The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

Thaddeus Wakefield

PETER LANG

Family IN Twentieth-Century American Drama THE

Yoshinobu Hakutani General Editor Vol. 39

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Thaddeus Wakefield

Family IN Twentieth-Century American Drama THE

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wakefield, Thaddeus. The family in twentieth-century American drama / Thaddeus Wakefield. p. cm. — (Modern American literature; vol. 39) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. 1. American drama—20th century—History and criticism. 2. Domestic drama, American—History and criticism. 3. Family in literature. I. Title: Family in 20th century American drama. II. Title. III. Modern American literature (New York, N.Y.); v. 39. PS338 .F35W35 812’.509355—dc21 2003002304 ISBN 0-8204-6321-3 ISSN 1078-0521

Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Bibliothek. Die Deutsche Bibliothek lists this publication in the “Deutsche Nationalbibliografie”; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.ddb.de/.

Cover art by Thao Wakefield The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council of Library Resources.

© 2004, 2003 Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York 275 Seventh Avenue, 28th Floor, New York, NY 10001 www.peterlangusa.com All rights reserved. Reprint or reproduction, even partially, in all forms such as microfilm, xerography, microfiche, microcard, and offset strictly prohibited. Printed in Germany

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments Introduction

vii 1

5

Chapter 1

Marriage Relationships

Chapter 2

Father-Child Relationships

23

Chapter 3

Mother-Child Relationships

45

Chapter 4

Non-Traditional Families

71

Afterword Bibliography Index

95 97 115

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Acknowledgments

I want to thank Emory Elliott for his sage support, guidance, and advice throughout my graduate courses at UC Riverside. Thank you, Emory, for all of your assistance. I also want to thank Dr. Roy Garrott for his mentoring at California State University, Long Beach. Dr. Garrott provided the inspiration for many of the ideas in this book—he has been quite simply an invaluable academic resource. I would like to give a heartfelt thanks to James Young for his assistance in preparing the camera ready copy. Also, I cannot fail to mention the invaluable assistance of Beverly Wakefield. Without her expert editorial assistance, this book would not exist. Finally, I'd like to thank my wife for all of her patience and understanding while I spent many hours writing this book. Thank you, Thao.

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Introduction

A commodity appears, atfirst sight, a very trivial thing, and easily understood. Its analysis shows that it is, in reality, a very queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties.

Capital Karl Marx

The central subject of American Drama is, arguably, the American family. From Royall Tyler's colonial comedy The Contrast (1787) to August Wilson's King Hedley II (2000), relationships between husbands, wives, and their children have consistently been used by American playwrights to explore and illuminate the American experience. This study will analyze twentieth century American drama by specifically focusing on the American family, and will explore how filial relationships are affected by a capitalistic culture of consumption that permeates twentieth century American society. In my analysis, I will investigate how the American family is commodified; through analyzing filial relationships within both traditional and non-traditional families, this study will explore how family members perceive themselves and others as "things" in America's capitalistic society. In my analysis of American drama, I will use the sociological constructs of social divisions as my framework. I will be discussing the (traditional and non-traditional) family in terms of husbandwife, father-child and mother-child relationships. Capitalism affects these social constructs; family members are not valued in terms of their intrinsic worth, but rather as economic producers and consumers. I agree with literary critic Priscilla Clark that the sociological analysis of literature is a valuable component within the full spectrum of critical approaches to literature. By studying American drama within the context of sociological criticism, this study will present a fuller understanding of the American family through American drama of the twentieth century. I have chosen American drama as my medium for analysis not simply because I genuinely enjoy this particular genre, but because American drama has been consistently overlooked by academics. Ruby Cohn wryly notes in the Columbia Literary History of the United States "it is a virtual miracle that American drama merits admission to a history of American literature" (1101). Despite being thought as unworthy for scholarly attention by some literary critics, American drama has mirrored peculiarly American social, political, and historical issues. Barbara Smith, another

2

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

literary scholar, finds that American drama "has always responded to national and regional problems" (Smith 9). In the past American drama was overlooked by scholars, yet now there are more literary scholars drawing critical attention to American drama as a legitimate area for critical scholarship. It is for this reason that I have chosen American plays as the "text" I will analyze in order to pursue these sociological critical theories in relationship to the family and capitalistic culture of twentieth century American society. Over the course of the twentieth century, consumption became central to corporations and government agencies, which attempted to affect household activities in the interests of profit, economic growth, and political stability. The American family was forever changed as a result of this new capitalistic culture of consumption. For not only were families in the twentieth century overwhelmed with new, "exciting" things to purchase, but the actual fabric of familial relationships became affected by this dominant culture of consumption. The process of commodification, in which individuals are perceived as commodities, or things, reflects the ascendancy of exchange-value over use-value, to use Baudrillard's terms. In the twentieth century one finds that it is not so much the object itself (what function it serves) that matters, but rather how it stands out from other objects for sale. Commodities become signs whose value is derived from its monetary price relative to other commodities, and not from any inherent properties of usefulness or necessity. This "way of thinking" about things becomes inculcated into the way family members in the twentieth century perceive themselves and other family members. This detaching of things from their "values" mirrors the way in which individuals are separated from their "intrinsic" humanistic worth to being valued simply in monetary terms. In twentieth century American society, family members do not value each other through intrinsic standards but rather are objectified and commodified by economic standards. A commodity, by Karl Marx's definition, has value not in terms of what it can do (use-value) but rather in terms of the money or other commodities that it can be traded for (exchange-value). According to Marx, an object becomes a commodity only when it has exchange-value, a value not inherent in the object. Commodification, then, is the act of valuing individuals in terms of the monetary amount they can be traded for, to the exclusion of any other considerations. Baudrillard describes the way that the human subject in consumer capitalistic society is objectified and fragmented. For example, like the

Introduction

3

sweaters Michael owns in Mart Crowley's play The Boys in the Band, Michael is himself updated with regular new "models" of sweaters, altering an identity he assumes through the things that his money buys. Thus, a commodity can be anything at all, since it is not defined by any substance or given utility, but simply by virtue of the fact that it "goes to market," in Marx's phrase, with a price: it can easily take the form of a person as that of a physical object. As with the commodity, there is no intrinsic value: the value of a person is objectified into a quantifiable monetary amount based on economic determinants. This "culture of consumption" results in people seeing themselves and others as commodities, and this ideology of twentieth century capitalism describes not only goods, but people as well. Family members in the twentieth century lose their "intrinsic value" when they are defined as a commodity by their own family members. An effective framework for exploring the effects of capitalism's commodity culture of the twentieth century is through analyzing the family. I will employ sociological analysis within families of twentieth century American drama. In this study I will explore both traditional and non-traditional families. In both aspects, I focus on three sociological inter-personal relationships that occur in any "family." These relationships are between husband-wife (or non-traditional equivalent), father-child, and mother-child. In each of these, I will attempt to analyze social relationships as exemplified in specific American plays in order to illustrate capitalism's effect on the American family. By examining a wide cross-section of twentieth century American plays, this study will explore and illuminate the ways in which a capitalistic society impacts the American family. From Philip Barry's wealthy, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant families to Cheryl L. West's black, bisexual families, I will discuss how marriage, paternal and maternal roles (in both traditional and non-traditional families) are all affected within a society delineated by a commodity culture. In my exploration of American drama of the twentieth century, I plan to analyze 14 plays representing the American family. These plays are (in chronological order): • Philip Barry's Holiday (1928) • Lillian Hellman's The Children's Hour (1934) and The Little Foxes (1939) • Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night (1939) • Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie (1945) • Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman (1949) • Tennessee Williams' Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) • Lorraine Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun (1959) • Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1962)

4

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama • Lonne Elder Ill's Ceremonies in Dark Old Men (1965) • Mart Crowley's The Boys in the Band (1968) • David Rabe's Streamers (1976) • August Wilson's Fences (1985) • Cheryl L. West's Before it Hits Home (1989)

In my only caveat to the reader, I must explain my decision to analyze Eugene O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night in the first three chapters of this study, while giving no other play such an honor. Long Day's Journey into Night is uniquely suited to illuminate the impact of capitalism within the various filial relationships which define the traditional family: the marriage relationship, father-child relationships, and mother-child relationships. Other than O'Neill's play, however, I have attempted to use as wide and diverse a selection of playwrights and plays as possible in order to illustrate the breadth and scope that is twentieth century American drama.

chapter11 Margaret: Brick:

Marriage Relationships I do love you, Brick, I do! Wouldn't it be funny if that was true? Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Tennessee Williams

By the turn of the twentieth century, the American family had begun to experience the effects of capitalism. As a result, cultural values of the family became modified by a capitalistic influence which pervaded all of American society. Within the twentieth century American family, spouses became commodified by a capitalistic society that placed a greater materialistic and economic value on individuals rather than on intrinsic "humanist" values. In the twentieth century, spouses view themselves and each other in terms of money—how much he/she is "worth" is directly proportional to how much money he/she can earn. These beliefs, firmly grounded within capitalistic ideology, permeate even into the most "sacred" of American social institutions: the family. The twentieth century American marriage relationship is based on economic factors, not religious or romantic factors. Twentieth century ideologies of capitalism covertly work themselves into the marriage "contract," resulting in the spouse being seen as a "thing" to make money rather than an intrinsically valuable human being. I will in this chapter analyze four American plays of the twentieth century to explicate how this occurs. The plays are: Philip Barry's Holiday (1928); Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night (1939); Tennessee Williams' Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955); and Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1962).

Philip Barry's 1928 play Holiday is set in New York City, and deals with the wealthy, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant Seton family. The play begins with Julia Seton returning home from a winter holiday in Lake Placid. It is there that she meets a young bachelor, Johnny Case, to whom she is attracted. Julia and Johnny decide to get married during their holiday, and it is with this news that they return to announce their intentions to

6

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

the rest of Julia's family. Linda, Julia's older sister, is extremely excited and supportive of Julia's decision to marry Johnny, believing that the two have fallen head-overheels in love. In contrast to Linda's support, Ned, Julia's brother, seems to be too busy drinking to seriously contemplate Julia's affairs. Edward Seton, however, is the rich, powerful father who is initially suspicious of Johnny Case; Edward is understandably wary of the young man marrying into his family, thinking that his family money was a motivating factor for Case. The overt, obvious idea of Barry's play is that money doesn't equal happiness. This theme is developed through Johnny's refusal to accept the capitalistic ideology of American society that says one must amass wealth. However, throughout the play the Seton family, who represent wealth and the worship of money, contest Case's philosophy. Barry's play covertly reinscribes American society's capitalistic belief that money does equal happiness, and that one should specifically choose his/her spouse in terms of money. The play opens in a room on the third floor of Edward Seton's house in New York. The setting is described as "a handsome room, but rich, very rich." When Julia and Johnny enter discussing their plans for marriage, it may outwardly seem that love is their primary motivation. Johnny: Julia: Johnny: Julia: Johnny:

But you must all be so rich, Julia! Well, we aren't poor. You should have told me, you really should. Would it have made any difference? (laughs) Lord, yes! I'd have asked you to marry me in two days, instead of ten.

One might think that Julia's lack of mentioning her wealth was to make sure that her suitor would love her for herself, not her money. However, Julia doesn't speak of her own personal wealth because in her mind it is inconsequential. Not only does she literally connect herself with her money, she also perceives in Johnny a man who will make plenty of money, and enjoy making it like her father and grandfather. Interestingly, Barry begins in this first scene to subtly hint at the real motivation of their marriage engagement: money, not love. Further on in their conversation, Julia tells Johnny "you're going to make millions, yourself!" When he responds, "Oh, no, I'm not" Julia insists that he will:

Marriage Relationships Johnny: Julia: Johnny: Julia: Johnny: Julia: Johnny: Julia:

1

—Am not. Are too. (A brief pause) How did you happen to decide I'd do, Julia? I fell in love with you, silly. You might have done that, and still not have wanted to marry me. I do, though. You know awfully little about me. I know enough.

Julia claims that love is the reason she wants to marry Johnny Case, and the others want to believe this is true. Johnny certainly hopes that Julia loves him for himself, not for his capacity to make money. Linda, Julia's sister, wants to believe in true love—something better and greater than money. Unfortunately, though, twentieth century capitalistic ideologies pervade the Seton household (except for Linda), and it is not the case. Julia never fell in love with Johnny Case; she fell in love with the idea that he would/could make money like her grandfather. On her holiday at Lake Placid, she saw in Johnny the ambition and drive which, when properly channeled (according to her), would make more money than her father. As a result, Julia doesn't really "see" Johnny. She can only see her capitalistic vision of him as a budding entrepreneur. Julia remarks to Linda: "I want father to see that Johnny has the self-same qualities Grandfather had, —and that there's no reason why he shouldn't arrive just where he did." Julia has been thoroughly trained in capitalistic ideology, to the point where even choosing her husband must conform to the ideas of producing and consuming capital and commodities. This is why when Johnny says, "I love you, Julia" and Julia replies "I love you, Johnny," her statement is false. She doesn't love him, only the idea that she has conjured in her head that he will make millions of dollars. Julia loves "the package" of Johnny Case; Case combines moneymaking abilities with an attractive physical form that proves unbeatable to Julia. Yet if Julia had to choose between romantic "attraction" and wealth, it is obvious she would rather have money. Thus, Philip Barry's play Holiday exemplifies how romantic "husband-wife" love is commodified by capitalistic ideologies which pervade American society in the twentieth century. To win approval from Julia's father, Johnny must quite simply be a man of means—he needs money. Personality, charm, character, and nobility are all characteristics that are considered minor in comparison with affluence and the ability to make money.

8

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama Linda: Johnny: Linda: Julia: Linda:

The first thing Father will want to know is, how are you fixed? Fixed? (firmly) —Fixed.—Are you a man of means, and if so, how much? Linda! Be still, Beauty. (To Johnny) I know you would expect that of a man in Father's position, but the fact is, money is our god here.

Linda's statement makes the point of Barry's play: Money is the ultimate ruler of Americans, pervading every social relation, including marriage. Julia pretends to be shocked at Linda bringing up such a "base" idea, yet Linda is right, and Julia knows it. Julia wants to convince herself and others that she loves Johnny "romantically," yet that couldn't be further from the truth. First of all, she chose him, not the other way around. Rather than a normal courtship in which the man pursues his romantic interest, Julia simply selects him. She is only interested in one thing, bringing a man home who will be able to continue the legacy of the Seton family by continuing to make (lots of) money. The Setons' value themselves and others according to their wealth, not by intrinsic humanistic values. Therefore, when they see Case, what they see is his earning potential rather than the man he really is. This is most graphically shown when Edward is describing to Case the joys of making money: Seton: Linda: Seton:

Believe me when I tell you the first fifty thousand is the hardestIt's plain sailing after that. Look out, Johnny! —In two years, we'll make your forty thousand, eighty—in five, two hundred.

The Setons admire an individual's ability to increase one's capital. Case isn't considered worthy of Julia until Edward finds out about a shrewd investment he's made; there is a direct correlation between Case's marriage proposal being approved and him making money. Edward Seton only warms up to Case after realizing that Case has made a killing through his investments. Case is never valued for who he is as an individual devoid of a relationship with money, and he never would be valued by the Setons; the Seton family values money and the increase of wealth. Unfortunately for Julia, though, Johnny Case isn't like most American men. He wants to "live" rather than to make money. Living for Case is not making money, and his rather ambitious yet unorthodox plan of retiring when he is young and working when he is old doesn't go over well with the Seton family. Linda, who is more candid, remarks:

Marriage Relationships Linda: Johnny: Linda:

9

I see. That's foolish—but you're all right, Case. You haven't been bitten with it yet—you haven't been caught by it. By what? The reverence for riches.

Case's thinking is the inverse of twentieth century American capitalistic ideology. He does not want to amass great wealth in his youth; he wants to "live." Living means for him to travel, do what he pleases, and even waste time if he chooses. Efficiency, production, and labor are things Case wants nothing to do with, and therefore he rejects the entire economic social structure to which the Setons conscribe themselves. This concept is foreign to Julia—she cannot comprehend the idea of money being unimportant. Throughout the play, when she hears Johnny say that he doesn't want to make lots of money she dismisses him as cute and naive. At the end of Act Two, however, she finally understands that he is serious; Johnny Case doesn't intend to pursue wealth. Julia is shocked by the tenacity with which Johnny holds his convictions. She believes that wealth, which has converted everyone she knows, would also convert Johnny. She implores Johnny, "But you haven't an idea yet of how exciting business can be—you're just beginning! Oh Johnny, see it through! You'll love it! I know you will. There's no such thrill in the world as making money." However, Julia's "love" for Johnny turns to disgust and pity when she realizes he will never worship money like she does. After Linda confronts her on loving money more than Johnny, Linda reminds her that money doesn't equal happiness. Linda: Julia:

Lord, Julia, don't tell me that you want it! I want it, and it's all I want.

Julia couldn't be more painfully honest than in this revelatory comment, and she accurately reflects the twentieth century American ideologies that elevate money over everything and everyone else. Clearly, money is Julia's god. Money is more important to her than people, even Johnny. Julia doesn't love Johnny, only money. And this explains why she cuts him loose and cancels their marriage plans when Johnny gives her an ultimatum to love him and go along with his plans or else leave him. When Case doesn't choose her, Julia remarks, "Very well—you can go. Because I don't see myself with an idler for a husband." After their break-up, Linda still naively believes that Julia loved Johnny. This myth is exploded when Julia confesses to her that she is glad Johnny is gone, and that she found out he wasn't interested in making

10

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

money before she married him. Julia says, "I'm so relieved I could sing with it!" Julia and Johnny's marriage engagement was centered totally on money, not on each other as intrinsically valuable people. Julia viewed Johnny solely in terms of a commodity, one able to make more capital. When her illusion is shattered, so too are the wedding plans. The marriages in Holiday exist within the reality that money is the "true" thing being pursued, rather than an individual. Romance and religion are merely decoys for the real foundation of twentieth century American marriages: money.

ii Perhaps the quintessential twentieth century American play regarding the family is Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night (1939). No other American play (or playwright, for that matter) has been indelibly imprinted so securely within the canon of twentieth century American drama more clearly and solidly as Night. In the play, O'Neill recounts an autobiographical story of a family's disintegration caused by the family members' love for money over their love for each other. More specifically, the marriage of James and Mary Tyrone is undoubtedly troubled. Most scholars have analyzed Mary's drug addiction as the root of their problems, yet it is capitalism's effects which have led to Tyrone's cheapness, thus exacerbating Mary's problems (and the entire family's, for that matter). Early twentieth century capitalism had no social security system, thus if one did not acquire financial security for himself and his family, there was little compassion and no recompense from twentieth century American society. James Tyrone learned this the hard way, having to lead his family at 10 years old after his father abandoned them. Tyrone is rich; he owns property valued at "a quarter of a million dollars." He remarks throughout the play that he loves his wife, yet he doesn't provide appropriate care for her. Tyrone does provide her with things: he gives her a maid to help her with her household duties, an automobile and driver to take her wherever she likes, a house, and a personal doctor. Therefore, Tyrone can't understand her complaints, figuring it is the morphine talking when she recounts her disillusionment with her marriage. One is at first tempted to believe Tyrone and take his side. It seems that he has done all that can be asked of a husband; indeed, he in fact could be the ideal twentieth century American husband from capitalist

Marriage Relationships

11

society's perspective. He has never cheated on his wife, he has held a steady job, he has supported his sons well into adulthood, and he has never left his wife on long business trips but has taken her with him. However, a closer look reveals the shallowness of James Tyrone's love, and, inversely, the depth of his love for money. Scholar John Raleigh notes, "the high point of James Tyrone's life was connected with his profession" (71). After performing Othello with Edwin Booth, Booth remarked that Tyrone played Othello better than he ever did. Interestingly, Tyrone had the manager write down Booth's exact words and kept it in a place very close to his heart: his wallet. Although Tyrone wanted to be a success as an actor, his ambition to become a great actor was overcome by the capitalistic forces propelling him to make money above any and all other loves, passions, and desires. Tyrone's character is hinted at in the opening act of the play. When talking with Mary after breakfast, he reflects on the cigar he is smoking, "There's nothing like the first after-breakfast cigar, if it's a good one, and this new lot has the right mellow flavor. They're a great bargain, too. I got them cheap. It was McGuire put me on to them." This comment introduces the reader to three things about James Tyrone: he is cheap, inflexible, and a poor businessman. As the play unfolds, it turns out that McGuire has suckered Tyrone out of his money through countless investments which resulted in financial failures. Yet when Mary tries to make him aware of his consistently poor investments, he snaps back at Mary, reminding her of his one success, while at the same time reminding the audience of his own hubris. Tyrone seems to be, sociologically speaking, financially and economically schizophrenic. He constantly and overtly complains about "going to the poorhouse," while he continuously buys land from his buddy McGuire. It is this hypocrisy that his wife and family can't stand. Mary comments: "McGuire. He must have another piece of property on his list that no one would think of buying except your father. It doesn't matter any more, but it's always seemed to me your father could afford to keep on buying property but never to give me a home." Mary is complaining how Tyrone always seems to have money when it conies to land speculation, yet he is peculiarly bankrupt when it comes to investing in his family. Similarly, at the end of the play, when Edmund is diagnosed with tuberculosis, Tyrone decides to send him to a cheap, state-run sanatorium instead of the best sanatorium money can buy. This is the most obvious indication that James Tyrone loves money more than his family. Yet, as

12

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

always, when confronted by Edmund, Tyrone denies it. They say: Edmund: Tyrone: Edmund:

Tyrone: Edmund:

Hardy and the specialist know what you're worth. I wonder what they thought of you when they heard you moaning poorhouse and showing you wanted to wish me on charity! It's a lie! All I told them was I couldn't afford any millionaire's sanatorium because I was land poor. That's the truth! And then you went to the Club to meet McGuire and let him stick you with another bum piece of property! (As Tyrone starts to deny.) Don't lie about it! We met McGuire in the hotel bar after he left you. Jamie kidded him about hooking you, and he winked and laughed! (Lying feebly.) He's a liar if he said— Don't lie about it!

Here, as well as throughout the play, O'Neill forcefully makes the audience aware of the reality that James Tyrone loves money more than he loves his wife and family. When Edmund acknowledges his own father's lack of love for him, his father's reply is "You can choose any place you like! Never mind what it costs! Any place I can afford. Any place you like-within reason" (148). However, it seems that what is "reasonable" for James Tyrone is anything but that. Tyrone's love of money supercedes the love he illusorily entertains for his family members. His rational decision-making process is based on economic, capitalistic principles rather than romantic or paternal love. Greed, the main motivator in a consumerdriven economy and capitalist society pervades all interpersonal relationships, especially one's family. The most obvious example of Tyrone's greed is his decision to choose a cheap doctor during Mary's pregnancy over a more expensive, betterqualified doctor. Dr. Hardy is infamous in the Tyrone household since he gave Mary morphine to ease her pain during Edmund's birth. Edmund angrily confronts his father with this fact in Act Four: Edmund:

It (drug addiction) never should have gotten a hold on her! I know damned well she's not to blame! And I know who is! You are! Your damned stinginess! If you'd spent money for a decent doctor, she'd never have known morphine existed! Instead you put her in the hands of a hotel quack who wouldn't admit his ignorance and took the easiest way out, not giving a damn what happened to her afterwards! All because his fee was cheap! Another one of your bargains!

Tyrone's love for his wife is ultimately challenged by his decision to save a nickel rather than care for the health of his wife, and the mother of

Marriage Relationships

13

his children. And as if this weren't enough, he doesn't spend money to get Mary off her drug addiction once he realizes what has happened. Once again, to save money, he talks of will power and moral strength instead of sending her to get cured professionally. Edmund again remarks: Edmund:

After you found out she'd been made a morphine addict, why didn't you send her to a cure then, at the start, while she still had a chance? No, that would have meant spending some money! I'll bet you told her all she had to do was use a little will power!

That's exactly what he told her, and the fact of the matter is that Tyrone is more interested in making money—through his acting jobs and buying land properties—than he is in taking care of his family; James Tyrone loves money more than he loves his wife. From a sociological perspective, it should have not surprised Tyrone that his marriage wasn't going to work. From the beginning, both he and Mary Cavan were from different social and economic backgrounds. He came from a poor family, while she came from a wealthy family. Growing up, Mary received anything she wanted from her doting father. Because of this, even her own mother remarked, "she'll never make a good wife." Mary could only be disappointed by anyone who fell short of the attention and gifts proffered by her father. Being spoiled by her father, Mary equates love with economic spending on herself, in keeping with the twentieth century American capitalistic ideology; she assesses Tyrone's love for her in relationship to the things he buys (or doesn't buy) for her. Since it is impossible for Tyrone to live up to her own father's spending limits, Mary resigns to herself to her belief that he doesn't really love her. Mary's beliefs are evident in her conversation with the maid, Cathleen: Mary:

Cathleen: Mary:

And Mr. Tyrone never is worried about anything, except money and property and the fear he'll end his days in poverty. I mean, deeply worried. Because he cannot really understand anything else. [She gives a little laugh of detached, affectionate amusement.] My husband is a very peculiar man, Cathleen. Well, he's a fine, handsome, kind gentleman just the same, Ma'am. Never mind his weakness. Oh, I don't mind. I've loved him dearly for thirty-six years. That proves I know he's lovable at heart and can't help being what he is, doesn't it?

