‘Brontë underscores the need for women to be ever vigilant in instructing men.’ In light of this view, discuss how Anne Brontë presents masculinity and the gender power struggle in 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall'.

In her analysis of Anne Brontë’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848), Rachel Carnell suggests that, ‘Brontë underscores the need for women to be ever vigilant in instructing men’ through Helen Graham’s timely hermeneutic intervention in Gilbert Markham’s life. Here Carnell echoes a central tenet of 19th century domestic ideology: the belief that feminine influence over men would lead to the taming of ungentlemanly behaviour. This doctrine was famously postulated by Hannah More, who described male manners as coarse, with ‘rough angles and asperities’ , and insisted that if a ‘public revolution of manners’ was to occur, then it must be carried out by women. Essentially Carnell and More assign to women the primary labour in the production of what Norbert Elias has since called the ‘civilising process.’ Yet the reality Brontë presents in her novel is far from this; it is one where masculinity is impervious to the softening or ‘superior’ influence of women. Marrying Huntingdon, Helen is convinced that she can reform him (‘I think I might have influence sufficient to save him from some errors’ ), but after years of coarse and rough manners realises that he will never let her ‘recall him to the path of virtue’ (126). And while it is true that Huntingdon and Gilbert are officially contrasted with one another (‘Arthur representing Helen’s disastrous first choice […] and Gilbert her eventual appropriate choice’ ), the repetition is double-edged, and Gilbert’s immaturity reveals an almost embarrassing similarity between the two men. It quickly becomes clear that Brontë does not, in fact, underscore the importance of Helen’s instruction and intervention in the lives of the men around her, but rather rejects the idea that her influence leads to any real change in their masculinity. To a wider extent, Brontë’s dismantling of this ideology calls into question the legitimacy of More’s female-led ‘revolution of manners’, and the belief that masculinity can be reformed in such a way.
Arthur Huntingdon is the primary example of this. Brontë presents him as a representation of a certain character type: the drunken, licentious husband who appeared not only in Victorian fiction, but frequently in nineteenth-century feminist discourse. This male posed a significant threat to the figures of the dutiful wife and child, and so the Victorian domestic family unit. In Tenant, Huntingdon poses a threat to the happiness, if not the lives, of Helen and their son because of his degenerate ways. At the beginning of their courtship, Helen describes Huntingdon as having a ‘too fascinating physiognomy’ (130), and states that she finds it hard to believe that ‘there is any harm in those laughing blue eyes’ (114). Often eyes are viewed as the windows to the soul and Brontë echoes as much during Gilbert’s impassioned defence of Helen’s character: ‘There is such a thing as looking through a person’s eyes into the heart and learning more of […] another’s soul in one hour’ (79). Yet, the only thing Helen notes about Huntingdon’s eyes is the colour, a superficial trait that exposes her physical attraction to him. That they were ‘laughing’ is seemingly friendly but could easily be mockery. It also foreshadows Huntingdon’s hedonistic preoccupation with amusement. In addition, Brontë’s use of ‘physiognomy’ in Helen’s description of Huntingdon directly links the observation to an earlier statement where she praised herself on being ‘an excellent physiognomist […] always [judging] of people’s characters […] by their general countenance’ (114). However, due to her sheltered upbringing Helen’s perceptive ability is somewhat innocent and untrained. Already it is clear that she has not judged Huntingdon’s eyes beyond what the surface shows, thus suggesting that she is ignorant of the content of his soul. However, Brontë demonstrates that she does have some awareness of his nature as rather than calling him a man of ‘good disposition’ and ‘principle’ she states that he could become such a man, had he only, as More and Carnell advocate, someone to guide him (124). Having a greater understanding of men, Helen’s aunt sceptically questions whether Huntingdon will ever ‘allow himself to be guided by a young girl’ (125), but he assures Helen that ‘the very idea of having [her] to care for under [his] roof would force [him] to moderate [his] expenses and live like a Christian’ (144). This is surely the man More envisioned; the youthful rake whose manners left much to be desired, but only required the gentle instruction of a morally upright wife to tame his licentious ways.