Sylvia: The Freak of Moods by Larisa

I read Moods during spring break when I should have been reading Ruth Hall, but I was so entranced by Louisa May Alcott's Behind a Mask that I wanted more. About halfway through Moods, I saw a connection between Sylvia Yule and Jean Muir--even though Jean is an "old" woman at 30 and Sylvia is a young girl of 17--they are both perceived as other than a traditional female. In my previous posting I showed how Jean is likened to a Scotch witch by the men in the story. Well in Moods, Sylvia is never called a witch (most likely because of her age) but she is painted in non-traditional female terms, especially as a trickster or performer like Jean. The passage that really clinches this perception of her occurs on their holiday up the river. Adam tells Geoffrey that they had a wild day while he was babysitting her and describes her as follows: "‘She is freakish and wears as many shapes as Puck,--a will-o-the wisp, a Sister of Charity, an imperious woman, a meek-faced child,--and one does not know in which part she pleases most. Hard the task of him who wins and tries to hold her‘" (220). Not only is Sylvia a trickster in her behavior, but this constant shape shifting is difficult for the men because they are not sure if she will grow up to perform as a traditionally domesticated woman, like her older sister Prudence. But interestingly, neither one of these men are interested in Prudence--they like Sylvia.

While there were not as many scenes of masking by Sylvia as there were of Jean, we see Sylvia's progression from girl to woman, especially in the clothes she wears. For example, when they are on the river trip and visit the family for the golden wedding anniversary, Sylvia changes out of her wet clothes into "Phebe's best blue gingham gown, for the preservation of which she added a white apron" (224). The apron is a clear indicator that she is trying on domesticity, especially as she goes on to put flowers on the tables and hang greenery as a metaphorical mother nature, strewing symbols of fertility about the home. Another time that she is performing womanhood is on her wedding day in which she is described as "a fashion-plate of a bride" (271) and wearing an "unusual costume" (273)--even when she feels like doing so is agonizing and longs to escape. After she is dressed, she sees Geoffrey and Alcott tells us that they “changed characters” (272)--or played different parts. Sylvia is the calm one in this scene while Geoffrey is the one with “pale excitement” (272).

We again see performance by Sylvia when she is a married woman. She and Geoffrey have their fireside fete, she changes out of the clothes (and role) of Mrs. Moor to become Sylvia again, or as Alcott describes it, "to do her part" (286). She puts on "a short, girlish gown,[...and] braided her long hair, with butterfly bows at the ends, and improvised a pinafore" (286). Apparently she could still play either part, and doing so is indicative of her moods, ennui, and general reluctance to become a woman/wife.

In the concluding chapter we see that Sylvia has settled into her role as wife and woman. This time the description of Sylvia is displaced from her physical body onto the house since she now is represented by and contained within the house. Alcott says, "May had come again and the Manse wore its loveliest aspect to greet its master, who came at last and alone. But not to an empty home, for on the threshold stood his wife, not the wayward child he wooed, the melancholy girl he married, but a woman with her soul in her face, her heart upon her lips, and outstretched arms that seemed to hold all that was dearest in the world when they clasped him with the tender cry,--'Thank God! I have my husband safe'" (355). No longer is Sylvia full of moods or performances, but she is easily perceived as a traditional woman, contained within the house and arms of her husband. A happily traditional ending, though perhaps not as interesting as Jean Muir’s story in Behind a Mask.