79 pages • 2 hours read
Edith WhartonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more. For select classroom titles, we also provide Teaching Guides with discussion and quiz questions to prompt student engagement.
Like much of Wharton’s work, Ethan Frome has a naturalist bent; it’s generally skeptical of free will, instead framing Ethan’s fate as the product of impersonal social and natural forces. Poverty, sickness, a changing economy, and norms surrounding gender and sexuality intervene in Ethan’s life at key moments, and it’s the convergence of all these forces that ultimately stops Ethan from leaving Zeena. Even the New England landscape seems to shape Ethan’s existence and personality in fundamental ways; according to the narrator, “his loneliness was not merely the result of his personal plight […] but had in it, as Harmon Gow had hinted, the profound accumulated cold of many Starkfield winters” (13).
Ethan himself certainly feels helpless in the face of all these circumstances, telling Mattie that he’s “tied hand and foot” (87). However, constricting as Ethan’s situation is, it’s also true that he makes few real attempts to change it. He intends, for example, to challenge Zeena on Mattie’s dismissal, but he backs down the moment Zeena alludes to his relationship with Mattie, presumably because he fears the stigma of being branded an adulterer: “He had meant to humble himself, to argue that Mattie’s keep didn’t cost much, after all, that he could make out to buy a stove and fix up a place in the attic for the hired girl—but Zeena’s words revealed the peril of such pleadings” (66). Ethan also frequently attributes preternatural power to those around him, thereby downplaying his own responsibility for the course events take. These efforts to avoid the “perils” of decisive action are futile, however; Ethan’s own life, and especially the passive way in which he drifts into marrying Zeena, demonstrate how consequential inaction itself can be.
The tension between fate and free will culminates in Ethan and Mattie’s attempted suicide. Philosophers have long debated the relationship between suicide and agency; its finality and totality can be construed either as the ultimate assertion of free will or as the ultimate renunciation of it. The question is even more complicated in Ethan Frome because Ethan displaces the decision onto external forces; he sees Mattie (who first suggests suicide) as “the embodied instrument of fate” (91), and he then elects to “follow the track” rather than steer the sled (92). The latter choice is arguably why the crash injures but doesn’t kill the couple, once again underscoring the consequences of passivity.
Nevertheless, there’s a certain sense in which the crash produces exactly the result the couple intended. Mattie had asked Ethan to go “[r]ight into the big elm. […] So ‘t [they’d] never have to leave each other any more” (90), and this is indeed what happens; the injuries Mattie sustains prevent her from ever leaving the Frome household, but that very closeness becomes torturous, and Mattie herself changes beyond recognition. The novel’s conclusion therefore deepens the ambiguity surrounding human agency and determinism. On the one hand, it suggests that Ethan actually can realize his intentions through action; on the other, the fact that Ethan, in trying to escape his existence, merely replicates and magnifies its miseries is highly fatalistic.
Ethan Frome’s focus on marriage and domestic life means traditional gender roles loom large. Broadly speaking, 19th- and early-20th-century gender ideology put women at a disadvantage relative to men; as middle-class women were conceived of primarily as homemakers, their financial security often depended on having and keeping a husband. Mattie, for instance, grows up lacking any skills that would make her employable, having only learned the ornamental accomplishments prized in middle-class wives: “She could trim a hat, make molasses candy, recite ‘Curfew shall not ring to-night,’ and play ‘The Lost Chord’ and a pot-pourri from ‘Carmen’” (36). Zeena’s dismissal of Mattie thus represents a threat not just to her relationship with Ethan, but also to her very survival. Of course, Zeena’s own situation is also precarious; if Ethan left her, she would have no way of supporting herself, not least because her sickness and advancing age would probably prevent her from finding another husband.
Ethan himself knows this, and the guilt he feels is among the reasons he doesn’t leave Zeena. This predicament points to something significant: the way in which men, though ostensibly empowered by the era’s gender norms, could actually be constrained by them. Another example involves Ethan’s ignorance of “household wisdom”—”feminine” domestic tasks like cooking, cleaning, and caring for the sick. Never having learned these skills, Ethan becomes completely reliant on Zeena when she takes over his mother’s care: “The mere fact of obeying her orders, of feeling free to go about his business again and talk with other men, restored his shaken balance and magnified his sense of what he owed her” (41).
