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Women’s Circles Broken – Part Five

Women's circles conclusion

Women’s Circles Broken: The Disruption of Sisterhood in Three Nineteenth-Century Works

The author of the following work, Meagan Hanley, wrote this multi-part post as her graduate thesis. Her focus was works of literature by female authors, one of whom was Jane Austen. We thought that the entire essay was wonderful, and so, with her permission, we wanted to share it with you.
(This is part five of the essay. Part four can be found here, part three can be found here, part two can be found here and part one can be found here.)



Rossetti’s words could easily serve as a conclusion on their own. Wrapped up in six short lines is the core definition of the importance of women’s communities. Rossetti’s definition of sisterhood can be the basis for the communities of women in Pride and Prejudice and Little Women. Friendship and sisterhood are essential for all women, according to Austen, Alcott, and Rossetti. In each of these works, women grow, learn, and love together. No matter the separation after marriage, if it is at all possible, these women strive to return to community with each other. After marriage—or any separation caused by men—there is a void that remains unfilled. Jane and Elizabeth are fortunate in Pride and Prejudice in that they are able to recreate their own community with each other; and through their good influence, are able to bring another sister into their inner circle:

Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia; and, removed from the influence of Lydia’s example, she became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. (Austen)

Austen, of course, realizes that not all sisters desire community, and in this closing paragraph she shows that some merely need to get away from the influence of “bad” sisters. As was mentioned earlier, to be a good woman in Austen’s opinion means that one is first and foremost a good sister. Dobosiewicz also writes that “an ideal marriage bond in an Austen novel is actually patterned after sisterhood. Thus, the female-oriented sororal bond would become a touchstone determining the value of a relationship” (Dobosiewicz ). Jane and Elizabeth essentially married men who had similar values to those they already respected in each other, and in that, they could retain a semblance of their sisterhood although marriage physically separated them from each other.

In Little Women, marriage is more destructive to the community of sisters. In “The First Wedding” chapter when Meg gets married, Alcott writes that “Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up” (Alcott). Meg is actually the first sister lost even before Beth’s death. The March sisters never return to a sense of true community after their marriages, but in “Goblin Market,” Laura and Lizzie’s love for each other is undiminished even by the intrusion of men.

After marriage disrupts sisterhood, the changes are permanent. Although women may try to return to a semblance of their former community, it remains forever altered. Alcott gives a perfect glimpse into the utopia of young sisterhood before men enter the scene—although the reader is intruding through Laurie’s eyes as he becomes the first male to enter their community, albeit a welcomed one when he is discovered:

‘Here’s a landscape!’ thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, and looking wide-awake and good-natured already.
It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little wood people going on with their affairs as if these were no strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintily with her white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose in her pink dress among the green. Beth was sorting the cones that lay thick under the hemlock near by, for she made pretty things with them. Amy was sketching a group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud. A shadow passed over the boy’s face as he watched them, feeling that he ought to go away because uninvited; yet lingering because home seemed very lonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his restless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with its harvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly and skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espied the wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile. (Alcott)

When Laurie nearly decides to leave, it becomes obvious that Alcott saw his presence as an intrusion—but a somewhat necessary and inevitable one. It is here that we once again see a man longing to enter the women’s utopia but changing it irrevocably with his presence. While all three sisterhoods are disrupted and changed, they do return to a sense of strength and community unique to women. As the last lines of “Goblin Market” display, sisters not only help each other when one is weak; they share each other’s strength. Even when one is standing, the others lend their support.

As the nineteenth century gave way to the suffragist movements of the twentieth century, the definitions of places for women began to change; but the women that Austen, Alcott, and Rossetti created in these texts are not necessarily fighting to claim a space in the public sphere. Instead, they are redefining where a woman’s place is and what it can be. They are reclaiming communities of women as a type of strength in contrast to that of the patriarchal public sphere. Nineteenth-century sisterhood can be seen as safe and comfortable; but on the contrary, Elizabeth and Jane Bennet, the March sisters, and Laura and Lizzie stand as proof that each community of women is different and constantly changing while being held together by strong bonds despite the disruption of men.


About the author
Meagan Hanley lives in Illinois, U.S.A., just east of St. Louis, Missouri, with her new husband and an ever-growing book collection. She has loved all things Jane Austen since she first came across Pride and Prejudice at 14 years old, and her friends and family have learned to live with her obsession. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature from Greenville University and an M.A. in Literature from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. Meagan works as an office manager, and when she’s not reading, she can be found enjoying the outdoors with friends and cycling with her husband. She also blogs about life and literature at
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Women’s Circles Broken – Part Three

Women’s Circles Broken: The Disruption of Sisterhood in Three Nineteenth-Century Works

The author of the following work, Meagan Hanley, wrote this multi-part post as her graduate thesis. Her focus was works of literature by female authors, one of whom was Jane Austen. We thought that the entire essay was wonderful, and so, with her permission, we wanted to share it with you.
(This is part three of the essay. Part two can be found here and part one can be found here.)



Little Women introduces another sisterhood—that of the March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. They along with their mother Marmee, are struggling through the American Civil War era while their father serves as a chaplain at the warfront. At the start of this novel, the girls are just that—literal girls who are not quite old enough to seriously consider marriage, but it still looms large in their reality. Readers are invited into their circle of mishaps and imagination, secrets and fights. Much like Rossetti and Austen, Alcott drew inspiration from her relationships with her own mother and sisters. Like the March family, there were four Alcott sisters—Anna, Louisa, Abigail (May), and Elizabeth. Anna the eldest most closely resembled her counterpart Meg in the novel as the nearly perfect mother figure. Jo was modeled on the author herself; Elizabeth was Beth, and May was Amy. The Alcott girls had a very unusual childhood because of their father’s interest and involvement in the American Transcendentalist movement; he was as absent emotionally as the March patriarch was literally.

In her preface to Jo’s Boys, Alcott makes it clear just how much her characters were based on their real-life counterparts when she apologizes to her readers after the death of her sister May and her mother: “To account for the seeming neglect of Amy, let me add, that, since the original of that character died, it has been impossible for me to write of her as when she was here to suggest, criticize, and laugh over her namesake. The same excuse applies to Marmee” (Alcott). Alcott and her mother were incredibly close; Abigail May passed her temperament and vitality to her daughter. “Frederick Llewellyn Willis wrote that his cousin Louisa Alcott was ‘full of spirit and life; impulsive and moody, and at times irritable and nervous. She could run like a gazelle. She was the most beautiful girl runner I ever saw. She could leap a fence or climb a tree as well as any boy and dearly loved a good romp’” (Reisen). Obviously, Alcott was not quite the calm and acquiescent daughter that her father hoped and expected she would be. Each year on her birthday he wrote messages to her, most often ending with a tone of disapproval and lecturing:

‘The good Spirit comes into the Breasts of the meek and loveful…Anger, discontent, impatience, evil appetites, greedy wants, complainings, ill- speakings, idlenesses, heedlessness, rude behavior…drive it away, [leaving] the poor misguided soul to live in its own obstinate, perverse, proud discomfort.’ It was a familiar lecture…and one Louisa always responded to with tearful discouraged pledges to do, and be better. What she could not do was change the situation or free herself from it. (Reisen)

In many ways, since she remained unmarried, it was her own father and not a potential husband who checked his daughter’s female utopian community by his constant insistence on their moral and personal deficiencies.

Alcott’s father used John Bunyan’s allegory Pilgrim’s Progress to train his daughters. It is easy to see its lasting influence on her as she also used it as the framework for Little Women. In the preface to the novel, she adapted Bunyan’s allegory for her young female readers:

Go then, my little Book, and show to all

That entertain and bid thee welcome shall,

What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast;

And wish what thou dost show them may be blest

To them for good, may make them choose to be

Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me.

Tell them of Mercy; she is one

Who early hath her pilgrimage begun.

Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize

The world which is to come, and so be wise;

For little tripping maids may follow God

Along the way which saintly feet have trod (Alcott)

By personifying her book, Alcott gave it the charge to train its young readers, which was not necessarily what she wanted to do as an author. Her book that hid much more in its “breast” suggests that Alcott hoped her young readers would discover more in its pages than that which appeared only on the surface. Throughout the novel, the chapter titles also echo Pilgrim’s Progress—with the first chapter titled “Playing Pilgrims” and later “Amy’s Valley of Humiliation,” “Jo Meets Apollyon,” and “Meg Goes to Vanity Fair.”

The effect that Bronson Alcott had on his daughter is evident in other ways in the novel. When Mr. March writes letters of encouragement and reprimand to his daughters, Jo immediately struggles with his request:

‘I’ll try to be what he loves to call me, ‘a little woman,’ and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else,’ said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down South. (Alcott)

Here it is clear that for Jo to “do her duty” as a woman, she would have to completely change her personality, but Jo never quite reaches this goal she sets for herself. The fact that Jo struggles constantly with balancing who she knows she is with who she is expected to be shows how Alcott drew strongly from her own reality and imagined a better world for the March sisters than the one she experienced herself.

Alcott treasured extremely close relationships with her sisters and other female friends throughout her life. Despite fashioning Little Women after her own life with her sisters, Alcott struggled in the novel to define a new and different place for women even as the book itself transformed into a space for her readers to inhabit, learn, and challenge what they knew. Elaine Showalter writes in her introduction to Little Women:

The death of her sister Lizzie in 1858 and her confidante Anna’s marriage the same year to a neighbor, John Pratt, were parallel traumas. Anna’s wedding signaled the breakup of a sustaining sisterhood. ‘I’d rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe,’ Louisa wrote defiantly…Many of her essays explored the possibilities of a single life for women, or a sustaining community of women artists and professionals, and she often criticized the problems caused by early marriage and wedlock: ‘Half the misery of time comes from unmated pairs trying to live their legal lie decorously to the end at any cost.’ Yet in other stories and novels, including Little Women, Alcott tried to imagine genuinely egalitarian marriages in which women could be strong and loving, and in which they could continue to work and create. (Alcott)

Alcott’s own decision to remain unmarried is telling of her thoughts on the subject. In the late 1800s, it was not a popular or beneficial option; but just as generations of writers have noted about Austen, if she had been married, none of her novels would have existed. It was within the worlds of Alcott’s novels that she attempted to create communities where women could exist apart from men’s overwhelming influence.