First off, Mary calls her husband Mr. Tyrone, which conjures a detached, unromantic nature to their relationship. Mary comments that Tyrone's love of money is all he knows, and yet she professes to love

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

him nevertheless. In her half-hearted statement of affection for her husband, Mary seems unable to convince herself, if not Cathleen. The reality is she has given up trying to love Tyrone, and now merely lives with him to support her drug addiction. In economic terms, Mary has written her husband off as a casualty of a market-driven, greedy, capitalist society in which money is worshipped above all else. That makes Cathleen's comment to Mary that "any fool can see he worships the ground you walk on" even more ironic and cutting. Tyrone doesn't love his wife, and Mary knows it. Cathleen's favorable comments are representative of America's capitalistic society, which equates money with love. From Cathleen's perspective, Tyrone loves his wife because, according to her standards (which are considerably lower than Mary's), he gives her valuable "things." Apparently, James Tyrone could buy Cathleen's love, but he cannot purchase Mary's love since he doesn't spend enough money on her to do that. Mary and Cathleen's banter reveals that, in the twentieth century, even romantic love is a commodity to be purchased; Cathleen and Mary's love simply have two different price tags, with Mary's being considerably higher than Cathleen's. Tyrone fails in Mary's eyes because although he gives her things, he gives her second-rate things. Mary is used to first-rate commodities being given to her by her father; she perceives herself, and is perceived by her father before she is married, as a first-rate commodity herself. Therefore, Mary is resentful of Tyrone's "bargains." Tyrone buys second-hand furniture, cars, and servants. In fact, everything associated with Mary seems to be in her mind, second best. In a capitalist society, where people perceive themselves as the things they have, Mary is constantly reminded of her second-hand "value" to her husband. She is emotionally worried about how others perceive her now, as a second-class object. Ultimately, these constant reminders of her diminished value after her marriage to Tyrone are too much for Mary, and her "accidental" drug addiction becomes her way to numb the pain she feels at not being a "valuable" commodity. Her drug addiction is one response to the question Robert Frost poses at the end of his poem The Oven Bird. Robert Frost's penultimate question of "what to make of a diminished thing" reveals the desperation and despair of individuals in the twentieth century who find themselves being valued in terms of things and/or commodities. Just as Mary decides to drug herself to escape her conscious perception of being a "diminished thing" to her husband, many individuals in twentieth century American society grapple with facing the painful reality that others perceive them as commodities.

Marriage Relationships

15

Social and economic pressures from twentieth century capitalistic American society are difficult, if not impossible, to ignore or repel. James Tyrone proves this true when he confesses that he has become a prisoner of money after his childhood poverty gave him a deep need for acquiring money: Tyrone:

Thirty-five to forty thousand dollars net profit a season like snapping your fingers! It was too great a temptation. Yet before I bought the damned thing I was considered one of the three or four young actors with the greatest artistic promise in America.

Twentieth century America has a love affair with its national pastimemaking money. As Tyrone exemplifies, the pursuit of money is elevated over humanistic values and desires. Tyrone sacrifices all he has-even his very self-to make forty thousand dollars a year, yet his decision is not unique. Countless individuals in the twentieth century have been pressured to give up everything—morals, values, ethics, family members, and personal dreams for money. O'Neill himself best describes a twentieth century capitalistic American society that glamorizes money in his comment: I'm going on the theory that the United States, instead of being the most successful country in the world, is the greatest failure. It's the greatest failure because it was given everything, more than any other country. Though moving as rapidly as it has, it hasn't acquired any real roots. Its main idea is that everlasting game of trying to possess your own soul by the possession of something outside it, thereby losing your own soul and the thing outside of it, too. (Clark 152)

III In Tennessee Williams' 1955 play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, we once again find that marriages in twentieth century American society are based on making money, not love. In fact, this is the specific, literal case in Cat; Brick has literally stopped sleeping with his wife, Maggie. The play takes place on one afternoon in a sitting room of a plantation mansion somewhere in the southeastern United States. The story concerns the members of "Big Daddy" Pollitt's family and their attempts to secure for themselves a part of his cotton plantation before Big Daddy dies. Brick Pollitt, an alcoholic ex-football star, and his wife Margaret ("Maggie the Cat") struggle with each other and with Brick's older brother Gooper

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and his wife Mae to take control of "twenty-eight thousand acres of the richest land this side of the valley Nile." Brick, drunk and disgusted with life, is totally indifferent to the estate and to his wife Maggie—who hopes never again to face the humiliating poverty of her childhood. In the course of their hateful arguing we find that Maggie, hoping to earn Big Daddy's approval and frustrate the others, lies that she and Brick are expecting a child. The play concludes with no resolution to the question as to whether Brick and Maggie will ever again resume their sexual relationship, although that seems highly unlikely in view of Brick's lingering doubts of Maggie's love for him. In the opening scene of the play we find Brick and his wife Maggie engaged in an argument over Gooper and Mae's "no-neck monsters." However, Maggie's irritation is really directed at Gooper and Mae themselves; Maggie is threatened and angered by their pursuit of Big Daddy's money. Maggie exclaims to Brick, "Mae an' Gooper are plannin' to freeze us out of Big Daddy's estate because you drink and I'm childless. But we can defeat that plan. We're going to defeat that plan!" It is clear that Maggie is intent on receiving her (or Brick's) fair share of the estate. Why is Maggie so intent on getting a part of the estate? She answers this question in the following sentence: "Brick, y'know, I've been so damn disgustingly poor all my life!—That's the truth, Brick!" Maggie explains that she grew up in an impoverished Southern household in which she had to "suck up to people I couldn't stand because they had money and I was poor as Job's turkey." Similar to James Tyrone in O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night, Maggie conies from a poor family, and knows what it is like to do without. She confesses to Brick that "the dress I married you in was my grandmother's weddin' gown.. .so that's why I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof!" Maggie's desire for Brick's family's wealth has overpowered her. To Maggie's dismay and annoyance, however, Brick displays no desire for Big Daddy's money; Big Daddy's liquor is enough for Brick. Brick, disillusioned by his homosexual friend Skipper's death as well as his wife's attitudes, heads for the bottle to diminish his personal pain. The pain of Skipper's death and his wife's greed are clearly evident. Brick and Maggie's marriage is an "unhappy" one due to their commodification of each other; they see each other as "things," or commodities, to be used by the other to get what he/she wants. It is clear in Brick's confession to Big Daddy that he only married Maggie after she gave him an ultimatum. Brick never loved Maggie, it was a marriage of convenience so that he could be with his homosexual

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lover Skipper in relative peace and obscurity. Maggie was, to Brick, a "thing" which allowed him to possess the one individual he did truly love—Skipper. In the same way, Maggie perceived the athlete as a means to escape poverty. Maggie reflects to Brick, "Born poor, raised poor, expect to die poor unless I manage to get us something out of what Big Daddy leaves when he dies of cancer!" Maggie's distress is heightened by the fact that since she married Brick for Big Daddy's money, she is in fact very close to losing her long-term wager in her marriage to Brick. It was no secret to anyone, especially to Maggie, that Brick stood to inherit the best twentyeight thousand acres this side of the valley Nile. Thus, Maggie resorts to near-hysteria in order to "get paid." Maggie the Cat never has the slightest intention of allowing Gooper and Mae to triumph in the fight over those twenty-eight thousand acres. That victory, however, will require a child, and when Brick asks her how she proposes to have one by him when he cannot even stand her, Maggie answers grimly: "That's a problem I will have to work out." The memory of her acute poverty before she was married to Brick propels Maggie to do what seems improbable, if not impossible. Economic pressures force Maggie to remain with Brick and want to have his baby. As Brick suspects in his quote at the very end of the play, Maggie loves his daddy's money more than she loves him. One could argue that Brick feels that Skipper was the only human being who loved him for himself, even though twentieth century American capitalist society is also extremely homophobic, ironically resulting in the suppression of the one true relationship Brick has ever valued. Another marriage in Cat to be analyzed in terms of the commodification of spouses occurs between Big Daddy and Big Mama. Big Daddy admits to Brick that he never really loved his wife. He exclaims: "Think of all the lies I got to put up with!-Pretenses! Having for instance to act like I care for Big Mama!—I haven't been able to stand the sight, sound, or smell of that woman for forty years now!" Big Daddy doesn't love his wife, and claims that he never did love her. This is because he perceived her as just one more thing he has acquired among all his other possessions. To Big Daddy, his cotton consumed water, his black workers consumed food, and his wife consumed things. As a result, Big Daddy's extent of affection and understanding of Ida is restricted to the items he purchases for her. Painfully recounting his trip to Europe, Big Daddy recounts how "Big Mama bought more stuff than you could haul in a couple of boxcars, that's no crap. Everywhere she went on this whirlwind tour, she bought,

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bought." Big Daddy bought stuff for his wife, but never loved her; buying things for one's wife is what a husband does in twentieth century American society. Ironically, however, Big Daddy realizes at the end of his life that there is no true pleasure or satisfaction in the acquisition of things. Yet that was just what his wife was to him—a thing. This is the real reason for his personal anger and frustration. His deepest moments of grief are caused not by the physical pain of his cancer, but by his comprehension of the fact that he has never truly loved his wife, nor has she loved him. Of course Big Mama, in a seemingly genuine emotional epiphany, declares she did love Big Daddy. Yet like Brick, one must question the truthfulness of her statement. She states: "In all these years you never believed that I loved you?? And I did, I did so much, I did love you!—I even loved your hate and your hardness, Big Daddy!" Why does Big Daddy (and Brick) find this so hard to believe? It could quite possibly be because she never loved him as an individual, only as the provider of goods for her to consume. Big Daddy was "big" to her because he gave her "big" things; his status was dependent on his huge production of goods for her to consume. It is abundantly clear to Big Daddy that his marriage of fifty some odd years is, ultimately, nothing more than an economic arrangement to be settled after his death. There is little talk of love or loved ones in his relationship to Big Mama, there is only talk about money. Big Daddy is painfully aware of his value—"Y'know how much I'm worth? Guess, Brick! Guess how much I'm worth! Close on ten million in cash an' blue chip stocks, outside, mind you, of twenty-eight thousand acres of the richest land this side of the valley Nile!" He perceives his value strictly in terms of economic standards, a direct result of the ideology of consumerism in a capitalist culture that pervades all aspects of society. IV

Edward Albee's play, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf (1969), explores how the twentieth century American family has self-destructed due to the elevated status of money within the institution of marriage. When the play opens, Albee shocks an American audience that is not prepared to see such dramatic license used to illustrate the "business" behind marriages in America. In Woolf, it is abundantly evident throughout all the marriages within the play that the love of money is the ultimate

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determinant of mate selection in twentieth century American marriages. The action of the play takes place late one evening on the New England campus home of a childless, middle-aged couple. George has an impressive record of academic mediocrity teaching in the history department of the college where, in spite of having married the president's daughter early in his career, he has failed to fulfill the overpowering expectations of his wife and her father. George's personal failings and lack of professional ambition have provided ammunition for the bitter "war of attrition" waged by Martha against him. However, the years of abuse have enabled George to develop his own verbal arsenal and to sharpen his wit. The domestic battleground has become entrenched with its own strategies and rules of engagement, complicated by the invention of a non-existent son, who inhabits the most private quarter of their game-playing province. The chief rule is that under no circumstances should the boy be mentioned to anyone. In the very political world of academia, George is a failure. He's been an assistant professor of history for over twenty years, and there is no indication that he will ever become even the chair of the history department let alone college president. After a few drinks, Martha recounts to Nick this painful reality in her marriage which she hadn't anticipated when she decided to marry George: Martha:

(Ignoring George...to Nick) You stay right there. Hell, you can take over the History Department just as easy from there as anywhere else. God knows, somebody's going to take over the History Department, some day, and it ain't going to be Georgieboy, there...that's for sure.

While critics often attribute Martha's frustration and unfulfillment to her husband's lack of sexual potency, it is in fact due to George's lack of social and economic production. When marrying him, Martha thought George was going to be the next rising star of the college. However, it is only after she marries him that she finds out that he has no social/ professional "ambition." George was not, nor would ever be like Martha's Daddy, to whom she constantly compares him. Martha reveres her father, who has successfully built up the college. Martha comments to Nick, "And Daddy built this college...you know what the endowment was when he took over, and what it is now?" Daddy makes money, and Martha values him for that. Martha has internalized the capitalistic values of an economically driven society in analyzing her father; he is "valuable" because the endowments are up, not because of

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his intrinsic personality and individuality. Daddy has made himself rich through shrewdness and schmoozing, the very thing George refuses to do. When Martha's mother dies (inexplicably, as George suspiciously describes it), Daddy marries again, this time—interestingly enough—to a wealthy woman. It is from this that Daddy makes "his" money, and he keeps it through regular faculty parties in which he monitors and maintains the social/economic hierarchy in which he reigns supreme. Martha's father customarily dismissed Martha's first marriage because he was a gardener and unsuitable for her. Martha recounts: Martha:

So after I got done with college and stuff, I came back here and sort of...sat around, for a while. I wasn't married, or anything. Welllll, I'd been married...sort of...for a week, my sophomore year at Miss Muff's Academy for Young Ladies...college. A kind of junior Lady Chatterley arrangement, as it turned out...the marriage. (Nick laughs.) He mowed the lawn at Miss Muff's, sitting up there, all naked, on a big power mower, mowing away. But Daddy and Miss Muff got together and put an end to that...real quick...annulled...which is a laugh.

Martha's father is clearly in charge, and according to him no lawn mower is going to marry his daughter. To him, Martha is a valuable commodity. She is going to inherit all his money, and he must carefully monitor his long-term investments. Therefore, he brings her home to him where he can carefully select whom she marries. Martha meets George when he first gets hired at the college. It is here that Martha constructs the idea in her head that he is the next rising star of the college and picks him to be her husband (and heir apparent). She presumably convinces Daddy that George is the one, only to realize her mistake afterwards. Martha's frustration is reflective of the potential frustration Julia Seton would have encountered had she gone through with marrying Johnny Case in Philip Barry's play Holiday; Martha and George's unloving, painful marriage represents exactly what would have occurred had Julia gone ahead and married Johnny. To continue this comparison, Daddy is another Edward Seton, carefully screening his daughter's suitors on the basis of financial and social success, while Martha is another Julia, a daughter of a rich father whom she adores and who is searching for a husband who will be just like her daddy. Martha and Julia select their husbands not on the basis of romantic love, but on the ideological "assumption" that her husband will be a "producer"— financially/socially/academically. George and Case reject the ideological

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positions of the social system in which they find themselves. George, although a bright historian, refuses to schmooze in order to get ahead within his department. In the same way, Case in Philip Barry's play Holiday also openly scorns such ideas about rising within the economic/social ranks of upper class New York society through "schmoozing." Fortunately for Julia, however, is the fact that she realized her "miscalculation" before she got married; Martha didn't, and consequently suffered decades of marital misery. The other marriage in Albee's play is between Nick and Honey. And once again, the main motivation between their union is economic advancement rather than romantic love. Nick claims to George that he married her because "she was pregnant," but that's not true. As George discovers later on in the evening, Nick married Honey because she was rich. George stumbles onto this reality while talking with Nick alone. George: Nick: George: Nick:

Things are simpler with you...you marry a woman because she's all blown up...while I, in my clumsy, old-fashioned way... There was more to it than that! Sure! I'll bet she has money, too! (Looks hurt. Then, determined, after a pause.) Yes.

Nick's "Yes" reveals the reality that money has a distinct and elevated role within the sacrosanct institution of marriage. Similarly, Honey's father, like Martha's, is rich. Honey's father made his money through religion, while Martha's father made it from marrying a rich old woman who died and left everything to him in her will. Clearly, the role of money in marriage is undeniable. In fact, most "successful" marriages are those perceived by American twentieth century society as those that make money. At the end of Act Two, George verbally acknowledges to everyone the fact that Nick married Honey for her money—he didn't really love her. George:

Nick: Honey: George: Nick: Honey: George:

How right you are. But Blondie was in disguise, really, all got up as a teacher, 'cause his baggage ticket had bigger things writ on it...H.I! Historical Inevitability. There's no need for you to go any further, now... (Puzzling to make sense of what she is hearing) Let them go on. We shall. And he had this baggage with him, and part of this baggage was in the form of his mouse... We don't have to listen to this! Why not? Your bride has a point. And one of the things nobody could understand about Blondie was his baggage...his mouse, I mean, here he was, pan-Kansas swimming champeen, or something,

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Nick: George:

and he had this mouse, of whom hewas solicitous to a point that faileth human understanding...given that she was sort of a simp, in the long run... That isn't fair of you... But she was a money baggage amongst other things...Godly money ripped from the golden teeth of the unfaithful, a pragmatic extension of the big dream...and she was put up with.

Honey feigns innocence to the fact that her husband regards her as being a commodity—a thing, or "baggage"—because she doesn't want to face this painful reality. It hurts her to admit that Nick married her because of her father's wealth (and perhaps also through her own sexual manipulation of Nick). It is thus easier for her to drink herself into oblivion (as does Birdie in Lillian Hellman's play The Little Foxes) than to admit this reality. Nick and Honey are simply younger versions of George and Martha; it doesn't take much of an imagination to believe that the future of their marriage will be something akin to George and Martha's present relationship. In both marriages, the spouse was chosen for his or her economic potential rather than romantic love. In the twentieth century, economic determinism pervades all of American society, including the institution of marriage. Unlike most Americans, Nick admits in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf that money does in fact reign supreme in regard to choosing one's spouse. This is what makes twentieth century American capitalism, and its ideologies, so powerful. The love of money is covertly inscribed (and reinscribed) into the very fabric of human thinking, obfuscating a partner's true motives—even from him/herself.

chapter 2 Linda: Biff:

Father-Child Relationships (To Biff) What happened to the love you had for him (Willy)? He threw me out of this house, remember that. Death of a Salesman Arthur Miller

I will begin my study of twentieth century father-child roles through an analysis of selected twentieth century American plays. In this chapter I will analyze how capitalism influences a man's ideologies in defining his masculinity, specifically exploring how twentieth century American capitalism negates the previously accepted social constructs of masculinity. One of the striking commonalities throughout much of the recent literature on men and masculinity is the agreement about the "cost" of being masculine. Even if men themselves are not oppressed, those who assume a traditional masculine role tend to pay a price. I am interested in this: what is the "price of the ticket" of masculinity in a twentieth century capitalist American society? Marxist literary analysis of masculinity does not deny this "cost" of twentieth century American masculinity. For the Marxist critic, this cost comes down to the fact that males are controlled by relations of production. Alienation occurs when a worker has little control over his activity or its products. He is little more than a means to an end, a profit for the owners; he is interchangeable with machines and easily discarded. The owners do not relate to him as a full human being, and he has little opportunity to choose which talents he will pursue. When masculinity is developed within an atmosphere in which men see other men as rivals who might replace them, Tolson finds that what is undermined is the very solidarity that might otherwise enable them to counter the alienations of work. As Tolson acutely observes, work under capitalism "destroys its own human foundation." Using Eugene O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night as my first example, I show that the father, James Tyrone, works hard to provide a living for his children, yet through this very process he alienates himself from them. At the same time, he creates in women alienations similar to those he has experienced in wage labor—loss of control over their bodies, their activities, and the products of their labor. Under these conditions,

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women, too, can neither grow nor develop their talents, and they come to feel dehumanized and expendable.1 In this chapter I will argue that capitalism influences the masculinity of twentieth century American males, specifically focusing on how it affects the traditional paternalistic roles of fatherhood within the family. American fathers fail at these traditionally ascribed roles of paternal masculinity because of the effects of capitalism and the consumer culture of American society; America's twentieth century capitalistic society thwarts American fathers attempting to fulfill traditional paternalistic roles. Looking at Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night (1939), Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman (1949), Lonne Elder Ill's Ceremonies in Dark Old Men (1965), and August Wilson's Fences (1985), I will show how, in this chapter, twentieth century American dads "fail" at these traditional prescribed roles of masculinity.

I In O'Neill's Long Day's Journey Into Night, James Tyrone Sr. is a "failing father." On the surface, however, one might be tempted to think otherwise. Tyrone has never been unfaithful to his wife and he has provided for the material needs of his family. Mary confesses that Tyrone was never unfaithful to her when she tells her maid, "And in all those thirty-six years, there has never been a breath of scandal about him. I mean, with any other woman. Never since he met me. That has made me very happy, Cathleen. It has made me forgive so many other things." Also, it is abundantly evident that Tyrone provides for his family, albeit meagerly, for there are the repeated accusations of his miserly nature. He, at the very least, meets the basic requirements of fatherhood by providing room and board for his family, and one could argue he even goes beyond this. He pays for his son's college education, his wife's car and chauffeur, and maid service for his family. As a protector of his wife and children, Tyrone utterly fails. The first and most obvious failure of Tyrone being a protector is in his failure to protect his sons from becoming alcoholics. Mary recounts how Jamie became an alcoholic: Mary:

Who would have thought Jamie would grow up to disgrace us. You remember, James, for years after he went to boarding school, we received such glowing reports. Everyone liked him. All his teachers told us what a fine brain he had, and how easily he

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learned his lessons. Even after he began to drink and they had to expel him, they wrote us how sorry they were, because he was so likeable and such a brilliant student. They predicted a wonderful future for him if he would only learn to take life seriously. [She pauses—then adds with a strange, sad detachment.] It's such a pity. Poor Jamie! It's hard to understand [Abruptly a change comes over her. Her face hardens and she stares at her husband with accusing hostility.] No, it isn't at all. You brought him up to be a boozer. Since he first opened his eyes, he's seen you drinking. Always a bottle on the bureau in the cheap hotel rooms! And if he had a nightmare when he was little, or a stomach-ache, your remedy was to give him a teaspoonful of whiskey to quiet him.

Here we see O'Neill's strategy in illuminating the truth of James Tyrone's impact over his son Jamie. While the first half of Mary's speech reaffirms the myth of how Jamie became addicted to alcohol, the second half dramatically and forcefully explains the reality that Tyrone trained his son to be a drunk. Sadly, James Tyrone fails to protect his sons from himself. James Tyrone obviously fails in protecting his wife's health, as he contributes to her drug addiction. Tyrone also doesn't protect his sons from each other. The most glaring example of this is his apparent negligence of allowing Jamie to enter Eugene's nursery when exposed to measles. Mary wasn't available to protect Eugene from Jamie since her husband, Tyrone, requested her to return to him on the road. Mary exclaims: Mary:

I was to blame for his death. If I hadn't left him with my mother to join you on the road, because you wrote telling me you missed me and were so lonely, Jamie would never have been allowed, when he still had measles, to go in the baby's room.

O'Neill makes it clear that Tyrone's needs (both material and emotional) overshadowed those of his wife and family, resulting in tragic consequences. In Act Two, Mary notes how Tyrone neglects the environment in which he raises his family: Mary:

I was so healthy before Edmund was born. You remember, James. There wasn't a nerve in my body. Even traveling with you season after season, with week after week of one-night stands, in trains without Pullmans, in dirty rooms of filthy hotels, eating bad food, bearing children in hotel rooms, I still kept healthy. But bearing Edmund was the last straw."

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The road was not a healthy place to be; Tyrone dismisses the importance of a hygienic environment for his wife and kids, and also gives his wife advice that doesn't have her best interests in mind. Namely, when Tyrone gives Mary advice to have another child to replace Eugene. He also puts Mary in a compromising position, physically, when he allows her to take morphine for her birth pains. Ultimately, Tyrone doesn't stand up for his family, defending his pride, his honor, his "name." The epitome of this failure occurs in the final confrontation between Tyrone and Edmund, father and son. When Tyrone admits he won't spend money to help his son defeat tuberculosis, Edmund recounts: Edmund:

But to think when it's a question of your son having consumption, you can show yourself up before the whole town as such a stinking old tightwad! Don't you know Hardy will talk and the whole damned town will know! Jesus, Papa, haven't you any pride or shame?

