In her novel, Passing, Nella Larsen uses the many-sided concept of “passing” to slowly and methodically reveal the complex and disturbed character of Irene Redfield. Although Irene is presented as a solid individual—firmly grounded in her person and position—she displays the most unstable tendencies in the novel. With each façade or pass that Irene takes on—and subsequently fails at—the road to her demise is made more clearly visible. Irene’s uncertain use of passing in its various forms is therefore the direct cause of her downfall.
The first (and most obvious) form of passing that is presented in the novel is in reference to racial identity. When Irene converses with Clare on the roof of the Drayton, the reader is subtlety informed that the intrigue surrounding Clare Kendry is due to her success at passing as a white woman. It appears that Clare is unstable and perhaps void of a true identity because of the ease with which she passes over to a completely different culture, seemingly without regret. While Clare shows her tendency toward duplicity, it is Irene who emerges the hypocrite.
It is through this Drayton conversation that the mask of Irene melts and her true character begins to emerge. When asked if she would ever pass as white, Irene says, “No. Why should I?” which would lead one to believe that she is extremely confident and proud of her racial identity (190). The dramatic irony of the scene, however, proves her contradictory. Irene’s statement would never be doubted if she uttered it in any other location, but since she is passing as a white woman at thevery moment she speaks so righteously, the reader can only assume that she holds double standards—Clare cannot pass for white because she does it ruthlessly and for purely selfish reasons, Irene can do it because she does it out of necessity for say, iced tea.
Irene’s inability to commit to a life of passing as white or a life of living as black and white proves her failure at both. Irene looks with disgust upon Clare’s life of passing, but her own conditional passing is somehow ignored. While it might appear that toying with passing every now and then is much better than making it an everyday occurrence, it is a much softer character that shows private interest in what they ridicule publicly.
Irene’s fatal hesitancy does not end at the gates of racial identity, but forcefully pushes on to the emotional side of her person as well. One of Irene’s major struggles in the novel is her method of handling conflict and threats. Instead of opening up to Brian, Clare, or John Bellew about her true feelings and concerns, she chooses to either remain silent or approach the subject from a roundabout way. It is very clear after Irene’s argument with Brian in the car, that she muddles her true emotions with ones that she feels she is supposed to supply. After Irene’s fury momentarily subsides, the author writes,
She was vexed with herself for having chosen, as it
had turned out, so clumsy an opening for what she
had intended to suggest: some European school for
Junior next year, and Brian to take him over (221).
For a split second, Irene puts the well-being of another before her own desires. Her motives for suggesting Europe are selfless and out of love for Brian, but she cannot pass these feelings on to him. Instead, she speaks in circles—almost as if she cannot help it—and then ends the conversation with an outburst, leaving the reader, as well as Irene, frustrated at the miscommunication.
There are numerous instances in the text where Irene fails to pass her desires on to Clare. When the two meet at the Drayton, Irene extends an invitation for a weekend getaway, seemingly against her will, “In the very moment of giving the invitation she regretted it. What a foolish, what an idiotic impulse to have given way to” (186). Irene’s feelings take a backseat position to Clare’s again when Irene struggles over whether or not to answer her phone calls in Chicago and ten years later in New York. Irene has made it very clear that she does not wish to become involved with Clare, but she loses all conviction when Clare turns on her charm.
While her interaction with John Bellew is limited to a handful of occasions, Irene still manages to lose her nerve and refrain from expressing herself in his presence.
There was a brief silence, during which she feared
that her self-control was about to prove too frail a
bridge to support her mounting anger and indignation.
She had a leaping desire to shout at the man beside her (202).
The trouble is that her self-control is much stronger than she realizes—so strong in fact that it is debilitating. Her true desire is to snuff out John’s ignorance by expressing her racial identity and confronting his racist slurs. She fails to pass her emotions on out of a fear thinly veiled by the notion of protecting her race (Clare), firmly maintaining her “self-control.” She is conflicted about the incident throughout the novel, but when given a second chance to redeem herself, she shrivels at the opportunity. Running into Bellew downtown, she unsuccessfully attempts to conceal her identity and severely regrets it later,
I had my chance and didn’t take it. I had only to
speak and to introduce him to Felise with a casual
remark that he was Clare’s husband. Only that. Fool.
Fool (260).
