In my opinion Hall does a great job in explaining the science of the day as it pertains to homosexuality throughout this novel. From the very beginning we learn that Stephen is not your average girl. Hall actually uses the word “odd” several times throughout the novel to describe Stephen. Hall writes the narrators thoughts that suggest Stephen is, “An extraordinary girl, she had always been odd, and now for some reason she seems odder than ever” (97). The thoughts of the narrator are quite influential on the reader, especially the way the parents are portrayed. The way her mother and father react to her homosexuality is where Hall creates magic in this piece. When Sir Phillip realizes the behavior of his daughter is different from most young girls, he goes to his study to do some research on other people like her. Stephen’s fathers need to research her condition is Hall’s way of informing the reader that homosexuality in this day and time was rare and unusual. Also, the way Sir Phillip hides his findings from his wife leads the reader to believe that her mother would not be as accepting as he, insinuating that her homosexuality will potentially ruin the mother- daughter dynamics of the relationship, which later in the novel we learn that it does. Also, Stephens relationship with Mary was quite significant and played a major role in Halls attempt to portray and explain the science of the times through literature. In the final chapters of the novel when Stephen pushes Mary to be with Martin, the reader realizes that Stephen is more aware of her “condition” than ever before. Mary tells Stephen that if it weren’t for her she could potentially live a normal life and fall for a man like Martin and this does… Read more »
Interesting analysis! I especially found it interesting that you did not find thee term invert to be one used in a negative manner. I definitely read it with a negative connotation, but I can see how the Jagose reading could change that into more of a means to identify rather than some sort of derogatory term. I did read it as though invert was more for an inversion of gender than even a sexuality, and in that regard I can see where Stephen would fit the definition more so than Mary. Do you see the term as all encompassing for homosexuality as well as gender inversion, or more specifically? Given Stephen’s push for Mary to live a “normal” life, and Mary’s seeming ability to do so, would Mary qualify as an invert, or would it be a situation like we spoke of last week, where it is more of a situation where one engages in homosexual acts, but does not consider themselves a homosexual?
Thanks!
Siobhan
Before reading your interpretation of the word I’m almost positive that I read only in terms of homosexuality. I seemed to keep forgetting the fact that not only was Stephen homosexual but she also identified with male. As far as Mary, I think she would be considered and invert because it was obvious throughout that text that she was perfectly fine with being homosexual and even preferred it. If it had not been for Stephen’s pushing her to be with Martin she would have gladly stayed with Stephen and lived the life of an invert. The men from Jagose’s reading last week differ from Mary simply because they have no emotional connection to the same sex, they just enjoy the act of actual sex and this is why they feel as if they are not considered homosexual. However, Mary on the other hand was totally in love with Stephen and was willing to deal with any oppression they might have faced if it meant getting to be with Stephen.
I struggled with decided what I thought the term “invert” to mean in The Well of Loneliness. I started out believing it was more relevant to Stephen’s character, because she (as you mentioned) identified as male. Until you mentioned how you thought of Mary as an invert, it hadn’t occurred to me that the term could be used differently. I agree with what you’ve said about Mary wanting only to be with Stephen and being in love with her, making Mary an invert too. In my mind, I initially thought of an invert as someone who identified with a different gender.
I wasn’t sure whether to take the term to be a negative or derogatory one, and came to the conclusion that it was one that was misunderstood. I find it interesting that the term seems to have been created in the 1920 out of a need for a descriptive term that wasn’t there, and now in the 2010s, with numerous terms to use in lieu of it, we find invert to automatically be of a negative connotation. Was it taken negatively in the 1920s? How did it become that way now?
During the Victorian era, class distinction, etiquette and decorum was very highly regarded. Speech was to be in neutral tone, non scandalous (such as imbued with slang, egads!), and of a confident and informative tone. If notions were not verbalized within a select few acceptable topics, public humiliation would inevitably ensue.
In the mid 1800s, science and religion were increasingly diverging into two separate and distinct entities where, until then, were believed to be closely aligned. At the turn of the century, the conflicting natures of religion and science were being further researched and discussed, separately. The study of science as a whole and distinct entity was still new and less specialized.