One might think, by looking at the decisions James Tyrone Sr. has made, that he has a pathological hatred for his family. He has caused (either directly or indirectly) the death of one of his sons, the morphine addiction of his wife, and the drunkenness of his remaining two sons. Does James Tyrone Sr. hate his family? I don't believe so; there is an explanation for his actions and inactions. According to Marxist and sociological criticism, capitalism's ideology of producing and consuming commodities dominates the thoughts of the society and individuals within that society, resulting in the alienation of the individual from other pursuits and interests. One of these aspects is the interest of one's family. Tyrone ignores his family's immediate social, personal, and emotional needs because he is consumed with his pursuit of wealth in his acting career. He perceived his family as side-baggage to be brought with him, merely commodities which used up his "hard earned" money. Scholar Thomas P. Adler finds, in his article '"Daddy Spoke to Me!': Gods Lost and Found in Long Day's Journey into Night and Through a Glass Darkly," that James Tyrone comes to understand only too late that "he sold his soul to money rather than dedicating it to art by choosing commercial success and popular adulation instead of stretching his gifts as a classical actor" (343). Tyrone is a casualty of a twentieth century capitalist American society that values profits over people. James Tyrone Sr. spends his entire life acquiring wealth, and the cost of this is alienation of his family and his masculinity. In the process of pursuing wealth, Tyrone "fails" to live up to the basic

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paternalistic/masculine requirements of twentieth century American society. Thus, one might view Tyrone either as a "tragic hero," or simply an individual making decisions that are dominated and determined by powerful economic forces within a capitalist American society. However one looks at it, though, it is clear that Tyrone fails the traditional standards of fatherhood as I have defined and discussed them in this chapter.

II Another American father who fails in fulfilling the requirements of twentieth century American paternal masculinity is Willy Loman, in Arthur Miller's twentieth century American play Death of a Salesman (1949). Unlike James Tyrone, Willy Loman isn't prideful when it comes to providing for his family, but Willy is certainly not the "ideal" father (at least in the traditional masculine sense) either. The plot of the play shows an aging Willy Loman disappointed in his children (Biff and Happy), and less able to cope with his daily rounds as a traveling salesman, despite the support of his faithful wife, Linda. Willy is a salesman failing to sell, and when he calls on his boss, Howard Wagner, to request to be transferred to New York, he discovers he is not wanted and he is fired. The scene in which Howard fires Willy is a good example of how capitalist ideologies affect the family. Scholar Helge Nilsen finds in her critical essay "From Honors at Dawn to Death of a Salesman: Marxism and the Early Plays of Arthur Miller," that the "almost familial relationship between these two counts for nothing, even though Willy has been with the firm since before Howard was born" (154). Willy Loman fails to fulfill the traditional requirements of masculinity. Willy's masculinity is challenged by the fact that Willy fails to provide for his family and to protect his children and wife. Willy has worked for over thirty years as a traveling salesman, yet he doesn't make enough money to support his family. This is first revealed when Willy and his wife, Linda, engage in dialogue centered around economic exchange: Linda: Willy: Linda: Willy: Linda:

...Did you sell anything? I did five hundred gross in Providence and seven hundred gross in Boston. No! Wait a minute, I've got a pencil. [She pulls pencil and paper out of her apron pocket.] That makes your commission...Two hundred—my God! Two hundred and twelve dollars! Well, I didn't figure it yet, but... How much did you do?

28

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama Willy: Linda: Willy: Linda:

Well, I—I did—about a hundred and eighty gross in Providence. Well, no—it came to—roughly two hundred gross on the whole trip. [without hesitating] Two hundred gross. That's ... [She figures.] The trouble was that three of the stores were half closed for inventory in Boston. Otherwise I woulda broke records. Well, it makes seventy dollars and some pennies. That's very good.

Linda asks a typical question. At first she grows excited at the amount of money Willy claims to make. Yet when he falters, she produces a pencil to calculate exactly what Willy has made. After concluding that he has made only $71 and some pennies, she patronizingly acknowledges Willy's effort by telling him "that's very good." Willy's relationship with Linda is based on the amount of money Willy makes, and she determines Willy's value precisely, down to the very last penny.2 It is obvious that Willy is barely able to make ends meet. He can provide for his family, but only through the charity of his neighbor and friend, Charley. Willy: Charley: Willy: Charlie: Willy:

Charley, look: [With difficulty] I got my insurance to pay. If you can manage it—I need a hundred and ten dollars. I offered you a job. You can make fifty dollars a week. And I won't send you on the road. I've got a job. Without pay? What kind of a job is a job without pay? I am offering you a job. I don't want your job!

Although Willy has technically been "employed," he hasn't made enough money to support his family. This has resulted in his secret begging for money from his friend, Charley. Willy knows (only too well) that the main twentieth century American capitalistic expectation of masculinity is for one to provide for one's family, yet this is an expectation which Willy cannot meet. As Nilsen notes, "Willy remains a man whose selfrespect depends entirely on his role as a breadwinner" (153). Interestingly, Erich Fromm points out in Fear of Freedom that twentieth century "Human relationships have assumed a spirit of manipulation and instrumentality" (102). Relations between human beings have become relations between things, for the individual "sells himself and feels himself to be a commodity" (103). Fromm's theories reveal how a twentieth century American society shapes a person so that he/she gets personal satisfaction from doing what is "good for society." Using the idea of the "social

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character" as defined in his essay "Character and the Social Process," Fromm defines character as the "specific form in which human energy is shaped by the dynamic adaptation of the human needs to particular modes of existence of a given society" (21). This, therefore, explains how capitalistic ideologies affect the social constructs of masculinity. Traditional requirements of masculinity are affected by the capitalistic notion instructing an individual that it is good to make money in order to buy things. Ironically, because of his financial situation Willy pays for little more than the mortgage and other bills. The opening act reveals what has probably gone on throughout their entire marriage: Linda and Willy are figuring how to pay the bills. Linda, knowing Willy's tendencies to exaggerate his income, writes down all the bills exactly and specifically. Whether it's paying to fix the car, the refrigerator, or the house, it is apparent that Willy barely makes ends meet. This lack of providing for his family is most obviously illustrated by the fact that Biff is a thief. Biff has "stolen himself" out of every job he's held. Biff exhorts his father: "You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and I was in jail. I stole myself out of every good job since high school" (131)! Whether it's a carton of basketballs, a football, lumber to make the porch, or a fountain pen, Biff steals because he, like his father, has internalized capitalism's (sometimes irrational) ideologies telling individuals to acquire more and more things. Willy's failure to provide for his family also de-masculinizes him in the eyes of his son, Happy. This occurs throughout the play, where Happy's comments reveal his lack of respect for his father. Happy's lack of love for his father reaches its climax at the restaurant, when Happy denies that Willy is his father. "No, that's not my father. He's just a guy" (115), Happy remarks, revealing his ultimate denial of Willy's paternal masculinity. Happy, like Biff, has no respect for his father, who has crumpled under the weight of a capitalistic social system that destroys an individual's manhood. When Willy enters the restaurant to see his sons, he is described as being nothing more than an invalid. Willy's masculinity has been reduced to nothing—he has been demasculinized by a capitalistic society that has alienated him from his family, friends, and even himself. Indeed, Willy is nothing more than a shallow, hollow child by the end of the play—he certainly isn't a man in the twentieth century masculine definition of manhood. This fact is finally depicted when Stanley, the waiter, puts the money Willy offers to tip him back in Willy's pocket.

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Ironically, Willy can't even pay for himself here, and one realizes at the end of the play that Willy Loman has "been taken care of" throughout the play, rather than "taking care of" his family; masculinity (as defined by sociologists) becomes inverted by a twentieth century capitalistic society that values money above individuals. For whether it is Linda removing the rubber pipe with which Willy plans to kill himself, Happy supporting Willy's false dreams and illusions in order to bolster him from the painful realities which haunt him, or Charley paying his bills, Willy is reduced to an incapable, immature child by the standards of an unsympathetic, twentieth century American capitalistic society. He has lost his masculinity, or perhaps better put, twentieth century American society has robbed him of his masculinity through its capitalist principles which dramatically affect both him and his family. Willy finds himself being torn apart by these two major forces, which results in Willy's contradictory nature. Perhaps the most telling depiction of Willy's contradictory position within a twentieth century American capitalistic society occurs through Willy's warning to Biff not to use the word "Gee." Willy: Biff: Willy:

I see great things for you kids, I think your troubles are over. But remember, start big and you'll end big. Ask for fifteen. How much you gonna ask for? Gee, I don't know— And don't say "Gee." "Gee" is a boy's word. A man walking in for fifteen thousand dollars does not say "Gee!"

Yet at the end of Act One, Willy ironically remarks "Gee, look at the moon moving between the buildings!" Willy is the ultimate hypocrite, throughout the play he continually says one thing but does another. However, continually contradicting himself is the price Willy must pay for following the capitalistic ideologies which honor the very thing that destroys Willy; by trusting in twentieth century capitalism's promises of success, Willy negates his "self." Willy's masculinity is challenged and usurped by nearly everyone in the play, as revealed through the various nicknames he is referred to throughout the play. Biff satirically refers to him as "the Boss," Happy calls him "scout," and Howard even calls him "kid." Ironically, it is only Bernard who calls him "Mr. Loman," the one person Willy taunted as an "anemic" whose opinion, words, and thoughts didn't matter. By the end of the play, Willy is a figure set within a twentieth century capitalistic American society which values people as simply commodities. In such a

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society there is very little compassion for a father who doesn't (or indeed, cannot) live up to that society's basic paternal/masculine requirements. Some scholars have made the case that Willy would have been much better off living in a rural, agrarian society—one not bent on "making things," whether that be sales or profits. Unfortunately, though, Willy Loman finds himself in an urban, twentieth century American society. Unable to live up to the demands of such a society, Willy takes his own life (literally and figuratively) to make money. In the process, however, he loses his very "self"—namely his paternal masculinity as defined by twentieth century American society. For in Death of a Salesman Willy becomes a victim, both directly and indirectly, of the logic of a capitalistic society that says human worth is directly proportional to economic achievement. Ultimately, all the men in the play labor as parts of the machine of capital. Miller's play powerfully suggests that masculinity is an instrument used by American capitalistic ideologies to regulate individual and filial social relations in addition to the economic relations of production.

III In his 1965 play Ceremonies in Dark Old Men, Lonne Elder III presents the useless and unproductive lives of an African American family trapped by "rituals" of economic dependence. The play is set in Russell Parker's barbershop, yet—ironically—no one comes in to get a haircut. The only visitor is Parker's friend William Jenkins. Critics have noted that the two old African American men attempt to claim a "safe" territorial space which removes them (temporarily) from a twentieth century capitalistic American society which has deemed them powerless and insignificant. Dorothy Lee has noted in her essay "Three Black Plays: Alienation and Paths to Recovery" that the checkerboard ritual symbolizes the lack of control Russell Parker feels in a world in which he has become useless and unimportant. African American males are perceived as '"minor players' making moves that don't matter" within a racist, capitalistic twentieth century American society that commodities individuals. Parker is painfully aware of this reality, and in the hours that Parker's daughter Adele is away working to support the family, he pretends that he reigns supreme despite the realities that his barbershop is not providing an income for him and his family, and he is being forced to rely on his daughter, Adele, for his survival.5 (Lee 400)

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While Jenkins and Parker are content to hide activities from Adele, Parker's sons, Theodore and Bobby, are convinced that the only way to assume their black manhood is to become economically empowered "by any means necessary." In doing so, they end up profiting from stealing, scheming, bootlegging, and hiding from the law, capitalizing on racism, and ultimately compromising moral values. When Bobby is murdered, Parker is still firmly trapped within the fantasies of his own alleged manhood. In Lonne Elder Ill's play Ceremonies in Dark Old Men, Mr. Russell B. Parker's chief shortcoming is his failure to provide for his family. Parker, a man in his fifties, should be providing for his family, at least according to the traditional definition of masculinity that I am using for this study. Yet as the play opens, we find that it is in fact his daughter, Adele, who is doing the providing. While Adele is earning an income, her father is relegated to squirming around her and her requirement for him to get a job; Parker would rather play checkers with his long-time friend, Jenkins, than get a job. Parker:

Jenkins:

Parker:

I'll start here—I just don't want Adele to catch us here playing checkers. She gave me and the boys a notice last week that we had to get jobs or get out of the house. Don't you think it's about time you got a job? In the five years I've been knowing you, I can count the heads of hair you done cut in this shop on one hand. This shop is gon' work yet; I know it can. Just give me one more year and you'll see...Going out to get a job ain't gon' solve nothing—all it's gon' do is create a lot of bad feelings with everybody. I can't work! I don't know how to! (moves checker)

Of course Parker "knows how" to work, he just doesn't want to work. Theo and Bobby, like their father, also refuse to work. They claim the twentieth century American, racist, capitalistic society exploits and oppresses them, and therefore according to them, they can't (or just won't) work within such a system.6 Scholar Elizabeth Freydberg argues in her article that "In Ceremonies, it is clear that men of the caliber of Russell B. Parker and his sons Theo and Bobby cannot find suitable outlets for their intelligence and creativity because of the strictures of a racist society which believes that it has less to fear from Black women than from Black men" (29). Another scholar, Lance Jeffers, finds in his article "Bullins, Baraka, and Elder: The Dawn of Grandeur in Black Drama" that Parker's refusal to work for the white man "is a defense of his inner-self, a form of passive resistance" (Jeffers 41). While Freydberg seems naively

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optimistic in her analysis of Parker, I agree with Jeffers that Parker refuses to work because he has been used up within a capitalistic system which valued him as a commodity rather than a human being. As a former stage dancer, Parker has shuffled for "the man" his entire life. In his old age he has become bitter after his legs "got so trembly and sore on the stage of the Strand Theatre—I couldn't even walk out to take a proper bow. It was then I knew nobody would ever hire me to dance again" (179). Parker's resentment stems from the realization that he was nothing more than a commodity, or thing, to be used by a twentieth century capitalistic American society. As Dorothy Lee finds, "he is expendable as far as society is concerned" (Lee 401). In such a society, a man's value is directly related to his ability to work—beyond that he is nothing. By internalizing these values, Parker accepts the social consequences of his decision not to work: he becomes "afraid" of his own daughter. Parker's masculinity is directly tied to his providing for his family; once Parker stops working, he stops "acting like a man." Thus, a once-proud man is reduced to a cringing, fearful individual who hides from his own daughter. By confronting his choice to be either an idler or accept a demeaning janitorial position, Jeffers argues that Parker "has chosen nothingness, the loss of his manhood" (41). Parker retreats into a condition that is "nothingness," attempting to escape a capitalistic society that values him solely in terms of his use-value. However, his actions cause his children to lose respect for him—they, too, don't perceive him as a man. Parker's lack of making money de-masculinizes him in the eyes of others. One example of this conies from his two boys, both of whom think their father is a joke. When Parker rebukes Theo for thinking the Bible is a lie, Theo calmly opens a bottle of whiskey. Parker:

Theo: Parker: Theo:

Damn you! How I ever brought something like you into this world, I'll never know! You're no damn good! Sin! That's who your belief is! Sin and corruption! With you, it's nothing but women! Whiskey! Women! Whiskey! (while he is carrying on, Theo pours out a glass of corn and puts it in Parker's hand) Women! Whiskey! (takes a taste) Whisk—Where did you get this from? (sits on throne) I knew you'd get the message, Pop—I just knew it! Why, boy, this is the greatest corn I ever tasted! Where did you learn to make corn like this? Don't you remember? You taught me.

The fact of the matter is that Parker's boys don't respect him in the slightest. And why should they? For while one might think that Parker

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has true religious convictions, his boys know he doesn't. When Parker asks for another drink, Theo sardonically replies "Anything you say, Pop! You're the boss of this house!" Of course, the truth is anything but that.7 Parker isn't the boss of anything or anyone, a sad fact that even he knows but tries to forget through enacting his "ceremonies" of owning a barbershop. Parker's daughter Adele doesn't respect her father and brothers; she sees them all as non-producing commodities. She constantly insists her father get a job because she is tired of providing for him and her two grown brothers, all of whom refuse to work. Scholar Chester Fontenot comments in his essay "Mythic Patterns in River Niger and Ceremonies in Dark Old Men" that "Adele constantly reminds her father and two brothers of their failure to achieve manhood through employment" (46). When Theo asks Parker to sample his bootleg whiskey, Parker responds with "We better not let Adele see us." Theo remarks "That girl sure puts a scare in you, Pop, and I remember when you wouldn't take no stuff off Mama, Adele, or nobody." The showdown between father and daughter is inevitable, and occurs at the end of Act One when Parker decides to go into a bootlegging operation with his sons, using his barbershop as the base of operations: Adele: Parker: Adele: Parker: Adele: Parker:

You mean to tell me you're going to turn this shop into a bootleg joint? I'll turn it into anything I want to! Not while I'm still here! The lease on this house has my signature, not yours! I'm not going to let you do this! You got no choice, Adele. You don't have a damn thing to say!

But Adele does have a choice, for she pays the rent; as Fontenot notes, "Adele, as the breadwinner in the family, is likewise the source of moral authority" (46). Adele is the authority figure within the Parker family, not Parker. When she comes home from work demanding dinner from her father, Parker doesn't take offense. In fact, Parker takes his daughter's admonitions to get a job very seriously, or at least seriously enough to fake going out every day looking for a job. Interestingly, when Parker warns his son Theo that Adele isn't kidding in her threats, Theo remarks: "Who the hell is Adele? You're my father, you're the man of the house" (154). Theo's comment reflects a definition of masculinity that isn't functional within twentieth century American society. Theo is attempting to redefine paternal masculinity to conform

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to his own standards rather than twentieth century American society's standards. By accepting an offer from Blue Haven, a black gangster, to turn the barbershop into a bootlegging operation, both Theo and Bobby, Fontenot argues, "choose an alternate route to fulfillment of manhood" (47). Yet Theo is being sentimental and naive to perceive his father as "a man," for while Parker might have been the "man of the house" in a previous society—one that didn't expect him to economically provide for his family—Parker now finds himself in a capitalistic society that demands its men to be successful "producers." Parker fails within the twentieth century standards of masculinity because he doesn't provide for his family. Adele directly challenges her father's masculinity by telling him what to do, yet she is not alone; Parker's paternal masculinity is challenged by almost everyone in the play. Jenkins openly mocks Parker in their checkers games, dismissing him as an immature "trash-talker." Blue Haven, the bootlegger, mockingly makes Parker "President" of his operation. Yet Blue Haven understands only too well that Parker cannot do anything— Parker is treated like a cute, harmless child by practically everyone in the play. In Act Two, even the girl whom Parker meets doesn't view him as a real man; she is using him only for his money. Parker also fails in the second major requirement of traditional masculinity: he fails to protect his wife and children. Parker caused, albeit indirectly, the death of his wife and son. Like James Tyrone in O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night, Parker neglects his wife's health. This is revealed when Adele confronts her father. In Act One, Adele's comment that "Mama killed herself because there was no kind of order in this house" (151) is substantiated in Act Two with her raving "What about Mama? She died working for you! Did you ever stop to think about that! In fact, did you ever love her? No!!!" The reality is Parker allowed his wife to work herself to death to provide for his family, thus prompting Adele to claim that he killed her. While this might seem absurd, when one looks at Parker's actions in terms of economic determinism, one finds that Parker viewed his wife as a commodity. Yet unlike himself, she was a commodity that actually produced, thus making her extremely valuable to him. Parker may not have loved his wife, but as a commodity he "used her" until she died; Parker's actions reflect the capitalistic society in which he lives. Just as he is perceived as a commodity and used up by a society that is uncaring and unsympathetic to his humanity, Parker treated his wife the same way. Ironically, Parker has internalized the commodification of the individual remarkably well for one being

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subjugated to the very same standard. Similarly, Parker doesn't protect his son, Bobby; Parker allows him to become a thief. Yet what can Parker do when he is a thief also, just like his son? Parker steals from Theo's successful bootlegging operation, and seems to love money more than he loves his son. When Parker finds out that Bobby is a thief, he confronts Theo: Parker: Theo: Parker: Theo:

You think I don't know about you and Blue [Haven] running that gang of thieves—about you sending your own brother out there with them? I didn't do that! If Bobby gets hurt out on the streets, I'm gonna kill you, boy! I'm gonna kill you. You're not worried about Bobby! All you can think of is the money you're rolling in. The clothes. And that stupid outfit you've got on.

Once again, Theo is exactly right—Parker cares more about money than he cares about his children. Parker views his children, like all the individuals he interacts with, as commodities.8 Parker's threat, when interpreted under this analysis, seems to be caused by his fear of losing a "thing," like his money and clothes, rather than losing Bobby, his son. Since twentieth century American masculinity is defined as providing for one's family, and protecting his wife and children, Parker can be nothing but a failure. He fails in the two basic masculine requirements expected of him by a twentieth century capitalist American society. IV

August Wilson's play Fences (1985) reflects twentieth century American society. The main character is Troy Maxson, a father who fails in the paternal/masculine role ascribed to him by a twentieth century American society that is both racist and capitalistic. Troy Maxson is an African American male from the South who goes up north to seek his fortune. Unskilled and unwanted, he searches the streets of northern cities until the day he kills a man to stay alive. He learns how to play baseball in jail, and after his release he rises to prominence in the Negro leagues. However, because he is black he is barred from playing in the major leagues. When Troy ruminates that "There ought not never have been no time called too early" (9), he is admitting that he is out-of-place within this exploitative twentieth century capitalistic society in which he finds himself. Troy, like

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the other fathers analyzed in this chapter, is enigmatically anachronistic within a twentieth century capitalistic American society that values money above individuals and views people as commodities. Troy Maxson's relationships with his children and wife are consistently and directly related to money. Money is the element linking him to his filial and romantic relationships. This is first alluded to in the beginning of the play, when Rose is introduced: "Rose enters from the house. She is ten years younger than Troy, her devotion to him stems from her recognition of the possibilities of her life without him: a succession of abusive men and their babies, a life of partying and running the streets, the Church, or aloneness with its attendant pain and frustration." From the outset of the play we can see that none of Rose's options are financially rewarding, leaving her with only one viable option: she must marry Troy. This opening statement in Wilson's play Fences reinforces the idea that relationships within the materialistic twentieth century American society are economically determined, and that financial and economic thinking permeates all aspects of an individual's life—including filial relationships. In the beginning of Fences, Troy claims to his best friend Bono that he loves his wife, and is loyal to her. Troy: Bono: Troy: Bono: Troy:

Look here, as long as you known me...you ever known me to chase after women? Hell yeah! Long as I done known you. You forgetting I knew you when. Naw, I'm talking about since I been married to Rose? Oh, not since you been married to Rose. Now that's the truth, there. I can say that. Alright then! Case closed.

Unfortunately, though, the case isn't closed. While Troy's infidelity is foreshadowed at the beginning of play, the second act reveals Troy's adultery: Troy: Rose:

I'm gonna be a daddy. I'm gonna be somebody's daddy. You telling me you gonna be somebody's daddy? You telling your wife this?

Apparently, romantic love has not played a major role in Troy's marriage with Rose, for after eighteen years of marriage Rose must painfully learn of her husband's infidelity. Troy fails to be the exclusive father of his wife's children. Eric Sterling finds in his essay "Protecting Home: Patriarchal Authority in August Wilson's Fences" that "Raynell

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supplants Troy as the primary object of love and affection in Rose's life" (55). Raynell's birth, ironically, brings about the death of Troy's masculinity—he subsequently loses his status as head of the household to Rose. For after Troy confesses his adultery, Rose takes charge of all of the finances, and makes herself a new "home" at Church instead of Troy's house. Troy's actions beg one to ask the question: why would he desecrate the holy institution of marriage, and yet—ironically—remain devotedly faithful to his job? The answer to this question reveals the power of a capitalistic society gone "topsy-turvy," to quote Marx; twentieth century American society is one that reveres profits over purity, income over "intelligence," and money over matrimony. The cyclical capitalistic motions of gaining and spending wealth, which proliferate within twentieth century American society, invade the American family to deeply and profoundly affect the filial relationships of the twentieth century American family. In the same way, Troy's relationships with his sons are based mainly upon money; Troy's conversations with his sons revolve almost exclusively around money. One example of this is when Troy and Cory discuss the purchase of a new television set. Another time this occurs is when Lyons, Troy's son by a previous marriage comes over to Troy's house to borrow money from Troy. Lyons: Troy: Lyons: Troy:

Hey, Pop. What you come "Hey, Popping" me for? (You) must have been doing alright. I ain't seen (you) around here last week. Come on, Pop...I just stopped by to say hi...see how you was doing. You ain't stopped by yesterday.

It soon becomes apparent that Lyons has stopped by after his father's payday wanting to borrow ten dollars. After he finally asks Troy for the money, Troy states: "What I tell you, Bono? The only time I see this nigger is when he wants something. That's the only time I see him" (16). Troy accurately states what has been occurring within his relationship with his son, making one painfully aware of the effects of capitalism within filial relationships. In fact, when Troy specifically says "What you come 'Hey, Popping' me for?" (13), he is acknowledging that his own paternity is verbalized by his son through the exchange of money—outside of money, he has no relationship with his son. It can be assumed that Lyons doesn't talk with his father much, for we know that Troy has never

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gone to listen to his son play music, and likely never will. To Troy, his son is simply a commodity who takes his money. The family comes together—both literally and figuratively—through the distribution of money, and all the family members get involved: father, son, and wife. Rose: Troy: Rose: Troy: Rose: Lyons:

Let the boy have ten dollars, Troy. (You) give him ten dollars if you want him to have it. I will. Just as soon as you turn it loose. (Handing Rose the money) There it is. Seventy-six dollars and forty-two cents. You see this, Bono? Now, I ain't gonna get but six of that back. You ought to stop telling that lie. Here, Lyons. (She hands him the money.) Thanks, Rose. Look...I got to run...I'll see you later. (Lyons exits the yard).

