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¬rst published book was The Decoration of Houses (±·). For more on spatial
and imaginative structures in Wharton™s writing, see Judith Fryer, Felicitous
Space: The Imaginative Structures of Edith Wharton and Willa Cather (Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, ±); and Sarah Luria, ˜˜The Archi-
tecture of Manners: Henry James, Edith Wharton, and The Mount,™™
American Quarterly, , no.  (June ±·).
±°° Cha¬ee, Bachelor Buttons, p. ±°.
±°± According to William Charvat™s landmark study, The Profession of Authorship
in America (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, ±), p. ±, a novel
had to sell at least µ,°°° copies to be considered a success in this period.
Although the sales of Reveries may seem modest when compared with the
so-called ˜˜decided hits™™ of the antebellum decade, Geary notes that
˜˜whenever ¬gures were mentioned, they represented the extreme rather
than the mean™™; see Susan Geary, ˜˜The Domestic Novel as a Commercial
Commodity: Making a Best Seller in the ±µ°s,™™ Papers of the Bibliographical
Society of America ·°, no.  (July“September ±·), “.
±° The reception of Reveries is described in Waldo H. Dunn™s hagiography,
The Life of Donald G. Mitchell (Ik Marvel) (New York: Scribner™s, ±), p. °.
See also Wayne R. Kime, Donald G. Mitchell (Boston: Twayne Publishers,
° Notes to pages “µµ
±µ), pp. ±“±; and Allan Peskin and Arnold G. Tew, ˜˜The Disappear-
ance of Ik Marvel,™™ American Studies , no.  (Fall ±).
±° See Kathryn Whitford, ˜˜The Blithedale Romance: Hawthorne™s Reveries of a
Bachelor,™™ Thoth ±µ, no. ± (Winter ±·).
±° Donald Grant Mitchell, Reveries of a Bachelor, or A Book of the Heart (by Ik
Marvel) (±µ°; New York: Scribner™s, ±µ±), p. ±µ. Further page references
will be cited in the body of the chapter.
±°µ On the concept of sentimental ownership, or spiritually redemptive prop-
erty relations in antebellum culture, see Lori Merish, ˜˜Sentimental Con-
sumption: Harriet Beecher Stowe and the Aesthetics of Middle-Class
Ownership,™™ American Literary History , no. ± (Spring ±).
±° The decayed dwelling as signi¬er of inaccessible authenticity is a common
motif in sentimental discourse. One precedent that may have directly
in¬‚uenced Mitchell™s sentimental representation of selling-o¬ his home is
the description of the sale of the old school in Henry MacKenzie™s The Man
of Feeling (±··±). The nostalgic backward glances in Reveries also connect
Mitchell to Washington Irving and the nostalgic vision of an American
rural past in The Sketchbook of Geo¬rey Crayon, Gentleman (±°“). Mitchell
dedicated Dream Life to Irving, and also followed Irving in taking up
residence in a country home designed along explicitly anachronistic lines
to commemorate a vanishing rural life. See Adam W. Sweeting, ˜˜˜A Very
Pleasant Patriarchal Life™: Professional Authors and Amateur Architects in
the Hudson Valley, ±µ“±·°,™™ Journal of American Studies , no. ± (Spring
±µ).
±°· Zenobia tells Coverdale, ˜˜You are a poet “ at least, as poets go, now-a-days
“ and must be allowed to make an opera-glass of your imagination, when
you look at women™™ (p. ±·°); The Blithedale Romance (±µ), The Centenary
Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne,  vols. (Columbus: Ohio State
University Press, ±), III. Mitchell himself deployed a comparable meta-
phor in the title of his satirical publication, The Lorgnette; or, Studies of the
Town (New York: H. Kernot, ±µ°). Mitchell attempted to preserve the
anonymity of his authorship of The Lorgnette by simultaneously publishing
˜˜A Bachelor™s Reverie™™ under his own name.
