Portraits of the Patriarchy

In this post, I will present two depictions of patriarchal behavior, the first written very recently and the second written about 100 years earlier.

The Jan. 26, 2020 issue of The New York Times Magazine contained an article about a new book by  a woman who transitioned to a man, relating what the author learned about masculinity from his father and grandfather.



"My father's father painted houses for a living, drank too much and sat in a recliner and yelled at my grandmother for most of the years I knew him. 'Cookie, bring me an iced tea.'  'Cookie, I'm starving. Get me a sandwich.'  'Cookie, turn that radio off. I'm watching the game.'  They fought constantly, she running around to serve him while he shouted orders and moaned: 'my legs are bothering me.' 'My sugar's too high.'  'Look at the arthritis in that finger.'"

"My father's chatter is a replica of his father's -- he, too, reduced to life in his recliner, on oxygen, his partial teeth sitting on a table next to him. The only thing he is in control of now is the TV remote -- and my mother."

"My father's masculinity was shaped by my grandfather's, shaped by poverty, shaped by military service, shaped by bars and poker games and the freedom of feeling not responsible to be home with his children.  Men like my father and grandfather -- on edge, talking too much, asserting power even when lying on their backs -- practice a burned-out masculinity that is still at the center of American life, still the building block of the patriarchy."

That is an excerpt from a book by P. Carl entitled "Becoming a Man: the Story of a Transition" that was published in late January and the author clearly identifies some of what he views as patriarchal behavior to poverty and the nature of American society.

Now let's go back to 1922 when Katherine Mansfield, a native of New Zealand who lived mostly in England and knew writers such as Virginia Woolf and D.H. Lawrence, wrote a short story called "At the Bay."   It depicts a financially successful man, Stanley Burnell, and his family during the course of a single day. Neither poverty nor American society have anything to do with his behavior.

Early in Mansfield's story, Stanley arrives at the breakfast table, impeccably dressed for work, and, observing he has only 20 minutes to spare, says to his already seated  sister-in-law: "You might go see if the porridge is ready, Beryl?"  She tells him his mother-in-law has gone for it and pours him his tea. Stanley thanks her, but taking a sip, exclaims in an astonished voice: "Hallo! You've forgotten the sugar."

When Beryl fails to sweeten his tea, merely pushing the sugar bowl across to him, Stanley is shocked, wondering "what did this mean?"

When his porridge soon appears, he says: "You might cut me a slice of that bread, mother," and then inquires "has anyone given my shoes to the servant girl?"

Told they are ready for him, he says: "Would you get me those shoes, mother? And Beryl, if you've finished, I wish you'd cut down to the gate and stop the coach. Run in to your mother, Isabel [one of the children], and ask her where my bowler hat's been put."

When his wife Linda, lying in the bedroom (she recently gave birth to a baby boy and may have been up with him during the night), can't tell him what's become of his walking stick, he turns to leave as he hears the coach has arrived.  "No time to say goodbye!" he cries and, Mansfield tells us, "he meant that as a punishment to her."

As he departs, Stanley, viewing himself as a provider, considers the women heartless. "The way they took it for granted it was your [his] job to slave away for them while they didn't even take the trouble to see that your walking stick wasn't lost."

As for the women: "Oh, the relief, the difference it was to have the man out of the house."