
Supplemental Essay: "Gender Personas" in
Chapter 22 of Sexual Personae
List of "Gender Personas" Appearing in Chapter 22
See my main essay on Camille Paglia's Sexual Personae for an explanation of the presentation of the following material. Page numbers reflect the paperback edition of Sexual Personae.[1]
Link to main essay: Notes on Sexual Personae
Male
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ExDion: (none)
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Dion: (none)
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Andr: Edgar Allen Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Thomas Mann
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Apol: (none)
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ExApol: (none)
Female
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ExDion: (none)
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Dion: (none)
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Andr: (none)
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Apol: (none)
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Apol: (none)
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ExApol: (none)
Notes
Defining American decadence
Prior to 1750 American culture was dominated by patriarchal Puritanism, which excluded the Dionysian influence. Paglia says, "America’s sex problem began with the banishment of the maternal principle from Protestant cosmology." (p. 572) Early American culture was all about Apollonianism in the form of Enlightenment intellectuality, science worship, patriarchy, and repression of the chaotic Dionysian/feminine side of culture.
However, in the late 1700s Rousseau and French Romanticism brought back the Dionysian feminine principle in the form of nature-worship, rejection of hierarchy and structure, and passivity of the male. In America, Wordsworth and Coleridge embodied that trend: Wordsworth developed the "sentimental" variant of American Romanticism, while Coleridge produced the "daemonic" variant. (See my notes for Chapters 11 and 12 for more on Wordsworth and Coleridge.)
Chapter 22 covers American authors writing in the mid-1800s and beyond: Primarily Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville. Paglia says that by this time Puritanism with its harsh Apollonian demands was worn out and "debilitated": She says, "Hawthorne shows patriarchal will waning in The House of the Seven Gables, with its decadent relics of shabby mansion and inherited curse." (p. 572) In the meantime, American literature had fallen under the influence of English Romanticism, which took the writers down the path of the "daemonic" variant of Romanticism developed 50 years earlier by Coleridge: Paglia says, "English Romanticism, a neo-pagan cult of the sexual archetypal, arrived as a second revolution, daemonizing American literature." (p. 573)
Paglia titled this chapter "American Decadents," but in the chapter itself she notes that the American authors covered in this chapter were actually examples of Decadent Late Romanticism rather than fully-mature Decadence. She says, "American Romanticism is really Decadent Late Romanticism, a style of sexual perversity, closure, and fragmentation or decay." (p. 572) Speaking of Poe, Paglia says, "Poe moves Romanticism into its Mannerist late phase." (572)
So technically it seems that these authors were Late Romantics, which puts them on the borderline between Romanticism and Decadence. But Paglia analyzes the American authors of Chapter 22 in terms of their increasingly Decadent features and mannerisms; and given that the title of the chapter is "American Decadents," I will follow in Paglia's footsteps and analyze the authors here according to the rules for Decadent androgynes (and classify them as such in the table at the top of these notes).
Recap: Dionysian-leaning androgynes versus Apollonian-leaning androgynes
In my notes for Chapter 20 I said that Decadent androgynes seem to fall into two camps: Dionysian-leaning androgynes versus Apollonian-leaning androgynes.
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Chapter 19 of Sexual Personae described Dionysian-leaning Decadent androgynes: Dionysian-leaning androgynes indulge their Dionysian side by seeking out commanding mother figures and becoming devoted to them. They normally repress their Apollonian side. When taken to the extreme, their Dionysian attraction to the maternal may turn into a masochistic worship of cruel, punishing mother figures in the form of female vampires.
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Chapters 20 and 21 of Sexual Personae describe Apollonian-leaning Decadent androgynes: Apollonian-leaning androgynes indulge their Apollonian side by practicing aggressive aestheticism and hierarchism. They normally repress their Dionysian side. When taken to the extreme, their Apollonian aestheticism and hierarchism may turn into hedonism, cruelty, chaos, and self-destruction.
The batch of authors described in Chapter 22 (Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville) generally fall into the Dionysian-leaning camp. In other words, Protestantism banned the maternal influence from American life, but the Romantic authors brought it back in the form of nature worship and punishing mother figures. These authors lean toward Decadence in portraying the maternal as increasingly vampiric.
Edgar Allen Poe
Women as vampires
Paglia says that Poe "introduces the numinous woman to America." (p. 573) As Poe describes them, women are tyrant mothers, vampires, and evil goddesses. Paglia says, "His major women, Berenice, Ligeia, and Morella, tall, beautiful, and strangely erudite, are all versions of Coleridge’s vampire Geraldine..." (p. 573) In the short story Ligeia, the narrator's second wife dies and his first wife "returns from the grave to invade the body of her successor." (p. 573) The same thing happens in the short story Morella, where a dead woman returns by possessing her own daughter. Paglia says "Ligeia is mother nature and archaic night, an eruption of the pagan chthonian. She defies God’s law of mortality because she, not he, is the resurrection and the life." (p. 574)
Women as entrapping wombs
In Poe's world, men are haunted by "Gothic entombments." (p. 572) Paglia says that these are symbolic of the entrapping female womb of the maternal vampire. In some cases female nature comes alive and swallows characters up; in others, the characters are trapped in rooms or enclosures. A few examples:
Nature swallows people up
--A Descent into the Maelström: The male character "is sucked into nature’s maw" and "Poe’s hero must ascend from the bowels of the earth-mother [...] Poe, like Sade, sets sex into the sinister continuum of savage nature." (pp. 575-576)
--The Fall of the House of Usher: The mansion is swallowed up by the adjacent lake, which Paglia describes as a "panorama of civilization overwhelmed by the chthonian. [...] The cracked house of Usher, an Apollonian head fractured by madness, surrenders to the Dionysian, the murky womb-world of the primeval abyss." (p. 576)
--The Narrative of A. Gordon Pym: Paglia says, "Pym meets the nature mother, into whom he is reabsorbed. [...] The white curtain over life’s mystery parts, and the frail soul-boat plunges into the birth canal." (p. 579)
Rooms or enclosures
--The Masque of the Red Death: Nature appears in the form of a plague decimating the population. Prince Prospero tries to shut out the plague by secluding himself and his friends in an abbey and holding a masked ball (a "masque") there; but the plague assumes human form, enters the abbey, chases Prospero through the various rooms of the abbey, and catches him in the last room. Paglia says, "This chamber, where prince and spectre meet, is the womb, light piercing the membrane in a ruddy stream. [...] The ebony clock of Poe’s seventh chamber is the ominous heartbeat of the maternal body." (pp. 576-577)