This method of interaction displays a stunted form of passing, one that prohibits the exchange of emotion. Brian, Clare, and John all pass their feelings on to their listeners, while Irene remains the solitary figure who attempts to pass, but only succeeds at her reversion to silence.
A by-product of Irene’s inability to pass her emotions is her ineffectual attempts at passing as a content and happy person. Irene puts on the façade of “happy wife” at the beginning of the text when she says, “You see, Clare, I’ve everything I want” (190). She might have succeeded at this attempt, too, if she did not immediately follow with a revealing statement, “Except, perhaps, a little money” (190). This failure at passing as happy might seem to be a success at passing on her emotions, but Irene does not commit to either. She attempts to lie about her happiness, but then weakens her argument with a contradictory statement. She does not explain bluntly that she is unhappy, thereby forfeiting her opportunity at honesty.
Irene’s decline is escalated when her suspicions of Brian’s infidelity are allowed to brew under her mask of happiness. At tea, she attempts to rationalize this mask, “In that second she saw that she could bear anything, but only if no one knew that she had anything to bear” (254). She appears to draw strength from the opinions of others, which she assumes would be positive opinions if it appears that she is happy.
Hand-in-hand with her trials of passing as content is Irene’s attempt at sincerity. Not only does Irene smile when she is devastated and withhold honest revelations of her emotions, but she even offers up mistruths, as if to convince herself of the facades that she carries on. Similar to her failure at passing as happy, Irene’s passing as sincere is cut short because of its obvious artificiality. When she offers the invitation to Idlewild, Irene’s countenance betrays the generosity of her words. Clare declines the offer because she knows that Irene is not sincere in asking, “She was annoyed at having been detected in what might seem to be an insincerity” (186).
When all of her attempts at passing have left her exhausted, Irene resorts to the only thing left to cling to—the passing of time. After accepting that Brian and Clare are having an affair (without any evidence), Irene surrenders to the infidelity with the hope that all will be well when Clare leaves in March, “Dear God…make March come quickly” (262). The problem with this hope, is that Irene is not completely convinced that it will make everything well again—especially since there was never a time when everything was well between her and Brian.
Her failure at establishing a solid foundation for her person may be a result of her confusion regarding her identity. While she is confronted with the options to live as black or white, she is also given the opportunity to live as both simultaneously, without passing. Irene proves her ineffectiveness as a person when she chooses to exist in a limbo where her actions never comply with her desires. Passing in its various forms is an instinctive means of survival for the characters in the novel—a skill that Irene simply does not possess.
The first (and most obvious) form of passing that is presented in the novel is in reference to racial identity. When Irene converses with Clare on the roof of the Drayton, the reader is subtlety informed that the intrigue surrounding Clare Kendry is due to her success at passing as a white woman. It appears that Clare is unstable and perhaps void of a true identity because of the ease with which she passes over to a completely different culture, seemingly without regret. While Clare shows her tendency toward duplicity, it is Irene who emerges the hypocrite.
It is through this Drayton conversation that the mask of Irene melts and her true character begins to emerge. When asked if she would ever pass as white, Irene says, “No. Why should I?” which would lead one to believe that she is extremely confident and proud of her racial identity (190). The dramatic irony of the scene, however, proves her contradictory. Irene’s statement would never be doubted if she uttered it in any other location, but since she is passing as a white woman at thevery moment she speaks so righteously, the reader can only assume that she holds double standards—Clare cannot pass for white because she does it ruthlessly and for purely selfish reasons, Irene can do it because she does it out of necessity for say, iced tea.
Irene’s inability to commit to a life of passing as white or a life of living as black and white proves her failure at both. Irene looks with disgust upon Clare’s life of passing, but her own conditional passing is somehow ignored. While it might appear that toying with passing every now and then is much better than making it an everyday occurrence, it is a much softer character that shows private interest in what they ridicule publicly.
Irene’s fatal hesitancy does not end at the gates of racial identity, but forcefully pushes on to the emotional side of her person as well. One of Irene’s major struggles in the novel is her method of handling conflict and threats. Instead of opening up to Brian, Clare, or John Bellew about her true feelings and concerns, she chooses to either remain silent or approach the subject from a roundabout way. It is very clear after Irene’s argument with Brian in the car, that she muddles her true emotions with ones that she feels she is supposed to supply. After Irene’s fury momentarily subsides, the author writes,
She was vexed with herself for having chosen, as it
had turned out, so clumsy an opening for what she
had intended to suggest: some European school for
Junior next year, and Brian to take him over (221).
