For many, one’s identity is an integral part of understanding the world, both internally and externally. Without a clear grasp of one’s identity, it is difficult to connect with others, and one might even feel alienated. Even if one were to be in touch with their identity, the surrounding culture might not be as accepting, and may try to excise such abhorrences. The resulting emotion may include shame, which, according to Eve Sedgwick, might be an important emotion to have. It is a social emotion - one that either attaches or detaches one to the rest of the world, especially if one’s identity is viewed as an undesirable trait in their given culture. Sexuality is often one part of identity that is viewed abject, especially when it deviates from the heteronormativity of early 20th century England. E.M. Forster’s Maurice paints an exquisite picture on the kind of shame that the titular character feels when his homosexuality is rejected by those in whom he confides.
In Sedgwick’s article “Shame, Theatricality, and Queer Performativity,” there is a distinction between shame and guilt, as “shame attaches to and sharpens the sense of what one is, whereas guilt attaches to what one does.” (p. 51) Shame is attached to one’s identity whether they want it or not, and as such, how they portray themselves in any given society. Shame calls to question one’s identity and individuality, and it is a catalyst of one developing and honing their identity with the whetstone of societal norms. When one feels shame, it is a critical moment in forging their identity, and they must ask themselves whether they should accept this part of themselves or lose face and lower their head in shame. In other words, shame is a like a double edged sword: it individuates, and yet it also isolates, and as Sedgwick puts it, “one of the strangest features of shame… is the way bad treatment of someone else, bad treatment by someone else… someone else’s embarrassment, stigma… can so readily flood me… with this sensation… seems to delineate my precise, individual outlines in the most isolating way imaginable.” (50) Particularly in regards to queer performativity, Sedgwick believes that it can be related to the affect shame. She suggests “that to view performativity in terms of habitual shame and its transformations opens a lot of new doors for thinking about identity politics.” (59) In other words, one should view performativity through the lens of shame, and the kind of transformations it may provide for one who may be suffering from it.
With Sedgwick’s theory behind shame in mind, we may look at Forster’s Maurice, and how shame and performativity may be at play in a specific scene I have in mind, which is in the final chapter of the novel. At this point in the story, Maurice has made several attempts to have his homosexuality “cured”, whether via Dr. Barry or the hypnotist Lasker Jones, and has fallen in love with Alec Scudder. However, Maurice’s attempts have all been in vain, and he eventually comes to terms with his sexual orientation, and decides being with Scudder is more important than his own place in society. In this chapter, Maurice pays his former love and childhood bestfriend, Clive, a visit, and informs him about his love affair with Scudder. Throughout the conversation, Clive seems to express disgust, and is mortified at the fact that his good friend is in an affair with someone who is a social inferior, as Scudder used to be employed as Clive’s gamekeeper. While one might read into Clive’s disgust toward Maurice as mere homophobia, I would contend that this is more to do with Sedgwick’s queer performativity - I believe that Clive is in deep denial, and he hides his shame through this expression of disgust for the sake of his social status and refusal to explore his own identity further, unlike Maurice, who seems to have embraced this part of his identity that has been wholly rejected by society.
Clive seems to have completely avoided the subject of homosexuality. In other words, he seems to have forgotten about his past relationship with Maurice, which despite the fact that he and Maurice were intimately involved throughout the first half of the novel. At the beginning of the chapter, Maurice meets with Clive at his front porch, seemingly asking for advice. Clive assumes that Maurice has a problem related to women, when it is clear to the both of them that their shared history would say otherwise. When Maurice declares that he is “in love with [Clive’s] gamekeeper” (p.242), clearly meaning Scudder, Clive seems to brush it off, naming perhaps the currently employed Mrs. Ayres. At the confirmation that it was Scudder, Clive says that it is a “grotesque announcement,” suggesting some sort of revulsion to the idea that Maurice could still love men. Citing Tomkins, Sedgwick says that shame “operates only after interest or enjoyment had been activated, and inhibits one or the other or both. The innate activator of shame is the incomplete reduction of interest or joy. Hence any barrier to further exploration which partially reduces interest… will activate… and reduce further exploration or self-exposure.” (p. 53) Clive’s immediate rejection of Maurice’s confession seems odd, despite the fact that the two have had a romantic relationship together (albeit celibate). It would seem that Clive had lost interest in the idea of homosexuality, and that his relationship with Maurice was more of an experiment for him. Now that he has married a woman and has his own household, any reminder of that past is something to be rejected. Clive’s refusal to talk about homosexuality, especially his dear friend Maurice’s, is emphasized by him begging Maurice “to resist the return of this obsession.” ( Forster p. 242) To Clive, Maurice’s sexuality is nothing more than just an “obsession,” something that is unhealthy and needs to be remedied and discussed.
Something peculiar that happens in the same scene is that Maurice mentions that Clive had previously kissed his hand “with deliberate bitterness.” (Forster p. 242) Although Clive and Maurice had attempted to remain platonic friends since the end of their romantic relationship, a kiss on the hand would be a confusing act of intimacy from one’s former lover. For Maurice, it sends mixed signals, and it would be uncharacteristic of Clive to act such a way without forethought. He gets defensive when Maurice brings it up, and urges him to occupy himself with other things.