--The Pit and the Pendulum: Paglia says that the torture chamber where the narrator is trapped is "a body-warmed womb-world [...] The story takes us into 'the red walls' of the vagina dentata." (p. 577)
Paglia says that Poe is rejecting Puritanism and reviving the Dionysian Great Mother of the pre-Christian pagan world. The maternal influence is vampiric, which Poe describes in terms of anatomy: Maternal anatomy is punishing and fearsome because it is both the beginning and end of life. Poe's stories "fuse the traumas of birth and death." Paglia says, "Characters are buried alive in Poe because he sees nature as a hostile womb from which humanity can never be fully born. His master image is like the Mycenaean tholos, the subterranean beehive womb-tomb. His stories are Late Romantic tholoi fusing the traumas of birth and death. His world suffers an interminable, festering pregnancy. [...] Hence Poe’s suffocation and claustrophobia." (pp. 577-8)
Decadent closure and partition (Berenice)
Paglia says that Poe's fascination with "Gothic entombments" is a form of Decadent closure. She says, "Poe is obsessed with closure, from The Premature Burial to The Cask of Amontillado, with its murder by walling-up. In Maelström, Charybdis to The Pit’s Scylla, he even converts the flat sea into a vacuum-vortex of female internality. Poe’s closed spaces are always vaguely anatomical. They are literally living rooms." (p. 577) Paglia says that Decadent Late Romanticism is "a style of sexual perversity, closure, and fragmentation or decay." (p. 572)
Taking closure and partition separately:
Decadent closure: Decadent closure is a device to reduce the anxiety of the world and modern freedoms. Recapping the nature of Decadent androgynes and their need for Decadent closure:
In my notes for Chapter 9 I described the onset of Decadence as follows: In the past society was mostly hierarchical and Apollonian. But in modern times democratic reforms have resulted in greater freedom and a shift toward Dionysianism. As society becomes more free, Romantics increasingly turn away from the strictness and rules of Apollonianism; instead, they indulge the freedoms and permissiveness of Dionysianism, repressing Apollonianism in the process. However, extremes of Dionysian freedom eventually turn into a free fall of chaos resulting in anxiety due to the loss of order, stability, and predictability. Repressed Apollonianism returns in daemonic form as a fear/temptation/craving for closure, boundaries, and hierarchy. (See my notes on Chapters 6 and 14 for more on daemonism.) The Dionysian "overfullness" of the modern world traps people in anxiety; in turn, people calm their anxiety by creating their own personal version of structure in the form of retreat, passivity and self-punishment.
In my notes for Chapter 16 I said that the Decadent androgyne in particular calms anxiety by making himself as free of attachments as possible. He accomplishes this by receding from the Dionysian chaos of the world and locking himself away in a bubble of passivity, self-containment, and self-sufficiency. The Decadent androgyne backs off and observes the world passively and without empathy or connection, awaiting something to come along and stir him or her, be it a great beauty or a great ugliness.
This becomes Decadent closure: Life in a self-contained bubble turns into confinement. In other words, the androgyne frees himself from anxiety, but that freedom comes at the price of passivity, solipsism, and self-imprisonment.
In his writings, Poe embodies this mindset and projects this viewpoint out onto the world in general. He projects his own bubble of the Decadent androgyne out into the world as a generalized state of entrapment and "Gothic entombments" for his narrator and for mankind as a whole.
Decadent partition: Decadent partition usually accompanies Decadent closure. As I said, the Decadent androgyne sits in his self-contained bubble and observes the world passively, awaiting something to come along and stir him or her, be it a great beauty or a great ugliness. To him, the Dionysian world is overfull, overwhelming, and chaotic; it causes him anxiety, so he uses his repressed Apollonianism in daemonic form to dissect the world, divide it up, and pick out those few details that represent great beauty or great ugliness. This repressed Apollonianism turns into the "aggressive western eye" and Decadent partition: The Decadent androgyne seizes upon some small detail (great beauty or ugliness) which then becomes an object of fascination and obsession.
In Poe's case, the world of tyrant mothers, vampires, and evil goddesses is Dionysian and therefore fills him with anxiety. So he uses Decadent partition and the aggressive western eye (courtesy of his repressed Apollonian side) to reduce women down to a single feature upon which he obsesses and fixates: Their reproductive organs. Poe projects this out into the world: Women are to be viewed as a maternal entrapping womb that confines humanity in the prison of Decadent closure. The result is Poe's tales of closure, obsession, and self-enslavement in the orbit of the vampire.
Berenice: Paglia illustrates this with Poe's short story entitled Berenice. The narrator marries his cousin Berenice; Berenice falls ill and wastes away until her white teeth become her most prominent feature. The narrator finds himself obsessing over her teeth. After Berenice dies of a seizure, the narrator continues to fixate on her teeth; the next day he wakes up to discover that in a trance he has dug up her body and extracted her teeth, which are in a box by his bed. He also learns to his horror that she was buried prematurely and is still alive.
Paglia points out that the narrator's obsession with Berenice's mouth and teeth is a displacement: Paglia says that Berenice's mouth is the fabled "vagina dentata," the toothed vagina. "The vagina dentata, which sucks in Huysmans’ hero, is a kind of beacon in Poe: his vampire Muse guides, leads, eats." (p. 574) So Berenice becomes another example of Poe's fixation on female reproductive organs, albeit disguised by displacement upward.
The narrator's fixation on the teeth represents Decadent partition. Paglia says, "Berenice’s teeth are an example of Decadent partition. Like Gautier’s mummy’s foot, they secede from the whole and greedily swell, with power. They invade and rape what the narrator calls 'the disordered chamber of my brain' [...] Poe’s narrator is crucified on the phallic teeth, which doom him to Decadent fixation and contraction. The teeth absorb his consciousness, condensing the universe to one totemic symbol." (pp. 574-575)
To sum up: As a Decadent androgyne, Poe is made anxious by the overfullness and chaos of the modern world. To calm his anxiety and regain control of his world, he practices Decadent fixation upon some single, salient feature of his vampire mother figures (their reproductive organs), and he engages in Decadent closure in the form of submission to punishing female figures (via entrapment in a "womb-tomb").
As Paglia puts it: "A task of the Late Romantic artist, I said, is to order the excess of phenomena pressing at the close of High Romanticism. Hence the narrator’s fixation on the teeth paradoxically frees him from enslavement to 'the multiplied objects of the external world.' Late Romantic sexual obsession is a metaphysical strategy, a formula of perceptual control. [...] Berenice’s teeth attract and secure the imagination, reducing the world to tolerable proportions." (p. 575)
The "male heroine"
As I said at the start of this essay, early American culture was dominated by patriarchal Puritanism. But in the late 1700s Rousseau and French Romanticism brought back the Dionysian feminine principle in the form of nature-worship, rejection of hierarchy and structure, and passivity of the male. Paglia refers to the passive male hero of Romantic literature as a "male heroine."
