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jade4813 · 4 years

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Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 9

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Until he met Margaret, John had never given much thought to marriage, other than to occasionally acknowledge he would one day be expected to enter into the institution. With so much responsibility to assume after the death of his father, he’d wasted little time imagining the type of lady he might one day take as a wife, and less time still pondering how such an arrangement would impact his life. Such concerns, while admittedly important, had fallen to the wayside in light of more immediate concerns, until they rarely crossed his mind at all.

Until her. Until Margaret. Though he could not now look back and identify the single moment when he first loved her, his attachment to her was undeniable, fixed, and constant. It might always be hoped that marriage should bring felicity to the involved parties, but in the privacy of his own heart, John felt he was likely happier than most, for few other men could be as fortunate in choice of bride or as unwavering in depths of love as he.

His only concern, in those first few days of married life, was that Margaret would not count herself quite as fortunate, not having the same manner of attachment. However, he was pleased to see that she seemed content in her choice of groom, and he strove to undertake any manner of activity that might please her.

Her initial shyness in physical matters quickly gave way to enthusiastic engagement (although he’d never forget that first, scandalized protest: “John, it’s the middle of the day!”). As her reservations faded, her playfulness increased, and he risked tardiness to more than one appointment due to her reluctance to let him leave her side, as well as his own unwillingness to do the same.

So it could be comfortably said that married life treated him well, and he hoped, at least, that it was equally as kind to Margaret. He had one initial reservation, early on, that she might not be as she seemed. The moment came upon her receipt of a letter from her cousin, Edith. After relaying the details of some ridiculous scheme to him over breakfast – the details of which had long since escaped his memory – John had remarked that Edith was a fortunate woman, thinking of her near scrape.

In response, a wistful expression overtook Margaret’s face as she remarked, “Indeed. She and the Colonel are very much in love, and she’s fortunate to find someone who can be so forgiving of her failings.”

John had watched as her attention fell to her plate, where she poked dispiritedly at her breakfast, the happy mood broken, and he’d wondered if she regretted that she had not married for the same reason. The moment soon passed, however, and the felicity between the newly married couple was quickly restored, leaving little more than a shadow in his own mind as evidence it had ever existed.

And so, secure in his own happiness and confident in hers (being, as he was, willing to do whatever he could to ensure it), the newlyweds’ happiness was only marred by the increasingly strained financial situation at the mill. Although John tried to protect her from such concerns, the stress of the situation weighed on him and took him away from his bride more often than he would have wished.

One evening, he returned late from work to find Margaret at her dressing table, putting the final pins into her hair to ready herself for dinner with Fanny and Watson. His sister had invited the family to dine with her that evening, which John suspected was due more to a desire to show off her newest furnishings than any filial yearning. She loved them all, in her own way, but she had never been overly susceptible to sentiment.

Exhausted by the day’s exertions, he lingered in the doorway, content to do nothing more than gaze at his wife, but he was drawn to her side when she threw a smile at him over her shoulder. “How do I look?” she asked coquettishly, and he found himself entranced by her smooth, pale shoulders. He had seen her in this dress once before, at his mother’s last dinner party, and it had been all he could do that evening not to pull her in his arms and press his lips against that skin bared so tantalizingly before him.

He gave into that temptation now, bending to press a kiss against the curve of her shoulder, but Margaret caught his arm and drew him down to her instead, until he was on one knee at her side. Cupping his face in her hands, her expression was grave as she stroked his cheeks with her thumbs in a slight, comforting gesture.

“You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion lately. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Touched by her concern, he leaned into her embrace and murmured, “This trouble at the mill will pass.” He hoped it would, at any rate. “Having you here with me is enough.”

Margaret was unwilling to be so easily placated. “But is there anything I can do at the mill? I’m not afraid of hard work, you know.”

Grabbing one hand gently in his own, he pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. “There may be,” he acknowledged, moved more than he could express that she’d taken an interest in the mill on his behalf, and not solely on behest of his workers. “Let me think on it tonight, and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

She looked so grave, so serious. While her concern over his wellbeing sparked hope in his breast that she was not indifferent to him, he didn’t wish to cause her concern, and so he remarked lightly, in an attempt at levity, “But only if you promise you won’t cause any mischief or encourage my workers to rise up in a revolt against me.”

For just a moment, he feared she might be affronted by his remark, but she quickly alleviated any concerns on that score. “No serious mischief, I assure you. Only the occasional minor act of rebellion,” she teased him in return. Growing more serious, she confessed, “I know it’s expected that I play the role of obedient wife, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I speak my mind when I think it necessary.”

