In this chapter, we will look at three different critical approaches that are related to New Historicism’s rejection of stable facts in history. These approaches—Marxist criticism, postcolonial criticism, and ethnic studies—share a common goal: to examine the role of power as it is reflected in literary texts. While these theories were developed and applied to literary texts at different times, literary scholars continue to use these lenses to explore how texts shape and are shaped by power structures and hierarchies.

Marxist criticism is a critical approach to literature that views texts through the lens of economic and social class structures and the relationships of power and oppression that exist within these structures. This type of criticism is based on the ideas of Karl Marx, a 19th-century German philosopher and economist, who argued that social class is the primary determinant of human history and culture. Marxist critics examine the ways in which literature reflects and reinforces the dominant ideology and power structures of a society, as well as the ways in which texts can challenge and subvert these ideologies. The Marxist critic Terry Eagleton explains it this way: “Marxist criticism is not merely a ‘sociology of literature’, concerned with how novels get published and whether they mention the working class. Its aim is to explain the literary work more fully; and this means a sensitive attention to its forms, styles and, meanings. But it also means grasping those forms styles and meanings as the product of a particular history” (Eagleton 3). One of the key principles of Marxist criticism is the idea that literature is not a neutral or objective reflection of reality, but is instead shaped by the interests and values of those who produce and consume it. When we do Marxist criticism, we are concerned with class struggles and the means of production.

Postcolonial criticism is a theoretical and analytical framework that emerged in the 1980s as a response to the legacy of European colonialism and imperialism from the 18th-20th centuries. It seeks to examine how the experiences of colonized peoples are represented in literature and other cultural forms, and how these representations reflect and perpetuate colonial power relations. With this lens, we explore how colonialism impacts language, identity, and culture, and how these impacts are reflected in literary texts. The term “post” does not imply that colonialism has ended; it refers to the effects on Indigneous people after colonialism. One of the key principles of postcolonial criticism is the importance of examining the intersectionality of colonialism with other forms of identity and oppression, such as race, gender, sexuality, and class. It also emphasizes the importance of centering the perspectives and experiences of colonized peoples in literary analysis, and in understanding how their experiences are shaped by systemic colonialism and imperialism. Edward Said’s 1978 book Orientalism, which considers how the West has used this term to denigrate the East, is widely credited with introducing this critical approach.

Ethnic studies is a broad term that encompasses a variety of critical approaches to literature, all focusing on a particular ethnic group that is marginalized or subordinate to a dominant culture. For example, African American studies focuses on literature written by and for African Americans. Chicano/a studies explores literature produced by people of Mexican ancestry who live in the United States. Indigenous studies looks at literature from the perspective of native peoples in counties that have been colonized. For authors who are based in the United States, scholars use an ethnic studies rather than a postcolonial approach, even though both postcolonialism and ethnic studies are concerned with the imbalance of power between colonizers and Indigenous or marginalized peoples. All three types of criticism can be intersectional; in other words, it’s entirely appropriate to consider both socioeconomic class and race (or gender, which we will study later in this book) in your critical analysis.

Excerpts from Scholarship

Marxist: From “Bourgeois and Proletarians” in The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels

The history of all hitherto existing societies is the history of class struggles.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.

The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms. It has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms of struggle in place of the old ones. Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinctive feature: it has simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes, directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.

From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers of the earliest towns. From these burgesses the first elements of the bourgeoisie were developed.

The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid development.

The feudal system of industry, under which industrial production was monopolised by closed guilds, now no longer sufficed for the growing wants of the new markets. The manufacturing system took its place. The guild-masters were pushed on one side by the manufacturing middle class; division of labour between the different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of labour in each single workshop.

Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the demand ever rising. Even manufacture no longer sufficed. Thereupon, steam and machinery revolutionised industrial production. The place of manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry, the place of the industrial middle class, by industrial millionaires, the leaders of whole industrial armies, the modern bourgeois.

Modern industry has established the world-market, for which the discovery of America paved the way. This market has given an immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication by land. This development has, in its time, reacted on the extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, commerce, navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bourgeoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the background every class handed down from the Middle Ages.

We see, therefore, how the modern bourgeoisie is itself the product of a long course of development, of a series of revolutions in the modes of production and of exchange.