At the time of the High Romanticism of Rousseau, the male heroine had "a womanlike sensitivity. [...] For Rousseau and the Romantics, the female principle is absolute. Man is a satellite in woman's sexual orbit." (p. 232) Fifty years later, under the influence of the Decadent Late Romanticism of Poe, the principle is the same except that the male heroine is now a masochistic Dionysian-leaning androgyne suffering ecstatically under the whip of a punishing maternal tormentor. Paglia says, "Poe’s persona or Magister Ludi is the Romantic male heroine of passive suffering. [...] He demands overt male subjection to female power." (p. 573)
Paglia notes that Poe's attraction to punishing mother figures is not sexual: "There is no sex instinct per se in Poe. His eroticism is in the paroxysms of suffering, the ecstatic, self-inflaming surrender to tyrant mothers. The narrator of Ligeia is a 'child' beneath the tutelage and 'infinite supremacy' of the heroine [...] Like Shelley and Mill, Poe dreams of male eclipse by a Muse-like female mind." (p. 573)
Berenice: Paglia details Poe's convoluted approach to sexuality in her analysis of the short story Berenice (described above). As I said above, the narrator's obsession with Berenice's mouth and teeth is a displacement: Paglia says that Berenice's mouth is the fabled "vagina dentata," the toothed vagina. As such, the narrator's attraction to the teeth is symbolically sexual, and the extraction of the teeth of the dead Berenice symbolically represents necrophilia. Paglia says that the narrator's removal of Berenice's teeth puts the narrator in the position of both rapist (insofar as he commits the act) and victim (insofar as the act was compulsive). Paglia says:
"The story’s climax, the surgical assault on Berenice’s body, is a perverse sex act, like the knife-rape of Balzac’s girl with the golden eyes (written the same year). In Poe, woman can be sexually approached only if dead. Person becomes object, in the Decadent manner. The narrator farms and harvests Berenice, as if she were an oyster and her teeth pearls. Sexual desire is diverted from animal flesh toward calcified mineral deposits, those antique enamels we carry in our mouth. The narrator can act only in a trance of self-removal. He is passive to his own extreme emotion, from which he is further separated by a memory lapse. Action is compulsive. The narrator would probably insist, with justice, that he is under criminal compulsion by Berenice herself, who lures him into barbarism by her chthonian force. Love leads to sadism." (p. 575)
Paglia notes the final plot twist in the story, wherein the narrator learns that Berenice was buried prematurely and turns out to be still alive, even after the removal of her teeth. Paglia sees this return from the dead as a feat of vampirism in the spirit of the short stories Ligeia and Morella (described above): The deathless vampire returns from the grave to claim her own. Paglia says, "Poe’s hermaphrodite Berenice, stripped of her 'sentient' teeth, is symbolically castrated. But she still lives. The vampire of nature will not stay in her grave. In Poe, sex is ritual combat, a hundred engagements with one outcome: female victory." (p. 575)
Paglia also notes the following short stories where Poe's characters depart from the script of the male heroine suffering at the hands of a vengeful vampire figure. For example:
The Masque of the Red Death: In Poe's short story The Masque of the Red Death (described above), Prince Prospero is not a typical male heroine. By secluding himself in an abbey and attempting to shut out the plague, he sets himself in active opposition to the Dionysian element of chaos, plague, and death, thereby showing himself to be a champion of masculinity and Apollonianism.
But in the end the Dionysian plague wins, and Prospero's defeat and punishment are all the more absolute as a result of his active opposition. Paglia says, "The Red Death ends with the annihilation of all humanity. Psychosexually, Prospero has produced this through his own vaunting masculinity, for unlike Poe’s tremulous first-person narrators, he never subordinates himself to hierarchic female personae, who are excluded from his mad revels. Hence the greater the show of masculinity in Poe, the more catastrophic the punishing reversal." (p. 577)
The Murders in the Rue Morgue: The one story that completely goes against the concept of the male heroine is The Murders in the Rue Morgue. The story includes a locked room--reflecting the theme of Decadent closure--and a pair of murders, but the tale is a detective story involving Apollonian analysis rather than the usual Dionysian submission of the male heroine. Paglia says, "[T]he Apollonian male mind breaks free of sex and nature." Furthermore, the murderer "is an ape in brutal masculine action, on the rampage against female power." (p. 578)
In other words, the story serves as a kind of Apollonian revenge fantasy. All of Poe's other stories were Decadent Late Romantic, according to Paglia; but she says that Rue Morgue is fully Decadent. The murderous male orangutang becomes the vehicle by which Poe rebels and lashes out against the domination of the Dionysian maternal influence. In the Decadent manner, the chimney leading into the locked room serves as a symbolic birth canal leading to a symbolic womb; but on this occasion the chimney is jammed shut with a female corpse. Paglia concludes her analysis of the story: "Woman, who binds us into materiality, is battered and mutilated to plug up the chimney hole or maelstrom through which she steals from men in order to give birth." (pp. 578-579)
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Scarlet Letter
As was the case with Edgar Allen Poe and his stories, Nathaniel Hawthorne is a Dionysian-leaning androgyne and The Scarlet Letter is a Decadent Late Romantic novel.
Paglia sees Hawthorne as a passive "male heroine" with a worshipful attraction to his saintly natural mother to the point of covert transexual imitation. Hawthorne's father died in his youth, and Paglia says that after college Hawthorne returned to his mother's home and secluded himself there for 12 years while he developed his literary skills. His mother died when he was 45 years old, and Hawthorne fell into a "brain fever" immediately upon her death. When he recovered he began work on The Scarlet Letter, completing it within a few months.
Paglia notes that at age 32 Hawthorne wrote a story about a minister who wears a woman's veil in "a bizarre exercise in transvestism" (The Minister's Black Veil). She says, "The gender-blurring veil is like the goddess’ robe donned by male initiates of the Eleusinian Mysteries. Devotee merges with nature mother by transsexual impersonation." (p. 580) Paglia suggests that Hawthorne's name change while in college--from Hathorne--was an attempt to feminize his name. (p. 582)
The characters
The adulterous Hester Prynne is the center of the novel. Hawthorne portrays her as a "Great Mother" figure (the ancient Great Mother nature and fertility goddesses embodied the daemonic side of nature, motherhood, and femininity). Hester is a larger-than-life force, a Decadent Late Romantic goddess to be worshipped. Paglia says that Hester is "the image of Divine Maternity [...] the Catholic Madonna drummed out of Protestantism [...] a wandering goddess still bearing the mark of her Asiatic origins [...] a Byzantine Madonna or Renaissance queen." (pp. 580-581)
Roger Chillingworth is Hester's betrayed husband, a figure of conventional Puritan morality who is determined to root out the identity of Hester's lover.