By utilizing a scientifically based word as “invert”, Hall is defining a state of being without any religiously based immorality implication. Even though Hall clearly illustrates the religious affiliation of the time throughout his story, he takes a scientific approach to assigning an actual name to a topic that has clear religious ramifications. The word invert, by today’s standards, is rather simplistic and has a reflexively connotatively soft reaction. During the era of the novel, I will have to assume that among intellectuals, Hall’s use of the word would have been acceptable and would have delicately sidestepped the crossover conversation involving religious implication.
At the turn of the 18th century, the scientific community began to focus on classifying the human race into taxonomies. Along with race, medical scientists began trying to classify sex—particularly what “normal” sexuality meant. Their conclusion was three-fold: first, two sexes (male and female) represented the human race; second, those two sexes were different, yet complementary to one another; finally, the male sex was superior to its counterpart. Furthermore, women needed men for sexual arousal that would lead to reproduction. The medical world, then, was flummoxed by the emergence of the homosexual within society, for this group of people defied set taxonomies. Physicians tried to reconcile the homosexual with beliefs about gender by theorizing that homosexuals must actually be, in part, a member of his/her opposite sex since homosexuals were attracted to members of the same sex, yet acted like a member of the opposite sex (Terry, An American Obsession: Science, Medicine, and Homosexuality in Modern Society). One of the earliest labels for a homosexual was ‘sex invert,’ as it was thought a “complete exchange of gender identity” was had (D’Emilio & Freedman, Intimate Matters). In 1925, Dr. William Robinson insisted that “‘homosexuals are mentally, morally, and physically different from normally sexed men and women’” (Fone, Homophobia: A History). Dr. William Howard even described inverts as “normal” because they “appeared to be normal, but had female brains” (Chauncey, Gay New York). In fact, because society already had such concrete, preconceived notions about what it meant to be male and female, many physicians used the term “third sex” to describe the homosexual population (Chauncey). With this knowledge, I think Hall very accurately presents the time period’s scientific viewpoint of the “invert” through her portrayal of Stephen and other characters such as Brockett, Jamie, and the crowd at Alec’s. Stephen is not… Read more »
Thanks for such a thought provoking response! I agree that Hall most likely chose to only use the word a few times purposefully, and thought your analysis of why was poignant. When you said, “the scarce use of the term may have had the effect of allowing the reader to both identify Stephen for what the powerful in society claimed she was (an invert), as well as allowing the reader to move past the term and see her for what she truly was,” the idea that Hall purposefully avoided the scientific label of “the powerful” was even more evident to me.
My actual question was in regard to the human need to label themselves at all, and the specific labeling that occurs currently in the LGBTQ community. I wonder if all of the years of repression, of the powerful making the labels hasn’t led to the many labels we see emerging today.
Wouldn’t it be grand to live in a world without lables? Unfortunately, labels are important. Whether or not they’re right, wrong, beneficial, or detrimental is a separate issue, but they are, nonetheless, something we gravitate toward. Male. Female. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Black. White. Graduate. Undergraduate. Labels are how we define who and what we are and how we’re different from or similar to other people. They carry personal, political, religious, and social power. Look at our presidential election this year, for instance. The rebranding of the “alt-right.” The demand for the use of the phrase “radical Islamic terrorism.” The debate over the use of the names “ISIS,” “ISIL,” and “Daesh.” Hall and her character Stephen describing themselves as inverts is no different. There is a political and social motive. This is not to say that Hall did not truly believe in this label for herself, but it still held a purpose. For readers today (especially myself) the term “invert” may be confusing. Stephen seems to be a lesbian, but much of the description of the “invert” seems like what we would call transgender, today (as you noted). At the time, though, it was something more. Above, I said “how we’re different or similar,” and in the word invert, I think the point is similarity. Yes, it screams different, because it is defined as a third-sex. Neither male nor female. One born in the body of the other. But in my research I also read the phrase “latent heterosexuality” in relation to the idea of inversion. This is to say that an invert may be physically female, but inside they are truly male…and therefore their feelings for women can be seen as natural. Add to this the fact that “invert” was a scientific term with the weight and gravitas of such, and… Read more »
Thank you for your thought provoking post. Your last paragraph was particularly moving to me. When you stated, “to classify is to explain, normalize, and understand,” it hit home to my questioning of the need to label oneself in addition to the need for the scientific (which I understand). But that need to explain, to normalize oneself to others makes a lot of sense, especially in the LGBTQ community. We don’t want to be placed into one large category when we feel differently than others, even in that category. We want to be able to explain our needs and self identification to others, and to use a label allows for that normalization as it becomes more a part of society’s vernacular. Thanks so much for your post!