Regarding utopian women’s communities in these works, Little Women lends itself as the clearest example. The March family home is simultaneously a “good place” and “no place” as the meanings of the Greek words imply. With Mr. March away, the home is quite literally a woman’s utopia; however, this is complicated by the fact that it is through his absence that Mr. March is “allowing” the utopia to exist. Kathryn Manson Tomasek writes of this phenomenon in her essay “Searching for Feminist Utopia in Little Women”: “While Mr. March is away serving as a chaplain in the Civil War, his potential presence gives the March family the legitimacy they need to function independently as a community of women” (Tomasek). His return signals the official end of the utopia they had crafted in his absence.

Tomasek mentions: “When women imagined their own utopias, they often employed a vision that combined the gendered meanings of autonomy with a gendered plan for complementarity between women and men” (Tomasek). This thinking was the impetus behind Bronson Alcott’s failed experiment at Fruitlands when Louisa was a young girl. Bronson Alcott’s transcendental communal adventure espoused equality between men and women, but as Tomasek mentions, it actually relegated women even more to the home as they were forced to do all the work while the men were in the field. Because Fruitlands was a utopia envisioned and carried out by men, it fell short of being a utopia for the women. The “complementarity” that Tomasek writes about was lacking completely. At a young age, Alcott was given responsibilities to care for her siblings and even the men in Fruitlands when her mother was absent. For Alcott, the March family in Little Women was perhaps the better version of what Fruitlands could have been if it had been planned by women instead of by men.

Of the three works considered in this thesis, Little Women is also the best example of women’s spaces and community. It is the one that has the most concrete physical spaces in which the sisters live, grow, and learn together. Readers feel as though they are invited into the March family, which is why generations of young girls have loved the novel—they are immediately a part of the community the novel creates. Unlike Pride and Prejudice, where a reader’s entrance coincides with the intrusion of men; in this novel, readers are welcomed into the women’s community before the men arrive. With the first few pages, Alcott takes the time to describe the sisters’ appearances. Interestingly, however, she begins their introductions by describing the space they inhabit:

As young readers like to know ‘how people look,’ we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable old room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home-peace pervaded it. (Alcott)

Already we know that this space is safe, comfortable, and female-centered. It is also worn, well-loved, and well-lived in. A few pages later, we feel the warmth of the fire and see the girls rearranging their home when Marmee returns at the end of a long day:

Mrs. March got her wet things off, her hot slippers on, and sitting down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea-table; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, overturning, and clattering everything she touched; Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy; while Amy gave directions to every one, as she sat with her hands folded. (Alcott)

In this introductory space ruled by the benevolent and wise Marmee, we see a completely female community, unhurried and untouched by male intrusion, where each woman has her own place and particular burden to bear.

However, in this female community, the sisters use their imaginations to create their own versions of male-dominated professions, which is something Stephanie Foote points out in her article “Resentful Little Women: Gender and Class Feeling in Louisa May Alcott”: “the novel tends to present scenes in which facsimiles of the world are assimilated into the March household—the girls create their own post office, their own newspaper, and stage their own private theatricals” (Foote). The sisters create the Pickwick Club, so titled because of their love for Charles Dickens; their club “publishes” the Pickwick Portfolio newspaper. Quite distinct from Austen’s early nineteenth-century focus on letters and the private sphere for women, this progressive space Alcott creates is a replica of the male-dominated public sphere. Alcott spends a fair amount of one chapter describing the details of the Pickwick Club meeting space:

[They] met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big ‘P.C.’ in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper called, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed something, while Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o’clock, the four members ascended to the clubroom, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick, Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass, Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn’t, was Nathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and short comings. (Alcott)

Even as this is a literal space occupied by a community of women, it is by description a community of men. Alcott even uses masculine pronouns when referring to the girls’ assumed male identities. She also reprints the full newspaper, taking the time to tell her readers that the paper “is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls once upon a time” (Alcott). By allowing the March sisters to borrow the trappings and names of men—specifically male characters from a book written by a famous male author—Alcott gives them agency and intelligence. These girls are no longer simply sitting idly by a fireplace knitting; rather, they have transformed their female utopian “nowhere” into a space that is not only recognized but also “inhabited” by men.

Auerbach has written multiple essays about both Pride and Prejudice and Little Women. In one essay, she writes that:

Little Women …is one of America’s most beloved celebrations of childhood, its rather perfunctory concluding marriages giving a twilight flavor to the enforced passage into womanhood proper. But the darting adult wit of the one [Pride and Prejudice] and contagious nostalgia of the other treat a similar process: the passage of a bevy of sisters from the collective colony of women presided over by their mother to the official authority of masculine protection. (Auerbach)

As mentioned earlier, Alcott herself had initially not wanted the March girls to grow up in the novel. Auerbach quotes a letter Alcott wrote to a friend stating that “publishers are very perverse & wont let authors have their way so my little women must grow up and be married off in a very stupid style” (17). Instead of writing only about how girls grow up to be wives, Alcott instead focused on the strong connections among sisters. Auerbach again reinforces this fact:

Louisa May Alcott gives her matriarchy the dignity of community but forbids its final amalgamation with the history it tries to subdue. For this ‘happy end’ the family is not enough; though with love or coercion it can train its daughters in the art of waiting, it cannot be both new woman’s colony and new wives’ training school. Its vacuity and its glory lie in the netherworld it establishes between them. (Auerbach)

In Little Women, Alcott created a space where girls could be happy together in a utopia between childhood and marriage within the sisterhood that Alcott envisioned as an alternative to marriage and dependence on a husband.

Besides Mr. March, the presence of one other male in the story is vital to the plot—Laurie, the March sisters’ young neighbor. Laurie watches wistfully from his window as the girls play; he longs to be a part of their utopian community. However, when Jo catches him at his spying, he responds with embarrassment and emotion:

Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, ‘Why, you see I often hear you calling to one another, and when I’m alone up here, I can’t help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are. And when the lamps are lighted, it’s like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around the table with your mother. Her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can’t help watching it. I haven’t got any mother, you know.’ And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips that he could not control. (Alcott)

Quite the opposite of the March family, for Laurie, it is the absence of women—not men—in his life that causes him to crave entrance to the utopian community. When we first meet Laurie, he and Jo are nearly the same age—fifteen years old. It is difficult not to wonder if Laurie had other motives for spying on the March girls. Jo does not seem to understand the effect that Laurie will have on her family when she wholeheartedly welcomes him into their utopia: “We’ll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you’d come over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she’d do you heaps of good, and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would dance. Meg and I would make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we’d have jolly times” (Alcott). The acceptance of Laurie into the March family shatters the way things had been.

Laurie’s first intrusion into the sisterhood begins with the Pickwick Club. Jo, speaking as “Mr. Snodgrass,” proposes that Laurie should be allowed to join “as an honorary member of the P.C.” (Alcott). Amy votes against it, saying that “this is a ladies’ club, and we wish to be private and proper,” while Meg worries that “he’ll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward” (Alcott). This is the first moment that male influence causes a disagreement among the sisters—no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. With a man’s intrusion, they devalue themselves, and their male artifice immediately transforms back into a “ladies’ club.” Before the girls can decide against welcoming Laurie, Jo reveals that he has been hiding in the closet the entire time, “flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter”—which is exactly the reaction Meg expected of him (Alcott 105). The sisters call Jo a “traitor,” although Laurie is secured as a new member before the end of the page and admits the trick was his idea. However, his admittance is sealed by his gift of a post office between their houses, of which Alcott writes “how many love-letters that little post-office would hold in the years to come!” (Alcott). Already with his initial presence in the community of women, Laurie has planted the seed that will grow into marriage and a permanent separation of the sisters.

Laurie is seemingly introduced as Jo’s potential love interest, and many readers through the years have been disappointed on that front. When Jo refuses his proposal, she gives reasons for wanting to keep his friendship. She loves him as a friend and brother but not as a lover and husband: “’I don’t believe it’s the right sort of love, and I’d rather not try it,’ was the decided answer” she gave him (Alcott). Laurie is upset by her refusal, but throughout the novel, he is a potential love interest for each of the sisters in turn. Minogue mentions this in her dissertation: “First, gossip has it that Meg has her sights set on him to secure her financial future; then Jo believes that Beth is pining away for him. In time, Laurie suffers rejection by Jo and acceptance by Amy as he makes the latter his wife” (Minogue). After suffering Jo’s rejection and taking some time to grow up, “Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Jo’s place, and make him happy” (Alcott). It is strange later though when Laurie explains his marriage to Jo:

‘Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we’ll put it by forever. As I told you, in my letter, when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to me, I never shall stop loving you; but the love is altered, and I have learned to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you change places in my heart, that’s all…You both got into your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the old love, before it was on with the new; that I could honestly share my heart between sister Jo and wife Amy, and love them both dearly. Will you believe it, and go back to the happy old times, when we first knew one another?’ (Alcott)

Even as he makes his request and explanation, it seems obvious that Laurie has not fully moved past his love for Jo. He wants to go back to the utopia he remembers from their childhoods. Interestingly enough, it is Jo who reminds him that it is impossible to go back to “the happy old times.” Too much has changed, and Laurie has been a massive part of those changes whether he admits it to himself or not.

