"cling with both hands":Erotic Pedagogy in Elizabeth Stuart Phelps' The Gates Ajar Brianna Thompson (bio) In Elizabeth Stuart Phelps' postbellum novel The Gates Ajar (1868), when the fictional Mary Cabot loses her beloved brother Roy in the Civil War, she goes numb and begins to doubt her faith.1 Improbably accompanied by a daughter named Faith, her pious aunt arrives to care for her. The first time Mary cries in front of her aunt, Winifred "gather[s]" her (adult) niece onto her lap and consoles her: "'There,' she said in a low, lulling voice, 'now tell Auntie all about it.'"2 This early scene marks the beginning of loving religious instruction in which the women touch and comfort each other. Such instruction foreshadows how Winifred continues for Mary a desire taboo that Mary had already established with Roy. As Mary pivots from a sister desiring her brother to same-sex desire for Winifred, she and her aunt establish a radical new intimacy that exceeds traditional categories of love. Phelps frames both grief and religious empowerment as transformative processes in the mid-nineteenth century by offering us a story about tragedy that becomes livable due to the erotic potentiality of faith and grief. Readers of the wildly popular Gates Ajar found that religious teaching and mourning surprisingly enabled desire taboos. In this novel, American religious instruction [End Page 443] as it bleeds into surviving grief allows for a transformative experience that I call erotic pedagogy.3 While the term may sound as if it describes what were often normative homosocial relationships between Victorian American women, theorized by Carroll Smith-Rosenberg as "romantic friendship," erotic pedagogy offers a new analytic for understanding how these relationships could be infused with the Second Great Awakening's embodied religious enthusiasm in ways that enabled erotic expression.4 Erotic pedagogy describes how these women draw on erotic potentiality to fashion a new intimacy, transforming Mary's passionate grief for her brother into desire for her aunt. What I am reading as desire taboos play a crucial role in how Phelps understands bereavement. She comforted her readers by framing grief as something so raw and alienating that it made one feel painfully separate. Interestingly, Phelps expresses this aching alienation by making Mary's grief the logical outcome of losing someone with whom she already shared a unique relationship. To make a scenario in which Mary is experiencing the most extreme loss, she must love her brother so differently when he is alive that she is already distinctive. In other words, Mary's incestuous love for her brother anticipates her sense that her grief is singular. Phelps conceived of The Gates Ajar from 1863 through 1865, during and immediately after the Civil War, to console women whose patriarchal Protestantism offered few tools for dealing with world-shattering loss. With a death toll of over 750,000 American soldiers and an unknown number of civilian casualties, the only group that the war generated in surfeit were mourners.5 Grief became an abiding reality for Northerners and Southerners, as the war reduced almost every family in the reconstituted United States.6 After the war, Phelps recalls that "our country was dark with sorrowing women … Towards the nameless mounts of Arlington, of Gettysburg, … the yearning of desolated [End Page 444] homes went out in those waves of anguish which seem to choke the very air."7 She describes the Civil War's effects as an obstructing darkness because the war left surviving Americans, especially lower- and middle-class women, with particularly numerous losses.8 Women experienced the personal, gendered effects of the war's staggering damage due to two cultural norms. First, the work of mourning was often women's work, and second, "prevailing [religious] beliefs had nothing to say to an afflicted woman that could help her much. Creeds and commentaries and sermons were made by men."9 Phelps designed The Gates Ajar to address those gendered experiences of postwar bereavement. This essay intervenes in theories of nineteenth-century relationships, offering a new analytic for understanding how the Second Great Awakening's embodied religious enthusiasm could infuse female friendships in ways that enabled erotic expression. I suggest that, because...
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