The thought of her holding her tongue caused him wry amusement; Margaret’s opinionated nature had vexed him in the past, but he wouldn’t love her if she were anything other than she was. “Of course. I hope we can grow comfortable enough with each other one day that there should be no need for secrets between us. Should I take this to mean you’ve already planned your first mutiny?”

She looked troubled at his words, but she shook her head and reassured him lightly, “Hardly a full-scale insurrection! I’ve just been thinking. I know it isn’t possible now, but when matters at the mill are resolved, I intend to speak to you about raising your workers’ salaries to what they were a few years ago, at least. It would make them more comfortable, and that would make them more productive and increase their loyalty to you.”

While John would have resented anyone else’s interference with his affairs, he respected Margaret’s opinion at least enough to entertain the suggestion. There was logic to her argument, at least, although he was hardly in a position to enact the measure at the present time. “Perhaps,” he conceded, promising, “When the bank loan is paid in full, I’ll give your suggestion its due consideration.”

Her joyful smile was more than sufficient recompense for this concession, although there remained a shadow behind her eyes, and he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “Does this mean you no longer consider me the overbearing monster you once believed me to be?” he asked, wondering how she could be ignorant of the feelings in his heart, betrayed as they were by the tenderness in his voice.

“I never thought you a monster!” she replied in faint protest.

Her obvious oversight made him smile. “But you did think me overbearing?”

She scowled at him in mock affront. “Well, perhaps a little,” she allowed. Her hands became restless, one rising to brush the hair off his forehead as she continued in a less playful tone, “I may have misjudged your character at first, but I’ve long since come to realize the depths of my misunderstanding. I suspect I think better of you than you realize.”

His heart began to race as hope settled in his breast, refusing to relinquish its hold upon him. He felt he could barely breathe as he asked, “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

The warmth in her eyes gave him momentary hope that she might one day return his affections, but he watched as an expression of such horror overtook her countenance that pierced his heart. “Oh!” she gasped in alarm, her eyes wide in mortification. “I—”

Suspecting she was searching for the words to reject him without causing undue injury or offense to his pride, and eager to make amends for his overstep and distract her from the unwelcome imposition of his feelings, he forced a smile. Sliding his hands under her skirts, he attempted to divert her attention to a less controversial subject. “We have some time before we should leave, after all.”

Margaret appeared surprised, and she sucked in a deep breath when he lifted her leg to brush a kiss against her bare skin. If she couldn’t accept his feelings, he could only hope she would believe that he had always intended to refer to the physical act of love rather than some deeper emotion. Whether she believed in his fiction or was merely happy to pretend in order to prevent awkwardness between them, she seemed willing to play along.

“John!” she gasped as he ducked under the heavy fabric of her skirts, rubbing his cheek against her leg, but she didn’t draw away. On the contrary; she placed her palms upon the mound of his head through her skirts and held him in place, even as she remarked, “We’ll be late!”

“Fanny will wait,” he murmured, scraping his teeth against her inner thigh. Her slight moan of pleasure was enough to drive him onward, and he occupied himself beneath her skirts until the chiming of the clock recalled the pair to their appointment. John’s body protested the rude interruption, but he was charmed by the brightness in his bride’s eyes and the flush on her cheeks, which spoke to her own smoldering desire. At least she had been adequately diverted from dwelling upon the words he’d so foolishly spoken, and he intended to resume his attentions to her later that evening to ensure that the memory dared not reenter her mind.

In the meantime, he turned his own thoughts to more repressive matters as he willed his blood to cool before the sight of his current state scandalized his dinner companions.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” The words replayed themselves over and over in Margaret’s mind as she prepared herself for the day ahead. “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” In her preoccupation, she stuck herself with a hairpin and winced, forcing her mind back to more mundane matters. Yet the memory of his softly spoken question the night before continued to plague her thoughts.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, striving to quell the mortification that arose within her at the memory. It was not the question that elicited such chagrin but the answer that had hovered upon her lips in return.

“I already do.” Her heart had been ready to confess to the feelings that her head had long been determined to deny, and Margaret had only swallowed the words at the last moment. That they could have crept upon her so thoroughly in defiance of her own awareness astonished her, but the certainty with which her heart had answered horrified her.

She loved him. When had the attachment first taken hold of her heart? For how long had she been living in denial of her own feelings?

