"Coming Up Roses"

Life, Love, and Luxury in Philippa Gregory’s Tudor England


     Historical fictions such as Philippa Gregory’s The Other Boleyn Girl are wildly popular for their escapist qualities. They transport the reader on a thrilling adventure into the past where one can leave the trappings of everyday modern life behind and experience the foreign lifestyles of people long ago. But is the culture of the 16^th century English court really so different from culture in the 21^st? While there is much to be learned about the society of nobility from Gregory’s descriptions , her depiction and interpretation of the Tudor period also has much to reveal about our own. By examining the relationships, social position, and lifestyle of Gregory’s principal character, Mary Tudor, and the figures surrounding her, one finds oneself simultaneously diverted by the alien aspects of her world and moved by the recognizably universal truths of humanity with which we are familiar.


     The politically charged atmosphere of Henry VIII’s court defines an individual by their status in royal favour. A nobleman’s career cyclically depends on his ability to gain favour with the king, who rewards him with titles or land. The greater the titles and lands that he possesses, the more power and opportunity the nobleman has to maintain or increase his influence.


     The relationships between the Boleyn children and their family in Gregory’s novel reflect the way a courtier’s title and influence is tied to his or her family name. In the 21^st century, the spheres of professional and domestic life are normally clearly separated, but in the Tudor world, where the consequences of political failure are drastically more dire, maintaining the favour of the king is often a matter of life and death. Each member acts as a representative of  the family name, and so the family unit functions like a business, with everyone working together for the common end of self-preservation and status advancement. This necessity for status in the social hierarchy leads to the obsessive ambition of the Boleyn family, who find the integration of political and family interest to have devastating consequences on their personal attachments.   


     Each new generation has the potential to advance the family either as office-holders or stepping-stones through marriage. In the Boleyn family, the offspring’s value as commodities overshadow their familial role as objects of affection, a condition epitomized during the argument following Anne’s betrothal to Henry Percy, in which Anne’s mother tells her, “I would rather see you dead at my feet than dishonored...You make yourself hateful to us all.” (Gregory 141).


     Today, a marriage contract is a decision reached by two individuals out of mutual affection for the purpose of ensuring the happiness of both parties. The difference between modern and 16^th century marriage is bluntly put by Mary’s brother George, “We had our minds on targets other than her happiness.” (Gregory, 513) A marriage in the Tudor period is arranged by the guardians of both parties to secure an alliance meant to benefit the entire family economically, socially, and politically, if possible. Individuals are so subject to their superiors in this choice, that the traditional rights due to a married couple can be set aside by those in power, as is the case with Mary Tudor and William Carey (Gregory 28), or the existence of a disapproved marriage denied altogether, as with Anne and Henry Percy (Gregory 154).


     In this way, the practical associations that come with marriage among Tudor nobility are very separate from personal, romantic love. Powerful men keep mistresses for their pleasure and comfort; mistresses of the king are even rewarded with status as “the most important [women] in the world, second only to the queen” (Gregory 83). The importance of clearly defined successions means that sexual behaviour among courtiers is closely regulated, and virginity and sexuality is very much a public affair, as Anne tells Mary, “You’d better get used to talking about it. [Sex] is not a private matter” (Gregory 84). Men, too, feel the restraints of society on their romantic and sexual lives; George is reprimanded by Anne and told to keep his feelings and actions in check, for homosexuality, as she tells him, is “a cardinal sin” and a hanging offense (Gregory 188, 648). “True love has no place at court,” says George (Gregory 436).


     Gender is a dominant theme in The Other Boleyn Girl. Females have no position in Tudor England as anything other than objects to be used by males for the advancement of their families. A woman does not own property, nor does she make her own life choices (Gregory 68). Mary’s mother teaches her that “[there] is no freedom for women in this world, fight or not as you like” (Gregory 145). Women are valued only for their sexuality: as marriage partners for the forging of alliances, as lures for the attentions of influential men, and as mothers to give birth to the next family line. Men among the nobility are not entirely free, either. They are the owners of property and the decision-makers, however, each one is a slave to the societal rules that restrict him in his given position. Each man is subject to the man who outranks him. George, the male of the Boleyn offspring, has dreams of being a soldier in the Crusades, but as the heir to the Boleyn titles, he is given no choice but to aid his family in their ambitions and play the role of “pander in the royal harem” (Gregory 496). George challenges Queen Anne’s domineering attitude towards her siblings, telling her, “We’re family...You can’t treat us like subjects.” “You are subjects,” she coldly replies (Gregory 383). She is right.


     The concept of parenthood differs greatly between Tudor courtiers and 21^st century parents. Today, direct participation in the child’s life and upbringing shows love and appropriate levels of concern. Among the Tudor gentry and nobility, to keep at child at home is considered selfish. If a parent truly loves and wants the best for their child, society expects them to send the child away to be educated and to gain worldly experience. Mary’s mother does not regret the separation that prevented her from developing a close relationship with her daughter. “I could not have found you a better place than the royal court of France,” she says. “I would have been a poor mother if I had kept you at home” (Gregory 202).