This family interaction dramatically illustrates how money is at the core of twentieth century American family relationships; the twentieth century American family is bonded, quite literally, by money. In fact, money even supercedes filial boundaries. Rose gives Lyons money, and isn't even (biologically) his mother. Yet Lyons considers her as his mother because she doles out the money. It is important to note that it is this distribution of money which marks the "connection" between family relations within the twentieth century American capitalistic society. Even when Lyons returns home, it is not to "see" his family members, but to receive (or return) money. Lyons: Troy: Rose: Lyons: Rose: Troy: Bono:

Here's your ten dollars, Pop. I told you I don't want you to give me nothing. I just wanted to borrow ten dollars. Naw.. .you go on and keep that for the next time you want to ask me. Why don't you go on and let the boy pay you back, Troy? Here you go, Rose. If you don't take it I'm gonna have to hear about it for the next six months. (He hands her the money.) You can hand yours over here too, Troy. You see this, Bono. You see how they do me. Yeah, Lucille do me the same way.

Filial relationships in the Maxson family hinge on the exchange of money; the exchange of money between family members is consistently apparent throughout the play. Even Lyons remarks to his father "I come by to see you.. .ask for ten dollars and you want to talk about how I was

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raised. You don't know nothing about how I was raised" (18-19). Troy cannot respond to his son's accusation because his son is right; Troy never noticed his children because they were to him simply things that cost him money. (Elkins 167) Another revealing example of the power of money in influencing filial relationships is through the relationship between Troy and Gabriel, Troy's insane brother who regularly gets picked up by the police for disturbing the peace. When called to bail out his brother, Troy exclaims his frustration over the Police department's greed to Bono when he shouts: Troy: Bono:

All they want is the money. [They] see me coming they stick out their hands. Yeah. I know what you mean. That's all they care about...that money.

Yet this rebuke of the police department is, in fact, the pot calling the kettle black, for Troy acts in the same manner as the police. When Troy gets annoyed because Gabe moves out from his house to live on his own in a room at Miss Pearl's place, Troy's true motives are exposed. Lyons: Rose: Troy: Lyons: Rose: Troy:

What you mad at Uncle Gabe for, Pop. He thinks Troy's mad at him cause he moved over to Miss Pearl's. I ain't mad at the man. He can live where he want to live at. What he move over there for? Miss Pearl don't like nobody. She don't mind him none. She treats him real nice. She just don't allow all that singing. She don't mind that rent he be paying...that's what she don't mind.

Economic "social relationships" are at the core of Fences. One would think that Troy is irked by his brother's decision to move out because he missed him (at some emotional, filial level). Yet that couldn't be further from the truth. Economic motives define the filial relationships within the Maxson household. Troy only wanted his brother around because of the government checks that he collected (and spent) for his brother. In Act 2 Cory stingingly accuses his father of "using" Gabe. Cory states, "You took Uncle Gabe's money he got from the army to buy this house & then you put him out." When Gabe moves out of Troy's household, so to do his government checks. Troy's commodification of his brother mirrors his exploitation and commodification of his son, Cory. Troy is confronted by Rose after she finds out that Troy refused to sign the paper allowing his son Cory to play

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college football. Rose: Troy: Rose: Troy: Rose:

They went over to Miss Pearl's and got Gabe today. She said you told them to go ahead and lock him up. I ain't said no such thing. Whoever told you that is telling a lie. Pearl ain't doing nothing but telling a big fat lie. She ain't had to tell me. I read it on the papers. Say the government send part of his check to the hospital and the other part to you. I ain't got nothing to do with that if that's the way it works. I ain't made up the rules about how it work. You did Gabe just like you did Cory. You wouldn't sign the paper for Cory...but you signed for Gabe. You signed that paper. You signed him to the hospital for half his money.

Troy treats Gabe and Cory just like he treats all of his family relations; Troy perceives them all in terms of commodities who either cost, or make, him money. Eric Sterling finds that "having failed to acquire the respect he deserves from the white-dominated society that has disempowered him socioeconomically, Troy repeatedly attempts to demonstrate his authority by calling attention to his ownership of his house." Troy internalizes the traditional definition of masculinity which twentieth century American society subscribes to, which results in his constant focus on things rather than people. He believes that it is his "producing" that gives him authority over his family, yet this thinking results in his alienation from his son. The final showdown between Troy and his son occurs in Scene 4 of Act 2. Cory, disgusted by his father's infidelity to his mother, rudely attempts to walk past his father without telling him "excuse me." When Troy confronts his son, Cory remarks "I ain't got to say excuse me to you. You don't count around here no more." As Troy advances toward Cory, Cory picks up a bat and threatens his father with physical harm. The two wrestle over the bat, and after Troy takes it from Cory, he commands his son to get out of his house stating, "Nigger! That's what you are. You are just another nigger on the street to me!" This confrontation reveals the extent to which capitalistic ideologies have pervaded the fatherchild relationship. Cory is nothing to Troy except an expense; Troy determines his son's value solely through economic terms. In this final scene in which son confronts father with a baseball bat, Wilson presents a reverse image of the traditional, treasured father-andson backyard game of baseball commonly depicted in films and on television. In Christine Birdwell's article "Death as a Fastball on the

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Outside Corner: Fences' Troy Maxson and the American Dream," she notes that "father and son vie for the bat which is transformed into a weapon, and savage combat erupts" (91). When Cory challenges Troy's masculinity, it is because Cory no longer fears his father. Once Cory knows he can make money and take care of himself, he no longer "needs" his father. In the same way that his dad views him, Cory sees his father as nothing but a commodity who has stopped producing, telling Troy "you ain't never gave me nothing!" (86). Troy ultimately kicks out his own son because he doesn't see Cory as a unique individual, but only as a something that costs him money. Cory wasn't a "human being" to Troy, but a commodity that couldn't make money. Throughout his dialogue with his son, Troy constantly refers to the fact that he has paid for the house, and that Cory hasn't paid for anything. Troy repeatedly informs Cory that the son owes his father for the shelter, food, and life with which he has provided his son: Troy:

It's my job. It's my responsibility! You understand that? A man got to take care of his family. You live in my house...sleep you behind in my bedclothes...fill you belly up with my food...cause you my son. You my flesh and blood. Not 'cause I like you!"

In this quote Troy reveals that filial love or devotion has nothing to do with his providing for his family. Troy believes that it is his "job" to take care of his family; family members are commodified into things to be maintained, rather than loved. Troy's comment that he doesn't "like" his son reveals how capitalistic ideologies have infiltrated filial relationships, making his son simply something he must take care of: like his house, yard, and roof. The capitalistic effects of a twentieth century American society have alienated Troy from his entire family; by perceiving his family members as commodities, Troy ultimately loses them. Troy kicks Cory out, Gabe moves out, and Rose refuses to "be" with Troy any longer—she lives under his roof, but that is the extent of their relationship. As Rose explains to Troy, "from right now.. .this child (Raynell) got a mother. But you a womanless man" (79).9 Thus, Troy is betrayed by the very capitalistic ideologies that have alienated him from his family and caused him to "fail" in fulfilling the traditional paternal/masculine duties which twentieth century American society expects from fathers. Troy Maxson, like Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, is betrayed by a capitalistic society that values money over family members. In America's twentieth century capitalistic society, powerful economic "fences" are constructed which

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separate family members from one another; Troy is fenced-off from his wife and children by viewing them as commodities rather than individuals, which results in his failure to fulfill the traditional socially-defined roles of masculinity. To conclude, in this chapter I have attempted to show, through sociological criticism and Marxist theories, how twentieth century capitalism affects the American father's masculinity within selected plays of American drama. In theory, the traditional masculine roles for a father are to be faithful to one's wife, to provide for and to protect one's family. However, due to capitalistic demands placed on individuals to revere money more than people, the American father fails to fulfill his paternal duties. Twentieth century American society makes it hard, if not impossible, for fathers to live up to the traditional paternalistic responsibilities it sets for him for several reasons. By accepting and internalizing capitalism's ideologies, fathers alienate themselves from these traditional constructs of paternal responsibilities and definitions of masculinity, along with alienating themselves from their own family members. Andrew Tolson finds that "a fundamental threat to the masculine identity is posed by the very structure of 'work' in a capitalist society" (Tolson 27). Indeed, he finds it ironic that men support a capitalistic culture that, in the words of Tolson, "destroy its own human foundation" (28). This idea is similar to Karl Marx's, who states in his essay "Estranged Labor" that "labor estranges from man his own body as well as external nature and spiritual essence, his human being" (37). Using these ideas, I have expanded Marx's concepts to include man's alienation from the traditional social constructs of masculinity. Through the four plays I have analyzed in this chapter, male "human beings" are estranged from their traditional masculine roles by a capitalist society that values money over individuals. In all of the father-child relationships analyzed in this chapter, the father perceives his son/daughter in terms of money; and vice versa, children see and define their fathers within the constructs of a materialistic, capitalistic value system. As a result, one could argue that the ultimate failure of both fathers and children is simply their lack of "seeing" each other, period. Because fathers don't see the "human being" in their children, their relationships with their children are diminished. Similarly, children's relationships with their fathers are diminished due to the use of economic and monetary standards to judge him rather than more "humane" standards.

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama Notes

1. While I briefly discuss here the role of the twentieth century American female's objectification and alienation, I will go into greater detail in Chapter 3. 2. Another example of Linda's materialism is given when Willy asks Linda if she remembers how Biff looked "the tallest" when the team came out. She replies, "Oh yes. And in gold" (68). Linda perceives her children through the lens of capitalistic, materialistic ideologies. 3. This idea of the individual being bombarded by commercialism is similarly explored in the novels of Sinclair Lewis' Babbitt (1922) and in John Updike's trilogy Rabbit, Run (1960), Rabbit Redux (1971) and Rabbit Is Rich (1981). 4. In the works of Louis Althusser, the word "interpellation" denotes the process by which human subjects come to recognize themselves as such by identifying themselves with the subjects referred to by an impersonal "apparatus" of ideological statements: For instance, as the free and the brave in the phrase "America is the land of the free and the home of the brave." 5. Russell Parker is a barber who doesn't cut hair, just as Willy Loman is a salesman who doesn't sell. Both have been de-masculinized within a capitalistic society that has used them up and then tossed them out. 6. Another similarity between Ceremonies and Death of a Salesman is shown in the way that Bobby Parker mirrors Biff Loman, both of whom are thieves "driven" to be anything but hard-working (like their fathers, they are constantly looking for a short-cut). 7. Ironically, both sons in Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman and Lonne Elder Ill's Ceremonies in Dark Old Men call their fathers "the boss," when they are anything but that. 8. Parker definitely views the young girl as a commodity, as revealed in her comment to Parker: "all you take me for is something to play with" (Ceremonies 75). To Parker, she is a "thing" to be played with. 9. Raynell is the daughter of Troy and Alberta, the "other woman."

chapter 3 Edmund:

Mother-Child Relationships The hardest thing to take is the blank wall she (Mary) builds around her. Or it's more like a bank of fog in which she hides and loses herself. Deliberately, that's the hell of it! You know something in her does it deliberately— to get beyond our reach, to be rid of us, toforget we 're alive! It's as if, in spite of loving us, she hated us!

Long Day's Journey into Night Eugene O'Neill

In this chapter I will analyze the mother-child relationship within twentieth century American drama. From Sophie Treadwell's classic 1928 play Machinal through Marsha Norman's Pulitzer Prize-winning 1983 play 'night, Mother and beyond, motherhood has been a complex topic that twentieth century American dramatists have consistently focused on.1 Many theorists either condemn mothering as oppressive, or praise it as an irreplaceable value in twentieth century American society. Whichever position one takes, most scholars would agree with critic Lynda Hart who observes that motherhood is "probably the most hotly contested site for women both inside and outside of feminist theories" (125). In her book Inventing Motherhood, Ann Dally presents a detailed study of motherhood in which she specifically focuses on what she calls "the idealization of the mother" (17). Dally finds that during World War II, American mothers came to be "idealized." She argues that motherhood was depicted in twentieth century American society as the ultimate figure of religious purity and nurturance, according to strict Victorian standards. While outwardly the Victorian attitude toward motherhood seemed to be one of reverence, Dally argues that it covertly worked to actually stifle and harm American mothers by keeping them in the home. In the twentieth century, Dally finds that this idealization changed. Women moved into the work force when men went off to war, and when the men returned from war, women's "spaces" became (once again) the home. It is here that Dally asserts: "What was new about this situation was the official idealization that now occurred" (97). Daily's theory of idealization shows the way in which women's mothering came to be controlled and, arguably, constructed. Apparently, twentieth century American society has no problem in constructing different "ideals" of motherhood to suit the needs of the national interests. When America needs women's labor, it is "feminine" to be a female laborer; yet when

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men need jobs, it is non-feminine to be a laborer. In addition, Dally also provides a critique of the "maternal instinct." According to Dally, the term itself describes the unconscious, yet she finds that despite a lack of proof of the actual existence of what is called the maternal instinct, it is still widely accepted in twentieth century American culture. Scholar Nancy Chodorow also rejects this "construction" in her work The Reproduction of Mothering. However, she argues that a woman's definitions of motherhood begin in the earliest developments within the mother-daughter relationship. Chodorow finds that mothering occurs in a cyclical pattern from mother to daughter, a product of the unconscious mind. Yet while Chodorow does analyze the situations of women who choose to become mothers, she stops short of examining the scope of society and how it affects the relationship between mother and child. This is where my analysis begins. I am interested in exploring how capitalism affects mother-child relationships. I am sure that it comes as no surprise to most scholars today that society constructs gender roles, especially the female role. Therefore, I will begin my analysis of twentieth century American mothers by using Marxist theories to explore how a twentieth century American capitalistic society affects mothers and their children. Marxist sociological theories developed in opposition to theories that defined human beings as intrinsically valuable. Marx argued that individuals are continuously defined and redefined by the economic and materialistic constructs of a capitalistic society. Marx didn't believe that anything fixed could even be assigned to an individual, since Marx found that the human species creates and recreates itself through its productive activity. Through labor, human beings change the work they are creating and therefore continually change the "creation" of their existence; men and women work to satisfy their needs but in doing so they create new needs that must again be satisfied. Thus, there is nothing fixed about them; it is hard to ascribe any intrinsic values to individuals within a materialistic, capitalistic society. By analyzing the maternal, feminine roles within twentieth century American drama, I will show how a mother's role is affected by a twentieth century capitalistic American society. In doing this, I will take a close look at mothers in the following twentieth century America plays: Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night (1939), Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes (1939), Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie (1945), and Lorraine Hansberry's play A Raisin in the Sun (1959).

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In Eugene O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night, O'Neill creates a complex character in Mary Tyrone as wife and mother. The role invites re-vision, such as Adrienne Rich describes: "The act of looking back, with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction" (35). Mary Tyrone has passed the first requirement of femininity, for she births children for her husband. As a domestic provider and as a nurturer for her children, Mary is lacking for several reasons. Mary fails at the traditional maternal/feminine duties in providing for her family because of her drug addiction. Mary is addicted to morphine, and consequently neglects to provide for the basic requirements of her family, which is one of the prescribed maternal duties of twentieth century society. Not once throughout the play does Mary do any "traditional" maternal act such as cooking, cleaning, or shopping for the family; Mary's servant, Cathleen, does all of these domestic duties. This is revealed in the first scene of Act One: Mary:

Will you listen to your father, Jamie—after thirty-five years of marriage! He isn't a great actor for nothing, is he? What's come over you, James? Are you pouring coals of fire on my head for teasing you about snoring? Well then, I take it all back. It must have been only the foghorn I heard. She laughs, and they laugh with her. [Then she changes to a brisk businesslike air.] But I can't stay with you any longer, even to hear compliments. I must see the cook about dinner and the day's marketing. [She gets up and sighs with humorous exaggeration.] Bridget is so lazy. And so sly.

Here we find the Tyrone men lying about how beautiful Mary looks, and Mary joins in the act with them. Despite Mary's allusions, she doesn't provide for her family needs as she pretends she does. Her claims about her servants are false; in fact, it seems that Mary inverts the truth in calling the servants wicked and lazy. In reality, it is Mary who is "sly" and "lazy," and it is her servants who actually work; Mary creates and maintains an illusion of her domesticity. Mary neglects her family and when she must face this she either goes on a morphine binge, or simply justifies her lack of providing for her family by blaming her husband for not giving her first-rate things. Indeed, this truth is so painful for Mary that she turns to comforting illusions to ease her mind. It is comforting for Mary to believe that she is complying with the twentieth century American standards of maternal femininity, but for Mary to achieve

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verisimilitude in this illusion she must consume substantial amounts of morphine. It is undeniable that James Tyrone is stingy, one can only presume that he wouldn't pay a dime for any domestic help if he didn't have to; Mary's failure to maintain the domestic needs of her family has forced James Tyrone to pay for such services. Falsely believing that she is living up to the standards of maternal femininity of a twentieth century American capitalistic society, Mary also "fails" the prescribed social role of being a "comforter." Indeed, as the play progresses into night, what the audience becomes clearly aware of is the fact that Mary has failed her motherly duties of comforting her family, a fact of which the rest of the Tyrones are quite aware. This reality is vividly and painfully shown in the final act when James Tyrone, Edmund, and Jamie find themselves downstairs in yet another drunken argument as Mary makes her final entrance: "Suddenly all five bulbs of the chandelier in the front parlor are turned on from a wall switch, and a moment later someone starts playing the piano in there— the opening of one of Chopin's simpler waltzes, done with a forgetful, stifffingered groping, as if an awkward schoolgirl were practicing it for the first time. Tyrone starts to wide-awakeness and sober dread, and Jamie's head jerks back and his eyes open. For a moment they listen frozenly. The playing stops as abruptly as it began, and Mary appears in the doorway... She hesitates in the doorway, glancing round the room, her forehead puckered puzzledly, like someone who has come to a room to get something but has become absent-minded on the way and forgotten what it was. They stare at her. She seems aware of them merely as she is aware of other objects in the room, the furniture, the windows, familiar things she accepts automatically as naturally belonging there but which she is too preoccupied to notice."

As a drug addict, Mary simply cannot provide the nurturing, comforting care traditional motherhood expects. Morphine has separated Mary from her husband. Tyrone has grown so used to her nightly "reveries" that he would rather lie to himself that she is going to change rather than face the painful truth that his wife is really no "wife" at all— in the traditional sense. Similarly, Mary's children do not feel or accept her maternal instinct of comfort or warmth. Edmund argues with his mother: Edmund:

"Oh, stop talking crazy, can't you, Mama! Stop trying to blame him [Doctor Hardy]. And why are you so against my going away now? I've been away a lot, and I've never noticed it broke your heart!"

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Mary has never provided for Edmund the comfort and maternal support required by traditional standards of motherhood, although she defends to the last her illusions of being a nurturing mother to her children and herself. The final straw that shatters her illusion of being a good mother occurs through Edmund's comment: "It's pretty hard to take at times, having a dope fiend for a mother!" The single most complex stretch of Mary Tyrone's memory is in the second half of Act III when Tyrone and Edmund have returned; she is extremely hostile and even vengeful to the two males, even though Edmund is her "baby."2 Mary's withdrawal from her family comes at an inopportune time, however; it is especially difficult for her son Edmund. When Edmund is diagnosed with tuberculosis Mary retreats from her family; at the time of Edmund's greatest need, his own mother makes herself unavailable to him. Edmund, believing that her retreat is intentional, bitterly says to his father: "You know something in her does it deliberately—to get beyond our reach, to be rid of us, to forget we're alive! It's as if, in spite of loving us, she hated us!" Mary takes morphine to escape the reality that she has failed in her maternal, feminine duties as prescribed by the society in which she lives. Most scholars believe that Mary's choice of the morphine-induced fog instead of her present reality of pain and guilt is what isolates her from her husband and sons. Thomas P. Adler finds in his essay "Daddy Spoke to Me! Gods Lost and Found in Long Day's Journey into Night and Through a Glass Darkly" that Mary may have "sold her soul for surcease from physical discomfort, but her real betrayal occurred much earlier when she turned her back on her dual vocation as pianist and nun to fall in love with and marry the dashing James Tyrone." On a superficial level, it is obvious that Mary cannot "see" her family members because she is in a drug-induced "high." At a deeper level, however, this blindness can be attributed to the capitalist society of twentieth century America which forces people to see themselves, and others, as things. In Night, this is obvious in O'Neill's description of Mary's grand entrance: "She [Mary] seems aware of them merely as she is aware of other objects in the room, the furniture, the windows, familiar things she accepts automatically as naturally belonging there but which she is too preoccupied to notice."

Night exposes the damaging effects of capitalism on traditional roles of motherhood and femininity—both of which become casualties of a commodity-culture fostered by a twentieth century American capitalistic

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and materialistic society. In addition, Mary's husband and children are reduced to being nothing more than "things" to her, objects that have no intrinsic meaning except for their function. One "sits" on furniture and one "looks" through windows, but there is no inherent merit or value in these objects—they are valued solely in terms of what they do and what price they can get at the market. In the same way, Mary perceives the value of her family members simply through their use-value and exchangevalue: they are nothing to her beyond these economic standards. Mary's own family members are as valuable to her as the second-hand furniture inhabiting the Tyrone house. This is a result of the commodification of traditional maternal roles and femininity within a twentieth century American capitalistic society.

II In Lillian Hellman's play The Little Foxes, Regina marries Horace, an unambitious banker who craves a peaceful life rather than riches. His wife Regina is quite unlike him; she embraces capitalism with her ravenous, insatiable appetite for power. Banished from his wife's bed for over a decade, Horace seems unprepared to face this new "capitalistic age" which he believes twentieth century American society is fast becoming. As a result his heart is giving out. Ritchie D. Watson, Jr. notes in his 1996 article in the Southern Literary Journal entitled "Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes and the New South Creed: An Ironic View of Southern History" that Horace cannot survive in a materialistic, capitalistic "Hubbard world" (65). The plot of the play is fairly simple. The play is set in the deep South during the spring of 1900. At the turn of the century, twentieth century American society is first developing its capitalistic, materialistic impulses. The Hubbards represent a new generation of Americans eager to exploit themselves and others for financial gain. Regina Hubbard Giddens and her two brothers, Ben and Oscar Hubbard—members of the enterprising upper-middle class—plan to take advantage of cheap labor by erecting a cotton mill, from which they can reasonably expect to make a fortune. To raise the money for the mill, the Hubbards approach a Chicago financier, William Marshall. Additionally, they need the backing of Regina's ailing husband, Horace Giddens. Horace is well acquainted with the Hubbards' cheating and exploitation as means to commercial gain and refuses to support the project. Because he fails to cooperate, Regina

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refuses him medicine when he has a heart attack and allows him to die, thereby achieving her goal.3 Having observed the Hubbards throughout the play, Regina's daughter Alexandra comes to understand that their acquisitiveness is a threat to society. At the end of the play, Alexandra rejects her mother and resolves to fight injustices of the kind for which the "little foxes" are responsible. It should not surprise anyone that Regina certainly doesn't provide for the domestic needs of her family. Unlike Regina, Addie—her African American servant—does fulfill the maternal, feminine constructs of American society.4 This is first obvious in the opening act, when Cal (another black servant) tells Addie that Alexandra loves her dessert. Cal states emphatically, "Miss Zan she had two helpings frozen fruit cream and she tell that honored guest, she tell him that you make the best frozen fruit cream in all the South." When Horace arrives from the North, his first request is for a cup of Addie's coffee. He exclaims: Horace: Addie: Horace:

Addie, I bet your coffee's as good as ever. They don't have such good coffee up North. (Looks at the urn.) Is it as good, Addie? (Addie starts for coffee urn.) It ain't right for you to have coffee? It will hurt you? Nothing can make much difference now. Get me a cup, Addie. (Addie brings him a cup.) God, that's good.

As the play develops, the audience realizes that it is in fact Addie who is the main domestic provider in the Giddens household, not Regina. Addie provides the food, acts as hostess, and makes the domestic arena comfortable for all. Act II opens with Addie standing anxiously by the window waiting for Alexandra and Horace to return, and a note describing the scene remarks that "near the dining-room doors are brooms, mops, rags, etc." Apparently Addie has been scrubbing and cleaning to make the house hospitable for the sickly, returning Horace. In sharp contrast we have Regina, who is so busy conducting business that she isn't even aware of her own husband's return. In fact, it is difficult to imagine Regina fulfilling any domestic duties (ever). She is entirely and completely focused on making money. Regina doesn't comfort her husband Horace, and Regina is the last person to comfort her child. When Alexandra is in need of comfort and maternal attention, she goes to Addie. In Act I, it is Addie whom Alexandra asks if she can have her first drink of port. Later on, it is Addie to whom Alexandra turns when she hears that she is to bring her father home:

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama Regina: Alexandra: Regina: Addie:

And now I have great news for you. You are going to Baltimore in the morning to bring your father home. Me? Papa said I should come? That must mean—(Turns to Addie) Addie, he must be well. Think of it, he'll be back home again. We'll bring him home. You are going alone, Alexandra. Going alone? Going by herself? A child that age! Mr. Horace ain't going to like Zan traipsing up there by herself.

