softly. … To - day all the islands are theirs ” (164). Amplifying these views, a former
judge, Kapalei, proclaims:
“ The sickness is not ours. We have not sinned. The [white] men who preached the word
of God and the word of Rum brought the sickness with the coolie slaves who work the
stolen land. I have been a judge. I know the law and the justice, and I say to you it is
unjust to steal a man ’ s land, to make that man sick with the Chinese sickness, and then
to put that man in prison for life. ” (167)
The title character refuses to be sent to Molokai, and shows his superiority to the
Euro - American soldiers sent to capture him by killing dozens of them and evading
capture, keeping his freedom, and his rifl e, until he dies of leprosy, surrounded by
the natural beauty of his native island, in an area not yet despoiled by whites.
In “ The Mexican, ” a story that is both anti - capitalist and anti - racist, the eponymous
character shares not only an indomitability of spirit with London ’ s Anglo - Saxon heroes
like Martin Eden, Ernest Everhard, and Wolf Larsen, but also their physiological
power (if not their size; the protagonist here is wiry, rather than bulky). Felipe Rivera
has a “ deep chest, ” tough - fi bred fl esh, an “ instantaneousness of the cell explosions of
the muscles, [and] … fi neness of the nerves that wired every part of him into a splen-
did fi ghting mechanism ” (306). Furthermore, London is careful to note that “ Indian
blood, as well as Spanish, was in his veins ” (300). Rivera, like Koolau, is a tragic
fi gure – a sympathetic fellow revolutionist says, “ ‘ he hates all people. … He is alone.
… lonely ’ ” (295).
202
Andrew J. Furer
Nonetheless, he is admirable both in his strength and in his ideals: he is a boxer
who fi ghts for money to help fund a socialist revolution in Mexico. Although his
fellows in his revolutionary cell, the Junta, are unaware of how Rivera gets money to
bring them, they are well aware of his force and dedication: “ ‘ To me he is power – he
is the wild wolf, – the striking rattlesnake, ’ ” says one. To another, “ ‘ He is the Revo-
lution incarnate ’ . … ‘ He is the fl ame and spirit of it, the insatiable cry for vengeance
… ’ ” (295). In Rivera ’ s ultimate fi ght – upon which $5,000 and the guns necessary
to start the revolution depend – he fi nds that “ [a]ll Gringos were against him, even
the referee ” (308), who counts long seconds when his opponent is down, and short
seconds when Rivera himself is down. Through his strength and quick intelligence,
and his keen senses, however, he triumphs over the whites ’ conspiracy of unfairness.
(London refers to Rivera ’ s handlers, who are all white and strangers, as “ scrubs, ” a
phrase he uses elsewhere as a derogatory term for mixed breeds.) Although his oppo-
nent is one of the top fi ghters in the game, “ the coming champion, ” and helped by
“ the many ways of cheating in this game of the Gringos ” (303), Rivera is something
much more, an “ Ü bermensch ” : although only a boy of eighteen, “ he had gone through
such vastly greater heats that this collective passion of ten thousand throats, rising
surge on surge, was to his brain no more than the velvet cool of a summer twilight ”
(312). Furthermore, like Ernest Everhard in The Iron Heel (1908), Rivera is a superman
devoted to the cause of the masses. He does not fi ght for himself; rather, “ resplendent
and glorious, he saw the great, red Revolution sweeping across his land. … He was
the guns. He was the Revolution. He fought for all Mexico ” (309). After Rivera wins
the bout, the narrator declares, “ The Revolution could go on ” (313). London thus uses
a highly unusual genre, boxing fi ction (which he invented), through which to convey
his message of socialist, anti - racist social change. Here, the heroism of individual
combat is supposed to engage readers in the cause of social justice.
As previously indicated, London was unusual in being a white, Protestant promoter
of racial justice in this period. There were, however, many non - Anglo Saxon fi ction
writers – more than in any earlier period – active in the Progressive Era, who came
not only from European ethnic groups such as the Jews, Irish, German, Scandinavians,
and so on, but also from non - white groups such as African Americans, Chinese Ameri-
cans, Native Americans, and Chicanos. Such writers as Charles Chesnutt, Abraham
Cahan, Sui Sin Far, Zitkala - Š a, and Maria Cristina Mena tried to teach the Euro -
American audience for such magazines as Harper ’ s, the Atlantic Monthly, and Every-
body ’ s Magazine about the signifi cance of their cultures and the injustices perpetrated
against them, hoping to infl uence readers to change their views and become active
combatants in “ the good fi ght. ”
Chesnutt, interestingly, often simultaneously addresses both a black and white
audience in his social change fi ction. In “ The Wife of His Youth ” (1898) , fi rst pub-
lished in the Atlantic Monthly, for example, he simultaneously shows his white readers
the levels of sophistication and success many blacks have already achieved, hoping to
undermine their racist, primitivist preconceptions, while reminding his black audi-
ence that in striving to better themselves in a white society, they should never forget
Short Fiction and Social Change
203
their “ blackness, ” symbolized by the main character ’ s slave wife, whom he has con-
veniently forgotten amidst his postwar success.