     The social hierarchy of the royal court is clearly defined, and the status of an individual is visually present in virtually every aspect of life, and is very much expressed in the material culture. The food eaten, the food served, the clothes worn, and the location of one’s home all reflect the wealth and privilege of that person. This is not so different society today, in which wealth, more so than political influence, serves as a major marker of social status with regards to clothing, real estate, education, and modes of transportation.


     16^th century society looks up to the royal courtiers for gossip and fashion in much the same way as movie stars and other celebrities are looked up to today. Popular courtiers set fashion trends, which can be seen in the “crisis of headgear” brought about during Queen Anne’s decline (Gregory 605). As the chaste Jane Seymour rises in favour over the “French-influenced” Anne, women choose to wear either Jane’s gable hood or Anne’s half-moon headdress, depending on which woman they believe has higher status.


     Gift-giving is a popular method of representing status and favour in the royal court. While modern gift-exchange is usually the result of particular affection or a marker of a special occasion, gifts among courtiers has strong political significance. Firstly, a material gift from a social superior empowers the receiver with public acknowledgement of favour. King Henry rewards his mistresses with gowns, jewellery, horses, and special privileges, while those connected to them receive manors and titles (Gregory 111, 536). The giver is also empowered by the exchange. King Henry names one of his ships after the Boleyns, bestowing on them an honour so great that he can now consider them in his debt (Gregory 116). Sometimes special gifts are given as incentives for even greater gifts to be given in return, as with the chalice prepared for Mary to give to Henry. Anne says, “It’s worth a fortune. I only hope we see some return on it” (Gregory 94). One’s reaction to a gift, aside from the giving itself, could also have political and social significance. Jane Seymour executes a particularly dramatic move in denying the king’s gift of a “huge purse of gold” (Gregory 605). Her refusal acts as a demonstration of her virtue. Messages and symbols are also shared in the form of material gifts: men give women differently coloured jewels to compliment their virtues, Anne gives Henry a jewel carved with a “storm-tossed maiden” as a metaphor for her feelings, and then a fountain wrought with “fertile women gushing water” to remind him of her ability to bear him children (Gregory, 492). Women give jousters tokens of their favour to wear during tournaments, and betrothal rings are shared as symbols of commitment and love. The culture of modern gift exchange has retained much of the implications it had for Henry’s courtiers, though it has shifted to  primarily social, over  political, significance.


     “I’m a Howard girl, a Boleyn girl,” Mary Tudor tells herself on page 12. “[That’s] not a small thing to be.” The pervasive consciousness and implications of class and rank mean that a courtier’s self-perception is directly tied to their social status, and identity is synonymous with family name. Following the directions of their guardians, the girls succeed (temporarily) to advance their family by obtaining the interest of the king. Consequently, they struggle with the approval that comes with serving the family well and the morality of their actions, which would condemn them as whores (Gregory 158). Mary does not consider herself an individually valued member of her family, but a “pawn that must be played to advantage” (Gregory 28). Like ants, the Boleyn girls are taught to see themselves not as individuals with personal wants or desires, but representatives working for the bigger and greater benefit of the family. “I am happy for the family,” Anne says to her sister Mary. “I hardly ever think of you” (Gregory 85).


     Contemporary individuals consider their loyalty to lie first and foremost to themselves. They act for causes that will benefit them and avoid situations that will bring them harm. After their initial security is assured, the modern person will also pledge loyalty to the objects of their love and respect, notably family members, friends, lovers, and mentors. Once the individual people in one’s life are taken care of, the average contemporary will then turn their attention to more abstract concepts such as nation and state. George offers a very different hierarchy of obligation to his sister, which follows the order of family, kin, home, kingdom, and king (Gregory 268). Followers of this mindset are to work for the benefit of their networks at all times, never allowing for personal distractions. In accordance with this order of loyalty, Mary continually betrays Queen Katherine to her enemies, despite the fact that she loves her “more than any other in the world” (Gregory, 352).


     At first glance, the culture and customs of Tudor England are enormously different from 21^st century standards, giving this historical novel the level of entertainment value that is has. It is easy to focus on the aspects of life that are different. Gender roles today are vastly more equalized than they were for the men and women of Henry VIII’s days. Political and domestic lives are kept, for the most part, separated. Individuals have the freedom to love and marry as they please. By pointing out the differences in our lives, the author allows us to reflect upon the gifts our society has given us with freedom of choice and the security of human rights.


     However, as one reads, one does not see Gregory’s characters as entirely foreign or alien. On the contrary, her vivid character development make the reader relate to and feel sympathy for Anne, Mary, George, William Stafford, and even King Henry. One watches the characters live through circumstances that one might not be able to fully comprehend or imagine with responses and reactions that are entirely understandable.


     One example of this is the novel’s themes of ambition and family ties. By building George and Mary as relatable characters who feel and love as modern men and women do, the author pits them against the cold, ambitious forces personified by their controlling relatives. However, Anne, arguably the most single-mindedly ambitious character in the book, only becomes so (or becomes irrevocably so) after she loses her love, Henry Percy (Gregory 295). Then, their mother, who would ordinarily be classified with the static characters of the coldly ambitious family members, flinches when Uncle Howard casually discusses Anne’s potential “worthlessness” (Gregory 240). Finally, Uncle Howard himself declares Anne guilty through tears at the trial that condemns her (Gregory 654). These characters, whom the reader has been led to believe are solely politically driven and without feeling, have loved and felt deeply, despite their ambitions.