±° With respect to Mitchell and other mid-century American male sketch
writers, Ann Douglas notes that the sketch is ˜˜perfectly adapted to com-
mercial periodical publication™™: ˜˜it makes no claim to last; it is ultimately
dispensable. It concerns itself with the small, the ˜picturesque™™™ (p. );
The Feminization of American Culture (±··; New York: Anchor-Doubleday,
±). For a more nuanced reading of the disavowal of labor typical of
mid-century professional writers, see Sandra Tomc, ˜˜An Idle Industry:
Nathaniel Parker Willis and the Workings of Literary Leisure,™™ American
Quarterly , no.  (December ±·).
±° On the fetishized and rei¬ed language of the heart, the highly conven-
tionalized metonymy which connects soul to body and the spiritual to the
Notes to pages µµ“± ±
material, in Mitchell™s text and in sentimental discourse more generally,
see Samuel Otter, Melville™s Anatomies: Bodies, Discourse, and Ideology in Antebel-
lum America (Berkeley: University of California Press, ±).
±±° Both Vincent J. Bertolini, ˜˜Fireside Chastity: The Erotics of Sentimental
Bachelorhood,™™ American Literature , no.  (December ±), ·±, and
Otter, Melville™s Anatomies, pp. , note the mid-nineteenth-century associ-
ation of reverie with masturbation.
±±± Bertolini, ˜˜Fireside Chastity,™™ pp. ·°“±.
±± The association of bachelorhood with tobacco smoking in popular dis-
course is ubiquitous; perhaps the quintessential example is J. M. Barrie, My
Lady Nicotine: A Study in Smoke (±°).
±± One version of bachelor domesticity takes the form of bachelors setting up
house with their unmarried aunts, nieces, and/or sisters. On the domestic
and quasi-domestic relations of bachelor uncles, see chapter µ. For a ¬ne
account of the complex relation of bachelor brothers to the Victorian
household and novelistic plotting, see ˜˜Domestic Contracts in The Tenant of
Wildfell Hall,™™ in Cheri Larsen Hoeckley, ˜˜Literary Ladies in Anomalous
Positions: Victorian Women Writers and the Married Women™s Property
Movement,™™ PhD thesis, University of California at Berkeley (±·).
±± Walter Pater, The Renaissance (±), ed. Donald L. Hill (Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press, ±°), p. ±. For a reading of Pater™s ˜˜Conclusion™™
as revising Victorian discourses of normative masculinity, see Sussman,
Victorian Masculinities, pp. ±“°.
±±µ Matthew Arnold, Culture and Anarchy: An Essay in Political and Social
Criticism, (London: Smith, Elder and Co., ±), p. viii; Pater, The Renais-
sance, p. ±°.
±± Otter, Melville™s Anatomies, p. µ. In ˜˜The Disappearance of Ik. Marvel,™™
Peskin and Tew note that ˜˜[d]espite the repeated assumption in our time
that Mitchell™s readers were women, all the evidence from the ±µ°s
through the early years of this century suggests that many of Mitchell™s
most devoted readers were in fact young men™™ (p. ±µ).
±±· Otter, Melville™s Anatomies, p. µ. Otter speculates that ˜˜[t]his omission may
result from the lack of such letters (thus proving the necessity for his
sensitizing literary project) or from the privacy of such correspondence™™.
±± Leverenz, Manhood and the American Renaissance, pp. “±, especially ±·“±.
±± ˜˜Our Young Authors,™™ Putnam™s Monthly Magazine ±, no. ± (January ±µ),
·. Peskin and Tew, ˜˜The Disappearance of Ik Marvel,™™ pp. ±“±·, give a
sampling of Reveries™s contemporary critical reception.
±° The famous images of containing multitudes and the merge are from
Whitman™s Leaves of Grass (±µµ). Whitman uses the phrases ˜˜fervid com-
radeship™™ and ˜˜adhesive love™™ in Democratic Vistas (±·°), though ˜˜adhes-
iveness™™ appears in his writing from the mid-±µ°s on; see Robert K.
