A Bird's House: Bird, Cage and Master in Ibsen's "A Doll House"

I just thought I'd share one of my research papers from last spring with everyone. This was pretty easy to write, just because this play stirs up lots of, well, anger. Plus I generally have lots to say on this issue. Ok, here it is:


Henrik Ibsen’s play, “A Doll House,” deals realistically with the many false expectations in marriage, class, and gender relations of the late 19th century, but focuses largely on exposing the illusions in the marriage relationship of Torvald and Nora Helmer. Their entire relationship has been based on the expectations of society. They have turned their marriage into a model union to which their generation would aspire. They have a lovely home, the wife is beautiful and submissive, the husband is god-like in his manliness, and all of the expectations of the idealistic society around them have been met. They seem happy, but as Nora comes to the startling realization of truth, we find that their entire marriage, and Nora’s life, has been nothing more than mirrors and smoke. They have been like little dolls in a dollhouse being controlled by some outside force, but more personally to Nora, she has been playing the role of a pet bird in a cage.
Ibsen’s treatment of their relationship reveals much about thought processes of the characters, especially his repeated uses of bird imagery. David B. Drake says that in Ibsen’s works there are “. . . series of verbal and visual motifs that function not just as supporting elements, but as contributing components” (33). Torvald refers to Nora as a bird in several key places in the play. By using such names for his wife, Torvald reveals how he bought into the mainstream thought of his day and how he uses societal norms to exploit a human being. Anne Marie Redkal suggests that these names “. . . function as a repressive code” (155). Nora’s acceptance of these names (at first) shows her submission to the expectations of a wife living in the late 19th century and acceptance of “her role as sky-lark . . . in the masquerade in which Helmer [Torvald] wants to keep her (155). While Nora is on the more repressed end of this relationship, both she and Torvald have been controlled by an obsession with meeting the standards of 1879. Neither of them are living in full understanding of their behavior until Nora awakens, and then readers cannot know if Torvald changes, for the play ends as Nora slams the door to her home. When this door is slammed, she has finally escaped her cage. The place that she called home had become violent to her. It represents everything that kept her from being herself and from being free. Her house is the immobilizing power of illusion and expectation, and when she leaves it, she is moving on to discover who she says she is, without the roles that had previously defined her. She also leaves the expectations of others behind her in order to find out what it is that she expects of herself and which roles she wants to play. A bird that has been raised in confinement and dependance knows no other way of life, just as Nora was raised knowing what everyone expected and planned for her, and therefore knew no other way to live and behave.
When Torvald refers to Nora as a bird, it doesn’t mean a creature that is free to move about as it pleases, but implies a trained pet who is kept strictly in a cage for show. When Torvald has Nora perform her Tarantella, it is as if she is performing a trick to delight her owner and his
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friends. After her dance Torvald says, “. . . what’s important is, she made a success, an overwhelming success” (Ibsen 444). Of course, when the truth comes to light later that evening about her business with Krogstad, and she reacts with explanations, he demands that there be “. . . none of your slippery tricks” (446). Torvald expects to be able to control her every action and reaction. After she begins to think clearly and addresses Torvald seriously, she realizes how her life has truly been lived; “Now when I look back, it seems as if I’d lived here like a beggar - just from hand to mouth. I’ve lived by doing tricks for you Torvald. But that’s the way you wanted it” (448). And as Muriel C. Bradbrook suggests, “Nora’s marriage becomes eight years prostitution,” in her view after she comes to this realization (454).
Such a bird would be pretty and would add a bit of excitement and beauty to the home of the owner. This bird’s wings need not be clipped, only subjected to the restraints of a cage. Nora is repeatedly reminded by her husband that she is first and foremost a wife and mother. By keeping these roles in the forefront of her mind, he is able to keep her in a sort of cage. The bird would only be allowed to experience what its owner saw fit for it to see and feel. Torvald decides that Nora shouldn’t worry herself over things that he doesn’t approve of. When Nora shows interest in Dr. Rank’s recent scientific discovery, Torvald belittles her back into her place by saying, “Come now - little Nora talking about scientific research!” (445) as if it is some novelty to do so. He believes that she isn’t able to handle such deep and involved topics and that her little bird-brain can’t comprehend anything but the simplest of trite topics. In fact, he even calls her a “feather head” just to further belittle her after the conversation with Dr. Rank (445).