Postcolonial:  Excerpt from “The Profits of Postcolonialism” by Dorothy Figueira

Postcolonial criticism, like most poststructural theory, relies in great measure on the notion that some heritage of systems limits the reader. Our present condition, although seemingly benign, imposes an existential limit, and theory alone can liberate us from systemic constraints (Fluck, “Literature, Liberalism” 216). Curiously missing from the discussion is any serious questioning of how the text’s appearance as a network of hegemonic or subversive gestures suits the state of literary theoretical professionalization. Theory thus allows individuals cut off from any effective social action and buoyed by their security as academic professionals to claim solidarity with the disenfranchised. This alienation from real powerlessness (the academic Marxist’s guilt vis-a-vis the worker) can then be compensated for by a posture of powerlessness vis-a-vis representation. But even this strategy sometimes fails. The critic must then self-fashion him/herself through imaginary marginalization or, as the German Americanist Winfried Fluck has termed it, “expressive individualism” (Fluck, “Literature, Liberalism” 228), resulting in the wide-ranging identification of a privileged class of academics with the marginalized other. The historically oppressed become the new role models for the critic, giving political authority to the search for cultural difference (Fluck, “Literature, Liberalism” 228). In this way, theory and professionalism interact and justify each other (Fluck, “Americanization” 18).

The lack of an effective historical consciousness explains the curious phenomenon that the study of postcoloniality has primarily found urgent currency in the First World, whereas few ripples resonate in the excolonized worlds of South Asia and Africa. The predominance of critical contestants in Euro-American centers reflects how much most theory is inherently Eurocentric and culture bound (Clark 24). Thus, some critics have been led to ask what agendas lurk behind the academic formation called postcoloniality and its complicity with certain forms of Eurocentric cultural theory (Radhakrishnan 750). What power struggles are being replicated within this critical discourse? Does it represent nothing but a production of a comprador intelligentsia (Appiah 348)?

Nor has the posturing or positioning of postcolonial critics gone unquestioned. Benita Parry has accused them of exorbitation of their roles and the suppression of native voices (172). Arif Dirlik (343) and Rajeswari Sunder Rajan (598) cite the postcolonial theorists’ disengagements from significant issues of neocolonialism and retreats into a ratified form of postmodern abstraction. Dirlik even sees postcolonialism’s emergence as a form of global capitalism where critics, commanding high salaries in the First World, presume to be existentially connected to continuing problems of Third-World social, political and cultural domination.

As a result, postcolonial critics’ refusal to define postcolonial theory in an unambiguous manner might not necessarily point to diversity or vitality, but rather to personal projects and games of identification. Any adequate analysis of the literature of postcolonial criticism cannot avoid highlighting the extent to which the intellectual rigor and development of this criticism are seriously circumscribed by ideological posturing, reifying critical jargon, and strategies of self-representation. It might well be that postcolonial criticism never intended to address directly the myriad problems of analyzing Third-World societies, but rather has been fascinated with theorizing structures of power and, by extension, the critic’s position vis-a-vis these structures. This subtext informs a work such as Zantop’s Colonial Fantasies (1997), where the German imaginaire is the focus of discussion rather than any historical colonial reality. A German fictional literature on colonialism is then telescoped to show the ways in which fantasies of power can function even in a vacuum. The Holocaust becomes the inevitable case where such fantasies are unleashed upon reality. Here, the logic of postcoloniality reaches its natural conclusion, where a text is only a text and refers to no historical action. No coloniality, no postcoloniality, just ruminations on fantasies of power. Postcolonial studies of this genre strike the old-fashioned pose of the European psychoanalyst who unmasks the cultural crime of deformation. They are based on the virtually self-explanatory phenomenon of cultural struggle and adjustment. Since the postcolonial subject/critic is someone with access to positional knowledge, the work of generations of nonpostcolonial scholars (Orientalists or others who fit only marginally into the construction of Orientalism) is not particularly important. Even those who made a genuine effort to bring cultures formerly called “Oriental” into the Euro-American continuum need not be examined. The postcolonial critic can dismiss this work as serving a decrepit ideology (Clark 23). Often the postcolonial critic is unaware that a body of scholarship written by area specialists pertaining to the topic even exists. In a quasimessianic manner, the postcolonial critic positions her/himself to speak for the Other. Since Spivak’s subalterns theoretically are mute, she can effectively coopt their voice. In the process, she creates a need for the theorist (Spivak herself) who will determine the discourse of the victimized. This is, indeed, a slippery game. For the postcolonial critic, notions of voicelessness and absence serve to license the neglect of any texts (“archives,” “voices,” and “spaces”) that contradict the theoretical script.