Martin, The Homosexual Tradition in American Poetry (Austin: University of
Texas Press, ±·), pp. “·.
 Notes to pages “
 µ   °  ©  ©¬ ©   ® ¤    © ®§ ¬   ®
± ˜˜Bachelor Invalids and Male Nurses,™™ Once a Week , no.  (October ·, ±·±),
±. Further page references will be cited in the body of the chapter.
 There have been numerous recent studies of nineteenth-century represen-
tations of illness, bodies, sexuality, and gender. Several of the most useful
are Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture,
±°“±° (New York: Pantheon, ±µ); Catherine Gallagher and Thomas
Laqueur (eds.), The Making of the Modern Body: Sexuality and Society in the
Nineteenth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, ±·); Sander
Gilman, Disease and Representation: Images of Illness from Madness to AIDS
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, ±); Diane Price Herndl, Invalid Women:
Figuring Feminine Illness in American Fiction and Culture, ±°“±° (Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, ±); Athena Vrettos, Somatic Fictions:
Imagining Illness in Victorian Culture (Stanford University Press, ±µ); and
Peter M. Logan, Nerves and Narratives: A Cultural History of Hysteria in Nineteenth-
Century British Prose (Berkeley: University of California Press, ±·).
 I am quoting here from Je¬ Nunokawa™s illuminating ˜˜˜All the Sad Young
Men™: AIDS and the Work of Mourning,™™ The Yale Journal of Criticism , no. 
(±±), ±“. For an exemplary resistant reading of the sort I describe here,
see Leo Bersani, ˜˜Is The Rectum a Grave?™™, AIDS: Cultural Analysis, Cultural
Activism, ed. Douglas Crimp (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, ±).
 Terence McCarthy identi¬es and contributes to the tradition of reading
Lockwood and Nelly as unreliable narrators in ˜˜The Incompetent Narrator
of Wuthering Heights,™™ Modern Language Quarterly , no. ± (March ±±), “.
Critical treatment of the unreliable narrator in Blithedale has shaped itself
into two opposing camps: ˜˜pro-Coverdale™™ and ˜˜anti-Coverdale™™; on this
bifurcation, see Keith Carabine, ˜˜˜Bitter Honey™: Miles Coverdale as
Narrator of The Blithedale Romance,™™ Nathaniel Hawthorne: New Critical Essays,
ed. A. Robert Lee (London: Vision Press, ±).
µ Self-portrayal as a thwarted suitor is a stock motif of popular nineteenth-
century bachelor discourse. Thus Coverdale™s sentiment that ˜˜[a] bachelor
always feels himself defrauded, when he knows, or suspects, that any
woman of his acquaintance has given herself away™™ (p. ), is echoed almost
verbatim by the bachelor narrator of ˜˜My Wife and My Theory about
Wives,™™ Harper™s New Monthly Magazine ±±, no.  (November ±µµ): ˜˜My
pulse sank . . . for the good and su¬cient reason (which authors have but
lately had the honesty to avow) that every bachelor feels himself defrauded
when a pretty woman marries™™ (p. ·±). This echo indicates the currency of
the bachelor ¬gure in American popular culture of the ±µ°s as well as the
familiarity of Harper™s writers and readers with Hawthorne™s novel. Further
references to The Blithedale Romance will be cited in the body of the chapter
with ˜˜BR.™™
 Making a spectacle of oneself does not always mean abjecting oneself or
displaying one™s preexisting condition of abjection. The paradoxical status
of self-display for Victorian men is addressed in James Eli Adams™s Dandies
Notes to pages “·± 
and Desert Saints: Styles of Victorian Masculinity (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, ±µ); I return to the issue of self-display as normative and counter-
normative, and to its connection with questions of discipline, asceticism,
and artistry, in chapter .