Addie and Regina are, in fact, exact opposites in their relationship to Alexandra. While Regina is biologically the mother, she doesn't fulfill the traditionally defined maternal/feminine role of comforting her children. In contrast, Addie comforts and nurtures Alexandra, and attempts to shelter her from the cruelty of the Hubbards. For example, it is Addie who reminds Alexandra to wash. Addie remarks to Alexandra "Now go up and take a bath, Miss Grown-up. Change your linens, get out a fresh dress and give your hair a good brushing—go on." Yet the most revealing state of Regina's non-nurturing characteristic lies in her words to Horace after he tells her that he won't go in with her brothers on their business venture: Regina: Alexandra: Addie:

(Looks up at him slowly, calmly) I hope you die. I hope you die soon. (Smiles) I'll be waiting for you to die. (Shrieking) Papa! Don't—Don't listen—Don't— Come here, Zan. Come out of this room. (Alexandra runs quickly to Addie, who holds her.)

Thus, we find in Regina the complete negation of the traditional social feminine, maternal roles. While Addie provides comfort to both Horace and Alexandra, Regina has no maternal instinct—only her avaricious instinct of outdoing her brothers in their "race" to become rich. Regina has no true love for her husband and daughter—they are commodities, or things, (as is everyone else to her, including her own brothers) to be used to gain wealth. Hellman's play The Little Foxes presents the reality that Regina's family members are merely pawns to be used by her to gain money. Regina exploits her own husband for financial gain. Indeed, she marries him only for his money—she never loved Horace. This is shown in the bitter fight she has with him at the end of the play: Regina:

I have only contempt for you. I've always had...I couldn't stand the kind of man you were—I used to lie there at night, praying you wouldn't come near—...Remember when I went to Doctor

Mother-Child Relationships

Horace: Regina:

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Sloan and I told you he said there was something the matter with me and you shouldn't touch me any more? ... You believed it. I couldn't understand that. I couldn't understand that anybody could be such a soft fool. That was when I began to despise you. Why didn't you leave me? I told you I married you for something.... I never thought about it much but if I had I'd have known that you would die before I would. But I couldn't have known that you would get heart trouble so early and so bad. I'm lucky, Horace. I've always been lucky. I'll be lucky again.

It is during this scene in The Little Foxes that Regina reveals why she has done all that she has in attempting to gain a greater percentage of the mill than her brothers. Before the above-quoted argument between Regina and Horace, Regina confesses: Regina:

I was lonely when I was young.... Not the way people usually mean. Lonely for all the things I wasn't going to get.... I wanted the world. Then, and then—(Smiles) Papa died and left the money to Ben and Oscar.

Regina feels slighted by her father. He loved her brothers more than her, Regina feels, because he left them with everything while leaving her nothing. Regina completely equates love with things, a result of the value system propagated by a capitalistic American society. Regina only loved Horace's money, not the human being he was. In fact, if he weren't a banker, it is doubtful Regina would have even looked at him. In the same way that Regina perceives her husband as a commodity to be used for her own monetary gain, Regina also sees her daughter as a commodity. Regina has no reservations to use her daughter as "bait" to lure Horace back home. Regina also uses her daughter Alexandra to get back at her own brothers. In the first act, Ben presents the idea of his son Leo marrying Alexandra, saying "So my money will go to Alexandra and Leo. They may even marry some day." While not rejecting the notion outright, Regina equivocates: "You have my word that I will think about it." The audience knows that Regina isn't thrilled about her daughter marrying Leo, but doesn't know why. One might think her reasons are because Leo is a cruel, lecherous, stupid young man: he cruelly beats his animals, is known for his "women in Mobile," and isn't hard-working or bright at his job in the bank. But the real reason is that Leo is a "little fox," and Regina would rather "sell" Alexandra to a Northern businessman's son who has more money than marry her off to Leo. Regina views her daughter Alexandra as a commodity that can make her wealthy.

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By not allowing Alexandra to marry Leo, she allows control of her shares of the mill to eventually leave the family. Neither Ben, Oscar, nor their descendants will share in her profits from the mill; thus she exacts her revenge on her father for not giving her enough "things."5 Literary scholar Vance Hedderel notes in his article "Sibling Rivalry in Mourning Becomes Electra and The Little Foxes" that Regina acts "out of a desire to 'pay back' her father for the love he denied her by making sure that she gets all the money he left Ben and Oscar and then some." Thus, the mother-child relationship, arguably the most idealized and treasured in traditional twentieth century American social roles, is reduced to simply an economic use-value equation best defined by Marxist theories. Alexandra is not perceived by her mother to be an inherently valuable individual. Rather, she is a "thing" (albeit a beautiful, potentially important thing) to be used or to use others. This mentality to "use" family members is how all the Hubbards see the world; to the Hubbards, people—even family members—are things either to use, or to be used by, others. Early in the play Ben reveals how he used his own brother, Oscar, to gain Lionnet from Birdie's family. Likewise, Oscar uses his own son Leo for financial gain when Oscar suggests that Leo take Horace's bonds that are in the safe-deposit box rather than taking responsibility for stealing them himself. In fact, scholar Elizabeth C. Phillips finds in her article "Command of Human Destiny as Exemplified in Two Plays: Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes and Lorraine Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun" that "the Hubbards have an entirely materialistic view of the world— they value themselves (and others) in terms of possessions." Yet as the audience looks deeper within the Hubbard family, it finds that the polite traditions and customs are merely a facade to hide a social unit focused on one thing: wealth. Money is the Hubbards first and only love, to which everything else—husbands, children, brothers, sisters, and all "others" become distant seconds. The commodification of the family is well exemplified by the Hubbards, and especially Regina. Just as the fin de siecle of the nineteenth-century revealed the "New Woman" who challenged traditional gender roles, one could argue that Regina typifies a "New Mother" within the developing twentieth century materialistic, capitalistic American society. Regina is a mother who radically rejects the traditionally accepted roles of maternal femininity as defined by twentieth century American society.

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III Tennessee Williams' 1950 play The Glass Menagerie explores a family who is attempting to survive under powerful social and economic forces. Terry Eagleton states in Marxism and Literary Criticism that "all major art is 'progressive' in the limited sense that any art sealed from some sense of the historical relegates itself to minor status" (Eagleton 57). One pattern that looms in the background of the Wingfield family is the way that changing economic and social modes affect the individual (and the family unit). The Old South, with all its "southern comforts," is anachronistic in this new twentieth century capitalistic American society— a society that seems to subvert the very maternal ideologies it professes. Specifically, Amanda fails to conform to the traditional maternal, feminine roles that have been prescribed by a twentieth century American society. The plot of the play is fairly straightforward. Tom Wingfield narrates his youth in St. Louis during the depression of the 1930s, when he lived at home with his mother, Amanda, and his sister, Laura. Tom is a sensitive, imaginative young man who compensates for a menial job and the drabness of his life by seeking adventures vicariously through "going to the movies."6 The play's action progresses to the climax as Amanda, who anachronistically holds on to her memories of her youth as a genteel southern belle, insists that Tom bring a "gentleman caller" home to Laura, his sister. Laura is a withdrawn, delicate person who is extremely selfconscious because she is physically challenged. When Tom invites a coworker, Jim O'Connor, home for dinner one evening, Jim and Laura— who were casually acquainted in high school—hit it off remarkably well. But expectation soon gives way to despair when Jim reveals that he is already engaged. At the end of the play Tom flees to a life at sea, but no matter how far he travels, Tom cannot escape his guilt-impacted memories of his sister. In my analysis of The Glass Menagerie, I will focus on Amanda Wingfield. Amanda is a mother to her children, at least by the definition of traditional roles of motherhood. She does the socially prescribed duties of bearing children for her husband and domestically providing for them. Throughout the play, whether it is Amanda calling Laura to come to the table for dinner, cooking meals for a "gentleman caller," or simply combing her children's hair, there is an abundance of evidence that Amanda looks out for her children as any traditional mother would do. We find that Amanda provides for the domestic needs of her family in the opening scene of the play. Amanda has just cooked the dinner, and

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harps on her son to come to the table so she and his sister can begin to eat. However, once Tom comes to the table, we begin to see Amanda's true nature. While they eat Amanda's food, Amanda says: Amanda: Tom:

(to her son) Honey, don't push with your fingers....Chew your food and give your salivary glands a chance to function! I haven't enjoyed one bite of this dinner because of your constant directions on how to eat it. It's you that make me rush through meals with your hawklike attention to every bite I take.

Thus, we find out early on that Amanda is an overly protective mother: she intensely scrutinizes her children, to the point of psychologically harming them. For whether it is going through Tom's things to find (and remove) a book by D.H. Lawrence, or simply making Laura feel so selfconscious before a date that she can't even answer the door to a "gentleman caller," Amanda is a mother who stifles her children's growth.7 Yet even though she stifles their development, it must be acknowledged that Amanda does provide for the domestic needs of her family—something that cannot be said for her husband, a telephone man "who fell in love with long distance." However, Amanda fails in the traditional role of femininity/maternal roles in the area of comforting her husband and children. This is first revealed through the actions of her husband. Amanda's husband has "skipped the light fantastic out of town" (5). Many scholars have debated the reasons why he left his family. Some say a poor economy drove him to flight. Even though it is during the Great Depression, Amanda makes it clear that he left a job when he left his family. However, Amanda drove him out with her constant nagging and intense scrutiny. Using Van Horn's sociological terms, it is hard to see Amanda being a "help-mate" for her husband and being nurturing, supportive, encouraging, patient, and loving for her children because she is the exact opposite of these characteristics in the play. On the surface Amanda seems to comfort her children, but this is an illusion. In reality, her daily harpings and impossible expectations/ directions only serve to push her children further away from her; Tom retreats into movies, and Laura retreats into her glass menagerie. At the end of the play, we find Amanda comforting her daughter Laura as the lights go out (metaphorically and literally) in their household. This occurs after the final argument between Amanda and Tom:

Mother-Child Relationships Amanda: Tom: Amanda:

Tom: Amanda:

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(to Tom) Where are you going? I'm going to the movies. That's right, now that you've had us make such fools of ourselves. The effort, the preparations, all the expense! The new floor lamp, the rug, the clothes for Laura! All for what? To entertain some other girl's fiance! Go to the movies, go! Don't think about us, a mother deserted, an unmarried sister who's crippled and has no job! Don't let anything interfere with your selfish pleasure! Just go, go, go—to the movies! All right, I will! The more you shout about my selfishness to me the quicker I'll go, and I won't go to the movies! Go, then! Go to the moon—you selfish dreamer! [Tom smashes his glass on the floor. He plunges out on the fire escape, slamming the door. Laura screams in fright.... Tom's closing speech is timed with what is happening inside the house. We see, as though through soundproof glass, that Amanda appears to be making a comforting speech to Laura, who is huddled upon the sofa. Now that we cannot hear the mother's speech, her silliness is gone and she has dignity and tragic beauty. Laura's hair hides her face until, at the end of the speech, she lifts her head to smile at her mother. Amanda's gestures are slow and graceful, almost dancelike, as she comforts her daughter.]

This scene encapsulates the entire Wingfield family. This scene is dominated by the selfish cruelty of all the Wingfield family members, especially Amanda. It may seem that there is genuine compassion between mother and child in The Glass Menagerie, but there is nothing but cruelty. In this last scene Amanda calls her son a "selfish dreamer," and her daughter a "cripple." Amanda's choice of words are interesting, because in Scene Five Amanda rebukes Tom for calling Laura crippled, exclaiming, "Don't say crippled! You know that I never allow that word to be used!" Similarly, earlier in the play Tom tells his mother to her face "You ugly—babbling old—witch" (24)!8 Cruelty between mother and child abounds in the play. Many literary critics have speculated on the cause of this cruelty between family members. Some argue that Amanda has a neurotic, pathological hatred for her husband, and intentionally inflicts psychological harm on her children to get revenge on her husband for leaving her.9 Scholar Eric P. Levy finds in his article '"Through Soundproof Glass': The Prison of Self-Consciousness in The Glass Menagerie" that Amanda unwittingly exploits her daughter rather than encourages her. Levy argues that Amanda's influence on Laura is negative, citing that Amanda exploits her maternal concern about Laura's lack of marital prospects as a means

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of identifying with her own past when she herself was visited "one Sunday afternoon in Blue Mountain by seventeen gentleman callers." Levy argues that "Amanda turns her daughter into a mirror in which her own flattering self-image is reflected, but to do so she must first turn herself or, more precisely, her parental judgment, into a mirror reflecting Laura's limitations" (Levy 533). After helping Laura dress and groom herself, Amanda instructs her to stand in front of a real mirror: Amanda:

Now look at yourself, young lady. This is the prettiest you will ever be!... I've got to fix myself now! You're going to be surprised by your mother's appearance!" [Then Laura moves slowly to the long mirror and stares solemnly at herself.]

Thus, Amanda slights Laura's appearance even as she praises it. Amanda's solipsism, her over-acute awareness of herself, negatively affects her children, especially Laura. Amanda's cruelty stems from the commodification of individuals that pervades the thinking, actions, and interactions between family members. This commodification of family members is first alluded to early in Scene Two, when Amanda discusses their situation with Laura: Amanda:

(hopelessly fingering the huge pocketbook) So what are we going to do the rest of our lives? Stay at home and watch the parades go by? Amuse ourselves with the glass menagerie, darling? Eternally play those worn-out phonograph records your father left as a painful reminder of him? We won't have a business career— we've given that up because it gave us nervous indigestion! (She laughs wearily)

This passage reveals that Amanda's primary concern is about her own financial situation, and she projects this onto her daughter Laura. Laura is not worried about money, but her mother is. According to Amanda's thinking, Laura needs to "trap" herself a husband, since the alternative is financial ruin for both mother and daughter. Amanda's concern for her daughter is similar to the mother's in Sophie Treadwell's play Machinal (1928). Both mothers are concerned that their daughters marry a man of means so that they themselves will be taken care of in their old age. Getting a gentleman caller for Laura is not motivated by Amanda's love for her daughter, but rather by Amanda's love for money and financial security. Thus, the sociological ties between the mother and her husband and children are dominated by materialism and what I call

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the commodification of self.10 The way in which people become commodities in The Glass Menagerie is through Amanda's perception of her children and others; Amanda views her children as commodities, potential money makers for herself. Thus, Amanda's focus is really on herself, not on her daughter. Her daughter is a pawn to be used to bring home a gentleman caller to financially "save" herself. From Amanda's perspective, her own husband has left her, and if Laura doesn't get one, who is going to take care of her in her old age? At the beginning of Scene Three, Tom narrates Amanda's growing obsession with finding a gentleman caller: Tom:

After the fiasco at Rubicam's Business College, the idea of getting a gentleman caller for Laura began to play a more and more important part in Mother's calculations. It became an obsession. Like some archetype of the universal unconscious, the image of the gentleman caller haunted our small apartment...

This passage reveals the financial undercurrents motivating Amanda's search for a gentleman caller. In fact, Amanda doesn't perceive the gentleman caller by what Marx defines as a "human being." He is simply a commodity that will economically provide for Laura (and Amanda). He isn't a "real" man, but an instrument to provide for Laura and Amanda. Interestingly, Amanda perceived her own gentleman callers in terms of their economic value. Amanda reminisces to her children: Amanda:

There was young Champ Laughlin who later became vice-president of the Delta Planters Bank. Hadley Stevenson who was drowned in Moon Lake and left his widow one hundred and fifty thousand in Government bonds.... And there was that boy every girl in the Delta had set her cap for! That beautiful, brilliant young Fitzhugh boy from Greene County! [He] went North and made a fortune—came to be known as the Wolf of Wall Street! He had the Midas touch, whatever he touched turned to gold! And I could have been Mrs. Duncan J. Fitzhugh, mind you! But— I picked your father!

Clearly, Amanda perceives her young beaux through primarily financial terms, for in every reference to her gentleman callers she comments on the amount of money they made. Admittedly, Amanda acknowledges to her children that she married for love, only later to realize that that was a mistake on her part. "You know I loved your father," Amanda confides to Tom, and yet Amanda believes that she erred by acting on love. It is clear from Amanda's comments that if she would do it all over again, she

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would have picked her husband by his wallet, instead of his charm.11 According to Amanda, the true value of "gentleman callers" is in their exchange-value; it is their potential to make money that makes them valuable commodities to Amanda. As a result, Amanda judges her gentleman callers (and in fact, all men—including her son) in terms of their monetary value. Tom is painfully aware of being simply a commodity to his mother; Amanda values him as nothing more than the $65.00 a month he brings home from his warehouse job. Tom accurately depicts the reality of most individuals' existence in a twentieth century American capitalistic society when he verbalizes his "value" to his mother: Tom:

Listen! You think I'm crazy about the warehouse? (He bends fiercely toward her slight figure.) You think I'm in love with the Continental Shoemakers? You think I want to spend fifty-five years down there in that—Celotex interior! With—fluorescent— tubes! Look! I'd rather somebody picked up a crowbar and battered out my brains—than go back mornings! I go! Every time you come in yelling that damn "Rise and Shine!" "Rise and Shine!" I say to myself, "How lucky dead people are!" But I get up. I go! For sixty-five dollars a month I give up all that I dream of doing and being ever!

While it hurts Tom to be considered a commodity by the society in which he lives, what really hurts him is the fact that his own mother perceives him solely for his money.12 Gilbert Debusscher states in his article "'Where Memory Begins': New Texan Light on The Glass Menagerie" that Tom's altercation with Amanda in Scene Three, and especially the struggle with his overcoat, reveals the disconnectedness between mother and child. Some scholars like John Gassner find Tom's decision to leave home being motivated by "self-preservation," Tom simply wants to escape a reality in which he is nothing more than an expendable commodity. (Fordyce 256) Tom and his father are admittedly quite similar; they both came to the realization that Amanda has defined them solely in terms of the money they bring home. If Amanda "valued" her gentleman callers and Tom by these economic standards, one should not be surprised that she also valued her husband in the same way. This is the real reason Amanda's husband left her, and why her son will soon leave her. Tom sees his "self" as dead, nonexistent to his mom; to his mother, he is the $65 paycheck he brings home every month. Amanda doesn't see her son for who he really is, only in what he makes: money.

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Using Marxist sociological theories, Amanda's maternal compassion towards her son is primarily motivated by economic factors, not maternal love; Amanda simply wants to keep Tom healthy so that he won't lose his warehouse job, she isn't really concerned about his health/welfare. Amanda is not concerned about Tom's desires, dreams, and health. In Scene Five, when Tom tells his mother he is going out to smoke, Amanda replies: Amanda:

You smoke too much. A pack a day at fifteen cents a pack. How much would that amount to in a month? Thirty times fifteen is how much, Tom? Figure it out and you will be astounded at what you could save. Enough to give you a night-school course in accounting at Washington U.! Just think what a wonderful thing that would be for you, son!"

Amanda cares nothing about Tom's health or his personal/intellectual development. She only cares about Tom making more money, and bringing it home to her instead of wasting it on things he enjoys: movies, alcohol, cigarettes, books, etc. Amanda's motivations are again revealed through her dialogue with her son in Scene Four: Amanda: Tom: Amanda: Tom: Amanda: Tom: Amanda: Tom: Amanda: Tom: Amanda:

Promise, so, you'll—never be a drunkard! (turns to her grinning) I will never be a drunkard, Mother. That's what frightened me so, that you'd be drinking! Eat a bowl of Purina! Just coffee, Mother. Shredded wheat biscuit? No. No, Mother, just coffee. You can't put in a day's work on an empty stomach. You've got ten minutes—don't gulp! Drinking too-hot liquids makes cancer of the stomach...Put cream in. No, thank you. To cool it. No! No, thank you, I want it black. I know, but it's not good for you. We have to do all that we can to build ourselves up. In these trying times we live in, all that we have to cling to is—each other....

What really frightens Amanda is not her son's failing health, but his failure to bring home a paycheck. Amanda's maternal acts of love for her children are merely an illusion—she really sees her children as commodities. In Williams' The Glass Menagerie, true family bonds are illusory. It is the love of money that is the real connection between family members.

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Amanda's "kind" and "loving" acts are generated from these motives. She is cheerful and bright in the morning, but that is only an act to get Tom to get up and go to work. Her comment that he has "ten minutes," shows that Amanda exactly knows Tom's work schedule by heart, and she consistently does all she can to make sure Tom is ready to bring home a full-day's wage. It is also interesting that, throughout the play, Amanda acts "motherly" only when she is trying to disguise her true motives—that is her pursuit of money. This is shown when she attempts to probe Tom for more information on the gentleman caller who will be visiting them. When Tom tells his mother that he is going to bring home Jim O'Connor, a gentleman caller, Amanda immediately wants to know his income: Amanda: Tom: Amanda:

(She has gotten a hairbrush) I'm brushing that cowlick down! (She attacks his hair with the brush.) What is this young man's position at the warehouse? (submitting grimly to the brush and the interrogation) This young man's position is that of a shipping clerk, Mother. Sounds to me like a fairly responsible job, the sort of job you would be in if you just had more get-up. What is his salary? Have you any idea?

Combing her son's hair is a maternal gesture merely enacted by Amanda to get her son to reveal Jim's salary. Her maternal acts are simply a facade to mask her true motives. Amanda desires to "sell" her daughter to a wealthy gentleman caller; and while O'Connor's $85 a month salary doesn't impress Amanda, it is $20 more than her son (a fact Tom sardonically acknowledges). Jim O'Connor is more "valuable" to Amanda than her own son, because of the fact that he makes more money than Tom does. Amanda already knows of Tom's plan to leave her and Laura, and yet she won't miss him if he helps her get a gentleman caller to marry Laura and subsequently provide for her and Laura. This is shown in Scene Four, when Amanda exclaims, "I know what you're dreaming of. I'm not standing here blindfolded (She pauses.) Very well, then. Then do it! But not till there's somebody to take your place." Amanda's son is a tradeable commodity to her, for he is only a $65 a month "provider" for her; an $85 a month gentleman caller is an increase in economic revenue over her son's production. Thus, Amanda is much more willing to exchange Tom for a gentleman caller who brings home more money than Tom does, and it is fair to assume that Amanda will readily accept anyone who will bring home more than Tom's $65 a month.