Arthur Dimmesdale is a local minister, too weak in character to admit publicly that he sinned with Hester and is the father of her infant daughter Pearl. The adulterous act between Hester and Dimmesdale is placed in the foggy past and goes largely unexamined, and Hester is content to safeguard Dimmesdale's secret if he won't reveal it himself.
Hawthorne as Dimmesdale
Paglia says that the minister Dimmesdale represents Hawthorne's own persona as male heroine in the Decadent Late Romantic novel. Paglia says, "With his breathless tremors and 'childish weakness,' the 'passive' Dimmesdale is a Romantic male heroine, more son than lover. Even if one accepts the adultery as a given, the sex act has permanently crippled the male, a drone stunned by the queen bee. Hester must exhort Dimmesdale, 'Preach! Write! Act!' She has energy because she is Romantic nature, while Puritan patriarchy is in decadent decline." (pp. 581-582)
Paglia says that the climax of the novel occurs when Hester must stand on a platform for public shaming as punishment for the crime of adultery, and Dimmesdale joins her on the platform in solidarity. However he only joins her at night, when no one is around to see them together; in the morning he is free to go back to his duties as minister of a church. Paglia sees this gesture not as any kind of public confession of culpability, but rather as the male heroine's worship of his goddess. She says, "The male joins himself to the electric chain of femaleness. Rejuvenated by a surge of female force, he declares, in effect, 'I too am born of woman!' As in The Minister’s Black Veil, a covert transsexualism is at work." (p. 582)
But ultimately Paglia considers this nighttime action on the part of Dimmesdale an empty gesture. She says, "The minister’s acceptance of moral responsibility?—worthless in my view if not in the day." (p. 582) Nor does his worship of his goddess-mother bear any fruit. Paglia says, "Dimmesdale is a son-lover who longs to merge with the mother but cannot." (p. 583) The male heroine is simply too passive.
Hester versus Puritanism
Hawthorne was very aware of his own descent from a Puritan magistrate who served as a judge in the Salem witch trials of 1692; Hawthorne felt tremendous guilt about his Puritan ancestors. (p. 581) So in The Scarlet Letter Hawthorne places Hester Prynne back in time 200 years to the Massachusetts Bay Colony at the height of Puritanism. In this manner the Dionysian goddess Hester is pitted against Apollonian Puritanism. Ultimately, though, it is no contest. Hester as Dionysian goddess is simply too monumental in stature. Paglia says, "In The Scarlet Letter, the exiled sexual persona of the saintly natural mother will defeat Hawthorne’s despotic male progenitor, who carries a church on and in his head." (p. 581)
In other words, the superficial theme of The Scarlet Letter is patriarchal Puritanism versus human fallibility, seemingly portrayed in a "social novel" in the vein of Flaubert's Madame Bovary or Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. But Paglia says that The Scarlet Letter is very different from those two other novels. Instead of being a social novel, the hidden-but-true theme of the novel is the story of Hawthorne as male heroine wrestling with a Decadent Late Romantic attraction to a powerful mother figure. Paglia says "The Scarlet Letter is a Late Romantic dream poem, stirred by inner turbulence." (p. 581)
Hawthorne does his best to hide his preoccupation with his mother from his readers, and perhaps from himself as well. Paglia says, "Both preface and novella are twice their optimal length. The Scarlet Letter is overwritten. Its secret preoccupation is embedded, hidden, layered with anxious afterthought." (p. 581) Elsewhere Paglia says, "For Hawthorne-as-Dimmesdale, the mother is both too near and too far. The Scarlet Letter formalizes Hawthorne’s ambivalent adult relation to his mother, who must be thrust into the mental distance for imagination’s survival." (pp. 583-584)
Aggressive western eye
Paglia suggests that "Hawthorne’s ambivalent adult relation to his mother" results in a bit of a love/hate relationship. Hester Prynne doesn't bow to Puritanism; but the shaming sessions on the public platform for the crime of adultery nearly break her. Paglia says that the staring crowd represents use of the "aggressive western eye," which becomes almost a form of rape.
In the case of Edgar Allen Poe's tales (see above), Paglia said that the aggressive western eye is used primarily as an instrument of Decadent partition. But the aggressive eye originates from the Dionysian-leaning androgyne's repressed Apollonian side and represents Apollonianism in daemonic form; it can also be used toward overtly sadistic ends.
Paglia claims that Puritanism lends itself to this kind of visual daemonism: "The bareness of Puritan plain style and the absence of inherited art works starved the American eye and aggravated the dangerous power of the visual when it arrived via Romanticism. Asceticism, fearing the eye, actually sharpens it." (p. 583)
Returning to Hester's shaming sessions on the platform, Paglia says, "Hawthorne illustrates the sexual problematics of the visual when Hester is brought before the multitude: 'The unhappy culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and concentred at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be borne.' Hester as scapegoat is the focus of projected eroticism. The thousand eyes obsessively fixed on the scarlet letter are 'concentred at her bosom' because the mother’s flowing breasts have been expelled from Puritan consciousness. There is a mass voyeurism of attraction and repulsion." (p. 583)
Paglia ties the use of the aggressive eye to Hawthorne himself: She says, "Coleridge and Hawthorne share a fascism of the eye." (p. 582) If Hawthorne-as-Dimmesdale is ultimately incapable of merging with the goddess Hester at night on the platform, then the aggressive Western eye becomes a way for him to distance himself from his goddess, seize upon his repressed Apollonian side, and punish her. In other words, by night Dimmesdale joins Hester on the platform to worship her as son-lover and priest of her cult; by day he is back in the crowd, one more nameless fascistic eye bearing down on her.
Chillingworth and Dimmesdale
The character of Chillingworth also hints at a love/hate ambience to the novel. Roger Chillingworth is the cuckolded husband, vengeful and determined to learn the name of Hester's lover; Hawthorne describes him as "misshapen," and Paglia says that he is a "Mephisto character." (p. 581)
Paglia describes a kind of homoerotic relationship in the interactions between Chillingworth and Dimmesdale. Paglia says that Chillingworth and Dimmesdale are practically inseparable; unable to merge with his goddess, Dimmesdale finds a mooring of sorts in his relationship with Chillingworth. Paglia says, "Dimmesdale is tied to Hester by guilt and dependency but not by sexual cathexis. His real lover is Chillingworth, to whom he is locked in sterile sadomasochistic marriage." (p. 582)
Paglia suggests that they are two halves of the same character: "One gender may split into a warring pair, autoerotic and self-tormenting." (p. 582) Viewed in terms of their relation to Hester, the persecutory Chillingworth and the worshipful Dimmesdale could be said to represent another degree of love/hate ambivalence in Hawthorne's own relations with his mother.