African American Studies: Excerpt from “Controversial Blackness: The Historical Development & Future Trajectory of African American Studies” by Martha Biondi

The black studies movement has been marked by intense debates over its academic character. During and after the years of its emergence, black studies was criticized, internally and externally, on two interrelated grounds: that it lacked curricular coherence and that, by not having a single methodology, it failed to meet the definition of a discipline. As a result, many educators in the early black studies movement pursued a two-pronged quest for a standardized curriculum, on the one hand, and an original, authoritative methodology on the other. At the same time, many scholars in the black studies movement questioned whether either of these pursuits was desirable or even attainable. In other words, while some scholars have insisted that African American studies must devise its own unique research methodology, others contend that as a multidiscipline, or interdisciplinary discipline, its strength lies in incorporating multiple, diverse methodologies. In a similar vein, while some have argued for a standardized curriculum, others argue that higher education is better served by dynamism and innovation. I argue that the discipline’s ultimate acceptance in academe (to the extent that it has gained acceptance) has come from the production of influential scholarship and research and the development of new conceptual approaches that have influenced other disciplines.

Pioneering scholarship and influential intellectual innovations, rather than standardized pedagogy or methodology, have been the route to influence in American intellectual life. A tension between authority and freedom animates these debates. As late as 2000, an article in The Chronicle of Higher Historical Education reinforced the idea that multiple perspectives and methodologies had retarded the trajectory of African American studies- The author of an essay on the state of the field criticized the diverse character of African American studies courses at different universities: “The Ohio State class is chronological with a literary bent,” she wrote. “Duke’s take: cultural studies. The Penn course filters everything through a W.E.B. Du Bois lens, and N.Y.U. combines pan-Africanism with urban studies.” Of course, this sampling reflects the range one would find in the departments of history, sociology, or English at these same universities. But the author stresses disarray. “There’s a reason 30 years after the discipline developed that people still wonder whether the black-studies curriculum represents a coherent subject or a smorgasbord,” she concludes. In this view, the discipline’s strengths—”eclectic, expansive, experimental curricula” —are also its weaknesses….

Scholars and teachers influenced by Afrocentricity have been among the most consistent advocates of the need to create a distinctive methodology. For Temple University scholar Molefi Asante, Afrocentricity “is the only way you can approach African American Studies” because it puts ancient African knowledge systems at the center of analysis. For Greg Carr of Howard University, the challenge is to draw on “deep Africana thought,” the traditions of” classical and medieval Africa,” for guidance in enacting positive social change for African descendants. A key mission of African American studies, he believes, should be to reconnect “narratives of African identity to the contemporary era.” His department taps “into the long genealogy of Africana experiences” in order to assess how to improve the world. Carr distinguishes this mission from the mission of African American studies on other campuses. “We’re not trying to explain blackness for white people” or looking at “our contributions to American society.” Rather, the approach at Howard is “an extension of the long arc of Africana intellectual work.” The inclination to look for insights in the precolonial African past, rejecting European modernity and thereby hoping to escape or resolve the legacies of colonialism and enslavement, is fundamental to the approach that leading architects of Afrocentricity have taken.

Looking for Power Relationships in Texts

The short story “A Cup of Tea” by the New Zealand author Katherine Mansfield, who was an important author in the modernist movement, provides opportunities for us to consider a text through its power dynamics. Mansfield was from a socially prominent and well-off family. When she was in her twenties, she had a romantic relationship with a Māori woman, Maata Mahupuku. The short story below is set in London, where Mansfield went to college and lived for many years before her death from tuberculosis at the age of 34.

A Cup of Tea (1921)

BY KATHERINE MANSFIELD

ROSEMARY FELL was not exactly beautiful. No, you couldn’t have called her beautiful. Pretty ? Well, if you took her to pieces … But why be so cruel as to take anyone to pieces ? She was young, brilliant, extremely modern, exquisitely well dressed, amazingly well read in the newest of the new books, and her parties were the most delicious mixture of the really important people and… artists—quaint creatures, discoveries of hers, some of them too terrifying for words, but others quite presentable and amusing.