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Being commodified by a capitalistic system affects different individuals differently. Unlike Tom, Jim accepts being defined and valued as a commodity, and in fact he embraces it. He tells Laura, "My signature isn't worth very much right now. But some day—maybe—it will increase in value!" Tom, on the other hand, is psychologically damaged by his commodification, and feels alienated from his true self. He states, "I'm starting to boil inside. I know I seem dreamy, but inside—well, I'm boiling. Whenever I pick up a shoe, I shudder a little thinking how short life is and what I am doing! To conclude, Williams's play The Glass Menagerie seems to suggest that the standardization of the twentieth century capitalistic American society has turned social relations into means of production. As Tom says about his job, "The warehouse is where I work, not where I know about people!" Yet this ideology of perceiving individuals as commodities goes beyond the warehouse—the filial relationships within the Wingfield family, especially the mother-child relationship, become relations between things. David Savran notes that Williams' "Insistently understood the broadly social foundation for the personal tragedies with which so many of his plays are concerned, pointing out that the individual subject is not an isolated monad but a component of a 'society' that insistently 'rapes the individual'" (Savran 80). Amanda is just such an individual, for her thinking is skewed by the capitalistic, materialistic society in which she lives: she views her children as commodities which can produce wealth. Her perception of her children is contrary to the traditionally prescribed role of maternal femininity that American society idealized. Amanda sells subscriptions to The Homemaker's Companion, a magazine that propagates the idea that the "ideal mother" provided for the domestic needs of her husband and children while also comforting them. Yet, ironically, Amanda Wingfield does not conform to this idealized, advertised, and serialized standard of American femininity. Amanda has not comforted her husband and children, but rather she has perceived them as exchangeable commodities through the powerful capitalistic social forces that pervade twentieth century American society. This results in the separation of the family unit, as K. Balachandran finds in her article "Marriage and Family Life in Tennessee Williams." Each one of the family members has gone his or her way: the father heads to Mexico, Tom heads for "adventure," and Laura heads into her imaginary world. As a result, Amanda is a homemaker without a home; her husband and children have left her, and the lights have been turned off. (74)

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IV

The title of Lorraine Hansberry's play A Raisin in the Sun (1959) is inspired by a line from Langston Hughes's poem "A Dream Deferred," and refers to both the subject and plot of the drama: the Younger's, an African American family, are trapped in poverty awaiting the arrival of an insurance policy check for $10,000, following the death of the father.13 Act I deals with the family's situation and attitudes towards their condition and in a series of confrontations, members of the Younger family reveal their different "dreams" in relation to the insurance check. Beneatha wants to use the money for her education, Walter Lee wants money to open a liquor store, and Mama and Ruth believe the family needs a home that will provide Travis with a room of his own. The central tension of the play occurs between Mama's dream and the dream of her son, Walter. Mama rejects Walter's proposal of investing the money in a liquor-store business, which he believes to be the only way to break the cycle of servitude and poverty in which the Younger family is trapped. His dream offers him the potential to regain his pride and dignity, which has been eroded by his work as a chauffeur for the white man: Walter:

I open and close car doors all day long. I drive a man around in his limousine and I say, "Yes, sir; no, sir; very good, sir; shall I take the Drive, sir?' Mama, that ain't no kind of job...that ain't nothing at all. 14

Walter feels oppressed by his inability to find work except that of a driver and chauffeur, and he feels emasculated by both society and his mother, who runs the household. In Act II, Mama begins to fulfill her dream when she announces that she has placed a down payment on a house for the family, a place where she hopes the three generations of Youngers can prosper. The house is located in a white suburb, however. This fact fuels Walter's bitterness as his hope of opening a liquor store fades. He articulates his anger in terms of his dream: "So you butchered up a dream of mine—you—who always talking 'bout your children's dreams." Fearful that his bitterness will destroy him, Mama entrusts the remainder of the $10,000 to Walter. However, Walter's friend double-crosses him by stealing the money and disappearing. In Act III Walter, diminished and beaten as much by his failure of judgment as by the loss of the money, proposes to accept a lucrative bribe offered by a white man in an effort to keep the Youngers out of the

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white suburb where Mama has chosen their house. Eventually Walter finds the strength and pride to reject the bribe. The play ends with the Youngers moving out of their cramped apartment on their way to their new home in the suburbs.15 Mama sincerely and deeply interacts with all members of the Younger family. In many respects she is the ideal mother; she is both the mother to her husband's children, and the domestic provider for her family. Mama has given birth to two "fine" children for Big Walter, although she did lose one child—Claude. Mama remembers her husband while talking to Ruth: Mama:

Honey, Big Walter would come in on that couch there and just look at the rug, and look at me and look at the rug and then back at me—and I'd know he was down then...really down, (after a second very long and thoughtful pause; she is seeing back to times that only she can see) And then, Lord, when I lost that baby—little Claude—I almost thought I was going to lose Big Walter too. Oh, that man grieved hisself! He was one man to love his children.

It is interesting that Mama comments on how Big Walter's gaze would reflect back and forth between the rug and Mama. Mama's comment that Big Walter "worked himself to death" suggests the commodification of humanity; people are exploited by a twentieth century American society in order to produce things. Big Walter is just like his rug, for both have been walked on by a society that devalues people. A pivotal scene in the play occurs when Mama discovers that Ruth is pregnant. Ruth has not shared this knowledge with the rest of the family because she does not intend to keep the baby. When Mama realizes that Ruth has been to a doctor who performs abortions, she informs Walter, and the ensuing conversation reveals what lies at the heart of Walter's strange behavior. Walter's confession that money is life illustrates the centrality of money within the twentieth century capitalistic American society. When Mama reveals to Walter that Ruth is pregnant and considering "getting rid of that child," he replies "Ruth wouldn't do that." But in fact Ruth would, proven when she admits to having given the doctor "a five-dollar down payment." Ruth's actions reveal how money affects the traditional maternal, feminine roles; Ruth's decision to kill her baby goes directly against the primary role of a mother: to bear children. The desire for money has inverted the maternal roles in twentieth century American society, where a mother will consider destroying her child over money.16

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Both Mama and Ruth pass the second traditional requirement of maternal femininity—being a domestic provider for her family. While both Ruth and Mama do domestic work, Mama stands out because she looks out for everyone's needs before herself. The first thing Mama says in the play is to tell her daughter, Beneatha, to put on a robe because it's cold. She carefully monitors her daughter-in-law's health, telling her to rest and "leave some ironing for me to do." Mama even watches out for her small plant, giving it attention and love. Mama does the most domestic work—cleaning, cooking, etc—in the Younger family, and more than provides the domestic duties of traditional motherhood. The biggest way she provides for her family domestically is in allowing them all to reside in her small apartment. In fact, Mama goes out of her way to make everyone feel comfortable in their small abode, including Walter Lee's wife and son. Ruth describes this apartment as a "rat trap," however. Yet while some may perceive her apartment as a "rat trap," Mama remembers the dreams that she once had with her husband when they moved into it: Mama:

(looking up at the words "rat trap" and then looking around and leaning back and sighing—in a suddenly reflective mood) "Rat trap"—yes, that's all it is. (smiling) I remember just as well the day me and Big Walter moved in here. Hadn't been married but two weeks and wasn't planning on living here no more than a year, (she shakes her head at the dissolved dream) We was going to set away, little by little, don't you know, and buy a little place out in Morgan Park. We had even picked out the house. (chuckling a little) Looks right dumpy today. But Lord, child, you should know all the dreams I had 'bout buying that house and fixing it up and making me a little garden in the back—(she waits and stops smiling) And didn't none of it happen, (dropping her hands in a futile gesture)

Mama never intended for that apartment to be permanent. Yet the harshness of a capitalistic, exploitative society has forced the Youngers into existing under inadequate living conditions. But despite an economic system that disenfranchises the Youngers, Mama prevails in providing a domestic environment that, even if it is flawed, satisfies the basic needs of the entire family. It is interesting to point out that all the dreams of the family members within the Younger family are commodified. Mama's and Ruth's dreams are commodified by a twentieth century capitalistic, materialistic society which elevates things above all else. Both Mama and Ruth dream about

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a tangible thing, namely a house. Similarly, Walter's dreams are a liquor store, and Travis wants fifty-cents. Only Beneatha's dream of being a doctor is not commodified by a materialistic society, although one may suspect (like Walter does) that Beneatha's motives are not as altruistic as she claims.17 Mama fails in the third traditionally defined roles of maternal femininity, as a comforter of her children. This is most obvious through her relationship with her son, Walter. When the $10,000 check comes, Walter's dream is to use the money to start a liquor store, although Mama has other plans. And when she puts $3,500 into buying a new house, Walter is crushed. When Mama asks for his blessing, Walter responds: Walter:

What you need me to say you done right for? You the head of this family. You run our lives like you want to. It was your money and you did what you wanted with it. So what you need for me to say it was all right for? (bitterly, to hurt her as deeply as he knows is possible) So you butchered up a dream of mine—you— who always talking 'bout your children's dreams...

Walter's dreams hinge on money, as all of the Younger's dreams do. Scholar Mary F. Burks finds in her article "Black Matriarchy: Portrayals of Women in Three Plays" that by ignoring her son's plea for money to invest in the liquor store venture, Mama has contributed to her son's emasculation. Walter is emasculated both by the society he lives in and his mother. Like Tom Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie, Walter finds his mother's tyranny in controlling their lives hard to take, and he must escape his home to the bars and jazz music to (at least temporarily) suspend the painful reality that is his existence. Twentieth century American society, his mother, and even his wife perceive Walter as simply a commodity that must work and produce money, no matter what psychological pain he feels. The mother-child relationships in the play A Raisin in the Sun hinge on money. This is first shown in Travis's comments to his mother Ruth: Travis: Ruth: Travis: Ruth: Travis: Ruth:

Mama, this is Friday, (gleefully) Check coming tomorrow, huh? You get your mind off money and eat your breakfast. This is the morning we supposed to bring the fifty cents to school. Well, I ain't got no fifty cents this morning. Teacher say we have to. I don't care what teacher say. I ain't got it. Eat your breakfast, Travis.

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Similarly, money also plays an integral role between Walter and his mother: Mama: Walter: Mama: Walter:

Son—how come you talk so much 'bout money? (with immense passion) Because it is life, Mama! Oh—So now it's life. Money is life. Once upon a time freedom used to be life—now it's money. I guess the world really do change... No—it was always money, Mama. We just didn't know about it.

The distance between Mama and her children is caused by their open acceptance of society's materialistic ideals that identify them as merely commodities, ideals that Mama rejects. Mama believes in the value of God, but her children have put their faith in money. Walter and Beneatha would rather have material "things" than religion. In A Raisin in the Sun, money permeates the deepest levels within mother-child relationships; money motivates (and one can argue sustains) the filial relationships in the Younger family, and ultimately causes the child to challenge the mother. This first occurs in the scene when Mama reveals that she bought the house. When Mama gets home and asks where Travis is, Ruth exclaims that she is going to spank him for being late. Walter then challenges his mother, demanding to know where she has been: Walter: Mama: Walter:

Where did you go this afternoon? You know better than to question me like a child, Brother. (rising and bending over the table) Where were you, Mama? (bringing his fist down and shouting) Mama, you didn't do something with that insurance money, something crazy?

Money affects mother-child relationships in twentieth century American society, dramatically shown through Lorraine Hansberry's play. In an interesting note, Mama doesn't recognize her children exactly at the moment when she realizes that the money is gone.18 It is important to realize that Mama's pain is not caused by Walter's stupidity, nor the large amount of money lost. The $10,000 is Big Walter, for the $10,000 check represents the last physical manifestation of Mama's husband. Indeed, it is the exact value of a man as determined by the insurance company. Even Walter painfully exclaims, "Man.. .That money is made out of my father's flesh..." (139). Thus, the ultimate commodification of the individual in twentieth century society occurs in Lorraine Hansberry's play A Raisin in the Sun. Mama is grieved not from the squandering of the money, but because

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that money was Big Walter. Sadly, Big Walter was squandered and wasted, ironically by his son—the supposed inheritor of Big Walter's legacy. All of the Younger's dreams go up in smoke when Walter loses the money; all their dreams will be deferred, a result of the commodification of their dreams. Using sociological criticism and Marxist theories, I have attempted to show how, twentieth century capitalism affects the American mother's role within selected plays of American drama. Due to the capitalistic demands placed on individuals to value money more than people, the American mother "fails" to fulfill these traditionally prescribed maternal duties. Mothers in twentieth century American society fail to live up to the traditional maternalistic responsibilities society sets for them for several reasons, but the main reason is because society commodities individuals into things. Mothers internalize these materialistic standards in their relationships with their husbands and children, resulting in the perception that family members are commodities, or things. Ironically, by accepting and internalizing capitalism's ideologies, mothers alienate themselves from traditional constructs of maternal responsibilities and definitions of femininity, and subsequently alienate themselves from their own family members. Notes 1. Wendy Wasserstein's play The Heidi Chronicles (1989) also explores complex motherchild relationships within twentieth century American society. 2. Interestingly enough, Mary's single longest reminiscence in this entire section is not about a person, but a thing: her wedding gown. 3. Regina's intent is to acquire great wealth at any "human cost," even if that cost means the death of her own husband. The audience is made terribly aware of just how much Horace (and perhaps they themselves) underestimated Regina's avarice, for the audience is as helpless as Horace. 4. Addie, the servant of the Giddens household, mirrors Cathleen, the Tyrones' servant in O'Neill's play Long Day's Journey into Night. Both women perform the domesticated maternal duties, even though they are not the biological "mother" of the family. 5. Regina Giddens is similar to Mary Tyrone in O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night in that they both value paternal love in terms of money; both Regina and Mary believed that their fathers loved them through the amount of "things" their fathers gave to them. 6. Many scholars have debated whether or not Tom really goes to the movies, or engages in illicit/immoral acts. However, despite what his mother insinuates, Tom really does simply go to the movies. 7. Jim O'Connor realized at the end of the play that Laura needed her confidence built up. Unfortunately for Laura, however, Jim is a "gentleman caller" who will

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never call. 8. Tom's demonstrative outburst against his mother mirrors Edmund's in Long Day's Journey into Night, 9. In Daniel E. Lees article "The Glass Menagerie: A Black 'Cinderella'," he compares Amanda to the evil stepmother in the Grimms' fairy tale. Laura is Cinderella, and Jim O'Connor is the Prince. (31) 10. Similarly, the father himself is commodified into a "thing," namely a "larger-thanlife" picture hanging on the wall and a phonograph that his daughter incessantly plays. 11. Amanda makes the "tragic mistake" that Regina, in The Little Foxes, doesn't make. Regina knew only too well that love is determined by money, and didn't confuse emotional concerns with financial concerns. 12. While I analyze Tom's experience through Marxist sociological terms, T. Williams own psychoanalytical term for Tom's frustration is "infantile omnipotence." Williams explains: "that all a baby has to do is cry out and it will be comforted. Yet when that baby grows up, the infant meets a world which is less permissive, less tender and comforting, and it misses the maternal arms—the maternal comfort—and therefore it becomes outraged and angry" (Parker 521). 13. The presence of Mama's husband is tangibly felt through the $10,000 check, just as Amanda Wingfield's husband in The Glass Menagerie is "real" through his picture on the wall. 14. Walter Lee's frustration at being an "exploitable commodity" within a capitalistic society mirrors Tom Wingfield's in The Glass Menagerie. 15. An earlier draft of the play ended with the Youngers in their new home, preparing to face a racial attack within the white suburb. 16. Ironically, Ruth must spend money even to destroy her child when the very reason she is killing it is her lack of money. 17. Walter's frustrations with his sister are due to her lack of producing money, not her feminist ideals. In her brother's eyes, Beneatha is a commodity who is failing to make money; she doesn't work, only wastes her time with guitar lessons, horseback riding, and play acting, all in order to "express herself," not make money. 18. Similarly, Mary Tyrone doesn't recognize her husband and son at the end of Long Day's Journey into Night, although that is because she is high on morphine.

Chapter 4 Cowboy: Harold:

Non-Traditional Families Michael, aren't you going to call anyone? How could he? He's never loved anyone. The Boys in the Band Mart Crowley

In the previous chapters of this study I have attempted to analyze twentieth century American plays using Marxist sociological theories and criticism. All the plays I have examined so far have been based on families, and these families have been predominantly traditional, nuclear families. However, this study would be incomplete without a look at plays which deal with families that do not fit traditional family structure; non-traditional families are a reality in twentieth century American society, and contemporary American dramatists eloquently and powerfully acknowledge this reality. From Tony Kushner's brilliant two-part play Angels in America to Cherrie Moraga's moving play Giving Up the Ghost, contemporary twentieth century American playwrights have begun to openly explore issues and themes relating to gay, lesbian, and bisexual relationships—specifically those within the social context of the family.1 In this chapter, I will explore how gay, lesbian, and bisexual families are affected by a capitalistic American society. Through my analysis of selected twentieth century American plays, I hope to better illuminate how materialistic, capitalistic social forces of the twentieth century have impacted not only families whose members are heterosexual, but also those who are gay, lesbian, and bisexual. Capitalist ideologies have enshrined the traditional family system as the source of love, affection, and emotional security. However, while twentieth century American society is elevating the ideal of the American family, economic forces of American society are working at the same time to redefine family members in terms of commodities. Family members (consciously or unconsciously) internalize these assumptions within their relationships, resulting in family members of both traditional and non-traditional families perceiving themselves (and other family members) as commodities. In this chapter, I will analyze four twentieth century American plays that deal with "non-traditional" families. Specifically, I will analyze plays whose topics include lesbian families, gay families, and bisexual families.

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Using Marxist sociological criticism, I will explore how family members of these non-traditional families can be commodified by an American capitalistic system, just as family members in traditional, nuclear families are commodified. Whether it is between bisexual partners, gay fathers and their children, or lesbian mothers and their children, the members of non-traditional families perceive each other as commodities rather than individuals who contain an inherent and intrinsic, non-economic value. To explore this, I will analyze the following four plays: Lillian Hellman's The Children's Hour (1934), Mart Crowley's The Boys in the Band (1968), David Rabe's Streamers (1976), and Cheryl L. West's play Before it Hits Home (1989).

Analyzing filial relationships in Lillian Hellman's play The Children's Hour (1934), one can understand the role of money and the commodification of family members. Scholars like Philip M. Armato in his article '"Good and Evil' in Lillian Hellman's The Children's Hour" find that the relationships in the play are based on the victim-victimizer pattern, arguing that Mary victimizes Karen, and Lily victimizes Martha. However, all the family members in the play, both from traditional and non-traditional families, perceive other family members as commodities—things that make money. I don't believe that they are intentionally trying to victimize someone; they are simply seeing that individual as a commodity instead of a "human being." (Armato 444) The Children's Hour is set at a girls' boarding school run by two longtime friends, Martha Dobie and Karen Wright. Martha's aunt, Mrs. Lily Mortar, a former actress, assists the two women. Karen is engaged to a local doctor, Joe Cardin, and the engagement appears to threaten Martha, who fears she will lose her relationship with Karen. When one of the students, Mary Tilford, accuses Karen and Martha of having a lesbian relationship, the parents quickly withdraw their daughters from the school. As their school fails, Karen breaks off her engagement with Joe, and Martha—in despair at the ruin of their lives—confesses that she has indeed loved Karen in "the way they said" (481) and then commits suicide.2 The first and most obvious filial relationship based on money is between Martha Dobie and her aunt Lily Mortar. From the beginning of the play we can see that Lily is not emotionally dependent on Martha, only financially so. In Act One, when Martha tells Lily she wants Lily to

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take a "sabbatical," Lily responds by outwardly acting as if she has been snubbed and is too proud to take money to leave. However, the reality is she is more than happy to take Martha's money and run: Martha: Lily: Martha: Lily: Martha:

The truth is I'd like you to leave soon. The three of us can't live together, and it doesn't make any difference whose fault it is. You wish me to go tonight? Don't act, Aunt Lily. Go as soon as you've found a place you like. I'll put the money in the bank for you tomorrow. You think I'd take your money? I'd rather scrub floors first. You'll change your mind.

Of course Martha is correct; she knows Lily will take her money. Why should Lily change now? For years she has been taking her niece's money; Lily and Martha's relationship is one based on money, not love. Lily puts her playacting skills to good use in attempting to pretend she has an emotional connection with Martha, but it is quite evident that she has no love for Martha. Lily's solipsistic nature reveals the reality that she loves herself too much to have any room for her niece, and this is apparent by how long she stays away. Instead of coming back to help defend her niece in the libel case, Lily romps around the country visiting playhouses. The fact that Lily leaves for so long (she only comes back when her money runs out) reveals the true level of affection she has for her niece. In return, Martha reciprocates Lily's lack of love when in Act Three she turns her aunt out: Martha: Lily: Martha: Lily: Martha:

There's an eight o'clock train. Get on it. Martha. You've come back to pick the bones dry. There's nothing here for you. (sniffling a little) How can you talk to me like that? Because I hate you. I've always hated you.

In The Children's Hour, not only are heterosexual relationships affected by a capitalistic society in valuing individuals as commodities, but homosexual relationships are also commodified under these same economic/social forces. Perhaps the greatest example of a non-traditional family bowing to the pressure of money in all of twentieth century American drama is Karen and Martha's lesbian relationship. One can interpret their school to be in fact a lesbian family. It is an organized structure of individuals headed by two women, with all female co-workers and students. Karen and Martha are the parents of this non-traditional family, and their children are all the girls who attend the school. In Act

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One, Martha even admits to this: Martha: Lily: Martha:

(thoughtfully) You know, it's really bad having you around children. What exactly does that mean? It means that I don't like them hearing the things you say. Oh, I'll "do something about it," but the truth is that this is their home, and things shouldn't be said in it that they can't hear.

Thus, if Karen and Martha are indeed lesbian mothers to their students, then they are about to be challenged by their "daughter," Mary Tilford. Mary is the "black sheep" of the family. Being the daughter who cannot be happy, Mary causes constant trouble and turmoil within this family, and eventually—albeit indirectly—destroys it. Mary perceives her family members as commodities. The most obvious example of this is in her perception of her grandmother. When Mary tells the other girls that "they're scared of Grandma—she helped 'em when they first started, you know—and when she tells 'em something, believe me, they'll sit up and listen," she reveals how she sees her grandmother as a very valuable commodity. Mary values her grandmother, however, because of her wealth—her grandmother's personal qualities are completely ignored by Mary. Similarly, Mary also perceives her fellow classmates, her "sisters," in terms of money. When she demands, "Who's got any money?", she cares nothing about the other girls except for the amount of money they are carrying. In her solipsistic focus, Mary sees them in economic terms, and therefore she values them according to how much money they have. It is obvious that Mary cares nothing for other people beyond the money and influence they have which she can take and use for her own benefit; Mary's moral center is lost, and her values are completely determined by economic forces of a twentieth century American society.3 Ultimately, Mary causes this "non-traditional family" to be destroyed by tapping into the deeply homophobic society that is twentieth century America.4 Ironically, however, this is made possible by the reality that family members love money more than each other. If Martha hadn't turned Lily out, Lily would never have insinuated that Martha and Karen were lesbians. Similarly, if Rosalie hadn't stolen Mary's gold locket and buckle, Mary would not have had anything to blackmail her over in order to learn of Lily's insinuation. Thus, money is the central cause of the destruction of this non-traditional family. By unleashing social and economic forces against Karen and Martha's family, Mary's actions

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ultimately lead to the complete and utter destruction of this lesbian family. This destruction is symbolized in Mary's act of destroying the ornament. Karen: Evelyn: Mary: Evelyn:

(To girls) Go up now and move your things. Tell Lois to get her stuff ready. (She and Joe exit center. A second after the door is closed, Mary springs up and throws a cushion at the door.) Don't do that. She'll hear you. Who cares if she does? (Kicks table) And she can hear that, too. (Small ornament falls off table and breaks on floor. Evelyn and Peggy gasp.) (frightened) Now what are you going to do?

The fact is Mary isn't going to do anything. And just as she destroys the small ornament, she will also destroy this lesbian family. Up to this point in the play, the information that has circulated among the schoolgirls about Karen and Martha has had no specific exchange-value. Although rumors have traveled throughout the school, Karen and Martha have had no material consequences as a result of the rumors until Mary tells her grandmother.5 In her essay entitled "'She Could Hardly Invent Them!' From Epistemological Uncertainty to Discursive Production: Lesbianism in The Children's Hour" literary scholar Julia Erhart notes that "in a pivotal scene that evidences Mary's skill as a manipulator and finally propels the rumor into the circuit of exchange, the insinuation of lesbianism becomes the currency that purchases Mary's freedom." Thus, information itself is considered currency in a capitalistic twentieth century American society that values family members in economic terms. The play ends with Martha terminating her lesbian relationship with Karen by committing suicide. While critics have suggested that she was distraught over the fact that Joe left Karen, it was (at least in part) due to economic pressures that a capitalistic, twentieth century American society exerted over all individuals—both within traditional and non-traditional families. It was obvious to both Karen and Martha that they could not be teachers anymore—one of the few jobs widely available to women in America during the 1930s, and when Martha realized that she and Karen could no longer afford their lesbian family, she shoots herself. Martha is not willing to persevere with Karen through the tough financial times that certainly seemed to be ahead of them. Ironically, Martha kills herself before Mrs. Tilford arrives with her offer to become their financial benefactor.6 Scholars have long questioned why Hellman found it necessary to kill the one openly lesbian character in her first play. Mary Titus argues in her article "Murdering the Lesbian: Lillian Hellman's The Children's Hour"

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that Hellman murders Martha to appease a homophobic public which would be watching her plays. Another literary scholar, Doris Falk, suggests that, "Hellman sought to divide her professional self from an only halfacknowledged sexual self in order to exorcise the latter."

II In Mart Crowley's play The Boys in the Band (1968), a very special, nontraditional "family" appears in the likes of seven homosexual men; Michael, Donald, Emory, Larry, Hank, Bernard, and Harold constitute a "family" within the sociological meaning of the term. Interestingly, Timothy Scheie makes the comment in his journal article "Acting Gay in the Age of Queer: Pondering the Revival of The Boys in the Band" that the breakthrough quality of the play was its "inclusion of gays in the great 'human' family that validated the play" (Scheie 5). When Crowley's play was first produced in 1968, it was considered a landmark production since it was the first commercial play to openly deal with homosexual characters. The plot of Mart Crowley's play The Boys in the Band is fairly straightforward: the play is set in Michael's New York apartment as he is preparing to host a birthday party for his homosexual friend, Harold. Literary critics have described Michael as the play's anti-hero, and the play begins with him and his friend Donald making preparations for the party. In the distant past Michael and Donald were briefly lovers; now they are simply neurotic homosexual men who share the same psychoanalyst. Completing the party are Emory, Bernard, and the only true couple: Hank and Larry. However, Hank is upset with Larry because Larry is openly promiscuous with other men while in his relationship with Hank. The play introduces two unexpected guests to this somewhat bizarre birthday celebration: the Cowboy, who is a birthday present for Harold from Emory, and Alan, Michael's college chum who, having had an argument with his wife, just happens to drop in to visit his old college buddy. Timothy Scheie finds that: "The characters in The Boys in the Band, though similar in some respects, are also black and white, nelly and butch, conservative and free-thinking, Catholic and Jewish, city-dwellers and suburbanites.. .the list could go on. They are a heterogeneous bunch who appear to have very little in common." However, while they do have their differences, one thing they have in common is the way they perceive other individuals as commodities within

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twentieth century, capitalistic American society. In Act One, the traditional trappings of a family occur within this non-traditional homosexual family: they serve hors-d'oeuvres, sing happy birthday, and give gifts. This tight, non-traditional family is celebrating a member's birthday (Harold), and therefore they all come over to celebrate.8 At the end of Act One the audience is given a clue to the closeness of this "family," as they begin to dance together. Larry: Bernard: Emory: Larry: Michael:

Hey, Bernard, you remember that thing we used to do on Fire Island? (Larry starts to do a kind of Madison) That was "in" so far back I think I've forgotten. I remember. (Pops up—starts doing the steps. Larry and Bernard start to follow) Yeah. That's it. (Michael enters from the kitchen, falls in line with them) Well, if it isn't the Geriatrics Rockettes. [Now they are all doing practically a precision routine.]