In the end, the interaction of the characters is played out as an Oedipal drama of sorts. Paglia says, "Old Chillingworth is the cold, paralyzing hand of Hawthorne’s father and forefathers. Hester is his divinized mother, half Virgin, half Magdalene. Adultery is the son’s jealous charge against a mother abandoning him for his father. Hester is Antigone standing against the town, while Dimmesdale is Oedipus ruined by incest." (p. 581)
Herman Melville
Moby-Dick
As was the case with Poe and Hawthorne, Melville is another Dionysian-leaning androgyne fascinated with strong and/or punishing maternal figures, and Moby-Dick is a Decadent Late Romantic novel. But whereas Poe and Hawthorne represented their strong maternal figures directly in their literature, Melville did his best to exclude the maternal and even the feminine influence entirely from Moby-Dick. Still, Paglia argues that Melville's fascination with the punishing maternal influence is conspicuous by its absence and remains at the center of the novel.
To spell this out in more detail: Paglia says that Melville's work on Moby-Dick was going slowly until he read Hawthorne's literary works and met with him in August 1850. These events galvanized Melville; he completed Moby-Dick across the next year and dedicated it to Hawthorne. (p. 584)
Paglia says that Hawthorne and Melville both registered the lack of a strong feminine presence in American literature due to its Puritan heritage, and they both wanted to create works that put the feminine influence back at the center of their respective books. Paglia says of The Scarlet Letter and Moby-Dick, "Both books correct a sexual exclusion..." (p. 584)
In Melville's case, he centers the feminine by creating a Romantic epic about the mighty Dionysian force of nature. At the same time, however, Melville wants to put a masculine facade over it and describe that natural force in Apollonian terms. So he borrows the force of the Romantic feminine but then works hard to erase its femininity. As Paglia puts it:
"Hawthorne symbolizes Protestant defects in an excommunicated woman. But Melville, for his own reasons, cannot idealize woman. Moby-Dick, a chthonian epic, refuses to acknowledge the maternal as primary. Thus the novel sways back and forth between High Romanticism and Decadent Late Romanticism, between celebration of mighty nature and contorted resistance to it [...] Melville declares: I shall revive the chthonian but in masculine form." (p. 584)
Paglia says that Melville attempts to expunge the feminine from Romantic nature because he rejects the Romantic notion of the male heroine--the passive male worshiping a female goddess: "Moby-Dick rejects male sexual destiny, which Romanticism portrays as servitude to female power." (p. 584)
Moby-Dick is intended as an escape from the confining femininity of civilized society. Paglia says that Melville was fleeing from civilization, which Melville describes as "the 'treacherous, slavish' complacencies of society and religion. D. H. Lawrence says Melville’s sea voyages were flights from 'HOME and MOTHER': 'The two things that were his damnation.'" (p. 586)
To sum up: Melville wanted to portray a testosterone-fueled world of man against the sea, scrubbed of any feminine influence. But at the same time, he wanted to infuse his book with the epic power of Romantic nature worship, which relies on strong maternal figures--ancient Great Mother goddesses--as exemplified by Hawthorne in The Scarlet Letter. The result is an Apollonian/masculine novel that is infused with Dionysian/female bombast, drama, and energy.
For example, Paglia says that if the novel were purely Apollonian/male and did not contain any trace of the Dionysian, then Melville "should logically take a depersonalized view of nature." In an Apollonian novel there is no need to personalize or anthropomorphize nature; according to the Apollonian view, nature simply consists of voids and immensities to be conquered. But Paglia says that Melville's treatment of nature is much more complex than that, being infused with Dionysian drama: "Melville’s treatment of nature is amazingly inconsistent, full of the swerves of sexual anxiety. Moby-Dick is a lavish portrait of rapacious Sadean nature, 'the universal cannibalism of the sea' and the 'horrible vulturism of earth.'" (pp. 584-585)
The result is a kind of dual treatment of many of the book's subjects: People and objects start out as Romantic/Dionysian subjects full of mystery and grandeur, but then Melville modifies them with an Apollonian facade to emphasize their masculinity. For example:
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Paglia points out that the great whale has Dionysian origins: "Moby-Dick steals his 'uncommon magnitude' from mother nature. [...] The whale inhabits the primeval realm, from which he makes capricious epiphanies." (p. 584) But at the same time, Melville works hard to keep the whale in the realm of the Apollonian: Paglia says, "Whenever he gives his whale some feminine trait, Melville immediately cancels it by a masculine afterthought—of violence or rape. Masculinity struggles for dominance throughout Moby-Dick." (p. 588)
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In the chapter called "The Grand Armada" the becalmed ship is treated to the spectacle of a circle of pregnant and nursing whales; Paglia calls the scene "a spectacle of uncanny luminosity with hidden dangers." Melville immediately follows that scene with a digression about catching pregnant whales, slicing their breasts open and watching the milk mingle with blood. As a result, this chapter is an example of presentation and then cancellation of the feminine: Paglia says, "the female is maimed to limit her power." (pp. 586-587)
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Even Captain Ahab has his origins in the passive "male heroine" of Romantic literature: His missing leg signifies castration, "a sexual injury consistent with his one-night-stand marriage"; his harpoon is "a phallic mental projection, born of frustrated desire." But then Melville gives Ahab an Apollonian/masculine appearance by making him a refugee from servitude to the feminine: "Ahab commandeers ship and crew in his lust for unconditional freedom." Nonetheless, Paglia notes that his quest for masculine freedom still brings him to ruin; nature remains unbeatable, even when clothed in the appearance of a male whale: "Melville forces his own sexual resolution on his Romantic materials. In Moby-Dick, his attempt to suppress the indebtedness of male to female has produced a stunning sadomasochistic spectacle of male subdued to male." (pp. 589-590)
Paglia points to other ways by which Melville gives the novel an Apollonian/masculine ambiance. For example:
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Melville alternates chapters of nonfiction analysis of whales with the fictional plot of the novel. Paglia says of these nonfiction chapters, "The novel’s cognitive data are fragments shored against male ruin. Again and again, Melville elevates the masculine principle above the feminine, driving back and limiting female power." (p. 584)
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Melville uses size to denote masculine power: Paglia says, "Melville is practicing representational gigantism [...] as a defense against female power." For example, Melville describes a whale's penis as "a 'grandissimus' so heavy it takes three men to carry it." Paglia comments: "He indulgently dwells on the whale’s massive penis to give masculinity integrity and visibility in the female sea of dissolution that is 'Queen Nature.'” (pp. 587-588)