· Nina Baym cites Philip Rahv™s ±± Partisan Review essay, ˜˜The Dark Lady
of Salem,™™ as the source of this interpretation, which she herself endorses;
see ˜˜The Blithedale Romance: A Radical Reading,™™ The Norton Critical Edition of
The Blithedale Romance, ed. Seymour Gross and Rosalie Murphy (New York:
Norton, ±·).
 Gillian Brown notes the homoerotics of the Coverdale-Hollingsworth rela-
tion in Domestic Individualism: Imagining Self in Nineteenth-Century America (Ber-
keley: University of California Press, ±°), pp. ±±±“± and p. , n. . A
more extensive reading of these homoerotics, which connects them to the
novel™s representations of free love and utopianism, and also considers the
homoerotic/homosocial bond between Priscilla and Zenobia, can be found
in Lauren Berlant, ˜˜Fantasies of Utopia in The Blithedale Romance,™™ American
Literary History ±, no. ± (Spring ±), “.
 Many critical readers have emphasized the Oedipal dynamics of this love
triangle; a classic example is Frederick Crews, The Sins of the Fathers: Haw-
thorne™s Psychological Themes (New York: Oxford University Press, ±),
pp. °°“±.
±° I am stressing here the more conventional aspect of the Oedipus myth
which implies violence and hierarchical relations between fathers and sons
rather than loving bonds of fraternity; for a reading of the Oedipus myth
that emphasizes the latter, see New¬eld, ˜˜Democracy and Male Ho-
moeroticism,™™ especially “µ. Lockwood™s erotic identi¬cation with
Heathcli¬ might be seen to encompass both kinds of relations, as for
example when he ˜˜pairs™™ himself with Heathcli¬ as fellow misanthropists:
˜˜In all England, I do not believe that I could have ¬xed on a situation so
completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist™s
Heaven “ and Mr Heathcli¬ and I are such a suitable pair to divide the
desolation between us . . . I felt interested in a man who seemed more
exaggeratedly reserved than myself™™; Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights (±·;
¨
London: Penguin, ±), p. µ. Further pages references to be cited in the
body of the chapter with ˜˜WH.™™
±± Many readers of the novel have pointed to Lockwood™s anecdote about his
¬‚irtation with and subsequent withdrawal from the ˜˜fascinating creature™™ at
the sea coast as evidence for his voyeuristic self-constitution. I emphasize
here the complex, even self-contradictory, meanings of his narration of this
anecdote: the paradoxical self-aggrandizement and self-denigration that his
telling itself enacts. Lockwood™s confession of his retreat from the reciprocat-
ing gaze of the seaside ˜˜goddess™™ “ ˜˜[W]hat did I do? I confess it with shame
“ shrunk icily into myself, like a snail, at every glance retired colder and
farther™™ (WH, p. ) “ seems more self-¬‚agellating than self-¬‚attering, more
masochistically honest than self-protectively unreliable. One wonders, how-
 Notes to pages ·“·
ever, whether he is surreptitiously promoting the rakish ˜˜reputation of
deliberate heartlessness™™ that he ostensibly disclaims here as ˜˜undeserved™™
(WH, p. ). This possibility is reinforced by Lockwood™s explicitly unreli-
able characterization of Heathcli¬ in the immediately preceding passage.
Here, Lockwood attempts to masculinize his own snail-like shrinking from
reciprocation by aligning it with the more manly and bourgeois ˜˜reserve,™™
the ˜˜aversion to showy displays of feeling™™ (WH, p. ·) which he attributes
¬rst to Heathcli¬, and then to himself.
± My understanding of the gendered politics of nineteenth-century spiritual-
ism owes a great deal to Ann Braude, Radical Spirits: Spiritualism and Women™s
Rights in Nineteenth-Century America (Boston: Beacon Press, ±). See also
Janet Oppenheim, The Other World: Spiritualism and Psychical Research in
England, ±µ°“±± (Cambridge University Press, ±µ); Alex Owen, The
Darkened Room: Women, Power, and Spiritualism in Late Nineteenth-Century England
(London: Virago, ±); and Judith Walkowitz, ˜˜Science and the Seance: ´
Transgressions of Gender and Genre,™™ City of Dreadful Delight: Narratives of
Sexual Danger in Late-Victorian London (University of Chicago Press, ±).