While they dance together in precise, uniform motion, Alan—an outsider—enters and temporarily joins this family. Yet Alan politely asks to leave when he witnesses the despair and loneliness that permeates this non-traditional family. Alan finds himself intruding into a family affair, and the most obvious and painful reality that this "family" must accept is that they do not love each other—the relationships within this nontraditional family are based on money. This fact is revealed as one family member verbally insults the other, identifying their family member's weaknesses. In Act One, whether it's Michael calling Donald a "Sunt! That's French, with a cedilla, [gives him a crooked third finger, goes to mirror]," or Bernard and Emory verbally abusing each other, all the boys in the band are cruel to one another. One example that reveals this is an argument between Bernard and Emory: Bernard: Emory:

Emory, you'd live with Hank in a minute, if he'd ask you. In fiftyeight seconds. Lord knows, you're sssensitive. Why don't you have a piece of watermelon and hush up!

Here, Bernard rudely picks on Emory's lisp, while Emory insults Bernard's blackness. And when Hank and Larry enter the scene, it becomes clear that Larry and Donald have had a sexual encounter with each other in the past. When Hank confronts Larry with this, Emory announces, "I think they're going to have their first fight." To which Larry comments "The first one since we got out of the taxi." It is abundantly clear that all

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three homosexual "couples" within this family continuously challenge each other verbally, provoking one another through their comments to each other.9 The reality concerning the three homosexual couples in this play— Michael and Donald; Hank and Larry; Emory and Bernard—is that they don't love each other. Each one uses his partner as a commodity for his own gain; the boys in this band are simply things to be used by each other, especially in gratifying their own sexual needs. This is best revealed by the fact that there is no fidelity within their relationships. Donald admits his infidelity to Michael, and Bernard knows that Emory would leave him in a minute if someone better looking than he hit on Emory. Hank and Larry have a lover's spat regarding this subject, with Larry admitting: Larry:

I can't take all that let's-be-faithful-and-never-look-at-anotherperson routine. It just doesn't work. If you want to promise that, fine. Then do it and stick to it. But if you have to promise it—as far as I'm concerned—nothing finishes a relationship faster.

Infidelity permeates all of the relationships with the boys in the band, including the stranger Alan. By the end of the play it becomes obvious that he really "loves" Michael, and the reason he "stops by" is that he wanted to tell him so. Ironically, however, Michael's game 'Affairs of the Heart' forces Alan to do just the opposite of what Michael intended.10 In this game Michael instructs them on the rules of the game: "We all have to call on the telephone the one person we truly believe we have loved." Well, Alan's one person is Michael, for whom he left his wife to come visit and reveal his true love. However, under great duress, Alan folds and calls his wife, thus failing to come clean with his "true love." One can only guess that through seeing the empty, unloved lives of the boys in the band, Alan decides he'd rather be with a woman he doesn't love than a man he does. Alan, seeing the homosexual couples valuing each other simply in economic terms of being tradeable commodities, returns to his wife. Some literary and film scholars have noted that Crowley's The Boys in the Band subtly favors heterosexuality over homosexuality, arguing that the play unduly stresses the conflicts of homosexual relationships more than those within male-female relationships. The scene that most clearly illustrates the method by which the play affirms heterosexual norms involves the telephone "truth game" that ends the play. Of all the characters who "play" the game, only two win. Alan, a married "straight"

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man, and Larry, whose emotional commitment to his gay lover emulates the model of monogamous heterosexual marriage, both win; Bernard, Emory and Hank, the other players, all lose.11 Interestingly, historical scholar Philip Gambone writes that "after the Stonewall uprising, monogamous gay mating was an unimaginative and even oppressive copy of heterosexual marriage; as gay and lesbian people, we were free to love, have sex with, and show affection for others outside the realm of 'marriage.'" While some gay men may have found the traditional mold of monogamous marriage confining, Crowley seems to reinforce and elevate heterosexual values within the homosexual relationships in the play. In addition to reinscribing traditional values within non-traditional families, Crowley also reveals how homosexual relationships, like heterosexual relationships, become commodified in a twentieth century capitalistic American society. (Carrithers 64) In The Boys in the Band, the most obvious example of the commodification of the homosexual occurs with the character Cowboy, for he is—quite literally—Harold's gift. And at the end of his birthday party, Harold plans on using his gift: Harold: Cowboy:

(Harold goes to Cowboy) Come on, Tex. Let's go to my place. (Cowboy gets up, comes to him) Are you good in bed? Well.. .I'm not like the average hustler you'd meet. I try to show a little affection—it keeps me from feeling like such a whore.

What Cowboy doesn't understand is that affection is not required of him. For none of the boys in the band need or show affection with their "lovers." All they want is just what Harold asks for: good sex. None of the homosexual relationships in the play ask for or demand emotional "affection" as a necessary ingredient to the relationship. In fact, "affection" is exactly what they don't want, for it complicates the relationship by confusing and angering the homosexual partners. Hank's account of his first homosexual encounter also reveals how sexual contact mirrors individuals as simply commodities being traded. After meeting a total stranger in the men's room of Grand Central Station, Hank remarks: Hank:

I'd never done anything like that in my life before and I was scared to death. But he turned out to be a nice fellow. I've never seen him again and it's funny I can't even remember his name any more. Anyway. After that, it got easier.

Hank's initial infidelity to his wife makes future homosexual

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encounters easier to do and accept. For the basis of these encounters isn't love, despite what they might tell themselves. Love involves deep levels of commitment, sacrifice, and affection— the very things the boys in the band can't/don't offer. All of the boys can and are indiscriminately traded between each other. Larry has sex with Donald, and Michael has sex with Alan's "lover." They all seem to have sex with one another, making this family quite non-traditional. In addition, they all seem quite comfortable with themselves being perceived as commodities valued simply by their use and exchange-value. In Michael and Emory's discussion on how much Emory paid for Cowboy, Emory comments, "He was a steal." Michael then replies by saying, "He's a ham sandwich—fifty cents any time of the day or night." Interestingly, Cowboy comments on his own value when he asserts, "I'm not a steal! I cost twenty dollars." Cowboy's comment reveals the pervasiveness and power of a twentieth century society that affects the self-consciousness of the individual. Finding himself within a materialistic, capitalistic society, Cowboy in turn perceives himself as a commodity; he is available for rent or purchase for the grand sum of $20.00. In The Boys in the Band, Mart Crowley intends to reveal how homosexuals are perceived within a capitalistic society as commodities to be traded. This is perhaps best symbolized by Michael's sweaters, which throughout the play he impulsively pulls out of his closet, puts on, and then quickly takes off and throws on the floor, only to go and get another sweater. In Act I, Michael's actions are revealed: "Michael takes a sweater out of a chest, pulls it on. Pause. Michael suddenly tears off his sweater, throws it in the air, letting it land where it may, whips out another, pulls it on as he starts down the stairs for the living room."

The homosexual men in this family are the sweaters, which are quickly used and discarded by each other as a result of their careless "flings." These men are merely things to be used indiscriminately and then thrown away, not individuals with inherent worth.12 Thus, twentieth century capitalistic American society commodifies homosexual men as "things" within non-traditional families; their intrinsic value is ignored, and their use-value is determined by their immediate "sexual" value to gratify each other's sexual impulses. This commodification of the homosexual is also reflected in Tennessee Williams 1958 play Suddenly Last Summer, a play that Crowley indirectly refers to in The Boys in the Band. In Act Two, Michael alludes to Sebastian, a character in Suddenly Last Summer, when he wonders what character in

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a play was "a fairy who was eaten alive. I mean the chop-chop variety." Michael is referring to Sebastian Venable, although the boys don't understand the reference. In Williams' play, as in Crowley's, the commodification of the individual occurs. In Suddenly Last Summer, Sebastian manipulates his homosexual partners like exchangeable commodities. Catherine, Sebastian's cousin and traveling companion, remembers the day last summer when: Catherine:

Cousin Sebastian said he was famished for blonds, he was fed up with the dark ones and was famished for blonds. All the travel brochures he picked up were advertisements of the blond northern countries. I think he'd already booked us to—Copenhagen, or—Stockholm. -Fed up with dark ones, famished for light ones: that's how he talked about people, as if they were—items on a menu.

While most critics argue that the commodification of individuals is Sebastian's fatal flaw, the treating of people as commodities is a reality of a twentieth century capitalistic society that dehumanizes human beings by perceiving them as commodities. Sebastian exchanged other people in order to fulfill his own homosexual desires; he "used his mother and Catherine as objects" to attract boys to himself without fear of being exposed. Thus, Sebastian's homosexual relations operate under the reality that people are commodities; individuals are perceived as objects to be exchanged for another of equal value. (Bruhm 531) To conclude, the boys in Crowley's band are completely focused on the material, physical world. They are consumed with things because the twentieth century capitalistic, materialistic society in which they find themselves elevates material things above all others. Michael is an incorrigible, even obsessive "consumer"—of travel, clothes, and simply things. So, in his own way, is Harold; but, unlike Michael, he doesn't do it on credit: Harold pays for the cosmetics, astringents, and pills he buys. The most egregious example of how individuals become things, or commodities, in The Boys in the Band is shown in the character of Cowboy. Cowboy, Emory's present for Harold, reveals the ultimate consequence in the commodification of the homosexual. At the end of Act One when Donald tells Cowboy, "Would you mind waiting over there with the gifts? [Cowboy moves over to where the gift-wrapped packages have been put]." Mart Crowley intends to dramatically show that the twentieth century capitalistic American society commodities individuals by making people see others as objects rather than as human beings.

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III A contemporary American classic in American drama, David Rabe's play Streamers (1976), powerfully reveals how twentieth century American society commodifies homosexuals. The final play in his Vietnam trilogy, Streamers deals with the subject of manhood in the lives of U.S. Army soldiers.13 It won the New York Drama Critics Circle Award as the best American play of 1976, and has been considered a masterpiece by many critics—both dramatic and literary. (Kolin 67) The non-traditional family we find in Rabe's play is made up of three bunkmates stationed in a U.S. Army barracks during the Vietnam War. Rooney, Cokes, Billy, Roger, and Richie all form a family; Rooney and Cokes are the parents, and Billy, Roger, and Richie are the children. The plot is fairly simple: set in a Virginia barracks, the play revolves around the interaction of a few soldiers awaiting their assignments during the Vietnam War. The soldiers come from diverse backgrounds, however. Richie and Billy are white, and Roger is black. Richie is gay; Roger and Billy are straight. Richie is from the city, Billy from rural Wisconsin. Richie is from a wealthy social class, Billy from a middle-class family, and Roger is from a lower economic class. Thus, one can conclude that this "family" is a cross-section of American society. The barracks themselves are frequently described as "a home," "my house," and as a "happy family;" Carlyle mocks, "We gonna be one big happy family." However, this happy family changes after Carlyle joins them. In Act Two, when Richie and Carlyle ask Billy and Roger to leave the room so that they can engage in homosexual acts, Roger and Billy reject leaving. Roger responds by telling Carlyle, "Man, we live here!" Richie counters, saying, "It's my house, too, Roger; I live here, too." Roger cannot argue with this, for Roger, Billy, and Ritchie all believe that they make up a family, and their home is their barracks. Yet when Roger consents to Ritchie's request, Billy stubbornly refuses saying, "I ain't gonna have this going on here; Roger, I can't." (Kolin 63) The fact this group of men is indeed a family is alluded to throughout the play; all three of them remind the audience of brothers messing with one another. For whether it's Richie teasing Billy about fighting in Alaska, or spraying Billy with cologne after Billy throws a basketball at Richie, they engage in pranks that siblings in a traditional family might play on one another. And if one finds that the three bunkmates can be considered "brothers," then their "parents," sergeants Cokes and Rooney, can be considered a gay couple. This is affirmed throughout the play, for whether

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the audience finds "Rooney hugging Cokes, and almost kissing him on the cheek," or Cokes "looking lovingly at Rooney," their actions display behavior that suggests they are indeed homosexual lovers that have parental duties of looking after their "children." Jack V. Barbera argues in his essay "The Emotion of Multitude and David Rabe's Streamers" that the characters in the play are a microcosm of a family. Barbera states "if the four main characters constitute a failed family, the sergeants in the play act as father figures for that family" (54). Rooney and Cokes are the "parents" of this non-traditional family, a family that is constructed within the institution of the U.S. military. In Act I, they visit their "sons" to check up on them, and perform the traditionally paternalistic act of putting their children to bed: Cokes: Rooney:

Richie: Billy: Roger: Cokes:

It's lights-out time, ain't it, Rooney? Past it, goddammit. So the lights are goin' out. (There is fear in the room, and the three boys rush to their wall lockers, where they start to strip to their underwear, preparing for bed. Rooney paces the room, watching them, glaring.) (rushing to get into bed) Flick out the ole lights, Sergeant; that's what we say. (climbing into bed) Put out the ole lights. (in bed and pulling up the covers) Do it. Shut up. [He rocks forward and back, trying to stand at attention. He is trying to say good night. Making a military left face, he stalks to the wall switch and turns the lights out. Rooney is watching proudly, as Cokes faces the boys again. He looks at them. Cokes and Rooney put their arms around each other and go out the door.]

With "the boys" safely tucked in, Rooney and Cokes can retire for the evening. While their boys squabble with each other, Rooney and Cokes actively enforce their parental duties, making sure that their boys stay safely within parameters that ensure the well-being of them all. If there is any doubt about the homosexuality of Rooney and Cokes, it is extinguished at the end of the play in Cokes speech to Roger: Cokes: Roger: Cokes: Richie: Cokes: Roger: Cokes:

(To Richie) What's up? Hey, what're you crying about? (disgustedly) He's cryin' 'cause he's a queer. Oh. You a queer, boy? Yes, Sergeant. Oh. (Pause.) How long you been a queer? All his life! (turning to scold Roger) Don't be yellin' mean at him. There's a lotta worse things in this world than bein' a queer. I seen a lot of

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama 'em, too. I mean, you could have leukemia. That's worse. That can kill you. I mean, it's okay. You listen to the ole sarge. I mean, maybe I was a queer....

Throughout the play, Rabe explores the difficulty of men communicating with other men—especially gay men revealing their own homosexuality. Richie fails repeatedly to tell Roger and Billy, his "brothers," that he is gay. And Cokes is the same way—only in a drunken reverie can he reveal his deepest secret—that he is a lonely, old, dying gay man. Unlike Roger, Billy and Ritchie, all of whom have a home, Carlyle is homeless. He is frustrated and isolated within a society that prevents him from connecting with other individuals. This is a result of a society that simply sees him as U.S. property, to be used as the military deems necessary.14 When Rabe introduces Carlyle in Act One, Carlyle quickly begins to destabilize this non-traditional family. Literary scholar HansUlrich Mohr argues in his essay "David Rabe's Streamers—Vietnam Drama and Postmodernism" that it is, in fact, Carlyle who triggers the action and who pushes it to its crisis. Without him, life in the household of Roger, Billy and Ritchie would "still be a ritual of silently accepted conventions, of latent fears and superimposed gestures of stifling order.... Carlyle is subversive, or, rather, provocative and revealing" (Gortschacher 140-141). In his article "Blackness and the Unmanning of America in Dave Rabe's Streamers" scholar Owen Brady notes that, "Carlyle's blackness and bi-sexuality will make and unmake Billy's manhood" (143); Carlyle offers Billy the opportunity to validate his heterosexual "manhood" by taking him to a whorehouse, yet attempts to emasculate Billy by performing homosexual acts in his own house with Ritchie. I agree with Owen Brady that Carlyle is a good representation of what Toni Morrison calls in Playing in the Dark the "dark, abiding signifying Africanist presence... crucial to [white writers'] sense of their Americanness" (5-6); Brady argues that Rabe introduces Carlyle in order to "force the white characters into a destructive process of self-definition" (143). Yet while Brady focuses on race, Carlyle functions to destabilize the non-traditional family that Roger, Billy, and Ritchie inhabit because he is acutely aware of the fact that he is defined by an uncaring, unsympathetic U.S. government simply in terms of being a commodity.15 David Rabe's Streamers illustrates how soldiers are commodified within American society; they all are merely "things" to be used by the U.S. government. The Lieutenant speaks as the voice of the U.S. social/

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economic forces active in twentieth century American society when he remarks to Roger after Carlyle murders Billy and Rooney, saying: Lieutanant: Be prepared to do some talking. Two perfectly trained and primed strong pieces of U.S. Army property got cut to hell up here. And we are going to find out how and why. Is that clear?

Scholars have found Carlyle's violent disposition pathological and irrational, however he is rational. Carlyle is simply attempting to navigate and survive within a society that perceives him as expendable goods. Not only are the privates valued as expendable commodities, but the sergeants are as well. Rooney and Cokes reveal their frustration at being "property" when, in Act I, we find out in their drunken reverie that Rooney is being sent to Vietnam. Of course, the U.S. military cares nothing about the fact that Cokes will be heartbroken by the fact that his star-crossed lover is getting sent off to die in a foreign land. Rooney is perceived by a twentieth century American society as merely property for the government to use.16 Twentieth century capitalism viewed communism as essentially closed markets that could and should be available for capitalistic influences. Therefore, from this capitalistic perspective, Rooney's life was not going to be wasted; Rooney was going to die to support a capitalistic society that is deadly serious in its commitment to increase its wealth. In fact, all the soldiers in Streamers are seen as commodities by America's capitalistic society. Similarly, the play reveals how homosexuals perceive themselves and others as commodities within a twentieth century American society. Carlyle views other men as commodities, just as he is perceived and used by the U.S. government as a commodity. Realizing this, he violently reacts to being doubly used: he is considered a commodity both as a soldier and a bisexual. From this perspective, then, it is understandable why Carlyle is frustrated; Carlyle is considered an expendable commodity by a society that has "purchased" him, yet simultaneously devalues his ability to "purchase" others. When Carlyle stabs Billy, it is not because Billy swears at him, but because he felt that Billy was deliberately keeping him from his new purchase—Ritchie. After Carlyle brings up to Billy and Roger how he took them on a joy ride to a whorehouse (where, incidentally, women are commodified) where they both got satisfaction, he states: Carlyle:

What I'm gonna do? Don't you got no feelin' for how a man feel? I don't understand you two boys. DON'T YOU HEAR ME!? I

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS SITUATION HERE. I THOUGHT WE MADE A DEAL!

Carlyle clearly is thinking in terms of an economic transaction. The "deal" he thought he made was that in exchange for taking Billy and Roger out for a night on the town, he could have Ritchie for a night. The exchange-value for Ritchie seems clear to Carlyle, and therefore it frustrates him when he believes that Billy and Roger renege, breaking the rules of the "deal" they made with him. In the same way that Cowboy in Crowley's The Boys in the Band acknowledges that he is a commodity available for purchase, Ritchie perceives himself as a valuable commodity to be purchased.16 Carlyle feels completely justified with his purchase of Ritchie; Ritchie, in turn, feels that he has the right to be "purchased" by Carlyle through the ten dollars he gives to Roger. This is shown in his comments in Scene 2 of Act 2: Ritchie: Billy: Ritchie: Roger: Ritchie:

Billy, why don't you and Roger go for a walk? What? Roger asked you to go downtown, you went, you had fun. I asked you, too. You asked me; you begged Billy. I said no. Billy said no. You took my ten dollars. You begged Billy. I'm asking you a favor now—go for a walk. Let Carlyle and me have some time.

Obviously, Carlyle doesn't see Ritchie as a person, but rather as something to be used to gratify his sexual desires. Money and homosexual contact is connected throughout Rabe's play Streamers, with perhaps the most overt connection being shown in Billy's story regarding his friend Frankie. Billy tells how his friend Frankie would turn on old gay men in order to get things: drinks, food, and cash. Billy states that when Frankie went home with a gay man, "he made a fortune." Thus, homosexual contact is directly related to an individual acquiring money. Frankie doesn't love the old man, just as Ritchie and Carlyle don't love one another. Philip C. Kolin argues that in Rabe's play Streamers, "young men are ensnared by old homosexuals the same way they are trapped by Army fathers like Cokes and Rooney" (64). While some scholars do not find the parallel convincing, there is a link between homosexuality and the commodification of the individual. In my analysis of David Rabe's play Streamers soldiers, whether heterosexual or homosexual, are commodified into "things" by an American twentieth century capitalistic society. The very title of Streamers,

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with its frightening image of the parachute that fails to open and of the parachutist helplessly falling towards his death, symbolizes the American postmodern society at the end of the twentieth century. In such a society, individuals are perceived as objects; individuals in twentieth century capitalistic American society are, quite literally, parachutes—they are packaged, used, and then discarded. The parachute jump towards death comes to stand for the twentieth century reality that one's life is completely controlled and determined by "things." In American society, people and things are indelibly and inextricably linked.

IV Cheryl L. West's play Before It Hits Home (1989) deals with a black bisexual man facing the painful reality that he has no family, either traditional or non-traditional.17 Wendal Bailey's girlfriend Simone, his gay lover Douglass, and the Bailey family all reject him. Although family members surround Wendal—he is "in medias res," in the center of things—he is, in fact, homeless. As the play develops, the consequences of Wendal's lifestyle result in his (and the audience's) awareness that the only "family" that will welcome him is, tragically, death. The plot of the play is straightforward: A black bisexual jazz musician endangers both himself and his loved ones on two different grounds; one, because he has contracted the AIDS virus and two, because his double disclosure of illness and gayness threatens his family's fragile denial about a disease that isn't supposed to occur among them. Affected by Wendal's impending illness will be his pregnant fiance Simone; his lover Douglass, who doesn't know Wendal is engaged; and finally, Wendal's teenage son and his parents. At the end of the play his mother, gay lover, and fiance all abandon him. (West 80) Wendal's girlfriend leaves him because she believes Wendal doesn't love her. Wendal's world between Simone and Douglass is literally split in two, as are his loyalties and affection. As a result, he doesn't/cannot love Simone. Simone tries hard to get Wendal to love her and together make a traditional family, yet her efforts are in vain. Wendal rejects the traditional family structure of himself being a traditional paternalistic, masculine father, with Simone as being a traditional, feminine, maternalistic mother, and Dwayne as his son whom he must raise. He rejects these ideals because his own identity is in conflict with these very same traditional social expectations. Within a postmodern American

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society, Wendal's very self is fragmented and split down the middle. This split is symbolized in the bifurcated dialogues Wendal has with both Simone and Douglas. In addition, Wendal knows he has the AIDS virus, and therefore realizes that he cannot commit fully to Simone and her desires for a "happy," traditional family environment. When Wendal is about to ask Simone to marry him, he abruptly changes his mind because he is aware that he has contracted the AIDS virus. In Act One he attempts to confess this to Simone: Wendal: Simone: Wendal:

I'm trying to tell you... Go 'head tell me. When were you planning to ask me? The answer is yes, yes, yes, yes. Marry? I got AIDS.

Ultimately Wendal isn't going to marry Simone because he simply cannot conform his identity in accord with the traditional socially defined roles of paternal masculinity in twentieth century American society. Just as Parker in Ceremonies in Dark Old Men refuses to work, Wendal refuses to "be" a traditional heterosexual father. Cheryl L. West dramatically reveals Wendal's unwillingness to commit to either Simone or Douglass through the bifurcated dialogue that dominates Act One. In the words of West, "Wendal's world is literally split between the two relationships," (23) and thus even though he tells Simone that the reason he isn't going to marry her is because he has found out that he has contracted the AIDS virus, she doesn't hear him. In Act One, Wendal, Douglass, and Simone all speak simultaneously, which results in them all confusing both themselves and the audience; though they are talking, they are not communicating. This results in two things: the audience becomes frustrated with Wendal's decisions and indecisions, and the audience becomes aware that despite their verbosity they all fail to "say anything." Here is an example of their overlapping, fractured dialogue that symbolizes Wendal's fractured world and relationships: Wendal: Douglass: Wendal: Douglass: Simone: Wendal: Douglass: Wendal: Douglass and Simone:

I have something to tell you. There's something else. Come on Simone, what's up? Thought maybe we could go somewhere... Will you shut up for a minute? What did I say? Touchy. Touchy. Nothing... I just... Let me fix you a drink. How about a beer? (Both exit to get a beer.) Ok.