Torvald controls what she can and cannot eat. In the beginning of the play, we find Nora sneaking macaroons, something Torvald doesn’t allow her, a grown woman, to eat. This bird would only eat what it is fed, sleep where it is told, and sing and do tricks when demanded of it. Nora is this bird, her home and Torvald’s expectations are her cage, and Torvald is her keeper.
More apparent than implied bird-likeness are the multiple times that Torvald actually refers to Nora directly as a bird. In Act I, we find Nora and Torvald at the height of their grand illusion of happiness, and it is here that we find the most references to birds. The first words we hear from Torvald in the entire play are “Is that my little lark twittering out there?” (421). He asks her this while she is unpacking the results of shopping for Christmas. She answers that is is his “little lark,” and a reader may take this exchange as a little sweet talk from a husband to his wife. It could be taken as a pet name for his beloved wife. Only a few lines more, and we find that it isn’t so. After they talk a little about money, something that Torvald obviously considers to be over her head, he says to her, “Now, now, the little lark’s wings mustn’t droop . . .” (422). She isn’t allowed to be disappointed, or even let her emotion show. She is expected to always be lively and happy and certainly never capable of doing anything more than “twittering.”
The next exchange of bird names comes about because of money as well. Torvald has asked Nora what she might like for Christmas, and she says she’d like some money of her own. He doesn’t know it, but she means to save the money to pay back the debt she incurred while securing his health. He asks, “What are those little birds called that always fly through their fortunes?” “Oh yes, spendthrifts,” says Nora. She goes on to say that she doesn’t mean to run through with the money. “Don’t deny it, my dear little Nora,” says Torvald, “Spendthrifts are sweet, but they use up a frightful amount of money. It’s incredible what it costs a man to feed such birds” (422). She is trying to be responsible for her debts, and he can only accuse her of being a “spendthrift.” He isn’t interested in what she wants as a gift unless he approves. Torvald thinks her only able to be a flighty little thing that spends money. Torvald sees Nora trying to be somewhat serious, and he comes back with “I couldn’t wish you anything but what you are, my sweet little lark” (422). Her husband doesn’t want her to think. He can do that for her. He wants her to only be an “empty-headed ornament in a house designed to keep his life functioning smoothly” (Jacobus 418). When she begins to talk seriously about an issue of finance, he reminds her that she is only his little lark and nothing more.
As a large portion of the action unfolds, Torvald and Nora have little interaction. Nora receives threats from Krogstad, reunites with Mrs. Linde, talks with Dr. Rank and plays with her children before she and her husband ever really get to have a conversation alone again in the play. In the conversation that finally comes about out of Krogstad’s visits, Torvald again chooses to remind Nora that she is his pet bird. When Torvald returns home, he asks Nora if anyone has been there. She says there hasn’t been, even though Krogstad has only just left the house. Torvald saw him leave and catches Nora in a lie. He mockingly chides her with “My little songbird must never do that again. A songbird needs a clean beak to warble with. No false notes” (432). This statement puts Nora in a very odd position. She has a huge burden to bear, one that Krogstad is holding over her head, and here is her husband telling her to come clean. She desperately wants to tell him what’s going on, but she fears his reaction to the news. She becomes more confused on his stance when he condemns those who deal in forgery (Nora’s “crime”), but then says, “What ever comes, you’ll see: When it really counts, I have the strength and courage enough as a man to take on the whole weight myself” (436). She doesn’t know how he will respond, so she keeps trying to work out the problem without Torvald finding out about it. After this little semi-serious conversation is decidedly cut short by Torvald, Nora returns to being concerned with the trivial again to seem unaffected. Her conversation turns to Christmas decorations and costume parties. Now that she has returned to her appointed role, Torvald declares, “Oh you, my darling little songbird” (433). She is having these new experiences and still has her relationship with Torvald, but she is finding it hard to deal with the situations that are outside of this illusionistic world of bird and master. She is learning to deal with her own problems without Torvald and is learning that she may not be able to count on him to save her.
Nora tries once more to convince Torvald to let Krogstad have his position at the bank back. This time there is evidence that she is learning to use the role of the little songbird to help her. She tempts him with “Your lark would be singing high and low in every room” if he will do what she asks (435). She has learned to play the role of the lark to get what she wants, and that marks a new realization in her. She knows now that none of this lark nonsense has been true, but that it has been a tool for Torvald to get what he wants out of her and now she is trying to use it for her benefit. Now that she is questioning that role, she begins to think more seriously about other roles that define her life. Are they just as false? Redkal suggests that she is “in the end totally confused by questions of right and wrong; her natural feeling on the one hand, faith in authorities on the other, leave her totally bewildered” (152).