For a split second, Irene puts the well-being of another before her own desires. Her motives for suggesting Europe are selfless and out of love for Brian, but she cannot pass these feelings on to him. Instead, she speaks in circles—almost as if she cannot help it—and then ends the conversation with an outburst, leaving the reader, as well as Irene, frustrated at the miscommunication.
There are numerous instances in the text where Irene fails to pass her desires on to Clare. When the two meet at the Drayton, Irene extends an invitation for a weekend getaway, seemingly against her will, “In the very moment of giving the invitation she regretted it. What a foolish, what an idiotic impulse to have given way to” (186). Irene’s feelings take a backseat position to Clare’s again when Irene struggles over whether or not to answer her phone calls in Chicago and ten years later in New York. Irene has made it very clear that she does not wish to become involved with Clare, but she loses all conviction when Clare turns on her charm.
While her interaction with John Bellew is limited to a handful of occasions, Irene still manages to lose her nerve and refrain from expressing herself in his presence.
There was a brief silence, during which she feared
that her self-control was about to prove too frail a
bridge to support her mounting anger and indignation.
She had a leaping desire to shout at the man beside her (202).
The trouble is that her self-control is much stronger than she realizes—so strong in fact that it is debilitating. Her true desire is to snuff out John’s ignorance by expressing her racial identity and confronting his racist slurs. She fails to pass her emotions on out of a fear thinly veiled by the notion of protecting her race (Clare), firmly maintaining her “self-control.” She is conflicted about the incident throughout the novel, but when given a second chance to redeem herself, she shrivels at the opportunity. Running into Bellew downtown, she unsuccessfully attempts to conceal her identity and severely regrets it later,
I had my chance and didn’t take it. I had only to
speak and to introduce him to Felise with a casual
remark that he was Clare’s husband. Only that. Fool.
Fool (260).
This method of interaction displays a stunted form of passing, one that prohibits the exchange of emotion. Brian, Clare, and John all pass their feelings on to their listeners, while Irene remains the solitary figure who attempts to pass, but only succeeds at her reversion to silence.
A by-product of Irene’s inability to pass her emotions is her ineffectual attempts at passing as a content and happy person. Irene puts on the façade of “happy wife” at the beginning of the text when she says, “You see, Clare, I’ve everything I want” (190). She might have succeeded at this attempt, too, if she did not immediately follow with a revealing statement, “Except, perhaps, a little money” (190). This failure at passing as happy might seem to be a success at passing on her emotions, but Irene does not commit to either. She attempts to lie about her happiness, but then weakens her argument with a contradictory statement. She does not explain bluntly that she is unhappy, thereby forfeiting her opportunity at honesty.
Irene’s decline is escalated when her suspicions of Brian’s infidelity are allowed to brew under her mask of happiness. At tea, she attempts to rationalize this mask, “In that second she saw that she could bear anything, but only if no one knew that she had anything to bear” (254). She appears to draw strength from the opinions of others, which she assumes would be positive opinions if it appears that she is happy.
Hand-in-hand with her trials of passing as content is Irene’s attempt at sincerity. Not only does Irene smile when she is devastated and withhold honest revelations of her emotions, but she even offers up mistruths, as if to convince herself of the facades that she carries on. Similar to her failure at passing as happy, Irene’s passing as sincere is cut short because of its obvious artificiality. When she offers the invitation to Idlewild, Irene’s countenance betrays the generosity of her words. Clare declines the offer because she knows that Irene is not sincere in asking, “She was annoyed at having been detected in what might seem to be an insincerity” (186).
When all of her attempts at passing have left her exhausted, Irene resorts to the only thing left to cling to—the passing of time. After accepting that Brian and Clare are having an affair (without any evidence), Irene surrenders to the infidelity with the hope that all will be well when Clare leaves in March, “Dear God…make March come quickly” (262). The problem with this hope, is that Irene is not completely convinced that it will make everything well again—especially since there was never a time when everything was well between her and Brian.
Her failure at establishing a solid foundation for her person may be a result of her confusion regarding her identity. While she is confronted with the options to live as black or white, she is also given the opportunity to live as both simultaneously, without passing. Irene proves her ineffectiveness as a person when she chooses to exist in a limbo where her actions never comply with her desires. Passing in its various forms is an instinctive means of survival for the characters in the novel—a skill that Irene simply does not possess.
0 comments:
Post a Comment