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As we can see, Wendal really "says" nothing, to either Simone or Douglass. Wendal does not love Simone, and after she realizes this she finally leaves him. Simone tells Wendal, "It's been good, Wendal, but I can do better with someone, someone who cares, at least even tries..." (30). As a result of being bisexual, Wendal cannot exclusively "love" Simone in the traditional way that she wants to be loved, even though Wendal claims that "I wanted you to be my wife" (28). Yet it is hard to believe this when he refuses to commit to her, and continues his sexual relations with Douglass. Not surprisingly, she ultimately leaves him. Just as Simone leaves Wendal, Douglass also leaves him after Wendal contracts the AIDS virus. Initially, it seems that Douglass, Wendal's homosexual partner, will stick with Wendal. At the early stages of Wendal's diagnosis Douglass regularly visits Wendal at the hospital. An interesting inversion of traditional love occurs in their relationship: as the disease spreads throughout Wendal's body, Douglass grows increasingly distant from Wendal. In fact, there is a direct correlation in the deterioration of Wendal's physical body with the deterioration of Douglass' love for Wendal. Their relationship is not unlike the homosexual relationships in The Boys in the Band; they are based on physical sex. When Wendal tells Douglass "you know you're my best friend" (29), Douglass responds, "Don't use that word. I am your lover" (29)! Clearly, Douglass doesn't want to confuse the sex they have with feelings of emotion or love. Interestingly, love and sex are interchangeable to Douglass, and they represent only the physical, tangible, material world. This reality is a consequence of a capitalistic, twentieth century American society that views individuals as simply commodities which perform functions in order to increase their material existence. As the play progresses, Wendal's body transforms from his healthy, "fine cute self" to having open sores festering in his anus and legs, spitting up blood and laying in his own feces. Mirroring this physical reality, Wendal's relationship with Douglas also fractures and eventually fails. At the end of Act I, Douglass' lack of love toward Wendal is powerfully and painfully revealed: Douglass: Wendal: Douglass: Wendal:

(Whispering) I brought you a few things. Some flowers. I thought you might want some candy...a Bible...I won't stay long. I have to pick up Alison from school. (To Douglass) Go to hell!!! I would've come sooner. I just came by to tell you I was negative. Haven't seen you in weeks...and the only reason you are here now is to deliver me a Bible and a bulletin about you being negative. Well, who cares?

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The AIDS virus ultimately destroys the homosexual relationship between Wendal and Douglass, just as it splits up Wendal and Simone. Thus, both "couples," whether heterosexual or homosexual, cannot withstand the power and destruction that the AIDS virus brings; these two non-traditional families that Wendal simultaneously inhabits both falter and ultimately reject him after the disease afflicts him. Both Wendal's non-traditional and traditional families reject him because he has contracted the AIDS virus. One might think that the traditional family in the play, which is represented by the Bailey family, would be strong enough to withstand the devastation of the AIDS virus. Unfortunately, however, this isn't the case; the Bailey family also rejects Wendal after learning he has AIDS. The first and most dramatic "rejection" of Wendal is by his mother, Reba Bailey. While Wendal admits in the Prologue, "your first love connection is Mama" (9), unfortunately for him, Wendal's "first love" rejects him when she learns in Act Two that he has contracted the AIDS virus through homosexual relations: Wendal:

Reba:

(Carefully choosing his words.) Mama, you know that I never was quite right like Daddy used to say.. .(No response from Reba.) Try to understand Mama. I have relationships with women and sometimes with men. UNDERSTAND! How can a mother understand that? How can I understand that you're one of them people, that I raised a liar for a son...I was so happy.

Reba's happiness is contingent upon the myth of Wendal's heterosexuality; when this illusion is dissolved by Wendal's own confession, Reba is faced with several painful realities. She must now deal not only with the pain of seeing her own son suffer and die, but also face her belief that she has failed as a mother. Traditionally, mothers are supposed to rear sons to be heterosexual "men," and by internalizing these traditional standards of maternity, Reba believes she has failed at her maternal duties. Her rejection of her son is complete after Wendal discloses the full extent of his bisexuality and the ramifications of his contracting the virus. After he tells her that he is tired of "the rashes, infections, and the sores up his butt" his mother replies "No more. You hear me Wendal? No more. I never thought I'd see the day I'd be ashamed of you, that I wouldn't even want to know you (She exits.)" Unlike Wendal's unconditional love for his mother that he declares in the Prologue, the reality is that Reba's devotion to her son is not the "kinda

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love that outlasts the test of time." She is unable to accept the socialized blame she internalizes for Wendal's non-traditional sexual orientation and chooses to run away rather than deal with the situation. Thus, Wendal loses not only his male and female lovers, but also his mother. While it is clear that Wendal's mother abandons him due to his contracting AIDS, she is not the only family member within the traditional Bailey family rejecting Wendal. Wendal's brother Junior responds by turning his back on his brother and walking away from him after he learns that Wendal is bisexual. Before rejecting his brother Junior exclaims, "Wendal why? Naw, I can't deal with this.... Can't deal with this right now ... I looked up to you." Similarly, Wendal's son Dwayne rejects his own father. This is revealed in his complete rebellion to his father's advice to try to understand people who are different; at the end of Act 2 Dwayne transforms from a softhearted, compassionate, sensitive young boy into a hard-headed bully who doesn't want to visit his own father in the hospital. After "it" hits home—the news of Wendal's bisexuality and AIDS virus— the Bailey family virtually ceases to exist: Junior leaves, Reba takes Wendal's son and they move in with Maybelle, a family friend. Other family members also reject Wendal due to their irrational fear of the AIDS virus. Maybelle, Wendal's godmother, doesn't want to touch her "baby" anymore, and her visits to Wendal in the hospital are as short as she can make them. Lastly, Wendal's own father painfully reacts to his son's confession of his disease and sexual orientation: Bailey:

You right. I don't understand. You no son of mine. In my house.... Did you hear me? (Violently throws Wendal on the floor, who attempts to crawl away from him.) Take you sissy fairy self and get the hell out of my house.

Even though Wendal's father takes care of him until Wendal dies from the AIDS virus, his feelings are quite clear: no bisexual has a place in his family. Bailey's sons are nothing more than commodities to him. This is first revealed in Bailey's comparisons between his two sons, Junior and Wendal. Bailey values Junior more than Wendal because he comes home bearing gifts while Wendal comes home empty-handed; Wendal comes home with nothing but his sickness. In Act One, Junior comes home bearing gifts for his mother and father, and in Act Two Bailey comments to Wendal about Junior:

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The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama Bailey: Wendal: Bailey: Wendal: Bailey:

(To Reba) That bracelet Junior bought you, now it look nice with that dress. (To Wendal) Did you see the bracelet your brother bought your Mama? No. (Admires the bracelet) That's nice. And he got me this watch. Did I show it to you? It's got a real diamond. Yeah. You showed it to me when I first got home. And he got Dwayne a little jacket.

Clearly, Bailey values his son Junior by the gifts he brings them. Sons are valued in the traditional family, as in America's twentieth century capitalistic society, in economic terms; Wendal and Junior are valued in terms of the things they bring home. Since Junior is capable of making money, he is subsequently valued higher by his father than Wendal, who is perceived by Bailey as a shiftless dreamer intent on making "music" rather than money. Although Wendal is neither accepted by his traditional family nor the non-traditional families he inhabits, he is not "homeless." In Act One when Angel prophetically states, "Welcome to the family," she is referring to a new family which will welcome Wendal. This family, however, is the family of AIDS sufferers. The final sentence of the play, when Angel/ Simone welcomes Wendal into his "new family" of AIDS patients, puts a somber note on Wendal's acceptance. Wendal's new family is related to him by the shared experiences of AIDS rather than by the social constructs of either traditional or non-traditional families. In this new family, Wendal is unconditionally accepted for who he is rather than by any external, materialistic or social qualifications, yet the price to enter this family is high: death. Ultimately, Wendal finds a home, but that home will quickly lead to a grave. Thus, in a twentieth century American capitalistic, materialistic society, individuals are valued in monetary terms. Their families do not intrinsically love family members, but individuals are rather defined as commodities that either make—or fail to make—money. Wendal ultimately fails as a commodity; he doesn't meet the requirements that his traditional family expects of him. Wendal leaves his family and creates his own non-traditional families in the form of his sexual relationships with Simone and Douglas. Yet, ironically, these two expect the same things of him as does his traditional family. Wendal's bisexual relationships value him as a "thing" just as his traditional family perceives him. Simone wants a diamond ring from Wendal, and Douglas simply sees Wendal as an object that gratifies his sexual urges. In both of his sexual relationships, Wendal is perceived as a sexual commodity. Thus, whether an individual exists within a traditional or non-traditional family,

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he/she is still defined and perceived as a commodity within a twentieth century American capitalistic society.18 Notes 1. Paula Vogel deals with the issues of non-traditional families in her plays, specifically within The Baltimore Waltz and And Baby Makes Seven. 2. The Children's Hour is based on a nineteenth-century Scottish lawsuit, "The Great Drumsheugh Case," recounted by William Roughead in his collection Bad Companions. (Rapf 38) 3. In all of her relationships, Mary "uses" people for her (usually economic) gain. Whether it is taking $2.25 from her classmate, or a ride from a lady, Mary takes things from people. Indeed, Mary perceives people as simply things to be used. 4. 'Libel,' 'slander,' and 'gossip' are the actual names that signal the presence of homosexuality in three of the most famous mainstream films dealing with the subject in the United States. (Erhart 87) 5. What is interesting about the scene in which Mary "tells" her grandmother that her teachers are lesbians is the fact that the condemning words are never pronounced (the audience doesn't hear them). 6. Perhaps if Mrs. Tilford had arrived a bit sooner, Martha would not have "left" her lesbian lover because of her financial concerns. 7. Norine Dresser argues in her article "' The Boys in the Band Is Not Another Musical': Male Homosexuals and their Folklore" that the gay bar is a 'market setting' for the exchange of sexual services. (207) 8. Note that the commodification of the non-traditional family occurs within a capitalistic society which propagates the reality that to express love for a family member requires buying "things." 9. When Michael says to himself, "Blow out your candles, Laura" (114) he quotes Tom Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie. Michael's comment reveals his self-hatred; all the boys in the band hate themselves, and in turn take out their "angst," or frustration, on one another. 10. Similar to Albee's play Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the climax to Crowley's play is a sadistic game in which the characters' facades are painfully unmasked. 11. Going against most critics, I am in agreement with Emory in regards to Alan's sexuality; Alan is, indeed, a "closet queen" (166). 12. Ironically, Hank's gift to Harold is a "nifty sweater," and after Harold opens it Hank tells him, "You can take it back and pick out another one if you want to" (116). The sweater symbolizes them all, especially Cowboy—another "gift" that Harold will casually (and carelessly) use and then discard. 13. Rabe's trilogy is composed of the following three Vietnam war dramas: The Basic Training of Pavlo Hummel (1969), Sticks and Bones (1969), and Streamers (1976). 14. Like Tom Wingfield in Tennessee Williams' play The Glass Menagerie, Carlyle cannot face and accept this painful reality; he, too, is "boiling" (Menagerie 62). 15. Carlyle disrupts the non-traditional family in Streamers, just as Mary Tilford disrupts Martha and Karen's non-traditional family in Hellman's play The Children's Hour. 16. Ironically, Ritchie's worth is only half of Cowboy's value; Emory paid $20.00 for

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Cowboy, but Carlyle pays only $10.00 for Ritchie. 17. Before it Hits Home won the prestigious Susan Smith Blackburn Prize, an international award given to a woman who has written a work of outstanding quality for the English-speaking theater. 18. As Wendal discovers, the only true escape from this reality is, unfortunately, death.

Afterword

"I am a valuable commodity, Jerry! You need to show me the money!!!"

Jerry Maguire

In the 1996 Columbia Tri-Star Pictures blockbuster Jerry Maguire, Rod Tidwell verbalizes what is arguably the most honest quote in all of twentieth century motion pictures. In the movie, it becomes clear that Rod, a professional football player, is perfectly content in being perceived by others as a commodity, for Rod even admits to himself that he is nothing more than a "thing" that catches footballs; he makes "dreams happen" (while he also makes the NFL team owners very wealthy). Rod's value is clearly determined by his use-value; he is not perceived as a person with an intrinsic value, but rather as a commodity to be worked and ultimately traded when his exchange-value diminishes. Rod Tidwell articulates what most twentieth century Americans already know. In America's capitalistic society, individuals are perceived as commodities by the society at large, family members, and even themselves. This is certainly the case with Rod, for he repeatedly acknowledges to Jerry that he doesn't really care about his intrinsic worth, what he calls the "quon." Rod's true frustration stems from the fact that he feels he is not getting paid according to what he is worth, and his frustration mirrors the disillusionment and despair of many twentieth century Americans who find themselves within an uncaring, materialistic, capitalistic culture. However, although Rod is greatly disturbed for not "getting paid" the amount he feels he is worth, he certainly does not seem alienated or in any other way harmed by society's classification of him as a commodity. In fact, Rod Tidwell relishes the fact that he is a "thing" that produces money (by catching passes as an NFL football receiver). This is an interesting situation, for Rod's acceptance of being defined as a commodity perhaps suggests that in the twenty-first century Americans will have so internalized the reality of being perceived as commodities that they will no longer see it as a negative. In fact, future Americans may find that the only negative thing about being commodified by a capitalistic society is when your value is set too low—this is Rod's only real complaint. In this study of American drama I have attempted to analyze fourteen

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twentieth century American plays to better reveal how individuals within families are perceived as commodities in twentieth century American society. In my analysis, I have found that individuals within traditional and non-traditional families are perceived as commodities. This study is by no means conclusive, however; future scholars will no doubt continue to explore the rich complexities that is American drama, illuminating new insights into American society from the plays. I would be remiss if I didn't discuss the overlapping nature of the plays looked at in this study, for certainly when analyzing the family in twentieth century drama, a certain amount of overlapping naturally occurs. Plays in the marriage chapter could just as well have been used to analyze father-child relationships or mother-child relationships. In the interest of analyzing a wide and representative number of twentieth century drama, however, I have chosen to focus on one dominant impression for each play analyzed in order to better explicate the plays. Scholars of American drama may find that alternative plays could have been used in each chapter. For practical reasons, however, I have limited my study to fourteen plays; I am sure that future scholars will find other plays, plays which I have ignored entirely, as better suited within the sociological framework of this study. Naturally, I could not discuss in detail every aspect of the family in this study. Yet while I have only analyzed a small fraction of plays that are worthy of continued study, I hope that this study will be a springboard for future scholars and academics to pursue analyzing American drama, which will result in engaging, thoughtful, and promising scholarship in the future. Indeed, I have found American drama richly reflects the subtle complexities and nuances of American society, and that the continued study of American drama betters all who desire a deeper understanding of the culture, lives, and individuals that make up America.

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Index

Abortions 65 Academia 19, 96 Adler, Thomas 26, 49 Adultery 37-39 AIDS virus 87-92 Albee, Edward 3 , 5 , 1 8 ; Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? 3, 5, 18-22, 93 Alcoholism 15, 19, 24-25, 33-34, 64, 67 Alienation 23, 26,33,41-43,49,60,69, 84, 89,95 Althusser, Louis 44 Armato, Philip 72 Angels in America 71 Atheletes as commodity 15, 95 Babbitt 44 Balachandran, K. 63 Barbera, Jack 83 Barry, Philip 3,5,20-21; Holiday 3,5-10, 20-21 Baudrillard, Jean 2 Before it Hits Home 4, 72, 87-93 Bible, The 33 Bird-well, Christine 41 Bisexual 3, 72, 78, 86-93 Boys in the Band, The 3, 72, 76-81, 89, 93 Brady, Owen 84 Bruhm, Steven 81 Burks, Mary 67 Capital 1 Capitalism 1-4,10-12,14-15,17-19,23-24, 26-33, 35-36, 38-39, 41-44, 46, 49-50, 53-55, 60, 63, 65-66, 69-72, 75, 79-81, 85-87, 89, 92-93, 95 Carrithers, Joe 79 Case, Johnny 6-10 Cat on a Hot Tin Roof 3, 5, 15-18 Ceremonies in Dark Old Men 3, 24, 31-36,44, 88 Children's Hour, The 3, 72-76 Chodorow, Nancy 46 Clark, Priscilla 1

Cohn, Ruby 1 Commodification 2,16-17,35, 40, 50, 54, 58-59, 63, 65-70, 72-73, 79, 81-82, 8586, 93, 95 Commodity 1-5, 10, 14, 16-17, 26, 28, 3031, 33-37, 39,41-44,49,53, 59-63, 6772, 74, 76, 78-81, 84-86, 89, 91-93,9596 Communism 85 Consumerism 12, 17-18, 24 Consumption, Culture of 1-3, 17-18, 28, 80-81,92 Contrast, The 1 Crowley, Mart 3,72, 76, 81,94; TheBoysin the Band 3,72,76-81,89,93 Cultural values 5 Dally, Ann 45-46 Death of a Salesman 3, 24, 27-31, 42, 44 Debusscher, Gilbert 60 Dehumanization 24-25, 30, 60, 81, 84 Demasculinized 29-30, 33, 43-44 Domestic duties 51-52, 63, 65-66 Dream Deferred, A 64 Drinking (alcohol) 15-16, 33, 51 Drug addiction 10, 12, 14, 25-26, 47-49 Eagleton, Terry 55 Economic class 6,21,82 Economic determinism 3, 12, 18, 22, 35, 41,74 Economic exchange 27 Economic relationships 20-21, 27-28, 3740,42-43, 54, 71-73, 77, 79, 88,92 Elder III, Lonne 4,24,31-32,44; Ceremonies inDark Old Men 3, 24, 31-36, 44, 88 Elkins, Marilyn 40 Erhart, Julia 82 Exchange value 2,50,59-60, 75, 80, 85-86, 95 Expendable commodities 23-24, 60, 85 Exploitation 40, 52-53, 66, 70

116

The Family in Twentieth-Century American Drama

Falk, Doris 76 Family in American Drama 1-3, 23-24,4546, 71-72 Fatherhood 23-44, 96 Femininity 45-48,50, 52,54-56, 65-66,6970 Fences 4, 24, 36-43 Fin de Siecle 54 Fontenot, Chester 34 Fordyce, William 60 Freydberg, Elizabeth 32 Fromm, Erich 28-29 Frost, Robert 14; The Oven Bird 14 Gassner, John 60 Gay relationships 71-72,76-87 Giddens, Alexandra 53-54 Giddens, Horace 50-54 Giddens, Regina Hubbard 50-54, 70 Giving Up the Ghost 71 Glass Menagerie, The 3,46, 55-63, 67, 70, 93 Gortschacher, Wolfgang 84 Great Depression, The 56 Greed 10-12, 16-17, 64 Hansberry, Lorraine 3,46,64,68; A Raisin in the Sun 3, 46, 64-69 Hart, Lynda 45 Hedderel, Vance 54 Hellman, Lillian 3, 22, 46, 50, 52, 54, 72, 75-76; The Children's Hour 3, 72-76; The Little Foxes 3, 22, 46, 50-54 Heterosexual relationships 71 Holiday 3,5-10, 20-21 Homosexual 16, 71-72, 76-87, 89-90, 93 Homophobia 17, 75-76 Hughes, Langston 64; A Dream Deferred 64 Humanist values 5, 8, 14 Hypocrisy 30, 33 Infidelity 11,37,41,78-79

Lawrence, D.H. 56 Lee, Dorothy 31, 33 Lees, Daniel 70 Lesbians 71-76, 79, 93 Levy, Eric 57-58 Lewis, Sinclair 44; Babbitt 44 Little Foxes, The 3,22,46, 50-54 Loman, Linda 27-28, 44 Loman, Willy 27-31,42,44 Long Day's Journey into Night 3-5, 10-15, 24-27, 46-50, 69-70 Machinal 45, 58 Marriage, institution of 5-22, 53, 87-88 Marriage contract 3,5-6 Marx, Karl 1-3,26-27,38,43,46,59; Capital 1 Marxist theory 24, 26-27, 43, 46, 54-55, 61,69-72 Masculinity 23-24, 26-34, 36, 38, 41-43, 87-88 Materialism 20, 28, 37, 46, 50-51, 54, 58, 63,66-69,71,81,89,92 Maternity. 46-50, 52, 54-55, 57, 61, 65-66, 69,96 Matrimony 38 Maxson, Troy 36-43 Merchandise as commodity 17-18, 80 Miller, Arthur 3, 24, 27, 44; Death of a Salesman 3,24,27-31,42,44 Mohr, Hans-Ulrich 84 Money as control 7, 13-14, 19, 34, 39-41, 65, 67-68 Money, love of 6-14, 16-18, 21-22, 59, 61, 65,74 Money, making 6-9, 11, 14-15, 17, 19-21, 28-29,34,36,38,41,50,52, 59-60,62, 67-68, 70 Moraga, Cherrie 71; Giving Up the Ghost 71 Morphine 10, 12, 14, 25, 47-50, 70 Morrison, Toni 84; Playing in the Dark 84 Motherhood 45-70

Jeffers, Lance 32-33 King Bed'ley II 1 Kolin, Philip 82, 86 Kushner, Tony 71; Angels in America 71

"New Woman" 54 Nilsen, Helge 27 'Night, Mother 45 Norman, Marsha 45; 'Night, Mother 45

Index Non-traditional families 1, 3, 71-94, 96 Objectification 80 O'Connor, Jim 55, 62-63, 70 O'Neill, Eugene 3-5, 10, 12, 15-16, 23-25, 46-47, 49, 69; Long Day's Journey into Night 3-5,10-15, 24-27,46-50, 69-70 Oven Bird, The 14 Parker, Russell B. 31-36, 44, 88 Paternalism 12, 24, 34-35, 37-38, 42-43, 69, 83, 87-88 Phillips, Elizabeth 54 Playing in the Dark 84 Postmodernism 74, 84, 87-88 Production of goods 17-18,60,63,67 Rabe, David 4, 72,82,84, 86,93; Sticks and Bones 93; Streamers 4, 72, 82-87, 93; The Training of Pavlo Hummel 93 Racism 31-32,36,70 Raisin in the Sun, A 3, 46, 64-69 Raleigh, John 11 Rapf, Joanna 93 Relations of production 23, 26-27, 29-31, 52-54, 63 Respect, lack of 30, 33-34 Rich, Adrienne 47 Sanatorium 11, 52 Savran, David 63 Scheie, Timothy 76 Sex as commodity 16,18 Sexual manipulation 22 Smith, Barbara 2 Social security 10 Sociological perspectives 15, 26, 46, 56, 69, 72, 96 Soldiers 82,86 Stealing 29, 32, 36, 64 Sterling, Eric 37 Streamers 4, 72, 82-87, 93 Suddenly Last Summer 81

117

Titus, Mary 75 Tolson, Andrew 23, 43 Tragic hero 27 Treadwell, Sophie 45,58; Machinal 45,58 Tuberculosis 11,26,49 Tyler, Royall 1; The Contrast 1 Tyrone, Edmund 11-12, 25-26, 48-49, 70 Tyrone, Eugene 25 Tyrone, James 10-15, 24-27 Tyrone, Mary 10-15, 24-26, 47-50, 70 Updike, John 44; Rabbit Run 44; Rabbit Redux 44; Rabbit Is Rich 44 Use value 2, 33, 50, 54, 80 U.S. Military 83-85 Van Horn, Susan 56 Verbal abuse 18 Victorian standards 45 Vietnam War 82-84, 93-94 Vogel, Paula 93; The Baltimore Waltz 93; And Baby Makes Seven 93 Wage labor 23,45,60 Wasserstein, Wendy 69; The Heidi Chronicles 69 Watson, Ritchie 50 West, Cheryl L. 4, 72, 87; Before it Hits Home 4, 72, 87-93 Who's Afraid of Virginia W6olf?3, 5, 18-22 Williams, Tennessee 3, 5, 15, 46, 55, 63, 70; Cat on a Hot Tin Roof 3,5, 15-18; The Glass Menagerie 3, 46, 55-63, 67, 70,93; Suddenly Last Summer SI Wilson, August 1,4, 24, 36-37; Fences 4, 24,36-44; KingHedleyll 1 Wingfield, Amanda 55-63, 70 Wingfield, Laura 55-59, 62-63, 69 Wingfield, Tom 55-57, 69-70 Younger, Beneatha 67-68, 70 Younger, Mama 64-69, 70 Younger, Walter Lee 64-65, 67-70

MODERN AMERICAN LITERATURE New Approaches Yoshinobu Hakutani, General Editor

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