Sorry, mine is going to be a bit long. I wanted to include passages. As Siobhan mentioned in her discussion leadership post, Havelock Ellis introduced the original publication of WOL. Here is an interesting excerpt from her essay, “Sexual Inversion” from 1915 (http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5114): “The world of sexual inverts is, indeed, a large one in any American city, and it is a community distinctly organized—words, customs, traditions of its own; and every city has its numerous meeting-places: certain churches where inverts congregate; certain cafes well known for the inverted character of their patrons; certain streets where, at night, every fifth man is an invert. The inverts have their own ‘clubs,’ with nightly meetings. These ‘clubs’ are, really, dance halls, attached to saloons, and presided over by the proprietor of the saloon, himself almost invariably an invert, as are all the waiters and musicians. The frequenters of these places are male sexual inverts (usually ranging from 17 to 30 years of age); sightseers find no difficulty in gaining entrance; truly, they are welcomed for the drinks they buy for the company—and other reasons. Singing and dancing turns by certain favorite performers are the features of these gatherings, With much gossip and drinking at the small tables ranged along the four walls of the room. The habitues of these places are, generally, inverts of the most pronounced type, i.e., the completely feminine in voice and manners, with the characteristic hip motion in their walk; though I have never seen any approach to feminine dress there, doubtless the desire for it is not wanting and only police regulations relegate it to other occasions and places. You will rightly infer that the police know of these places and endure their existence for a consideration; it is not unusual for the inquiring stranger to be directed… Read more »
Thank you so much for bringing these additional texts into the discussion! I found the excerpts you provided to be extremely pertinent to our discussion. Ellis’ 1915 claim of a culture or community of inversion definitely makes it much more akin to the current classifications we have of the LGBTQ communities. I know when I am having conversations with some of my gay friends, terminology will be used that I have never heard before! There are also some expectations in regard to relationships and interactions that have been explained to me as, “oh, that’s just how it is in the gay community.”
You analysis of the original Krafft-Ebing text is also interesting in that there is that essentionalist belief that one was born that way, which would almost let us believe that his work lacked bias, until, as you mentioned, he began ascribing other issues and “neuroses” to those “afflicted” with this inversion.
I apologize that this will be a bit longer than the 300 word recommendation, but I ended up having more observations regarding this topic (which is a terrific question, by the way): As the introduction to the Wordsworth Classic edition of The Well of Loneliness (by Esther Saxey) indicates, according to 19th century sexologists, an inverted woman were “believed to be more mentally and physically masculine than ‘normal’ women” (Hall x). Hall also believed she was an invert. Being an inverted woman means she is more comfortable with typically “male” actions/interests, and also is attracted to other women romantically and sexually. Hall, through the character of Stephen, is trying to explain her own condition, and the condition of other “inverts” in a way that was explained during her time. Reading the novel today, at first it does seem, from a more modern notion, that the character of Stephen may be transgender. I thought so at first. But, upon further reading, I’m not convinced of this idea either. First, the limited view we have of Stephen’s mental and emotional state don’t seem to indicate that she is completely repelled by her actual physical state—sure, she has insecurities about her figure (“…she hated her body with its muscular shoulders, its small compact breasts, and its slender flanks of an athlete” (Hall 169). Yet, it seems to be in direct result a reaction to the cultural expectation of what a woman is supposed to look like: In the 1920s women weren’t supposed to be athletic, they weren’t supposed to be tall and lean, they weren’t supposed to be muscular. Additionally, when she confesses to her mother, she relays her identity confusion: “If I loved her the way a man loves a woman, it’s because I can’t feel that I am a woman. All… Read more »
Thank you for your thoughtful response! I think the usage of the term invert may have eventually helped Stephen to understand herself in regard to her society, and I think your analysis of societal and parental expectations influencing her are spot on. I also thought the beginning of the novel and its descriptions of Stephen were leaning her toward transgendered. While I agree she would not have been then, I wonder how those childhood feelings would have evolved in today’s society?
