Welcome back to Dissecting The Dark Descent, where we lovingly delve into the guts of David Hartwell’s seminal 1987 anthology story by story, and in the process, explore the underpinnings of a genre we all love. For an in-depth introduction, here’s the intro post.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman only wrote two works of horror during her career as a feminist writer. The first was the 1892 story “The Yellow Wallpaper.” The second, because the first caused such a stir and she wanted to be absolutely clear, was a companion essay called “Why I Wrote ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’.” As with many stories in The Dark Descent, “The Yellow Wallpaper” takes a familiar gothic theme—the madwoman in the attic—and uses it to examine a more modern context, in this case a downward spiral from minor mental illness into full-blown detachment from reality. In the process, Gilman pioneered the genre of “hysterical fiction,” a subgenre of horror focusing on the intense psychological strain put on women and the (sometimes intentional) cruelty of the hostile patriarchy that puts extra stress on existing mental concerns. The story, drawing on Gilman’s experience of severe postpartum depression, paints a harrowing portrait of the difficult-to-escape cycle of mental illness and helplessness, the way outside pressures can lead to further self-inflicted erosion, and the horrifying fate that awaits those trapped within the cycle.
An unnamed narrator (possibly named Jane, based on the end of the story) and her doctor husband James move into an old mansion while she is with child. As both James and his brother have diagnosed the narrator with “hysterical depression,” James prescribes a “rest cure” that sees the narrator moved into the attic and forced to do practically nothing all day. James himself is distant, spending most of the day downstairs or away from the house. With nothing afforded to the narrator but bed rest and her secret journaling, her imagination becomes fertile ground for the oddity of her confined space, spurred on by the curious shapes of faces and a little girl she sees trapped within her attic prison’s horrid yellow wallpaper.
Gilman’s gift in “The Yellow Wallpaper” is treating the outside forces acting on the narrator as ultimately indifferent. There’s no malevolence in the actions of James or Jennie—much like the protagonists in “Schalken the Painter,” they’re merely acting on what they believe to be the general course of action within a broken patriarchal framework. The effect their actions have on the narrator is of course ruinous, but their presence is more felt than seen, as the narrator is isolated from not just the world but indeed the other people in her house, left alone in a nursery-cum-gymnasium with barred windows and a bed nailed to the floor. It’s just as well, the point of the story isn’t the external world’s direct influence, but far more insidious. By removing as many outside influences as possible, Gilman focuses directly on the erosion of her narrator’s mental state as well as the deepening hallucinations she experiences as she’s trapped in her room in the attic, a process compounded by the isolation and lack of work, or anything else to occupy her mind. Between the fungus, the imprisonment, and the utter absence of things to do, the catalyst might have been her husband’s choice to imprison her, but it’s clear her brain is devouring itself.
That fact alone makes this one of the more apt depictions of mental illness in horror. The human mind is an adaptive organ—when faced with a situation (no matter how utterly horrifying) it will eventually condition itself to accept it until something changes. When that situation is total isolation, the days blend together (Gilman’s choice to not include dates and leave everything hanging in a semi-nebulous “now” is inspired) and the brain works to fill in the massive blank spaces and lack of input. The toxicity it experiences becomes habit, and then a vicious cycle of its own, internalizing the mental deterioration. As much as what happens to the narrator is driven by outside forces, being trapped without anything stimulating to do causes internal shifts and internal damage. The way the narrator—desperate for stimulating activity—seizes on every small thing about her environment is deeply unnerving. Worse still is how her manic, excited, and agitated state is taken as her improving despite being just as obsessed with the wallpaper and erratic as previously. She is rewarded for her hysteria.
Worsening the issue, every possible avenue of escape or relief is cut off from the narrator. Travel is deemed too exciting for her condition despite the obvious effect the room has on her, with the only assurance being that she will leave the manor once their lease is up (though given the repairs James keeps doing, it’s unclear that this is actually the case). Visitors are also deemed too exciting, with only a holiday visit and Jennie to keep the narrator from vanishing completely inside her own head. Even the duties normally designated as “women’s work” by the patriarchy are taken out of her hands—the household is maintained without her influence, and Jennie is hired to watch over the couple’s child while the narrator remains shut up in the attic with its bizarre wallpaper. With no escape, no duties, and no access to any outside information or diversion to puncture her total isolation, the narrator is rendered helpless and trapped within her head. All the narrator has is her thoughts and her writing, which makes it no surprise that she starts hallucinating fungus, bulbous screaming heads, and a “little girl” in the wallpaper. Without input or outside influence, her feedback loop is complete and inescapable.
While Gilman, drawing on her own experiences, set out to address patriarchal cruelty and enforced helplessness imposed upon women at the end of the 19th century, the issues that gave rise to “The Yellow Wallpaper” would only become greater in scope, affecting a widening segment of the population. The narrator’s complaints are incredibly familiar to those suffering from chronic mental issues or illnesses, who are often told “just rest and you’ll feel better”—if their concerns and needs aren’t outright dismissed outright as merely symptomatic of their depression and anxiety. The helplessness and mental strain the narrator experiences will also feel familiar to those who spend long periods of time looking for work without success, or stuck in an unending, isolating routine without much positive social interaction or support. In accurately depicting a complete mental breakdown in horrifying detail, Charlotte Perkins Gilman crafted a story that’s only become more relevant to a larger and more diverse number of people since “The Yellow Wallpaper” was written.
While our understanding of and attitudes toward mental health have improved, they remain imperfect—perhaps in the end, all we can do is our best to escape the attic and help others do the same.
And now we turn it over to you. Did modern isolation put Gilman’s psychological concerns in the mainstream? Post-pandemic, what is the impact of “The Yellow Wallpaper?” And please join us in two weeks as we explore parasocial gothic horror and Southern gossip in Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily.”