Besides men causing the central plot action and disruptions in both novels, the two novels—Pride and Prejudice and Little Women—share many similarities, a primary one being the multiple resemblances between the central characters of Elizabeth Bennet and Jo March, both of whom are the second oldest in a family of all daughters. Both of their older sisters are more stolid and dignified with few changes to their usually calm temperaments; Meg March is calm, careful, and concerned with propriety, while Jane Bennet is so timid and steady-natured that Mr. Darcy is convinced she does not even care for Mr. Bingley. Jo and Elizabeth each act differently from what their societies expect of them. Mary Ellen Minogue addresses this in her dissertation, “The Sororal Relationship in the Nineteenth-Century Novel: Potential and Power,” when she writes:

Primary to both works is Austen’s and Alcott’s homage to the rebel-type;

Elizabeth and Jo are the irrefutable cynosures of their respective works. They break away from the sororal crowd and establish themselves as unique females…Paradoxically, the diametrically opposed responses of both ‘rebels’ are underscored by sororal fealty. Elizabeth is as devoted to Jane as Jo is loyal to her sisters…As a kind of prescient feminism, sororal devotion foreshadows the mutual support among women encouraged at the close of the nineteenth-century. (Minogue)

In Minogue’s opinion, sisterhood is the chief and most important relationship for both Jo and Elizabeth. No matter what or who else they may be, the connections with their sisters are what give them their strongest sense of identity and belonging. No matter what or who else they may be, the connections with their sisters are what give them their strongest sense of identity and belonging.

As in Pride and Prejudice, marriage is the fulcrum that disrupts the harmony among the women. Jo March laments to her mother in Little Women when she hears of Meg’s engagement: “I knew there was mischief brewing; I felt it, and now it’s worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family” (Alcott). There is a definite sense of loss that comes hand-in-hand with marriage—a sense of separation from other women and relegation to a life of isolation as a wife and mother. Again, Minogue wrestles with this as she writes “Second-born Jo clearly emerges as the character who most readily internalizes condemnation of patriarchal hegemony as it impacts sororal cohesiveness. Jo views any prospect of Meg breaking from the sororal fold via marriage as potential destruction of the March sisterhood” (Minogue). When Meg first brings up the topic of men and marriage, Jo is taken aback: “Jo stood with her hands behind her, looking both interested and a little perplexed, for it was a new thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of that sort. And Jo felt as if during that fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into a world where she could not follow” (Alcott). It is this world full of courtship and marriage that begins to pull the sisters apart.

Marriage is not the only strain on the bonds among the sisters. As we know, Beth’s death is the most tragic fissure in the novel. However, it is central to note that Alcott saw marriage as a total disruption of sisterly community. As Auerbach writes:

The inclusion of young love among these upheavals implicitly defines it as more of a tearer of sisterhood than an emotional progression beyond it; and the equation between the departures of marriage and death continues in the last half of the book, where Beth’s wasting illness and death run parallel to the marriages of the rest of the sisters. (Auerbach)

Alcott herself felt this strongly in her own life. When her older sister was married, her description of the event in a letter could be exactly what Jo would have written after Meg’s wedding: “’After the bridal train had departed, the mourners withdrew to their respective homes; and the bereaved family solaced their woe by washing dishes for two hours and bolting the remains of the funeral baked meats’” (Auerbach). In none of these three works is marriage viewed as synonymous with death, but, for Alcott, the loss of a sister to a new husband was equal to losing her completely.

Jo’s character development is probably the most noticeable and drastic of all the characters. We meet a fifteen-year-old tomboy and say goodbye to a matronly and calm wife, mother, and teacher. At the end of the novel, all three surviving sisters sit with their mother and families and discuss how happy they are. Jo is not surrounded by women, but by a family of boys. Jo had to go through many difficulties to get to this sense of idyllic harmony, and it has in many ways replaced the women’s community from the start of the story. In Jo’s Boys, everything is different from the start. Oddly enough, Alcott decides to introduce Jo and Meg as “Mrs. Jo” and “Mrs. Meg,” allowing them to keep their identities as women by not tagging on their married names but still adding the title “Mrs.”

However, it is in Jo’s Boys, that we see one of the most autobiographical parts of Alcott’s story displayed in Jo’s life. Jo has become a devoted wife, mother, and teacher while allowing her writing to fall to the side until she has a “long illness” and:

Confined to her room, Jo got desperate over the state of affairs, till she fell back upon the long-disused pen as the only thing she could do to help fill up the gaps in the income. A book for girls being wanted by a certain publisher, she hastily scribbled a little story describing a few scenes and adventures in the lives of herself and her sisters, – though boys were more in her line, – and with very slight hopes of success sent it out to seek its fortune. (Alcott)

These sentences describe almost exactly Alcott’s experience in writing Little Women— even to the details of the publisher requesting a story for girls. It also echoes the original preface to Little Women in which she invokes Pilgrim’s Progress and the allegorical quest narrative by personifying her book and its mission.

Another fact worth noting is that Jo only turned back to her writing when she was alone, away from the busyness of teaching and mothering. By writing about her sisters,

Jo is able to reconnect with the sisterhood that was lost through either death or marriage. Many critics have been disgruntled by the ending of Little Women which seems to show Jo content with only the domestic life of a wife and mother. The novel has followed her for fifteen years, and she is thirty-years-old when she, Meg, Amy, and Marmee close the novel with their conversation. However, a closer reading of the final paragraphs reveals a bit more:

‘Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one,’ began Mrs. March, frightening away a big black cricket that was staring Teddy out of countenance.
‘Not half so good as yours, Mother. Here it is, and we never can thank you enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done,’ cried Jo, with the loving impetuosity which she never would outgrow.

‘I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year,’ said Amy softly.
‘A large sheaf, but I know there’s room in your heart for it, Marmee dear,’ added Meg’s tender voice.

Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility…
‘Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!’ (Alcott)

Instead of focusing on the fact that all four women are relegated to the domestic sphere in the end, it is more important to realize that the novel closes with the absence of men and the gathering of women. It is Marmee, the matriarch of the March family, who opens her arms wide, encircling her remaining daughters in the remnants of the community they created and hold together despite marriage and male intrusion.

The third and final work to be discussed in this thesis is different from the first two most notably in its literary genre. “Goblin Market” as a poem inevitably has more constraints when it comes to creating a strong sense of community among women, but Rossetti succeeds in fashioning a vibrant and complex story of sisterly love, separation, and commitment between Laura and Lizzie. The literal space filled by the poem is much smaller than that of the novels, but even in this constrained space, the strength of women’s community is evident and escapes the potential boundaries set by the poem’s length.

(Part four, “GOBLIN MARKET”: SUFFERING SISTERS, will be published next week)


About the author
Meagan Hanley lives in Illinois, U.S.A., just east of St. Louis, Missouri, with her new husband and an ever-growing book collection. She has loved all things Jane Austen since she first came across Pride and Prejudice at 14 years old, and her friends and family have learned to live with her obsession. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature from Greenville University and an M.A. in Literature from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. Meagan works as an office manager, and when she’s not reading, she can be found enjoying the outdoors with friends and cycling with her husband. She also blogs about life and literature at
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Women’s Circles Broken – Part Four

Women's Circles Broken part four

Women’s Circles Broken: The Disruption of Sisterhood in Three Nineteenth-Century Works

The author of the following work, Meagan Hanley, wrote this multi-part post as her graduate thesis. Her focus was works of literature by female authors, one of whom was Jane Austen. We thought that the entire essay was wonderful, and so, with her permission, we wanted to share it with you.
(This is part three of the essay. Part three can be found here, part two can be found here and part one can be found here.)



“Goblin Market” can be read as a study of relational dynamics between sisters. Lizzie and Laura are two sisters who differ widely in their personalities and morality. “The poem itself places heavy emphasis on the importance of having a strong sister. Laura, the weaker sister, unable to restrain first her curiosity and then her desire, owes her life and perhaps salvation to the moral strength of her sister, Lizzie” (McNaron). This idea of a “weaker” sister relying on a stronger one echoes Rossetti’s personal experience with her older sister Maria, who was a devoutly religious woman. The two sisters were extremely close until Maria’s death when Rossetti was 46 years old. Rossetti would later describe Maria as her “’irreplaceable sister and friend’” (McNaron). Many scholars hold firmly to the belief that Maria had a negative effect on her younger sister and that Rossetti struggled to attain the moral perfection she saw displayed in Maria, a perfection that can be seen in “Goblin Market’s” Lizzie.

Austen, Rossetti, and Alcott all remained unmarried; but Rossetti shared another parallel with Austen in the fact that her older sister also never married, although Rossetti herself rejected two marriage proposals for religious reasons. Rossetti was raised in England amid the Tractarian Movement, which “brought with it a renewed emphasis on woman’s sinfulness, moral weakness and role in the Fall” (Palazzo xii). Within this focus on women’s guilt was a push “to promote sisterhoods” and lead young girls “towards the passions of martyrdom, either real or imagined” (Palazzo). “Goblin Market” is probably the best and most optimistic version of many poems portraying a young Rossetti struggling to work through this complicated version of piety for women.

Reading “Goblin Market” through a religious lens is helpful in many ways when one considers Rossetti’s complicated background. Rossetti’s Tractarianism most certainly influenced her writing, and for Simon Humphries its influence was strongest in one particular way. In “Goblin Market,” the same fruit that nearly kills Laura also brings her back to life in the end. What changes is not the fruit itself but the way it is obtained and consumed. This paradox plays itself out in other elements of the poem as well. A common reading of “Goblin Market” is one in which people see a religious unity throughout the poem. However, Humphries shows how Rossetti instead used “theological contradiction”—such as the fruit that can “both destroy and save” (Humphries). As he concludes, “When the fruit is offered not by the malign goblin men, but by the self- sacrificing Lizzie, it becomes curative” (Humphries). The bond built and nurtured between the sisters transforms the evil power presented by the goblin men into its own cure.

