The Bourgeois Interior

The Bourgeois Interior

Bourgeois

Interior

JULIA

PREWITT

BROWN

University of Virginia Press

CHARLOTTESVILLE AND LONDON

University of Virginia Press

© 2008 by the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First published 2008

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Brown, Julia Prewitt, 1948–

The bourgeois interior / Julia Prewitt Brown.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8139-2710-7 (acid-free paper)

1. English fiction—History and criticism. 2. Middle class in literature. 3. Interior decoration in literature. 4. Dwellings in literature. 5. Middle class in art. 6. Interior decoration in art. 7. Dwellings in art. 8. American fiction—History and criticism. I. Title.

PR830.M53B76 2008

For Howard Eiland

Contents

List of Illustrations

Preface

Introduction

1.Robinson Crusoe’s Cave

2.Fanny’s Room

3.Charles Dickens and the Victorian Addiction to Dwelling

4.The Smell and Spell of Things in Henry James’s The Spoils of Poynton

5.Virginia Woolf and the Passing of Victorian Domesticity

6.Bourgeois Memory and Dream in the Domestic Interiors of Ingmar Bergman

Conclusion: John Updike, W. G. Sebald, and the Afterlife of the Bourgeoisie

Appendix

Notes

Works Cited

Index

Illustrations

The Love Letter, Jan Vermeer (ca. 1669–70)

Isak Borg observing the family celebration, Wild Strawberries (1958)

A McMansion in Orlando, Florida

Monks and the Jew, George Cruikshank (1837–39)

Oliver at Mrs. Maylie’s Door, George Cruikshank (1837–39)

Windrush fabric design by William Morris (ca. 1883)

Helena Ekdahl’s interior, Fanny and Alexander (1982)

Preface

No one likes to think of himself as bourgeois. Yet the signs of bourgeois society are all around us. We have only to examine the array of home magazines on display in any drugstore, from bargain basement, do-it-yourself decorating magazines to catalogs of luxury estates, to be reminded of the ubiquity of bourgeois values. Embourgeoisement, or the process by which all classes come to identify with the interests and aspirations of the middle class, is apparent throughout our society, from a laboring class with substantial pension funds invested in Wall Street to an upper class with socioeconomic aspirations very similar to those of the middle class. (Consider the wedding pages of the New York Times.) In the conclusion to this work, I refer to the present or technological age as an afterlife of the nineteenth-century bourgeoisie, or one in which old-bourgeois myths are still pervasive.

A few decades ago Roland Barthes defined the bourgeoisie as the social class which does not want to be named. This flight from the word bourgeois, he insisted, is not accidental: it is bourgeois ideology itself, the process by which bourgeois norms are experienced as the evident laws of natural order.¹ Yet to the bourgeois, immersion in a false nature is by no means as reassuring as the well-known imputation of bourgeois complacency makes it sound. A subtle example of this is implied at the opening of Witold Rybczynski’s witty contribution to bourgeois history, Home: A Short History of an Idea. During the six years of my architectural education, the author observes, the subject of comfort was mentioned only once.² Comfort is a bourgeois value par excellence, which is not to say that comfort is always comforting. One has only to buy a mattress to make this discovery. In the sales literature for mattresses, the words pain and sleeplessness appear almost as frequently as the word comfort, as if everyone who bought a mattress is seeking relief from insomnia and muscular pain. In bourgeois society, the pursuit of comfort is itself a sign of agitation and unrest.

This book does not aim to unmask the bourgeois. It aims to focus attention on the mask itself, or on the protective material expressions of bourgeois life. Neither is it a materialist study of bourgeois things. Catalogs of objects figure in histories of bourgeois culture like Asa Briggs’s Victorian Things, but they are of interest here only in so far as the bourgeois himself loves to catalog his things. To the bourgeois, objects are alive, which is something he has in common with the child. No work illustrates this point more movingly than Walter Benjamin’s Berlin Childhood around 1900.

To grasp the elusive concept of bourgeois in the contemporary context, I made myself into a kind of suburban flâneur. The American suburbs are far from possessing the phantasmagoric variety of the famed nineteenth-century flâneur’s stomping ground, Paris, but they have plenty to occupy the attention of anyone interested in understanding what it means to be bourgeois. In combing real estate ads, attending open houses, and taking long walks where sidewalks were available, I was often reminded of the Latin root of the word bourgeois, which is burgus, meaning fortress. Elaborate security systems, invisible fences, and granite kitchens are prime selling features of suburban real estate. Yet like that of the mattresses with their discomfiting literature about steel metal coils, the ostensible goal of these dwellings is comfort. Only after this initial stage of exploration was I able to approach the literary subject of the book, a fact that I bore in mind when I added contemporary references. I am convinced that whatever is both amusing and profound, both charming and disturbing, about the bourgeois domestic interior in literature is more readily grasped by a reader who is alive to the present in the past, the past in the present.