It is important to note that sex was never something that Maurice and Clive explored during their romantic relationship. Their affair had remained celibate throughout, until Maurice slept with Scudder after the formers’ breakup. When Maurice reveals that he has “shared with Alec,” (Forster p. 243) meaning that he has had sex with Scudder, Clive responds with “a whimper of disgust. He wanted to smite the monster…” This vehement rejection of Maurice’s confession could be interpreted as an example of early 20th century English prudishness, but it could also be a rejection of something within Clive himself. At the point of hearing this, his response seems dramatic and fearful, almost like seeing a rat or a cockroach, and it would seem as if he is performing to play into the heteronormative role that he is expected to be in. Shame causes one to be performative to hide a rejected aspect of their identity, as it “attaches to and permanently intensifies or alters the meaning of--of almost anything: … a prohibited… behavior, … a named identity.” (Sedgwick p. 59) Clive plays the role of the prudish, heterosexual English gentleman because that is his expected role. He is wealthy, and must marry and procreate to continue his legacy. For a man of his station, he cannot afford to explore those feelings that he once had.
Another thing that should be mentioned about Clive’s reaction throughout his conversation with Maurice is that he seems to still harbor some feelings for him. While it is clear that Maurice has gone great lengths to move on from his past relationship and is ready to live the rest of his life with Scudder, Clive still clings onto their former affair. Maurice is adamant on being true to himself and his identity despite Clive’s seemingly disgusted remarks, but Clive himself cannot seem to bring himself to completely reject Maurice; he still cares for him, and his tone has hints of pleading. “Then he stopped, faced by the future. ‘Maurice, Maurice,’ … ‘Maurice, quo vadis? … I care a little bit for you, you know, or I wouldn’t stand what you have told me.’” (Forster p. 244) Clive’s response in this part of the chapter can be interpreted as a beseeching to get Maurice to stay. The narration also makes it clear that a “feeling of heroism stole over him” (Forster p. 244) While it could be simply attributed to Clive not wanting his friend to make a rash decision, there is a hint of a superiority or savior complex from him. He feels as though it is his duty to “save” Maurice, almost as if he still felt like Maurice belonged to him. His thought processes show signs of possessiveness, as he “began to wonder how Scudder could be silenced and whether he would prove extortionate.” (Forster p. 245) It would seem that Clive was willing to deploy underhanded tactics to keep the truth between him and Maurice a secret, thereby burying his homosexuality deep down.
Clive still harbors feelings towards Maurice, and he is ashamed of this. The last two paragraphs of the novel seem to allude to this. When Maurice disappears from England without a trace, the narration describing Clive’s thoughts about it seem wistful. “He did not realize that this was the end, without twilight or compromise, that he should never cross Maurice’s track again… He waited for a little in the alley, then returned to the house, to correct his proofs and to devise some method of concealing the truth from Anne.” (Forster p. 245) The shame from being in a homoromantic relationship seems to still haunt Clive his entire life, and as Sedgwick suggests, “shame is simply the first, and remains a permanent, structuring fact of identity: one that… has its own powerfully productive and powerfully social metamorphic possibilities.” (p. 61) Clive is remains closeted throughout the remainder of his life, even hiding the truth of his affair from his own wife, though then again, he and Anne share a more platonic relationship, and perhaps their asexual marriage is simply for appearances alone. The contradiction between his social status as a wealthy Englishman and his expectations to marry and sire children, and his romantic affair with Maurice manifest as a conflicted revulsion towards his friend’s sexuality.
Clive may have been gay, but he was gay in a time when the term hadn’t even been socially accepted yet, much less be in the public discourse. His identity as a man who had explored his homosexuality and later marrying to a woman can be theorized as him being bisexual, but his attraction toward Anne seems platonic at best. Clive doesn’t count as queer either despite him being gay (Sedgwick p. 60). His inner identity may include his homosexuality, but his outward identity--the one that he presents to society, is one that conforms to the heteronormative ideals in his culture and time. “... shame both derives from and aims toward sociability.” (Sedgwick p. 51) In relation to Clive, the shame that he feels comes from his desire to belong, though at the cost of the freedom of living however he pleases. Maurice was willing to sacrifice it in order to live with Scudder, but Clive is a man of the upper classes of England, and thus his station is more prominent and he has more to lose. Clive actively turns away from queerness, whether it be through his dissolution of his relationship with Maurice, or his revulsion during his last conversation with him. Either way, it seems that he has never ventured to explore that part of himself, and that underdeveloped understanding of his own identity brings him a sense of shame and unease.
“Shame… generates and legitimates the place of identity--the question of identity--at the origin of the impulse to the performative…” (Sedgwick p. 60) the shame that Clive feels about his identity prevents any further legitimization of his sexuality. He has never experimented nor explored those tendencies beyond his affair with Maurice, and thus is clueless in how to deal with them. As such, he handles it the only way he can: marrying a woman and conforming to his culture, suppressing the part of him that seemed to make him feel closer to his truth. By performing as a heterosexual Englishman, Clive represses and rejects his homosexuality, but his last conversation with Maurice seems to betray those efforts.
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