Of course, it was not the usual nature of things, to meet such tender feelings with dismay – certainly not when the recipient of said feelings was her own husband. However, in the matter of Margaret and John’s marriage, things were not so simple. Margaret loved him, it was true. She loved him – the thought brought such a mixture of joy and alarm that it nearly made her lightheaded. But while they had not spoken of her presumed lover – secretly her brother – since their engagement, she had no cause to believe he’d changed his mind about her.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to force a change of heart from him. All she had to do was to reveal the truth. Doing so would undeniably alter his opinion of her, but it would do so without resolving her fundamental concern. Relating the whole truth to him now would justify his trust in her now, but it would not compel it in the future. And, regardless of her own tender feeling for John, Margaret knew she could never be truly happy in her marriage if her own husband couldn’t claim to truly know or understand her. If she told him the truth now and forced his concession of her own blamelessness (at least of the charges that had been placed upon her doorstep, though she had courted danger in urging Frederick return in defiance of the charges against him), she would never truly feel the assurance of her husband’s faith in her character and person.

But what was she to do? Carrying this secret in her heart grew more trying by the day, John’s coincidental use of the word mutiny the night before nearly sending her out of her own skin. His assertion that there should be no secrets between them had caused such a swelling of guilt in her own heart that she’d longed to tell him all. Her heart and her mind were at war, locked in a skirmish that she’d just come to realize had been waging for far longer than she’d ever suspected.

She loved him. It was still astonishing to her that those feelings could have crept upon her without her knowledge. Lost in her thoughts, she hardly registered the words her mother-in-law spoke as they took a tour of the mill, looking for ways that Margaret could lend assistance to her husband’s enterprise. Almost against her will, she found herself watching for him, scanning the crowd for his familiar – beloved! – figure and face.

She nodded at something one of the workers said, though she had no idea what it had been, as her eyes drifted up to the landing above. And there she saw him, as she had on that very first day. John. Her John. Her husband.

Their eyes met, and Margaret held her breath, unable to breathe from the twisting in her heart at the sight of him. So tall and commanding. She had once thought his features so remote – even severe – but now she knew the way they could soften with a smile. She’d once thought his eyes cold, but now she knew the only thing warmer was his touch.

If she reached out her hand to him now, would he come to her? Perhaps he would. He had always been there for her, even when another man would have turned away. When her mother was dying, he’d sent fresh fruit even after her rejection of his hand, demonstrating a level of thoughtfulness and compassion that had shamed her for her treatment of him. And when the man who had accosted her brother was found dead, not only had he chosen not to betray her lie in professing she hadn’t been on the train platform that evening, she had no doubt he’d spoken with the eyewitness and encouraged the recantation that had ended the matter. In doing so, he had betrayed his honor and fundamental sense of honesty on her behalf.

But it was not for the services done to her that she loved him. It was for his person. There were two sides to him – the hard Master and the devoted husband – but Margaret no longer struggled in reconciling them. She had once thought him proud, even arrogant. She had even once thought him unfeeling, but she’d come to understand the truth of his character long before, and well before their precipitous engagement. He could be hard, but he was never unscrupulous. He was honest in his dealings, his genuine care and concern for his workers hidden beneath a stern demeanor and a veneer of sound business acumen.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him! She’d begun to wonder if it was possible she’d come to love him long before their marriage or even before their engagement. Had she loved him when she’d crept to his office to confront him about his callous accusations against her? Her behavior that evening had been so uncharacteristic of her, something she’d recognized even at the time but had refused to dwell upon for explanation. Had it been heartbreak, more than anger, that had propelled her to his doorstep? It certainly seemed likely that her attachment, hidden even from herself, had compelled her to kiss him that night. Let alone…well, everything that came after.

Oh, dear. Her newfound revelation couldn’t come at a worse time, and it was causing her to make a fool of herself, staring at her husband like a moon-eyed calf, for all the world to see. Tearing her gaze away from him at long last, she attempted to fix her attention upon her beleaguered mother-in-law, whose single-minded purpose could not be dissuaded by young love, particularly when she was likely skeptical of its existence. And rightly so, for hadn’t Margaret once openly scoffed at the notion of John’s attractiveness to the fairer sex?

What a fool she had been! What a fool love was making of her now! Her heart longed to lay itself at John’s feet, urging her to confess her feelings to her husband in the hopes that affection wasn’t just something he requested but something he offered her in return. More, that genuine attachment underlay his honorable intentions in offering for her. But that brought back the undecided question of his faith in her.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

She loved him, and so she owed him the truth of what he had seen that night on the train platform. If only there was a way to first assess whether he had succeeded in his efforts to grant her the wish she’d made of him before their wedding: that he find it in his heart to trust in her once more. As much as she loved him, any lingering doubt on that score would tear her up inside.