     Gregory draws our attention to these characters as human beings who react to their environments—however foreign these environments may seem, initially—in much the same way as people would today. By telling her story with emphasis on the universal themes of power, sex, wealth, and love as driving forces of Tudor court life, many similarities can be drawn between the Tudor era and the modern—or, perhaps, any—era. The rich and colourfully atmospheric culture of the Tudor court provides Gregory with a unique opportunity to present issues of contemporary relevance in unfamiliar scenes. Seeing one’s own reflection where one wouldn’t expect to find it causes the reader to question and reflect upon the nature of contemporary society. The vivid humanity of Gregory’s characters causes the reader to question their own time period, in which the same dramas are acted out against different backdrops and with different characters. In this way, Philippa Gregory’s novel succeeds greatly both as an entertaining work of fiction as well as a historical testament to the enduring and timeless depth of humanity.

Works Cited

Gregory, Philippa. The Other Boleyn Girl. New York: Touchstone, 2003.

"Full of Grace"

The Evolution of Portrayals of the Madonna and Child in Western European Art

     The Virgin Mary has been an object of Christian veneration for centuries in the Western world. As attitudes toward Catholic doctrine changed and evolved from medieval to Renaissance Europe, the role of Mary as a symbol of feminine virtue and the interpretation of divine motherhood changed as well. This change in religious attitude is visible in the artistic representations of Mary in each of these periods, such as the 12^th century sculpture The Virgin and Child (Virgin in Majesty) and in Andrea di Bartolo’s Italian Renaissance painting, The Madonna with the Green Cushion. 

     The Virgin and Child (Fig. 1) is a piece of Romanesque  woodwork believed to have been carved during the years between 1125-1150 by an unknown artist in Auvergne, France. The term “Romanesque” refers to the influence of ancient Roman—but not quite Classical—styles and techniques on medieval European architecture.[1] The Catholic Church was the only permitted form of Christianity in the 12^th century, and there was no distinction in Western Europe at this time between Church and state.[2] Religion was entirely integrated into the lives of the common people in the forms of both traditional doctrine and popular practice, holding enormous influence over their culture and society. 

     The popularity of the Madonna in visual representation grew after the year 431 when she was officially declared “God-bearing,” or theotokos, by the Council of Ephesus. Such seated images of the Virgin with Christ on her knee are referred to as Nikopoia, meaning “Bringer of Victory.” In this motif, Mary is considered the vehicle of God for delivering the human incarnation of His Word. She, herself, is depicted as what Alan Shestack calls “a regal throne for the personage of Christ.”[3] The illustrated Nikopoia appeared as a 3-dimensional sculpture for the first time between approximately the years 925-950 by Bishop Etienne II of Clermont, who had the image reproduced as a wooden reliquary plated with gold.[4] At this time, traditional reliquaries consisted of caskets or jewel-encrusted houses for the relics, and the novel Clermont Vierge d’Or would attract thousands of pilgrims en route to Santiago da Compostella. By the end of the 12^th century, when the cult of the Virgin Mary in Christianity was at its peak, every town in central France came to own a similar statue. Since gold and jewels were accessible only by the wealthiest religious institutions, the majority of churches in France fashioned their devotional images out of wood, like the Virgin and Child of Auvergne.[5] 

     The Virgin and Child is a small wooden reliquary carved from walnut. The Virgin Mary sits rigidly, as if on a throne, and holds the Christ-child in her lap with an oversized hand formally resting around His waist characteristic of these sculptures. This is not a casual, familiar pose for the mother and son. While childlike in size, the boy Jesus is represented with the mature dignity and majesty of the Judge of the World. Raising His right hand in benediction, He sits and stares in transcendent stillness that would be eerily unnatural in an ordinary human toddler. The dignity with which Mary is carved matches that of her son. While detailed attention is paid to the draperies of her robe and voluminous sleeves, little ornamental detail is added to soften the austerity of the Madonna’s expression beyond the most basic facial features. The rigid, “frozen in time” depiction of the pair is indicative of the medieval Christian characterization of Christ as the Word, the regal observer and judge of all things, and of the Madonna, the venerated instrument of God, both omnipresent in daily medieval life. 

     Western European culture underwent a dramatic period of change in the following centuries.  In the 1300s, the Italian Francesco Petrarch and his studies of the Latin classics sparked the movement of Renaissance humanism, which sought to apply the writings of ancient Roman scholars to find solutions to the civic problems of the Italian city-states.[6] Popular religion from this point on would never be the same. While religion continued to be a primary focal point of European society, the Renaissance introduced a humanistic approach to Christianity that emphasized moral philosophy in the secular world over theology. Renaissance Italians identified themselves as the bringers of a new Golden Age for Italy, and while they embraced their Roman past with open minds and open arms, they consequently rejected all things medieval. This newfound appreciation for ancient Roman philosophy and culture had profound and revolutionary effects on all aspects of society, including science, music, politics, literature, and art. 