The time comes for the Tarantella to be performed, but Nora is far more concerned with something else. Krogstad has put a letter explaining the whole ordeal into Torvald’s locked mailbox with the intention of using this knowledge to blackmail Torvald. Nora begins to behave very strangely. She pretends to forget the dance to distract him from opening the mailbox, and she calls for macaroons and champagne. Torvald obviously notices the differences. “Now, now, now -- no hysterics. Be my own little lark,” he says as he’s leaving the room (442). He tries to bring her back around to being under his control. Dr. Rank is truly concerned and asks if there is something wrong. Torvald’s reply of “Oh, of course not” shows his lack of genuine concern for Nora (442). When he wants Nora to join him, he calls, “What’s become of the little lark?” and she comes towards him with “Here’s your lark!” showing that she has again submitted to the role (442).
The Tarantella has been danced; and Torvald has finally pulled Nora, who wanted to stay at the party to avoid the inevitable conflict, away from the crowd. She admits that she is tired and tells Torvald, “whatever you do is always right” (444). “Now my little lark talks sense,” Torvald replies (444). The little lark only talks sense when she is agreeing with Torvald. He only lets her go to sleep after Dr. Rank has interrupted the amorous attempts that Torvald makes in vain towards Nora. Torvald says, “Good night, little songbird” (446).
The true intent of Torvald’s bird names comes out after the letter from Krogstad has been read. Torvald believes his life is over when he says, “I’ll be swept down miserably into the depths on account of a featherbrained woman!” (446). His names have been reflective of his true thoughts of her. She is just a feather brained woman. She is useless unless she can be controlled. This drastic leap in tone towards Nora is almost as shocking to readers as it would have been to her. His tone had been so sweet when she was acting under his strict rule. Now that she has been doing things without him, his voice is filled with hatred. The play moves on through his railings against Nora and her lack of morals until he takes a letter addressed to Nora and opens it. “I’m saved Nora, I’m saved!” says Torvald (447). He tries to make up for all the terrible things he’s said to her by basically acting as if they hadn’t happened and by saying he’s forgiven her. Here was the chance for him to save her, to take the whole weight upon himself like he said he would, but he didn’t. Nora knows now that everything was false. There is no way for her to know what is and is not true in her life.
Nora leaves the room to change clothes. While she is changing, Torvald stands by the door and says, “Try to calm yourself and collect your thoughts again, my frightened little songbird. You can rest easy now; I’ve got wide wings to protect you with . . . You’re safe here; I’ll keep you like a hunted dove . . .” (447). She comes out in a dress, instead of her nightclothes. She had been collecting her thoughts for some time now. The pattern of conversation changes at this point. Nora “regains the power of speech and . . . talks like a man” (Redkal 174). Before, it was Torvald monologuing with Nora inserting an occasional sentence, and that was generally in agreement. Now Torvald can barely get a word in, for Nora is releasing years of repressed thoughts and feelings. She tells him she is leaving and that she has duties to herself. “Before all else you are a wife and a mother,” Torvald says. “I don’t believe in that anymore,” says Nora, “I believe that before all else I am a human being . . .” (448). She is no longer under the impression that she is only to be defined by being a bird-wife. She wants to be human. She also confronts him about his sudden change of heart towards her after the whole ordeal had been cleared away: “When your big fright was over - and it wasn’t from any threat against me, only from what might damage you - when all the danger was past, for you it was like nothing had happened. I was exactly the same, you little lark . . .” (449).
Nora’s eyes have been opened to reality. Torvald, the society she had been operating in, and her life had all been a fraud. This forgery of true living was a far greater crime than both she and Krogstad had committed. She isn’t leaving to get back at Torvald, but she is leaving, as Brian W. Downs says, “. . . in order that she may meditate in peace upon her position as a woman and a member of the human community” (161). Nora is sick with the thought of living with a stranger for eight years and bearing him three children. Ibsen has woven the beautiful and continuous strand of bird-imagery through this piece, and ties off the knot by releasing that bird. Nora is going to find out who she is. She no longer is content with living in illusion, so she slams the door and flies away.






