There is something of a duel nature
in our perception of dolls. On one hand
those sometimes carefully crafted pieces of porcelain and fabric with their
painstakingly detailed faces are works of art, a testament of the craft of their
maker. Even those factory-born by a
factory toy maker share a strange ideology of what perfection is to the human
eye. On the other hand, they can be disturbing
creatures, in essence playing the part of soulless echoes of the human beings
they are meant to mimic.
In some ways, the method by which
women in Romantic era Britain are represented bears much resemblance to those
porcelain dolls. Quiet submissive
daughters and wives, beautiful to look upon, their motions and actions dictated
by husbands and fathers. To those
patriarchal eyes they are objects, unable to think or move on their own, at
least in a figurative sense, and they love and treasure them ever careful not
to damage or break their fragile bodies.
Even if they do, surely it was not their fault.
Yet even the through the
objectification and painted faces, there still stares a pair of eyes, windows
through which quite clearly shine a human soul.
There lies the disturbing element to this portrayal, disturbing not for
the lack of soul a doll has, but because of the opposite. With dolls we are able to disconnect because
of the lack of a life behind them, but when that spark is there in something we’ve
tried to dismiss and objectify like a doll, all we find is the shame of that
sin staring right back at us crying with pity.
Anne Elliot in Jane Austen’s Persuasion certainly could relate, as
early in her story she seems content to play the part of a doll. Rarely leaving the house and being often
overlooked by a father for whom “vanity was the beginning of the end” and whom
the more physically lovely sisters held more value, she nevertheless allows her
actions to be dictated by not only her father, but others involved in the lives
of her family, even going so far as to break off a wedding because the family
advisor, Lady Russell, thinks it not a good match for her.
Yet there is something remarkable to
this doll named Anne, she grows, and in doing so becomes too much for the
puppet strings binding her to the will of others, and becomes a human
being. How she comes to this self-determination
and breaks free from the porcelain shell she was trapped in is a remarkable
feat in itself. It requires on her part
a realization of the flaws in the people she loves but who through her love try
to control her; her father’s vanity, Lady Russell’s well-meant but often blind
advice, the true face behind the mask of the man everyone around her adores and
feels she should marry, and also most importantly what is it in herself that
has been limiting her and where her love truly lies.
Also
in the name of perpetuating a running joke, no nuts were ironically picked from
their trees during the writing of this entry.