     One Italian painter to be influenced by the techniques and themes of the Renaissance was Andrea di Bartolo (1460-1524), otherwise known as Solario. Solario’s hometown, Milan, was one of many independent, self-governing, Italian city-states. These city-states experienced intense rivalry with one another, and consistently strove to outdo one another in cultural, territorial, and military achievement. This competitive and culturally driven environment resulted in the magnificent movements in art and society, but also meant that the city-states suffered almost constant turmoil in war and political instability. External forces added additional pressures to the city-states as other European powers sought power over strategically located and economically flourishing Italian territories.[7]

     The duchy of Milan at the time of Solario was ruled by the Sforza dukes, who, like many of the wealthy, influential Italian lords, were great patrons of the arts. Throughout the late 15^th to early 16^th centuries, power over Milan switched from Sforza, to French, to Imperial hands. Such political turmoil greatly impacted the local artists and their work.[8] As foreign European powers craved both Italian lands as well as Italian influences at home, it was common for talented Renaissance minds to travel and contribute their talents abroad. Solario himself traveled to France in 1507, and it is possible that his most famous painting, Madonna with the Green Cushion, was produced during this time.

     In his Madonna with the Green Cushion (Fig. 2), Solario has painted Mary as an everyday, flesh-and-blood woman with a chubby cheerful baby. This depiction is a drastic departure from the frozen, iconic figures of the Nikopoia. While in the wooden reliquary, Jesus and Mary sit rigidly, with the miniature adult Christ facing away from the mother acting solely as His throne, Solario’s Madonna and Child gaze adoringly into each other’s eyes with particularly intimacy. The downward tilt of Mary’s head directs the viewer’s focus to Jesus, as one follows the direction of her gaze into the face of the rosy pink Son of God. While images of the Madonna breastfeeding an infant Christ are not new, Solario’s heartful, naturalistic, deeply humane portrayal lacks the iconic stylization of the Byzantine Galactotrophousa types.[9] The relatability of the posture of Mary in Renaissance images such as Solario’s shifts emphasis away from the personage of the Madonna as a distant, majestic instrument, to her secular, maternal relationship with Jesus, her son. Mary is no less a subject of veneration, but the humanity with which she is conceptualized here is a clear example of the humanistic approach to religion spreading through Europe in the 16^th century.

     Madonna with the Green Cushion is a painting that exudes softness. The figures of Mary and the Christ-child are rounded and full. The texture and colour with which Solario has painted the Madonna’s face and hair portray her as a figure of sweetness and idealized, Neoplatonic beauty. Baby Jesus clasps his kicking feet in a realistically childlike behaviour, while sucking milk from Mary’s round, right breast. The plush garments of the Virgin, as well as the thick cushion cradling baby Jesus that dominates the lower left-hand corner, completes the comforting, warm atmosphere of this mother-child scene. The influence of Solario’s teacher, Leonardo da Vinci, is visible in this work.[10] The bright, jewel-toned colours painted in oil popping against the varying shades of lush green landscape in the background are strikingly reminiscent of da Vinci’s Lamentation, supplying additional life and vibrancy to the Biblical characters and contrasting significantly from the rigid severity of sculpted Nikopoia.

      

     Solario’s representation of the Madonna and Child is almost unrecognizable as the same pair carved in the Auvergne reliquary, yet the subjects the same. As the Christian religion so thoroughly pervaded European life, artists included Christian figures in the pieces they created that reflected the ideas and values of their particular time. They communicated their values through depictions of Biblical figures to share a story or an idea with the public. The ideas and values of Western Europe evolved over time, changing the faces of the Madonna and Child as representatives of their faith along with them. 

     In the Middle Ages, the emphasis on Mary and Jesus as majestic powers immortally presiding over the universe produced rigid, regal sculptures like the Nikopoia reliquary, Virgin and Child. Such images inspired impressions of royalty and eternity that coincided with the medieval concept of God, the omnipresent judge. The introduction of humanism during the Renaissance turned Italians to seek guidance in Christianity for  well-lived, secular lives among fellow humans over the ambiguous future life in heaven they had sought in the past. This produced the relatable depiction of Mary breastfeeding the baby Jesus in Solario’s 16^th century painting. The very personal portrayal of the Madonna and Christ represents the Renaissance interest in their religion as source of guidance over the very real world they lived in with their very real problems that they, as humans had to solve. However much the image of the Virgin Mary has changed throughout art—whether enthroned in majesty or maternally cradling a fat, hungry baby—viewers can be assured that when they look upon the image of the Madonna and all the virtues and ideals carved or painted onto her person, they are looking into the very face of the culture that produced her.

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

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[1] Michael W. Cothren and Marilyn Stokstad, “Early Medieval and Romanesque Art,” in Art: A Brief History (New Jersey: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2010), 256.

[2] Jeffrey L. Singman, Daily Life in Medieval Europe (London: The Greenwood Press, 1999), 12-13.

[3] Alan Shestack, “A Romanesque Wooden Sculpture of the Madonna and Child Enthroned.” Acquisitions (Fugg Art Museum) 1964, (1964): 20.

[4] Ibid, 22.

[5] Cothren and Stokstad, 268.

[6] Johnathan Zophy, A Short History of Renaissance and Reformation Europe: Dances over Fire and Water (New Jersey: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2009), 72.

