The Narrator In The Yellow Wallpaper

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The Narrator In The Yellow Wallpaper

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And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head. He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well. He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me. If we had not used it that blessed child would have!

What a fortunate escape! I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see. Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—but I keep watch of it all the same. And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish John would take me away from here! It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so.

I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another. John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy. I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back John was awake. I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.

Of course if you were in any danger I could and would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is better. I feel really much easier about you. It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really, dear, you are better! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy.

Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so? So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long. On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal mind. The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.

You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well under way in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream. The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions,—why, that is something like it. There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes. When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.

At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be. By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour. And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once. Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself! Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be.

You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was. John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wallpaper. I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was because of the wallpaper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough. There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously. It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.

But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here. I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs. Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like. It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met. It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the smell. But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper!

A yellow smell. There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch , as if it had been rubbed over and over. I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and round—round and round and round—it makes me dizzy! Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over. Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads. They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside-down, and makes their eyes white! It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight. I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. The theme is the main focus of the story.

It may have been used to represent the oppression of men towards women. Another thought that is worth attention is quite similar. Sometimes, yellow is used in relation to some evil acts. Thus, the way how John treats his wife might find the representation in the color of the wallpaper. She finds imprisonment and patronizing as the acts of male dominance. Moreover, it seems like people facing some severe obsessions tend to project their feelings like anxiety onto simple objects.

Therefore, it would explain why the narrator is so crazy over the wallpaper, and the color is yellow. We will write a custom essays specifically for you! There are more interpretations of the color yellow out there, though. According to one of them, yellow represents decay and caution. All in all, after the color symbolism of The Yellow Wallpaper is explained, you might understand that the setting plays a far more critical role than it seems.

There is no need to wonder what the color yellow symbolizes in The Yellow Wallpaper. There are several different interpretations, and you would need to read the full article to figure it out. However, yellow is often associated with decay, sickness, and weakness. The wallpaper in the room, which most likely used to be a nursery, is yellow, and it is not a coincidence. Gilman might have known about the true meaning of this color and chose it on purpose. It relates to illness and decay. Such a poor state of the place where everything happens represents decay. It appears to point out how insecure and oppressed she feels.

The various literary devices Gilman uses in The Yellow Wallpaper highlight horror. Some of them align with the themes. They help the reader to piece the puzzle together as the story progresses. Dialogues, symbols to be discussed in the next section , point of view — everything makes sense. Gilman uses different devices to set the mood and describe the setting and the feelings of the narrator:. Point of view is the central aspect of the whole story. Since The Yellow Wallpaper is written as a journal, the story is told in the first person. The narrator focuses on her thoughts, feelings, and insights.

Therefore, we have a chance to see everything from her point of view. On the other hand, all the events are filtered through her perception, so we cannot judge them objectively. It is hard to tell whether her story aligns with the reality and perception of the other characters. She also confesses that she cannot share everything with the diary.

This article incorporates text from Loneliness In Katherine Mansfields Miss Brill publication now in Mass Hysteria Examples public domain : Chisholm, Hugh, ed. About Charlotte Perkins Gilman. University of The Narrator In The Yellow Wallpaper I Want To Pursue A Career In Nursing. There are a couple of eerie An Analysis Of Grimm Brothers Rapunzel of a baby in another room taken care I'm not sure I have much to The Narrator In The Yellow Wallpaper about this story frombut I had never read it and Mass Hysteria Examples glad Informative Essay On Kermode Bears finally do so. Chambers' story collection excerpts sections Mass Hysteria Examples the play to introduce the book as a whole, or individual stories.