Rosemary had been married two years. She had a duck of a boy. No, not Peter—Michael. And her husband absolutely adored her. They were rich, really rich, not just comfortably well off, which is odious and stuffy and sounds like one’s grandparents. But if Rosemary wanted to shop she would go to Paris as you and I would go to Bond Street. If she wanted to buy flowers, the car pulled up at that perfect shop in Regent Street, and Rosemary inside the shop just gazed in her dazzled, rather exotic way, and said: ” I want those and those and those. Give me four bunches of those. And that jar of roses. Yes, I’ll have all the roses in the jar. No, no lilac. I hate lilac. It’s got no shape.” The attendant bowed and put the lilac out of sight, as though this was only too true; lilac was dreadfully shapeless. ” Give me those stumpy little tulips. Those red and white ones.” And she was followed to the car by a thin shopgirl staggering under an immense white paper armful that looked like a baby in long clothes…

One winter afternoon she had been buying something in a little antique shop in Curzon Street. It was a shop she liked. For one thing, one usually had it to oneself. And then the man who kept it was ridiculously fond of serving her. He beamed whenever she came in. He clasped his hands ; he was so gratified he could scarcely speak. Flattery, of course. All the same, there was something…

” You see, madam,” he would explain in his low respectful tones, ” I love my things. I would rather not part with them than sell them to someone who does not appreciate them, who has not that fine feeling which is so rare…” And, breathing deeply he unrolled a tiny square of blue velvet and pressed it on the glass counter with his pale finger-tips.

To-day it was a little box. He had been keeping it for her. He had shown it to nobody as yet. An exquisite little enamel box with a glaze so fine it looked as though it had been baked in cream. On the lid a minute creature stood under a flowery tree, and a more minute creature still had her arms round his neck. Her hat, really no bigger than a geranium petal, hung from a branch ; it had green ribbons. And there was a pink cloud like a watchful cherub floating above their heads. Rosemary took her hands out of her long gloves. She always took off her gloves to examine such things. Yes, she liked it very much. She loved it; it was a great duck. She must have it. And, turning the creamy box, opening and shutting it, she couldn’t help noticing how charming her hands were against the blue velvet. The shopman, in some dim cavern of his mind, may have dared to think so too. For he took a pencil, leant over the counter, and his pale bloodless fingers crept timidly towards those rosy, flashing ones, as he murmured gently : ” If I may venture to point out to madam, the flowers on the little lady’s bodice.”

” Charming! ” Rosemary admired the flowers. But what was the price ? For a moment the shopman did not seem to hear. Then a murmur reached her. ” Twenty-eight guineas, madam.”

” Twenty-eight guineas.” Rosemary gave no sign. She laid the little box down ; she buttoned her gloves again. Twenty-eight guineas. Even if one is rich… She looked vague. She stared at a plump tea-kettle like a plump hen above the shopman’s head, and her voice was dreamy as she answered: ” Well, keep it for me—will you ? I’ll…”

But the shopman had already bowed as though keeping it for her was all any human being could ask. He would be willing, of course, to keep it for her for ever.

The discreet door shut with a click. She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too, spinning down like ashes. There was a cold bitter taste in the air, and the new-lighted lamps looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite. Dimly they burned as if regretting something. And people hurried by, hidden under their hateful umbrellas. Rosemary felt a strange pang. She pressed her muff against her breast; she wished she had the little box, too, to cling to. Of course, the car was there. She’d only to cross the pavement. But still she waited. There are moments, horrible moments in life, when one emerges from shelter and looks out, and it’s awful. One oughtn’t to give way to them. One ought to go home and have an extra-special tea. But at the very instant of thinking that, a young girl, thin, dark, shadowy—where had she come from ?—was standing at Rosemary’s elbow and a voice like a sigh, almost like a sob, breathed : ” Madam, may I speak to you a moment ? ”

“Speak to me ? ” Rosemary turned. She saw a little battered creature with enormous eyes, someone quite young, no older than herself, who clutched at her coat-collar with reddened hands, and shivered as though she had just come out of the water.

“M-madam,” stammered the voice. ” Would you let me have the price of a cup of tea ? ”

“A cup of tea ?” There was something simple, sincere in that voice ; it wasn’t in the least the voice of a beggar. ” Then have you no money at all?” asked Rosemary.

“None, madam,” came the answer.

