I first heard of "A Doll's House" in a college class on critical theories. Hearing it described by the professor to illustrate Feminist Theory, I was haunted by the characters in a play that I had not read. I don't specifically remember the words that were used. I do, however, recall the effect that they had on me--one of horror at the manipulative abuse of a marriage that was like a mouse trap. Punished for seeking some succulent aroma of sustenance, prison bars clanged shut upon the limbs of the couple. But it did not kill them immediately.
In clawing at the trap to escape its confines, they drew blood from one another until one or both would end up destroyed if they were not able to break free.
Having had this dramatic introduction to the text before ever picking it up, my response to the play was certainly different than it would have been had I read it independently. I think I was given a uniquely powerful sense of the foreboding throughout the first two acts that may be somewhat lost on those reading more blindly.
One downside is that I had certain expectations of the atmosphere present in the play, and I am not altogether certain that those expectations were met. Does that indicate a flaw in the playwright's work, a factor unfortunately present in all stale readings of a text meant to be performed for an audience, or a personal failing of the reader? Perhaps an element of all three exists in this review.
1. "There is something so indescribably sweet and satisfying, to a man, in the knowledge that he has forgiven his wife" (Act III).
Hidden complexity. The theme of a complex inner life, separate from one's public interactions and perhaps even hidden from one's own spouse, runs deeply in "A Doll's House." No one is as they seem, and perhaps that is true of all people. Can you really know someone, as they truly are? Can we even know ourselves?
The answer, according to this play, would seem to be that you can't even begin to know yourself if you are in a relationship that doesn't allow full freedom of expression. Torvald and Nora lack the ability to see one another honestly, but blame is carried on both sides. Nora is manipulative and often falsely kowtows to her husband's expectations by lying and then going ahead with her own plans anyway. Torvald, on the other hand, is controlling, demeaning, and bereft of true listening skills.
In the end, the characters each face a moment of crisis: Torvald uncovers his wife's lies and realizes that loyalty to her will cost him. And the price? His reputation, which turns out to be the greatest priority in his life, far and above his marriage. He pretends to be concerned for the morality of his children under such a "careless and selfish" mother, but puts on full display his own propensity for self-serving behavior and ineptitude in identifying Nora's true motives.
Nora herself has indeed kept up a web of ever-increasing deception for the play's entirety, becoming nearly hysterical at some points (which, based on her final, incredibly controlled decision, may be something of an elaborate falsehood as well). In her own estimation, her greatest mistake was trusting her husband unequivocally. When his true colors reveal themselves in quick succession, she decides to leave her apparently loveless and respectless marriage.
All along, she was willing to sacrifice her autonomy for Torvald, as long as she felt that he would do similarly for her. Well, no more! She walks out the door and the curtains drop. The aftermath of this decision is left ominously to the imagination. There is a lot to unpack in this symbolic action, as she shows that her strength of will is not so fragile as she made it seem throughout her attempts to play the part of the weaker sex to her husband's specifications.
But in another sense, she has also left her children, who lack the ability to understand or follow their mother on this path of self-discovery. What are we to make of this resounding ending? Are there any heroes to this story, or are they all flawed people making decisions that have repercussions on those around them for better or for worse? These are all important questions, and many answers exist. That is the ultimate genius of Ibsen's work.
2. "After all, it is splendid to be waiting for a wonderful thing to happen" (Act II).
Reader's interpretation. The interpretation of the play is left in the hands of the observer to an even greater extent than perhaps the average work of literature. It does not tell us what to believe, because there is no single, sympathetic protagonist who embarks on a journey to realize the truth or the right course of action.
Or maybe there is. Maybe Nora is that for some audience members. But doesn't the existence of multiple meanings show that final analysis has been withheld from the work? This text had great controversial value in the century of its publication, because of how utterly outlandish and frankly blasphemous the conclusion seemed to its early viewers; now, it is lauded as a feminist masterpiece.
Which one is it? A corrupting influence or a carefully plotted declaration of the equality of the genders? I really can't say. I can only give my personal opinion, as any of us can do, and that makes the conversation a significantly more interesting one. For this reason, I teach English and not Algebra. There is not a quantifiable right answer; there is only speculation, personal experience, and the ever-evolving social views on relationships.
Math teachers are cringing. I am itching to sit in a classroom full of students who have different views and can challenge one another, promoting the flow of critical thought.
3. "You know how devotedly, how inexpressibly deeply, Torvald loves me; he would never for a moment hesitate to give his life for me" (Act II).
Quick changes. If I have any criticism of the play, it is that the short format makes it difficult to realistically convey such huge shifts in personality. Obviously I understand that those changes are not truly changes, but rather a revelation of what has been hidden under the surface all along. However, the shift in tone is dramatic and seems sudden to me, as those undercurrents don't really shine through their honed exteriors except in subtle ways.
Maybe, if I were to see the play performed rather than read it in literary format, my opinion on this aspect would be different. The brilliance of actors and actresses is that they can show what lurks between the lines of the dialogue in ways that don't exist on a black and white page.
I am looking forward to teaching this play for the first time in the coming school year. I will be fascinated to discover how the perspectives of my students coalesce and diverge from one another, and I hope for a rousing discussion with a multitude of opinions!
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