± Dorothy Van Ghent was among the ¬rst to write of the ˜˜dark otherness™™ of
the characters in Wuthering Heights; see The English Novel: Form and Function
(New York: Rinehart, ±µ), p. ±µ. For other discussions of self/other
relations and narrative boundaries, see J. Hillis Miller, The Disappearance of
God; Five Nineteenth-Century Writers (Cambridge, MA: Belknap-Harvard Uni-
versity Press, ±), pp. ±“±±; Elizabeth Napier, ˜˜The Problem of
Boundaries in Wuthering Heights,™™ Philological Quarterly , no. ± (Winter ±);
John T. Matthews, ˜˜Framing in Wuthering Heights,™™ Texas Studies in Literature
and Language ·, no. ± (Spring ±µ); Naomi Jacobs, ˜˜Gender and Layered
Narrative in Wuthering Heights and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,™™ Journal of
Narrative Technique ±, no.  (Fall ±); and John Allen Stevenson, ˜˜˜Heath-
cli¬ is Me!™: Wuthering Heights and the Question of Likeness,™™ Nineteenth-
Century Literature  (±).
± In Tradition Counter Tradition, Boone traces ˜˜the emergence of a literary ideal
of romantic marriage™™ (p. ±) from the courtly love tradition of the late
eleventh century through to the nineteenth-century novel. His history of
literary love plotting has in¬‚uenced my understanding of ¬ctional manifes-
tations of the construct of gendered and sexual complementarity, that is, my
understanding of the long-standing notion that women and men are funda-
mentally di¬erent but that their heterosexual pairing creates a single whole,
two as one. Kevin Kopelson o¬ers a corrective to the ˜˜compulsory hetero-
sexuality™™ that pervades even this demystifying analytical tool, noting the
suppressed presence of a ¬gure of male“male identi¬cation/desire, in addi-
tion to the ¬guring of male-female complementarity, in Plato™s originary
emblem of the divided self; see Love™s Litany: The Writing of Modern Homoerotics
(Stanford University Press, ±), especially pp. µ“.
±µ For example, see Mary Lyndon Shanley, Feminism, Marriage, and the Law in
Victorian England (Princeton University Press, ±); and Lee Holcombe,
Notes to pages ·“·µ µ
Wives and Property: Reform of the Married Women™s Property Law in Nineteenth-
Century England (University of Toronto Press, ±).
± Some critics have taken the union of Cathy II and Hareton as an improve-
ment over the marriages that precede it in the chronology of Wuthering
Heights. Patricia Parker, however, theorizes that ˜˜[t]he endless debate over
whether the novel™s second generation constitutes a progress or decline in
relation to the ¬rst may be precisely endless because the two sides are simply
the opposite faces of a single coin “ two possibilities within the model of the
line,™™ Literary Fat Ladies; Rhetoric, Gender, Property (London: Methuen, ±·),
p. ±·µ.
±· Certain critics in the unreliable narrator tradition have glimpsed a psycho-
killer behind the facade of the more-or-less mild-mannered bachelor nar-
rator of Blithedale, taking Coverdale™s account of Zenobia™s drowned corpse
as evidence implicating him in her murder. John McElroy and Edward
McDonald, ˜˜The Coverdale Romance,™™ Studies in the Novel ±, no. ± (Spring
±), were the ¬rst to catch a discrepancy in Coverdale™s knowledge of the
water™s depth and to suggest foul play. Beverly Hume, ˜˜Restructuring the
Case Against Hawthorne™s Coverdale,™™ Nineteenth-Century Fiction ° (±),
˜˜uses the scienti¬c illogic™™ (p. °) of Zenobia™s rigor mortis to prove Cover-
dale™s madness and crime.
± The uncanniness of Zenobia™s rigid and vertical corpse, together with the

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