Now we have a pair of rouges! Ann and Captain Carson both exhibit those characteristic traits of individuals who encounter misfortune and become embittered and immoral due to their suffering. Yet, I only mention this in passing—this relationship seems quite interesting in terms of early American history and identity.
Indeed, Ann Carson’s narrative seems much more historically conscious of the events occurring in America during Ann’s lifetime. She (whoever this “she” is) makes note of the Revolutionary war, the yellow fever epidemic, and the condition of women during the early American period. Just as we wondered what Burroughs’ and Tufts’ wives thought and felt, here we actually get a firsthand account of a woman’s struggles (and her vices). Yet, regardless of her disreputable position, Ann’s story is fascinating—filled with extra-marital relationships, exotic adventures, and a vivid manifestation of national pride, Ann’s narrative is quite compelling for literature, history, sociology, and psychology fans.
In one of the prefacing letters to Mary W., Ann quotes a line from Hamlet: “Man delights me not, nor woman either” (xiv). In the play, this dismissive statement, said somewhat jokingly, ends Hamlet’s monologue on why he has “lost all my mirth” and he rejects man as “the quintessence of dust.” Thus, Ann’s misanthropic sentiments clearly parallel Hamlet’s own loss of regard for fellow humans. She calls herself a “blank in creation” (xiv and xv). Perhaps this has to do with her sufferings as a woman in early America. Marrying a man that she only regards as handsome and exciting, but does not love, Ann’s situation is typical of what many young women were forced to do—join in matrimony with a stranger or a man that they have no true feelings for (though, admittedly, Ann’s version of why she marries Captain Carson becomes more and more an act she had absolutely no control over as the narrative continues). This reminds me of a play I was in during high school, The Insanity of Mary Girard, which depicts a poor, young woman in colonial Philadelphia, who marries the affluent and powerful Stephen Girard (He is briefly mentioned in Ann’s narrative on page 118). Although this play is fictional, it is based off of a true story. Historically, we know that Mary Girard did become insane, but the play only guesses when it attributes her insanity to the cruel treatment she receives from her husband. Nevertheless, Ann’s narrative gives us another opportunity to witness how men could, and did, mistreat their wives. Certainly, this narrative opens up many questions on the status of women during the early American era. As America was forming its identity, and as men like Burroughs and Tufts took advantage of these self-fashioning prospects, what happened to the women? Were they also able to create a character for themselves? Ann seems to overthrow her femininity in order to obtain some form of agency: “I was no longer the mild, tender, gentle girl I had hitherto been, yet something I must be, nature did not create me for a non entity, so I became a heroine” (67). This line struck me as admirable, but also a little odd, considering that in her letter to Mary she describes herself as a “blank in creation.” What further struggles does she undergo to transform from a heroine to a nonexistent being? Of course, we have to simply keep reading, but this contradiction seems to merit consideration as something to keep in mind while reading the rest of the narrative—what does it take to erase the identity of our heroine? Is it something historical or merely particular to Ann’s situation? I am interested in discovering this answer, because it might have some consequences for our discussions on identity.
As a woman, certainly Ann’s options were much more limited, and she knows how to capitalize on the discourse of slavery to illustrate her unfortunate situation in marriage. Certainly, Captain Carson’s treatment of her creates a power structure that mirrors the slave/master relationship: “I learned to scorn and despise him, only regarding him as a slave does an austere master whom he is compelled to obey” (65). She even claims that her situation is worse than a slave’s, for a slave is allowed to rest after the work for the day is completed, but she, as a wife who must cohabitate the same house with her master/husband, is constantly susceptible to Captain Carson’s anger and jealously. Yet, Ann also defies her husband and attempts to overcome some of her troubles by behaving towards Captain Carson just like he treats her: “I was an American; a land of liberty had given me birth; my father had been his commanding officer; I felt myself his equal, and pride interdicted my submitting to his caprices” (82). Perhaps Ann’s resolve, and her relative strength considering her situation, is due to her pride, which she continually mentions. Pride in her country, in her social class, and in her position both help and hinder Ann in various situations: “Pride may justly be called a remarkable sin, it was so to me” (126). Indeed, Ann’s pride is one trait that marks her as quite exceptionable. She is able to tyrannize her husband, refuse Nat, and open a business because of her pride. Yet, due to pride, she also suffers.
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