[7] Ibid, 48.

[8] Andrea Bayer, “North of the Apennines: Sixteenth-Century Italian Painting in Lombardy and Emilia-Romagna,” in The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series 60 (2003): 7.

[9] Victor Lasareff, “Studies in the Iconography of the Virgin,” in The Art Bulletin 20 (1938): 27-28.

[10] Bayer, 14-16.

Insecurity and Normalcy in Cold War Canada

By 1945, Canadians had endured their share of hardships and struggle. The Great Depression and World War II were enough to scar the country’s traumatized people with memories of sacrifice and deprivation. Traumatized as they were, Canadians were not expecting the prosperity and affluence that came with the postwar era, and they readily embraced the period of economic and personal security with open arms. However, the Cold War infected the Canadian atmosphere with incorporeal threats to this long-awaited national security. As the Cold War fostered policies of containment and anti-radicalism in Canada, so national ideals, most notably the normalization of the suburban nuclear family, were formed in a climate of conservatism.

Canadians feared that the end of World War II would signal the beginning of another depression, like the one that followed the First World War. Much to their surprise, post-WWII Canada experienced the opposite. A period of unprecedented economic growth rose Canadian citizens to affluence and witnessed a new age in production and accessibility of material wealth and consumer goods to the working- and middle-classes.[1] As stated by Whitaker and Marcuse in their book on Cold War Canada, “capitalism was emphatically working again.”[2] This prosperity played a crucial role in the development of politics after WWII. High employment and low inflation ushered in by the new, state-assisted capitalism turned Canadian society strongly toward conservatism.[3]

In this peacetime prosperity, Canadians wanted nothing more than to leave the difficulties of war behind them and enter a secure, new age. However, the Cold War brought new threats to Canada that couldn’t be ignored. Eschewing the appeasement and  isolationist policies attempted before World War II, the western powers agreed that collective security was a priority they could not afford to jeopardize. General consensus was that Canada’s duty was to step up and play its part, as a middle power and as an important participant in NATO, in battling against totalitarian aggression for the defence of the alliance.[4] The Cold War enemy was “an evil and alien ideology” that threatened the freedom and democratic lifestyle that Canadians had come to value.[5] To stray far from the consensus of Canada’s anti-totalitarian front was to contradict the values of Canadian economic and political security. Discoveries of Soviet spy rings with the Gouzenko affair of 1945 initiated extreme paranoia regarding the possibility of spies and betrayal, leading to government propaganda urging citizens to keep to themselves and stimulating an atmosphere of distrust. To question the consensus was to contradict the “good guy” stance of Canada against undemocratic Communism, and deviation from the norm was not well tolerated. Free debate was discouraged and most radicals learned to keep to themselves and err on the side of discretion.[6]

As the “Canadian way of life” was perceived as threatened by external forces, citizens enjoying the benefits of postwar prosperity defended it by leaning conservatively. “Domestic launching of the Cold War was managed by a central bureaucratic élite,” write Whitaker and Marcuse, “that had never had....such scope for influence over events. [They] used this influence in ways which reinforced the conservatism.”[7]

The suburban nuclear family was a major symbol of this conservatism in action. The promoted social order called the men, as fathers, workers, soldiers, and leaders, to defend the family—the microcosm of moral, democratic, Canadian values—from external threats, while the women, the mothers, were called to keep watch over the family in the internal realm of the home. This determined return to prewar ideals shaken by role ambiguity during wartime was another example of Canadians searching for a sense of normalcy and security.[8]

WWII veterans did not face the same challenges on their return home as in WWI. The government sought military security in rearmament, guaranteeing high employment. [9] Financial support for veterans, education, and the opportunity for home ownership had most Canadian veterans focusing on careers and raising families upon their return. Though the consensus among families was doubtless conservative, the movement for personal security turned everyday Canadians increasingly apolitical. While the nation’s leaders fought a battle of mounting international tension, homeowners’ concerns fell primarily on their immediate, individual stability. New housing projects had middle- and working-classes rushing to the suburbs—a privatization and isolationist move that exemplifies this apolitical phenomenon.

One result of the demand for internal Canadian security, combined with reactions to American McCarthyism by the Canadian state ,was massive security screening with regards to Canada’s immigration policies, beginning in 1946. In 1947, the government decided that prospective immigrants would be investigated and screened regarding their past activities, associates, and personal convictions. If an immigrant was found to be Communist, it was decided that “admission [to Canada] should be refused by the Immigration Branch without reason assigned for such action.”[10] This meant that the vast majority of new additions to Canadian society were politically of the far right, and immigrants who did hold radical left-leaning views were careful to hide them, adding to the conservatism being fostered across Canada. These immigrants brought different types of conservatism with them to Canada, as well. Many of them were fleeing the Soviet expansionism in Eastern Europe, and sought only economic improvement for their families. This strengthened the national consensus for anti-Communism and individualistic economic security.[11] White skin was also a requirement for entry until the 1960s, reinforcing the Caucasian, suburban family ideal.[12]

The desire for normalcy and security in postwar life promoted the management of risk and valued the expertise of psychologists in 1950s Canada. Sexual morality was viewed as a major factor in social and domestic security, placing heavy emphasis on the threatening abnormality of sexual deviance. Homosexuals were added to the list of undesirable citizens in 1952, and remained under “undesirable” status for over twenty years.[13] Hundreds of civil servants lost their jobs and were blacklisted from government employment on the grounds that their alleged homosexuality made them vulnerable for blackmailing as well as for their natural tendencies towards dishonesty and deception.[14] Not only did these actions allow the government to take precautions for the security of the civil service, it also allowed them to forcibly promote the acceptable norm of the heterosexual, nuclear family.