Pretending to attend to the task at hand, Margaret dutifully fell into step behind her mother-in-law, continuing her tour of the mill’s needs. But as she walked away, she couldn’t resist one last look over her shoulder at the imposing figure on the overlook above, and the face that had somehow become so dear to her. Her John.

For the sake of their marriage, for the sake of her own heart, she would find a way to restore his faith in her. Somehow.

#like moths to a flame #john thornton #margaret hale #my fanfiction #fanfiction #north and south #john x margaret

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eng230summer2018 · 6 years

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“Countercinema” and “I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing”

Can an argument be made for the existence of a female gaze, or a “specific, identifiable” female aesthetic of film? Is I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing successful at achieving a truly feminist vision on film?

Introduction

Marilyn Fabe’s article, “Feminism and Film Form: Patricia Rozema’s I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing,” circles back to the very first reading in the course, which was Laura Mulvey’s “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” I find this very interesting that the final article talks directly about the first article we read. Fabe credits Mulvey with the idea that “most mainstream films assume a male spectator and play to male pleasure by visually objectifying and eroticizing the women on the screen.” In response, she “raises the issue of how women filmmakers can create alternative conventions to liberate cinema from male-centered practices of representation.” While an argument can be made for the existence of a female gaze, I don’t think this is what Mulvey and Rozema have in mind. They don’t cite the existence of a specific, identifiable, female aesthetic of film. Instead, they propose feminist approaches to making films, which is referred to as “counter cinema.” Fabe analyzes Mermaids as an example of counter-cinema. Her analysis can also be applied to other films we’ve studied, using some of the same concepts she explores.

“Plot synopsis”

In her article, Fabe reviews the history of feminist film criticism. She explains that “women on the screen are often nothing more than cultural stereotypes.” And these stereotypes are usually negative and “reinforce the idea of women’s inferiority,” she says. She then describes cinema-specific approaches to women in film. According to Fabe, feminist film theorists were able to “demonstrate how film’s unique means of representation and specific appeal help construct or naturalize denigrating ways of looking at women.” The film Dance, Girl, Dance features many of the conventional film narratives that feminist film theorists have criticized. The characters played by Lucille Ball and Maureen O’Hara represent a common cultural stereotype of woman as the burlesque dancer. Ball plays a sort of “femme fatale,” like the stereotypical “blonde bombshell” type. A recurring scene is when she goes behind a tree and pretends to be taking her clothes off; it’s a teaser for the audience, which is mostly male.

In contrast, Fabe points out how the plot in Mermaids “focuses on the concerns and desires of its female protagonist,” Polly. Instead of the usual male hero, Polly is a very unlikely heroine. Fabe says that “if the film is read as a fairy tale, then “Polly needs no prince to redeem her. The happy ending comes when she learns to value herself and discovers kindred spirits with whom to share her work.” The character of Polly is quite interesting and quirky. I don’t want to label her or make assumptions, but she seems to have some sort of “difference,” like Autism Spectrum Disorder (of which I am very familiar). This is never dealt with directly in the narrative, except that everyone calls her “simple.” When we see her interacting with other people, she is very awkward. One example is the scene when she’s at a Japanese restaurant with Gabrielle (the curator) and we see her trying to figure out how to sit down on the floor. And when Gabrielle orders sake, Polly orders milk, which is a very weird choice to make at a Japanese restaurant. But even though she’s portrayed as someone plain, in her daydreams she’s doing impossible things and she’s in impossible worlds – until something from the real world pulls her back to reality.

“Exploring women’s desires”

According to Fabe, one of the things that makes Mermaids an example of counter-cinema is “the depth with which it explores the dynamics of female psychology, specifically the inner worlds of women … a theme rarely treated in mainstream cinema.” In the film, we see Polly exploring her feelings for Gabrielle. She states that she’s had relationships with men before, but we don’t know if these were sexual or not. Many times, she describes how she’s romantically involved with Gabrielle, but there is an absence of sexuality. In a way, she seems asexual, but I don’t want to label her. The better term for Polly would be bisexual. She’s stated that she’s in love with Gabrielle, but she doesn’t want to have sex with her. And that relationship is never kindled.