In discussing selected works of literary and visual art, I more often use the words bourgeois imagination of life than bourgeois ideology for a reason. It’s not simply that the richness of these works, their intrinsic variety and texture, is greater than the promulgation of ideology allows for. (Compare, for example, the endlessly renewed complexity of Vermeer’s The Love Letter, reproduced on page 7, with the strident ideographs of country cottages by Thomas Kinkade on sale in shopping malls throughout America.) It’s that I share the skepticism of historians like J. G. A. Pocock in recognizing that bourgeois ideology is itself a problematic concept. In his analysis of the tension between virtue and commerce in the eighteenth century, Pocock insists that there is no greater and no commoner mistake in the history of social thought than to suppose that the tension ever disappeared, and that the ideals of virtue and unity of personality were driven from the field, or that a commercial, ‘liberal’ or ‘bourgeois’ ideology reigned undisturbed until challenged by the harbingers of Marx. According to Pocock, there has always been an ambivalent dialogue over the emergence of bourgeois norms.³ I have tried to be attentive to this ambivalence throughout my discussion.

I would like to acknowledge the following people and institutions for their generous support of this project. Cathie Brettschneider, Humanities Editor at the University of Virginia Press, has been a joy to work with. The two anonymous readers at the press gave tactful and discerning recommendations for revision. David Thorburn and James Winn were extremely generous with their time, encouragement, and wise insight. Bonnie Costello, Marcia Folsom, Carol McGuirk, Susan Mizruchi, Lee Monk, Barbara Schapiro, Steven Tapscott, Sandra Tropp, and Elizabeth Yates read parts of an earlier draft and gave invaluable suggestions. For inspiring conversation about the questions raised in the book, I would like to thank Elizabeth Brown, Ruah Donnelly, Susan Jackson, Margery Kirber, Leshan Kwan, Naomi Miller, and Swen Voekel. For the illustrations I am grateful to the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; the Swedish Film Institute, Svensk Filmindustri; and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

My greatest debt is to my husband, Howard Eiland. As Mr. Pickwick says to Mr. Perker: You have done me many acts of kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the obligation.

The Bourgeois Interior

Introduction

Look around this room of yours, and what do you see? John Ruskin posed this question to bourgeois readers in 1853. How would middle-class readers answer it today?

Standing at the outside of a typical bourgeois residence in suburban Boston in 2006, we are likely to see evidence of a security system, perhaps in the form of a small red light near the entrance, and a plaque identifying the company that designed the system. A peephole in the door makes it possible for the dweller to view the outside world through a distorting lens. As in Robinson Crusoe’s island fortress—the first bourgeois interior in English fiction—a surveillance and warning system protects against unlawful entry. The name of a security service in the metropolitan area would have appealed to Robinson Crusoe: Absolute Security, Inc.

Entering the living room, we may notice objects collected from abroad, not unlike the souvenirs and art objects displayed in the Meagleses’ interior in Dickens’s Little Dorrit (1855–57) or at Waterbath in James’s The Spoils of Poynton (1897). Though designed in different styles, the contemporary living room and family room replicate the drawing and sitting rooms of the nineteenth-century bourgeois household, separate spheres—psychologically and socially—in both periods. The architect Sarah Susanka points out that the formal living room is rarely used in the American home. Accordingly, we may notice a certain unlived-in look in the living room and the suggestion in its arrangement of furniture that things are on display. As in Jane Austen’s grand bourgeois residences, the bourgeois interior is meant to be shown.

Like their encased Victorian counterparts, objects in today’s interiors are to be found in containers. There is a container for something in every room: in the foyer, a stand to hold umbrellas; in the bathroom, a container in which to put a cardboard box of tissues; in the family room, an armoire to enclose a television. What didn’t the nineteenth century invent some casing for! exclaimed Walter Benjamin,¹ prophesying the creation of immensely profitable companies like The Container Store and Holds Everything, Inc. In the living room, one also notices objects from nature presented in some ideal, petrified state: for example, ceramic fruit in a bowl or artificial flowers in a vase. Nature condemned to eternal life is a sentence delivered in several bourgeois interiors discussed in this book—notably those of Dickens and James. In the family room, other forms of preservation appear: family photographs and relics, such as a bronzed baby shoe. In the bathroom, a monogrammed towel hangs on a bar. The bourgeoisie like to leave traces of themselves, even in the most private spaces.²

Many of these features, as we shall see, may be found in domestic interiors of the past. What do they tell us about the people who dwell in them, about their relation to material objects, their experience of themselves and the world? And how has it happened, given radical changes in domestic life over the past three hundred years, that certain features persist? To give an example: we no longer inhabit the domestic interior as we did before the telephone and television became part of middle-class life. The telephone brings the outside in, writes J. Hillis Miller, breaks down the inside/outside dichotomy, and endangers the possibility of private communication.³ Yet the history of our accommodation of the telephone within the home is by no means static.