The Cold War began in a time when Canadians only wanted to put the difficulties of war behind them and grow in economic and personal safety. The suburban family home is a perfect symbol of that individualistic, hard-won, economic and security gain. As “elusive threats of inflation, unemployment, crime, juvenile delinquency, Soviet aggression, Communist subversion, and...nuclear war” put this prize domestic stability, as well as their prosperous, capitalist affluence, at risk, Canadians turned to an apolitical conservatism to protect the normalcy they so craved.[15] Forceful promotion of racial, sexual, and ideological conformity dually ensured a consistent, anti-radical, national consensus, as well as a stabilized social status quo that the elite could control. The Cold War climate was comprised of tensions, conflicts, and the sinisterly intangible, ever-present threat of nuclear war. Canadian society’s strict adherence to the “normal” nuclear family paradigm was a direct result of the quest for security that emerged from the insecurities and doubts of this atmosphere.  The incorporation of the anti-Communist mentality into every facet of ordinary Canadian life during the Cold War demonstrates the all-pervasive reach of total war and its ability to use even the minds of a nation’s citizens as resources for war aims.

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[1] Alvin Finkel, Our Lives: Canada after 1945, (Toronto: James Lorimer & Company Ltd., 1997), 61.

[2] Reg Whitaker, et al., Cold War Canada: the Making of a National Insecurity State, 1945-1957, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), 13.

[3] Ibid, 14.

[4] Ibid, 5.

[5] Ibid, 4.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid, 14

[8] Finkel, 64.

[9] Whitaker, et al., 16.

[10] Finkel, 34.

[11] Whitaker, et al., 18.

[12] Finkel, 34.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Ibid, 33.

[15] Whitaker, et al., 22.

“To the City of Saints, or to Sodom, what you will.”

The Fate of a Man and his Soul in Maria McCann’s 17^th Century England

     The 21^st century North American outlook on life can generally be summed up by the American tenets of success as a direct result of one’s own hard work and in the rights to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” In Maria McCann’s novel As Meat Loves Salt, it can be seen that the British of 400 years ago shared these same values and desires. However, there are key differences between then and now that distinguish the definitions of these values, as well as the conditions affecting access to them. The variation in one individual’s manner of living to the next, the determination of a person’s ability to act and live in freedom, and, most importantly for this novel, to what lengths a person can decide upon and realize his own happiness are but some of the thought-provoking ideas that As Meat Loves Salt demands its readers question through its protagonist Jacob Cullen and his peers.

     When comparing 17^th  and 21^st century beliefs, it is important to consider the environment in which those beliefs were bred and fostered. The Stuart British do not share the modern luxury of television or internet to connect themselves to the doings and sayings of people around the country and the world. When the servants of the Roche household want updates on the civil war, they rely on word of mouth, as servants from each household pass on news from one to the next as they go visiting with their masters (McCann 13). Books are one of the only mediums through which ideas can be distributed, yet their expense limits them to ownership by the wealthy, and their content is strictly overseen by political and religious leaders with their own agendas. Thus, the importance of the printing press cannot be overestimated in Stuart culture. Common and privileged people alike rely on the printing press’s ability to mass produce pamphlets with relative speed, spreading news, ideas, and propaganda across a land where news otherwise travels very slowly. The printing press and the pamphlets it produces come to be associated with the passion and fervour of the ideas they contain. Ferris, melancholy and listless as a widower, finds a rejuvenated life and purpose as he prints pamphlets, promoting the ideals he works for and giving himself a reason to live (McCann 267). The importance of the distribution of the written word also serves as a means of empowerment for those who produce it. At a meeting regarding the colony they hope to build, Jacob announces that he will soon start work on printing a new pamphlet, causing the others to view him with respect (McCann 285).

     A strong contributor to the construction of a person’s identity is the societal class to which he or she belongs. One’s social rank dictates every aspect of one’s life, including with whom one associates, the food one eats, personal appearance, and appropriate behaviour.

     The novel begins with Jacob’s position as a manservant. This position of servitude is shared by his siblings, and it is from this class that Jacob chooses his spouse and finds his friends and peers. It is uncommon for members of differing social classes to associate as equals. Jacob notices “women of quality” looking on his handsome brother with attraction, which he considers very high praise in its cross-class abnormality (McCann 8). As a servant, Jacob is expected to show humility and speak with deference not only to his employers, but to other servants who outrank him, as well (McCann 4, 12). McCann describes discontent among the serving class as they endure the ill-treatment of their employers and relish in pamphlets describing a utopian, egalitarian society where “no class of persons [is] obliged to serve others merely to live” (McCann 16).