Although it was filmed decades years earlier, Where Are My Children? also explores aspects of women’s desires, especially concerning whether they want to have children or not. The topic of contraception was culturally relevant at the time, but it was unusual for this to be the theme of a mainstream film produced in Hollywood. The film’s narrative about birth control - and how abortion is used as a method of birth control by the protagonist, Edith – was very controversial at the time. After the National Board of Review rejected the film, the director went through many edits before the final version was released. And although the film explored Edith’s desires about motherhood and her independent choices, the ending seems to offer the mainstream message that she was wrong to deny her husband the children that he might have had.

“Departures from mainstream cinema style”

Fabe describes how the cinematic style of Mermaids “undermines the mainstream film convention that aligns the spectator with an all-seeing camera eye (the eye of God) with access to an unmediated reality unfolding on the screen before us.” In Mermaids, this style is unusual because it is a person talking directly to the camera. This is similar to the style of some current TV shows such as “Parks and Recreation,” “30 Rock,” and “The Office.” These are all comedies and it’s very apparent that these are fictional but certain parts are played as if these were documentaries. In this way, fictional people are documenting fictional life. In Mermaids, Polly’s recordings operate in the same way. It’s evident what she’s doing and easy to follow along in the narrative. There’s a clear distinction between the actual movie and Polly’s discussions with the audience. At the same time, the style is very different from mainstream films.

A similar cinematic style is used in The Watermelon Woman but with less success, in my opinion. In this film, the style is a lot more confusing and hard to follow. For instance, there are cinematic angles where people are filmed in environments where they don’t see the camera. The style comes across as jumpy as if the story is going in way too many directions. It’s hard to make sense of it and sometimes it feels like a reality TV show to me. It was difficult for me to tell if the film was fictional or not; a lot of times it seemed like both. Many parts of the film made it seem like a documentary, which just added to the confusion. It’s further complicated because the director, Cheryl, stars as herself; so, the fictional version of Cheryl is making a documentary, too. Also, there are many other people in the film who are playing themselves, which blurs the line between fiction and documentary.

“Rethinking cinematic voyeurism”

Mulvey and Fabe argue that counter cinema “subverts most male-centered conventions of female representation by refusing the voyeuristic pleasure of objectifying or fetishizing women and it also interferes with the male-active, female-passive, dynamics of most mainstream films.” The male gaze is often the one that is pushed upon the viewer, as opposed to the female gaze. The intention is that the viewer is supposed to see females as objects, to objectify women. The more mainstream, traditional, approach to voyeurism is evident in the first film we viewed, Rear Window. In Rear Window, we only see everything from Jeffrey’s apartment because he is confined to a wheelchair. So, we can only see the other characters and events from his window and his point of view. Therefore, there are many instances in the film of how his male gaze objectifies women. One example is the ballet dancer who is only known as “Miss Torso” because that is what Jeff calls her. He doesn’t call her “Miss Ballet” or “Miss Dancer.” Instead, he objectifies her by naming her for her body part. And then there’s “Miss Lonely Hearts,” as Jeff calls her. He names her that because he thinks she’s lonely because she doesn’t have a man in her life. So, again, his nickname is more about objectifying her in relation to men.

Fabe discusses the cinematic gaze and how Mermaids takes a different approach to voyeurism. In the film, Polly exhibits a lot of voyeuristic tendencies in her hobby as a photographer. She is always looking for things to photograph. For instance, in the park, she follows the couple into the woods where they are making out. She likes the idea of seeing something new and different and she uses her camera to gather as much information about it as possible. She doesn’t just photograph people, either. For example, she will capture buildings and other touristy sites. We get an idea of all the types of things she photographs when the story shows her in her apartment developing photos in the darkroom. When she does take a picture of people, she wants it to be candid and not posed. An example is when she asks if she can take a picture of the woman with her toddler. In Polly’s photo, the woman is not smiling for the camera. Instead, she is smiling at her kid. So, they are not interacting with Polly’s camera. She wants to just capture a moment. It’s interesting because for Polly it’s like a window into other people’s lives.

Conclusion

Based on what we’ve learned from the films and readings, I do think an argument can be made for a female gaze but not a female aesthetic. However, I think I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing is successful in presenting a uniquely feminist vision on film as counter-cinema. This is accomplished through: the choice of a female protagonist, who is quirky and different; the plot which explores the thoughts and romantic desires of the female protagonist; the cinematic style which falls in the gray area between fiction and documentary; and the way the protagonist’s passion for photography is used in the narrative to redefine voyeurism.

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