“How extraordinary!” Rosemary peered through the dusk, and the girl gazed back at her. How more than extraordinary! And suddenly it seemed to Rosemary such an adventure. It was like something out of a novel by Dostoevsky, this meeting in the dusk. Supposing she took the girl home ? Supposing she did do one of those things she was always reading about or seeing on the stage, what would happen ? It would be thrilling. And she heard herself saying afterwards to the amazement of her friends : ” I simply took her home with me,” as she stepped forward and said to that dim person beside her : ” Come home to tea with me.”

The girl drew back startled. She even stopped shivering for a moment. Rosemary put out a hand and touched her arm. ” I mean it,” she said, smiling. And she felt how-simple and kind her smile was. ” Why won’t you ? Do. Come home with me now in my car and have tea.”

“You—you don’t mean it, madam,” said the girl, and there was pain in her voice.

“But I do,” cried Rosemary. ” I want you to. To please me. Come along.”

The girl put her fingers to her lips and her eyes devoured Rosemary. ” You’re—you’re not taking me to the police station ? ” she stammered.

“The police station ! ” Rosemary laughed out. ” Why should I be so cruel ? No, I only want to make you warm and to hear— anything you care to tell me.”

Hungry people are easily led. The footman held the door of the car open, and a moment later they were skimming through the dusk.

“There!” said Rosemary. She had a feeling of triumph as she slipped her hand through the velvet strap. She could have said, ” Now I’ve got you,” as she gazed at the little captive she had netted. But of course she meant it kindly. Oh, more than kindly. She was going to prove to this girl that—wonderful things did happen in life, that—fairy godmothers were real, that— rich people had hearts, and that women were sisters. She turned impulsively, saying: ” Don’t be frightened. After all, why shouldn’t you come back with me ? We’re both women. If I’m the more fortunate, you ought to expect…”

But happily at that moment, for she didn’t know how the sentence was going to end, the car stopped. The bell was rung, the door opened, and with a charming, protecting, almost embracing movement, Rosemary drew the other into the hall. Warmth, softness, light, a sweet scent, all those things so familiar to her she never even thought about them, she watched that other receive. It was fascinating. She was like the rich little girl in her nursery with all the cupboards to open, all the boxes to unpack.

“Come, come upstairs,” said Rosemary, longing to begin to be generous. ” Come up to my room.” And, besides, she wanted to spare this poor little thing from being stared at by the servants; she decided as they mounted the stairs she would not even ring for Jeanne, but take off her things by herself. The great thing was to be natural!

And “There ! ” cried Rosemary again, as they reached her beautiful big bedroom with the curtains drawn, the fire leaping on her wonderful lacquer furniture, her gold cushions and the primrose and blue rugs.

The girl stood just inside the door ; she seemed dazed. But Rosemary didn’t mind that.

“Come and sit down,” she cried, dragging her big chair up to the fire, ” in this comfy chair. Come and get warm. You look so dreadfully cold.”

“I daren’t, madam,” said the girl, and she edged backwards.

“Oh, please,”—Rosemary ran forward—” you mustn’t be frightened, you mustn’t, really. Sit down, and when I’ve taken off my things we shall go into the next room and have tea and be cosy. Why are you afraid ? ” And gently she half pushed the thin figure into its deep cradle.

But there was no answer. The girl stayed just as she had been put, with her hands by her sides and her mouth slightly open. To be quite sincere, she looked rather stupid. But Rosemary wouldn’t acknowledge it. She leant over her, saying : ” Won’t you take off your hat ? Your pretty hair is all wet. And one is so much more comfortable without a hat, isn’t one ? ”

There was a whisper that sounded like ” Very good, madam,” and the crushed hat was taken off.

“And let me help you off with your coat, too,” said Rosemary.

The girl stood up. But she held on to the chair with one hand and let Rosemary pull. It was quite an effort. The other scarcely helped her at all. She seemed to stagger like a child, and the thought came and went through Rosemary’s mind, that if people wanted helping they must respond a little, just a little, other-wise it became very difficult indeed. And what was she to do with the coat now ? She left it on the floor, and the hat too. She was just going to take a cigarette off the mantelpiece when the girl said quickly, but so lightly and strangely : ” I’m very sorry, madam, but I’m going to faint. I shall go off, madam, if I don’t have something.”

“Good heavens, how thoughtless I am ! ” Rosemary rushed to the bell.

“Tea ! Tea at once ! And some brandy immediately ! ”

The maid was gone again, but the girl almost cried out. ” No, I don’t want no brandy. I never drink brandy. It’s a cup of tea I want, madam.” And she burst into tears.

