of his literary and/or moral ineptitude.2 Those who admired his books would
often, to the contrary, laud his open treatment of sexuality and evident sym-
pathy for women as an important aspect of his crusade against restrictive
American “puritanism.”3 When the tide of feminist criticism beginning in
the 1960s and 1970s began to crest on Dreiser, the discussion shifted, and
an area of increasing concern became the extent of his investment in gender
stereotypes. This question is complicated by the fact that, as Donald Pizer
observes, most of Dreiser’s plots derive from popular literature4 – which it-
self can draw heavily from gender stereotypes. While some recent accounts
depict Dreiser as challenging conventional views of women, many conclude
that he is, in the words of one author, “Hell on Women.”5 In particular,
examinations of Dreiser’s treatment of female sexuality often reach negative
and even censorious conclusions.
There is more to this change of tides than the obvious fact that different
ages can produce radically divergent interpretations. One reason Dreiser’s
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portrayal of women can be so variously interpreted arises from the unusually
close connection between his biography and his writings – and his life expe-
riences point in very different directions. To mention just four of the salient biographical facts: as a son, Dreiser adored his mother and resented his
father. As a lover, he was incorrigibly promiscuous while expecting monoga-
mous devotion in return. As a journalist, Dreiser worked during two different
periods as a successful editor for magazines that catered to female middle-
class readers. And as an author, he relied heavily on women to edit, critique,
and revise his manuscripts.6 Such biographical facts make Dreiser’s literary
representations of women all the more intriguing, but isolating any one of
them can lead to conclusions that are poles apart.
A second reason for the changing views involves the sheer number of works
in which women figure prominently. Like most of us, Dreiser has certain pre-
occupations, and patterns may be discerned in his treatment of women in
literature and in life. But Dreiser does not have a single way of depicting
women; nor does he concentrate on a particular type as representative of
the feminine condition. His works feature a variety of poor working moth-
ers, stylish heiresses, self-centered vamps, struggling factory girls, confident artists, aspiring ingénues, and (his least successful type) tedious nymphettes, among others. It is essential to note this range, because depending on the
characters or works selected, one can build a case for Dreiser as a progres-
sive or a reactionary in his views of women.
It is thus useful to view a spectrum of women appearing in a range of
Dreiser’s works. Unquestionably, his tangled views about women lie at the
core of his writing, and one way of loosening this knot is by examining
two types of power that he repeatedly associates with them. Conventional
views of gender roles assign power to women only in restricted areas, such
as the capacity to compel male sexual desire or reverence for motherhood.
Dreiser was fascinated by such traditionally feminine attributes – powers
that may be actively utilized by those who manifest them, but often are not –
and his works often depict this more passive aspect of women’s strength,
especially through the perspective of male characters and narrators. Yet he
was also fascinated by a second aspect of feminine power which he traces
through economic, social, or artistic accomplishment, and in emotional
or psychological authority. As Dreiser presents this latter sort of power,
women appear less passive receptors than active agents: they deliberately
use their power to achieve their desires. It is unusual to find such repeated
instances of female agency in the works of a male writer of Dreiser’s gen-
eration. In delineating women’s powers, Dreiser begins with traditional
and even stereotypical assumptions about femininity, but often transcends
them.
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c l a r e v i r g i n i a e b y
In his first novel, Sister Carrie, the title character’s power originates in her sexual attractiveness, a quality that initially marks her as reactive and
dependent, especially as she seems herself so lacking in erotic desire; but as
Carrie learns to utilize her charms, she gains independence and considerable
agency. To most of the male characters, Carrie is a sex object, yet she also
shows herself to be an aspiring career woman and actress. Ironically, while
the male characters are indifferent to her aspirations and talent, Dreiser’s
narrator is enthusiastic about them. This gap between the narrator’s and
the male characters’ views leads to some scathing comments about how
men view life through a distorting lens that magnifies male supremacy while
inhibiting women’s power.
Early on, Dreiser establishes not only Carrie’s obsession with surfaces –
most notably in her concern with clothing – but also her under-appreciated
depth. Beginning when Drouet first buys Carrie new clothes (which smacks
of prostitution to many readers) the narrator begins siding with her, and
continues to do so throughout the novel. “In reality,” we hear, “Carrie had
more imagination than [Drouet] – more taste. It was a finer mental strain in
her that made possible her depression and loneliness.”7 When Carrie begins
to prefer Hurstwood, the narrator again remarks her superiority: she was
“certainly better than [Hurstwood], as she was superior, mentally, to Drouet”
(91). The male characters, however, remain oblivious to Carrie’s advantage.
Carrie’s consciousness of her power evolves along with her acting. Her
“first thrill of power” initially draws from sexual stereotype, for it occurs as she examines herself in the mirror, newly arrayed in stylish clothing (58). Her later compelling stage presence, however, derives from a more substantial
quality, one that she shares with her creator: Carrie is “rich in feeling . . .
Sorrow in her was aroused by many a spectacle – an uncritical upwelling of
grief for the weak and the helpless” (107). While emotion has traditionally
been coded as both passive and feminine, the emotion that fuels Carrie’s
acting allows her some transcendence of the restrictions traditionally placed
upon women. During her Chicago debut she discovers, “For once she was
the admired, the sought-for. The independence of success now made its first
faint showing. With the tables turned, she was looking down, rather than
up, to her lover” (141). Thus Carrie now radiates a new “power which to
them [Drouet and Hurstwood] was a revelation” (140).
Yet it remains doubtful how much of the “revelation” these men compre-
hend. Carrie’s debut reveals as much about the need of Drouet and Hurst-
wood to contain her power as about her desire to express it. Again Dreiser
stresses the depth of her emotion: “She began to feel the bitterness of the situation. The feelings of the outcast descended upon her.” This state of mind –
or more accurately, this state of feeling – leads to Carrie’s “inspiration.” But 144
Dreiser and women
to Hurstwood and Drouet, she simply appears a “cold, white, helpless ob-
ject” (135). Hurstwood’s proprietary response reveals more about him than
about her: “He thought now that she was beautiful. She had done something
which was above his sphere. He felt a keen delight in realising that she was
his” (135). Drouet, oblivious of the affair brewing behind his back, is like-
wise “delighted with his possession” of Carrie (136). But the “possession”
is no longer his – and indeed, Carrie never belongs to either of them.
Male proprietorship is a way of maintaining power over women, and by
drawing attention to this tendency, Dreiser implicitly critiques it. The Penn-
sylvania Edition is even more emphatic than the Doubleday and Page Sister
Carrie about this attitude, as well as about the related propensity of men to prey sexually upon women. Dreiser also lets Carrie speak against this male
tendency. When Drouet discovers that she has been seeing Hurstwood, he
picks a fight and Carrie bursts out: “‘You thought only of what would be
to your satisfaction. You thought you’d make a toy of me – a plaything . . .
I’ll have nothing more to do with you at all. You can take your old things
and keep them’” (165). Hurstwood’s behavior in New York extends upon
Drouet’s error of judgment. The ex-manager “came to imagine,” the nar-
rator dryly observes, “that [Carrie] was of the thoroughly domestic type of
mind. He really thought, after a year, that her chief expression in life was
finding its natural channel in household duties” (222). But Hurstwood’s no-
tion of a wife’s proper place does not keep Carrie in hers, because she “was
coming to have a few opinions of her own” (213). Since Hurstwood has
had no luck getting a job and money is running out, she decides to seek
theater work. The result is a reversal in expected gender roles – and hence
in power dynamics – as wife pays the bills and husband buys the groceries.
This reversal is highly significant, but Hurstwood utterly fails to grasp it.