Some readers may recall in the homes of their grandparents an architectural feature that has since vanished: the telephone room. A small, intimate space intended to keep conversations that went beyond the home private, this feature disappeared with the more open designs of modern building, and it would be unthinkable in a world in which people feel at ease talking on cell phones in public places. The telephone has come and gone as a fixture of the domestic interior, which manages to absorb all sorts of technologies and changes in social organization as if its very purpose were to mediate such forces.

My central thesis is that the bourgeois interior functions as a medium through which something is transmitted, a manylayered fabric across which different energies travel: psychological, political, economic, aesthetic, cultural, historical. To say that something is a medium is not the same as saying that it is significant or symbolic. The objects in the interior are not symbols; they are the material out of which symbols are made. They are the plastic and material language—furniture, draperies, wallpaper, bibelots, the symmetrical or asymmetrical arrangement of objects and their (Victorian) plenitude or (modern) spareness, the use of light and shadow, the articulation of space as it refers, or avoids referring, to an outside—through which the bourgeoisie expresses itself. Just as an artist works in a medium, one that offers possibilities as well as imposes limitations, so may a social class and the individuals in it.

The domestic interior is a medium in another sense as well, for it conveys messages, which is why artists attend to it, and why people like to sit in the room of a beloved person who has died and gaze upon the objects the beloved touched. Ah! There’s something here that will never be in the inventory! says Fleda Vetch in The Spoils of Poynton. Opening her senses to the interior of a deceased woman who, like herself, has been disappointed in love, Fleda continues: It’s a kind of fourth dimension. It’s a presence, a perfume, a touch. It’s a soul, a story, a life.⁴ In W. G. Sebald’s The Emigrants, Henry Selwyn also contemplates an inventory with which he is identified when he surveys the automobiles he collected in an earlier life of pleasure and adventure: The cars are all still in the garage, and they may be worth something now. But I have never been able to bring myself to sell anything, except perhaps, at one point,my soul.⁵ In all the works discussed in this book, the inventory of things is essential to the bourgeois, but where does the bourgeois stand in relation to it? Does he possess the inventory, Sebald asks, or does the inventory possess him? In the representation of domestic space in fiction, in which character and things are so closely identified, the bourgeois soul is at once defined and imperiled.

The following pages detail a large mythology, one that might also be explored in histories of popular and material culture. Since the 1950s, television situation comedy has presented us with innumerable portraits of domestic space, and the history of interior decoration is another rich source of information. But it is in literature and art that the heart of this mythology may be found. When we turn to the great painters, novelists, and filmmakers of middle-class domestic life, we turn to those who actually invented or helped to invent the way we see the way we live—or want to live. In studying interiors envisioned by a range of artists over time—Daniel Defoe, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Henry James, Virginia Woolf, Ingmar Bergman, John Updike, and W. G. Sebald—we may trace an evolution of bourgeois domestic space together with its sometimes deceptively modest interrogation of what it means to live concretely in the world.

The Bourgeois Class

What do we mean by the word bourgeois? On the simplest level, it refers to the class between the very wealthy and the working class. But this definition is misleading for several reasons. As novelists have frequently shown, the very wealthy are also often bourgeois in their view of life, unless they are nobility, in which case they might not be very wealthy at all. The difficulty lies in the fact that the bourgeois or middle class is a residual category, comprising those groups that don’t belong to (a) the working class, or those who perform some kind of manual labor, and (b) a patrician class, even if that class is getting poorer. In nineteenth-century novels, the borders of the bourgeoisie are porous, as we can see when characters travel either down or up into the middle class. The theory of embourgeoisement tends to underpin the social vision of novels that treat the subject of social mobility.

Historians like R. S. Neale have shown that the middle classes—and the plural is important—are quite varied if we look at them from the point of view of occupations and incomes. And if we consider different national histories of the bourgeois class, we see even more economic and historical disparities at work. It is in the literature and art of these varied middle-class and national perspectives that a consistent imagination of life emerges that may be called bourgeois. Central to this imagination of life is the domestic interior as a medium for the myriad of forces I have just mentioned.

In treating the bourgeoisie as an international social entity, I am relying on the traditional idea of class normally attributed to Marx, which he himself claimed to have derived from the bourgeois historians who preceded him, that sees the existence of the bourgeoisie as bound up with particular phases in the development of production in postfeudal Western countries. Although debate concerning the historical moment of the emergence of a bourgeois class is ongoing—the word bourgeois first appeared in French in the early eleventh century—I will be using the word here to refer to the class that emerged in seventeenth-century Holland, in what historians identify as the first bourgeois state.⁶ The feudal household had combined living and work, but in the Dutch Golden Age of the bourgeoisie, the private family home came into being as something set apart from the public sphere. In the articulation of bourgeois private space in Dutch genre painting, we see bourgeois individuals enjoying their many pleasures, the most fragile of which is that condition of insular stability the bourgeois class would eventually lose. The constant encroachment of the outside world on the middle-class home in Dickens’s novels is an especially powerful evocation of this loss. In my final chapter, which considers the afterlife of the bourgeoisie, my story of the rise and fall of