I also wondered if the physical description by Hall was not to be symbolic of her inner struggle as well, to kind of paint the picture of how she felt inside. I agree 100% that her father fostered her feelings of difference in gender by sort of substituting her for a son. I also find it interesting that her father was far more accepting of her for who she was than her mother. I really appreciated your comment that literature explains our world, because I think that Hall actually did a great job of that for her time period, and perhaps the usage of the word invert helped with that. Your post have given me much more appreciation for a novel that I was not much a fan of!
I wasn’t a huge fan of the novel, either. After reading your reply, I wonder if we (the readers) would have a better understanding of Stephen (or of “inverts”) if the story had been told from Stephen’s perspective, rather than from a 3rd person ominiscient narrator. Perhaps Hall was able to hold too much back by her choice of narration.
How does Hall make use of this label (invert) in the novel?
Sparingly
By my count, “invert” (or “inversion”) appears twenty-one times in the novel.
Clinically
I think Hall uses the term in the way that it was used by von Krafft-Ebing (who introduced the term). That is, as the prompt above says, to refer to “the masculine soul, heaving in the female bosom” or to the feminine soul heaving in a male body (for example, Jonathan Brockett, whom the narrator refers to as an invert, on p. 240).
Sympathetically
Hall’s novel features more than one person who is unsympathetic to same-sex desire. Notably, virtually none of them uses the term “invert”. “Invert”—unlike “freak” (151) and “pervert” (197) and so on—is generally not used as an epithet in this novel. An exception is when Monsieur Pujol says: “Amazing they are—ces invertis [these inverts], I tell you!” (383).
Exclusively
When “invert” (or “inversion”) is used in the novel, it is almost always the narrator who does so. On a couple of occasions, “inverts” use the term to refer to each other. Readers who find the word to be a bit clumsy or unflattering may be troubled by this since it indicates that “inverts” so internalized the acceptability of the term as to use it to refer to themselves.
In my opinion Hall does a great job in explaining the science of the day as it pertains to homosexuality throughout this novel. From the very beginning we learn that Stephen is not your average girl. Hall actually uses the word “odd” several times throughout the novel to describe Stephen. Hall writes the narrators thoughts that suggest Stephen is, “An extraordinary girl, she had always been odd, and now for some reason she seems odder than ever” (97). The thoughts of the narrator are quite influential on the reader, especially the way the parents are portrayed. The way her mother and father react to her homosexuality is where Hall creates magic in this piece. When Sir Phillip realizes the behavior of his daughter is different from most young girls, he goes to his study to do some research on other people like her. Stephen’s fathers need to research her condition is Hall’s way of informing the reader that homosexuality in this day and time was rare and unusual. Also, the way Sir Phillip hides his findings from his wife leads the reader to believe that her mother would not be as accepting as he, insinuating that her homosexuality will potentially ruin the mother- daughter dynamics of the relationship, which later in the novel we learn that it does. Also, Stephens relationship with Mary was quite significant and played a major role in Halls attempt to portray and explain the science of the times through literature. In the final chapters of the novel when Stephen pushes Mary to be with Martin, the reader realizes that Stephen is more aware of her “condition” than ever before. Mary tells Stephen that if it weren’t for her she could potentially live a normal life and fall for a man like Martin and this does… Read more »
Tiffany,
Interesting analysis! I especially found it interesting that you did not find thee term invert to be one used in a negative manner. I definitely read it with a negative connotation, but I can see how the Jagose reading could change that into more of a means to identify rather than some sort of derogatory term. I did read it as though invert was more for an inversion of gender than even a sexuality, and in that regard I can see where Stephen would fit the definition more so than Mary. Do you see the term as all encompassing for homosexuality as well as gender inversion, or more specifically? Given Stephen’s push for Mary to live a “normal” life, and Mary’s seeming ability to do so, would Mary qualify as an invert, or would it be a situation like we spoke of last week, where it is more of a situation where one engages in homosexual acts, but does not consider themselves a homosexual?
Thanks!