     Jacob’s social position and the expectations that come with it change when he becomes a soldier in the New Model Army. Military service is appealing to many men in the 17^th century. In a world in which most individuals are powerless under the whims of their hierarchical superiors, the army offers men an opportunity to take action in defence of their political and/or religious causes. It can also be seen as a quick change of pace from the social position one is currently in, which Jacob experiences with his rapid enlistment, and of which Ferris takes advantage to escape his sorrows as a widower. While many men see the army favourably for these reasons, the soldiers are generally despised by the population. The free quarter they demand forces the common people to sacrifice their food, shelter, women, and general sense of security to the roguish soldiers—a far cry from the respectful and dutiful image shared by many of soldiers today.

     The position in which Jacob is most happy is as a citizen rubbing shoulders with the merchant class in London. A negative result of this change in rank is that Jacob begins to liken himself to his hated past employer, “Sir Bastard,” as he accustoms himself to being waited on and shouts at Becs, the maid, as he was once shouted at (McCann 289). This lofty attitude contrasts starkly with his rank as a labourer in the colony, when he and his fellows are threatened and beaten by members of the gentry (McCann 451, 556).

     Material culture is a tangible factor in determining a person’s social status. The type of food one eats as well as how one eats it is a marker of rank. The Roches’ servants eat their dinner from the leftovers of their masters’ meals in the basement, out of sight of their superiors and after their serving duties are complete. However, as they are the ones preparing the food, they eat what they prepared themselves, though not of the same quality as what they serve. In the army, Jacob notices the quality of his diet drop dramatically.  Only minimal rations of bread are relied upon for consistent sustenance. Although the bread is hard and the cheese has mites, Jacob “grabs at it” eagerly (McCann 96).  At Ferris’ merchant-class household in London, Jacob is treated to an abundance of food and is picky with his tastes once more. In contrast to the coarse, dark bread of the army that must be softened in water before it can be eaten, the bread eaten in Cheapside is “fine, white manchet,” referring to the luxurious quality of the flour.

     In the 17^th century, social status can be seen as well as tasted. Clothing is an immediate marker of a person’s place on the social ladder. The usually plainly dressed servant-Jacob is given special honours on his wedding day, and is dressed in a beautiful coat. His colleagues give him a gift of hose made of fine white wool that make him feel like a nobleman (McCann 59). After running away and being picked up by the army, Jacob trades in his shoes for sturdy, practical boots; his wedding coat is either lost or stolen, and Jacob wears, instead, a coat he describes as “botched together” (McCann 201). McCann uses this change of attire to symbolise Jacob’s new life as a soldier named Rupert and the abandonment of his old servant life, as lost and irretrievable as his wedding coat. Upon his initiation into Ferris’ London life, Jacob dons the respectable clothes of Ferris’ dead uncle before his own tailor-made outfits transform him into a Londoner. It is when he looks at Ferris in his civilized outfit, “translated from soldier to merchant,” that he realizes for the first time how Ferris had led an entire life before the army of which he has no idea. The appearance of a person’s body  can tell almost as much about someone’s rank as the clothes they dress it in. Jacob imagines Ferris’ army-roughened hands slowly reverting to the softness of his merchant lifestyle, while the clear, un-pocked faces of the Domremy women identify them as milkmaids, immune to smallpox through their trade.

     Gender is a factor that dictates behaviour and social rank along with class. For a 17^th century woman, virtue is her most valuable quality. Many qualifications come with the characteristic of virtue. Firstly, virtue comes with virginity. Jacob says that he has no desire for women who “fell over backwards if you so much as blew on them” and is proud of the virginity and mild manners of his fiancée, Caro (McCann 17, 18). Pre-marital pregnancy is a shameful taboo; Izzy warns Zeb about Patience’s pregnancy, as it “is the first thing thought on if a lass be found drowned,” however Patience needn’t fear for her reputation, since Zeb agreed to marry her, which would spare her some shame (McCann 6). This society shows great concern for the virtue of its women, but real-life practices and their consequences conflict with the cultural values. The men of Ferris’ colony express concern that the women will “run wild” if removed from the “civilized” legal and social restrictions of the city. The Domremy women refute this point, claiming that working for their own livelihood on the colony is no different from what they are doing now, and that they are none the less moral or virtuous for it (McCann 338).

     The standard, traditional concepts of gender in this time period are strength in men and weakness in women. However, as in all cultural constructions, there is a difference between what is accepted as reality and what is practiced. Since fighting belongs to the masculine domain, women are not permitted to fight in the army. However, that doesn’t mean that women never fight for their causes. In the New Model, Jacob witnesses women attacking soldiers by throwing staves at them from windows. Since this behaviour conflicts with his society’s gendered idea of femininity, he calls them “unnatural” (McCann 145). Aunt, too, makes note of the strength of women in childbirth, but that does not lead her to the conclusion that women are strong. Instead, she applies this to her cultural understanding of female weakness and male strength, and maintains that if women have any strength, men’s superior, masculine strength must be incredible (McCann 256). Women are believed to be weaker than men in mind as well as in body. Jacob questions this during colony meetings, noting that the Domremys “showed more sense than some of the men, for they could undoubtedly do useful work” (McCann 307, 333).

