brandt, D. (1998, May). Sponsors of Literacy.  

Melix, B. (n.d.). From Outside, In. 

New York City Department of Education. (n.d.)  Specialized High Schools. https://www.schools.nyc.gov/enrollment/enroll-grade-by-grade/specialized-high-schools 

New York City Department of Education. (n.d.). Middle School Enrollment. https://www.schools.nyc.gov/enrollment/enroll-grade-by-grade/middle-school

Williams, J. M. (1981). The Phenomenology of Error. College Composition and Communication, 32(2), 152–168. https://doi.org/10.2307/356689