The strength that Rossetti saw in her sister Maria lent itself to her creation of a strong heroine in Lizzie. Literary scholar Diane D’Amico writes in her essay “Maria: Christina Rossetti’s Irreplaceable Sister and Friend” that:

The two people who provided Christina with sustaining daily love were her mother and her sister…The poem [“Goblin Market”] does depict a feminine world of order, duty, and love, which is set against a darker, sinister world of escapism and indulgence, represented by creatures that are predominantly masculine…Moreover, there are no men associated with the world of the sisters…To suggest that Christina is rejecting the male world completely or portraying it as satanic is too extreme a reading and in many ways out of keeping with the rest of her work. However, it is significant that in this, one of her major poems, she depicts a female-hero.

Alone Lizzie has the courage she needs; there is no father, brother, or lover to whom she turns. (McNaron)

Interestingly, here we can note again the focus on love, duty, honor, and respect seen in communities of women. These are the attributes that present a stark contrast to the world of goblin men.

Besides lending itself to a strong focus on piety, Rossetti’s religious fervor also led to an emphasis on forgiveness and grace. When Laura breaks the code of sisterhood by leaving her sister in favor of the goblin men’s fruit, Lizzie could reject her. However, she does the exact opposite. Instead of rejecting her sister, Lizzie worries and makes plans—eventually going so far as to risk her own life to save her sister’s. Rossetti experienced similar examples of grace and second chances at work in reality, or as Kathleen Vejvoda puts it: “The importance of unfallen women saving fallen women was more than a commonplace for Rossetti” (Vejvoda). A few months before she began writing “Goblin Market,” Rossetti started to volunteer at a religious home for prostitutes and other “fallen women.” It was called St. Mary Magdalene Home for Fallen Women or House of Charity and was run by nuns and other women volunteers called “sisters.” D’Amico also explains Rossetti’s religious thought helpfully:

Although her faith certainly led her to see the fallen women of her time as sinners, for Rossetti that was not the end of their story. Not only could each fallen woman become a saint, but each individual should also aspire to be like the penitent and loving Mary Magdalene.


For Rossetti, sisterhood is at its core a redemptive experience, a belief she evoked clearly in the characters of Lizzie and Laura.

Besides the obvious difference of being a poem, the other great distinction between “Goblin Market” and the two novels is the way in which men disrupt sisterhood within the work. At no time do the goblin men represent potential husbands as men clearly do in Pride and Prejudice and Little Women; however, they do unmistakably convey the dangers and threat that men can bring to communities of women. For a nineteenth-century audience especially, one constant threat from men was the potential destruction of a woman’s virtue. At the time, single women were basically forbidden to be in a man’s presence alone, and men were often portrayed as vicious predators preying on unwary or immoral women.

Because of this, it is easy to see why there is a prevalent reading of “Goblin Market” as a poem about sexual temptation, namely the dangers of premarital sex. Many scholars have viewed the fruit offered by the goblin men as indicative of sexual enticement and have pointed out the constant warnings for the girls to stay away from what the goblin men are selling—such as Lizzie’s many warnings to Laura:

‘We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?’


‘No,’ said Lizzie, ‘No, no, no;

Their offers should not charm us,

Their evil gifts would harm us’


Throughout the poem, we also hear warnings featuring Jeanie, a cautionary tale of a girl who had also fallen victim to the goblin men. Lizzie asks her sister:

Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Pluck’d from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the noonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will grow
Where she lies low


This is easily a scene of foreshadowing as the reader is introduced to exactly what will happen to Laura now that she has tasted the goblin fruit. If the fruit is sexual temptation and Laura has given in to it, then this shows that her punishment will be a slow death and torment caused by an unquenchable hunger. This reading of sexuality and the dangers of men is absolutely valid and easily supported; however, it places the focus too heavily on the necessity of avoiding bad men rather than on the closeness between the two sisters. The goblin men are characterized as men for a reason; the story would be completely different if goblin women were at the market instead.

The connection between Lizzie and Laura is the strongest and most obvious sisterhood. Partly because the poem compacts their story and partly because of the focus on self-sacrifice, the two sisters’ bond is striking. Laura and Lizzie in “Goblin Market” exist at first in a realm of unbroken communion with words being nearly unnecessary:

Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtain’d bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory


The sisters are literally inseparable, embraced in such a close bond that their two separate entities and identities merge together. Going about their daily tasks, the two sisters gain happiness and purpose from their work and from their relationship with each other. It is not until the goblin men appear with their temptations that the idyllic harmony between the two sisters is destroyed. Only later in the poem does Lizzie’s love eventually win Laura back to the connection of sisterhood.

The day after Laura chooses to eat the fruit the goblins offer, she goes happily with Lizzie in hopes of again eating the fruit she craves. However, there is one big difference: only Lizzie can hear the goblin men, and Laura’s reaction is telling:

Laura turn’d cold as stone

To find her sister heard that cry alone,

That goblin cry,

‘Come buy our fruits, come buy’

Her desire for the fruit consumes her, and that night after she waits for Lizzie to fall asleep, she weeps not for what she has lost but instead for “baulk’d desire”—what she cannot have. Laura’s act of separation from her sister leads her to feel so differently that she cannot even cry in front of her. It is not so much the act of eating the fruit that causes Laura to slowly fade, but instead it is her insane craving and desire for more of it. This sense of selfishness and longing did not exist at the beginning of the poem, and Lizzie has no trace of it in herself.

Michie uses “Goblin Market” as a partial focus in one of her book chapters, seeing the relationship between the sisters Lizzie and Laura as a representative example of the consistent negotiation of identity in comparison to each other:

Lizzie’s heroism consists not so much in the potential sacrifice of her life and world as she beckons to the goblin men, but in her refusal to admit difference. This is why her rescue of Laura takes the familiar form of sharing, of reiteration . . . Lizzie’s sacrifice allows her to reconstruct a shared sororal space that is once again rhetorically defined by sameness, analogy, and iterability.


In Michie’s opinions, if a centrally important facet of women’s communication is the ability to negotiate and name differences, then it is indeed heroic of Lizzie to give this up in order to become “one” with her sister again.

One remarkable fact about “Goblin Market” is that Christina’s poet-brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti actually gave the poem its title. It is noteworthy that he along with the rest of his family also had a fascination with fallen women. In his own poem “Jenny,” Dante Rossetti reflects from the viewpoint of a man in a prostitute’s room as she sleeps. At one point near the end of the poem, the speaker wonders what it is that separates Jenny from other women:

Just as another woman sleeps!

Enough to throw one’s thoughts in heaps

Of doubt and horror,—what to say

Or think,—this awful secret sway,

The potter’s power over the clay!

Of the same lump (it has been said)

For honour and dishonour made,

Two sister vessels.

Here is one.

Here, he muses on the fact that Jenny is the same as other women. What is it that makes her “less” than the other women he knows? He moves next into a comparison with his cousin Nell, who enjoys love and praise just as he assumes Jenny does:

My cousin Nell is fond of fun,

And fond of dress, and change, and praise,

So mere a woman in her ways:

And if her sweet eyes rich in youth

Are like her lips that tell the truth,

My cousin Nell is fond of love.

And she’s the girl I’m proudest of. …

Of the same lump (as it is said)

For honour and dishonour made,

Two sister vessels.

Here is one.

It makes a goblin of the sun.


Upon his introspection, the speaker realizes that all women are similar, and that even his own “honorable” cousin resembles Jenny. The “sister vessels” he mentions could be yet another way to describe Lizzie and Laura—one sister who is honorable and the other dishonorable.

Before moving on from Dante’s influence on his sister’s poem, we must pause and notice his use of the word “goblin.” A goblin is a creature from English folklore who is always portrayed as ugly, mischievous, and full of trickery. Therefore, when Dante writes that the sun is a goblin, he means that the sun has tricked everyone into believing that Jenny is so very different from other women. There is a definite connection between the use of “goblin” in this poem and in his suggestion that Christina borrow it for her own poem’s title. The goblin men are tricksters who convince women to fall.

A more complicated part of the poem lies in its ending, where at first glance, it seems to have the largest divergence of the three works. Whereas, the Bennet sisters and the March sisters must readjust to far different experiences of life with other women after marriage, Lizzie and Laura seemingly regain the same sense of closeness—if not more of it—that they had at the story’s beginning. Besides the goblin men, no men are even mentioned except for the phantom husbands that Lizzie and Laura have magically married: “Afterwards, when both were wives/With children of their own” (Rossetti). The girls who survived the incident with the goblin men are now mothers, teaching their children the moral of the story and the importance of strong sisterhood. This somewhat stilted scene of domesticity can be confusing given the content of the rest of the poem, but Rossetti also clearly shows the strength of Laura and Lizzie. The husbands are phantoms; they have no space at the end of this poem where the domestic sphere has conquered the public sphere.

This public versus private sphere debate in the study of nineteenth-century literature is also relevant to this discussion as another way of understanding Rossetti’s purpose in writing the poem. Namely, the title of the poem itself gives some information away—“Goblin Market”—where the men sell their fruit. This focus on production has also interested scholars because it lends itself easily to yet another interpretation. “Nineteenth-century debates over women in public have typically been understood as arising from the contradictions of domestic ideology: the home was the origin of and limit upon women’s public role” (Peiss). Lizzie and Laura exist initially only in the sphere of “womanly” tasks; however, Lizzie knows much more about the public sphere than is at first apparent. When she decides to confront the goblin men in order to save her sister, Lizzie knows she must pay for what they sell. She gives them “her penny” but makes it clear that she realizes money is not what they really want:

‘Thank you,’ said Lizzie:

‘But one waits At home alone for me:

So without further parleying,

If you will not sell me any

Of your fruits though much and many,

Give me back my silver penny

I toss’d you for a fee’


Kathy Peiss, in her article “Going Public: Women in Nineteenth-Century Cultural History,” writes: “Before women’s entrance into the public became a social and political issue, women had long been involved in production, barter, and exchange” (Peiss). The lines quoted above display just how clearly Lizzie understands the goblin men’s system of production and selling. The focus on money can seem out of place at first, but the fact that Lizzie gets to keep her payment further reinforces the immense bond she shares with Laura. In the end, she is able to withstand their attacks because of her commitment to save her sister; and on her way back to Laura, the penny “Bouncing in her purse… was music to her ear” (Rossetti). Clearly, it is not the money that brings her joy; rather, her joy comes from the fact that her intelligence and knowledge of the bartering system allowed her to bring her sister back to health.