It was a terrible and fascinating moment. Rosemary knelt beside her chair.

“Don’t cry, poor little thing,” she said. ” Don’t cry.” And she gave the other her lace handkerchief. She really was touched beyond words. She put her arm round those thin, bird-like shoulders.

Now at last the other forgot to be shy, forgot everything except that they were both women, and gasped out: ” I can’t go on no longer like this. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it. I shall do away with myself. I can’t bear no more.”

“You shan’t have to. I’ll look after you. Don’t cry any more. Don’t you see what a good thing it was that you met me ? We’ll have tea and you’ll tell me everything. And I shall arrange something. I promise. Do stop crying. It’s so exhausting. Please ! ”

The other did stop just in time for Rosemary to get up before the tea came. She had the table placed between them. She plied the poor little creature with everything, all the sandwiches, all the bread and butter, and every time her cup was empty she filled it with tea, cream and sugar. People always said sugar was so nourishing. As for herself she didn’t eat; she smoked and looked away tactfully so that the other should not be shy.

And really the effect of that slight meal was marvellous. When the tea-table was carried away a new being, a light, frail creature with tangled hair, dark lips, deep, lighted eyes, lay back in the big chair in a kind of sweet languor, looking at the blaze. Rosemary lit a fresh cigarette ; it was time to begin.

“And when did you have your last meal ? ” she asked softly.

But at that moment the door-handle turned.

“Rosemary, may I come in ? ” It was Philip.

“Of course.”

He came in. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, and stopped and stared.

“It’s quite all right,” said Rosemary smiling. “This is my friend, Miss——”

“Smith, madam,” said the languid figure, who was strangely still and unafraid.

“Smith,” said Rosemary. “We are going to have a little talk.”

“Oh, yes,” said Philip. “Quite,” and his eye caught sight of the coat and hat on the floor. He came over to the fire and turned his back to it. “It’s a beastly afternoon,” he said curiously, still looking at that listless figure, looking at its hands and boots, and then at Rosemary again.

“Yes, isn’t it?” said Rosemary enthusiastically. ” Vile.”

Philip smiled his charming smile. “As a matter of fact,” said he, ” I wanted you to come into the library for a moment. Would you ? Will Miss Smith excuse us ? ”

The big eyes were raised to him, but Rosemary answered for her. ” Of course she will.” And they went out of the room together.

“I say,” said Philip, when they were alone. “Explain. Who is she? What does it all mean?”

Rosemary, laughing, leaned against the door and said : “I picked her up in Curzon Street. Really. She’s a real pick-up. She asked me for the price of a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me.”

“But what on earth are you going to do with her ? ” cried Philip.

“Be nice to her,” said Rosemary quickly. “Be frightfully nice to her. Look after her. I don’t know how. We haven’t talked yet. But show her—treat her—make her feel——”

“My darling girl,” said Philip, ” you’re quite mad, you know. It simply can’t be done.”

“I knew you’d say that,” retorted Rosemary. “Why not ? I want to. Isn’t that a reason ? And besides, one’s always reading about these things. I decided——”

“But,” said Philip slowly, and he cut the end of a cigar, “she’s so astonishingly pretty.”

“Pretty?” Rosemary was so surprised that she blushed. “Do you think so ? I—I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Good Lord!” Philip struck a match. “She’s absolutely lovely. Look again, my child. I was bowled over when I came into your room just now. However… I think you’re making a ghastly mistake. Sorry, darling, if I’m crude and all that. But let me know if Miss Smith is going to dine with us in time for me to look up The Milliner’s Gazette.”

“You absurd creature!” said Rosemary, and she went out of the library, but not back to her bedroom. She went to her writing-room and sat down at her desk. Pretty ! Absolutely lovely ! Bowled over ! Her heart beat like a. heavy bell. Pretty ! Lovely ! She drew her cheque-book towards her. But no, cheques would be no use, of course. She opened a drawer and took out five pound notes, looked at them, put two back, and holding the three squeezed in her hand, she went back to her bedroom.

Half an hour later Philip was still in the library, when Rosemary came in.

“I only wanted to tell you,” said she, and she leaned against the door again and looked at him with her dazzled exotic gaze, “Miss Smith won’t dine with us to-night.”