Works Cited
Bradbrook, Muriel C. “A Doll’s House: Ibsen the Moralist.” The Bedford Introduction to Drama.
Fifth Edition. Ed. Lee A. Jacobus. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2005. 453-56.
Downs, Brian W. Ibsen: The Intellectual Background. New York: Octagon Books. 1975.
Drake, David B. “Ibsen’s A Doll House.” Explicator Fall 1994: 32-35. Academic Source
Premier. Ebscohost. Cumberland University, Vise Library. 31 Mar. 2008.
Ibsen, Henrik. A Doll House. The Bedford Introduction to Drama. Fifth Edition. Ed. Lee A.
Jacobus. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2005. 421-50.
Jacobus, Lee A. The Bedford Introduction to Drama. Fifth Edition. Ed. Lee A. Jacobus.
Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2005. 418-21.
Redkal, Anne Marie. “The Female Jouissance: An Analysis of Henrik Ibsen’s Et dukkehjem.”
Scandinavian Studies Summer 2002: 149-80. Academic Source Premier.
Ebscohost. Cumberland University, Vise Library. 31 Mar. 2008.

A round of applause for Aryabhata!

Copernicus wasn't the first to think of a Sun-centered solar system. In the 5th century, the Indian astronomer Aryabhata wrote that the Earth circles the Sun, not the other way around as the rest of the world thought. Now wasn't he just smart?

Like all the new pictures?

I finally figured it out.

A few days ago I. . .

. . .saw clouds of such epic proportions that I wanted to do something to change the course of history, like lead an army of idealists into battle with this world or something. But what could I really do?

I want my life to be written in poetry, not just prose. Or at least for the poetic parts to be so vastly lovely that it makes up for the mundane in between.

We drove beside a bird for like 45 seconds. It was at eye level with me and moving along side at the same speed. It gave me the feeling of flying almost. I wish I could fly. I wish I could be where ever I wanted to be.

O Holy Night (listen to this and your life will be more worth living.)

One more reason why I love Nathaniel Hawthorne:

"Sunlight is painting."

-Nathaniel Hawthorne

He said it, he meant it, I love it.

Australia

I am beyond excited about this movie.

What I'm about-Part III

A couple of nights ago, I looked up into the blue midnight velvet to see the diamonds. The big dipper looked so close, like I could touch it and send the stars flying out in every direction. When I was little, I remember having a dream that I could be scooped up in the big dipper and it could carry me across the sky. I think of this every time I look up into the night sky. being able to see into space, to see the stars, reminds me that there is so much more going on than what I can immediately see and experience. I am able then to realize my own smallness in those moments.
This hasn't really related to art yet at all. Well, maybe it has. THis is my reaction to viewing a work of art. The sky is a very effective backdrop for viewing God's ever-evolving pictures. And isn't art supposed to make us think? And remember? And communicate a truth/beauty?
I want to always feel as alive as I did last night. I want to do the sort of spontaneous things that emphasize with every breath that I am living, breathing. I feel this most clearly if I am caught in the rain or out running around playing late at night with friends. I love the night.