After Lizzie defeats the goblin men and hurries home to her sister, there is a scene of undeniable homoerotic imagery. Lizzie first invites her sister’s kisses, and Laura returns to life after kissing the remnants of fruit from Lizzie’s body. The words “kiss” and “kiss’d” occur seven times in the following lines:

She cried, ‘Laura,’ up the garden,

‘Did you miss me?

Come and kiss me.

Never mind my bruises,

Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices

Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,

Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

Eat me, drink me, love me;

Laura, make much of me;

For your sake I have braved the glen

And had to do with goblin merchant men.’


Laura started from her chair,

Flung her arms up in the air,

Clutch’d her hair:

‘Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted

For my sake the fruit forbidden?

Must your light like mine be hidden,

Your young life like mine be wasted,

Undone in mine undoing,

And ruin’d in my ruin,

Thirsty, canker’d, goblin-ridden?’—

She clung about her sister,

Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her:

Tears once again

Refresh’d her shrunken eyes,

Dropping like rain

After long sultry drouth;

Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth.


Laura’s initial concern and fear is for her sister when she assumes that Lizzie has also eaten the goblin men’s fruit. It seems unclear whether she kisses Lizzie more out of desire for her or for the fruit that she craves. Either way, this interaction between them displays a level of emotional and even sexual intimacy that is uniquely female and integral to Laura’s eventual revival.

It would seem remiss to ignore Rossetti’s own opinion of her poem in light of her relationship with her own sister. She “claimed that the poem was only a fairy story, utterly without ‘any profound or ulterior meaning” (Arseneau 105). It is fascinating to see just how many different interpretations exist for “Goblin Market” when Rossetti herself said it was merely an entertaining story meant for children. One can hardly keep from wondering whether or not this was truly what she intended. With a poem so ripe with potential analyses, surely she knew her audience would interpret the poem as more than “only a fairy story.” Richard Menke writes in his essay that:

Goblin Market is indeed a parable without the necessary allegorical parallel to its deceptively simple story, insistently material but illimitably metaphorical: thus the endless interpretations of its plot, its eroticism, its goblin men, its fruit; and thus Christina Rossetti’s ability to dismiss it, with some plausibility, as only a fairy story.


It is this lack of built-in explanation that leaves so much room for multiple readings and such complex characters in Lizzie and Laura.

Both sisters suffer as a result of Laura’s decision. The two of them have shared everything until this moment, and now they cannot understand each other. This separation is of course reciprocal. Take a moment to muse about what a different piece of literature this poem would be if both sisters had eaten what the goblin men offer. If Lizzie, seeing her sister’s initial delight, had also eaten the fruit, what would the ending be? Would both sisters waste away just as Jeanie had before them? Or, if Lizzie wasn’t the stronger sister who sacrificially saved Laura, would the two sisters have still shared a sense of community by literally sharing the same suffering? We can’t know the answers to these questions, but Rossetti had a purpose for writing it the way she did.

One potential aspect of this purpose is the fact that Lizzie’s sacrificial love is much more indicative of women’s communal relationships. The story also reads as a reversal of the Garden of Eden story. Instead of the woman causing the man to fall, the men are the ones who beckon with forbidden fruits that promise death to those who eat them. In their mutual love for each other, Laura and Lizzie in “Goblin Market” have a commitment that lasts through this temptation, sickness, and even marriage to the shadowy unknown men. Rossetti’s closing lines in “Goblin Market” speak eloquently to the profound importance of sisterhood and communities of women:

‘For there is no friend like a sister

In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way,

To fetch one if one goes astray,

To lift one if one totters down,

To strengthen whilst one stands’



(Part five, CONCLUSION , will be published next week)


About the author
Meagan Hanley lives in Illinois, U.S.A., just east of St. Louis, Missouri, with her new husband and an ever-growing book collection. She has loved all things Jane Austen since she first came across Pride and Prejudice at 14 years old, and her friends and family have learned to live with her obsession. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature from Greenville University and an M.A. in Literature from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. Meagan works as an office manager, and when she’s not reading, she can be found enjoying the outdoors with friends and cycling with her husband. She also blogs about life and literature at
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Women’s Circles Broken – Part Two

Women's Circles Broken

Women’s Circles Broken: The Disruption of Sisterhood in Three Nineteenth-Century Works

The author of the following work, Meagan Hanley, wrote this multi-part post as her graduate thesis. Her focus was works of literature by female authors, one of whom was Jane Austen. We thought that the entire essay was wonderful, and so, with her permission, we wanted to share it with you.
(This is part two of the essay. Part one can be found here.)



Pride and Prejudice is the oldest text under discussion and is a good fit for the first chapter in other ways as well. Its author was devoted to her older sister Cassandra; the two of them were inseparable for all of Jane’s life. After Cassandra’s fiancé died during a shipping voyage, she was devastated and remained unmarried for the rest of her life. Jane, as far as we know, was engaged for one night but broke it off the next morning and never married. In her article, “Jane Austen’s ‘Schemes of Sisterly Happiness’,” Leila S. May writes: “As countless critics and biographers have noted, Austen’s relation to Cassandra was characterized as a ‘marriage,’ a bond so profound that it provided the kind of emotional force and fulfillment which a conventional marriage could only hope to approximate” (May).

The two sisters kept an extensive correspondence during the times when they were visiting various family members and friends. Through these letters, readers get a better glimpse of Jane’s personality and the bond she and her sister shared in the lightheartedness seen in letters such as this one she wrote in 1796: “My dearest Cassandra, The letter which I have this moment received from you has diverted me beyond moderation. I could die of laughter at it, as they used to say at school. You are indeed the finest comic writer of the present age” (Chapman). In other letters, it is clear that Jane was an even wittier and more astute social critic than she allowed herself to be when she wrote her novels. Sadly, Cassandra destroyed many of the letters after Jane’s death, but the remaining letters still fill a voluminous collection published by Oxford University Press. It is through these missives that we see the woman behind the famous author and the real relationship between the two sisters—a relationship that was most likely the basis for Jane and Elizabeth Bennet’s relationship in Pride and Prejudice.

Many Austen biographers attempt to focus on the small details in Austen’s life that could have been the basis for her novels—engagements, heartbreak, languishing for lost love—when most likely it was her relationship with Cassandra that both inspired her and made her writing possible. If Austen had been married, it is fairly certain she would not have written her novels, or at least not had them published. It was not for lack of trying on their parents’ part that both sisters never married, but when Cassandra’s fiancé died and Jane refused her final marriage proposal, even their mother said that “’Jane and Cassandra were wedded to each other’…The combined state of singlehood and sisterhood clearly provided the material situation that made Jane Austen’s literary career possible” (McNaron 59). Because she remained unmarried and lived with her mother and sister, her writing provided a source of income, and Cassandra was a constant sounding board for her ideas. Sisters were integral to both Austen’s reality and to those she created in her fictional worlds of women.

Austen’s focus on sisters and circles of women is not a new revelation in literary studies. Anyone who has read at least one of her novels will notice the emphasis on sisterly bonds, displayed most clearly in Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, where two sisters in each novel share an especially close connection. When reading criticism about Austen’s sisterhoods, one begins to see a spectrum emerge. On one hand is the belief that Austen revered the sacred bond of sisters and believed that all women were connected, as seen in Michael Cohen’s work:

Austen goes far beyond the novels of education to see what a sister who was not a foil or a rival might actually be like to live with, and by extending sisterhoods she makes visible and believable the almost infinitely drawn out, changeable, but no less real relation that exists among all the women in a given society…Pride and Prejudice insists that all its women are sisters. (Cohen)

Other critics disagree with the idea that sisterhood is a beneficial and enviable thing in the novel; rather, that with the exception of Jane and Elizabeth, “it could almost be said that in this novel—to misquote Sartre—‘l’enfer, c’est les soeurs’” [hell is sisters] (May). Still others write that there exists a deeper connection among women—specifically sisters—that Austen draws to the foreground:

Although Jane Austen’s novels invariably portray male-oriented relationships since they are about forms of courtship and marriage, she also explores the importance of the heroine’s bond with her sister – a bond that frequently plays a highly conducive role in the development of her identity. Often, the heroines who experience profound sororal connections are indebted to their sisters for moral, social, and emotional education. (Dobosiewics)

It is most helpful to uncover a balance between the extremes of scholarly thought. Relationships among sisters can be as varied as the women’s personalities, as anyone who has a sister will have proof enough to agree. Neither of these opinions is wrong; however, it is important to realize that the same sister can be “hell” one moment and savior the next.

Jane and Elizabeth are the closest sisters in the story. The two of them are incredibly open and tell each other nearly everything. Their relationship also displays the ways in which women must communicate differently. At the beginning of the novel, the two sisters wait to tell each other their true feelings: “When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him” (Austen). In public, the women are wary and reserved in their opinions, but later when they are alone together, they can be open and honest in their safe and private environment. Much later in the novel, we see an example of the two of them communicating even without words— “Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other”— and a decision is made (Austen). This type of intimacy and internal communion is not typical, but for these two sisters, it becomes a lifeline.