Siobhan
Siobhan,
Before reading your interpretation of the word I’m almost positive that I read only in terms of homosexuality. I seemed to keep forgetting the fact that not only was Stephen homosexual but she also identified with male. As far as Mary, I think she would be considered and invert because it was obvious throughout that text that she was perfectly fine with being homosexual and even preferred it. If it had not been for Stephen’s pushing her to be with Martin she would have gladly stayed with Stephen and lived the life of an invert. The men from Jagose’s reading last week differ from Mary simply because they have no emotional connection to the same sex, they just enjoy the act of actual sex and this is why they feel as if they are not considered homosexual. However, Mary on the other hand was totally in love with Stephen and was willing to deal with any oppression they might have faced if it meant getting to be with Stephen.
Tiffany,
I struggled with decided what I thought the term “invert” to mean in The Well of Loneliness. I started out believing it was more relevant to Stephen’s character, because she (as you mentioned) identified as male. Until you mentioned how you thought of Mary as an invert, it hadn’t occurred to me that the term could be used differently. I agree with what you’ve said about Mary wanting only to be with Stephen and being in love with her, making Mary an invert too. In my mind, I initially thought of an invert as someone who identified with a different gender.
I wasn’t sure whether to take the term to be a negative or derogatory one, and came to the conclusion that it was one that was misunderstood. I find it interesting that the term seems to have been created in the 1920 out of a need for a descriptive term that wasn’t there, and now in the 2010s, with numerous terms to use in lieu of it, we find invert to automatically be of a negative connotation. Was it taken negatively in the 1920s? How did it become that way now?
During the Victorian era, class distinction, etiquette and decorum was very highly regarded. Speech was to be in neutral tone, non scandalous (such as imbued with slang, egads!), and of a confident and informative tone. If notions were not verbalized within a select few acceptable topics, public humiliation would inevitably ensue.
In the mid 1800s, science and religion were increasingly diverging into two separate and distinct entities where, until then, were believed to be closely aligned. At the turn of the century, the conflicting natures of religion and science were being further researched and discussed, separately. The study of science as a whole and distinct entity was still new and less specialized.
By utilizing a scientifically based word as “invert”, Hall is defining a state of being without any religiously based immorality implication. Even though Hall clearly illustrates the religious affiliation of the time throughout his story, he takes a scientific approach to assigning an actual name to a topic that has clear religious ramifications. The word invert, by today’s standards, is rather simplistic and has a reflexively connotatively soft reaction. During the era of the novel, I will have to assume that among intellectuals, Hall’s use of the word would have been acceptable and would have delicately sidestepped the crossover conversation involving religious implication.
At the turn of the 18th century, the scientific community began to focus on classifying the human race into taxonomies. Along with race, medical scientists began trying to classify sex—particularly what “normal” sexuality meant. Their conclusion was three-fold: first, two sexes (male and female) represented the human race; second, those two sexes were different, yet complementary to one another; finally, the male sex was superior to its counterpart. Furthermore, women needed men for sexual arousal that would lead to reproduction. The medical world, then, was flummoxed by the emergence of the homosexual within society, for this group of people defied set taxonomies. Physicians tried to reconcile the homosexual with beliefs about gender by theorizing that homosexuals must actually be, in part, a member of his/her opposite sex since homosexuals were attracted to members of the same sex, yet acted like a member of the opposite sex (Terry, An American Obsession: Science, Medicine, and Homosexuality in Modern Society). One of the earliest labels for a homosexual was ‘sex invert,’ as it was thought a “complete exchange of gender identity” was had (D’Emilio & Freedman, Intimate Matters). In 1925, Dr. William Robinson insisted that “‘homosexuals are mentally, morally, and physically different from normally sexed men and women’” (Fone, Homophobia: A History). Dr. William Howard even described inverts as “normal” because they “appeared to be normal, but had female brains” (Chauncey, Gay New York). In fact, because society already had such concrete, preconceived notions about what it meant to be male and female, many physicians used the term “third sex” to describe the homosexual population (Chauncey). With this knowledge, I think Hall very accurately presents the time period’s scientific viewpoint of the “invert” through her portrayal of Stephen and other characters such as Brockett, Jamie, and the crowd at Alec’s. Stephen is not… Read more »
Jen,
Thanks for such a thought provoking response! I agree that Hall most likely chose to only use the word a few times purposefully, and thought your analysis of why was poignant. When you said, “the scarce use of the term may have had the effect of allowing the reader to both identify Stephen for what the powerful in society claimed she was (an invert), as well as allowing the reader to move past the term and see her for what she truly was,” the idea that Hall purposefully avoided the scientific label of “the powerful” was even more evident to me.