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When talking of the crew, Melville focuses on male bonding rituals. For example Paglia mentions a scene where the crew knead tubs of spermaceti. She says, "This is Melville’s real heaven, an all-male platoon, each with his hand in someone else’s pocket. The circle jerk is another Romantic uroboros." (p. 587)
To sum up the novel as a whole: Paglia says that Melville appropriates Romantic ideas about nature, thereby inflating his tale with Dionysian power and drama. This is a novelty in Puritanism-influenced American literature at that time. But at the same time, Melville objects to one of the most central tenets of Romanticism: Masculine respect for and submission to that same Dionysian power and drama. So he inflates Apollonian masculinity to match the Dionysian power of nature. Paglia says, "The novel’s operatic gigantism comes from its force of sexual protest. Its storminess is a reaction against the paralyzing bliss of female stasis" (p. 590)
In this manner, Melville shows himself to be a Dionysian-leaning androgyne with a love/hate attitude toward the maternal. He recognizes the power of the Late Romantic feminine principle and puts it at the center of his novel; after that, hypermasculinity becomes an Apollonian defense mechanism against that central Romantic/Dionysian theme. Paglia says, "Moby-Dick, who should be gender-neutral, is so fiercely masculine in order to keep him from turning into a female. In other words, the whale’s hypermasculinity defensively obscures the femaleness of nature. [...] In its quest to give masculinity cosmic dominance, Melville’s epic novel has had to smother nature’s chthonian plumbing." (p. 592)
The Paradise of Bachelors and The Tartarus of Maids
Like Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, Melville's short story The Paradise of Bachelors and The Tartarus of Maids is superficially a liberal social novel about powerless female factory workers unfairly exploited by a male managerial class.
But Melville portrays the factory environment as symbolic of soul-crushing female procreation--a Dionysian hell--and the women as blank and bored denizens of that hell; in other words the women and their environment are frightening rather than pitiful. So, as was the case for Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, the hidden-but-true theme of Melville's short story becomes the drama of Melville as male heroine wrestling with his own love/hate relationship with the maternal.
As Paglia describes it: "Is the story really liberal and reformist? I say it shows Melville’s social conscience arguing unsuccessfully against his daemonic fear of woman and nature. [...] Melville shows women enslaved by their sexual destinies and exploited by a managerial class of carousing bachelors. But humanitarianism is the story’s first level of meaning only. The frostbite numbing the narrator’s cheeks is sexual fear and loathing." (pp. 590-591)
The narrator visits a New England paper factory to view the condition of the "maids" working there; Melville describes it as a journey to Tartarus, a region of the underworld. But reminiscent of Poe and his use of Decadent partition, Melville seems to focus inordinately upon female reproductive organs. Paglia says, "Tartarus of Maids is a descent into a sexual underworld [...] From vaginal 'Devil’s Dungeon' springs menstrual 'Blood River' [...] The traveller of Tartarus of Maids tours a paper mill 'stifling with a strange, blood-like abdominal heat.' The factory parodies procreation." (p. 590)
The centerpiece of the factory: "A huge machine stands in a corner, its piston hammering a heavy wood block." The phallic piston is intended to be frightening: "Heavy machinery of this kind strikes 'strange dread into the human heart, as some living, panting Behemoth might.'” But Paglia points out that if Tartarus is a giant feminine procreative realm, then the machinery inside it is feminine as well. Viewed in this manner, "The tyrant machine is the female body, grinding and milling the pulp of matter, the gluten of human flesh." (pp. 591-592)
The women are an organic part of this realm. Trying to inspire the reader's pity, Melville says, “At rows of blank-looking counters sat rows of blank-looking girls, with blank, white folders in their blank hands, all blankly folding blank paper.” But Paglia doesn't find the women pitiful. She responds that it is just the "boredom of mass production, the meaninglessness of modern labor." Paglia, in turn, compares the women to hellish divinities: "The blank girls with blank pages are white goddesses creasing the tabula rasa of man’s soul. They are blind, impassive Fates or Graiai. The narrator, whose boy Vergil is named Cupid, shudders at the teeming circles of this hell." (p. 591)
Paglia says that "Melville’s traveller, society’s emissary, stands speechless before the industrial titanism of female nature. [...] The inescapable fact is that Melville represents female physiology as grossly spiritless, brute biological process." (p. 591) Elsewhere she adds that "men are not the villains." (p. 592).
To sum up: Paglia says that Melville's Moby-Dick was an Apollonian dream that concealed hellish Dionysian realities. In Tartarus of Maids, on the other hand, Melville finally portrays the Dionysian/feminine element that he carefully expunged from Moby-Dick. Paglia says, "Tartarus reveals the horror of what must be repressed. I repeatedly call woman 'the hidden.' Tartarus of Maids makes the invisible visible." (p. 592)
Billy Budd, Sailor
After Melville explored the world of the Dionysian feminine in The Tartarus of Maids, he flipped the script yet again in the novella Billy Budd, Sailor. In Billy Budd Melville returns to the sea and attempts again to create an Apollonian haven there in the society of sailors. Like Moby-Dick, Billy Budd aims to expunge the feminine influence and capture the rarified masculinity of a male military crew aboard a British warship. Paglia says, "Billy Budd inverts The Tartarus of Maids. This all-male saga shuts out chthonian female power." (595) Elsewhere she says, "Tartarus’ ugly, turgid procreative realm is opposed by Billy Budd’s daylit Apollonian realm of beauty, clarity, and charisma." (p. 592)
The hero Billy is an Apollonian-leaning androgyne, and the sailors represent an Apollonian society at sea. So the novella becomes a study of Apollonianism in a nautical environment.
But if Herman Melville himself was a Dionysian-leaning androgyne, as I suggested in reference to Moby-Dick and Tartarus, then the creation of an Apollonian environment of this kind might have been problematic for him. And in fact Paglia suggests that Melville wrestled with the text. An early draft appeared in 1886, and the novella was still only in draft form at the time of Melville's death in 1891. Paglia notes that the main character, Billy, started as an older man in the early drafts and became a youth in the later drafts. (pp. 592-593)
Apollonian-leaning androgynes and Apollonian societies are more the province of Oscar Wilde (see my notes for Chapters 20 and 21); Paglia suggests that Wilde influenced Melville. She says that Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray appeared in the US in July 1890; she says that she hears "echoes of Wilde's language" in Billy Budd. (p. 593) Melville knew the ways of sailors from his own years as a common sailor at sea; it does seem that Melville uses some of the same devices that appear in Wilde's Dorian Gray in order to capture and convey the tone of the characters in Billy Budd.