Where Elizabeth and Jane share everything with each other, the two of them often keep things from their other sisters. Not all sisters are close, but all women are brought together through their common experiences and struggles—especially when it comes to maintaining an identity and community apart from the ones expected by the men in their lives. In Pride and Prejudice, multiple communities of women intersect. One is the central family unit comprised of the five Bennet sisters—Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. However, even in this literal “sisterhood,” there are levels of closeness among the sisters. Jane and Elizabeth as the two eldest sisters share the closest bond and seemingly sanest minds of the women in their family.

From this closest bond branches off the girls’ mother and three other sisters. Interestingly, the Bennet girls’ mother is not fully included in the family community partially because she constantly strives to control her daughters’ lives by marrying them off to rich men. She hovers on the sidelines believing she is in control, constantly embarrassing her eldest daughters. The youngest daughters Kitty and Lydia are connected through their mutual absurdity, while Mary as the middle child stands aloof with her off- putting and heightened sense of superiority and piety. Interestingly, Mary is the only Bennet sister without a strong personality; she merely drifts silently throughout the novel and pipes up every so often when she is not wanted. The refusal of shared community with her sisters leaves her character alienated and flat. In contrast, Charlotte Lucas begins the novel as a stronger participant as Elizabeth’s closest friend, but her sudden marriage of convenience to a man she doesn’t love causes a permanent rift between herself and Elizabeth. At age twenty-seven, Charlotte already feels the effects of looming spinsterhood and takes the practical action of marrying to guarantee future security, although by doing so, she disconnects herself from her community of women. Kitty and Lydia’s communication is far different from Jane and Elizabeth’s since they connect on a much shallower level. The two youngest girls are only fifteen and sixteen years old and described as “silly,” whereas Jane and Elizabeth are described as the only seemingly well-bred people in their family. Mary is an enigma who keeps to herself and is mostly disconnected from both her family and broader social circles.

Talulah Riley as Mary Bennet, 2005.

Readers never get to actually see the Bennet sisters before men enter the scene. We join their story with the arrival of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy in town—two of the most eligible bachelors. It is as if we the readers are part of the men’s entrance and are immediately caught up in Mrs. Bennet’s husband-hunting mood. However, the women still exist in a fairly close sphere throughout the novel even as several of the sisters move toward marriage. During several moments in the novel, certain events cause ripples in the sisters’ relationships with each other. Elizabeth especially seems to struggle to keep things the same even as she realizes changes are imminent. One example early in the novel involves the girls’ mother. As part of her matchmaking efforts, Mrs. Bennet convinces Jane to ride on horseback to Mr. Bingley’s home during a rainstorm, effectively forcing her out of the circle of women. Elizabeth is annoyed by her mother’s insistence, and after receiving Jane’s note describing her illness resulting from being drenched,

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.

‘How can you be so silly,’ cried her mother, ‘as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.’
‘I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want.’ (Austen)

Being kept away from her sister at this time would have been devastating for Elizabeth, and she refuses to stay home. She has no thought for the men she will invariably see at Netherfield; her only concern is for her sister. Here it becomes clear that Elizabeth is fighting to retain her close connection with Jane even as she sees her mother—under the guise of securing Mr. Bingley—pulling her away.

Perhaps the most obvious instance of male disruption in the novel is Mr. Collins’s visit. Since there are no Bennet sons, Longbourn estate is entailed, and the daughters have no claim to it. The girls’ mother either would not or could not understand the situation, and Austen writes that:

Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about. (Austen)

Such is the first introduction to the famously ridiculous Mr. Collins, distant cousin and hopefully soon-to-be-husband to one of the Bennet sisters, who enters the scene with false modesty and the bestowal of unwanted attentions. Since it is his marriage to one of her daughters that will secure Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet changes her attention to one of her favorite pastimes: match-making. Mr. Collins is at first attracted to Jane since she is the oldest—and we are told prettiest—of the five daughters. However, Mrs. Bennet soon cures him of his attachment by strongly hinting at Jane’s expected engagement:

‘As to her younger daughters, she could not take upon her to say—she could not positively answer—but she did not know of any prepossession; her eldest daughter, she must just mention—she felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged’

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth—and it was soon done—done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course. (Austen)

It is here that Austen so clearly displays the ridiculousness of many marriages. Mr. Collins, though himself a caricature, demonstrates the lack of concern that many men had for the women they were marrying; as soon as one became unavailable, the next pretty face would do just as well.

It goes without saying that this jumping from one sister to another would influence the relationships among the sisters themselves. Mr. Collins is introduced through his letter, which causes Mr. Bennet to describe in brutal terms the reality of the sisters’ positions as women: “’It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases’” (Austen). The promise of keeping their home and retaining financial security is possible for all of the Bennet women if one of the sisters marries the odious man, and he is all too aware of this fact. Leveraging his position, Mr. Collins proposes next to Elizabeth, who of course turns him down. And here begins a central disruption to our women’s community.

We have not yet seen the last of Mr. Collins. Actually, he is the cause of the biggest change to Elizabeth’s circle of trusted friends. Early on in the novel, we realize that Charlotte and Elizabeth are extremely close friends and confidantes. It is safe to assume that if Elizabeth ever felt that she could not discuss something with Jane, she would instead discuss it with Charlotte, who in many ways, is like a second older sister. Charlotte’s personality fills the places for Elizabeth that are lacking in Jane’s friendship;

Charlotte sees things as they really are, whereas Jane always tries to see the best in everyone. For one critic, Breanna Neubauer, “Elizabeth and Charlotte’s best and most satisfying relationship, then, is with each other, if for no other reason than because, even more than to her beloved sister Jane, Elizabeth relates to Charlotte on a more sensible, intelligent level”. This fact helps to explain Elizabeth’s complete shock when she learns of Charlotte’s engagement to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth is dumbfounded:

‘Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—impossible!’…
‘I see what you are feeling,’ replied Charlotte. ‘You must be surprised, very much surprised—so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done.” (Austen)

One can imagine Elizabeth’s dazed expression of disbelief as Charlotte continues her strange explanation, pointedly referring to Elizabeth’s own option to be selective in her choice of husband. Charlotte does not have that luxury.

I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.’

Elizabeth quietly answered ‘Undoubtedly;’ and after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match…She had always felt that Charlotte’s opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she had not supposed it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins was a most humiliating picture! And to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. (Austen)

Charlotte’s marriage to Mr. Collins shatters her relationship with Elizabeth; in marrying Mr. Collins, she loses Elizabeth’s respect, and she is also forced to move away from home. It is worthwhile to point out Charlotte’s reasons for marriage: “I am not romantic, you know; I never was.” Her low opinion of even the possibility of happiness in marriage is evident; she simply realizes that she must marry to survive.

Yet another instance of male interference in women’s circles is clearly displayed in the dishonesty and manipulation of Mr. Wickham. Not only does he succeed in convincing Elizabeth to believe his lies and nearly persuade herself to care for him, but he eventually elopes with Lydia, causing massive humiliation for the entire Bennet family. When Mr. Darcy tells her of Mr. Wickham’s true character, Elizabeth decides not to share the knowledge with her sisters. After Elizabeth hears the news of Lydia’s elopement with Wickham, she immediately regrets keeping the secret from her sisters:

‘When I consider,’ she added in a yet more agitated voice, ‘that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all—all too late now.’ (Austen 345)

Not only has Wickham literally torn apart the Bennet’s circle of women by eloping with Lydia, but he has also caused Elizabeth to willfully keep information from her other sisters. It is worth noting that Elizabeth is more upset at her own willful omission of the truth of Wickham’s character than she is at the initial news of her sister’s elopement. She is extremely upset that Lydia has potentially ruined her own reputation—and by extension the reputations of all her sisters. Through the entrance of Wickham and his influence over Lydia and Elizabeth, the connections among sisters are broken.

For Austen, a good woman is invariably a good sister, and a woman’s moral and emotional shortcomings are frequently signaled by her lack of sisterly concern…. Austen proposes that female-oriented relationships shape the heroine’s identity and are indicative of her moral and emotional worth. (Dobosiewics)

Yes, Lydia physically and quite literally broke the bonds of sisterhood, but Elizabeth betrayed something even more important to the community of women—her sense of integrity in the way she communicates with her sisters.

Women in Pride and Prejudice communicate with each other differently than they communicate with others outside their circles. In Austen’s time,

Women were taught to view themselves as subordinate to, dependent upon, and at the service of men in their lives. One might speculate that the devaluation of sisterhood in patriarchy is caused by the fact that, to perpetuate male dominance, patriarchal ideology validates only male- oriented relationships. Not surprisingly, then, sororal ties have become marginalized, and consequently, unexamined, or misrepresented. (Dobosiewicz)

Within scholarship considering women’s communication styles, we see several patterns emerge. As mentioned above, there is a high importance placed on integrity and honesty in women’s relationships with each other. Especially in Austen’s novels, the good relationships among women are grounded on mutual openness and encouragement. These relationships also focus on detailed story-telling and writing. Women shared important news with each other and embraced letters as a valuable form of communication when they were forced to be apart from other women, especially during the nineteenth century. Letter-writing plays a definite role in Pride and Prejudice as letters convey the most important plot points throughout the novel. Elizabeth and Charlotte correspond almost exclusively through letters after Charlotte’s marriage, and Elizabeth finds out about her sister Lydia’s elopement and the subsequent actions taken by her family through letters.