My actual question was in regard to the human need to label themselves at all, and the specific labeling that occurs currently in the LGBTQ community. I wonder if all of the years of repression, of the powerful making the labels hasn’t led to the many labels we see emerging today.
Wouldn’t it be grand to live in a world without lables? Unfortunately, labels are important. Whether or not they’re right, wrong, beneficial, or detrimental is a separate issue, but they are, nonetheless, something we gravitate toward. Male. Female. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Black. White. Graduate. Undergraduate. Labels are how we define who and what we are and how we’re different from or similar to other people. They carry personal, political, religious, and social power. Look at our presidential election this year, for instance. The rebranding of the “alt-right.” The demand for the use of the phrase “radical Islamic terrorism.” The debate over the use of the names “ISIS,” “ISIL,” and “Daesh.” Hall and her character Stephen describing themselves as inverts is no different. There is a political and social motive. This is not to say that Hall did not truly believe in this label for herself, but it still held a purpose. For readers today (especially myself) the term “invert” may be confusing. Stephen seems to be a lesbian, but much of the description of the “invert” seems like what we would call transgender, today (as you noted). At the time, though, it was something more. Above, I said “how we’re different or similar,” and in the word invert, I think the point is similarity. Yes, it screams different, because it is defined as a third-sex. Neither male nor female. One born in the body of the other. But in my research I also read the phrase “latent heterosexuality” in relation to the idea of inversion. This is to say that an invert may be physically female, but inside they are truly male…and therefore their feelings for women can be seen as natural. Add to this the fact that “invert” was a scientific term with the weight and gravitas of such, and… Read more »
Jayde,
Thank you for your thought provoking post. Your last paragraph was particularly moving to me. When you stated, “to classify is to explain, normalize, and understand,” it hit home to my questioning of the need to label oneself in addition to the need for the scientific (which I understand). But that need to explain, to normalize oneself to others makes a lot of sense, especially in the LGBTQ community. We don’t want to be placed into one large category when we feel differently than others, even in that category. We want to be able to explain our needs and self identification to others, and to use a label allows for that normalization as it becomes more a part of society’s vernacular. Thanks so much for your post!
Siobhan
Sorry, mine is going to be a bit long. I wanted to include passages. As Siobhan mentioned in her discussion leadership post, Havelock Ellis introduced the original publication of WOL. Here is an interesting excerpt from her essay, “Sexual Inversion” from 1915 (http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5114): “The world of sexual inverts is, indeed, a large one in any American city, and it is a community distinctly organized—words, customs, traditions of its own; and every city has its numerous meeting-places: certain churches where inverts congregate; certain cafes well known for the inverted character of their patrons; certain streets where, at night, every fifth man is an invert. The inverts have their own ‘clubs,’ with nightly meetings. These ‘clubs’ are, really, dance halls, attached to saloons, and presided over by the proprietor of the saloon, himself almost invariably an invert, as are all the waiters and musicians. The frequenters of these places are male sexual inverts (usually ranging from 17 to 30 years of age); sightseers find no difficulty in gaining entrance; truly, they are welcomed for the drinks they buy for the company—and other reasons. Singing and dancing turns by certain favorite performers are the features of these gatherings, With much gossip and drinking at the small tables ranged along the four walls of the room. The habitues of these places are, generally, inverts of the most pronounced type, i.e., the completely feminine in voice and manners, with the characteristic hip motion in their walk; though I have never seen any approach to feminine dress there, doubtless the desire for it is not wanting and only police regulations relegate it to other occasions and places. You will rightly infer that the police know of these places and endure their existence for a consideration; it is not unusual for the inquiring stranger to be directed… Read more »
Kelsey,
Thank you so much for bringing these additional texts into the discussion! I found the excerpts you provided to be extremely pertinent to our discussion. Ellis’ 1915 claim of a culture or community of inversion definitely makes it much more akin to the current classifications we have of the LGBTQ communities. I know when I am having conversations with some of my gay friends, terminology will be used that I have never heard before! There are also some expectations in regard to relationships and interactions that have been explained to me as, “oh, that’s just how it is in the gay community.”