As I described in reference to Poe, Decadent androgynes escape the anxiety of a chaotic world by locking themselves away in a bubble of self-sufficiency, thereby creating Decadent closure. From this vantage point they use the aggressive western eye (courtesy of repressed Apollonianism) for purposes of Decadent partition and obsession with some object of great beauty or ugliness:
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Dionysian-leaning androgynes focus on the feminine in their lives and devote themselves to strong or punishing maternal figures; and
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Apollonian-leaning androgynes focus on aestheticism in the form of hierarchy, social ranking, and personal charisma; hence the hyper-refined emphasis on pecking order and dominance in the version of high society portrayed by Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Billy the sailor exhibits a number of the features of Wilde's Apollonian-leaning high-society androgynes. In the world of Apollonian aestheticism, the metrics for measuring the aesthetic value of people are charisma, personality, and glamor. Billy exudes Wildean charisma, which marks him as a natural leader, an Apollonian hierarch.
Paglia says, "Like Dorian Gray, Billy Budd is structured by Apollonian hierarchy. [...] Like Dorian, Billy is an exemplar of pure charisma. His shipmates make him gifts, 'do his washing, darn his old trousers': 'Anybody will do anything for Billy Budd.' The crew are vassals offering tokens of feudal subordination. Billy crystallizes hierarchy around himself, an Apollonian vertical cutting the sea’s horizontals." (pp. 593-594)
Billy's charisma derives from the fact that he is an androgynous "beautiful boy." He combines both sexes, making him narcissistic and self-complete. He has the femininity and beauty of youth as well as the strength and resoluteness of masculinity. As in Moby-Dick, Melville makes Billy an Apollonian-leaning androgyne to fit in with the Apollonian environment of sailing life but also invests Billy with power and grandeur by granting him Dionysian traits. Paglia says, "Like Moby-Dick, Billy Budd defies Hawthorne by stealing sexual authority from woman. Melville gives purified femininity to the beautiful boy, shimmering with Apollonian light." (595)
But in the end Billy runs afoul of the master-at-arms, John Claggart. Claggart is an Apollonian androgyne, and androgynes can become obsessed by a thing of great beauty; the obsession pulls them out of their bubble of self-sufficiency and immerses them in the drama of the world. That appears to be Claggart's fate: His Apollonian aesthetics and aggressive western eye work to his disadvantage and entangle him against his will with the charismatic Billy. Claggart finds himself simultaneously obsessed and repulsed by Billy's beauty. Paglia says, "Claggart’s 'monomania' is an erotic and aesthetic obsession. He is oppressed and enslaved by Billy’s beauty. [...] Claggart simmers with self-poisoned desire. He is a brooding skeptic who converts the visionary and seraphic into a nauseated sense of violation by Billy’s mental image." (p. 594)
Claggart also sees Billy's position as natural leader of the crew as a threat to his own authority as master-at-arms. Paglia says, "Billy Budd’s catastrophe is a clash of hierarchic orders. [...Billy's] charismatic personal hierarchy is at odds with public hierarchy. Obliviously, he makes his own cult, which must be suppressed by Caesar. Billy Budd follows in the line of the beautiful boy as destroyer by causing disorder in the social realm." (p. 594)
Claggart initiates a court-martial against Billy on trumped-up charges. When Billy hears Claggart's false testimony and is asked to defend himself, Billy is unable to speak due to heightened emotions and a lifelong stutter, and instead he strikes Claggart and kills him.
Paglia remarks on Billy's stutter; she sees it as a mark of Apollonianism. She says, "The Apollonian, as always, is a mode of silence or muteness." (p. 595) Apollonianism is focused on aestheticism, in other words, superficial appearance and proficiency at rules, structure and hierarchy; meanwhile Apollonianism shies away from depth, emotion, and human connection--those are part of the realm of the Dionysian. As a result, the Apollonian character is not much of a communicator; he is more likely to be the "strong, silent type." Even when the Apollonian characters are voluble, such as Oscar Wilde's "androgynes of manners" in The Importance of Being Earnest (see my notes for Chapter 21), their volubility consists of witty repartee and social chatter to enhance their social standing and demonstrate charisma and glamor rather than being motivated by a desire for deep connection.
Concerning the mute Billy, Paglia says, "Billy lacks 'self-consciousness': his 'simple nature' is the unitary Apollonian character, internally undeveloped. He is 'illiterate,' unlettered because the Apollonian androgyne has no words. When Claggart lies, Billy struggles to reply but, frustrated, fells his accuser with one blow." (595)
Anyway, the captain and crew of the ship understand that Claggart was in the wrong and Billy was justified, but it is also universally agreed (including by Billy) that Billy must be hanged for killing an officer. In the Apollonian world, structure and rules trump all other considerations.
Melville treats Billy's execution like the martyrdom of a saint. Paglia says, "Because of and not despite his fascinating glamour, Billy must die for the collective good. Strung up from the main yard, he is the ancient hanging god, an Adonis ritually slain in the flower of youth. Richard Chase calls him 'the hermaphrodite Christ.' Like Christ, Billy poses an internal threat to an empire at war. They’re right to hang him. [...] We last see Billy 'ascending' into the rosy dawn: the rising seraph opposes Melville’s descent to the gloomy realm of Goethe’s Mothers." (pp. 594-595)
To sum up the novella as a whole: Based on the evidence of Moby Dick and Tartarus, Melville is a Decadent-leaning androgyne who demonstrates a love/hate relationship with the maternal. In the novella Billy Budd, Sailor Melville creates a nautical Apollonian world populated by Apollonian-leaning androgynes; this Apollonian world is intended as a refuge from and antidote to the feminized, Dionysian world back home in the cities.