There are, however, also examples in the novel of women’s letters being quite the opposite of encouraging and honest. Mr. Bingley’s sister Caroline writes a letter to Jane in which she lies about his reasons for leaving town. Elizabeth immediately suspects Caroline of convincing her brother to leave, but the wording of her letter attempts to disguise the fact with false disappointment and the socially accepted request of further correspondence between herself and Jane:

‘I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.’ To these highflown expressions Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of distrust. (Austen)

Even as she writes a letter full of lies, Caroline Bingley asks for Jane’s continued “friendship” in the form of letters. Although she has broken the integrity of real friendship, she still asks Jane to continue this obvious surface appearance of it.

Elizabeth’s strongest prejudice against Mr. Darcy does not stem mainly from her dislike of his wealth, status, or prideful attitude. Rather, she is infuriated by the fact that he separated Mr. Bingley from Jane. By destroying Jane’s chance at love and happiness, Mr. Darcy deeply hurts Elizabeth by extension. When Mr. Darcy first proposes to Elizabeth, her main reason for refusing him is this interference in her sister’s relationship with Mr. Bingley. In a fit of frustrated anger, Elizabeth asks him: “do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?” (Austen). Even if Elizabeth had wanted to accept Mr. Darcy’s first proposal, it can be assumed that she would have refused on principle because he had hurt her sister. The bond between them was stronger than anything she would gain through marriage.

If we view the women’s community in this novel as utopia, then it is one that the men in some ways want to enter. Mr. Darcy in particular goes through several phases of his relationship with Elizabeth— pride, prejudice, denial, love, and eventually remorse. Strangely enough, when he does explain himself to Elizabeth, it is through a letter. He spends an entire night composing a lengthy letter that succeeds in convincing Elizabeth of his integrity and moral character. In order for Mr. Darcy to gain limited entrance into this “utopia,” he uses a woman’s form of communication—the emotional and detailed letter which takes up nearly an entire chapter. He writes the letter because he sees it as his only chance to redeem himself in Elizabeth’s eyes. He tells her the full story behind his actions and also the truth of Wickham’s conduct in passionate and personal words that Elizabeth accepts far more readily than his initial angry explanation. It is through this letter that Elizabeth begins to change her thinking toward Mr. Darcy: “Mr. Darcy’s letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence; and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different” (Austen). By displaying his honesty and vulnerability in a letter—while simultaneously defending his honor—, Mr. Darcy allows Elizabeth the time and consideration to rethink her feelings toward him. She trusts him more through the letter than she ever did when speaking directly to him.

However, Mr. Darcy does not fully want to be invited into the womanly “utopia” any more than Elizabeth wants to allow him in. In fact, it is impossible for him to enter her community even if he curiously or half-heartedly seeks entrance; his very presence would transform the group whether he sought the change or not. It is far more plausible that Darcy would eagerly take Elizabeth out of her utopian women’s community if his first marriage proposal is any indication when he asks her: “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? –to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own” and later in his letter when he explains that “The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to the total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father” (Ch. 34). His focus on her “mother’s family” and the embarrassment caused by the other women in her family make it clear that he believes he is better for her. In a way, marriage to him would be rescuing her from the humiliation of her community of women. Darcy’s perceptions of women are immutable and severe; it takes him weeks to admit his love for Elizabeth because he believes she is too far beneath him to warrant serious attention.

Earlier in the novel, Elizabeth and Darcy take part in a conversation debating what a woman must achieve to be truly “accomplished.”

‘All this she must possess,’ added Darcy, ‘and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.’
‘I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.’

‘Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?’ ‘I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united.’ (Austen 58)

Here, Elizabeth is defending women although Mr. Darcy attempts to tell her that she is not giving women enough credit for their talents. She refuses to accept his definition of what makes a woman accomplished. Instead she points out to him the ridiculousness of that list. However, this list of accomplishments was originally brought up by none other than Caroline Bingley, who tells Mr. Darcy that:

No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved. (Austen)

This list is a veritable buffet of nineteenth-century stereotypes and expectations of women. Elizabeth knows that the list is superficial and that Caroline Bingley is simply trying to parade herself in front of Mr. Darcy and receive his approbation.

Miss Bingley is just one example of how Austen cleverly contrasts differences in how women—especially sisters—relate to one another. Mr. Bingley has another sister, a woman only ever called by her husband’s name—Mrs. Hurst. The Bingley sisters are only described as “fine women, with an air of decided fashion” (Austen). These external characteristics are all we need to know about these two women who are only focused on the external and have no real depth of character. It is safe to assume that the only true connection these two sisters have with each other is the combined ability to convince their brother to act according to their will. When Darcy mentions that Jane is pretty, but smiles too much, Austen gives us the following information about the two Bingley sisters:

Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so—but still they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized by such commendation to think of her as he chose. (Austen)

Initially, Mr. Bingley is convinced to care for Jane because of encouragement from his sisters; however, he is just as easily swayed by their opinions when they (along with Mr. Darcy) convince him that she doesn’t care for him. It is not unbelievable to view Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst as a sister set of foils to Jane and Elizabeth. They are an example of sisterhood gone awry and potential community wasted.

In Austen’s first two novels especially, she “creates a pair of devoted sisters who are superior to the other members of their family and complementary in temperament. The love quests of the sisters intertwine, and the resolutions to both stories ensure the happiness not only of marriage but of sisterhood” (McNaron 56). If we do not quite believe that the heroine’s marriages ensure true happiness, then at least we can see that they do promise that the sisters will not be completely separated. Austen promises at the end of Pride and Prejudice that “[Mr. Bingley] bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other” (Austen). The sisters’ continuing closeness is now brought to literal distance—thirty miles—so that even after marriage, their sisterhood is not destroyed. Unfortunately, Austen ends the novel before readers can see what Jane and Elizabeth’s relationship was like after their marriages, but we can quite accurately guess that though it was changed, they were still able to spend many happy hours at each other’s homes. This is quite preferable to what often happened after marriages when sisters were separated by hundreds of miles, which at the time meant that they may never see each other again.

Jane and Elizabeth’s strong relationship holds steady during and after their separation. Happily, the two of them are able to marry for love, which at the time was a luxury, as Charlotte points out to her “romantic” friend. Perhaps their story represents an alternative ending that Austen imagined for herself and Cassandra had life been different for them. One thing we can know for sure, Austen believed that the bond between sisters is sacred and more enduring than marriage.

The theme of strength found through sisterhood is common in all three works discussed here—Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, and “Goblin Market.” The central characters are quite literally sisters within the same families; the Bennet sisters, March sisters, Lizzie and Laura all share this bond. One of the most striking characteristics across the three works is that of the biographical similarities among the authors and their real-life sisters. As mentioned previously, Jane and Cassandra Austen were inseparable for all of Jane’s life. It is to Cassandra that we owe any knowledge of her sister, and the small amount we do have is what she considered of too little importance to gain any notice. However, the strong sisterly bond did not only influence Austen. Alcott based her novel on the childhood experiences she shared with her own three sisters, and Rossetti’s somewhat complicated relationship with her older sister influenced nearly everything she ever wrote, specifically her sister poems.

(Part Three, Little Women’s Utopian Community, will be published next week)


About the author
Meagan Hanley lives in Illinois, U.S.A., just east of St. Louis, Missouri, with her new husband and an ever-growing book collection. She has loved all things Jane Austen since she first came across Pride and Prejudice at 14 years old, and her friends and family have learned to live with her obsession. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature from Greenville University and an M.A. in Literature from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. Meagan works as an office manager, and when she’s not reading, she can be found enjoying the outdoors with friends and cycling with her husband. She also blogs about life and literature at
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Women’s Circles Broken – Part One

Broken Circles - Jane Austen and Cassandra Austen

Women’s Circles Broken: The Disruption of Sisterhood in Three Nineteenth-Century Works

The author of the following work, Meagan Hanley, wrote this multi-part post as her graduate thesis. Her focus was works of literature by female authors, one of whom was Jane Austen. We thought that the entire essay was wonderful, and so, with her permission, we wanted to share it with you.



“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” (Austen).

If rich men must go wife-hunting, then the women presumably are lucky to get them, spending their time scrambling and fighting to beat out the competition and become the chosen wife. However, Jane Austen and other nineteen-century women authors such as Louisa May Alcott and Christina Rossetti saw the truth played out in the society around them. Of course, on the surface, the frantic search for wealthy husbands was reality; women were trained to become wives. Since women had such limited opportunities available to them, marriage was the most viable option for survival. An interesting connection found, though, among the literature written by women at the time is the way in which women thrive together in communities with each other—up until the men enter the scene. Many women are extremely unhappy after marriage and mourn the loss of community they had shared with their sisters. Once the men, or more commonly, one man who is also the future husband, disrupt these women-centered communities, the close bond among women is severed.

Christina Rossetti
Louisa May Alcott
Jane Austen








Three works of literature sharing this similarity are Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market,” and Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813, early in the nineteenth century, when many people had yet to question the societal relegation of the “woman’s place” to the home. By the mid-nineteenth century, however, when Rossetti published “Goblin Market” in 1862 and Alcott published Little Women in 1868, there was already an early push for women’s suffrage in both the United States and England. These three authors realized that women should have more options than marriage—although even they could not quite visualize what these options could be.

What they longed for was a way for women to retain sisterhood after marriage instead of leaving it behind completely and to be allowed a place in the public sphere. They could see this better option, a supportive sisterhood—safe, loving, and uninterrupted. How and why did women thrive together in these three fictional nineteenth-century communities? How did they communicate? In what spaces did these communities exist? In what ways did men disrupt these communities, and was it possible for women to regain a similar level of closeness with each other after the disruption of men (i.e. marriage)? Some answers to these questions will become clear as this thesis looks at the various viewpoints and treatments each author brought to women’s communities, their importance, formation, and men’s intrusions upon them.

