"Agewise," by Margaret Morganroth Gullette

I don’t usually pick up a book intending only to read certain selections, but I did so with “Agewise: Fighting the New Ageism in America” (University of Chicago Press, 2011), by Margaret Morganroth Gullette. The topic of ageism is important (and of increasing relevance to my Boomer generation); the author is a scholar but writes in a way accessible to the general reader. I am sure the rest of the book is interesting, but what caught my attention and what I read were two chapters with literary connections. The first is “The Mystery of Carolyn Heilbrun’s Suicide: Fear of Aging, Ageism, and the ‘Duty to Die.’” Readers of this blog may remember that Carolyn Heilbrun is a feminist literary scholar whom I greatly admire (see my post of 7/14/10), and whose feminist detective novels, written under the pen name of Amanda Cross, are also wonderful; I was very saddened to learn of her suicide in 2003. Gullette feels, as the title indicates, that Heilbrun, despite being only 77 and being in good health, with many admirable achievements, greatly admired, with a loving family and many friends, felt that it was time for her to die; she had retired from Columbia University under difficult circumstances, had lost her interest to some extent in reading and writing, was subject to depression, and -- most notably, to Gullette -- felt that she was becoming somewhat invisible. The author theorizes that once women of Heilbrun’s generation had, with difficulty, been able to join the workforce and use their minds and talents, they became invested in doing so, and were/are at a loss when retiring, even more so than men (although Gullette doesn’t explain the difference very convincingly). This is an interesting although sad exploration of the topic. The second chapter of interest to me in this book is “The Daughter’s Club: Does Emma Woodhouse’s Father Suffer from ‘Dementia’?” Emma is, of course, Jane Austen’s “Emma.” Gullette points out that scholars have focused on Emma’s pride, immaturity, flightiness, misguided meddling, and love story, but have paid little attention to her dilemma (which is, with great good fortune, resolved at the end): her father suffers from great mental and emotional limitations, which Emma and Austen herself seek to minimize by treating them as endearing eccentricities, and by emphasizing what a kind, generous man he is. But Gullette argues that Mr. Woodhouse's limitations are actually signs of dementia, which will only get worse. Emma is well aware that her daughterly duty is to care for him as he declines, until he dies. She loves him dearly, does not shirk from the task, and is unfailingly kind to and patient with him, but it is a heavy burden for a very young woman; in addition, she realizes that this duty may preclude her marrying and having her own family. Only the great goodness of Knightley in agreeing to take the very unusual step of leaving his own estate and moving into the Woodhouse home solves the issue of how Emma can care for her father and still have a marriage and family herself. But still, all is not unalloyed happiness; Gullette points out that Austen shows us almost nothing of what happens after the wedding, as she -- Austen -- is well aware that Emma and Knightley will have a difficult time caring for Mr. Woodhouse as his dementia increases. This intriguing and original interpretation of the story puts Emma in a much better and more mature light than usual, and I found it sad but very compelling.