"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination"
-Charles Hart/ Andrew Lloyd Webber The Music of the Night from The Phantom of the Opera

Of course, I love the day time. Especially in Autumn.
I love walking on the same stones in castles and courtyards where queens and kings have lived their lives. It is placing your feet on hundreds of years of human experience. Learning what you can from the mistakes and successes they had. Realizing that I have the same limitations, weaknesses, abilities, and possibilities that they did.
I wish I could smell honeysuckles in the Autumn-time. That would probably be a glimpse of heaven for me.
I love the works of Hawthorne. Human nature, redemption, love, beauty, freedom, art, change, being, community, humanity.
I saw a Shakespeare play under the stars last night. I t was enjoyable, and I have a new-found appreciation for liberties in others' interpretations, but how much better was the communion of friends!? People need to be with people. I'm so glad God created us this way. "No man is an island," but if he is, he shouldn't be. Life is not meant to be lived/interpreted/sustained alone.

What I'm about-Part II

I love the wind. When an unseen force can visibly affect the situation of your scarf, your hair, it is an amazing thing. Exhilarating, actually. And inspiring. I felt the first hint of autumn in the wind a few days ago, and it stirred sleeping bits of my heart.
I love Pineapples. They are the yellow-greenest taste I've ever experienced. they are perfectly sweet and sour, but not at all angry. Elizabethan portraits are wonderful. The details in the dress is spectacular.
I love people. I love the communities that I have been enveloped in, kindred spirits. And I talk to my plants. I like remembering moments when I was little playing in the woods. I spoke to so many plants and they all had very interesting things to say in return. I love the lilting voice of creeks and rivers, and the operatic voice of waterfalls. I'm so thankful I can hear.
I love being in a museum, looking at a work of art and trying to figure out what everyone else around me is thinking about it. I wonder how they look at it. Do they analyze it formally, or do they soak it up first, without a thought in their head, before they attempt understanding (like me)? Do they think about the way their eyes flow across the canvas/paper/stone, or do they have a hard controlling their excited eyes?
Today I learned about language families and origins of languages. How amazing is the human mind?! And the imagination! Many times, it seems, optimists should be called imaginists.
I love the colors in pearls and oil puddles. I always wanted to step in the puddles so that my footprints would be pearly. Eyes would be lovely if they were pearly. But eyes already are. Looking at eyes is like seeing threads and forests and jewels and frozen storms all at once. Or like seeing a bit of someone's soul under a microscope.
The interaction of the senses is very interesting to me. You see a vase of flowers, then your mind tells you what it is, the come to mind all of the other sensual connections you have with the object, how it smells, what it feels like, and of course attached memories. All from a glimpse.
Wayne Thiebaud's Candy Counter 1969-The jar in the upper-right corner is one of the most wonderful things I've ever seen. Jawbreaker Machine 1963 is exciting too. I saw one of his rows of cake slices at the Frist during a pop art exhibit. I definitely prefer his approach to that of Warhol, Lichtenstein, etc. Thiebaud's later works are just as colorful and decadent as his early desserts. Green River Lands 1998 is stunning, as is his Reservoir and Orchard 2001. Apartment Hill 1980 is amazing. In it he has created a living thing out of a piece of earth and the buildings and cars of humans. It is interesting that the juxtaposition of those two things could communicate a figure to me, but it does. It's beautiful.
I love the feeling you get when you know a painting is finished. That experience wouldn't be half as rewarding if it wasn't terrible having a half-finished work about, or even worse, a piece that looks done, but you know deep down inside that it isn't.
It is the fact that we must die that makes being alive so fantastic and amazing and mind-blowing.
Freckles are funny things, proof that God loves irregular patterns. But then, there isn't anything irregular about where each one is placed, very precise. Now that is meticulous.
I love the taste of dark chocolate and the smell of coffee. I think that somewhere in time, that smell and taste were separated. They should belong to the same thing. Dark chocolate should smell like coffee.
Oo! I love the soft fluffy bed of purple and frosted thorns that are a thistle. I love the crazy, curling explosion of abandon that is a passion flower. If I were a fairy, I would wear a passion flower hat.
I love being with my family and remembering through (primitive) technology my childhood. I loved seeing a 5 year old me fly through the house in a red toga and devil hat, with Gabe close behind dressed like Miss Muffett. I love the affirmation that photos and videos give to our memories.
Earth is the largest work of installation art ever, and it is constantly changing. We should stop and notice this more. Every person is an ever changing work of art, with so many things to communicate, like art.

Look what I learned

Mnemosyne- Mother of the Greek Muses and a personification of memory and recollection.

I think this is exciting.