     Marriage in modern-day North America is perceived as a legal institution binding the lives of two lovers together. Marriage among common people in 17^th century England has the much more practical function of binding a man and a woman for the advantages of family alliance, wealth, social advancement, and security, in addition to mutual affection, should there be any at all. Despite his lack of romantic feeling for her, Jacob is confused at the proposition of marriage to Becs, for he cannot see where the “profit” in such a union lies (McCann 308). A line is drawn between love and marriage, with sex falling idealistically in the sole realm of marriage. This distinction can be seen in Jacob’s boast, “I treated Caro always with the respect which is due from a lover and never assumed the privileges of a husband” (McCann 8). The role of a wife is submission to her husband in all things and in the meeting of all his domestic needs, demonstrated by Becs in her courting of Jacob by skilfully preparing his meals and ensuring his comfort whenever she can (McCann 254). The husband’s role in the marriage is to provide his wife with personal as well as material security. Ferris, who feels genuine affection for his wife, is disgusted over the obligation of buying her from her father, and challenges the notion of wives as property by wondering if marriage would be better with the husband acting as the wife’s friend more than as her owner (McCann 122).

     Jacob’s sense of identity is built of internal and external factors. Physically, Jacob has always been taller, broader, and stronger than other men. This has particularly negative consequences for him, as he suffers from a dangerously violent temper. While the modern reader would observe this and call it a mental instability, tameable with treatment and understanding, Jacob himself lives in a pervasively Christian world where such a quality is considered the deadly sin of wrath (McCann 508).

     Jacob’s wrathful temperament and jealous personality hamper his ability to develop close relationships with other characters in the novel. The exception to this is Christopher Ferris, with whom Jacob eventually falls in love. Their relationship begins as friendship, but is quickly complicated when the two have a physically intimate encounter in a moment of distress. Jacob, extraordinarily uncomfortable with what he has done, tries to ignore the implications of homosexuality involved in the encounter and refers to it only as comfort between friends. It is easy to understand Jacob’s reluctance to recognize the incident for what it was, for in 17^th century England, homosexual acts are known as the crime of sodomy, punishable with death by burning (McCann 375). Homosexual partnerships are much more freely accepted in society today, and while universal tolerance continues to be a work in progress, it is unthinkable that the consequence of homosexuality would be capital punishment.

     Jacob’s struggle to reconcile his romantic, sexual relationship with the despicable crime taught to him through his religion forms the primary conflict of the book, epitomized through the positions postulated first by Jacob, that sin is their condition, then by Ferris, that love is their rightful condition (McCann 316). Jacob is at his best when he is loved by Ferris; their love calms his raging temper and he feels as though he would never need to fight another again (McCann 328). However, the Bible states that for a man to lie with another man is an abomination, and not only will secular law put him to death in this life, but his soul will burn in hell for his sin (McCann 401). Confirming Jacob’s fears of hell is the Voice of Satan that he hears in his mind, spurring him toward sinful acts and taunting him with threats of hellfire (McCann 440). While these, too, could be written off as mental illness to a modern observer, they are very fitting and plausible to a person living in the pervasive Christianity of Stuart England. Fearing for both himself and for Ferris, Jacob prays for God to forgive him. In accordance to his faith, Jacob’s acts label him a “fornicator, of unnatural appetite, in thrall to an Atheist” ; from a secular perspective, the man concedes himself simply in love (McCann 317). The rationale behind Jacob’s fears crumbles somewhat, as he considers the goodness and kindness of Ferris as a person, leading him to the conclusion that Ferris’s soul could not possibly be damned (McCann 377). Unfortunately, Jacob can not use the same argument to save his own wrathful soul from damnation.

     “I was not made to be loved,” Jacob laments at the novel’s end (McCann), a heartbreaking assertion that evokes sympathy in the reader despite the character’s imperfections. McCann has created a character, unpleasantly human with his anti-heroic flaws, and set him in an environment that offers him no chance at true happiness at all. Skilled in his trade, faithful to his religion, and more or less correct in his observance of social expectations, Jacob essentially follows the rules demanded of him by his world. However, his uncontrollable temper inevitably leads to trouble, and once he finds love, his society turns it into a crime. He admits that marriage to Becs would offer him a very fair fortune with a kind mistress, a good wife, and a respectable position in civilized society, yet he knows that deprived of his true love, that “prosperous” life would never make him happy—a concept widely agreed upon by modern-day romantics (McCann 309).

     Perhaps had the character of Jacob Cullen existed in the 21^st century, his story might have found a happy ending. His mental instability—the modern association with hearing voices and irrational tempers—could have been treated with therapy and medicine. He could have freely loved another man without fear of capital punishment and eternal damnation. Unfortunately, it was not to be, and thus a happy ending is impossible for him. This truth is accepted even by Jacob himself. “I deserved it,” he says, “I was wrathful, and my very love a violation” (McCann 208). Few modern readers can justify the condemnation of a man for his love, and thus, with Jacob’s steadfast view of himself as an abomination, McCann challenges her readers to consider the consequences of modern, as well as early modern, constructions of social identity and to question to what degree the fate of a man’s soul is at the mercy of the world in which he lives.

Sources

McCann, Maria. As Meat Loves Salt. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 2001.