You analysis of the original Krafft-Ebing text is also interesting in that there is that essentionalist belief that one was born that way, which would almost let us believe that his work lacked bias, until, as you mentioned, he began ascribing other issues and “neuroses” to those “afflicted” with this inversion.
Siobhan
I apologize that this will be a bit longer than the 300 word recommendation, but I ended up having more observations regarding this topic (which is a terrific question, by the way): As the introduction to the Wordsworth Classic edition of The Well of Loneliness (by Esther Saxey) indicates, according to 19th century sexologists, an inverted woman were “believed to be more mentally and physically masculine than ‘normal’ women” (Hall x). Hall also believed she was an invert. Being an inverted woman means she is more comfortable with typically “male” actions/interests, and also is attracted to other women romantically and sexually. Hall, through the character of Stephen, is trying to explain her own condition, and the condition of other “inverts” in a way that was explained during her time. Reading the novel today, at first it does seem, from a more modern notion, that the character of Stephen may be transgender. I thought so at first. But, upon further reading, I’m not convinced of this idea either. First, the limited view we have of Stephen’s mental and emotional state don’t seem to indicate that she is completely repelled by her actual physical state—sure, she has insecurities about her figure (“…she hated her body with its muscular shoulders, its small compact breasts, and its slender flanks of an athlete” (Hall 169). Yet, it seems to be in direct result a reaction to the cultural expectation of what a woman is supposed to look like: In the 1920s women weren’t supposed to be athletic, they weren’t supposed to be tall and lean, they weren’t supposed to be muscular. Additionally, when she confesses to her mother, she relays her identity confusion: “If I loved her the way a man loves a woman, it’s because I can’t feel that I am a woman. All… Read more »
Victoria,
Thank you for your thoughtful response! I think the usage of the term invert may have eventually helped Stephen to understand herself in regard to her society, and I think your analysis of societal and parental expectations influencing her are spot on. I also thought the beginning of the novel and its descriptions of Stephen were leaning her toward transgendered. While I agree she would not have been then, I wonder how those childhood feelings would have evolved in today’s society?
I also wondered if the physical description by Hall was not to be symbolic of her inner struggle as well, to kind of paint the picture of how she felt inside. I agree 100% that her father fostered her feelings of difference in gender by sort of substituting her for a son. I also find it interesting that her father was far more accepting of her for who she was than her mother. I really appreciated your comment that literature explains our world, because I think that Hall actually did a great job of that for her time period, and perhaps the usage of the word invert helped with that. Your post have given me much more appreciation for a novel that I was not much a fan of!
Siobhan
I wasn’t a huge fan of the novel, either. After reading your reply, I wonder if we (the readers) would have a better understanding of Stephen (or of “inverts”) if the story had been told from Stephen’s perspective, rather than from a 3rd person ominiscient narrator. Perhaps Hall was able to hold too much back by her choice of narration.
How does Hall make use of this label (invert) in the novel?
Sparingly
By my count, “invert” (or “inversion”) appears twenty-one times in the novel.
Clinically
I think Hall uses the term in the way that it was used by von Krafft-Ebing (who introduced the term). That is, as the prompt above says, to refer to “the masculine soul, heaving in the female bosom” or to the feminine soul heaving in a male body (for example, Jonathan Brockett, whom the narrator refers to as an invert, on p. 240).
Sympathetically
Hall’s novel features more than one person who is unsympathetic to same-sex desire. Notably, virtually none of them uses the term “invert”. “Invert”—unlike “freak” (151) and “pervert” (197) and so on—is generally not used as an epithet in this novel. An exception is when Monsieur Pujol says: “Amazing they are—ces invertis [these inverts], I tell you!” (383).
Exclusively
When “invert” (or “inversion”) is used in the novel, it is almost always the narrator who does so. On a couple of occasions, “inverts” use the term to refer to each other. Readers who find the word to be a bit clumsy or unflattering may be troubled by this since it indicates that “inverts” so internalized the acceptability of the term as to use it to refer to themselves.