As in Moby-Dick, Melville occasionally borrows from the Dionysian influence to inflate some scenes with additional drama and energy. (Pure Apollonianism by itself can seem flat, dry, and claustrophobic to the uninitiated.) But the portrayal of military sailors as a whole maintains its Apollonian integrity. Paglia says, "Billy Budd is the supreme Apollonian work of American literature..." (p. 592)
Thomas Mann
Death in Venice
Despite the title of Chapter 22 ("American Decadents"), Thomas Mann isn't typically considered an American writer; he only became an American citizen late in life when he left Germany to flee Nazism. And Mann appears to be an Apollonian-leaning androgyne, unlike the other three authors in the chapter. But Paglia includes an analysis of Death in Venice at the end of the chapter because it juxtaposes the themes of Melville's Dionysian Tartarus and his Apollonian Billy Budd. Paglia says, "What Melville polarizes in the antithesis Billy Budd/Tartarus of Maids Mann condenses in one tale." (p. 595)
The hero of the story, the writer Gustav von Aschenbach, is an Apollonian-leaning androgyne traveling in southern Europe for his health. The city of Venice is in decay, full of rot, murk, and swamp: It is Melville's Dionysian Tartarus. Paglia calls Venice "'a tropical swampland under a heavy murky sky, damp, luxuriant and enormous, a kind of prehistoric wilderness … sluggish with mud, ' 'hairy shafts of palms rising out of a rank lecherous thicket,' 'fat, swollen' plant life rooted in green 'stagnant pools.' This is the female swamp of generation, the chthonian miasma..." (p. 595)
Again, Aschenbach is an Apollonian-leaning androgyne. Observing the world from his comfortable bubble of androgynous self-completeness, Aschenbach typically wouldn't have much interest in such a Dionysian world. But at his hotel he notices an Apollonian "beautiful boy," a younger version of Billy Budd. Tadzio is a 14-year-old Polish boy, a picture of classical youth and beauty. Tadzio is an Apollonian gem in a Dionysian setting: Paglia calls Tadzio's "dazzling formal perfection a rebuke to nature’s indiscriminateness and fluidity." (p. 595)
Tadzio has Apollonian charisma, nobility, and muteness: Paglia says, "Tadzio has the Apollonian attributes of 'aristocratic distinction' and vocal impediment. Because the boy is Polish, 'Aschenbach did not understand a word he said'; the writer sees him 'smiling, with something half muttered in his soft vague tongue.' Tadzio’s Delphic utterances, like Billy Budd’s stutter and Belphoebe’s broken sentences, are another Apollonian muteness. Tadzio has a radical visibility. Each of his appearances is literally spectacular..." (p. 596)
Aschenbach and the boy have little or no contact; the beautiful boy is too young and narcissistic to notice the attention of the older man, the Polish family guards the boy too closely, and Aschenbach himself is content to maintain a respectable Apollonian distance and observe the boy from afar. Nonetheless, Aschenbach is completely captivated by the appearance of the boy. Paglia says, "He has become the deranged fan of the star-god." (597)
Aschenbach's aesthetic fixation on the boy's "godlike beauty" is yet another example of the androgyne's aggressive western eye catching upon an object of great beauty and becoming obsessed with it. Aschenbach is pulled out of his Apollonian bubble of androgyne self-completeness and becomes immersed in--and infected by--the Dionysian murk and decay of Venice. Shadowing the Polish family around Venice, Aschenbach indulges Venetian fashion to make himself look younger. Paglia says, "Aschenbach is transvestized and Orientalized: decked with jewels, he uses perfume, dye, mascara, rouge. The western analytic mind is reabsorbed into its sultry Asiatic origins." (p. 597)
But the external Dionysian world has its dangers. Aschenbach is warned that Venice is experiencing an outbreak of an "Asiatic cholera," a Dionysian emanation “hatched in the warm swamps of the Ganges delta.” (p. 597) Despite the danger, Aschenbach elects to remain in Venice and continue observing Tadzio. Also, Tadzio is watched over by a phalanx of women, "a governess, imposing mother, and three 'nunlike sisters.'" Paglia suggests that the mother was inspired by Hawthorne's Hester Prynne and seems reminiscent of an Oriental "mother goddess," a Dionysian nature or fertility goddess. (pp. 596-597)
Ultimately Aschenbach succumbs to the "Asiatic cholera," breathing his last at the beach watching Tadzio in the waves. Paglia suggests a symbolic connection between Aschenbach's death by cholera and Tadzio's powerful mother: "A jealous mother goddess envelops her son’s admirer in her chthonian miasma, for it is she who brings the pestilence into the city of art." (597)
To sum up the novel as a whole: Traditional literary analysis usually examines Mann's cultural themes. Mann was writing in the early years of the 1900s, and he clearly was nostalgic for the Apollonian 1800s with their hierarchy, structure, aristocracy, Enlightenment culture, and traditional values. He was alienated by the new Dionysian trends of democracy, populism, and mass culture which were crowding out classical European culture. His literary works often asked what was to become of classical culture in the modern age.
But the cultural themes in the literary works of an author often reflect personal struggles as well. Just as an older culture gets displaced by a newer one, Apollonian self-control can be derailed by immersion in the Dionysian world. It takes work--as a culture or as an individual--to rise above the Dionysian masses, separate yourself out from them, and hold yourself to the high standards of Apollonian structure, culture, and values. Sooner or later you tire, the Dionysian world beckons with its temptations, and you succumb.
Paglia says in another context, "Nature's cycles are woman's cycles. Biological femaleness is a sequence of circular returns, beginning and ending at the same point. Woman's centrality give her a stability of identity. She does not have to become but only to be. Her centrality is a great obstacle to man, whose quest for identity she blocks. He must transform himself into an independent being, that is, a being free of her. If he does not, he will simply fall back into her." (pp. 9-10)
So this becomes the story of Aschenbach and Tadzio. What starts as a harmless aesthetic obsession ends in dissolution and death. And in fact this is the theme of many stories about Apollonian-leaning androgynes: They get pulled from their bubble of self-sufficiency by a temptation--which turns into an aesthetic obsession--only to get eaten alive by the Dionysian world.
Paglia says that Mann's Death in Venice "is deeply indebted to The Picture of Dorian Gray." (p. 595) In Wilde's novel, Basil Hallward becomes obsessed with the beautiful boy Dorian Gray, he is pulled out of his bubble of androgyne self-completeness, and he becomes involved in Dionysian drama to his own destruction (see my notes for Chapter 20 for more).
Paglia compares Aschenbach to Basil Hallward: "'Astonished, terrified' by Tadzio’s 'godlike beauty,' Aschenbach is as hierarchically subordinated as Basil Hallward to Dorian Gray or Claggart to Billy Budd. [...] Aschenbach experiences 'the hot terror which the initiates suffer when their eyes light on an image of the eternal beauty.' Like Basil, Aschenbach is an artist destroyed by a beautiful boy..." (p. 596)
Link: Return to Notes on Sexual Personae
~Posted July 7, 2026
References
[1] Camille Paglia, Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence From Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson (First Vintage Books Edition, 1991).