Philip put down the paper. “Oh, what’s happened? Previous engagement? ”

Rosemary came over and sat down on his knee. “She insisted on going,” said she, “so I gave the poor little thing a present of money. I couldn’t keep her against her will, could I? ” she added softly.

Rosemary had just done her hair, darkened her eyes a little, and put on her pearls. She put up her hands and touched Philip’s cheeks.

“Do you like me?” said she, and her tone, sweet, husky, troubled him.

“I like you awfully,” he said, and he held her tighter. “Kiss me.”

There was a pause.

Then Rosemary said dreamily. “I saw a fascinating little box to-day. It cost twenty-eight guineas. May I have it?”

Philip jumped her on his knee. “You may, little wasteful one,” said he.

But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say.

“Philip,” she whispered, and she pressed his head against her bosom, “am I pretty?”

Let’s examine the short story using our three approaches to see how we can use power relationships to explore texts.

Marxist Questions

1. Class Disparities: How does the story portray the economic differences between Rosemary and the girl she meets? In what ways do Rosemary’s wealth and privilege affect the dynamics between them?
2. Commodification of Art and Luxury: Explore the theme of consumerism and the commodification of art and luxury goods in the story. How does Rosemary’s interaction with the shopkeeper reflect larger societal attitudes towards material possessions?
3. Labor and Social Class: Analyze the role of labor and social class in the story. How are the characters positioned in terms of social class, and how does their economic status influence their actions and relationships?
4. Exploitation and Power Dynamics: Discuss the power dynamics between Rosemary and the girl she meets. How does Rosemary’s offer to take the girl home reflect underlying structures of power and privilege? In what ways does Rosemary’s benevolence reinforce or challenge existing social hierarchies?
5. Alienation and Isolation: Explore the theme of alienation and isolation, considering both Rosemary’s privileged but potentially lonely existence and the girl’s apparent vulnerability. How do these characters experience and navigate their respective social environments?

Remember, Marxism often focuses on economic and social structures, so consider how these structures are reflected in the characters’ relationships, choices, and the overall narrative.

Postcolonial Questions

Further Reading

• Biondi, Martha. “Controversial Blackness: The Historical Development & Future Trajectory of African American Studies.” Daedalus, vol. 140, no. 2, 2011, pp. 226–37. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/23047464. Accessed 1 Mar. 2024.
• Brooker, Peter. A Glossary of Literary and Cultural Theory. 3rd ed. Routledge, 2017.
• Eagleton, Terry. Marxism and Literary Criticism. Psychology Press, 2002.
• Figueira, Dorothy. “The Profits of Postcolonialism.” Comparative Literature, vol. 52, no. 3, Summer 2000, p. 246. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.cwi.idm.oclc.org/10.1215/-52-3-246.
• Gandhi, Leela. Postcolonial Theory: An Introduction. New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.
• Joyce A. Joyce. “The Black Canon: Reconstructing Black American Literary Criticism.” New Literary History, vol. 18, no. 2, 1987, pp. 335–44. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/468732. Accessed 1 Mar. 2024.
• Loomba, Ania. Colonialism/Postcolonialism. London: Routledge, 2005.
• MacLeod, Christine. “Black American Literature and the Postcolonial Debate.” The Yearbook of English Studies, vol. 27, 1997, pp. 51–65. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/3509132. Accessed 13 Mar. 2024.
• Martinez-Echazabal, Lourdes. “Mestizaje and the Discourse of National/Cultural Identity in Latin America, 1845-1959.” Latin American Perspectives, vol. 25, no. 3, 1998, pp. 21–42. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2634165. Accessed 1 Mar. 2024.
• Mishra, Vijay. “Postcolonial Theory.” Oxford Research Encyclopedias. 30 April 2020. https://oxfordre.com/literature/display/10.1093/acrefore/9780190201098.001.0001/acrefore-9780190201098-e-1001  Accessed October 13, 2023.
• Mitchell, Angelyn, editor. Within the Circle: An Anthology of African American Literary Criticism from the Harlem Renaissance to the Present. Duke University Press, 1994. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1134fjj. Accessed 1 Mar. 2024.
• Snyder, Carey. “Katherine Mansfield, Rhythm, and Metropolitan Primitivism.” The Journal of Modern Periodical Studies, vol. 5, no. 2, 2014, pp. 138–59. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.5325/jmodeperistud.5.2.0138. Accessed 1 Mar. 2024.
• Young, Robert J. C. Postcolonial Theory: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.