Charlotte Lucas and Elizabeth Bennet

In each of the works discussed, one female character is affected most particularly by the male disruption. For Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, one of the most obvious instances of male intrusion occurs when Mr. Collins takes her dear friend Charlotte away from her. The loss of their friendship and intimacy deeply affects Elizabeth. Jo March in Little Women quite nearly despises the man who marries her older sister Meg and removes her from the cherished community of sisters, and after Laura eats the fruit offered to her in the poem “Goblin Market,” she drifts away from her sister Lizzie and moves swiftly toward death. Consequently, Lizzie is also deeply affected when she must discover a way to save her sister’s life. All of these characters navigate a world that shifts drastically with the entrance of men—and in the case of both novels, the changes brought by marriage.

The two novels use realism to illustrate aspects of female utopian spaces, relationships, and struggles, while by the end of the poem, Lizzie and Laura exist in a true female utopia—a world devoid of men and devoted to sisterhood. Coming hand-in- hand with the nearly inevitable event of marriage in women’s lives was the fact that they would be forced to leave these female utopias for the worlds mostly inhabited and controlled by men. In these writings by nineteenth-century women, women consistently pursue a space free from the overwhelming presence and power of men. Because of the transplants caused by marriage, these women constantly seek communities of women, new utopias and places of refuge with their own ways of communicating with each other that are often vastly different from dominant male forms of communication.

These women’s communities have been viewed as utopian alternatives to the patriarchal societies around them. The word “utopia” was created in 1516 when Sir Thomas More wrote the novel of the same name. He took it from the Greek word ou- topos for “nowhere” or “no place,” but the extremely similar eu-topos also means a good place. It is within this in-between area where women exist in these works of literature— the space between nowhere and a good place. The word “utopia” commonly connotes perfection and unity, but these women’s utopias do not quite fit this definition. The utopias they create are not recognized by the patriarchal society, and because of this, the women’s utopias are much closer to More’s original definition of “nowhere.” Where men often gather in large, boisterous groups, women gather in small, private spaces. From the parlor to written letters, the places and ways in which women communicate differ drastically from those of men.

In a search for a space away from men’s authority, women create their own. Many of these spaces are unique from their male-dominated counterparts. For example, the women in these works claim letter-writing as a space distinctively theirs. While not usually viewed as a literal “space,” letters create a location wherein women share their true, hidden thoughts and feelings with each other, free from the prying eyes of their husbands. Letters act as a private space for sharing intimate details about life, love, frustration, and loneliness—but also a space for sharing joyful news and encouragement. Writing and story-telling feature heavily in relationships among women—not only through their letters but through journals and stories repeated around the fireplace, in the drawing room, the kitchen, and other places women make their own.

In Space, Place, and Gender, Doreen Massey discusses the important roles that literal and metaphorical spaces and places play in women’s lives—specifically in the nineteenth century. Massey argues that critics should think “of social space in terms of the articulation of social relations which necessarily have a spatial form in their interactions with one another” (Massey). A few lines later, she elaborates:

Thinking of places in this way implies that they are not so much bounded areas as open and porous networks of social relations . . . It reinforces the idea, moreover, that those identities will be multiple (since the various social groups in a place will be differently located in relation to the overall complexity of social relations and since their reading of those relations and what they make of them will also be distinct). And this in turn implies that which is to be the dominant image of any place will be a matter of contestation and will change over time.

Women construct their identities within literal and metaphorical spaces in these three works—most commonly the home or “private sphere.” However, as Massey explains, the women themselves also have varying definitions of identity as it compares to specific places. Women do not define their identities based solely on the spaces they inhabit; rather, the ways in which they choose to use certain spaces confer identity on the spaces themselves. In this mutual transferal of identity, almost any space available to women can be transformed into a female utopia, giving women a type of power all their own.

The March sisters in the BBC Little Women adaptation

Massey also writes that “it is necessary to understand … gender relations as significant in the structuring of space and place, spaces and places” (Massey). By focusing on how women affect the spaces they inhabit, it becomes clear that they construct them differently from male spaces and specifically for themselves. For Massey, “It means that spatiality cannot be analysed through the medium of a male body and heterosexual male experience, but without recognizing these as important and highly specific characteristics, and then generalized to people at large” (Massey). Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, and “Goblin Market” were all born out of strict patriarchal societies, but the characters within them seek and discover ways of defining spaces and meaning without men. Further discussion of specific characters’ definitions of space and identity will be found in each chapter.

When reading and writing about relationships among women, it can be easy to come to the incomplete assumption that all women seek to be united together on common ground; and while that is true in one sense, there are multiple dimensions to women’s connections. Women in the nineteenth century were most often drawn together in their struggle for a place to call their own where their voices could be heard, but their methods of creating spaces were as diverse as their personalities.

One critic, Helena Michie, coined her own term for describing one aspect of communication among women. In her book, Sororophobia Differences Among Women in Literature and Culture, she makes continual use of the title word “sororophobia,” which “attempts to describe the negotiation of sameness and difference, identity and separation, between women of the same generation, and is meant to encompass both the desire for and the recoil from identification with other women” (Michie). It is this simultaneous longing and withdrawal from sameness that gives rise to many elements of women’s communication. In the three works discussed here, it becomes clear that women are different even within the same families, and it is often these dialogues among sisters and friends that drive the plots nearly as much as the impending marriages and disruptions by men.

Patricia Meyer Spacks writes in The Female Imagination that “Pride and Prejudice centers on marriage. In the society it depicts, marriage measures a woman’s success; mothers value themselves for marrying off their daughters; girls value themselves and are valued for their ability to attract and hold eligible men” (Spacks). In “Goblin Market,” there is a definite underlying theme of the girls preparing themselves for marriage. With so much emphasis placed on becoming “marriageable,” it is no wonder that it factors into the women’s communities. However, as we will see, marriage was not the sole focus of women’s lives. Even in the phase of “waiting” for men to arrive, the women—and especially sisters—in these works of literature create alternate, often utopian spaces for themselves. Each work discussed here displays varying differences in women’s communication, their level of closeness before and after marriage, the places they could call their own, and the ways in which they viewed impending marriages and probable separation from each other.

It has been argued that the communities of women in both novels are brought more closely together through difficulties that arise from the “lack” of men in their lives. Nina Auerbach writes in Communities of Women that “throughout Austen’s completed novels, women lead a purgatorial existence together … their lives are presented through an avoidance of detailed presentation as unshaped, unreal, a limbo” until men enter the scene (Auerbach). This statement simplifies the complexities that women’s communities can achieve. While it is true to some extent that the women in these stories exist in a culture of waiting and training until marriage becomes a possibility—until marriage ends the communities they have built together, their communities are not “purgatorial” as Auerbach claims. Rather, these communities are fragile and always at risk of disruption or dissolution caused by marriage. The clearest example of this can be found in the Bennet sisters, who exist in a close family unit until the marriageable men arrive in town.

Pride and Prejudice specifically has been labeled a marriage novel. At first glance, the entire plot is moved forward by impending marriages. The first sentence itself seems to focus readers on the fact that all rich single men are searching for wives, but there is much more going on under the surface. Austen’s language here can also be read with sarcasm; rich men do not actually need wives because they are rich men, but their culture demands marriage. However, even though the plot does lead to marriages, the bulk of the novel is centered on women’s communities. Readers see the social aspects of balls and dinners and whispered conversations among women, but we also see Elizabeth Bennett strategically avoiding a marriage with Mr. Collins. For her, marriage is more than simply security, and she refuses to settle for a life with a man who would make her miserable.

Cassandra Austen and Jane Austen in Becoming Jane
Cassandra Austen and Jane Austen in Becoming Jane

Austen, Alcott, and Rossetti each had significant relationships with their sisters in one way or another. Most famously, Alcott’s novel is based on her childhood with her sisters, and Austen’s close relationship with her sister Cassandra has also been widely speculated upon and discussed. Rossetti’s tumultuous relationship with her sister is not as well known but influential all the same. For better or for worse, these sisterly relationships had a lasting impact on what and how these three authors wrote. Another significant similarity shared among the three authors is that they all chose to remain single. In a time when nearly all women married out of necessity, the fact that these three were unmarried is meaningful. It has become increasingly common to avoid authorial biography when writing about literature, but the strong parallels in this case create a space for inclusion and justification of biographical details. While biographical analysis will not feature heavily in this paper, each author had strong bonds with at least one sister and remained unmarried—common life experiences that are too important to omit.

All three authors knew one thing in particular that appears often in their writing: women create communities when they are together. They can transform unlikely spaces into female communities to strengthen and support each other. In these works of literature, the heroines struggle with the disruption and subsequent loss of these support systems most often through men and marriage. The characters we will discuss and befriend in these pages do not hate men, but they love their sisters more. The communities they create are not in opposition to male communities, but they are essential for women to function and thrive. for It is their resilient spirits that draw readers back to Elizabeth Bennet and Jo March centuries later. Lizzie’s devotion to Laura in her defeat of the goblin men is magnetic—it pulls us into the poem and challenges us to see beyond the words on the page. Nineteenth-century women’s communities are ephemeral, but even their weaknesses produce strength among women, binding them tightly together until the disruption of marriage and oftentimes continuing after marriage. These communities are spaces where women define and claim identities, challenge, and support each other. When women are forbidden to enter the public sphere, they create better spaces for themselves which are not defined by men—spaces that allow perseverance and rebuild community. For a first look at this type of strength found in women’s communities, we turn to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

(Part Two, Pride and Prejudice: The Men Enter The Scene, will be published next week)


About the author
Meagan Hanley lives in Illinois, U.S.A., just east of St. Louis, Missouri, with her new husband and an ever-growing book collection. She has loved all things Jane Austen since she first came across Pride and Prejudice at 14 years old, and her friends and family have learned to live with her obsession. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Language and Literature from Greenville University and an M.A. in Literature from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. Meagan works as an office manager, and when she’s not reading, she can be found enjoying the outdoors with friends and cycling with her husband. She also blogs about life and literature at