Zeena’s presence, in other words, allows Ethan to reassume a conventionally male social role, but it also makes him dependent on her; he can only play the part of a breadwinner in public because Zeena is attending to the household chores. This dynamic poses several problems, beginning with the incentive it creates for the couple to marry despite their obvious ill-suitedness. More abstractly, the fact that Ethan is “obeying” Zeena by “going about his business again” belies the era’s association of masculinity with independence, authority, and agency. Ethan continues aspiring to this ideal, however, and consequently feels emasculated whenever he’s reminded of his relative powerlessness.
The flipside of this dynamic is the skill with which Zeena leverages female gender norms to secure power. At the time Wharton was writing, femininity and sickness were conceptually intertwined thanks to stereotypes framing women as frail and neurotic. The idea also provided a useful explanation for the very real boredom and depression that some women who were trapped at home experienced and that even Ethan seems vaguely aware of: “He recalled his mother’s growing taciturnity, and wondered if Zeena were also turning ‘queer.’ Women did, he knew. […] [H]e himself knew of certain lonely farm-houses in the neighbourhood where stricken creatures pined” (42-43). Zeena, however, turns this idea to her advantage. Regardless of whether she’s truly sick, she uses the perception that she is to get her way, most obviously when she demands Mattie’s dismissal, but also whenever she plays on Ethan’s guilt to ensure he complies with her wishes. The novel therefore complicates the idea that 19th-century gender roles straightforwardly disadvantaged women; although this was their net social effect, the power dynamics of specific male–female relationships could be more complex.
Although no exact date is ever given, Ethan Frome seems to open in the 1890s or 1900s, with the main narrative set roughly two decades earlier. This was a period of great technological transformation in America, as railway networks expanded, power plants began generating electricity for public and private use, and mechanization sped up the production of consumer goods. Mainstream culture tended to frame these scientific advancements as both inevitable and desirable, but their social impacts weren’t unambiguously good; for instance, the shift towards industrialization threatened the small-scale (or even subsistence-level) farming many Americans had historically practiced. What’s more, these same people tended to live in rural areas, often with little access to the new urban centers of social and economic activity.
This is the case with Starkfield, which, as its name suggests, is an isolated and barren place to live. However, this isolation is partly manmade; the town apparently received a steady stream of traffic until it was left off the railroad line. As Ethan sees it, this change was what triggered his mother’s decline and death: “[S]he used to sit up there and watch the road by the hour; and one year, when they was six months mending the Bettsbridge pike after the floods, and Harmon Gow had to bring his stage round this way, she picked up so that she used to get down to the gate most days to see him. But after the trains begun running nobody ever come by here to speak of” (17). Psychological impact aside, even Starkfield’s wealthiest residents have suffered financially as a result of their situation:
Mrs. Hale’s father had been the village lawyer of the previous generation, and ‘lawyer Varnum’s house,’ where my landlady still lived with her mother, was the most considerable mansion in the village. […] It was clear that the Varnum fortunes were at the ebb, but the two women did what they could to preserve a decent dignity (11).
It is Ethan himself, however, who best represents industrialization’s collateral damage. As a young man, Ethan studied engineering—a field tailor-made for an era of mechanization and construction. The fact that his parents’ sickness and poverty prevented him from completing his program therefore undercuts the American dream’s basic promise; despite doing everything “right,” Ethan is locked out of the new industrial economy. To make matters worse, that very economy has made the already unprofitable farm and mill he inherits increasingly unmarketable because they run on “one of them old water-mills” rather than more recent technology (13). Ethan thus finds himself trapped in a job he hates, struggling to make ends meet, and with virtually no hope of escape.
This decline seems to be the fate in store for most of the novel’s characters, with a few notable exceptions. The Eadys, for instance, have become relatively wealthy thanks to the “suppleness and effrontery […] of ‘smart’ business methods” (21)—that is, they’ve adopted modern commercial practices. Notably, the Eadys are Irish and therefore associated with the immigrant groups that powered the industrial economy (though generally as low-wage workers rather than as business owners). The other exception is the narrator, who, as an engineer, perfectly encapsulates Ethan’s one-time aspirations. These figures, however, exist around the story’s margins (quite literally, in the narrator’s case), thus underscoring the gap between Starkfield and industrialized America.
By Edith Wharton