Abraham Cahan, a Russian Jewish socialist and labor advocate and longtime editor
of the Jewish Daily Forward , in stories such as “ A Sweatshop Romance ” (1898) , dem-
onstrates to his Gentile readers that the apparently alien Russian Jewish hordes
“ invading ” America by the millions are nonetheless composed of individuals that
resemble themselves in their quotidian concerns. In this story, he uses a love triangle
plot in an industrial workplace to draw in his readers – a return to sentimental, if not
domestic, rhetorical stratagems in the fi ction of social change. Here, such tropes are
placed in a solidly working - class milieu, as opposed to the middle - class context of
most antebellum authors of social change fi ction, such as the temperance writers.
Sui Sin Far (Edith Maude Eaton), the fi rst Asian American writer to publish fi ction
in the US ( “ The Chinese Ishmael ” [1899] ), also returns to sentimental and domestic
themes in “ Mrs. Spring Fragrance ” (1910/1912) , not only to emphasize the similari-
ties of the Asian Other to whites, but also to attack the paranoid, xenophobic Chinese
Exclusion Acts. 27 Interestingly, even this political premise, not just the text ’ s love
theme, is conveyed through a vehicle of the domestic, a letter from wife to husband,
which while sometimes heavily ironic – “ And murmur no more because your …
brother … is detained under the roof - tree of this great Government. … Console him
with the refl ection that he is protected under the wing of the Eagle, the Emblem of
Liberty ” (21) – is nonetheless intimate and affectionate ( “ Your ever loving and obedi-
ent woman … ” [
22]), not unlike those that her white readers undoubtedly wrote to
their spouses. However, although her plot deals with matchmaking and the defi nition
of love, as her Chinese American characters negotiate the line between their American
and Chinese identities, Far also deploys masculinist images, including among her
characters Kai Tzu, as “ stalwart as any young Westerner, ” noted “ amongst baseball
players as one of the fi nest pitchers ” in California (17).
Another writer from a marginalized group, Maria Cristina Mena, one of the earliest
published writers of Latino fi ction, after Maria Amparo Ruiz de Barton, also uses
romance to critique race relations. In “ The Education of Popo, ” published in the
Century Magazine in March 1914, a teenage Mexican boy falls in love with a visiting
young American woman in her twenties, Alicia, recently estranged from her fi anc é .
Popo ’ s family goes to great lengths to please the American family, importing “ Ameri-
can canned soups ” and breakfast cereal (47) and much more, a blatant reference to
American arrogance, and a veiled one to imperialism; rather than accepting Mexican
culture, they impose their own on their hosts, who feel it important to indulge them.
The American family, the Cherrys, treat their hosts condescendingly, and Alicia,
blond and draped with a “ generous measure of diamonds ” (57), encourages Popo,
exploits his affections, and then returns to her American fi anc é , Edward Winterbot-
tom, after he shows up in Mexico unexpectedly. At the story ’ s conclusion Edward self -
importantly assumes he is paying Popo the highest compliment by declaring that the
Mexican youth is “ worthy of being an American ” (62). Alicia, meanwhile, describes
Popo
’
s behavior as
“
his Indian revenge
”
(62), while also stereotyping him as an
204
Andrew J. Furer
emotional Latin (61). The allusions to American racist, imperialist arrogance, though
hidden beneath a sentimental plot and language, are unmistakable. Alicia takes what
she wants from the Mexican boy, and leaves; meanwhile, Popo denounces her “ treach-
erous falseness ” (61). While demonstrating the sophistication of Popo ’ s upper middle -
class family to her white American readers, depicting an elegant ball given by
Governor Arriola (58), Popo ’ s father, Mena also rebukes them for their racism and
arrogance, albeit in the sugar - coated form of a travel romance. She wants her Anglo
readers to acknowledge the signifi cance of Mexican culture, and to cease interfering.
It seems clear that certain Progressive Era female writers, like Far and Mena (and
some male, such as Cahan), continue to pursue social change via the sentimental and
the domestic. Others, however, such as Zitkala - Š a (Gertrude Simmons Bonnin), a
mixed race Lakota Sioux author, use stories of confl ict and violence to achieve their
aims. In “ The Soft - Hearted Sioux ” (1901) , published in Harper ’ s , the author shows
the destructiveness of Euro - Americans ’ attempts to Christianize Indians, and to use
starvation to force them on to reservations. The narrator, a Sioux who left his people
as a teenager to attend a mission school, is eventually sent back to try to convert them,
an endeavor at which he has little success. The fact that he is never named is signifi -
cant, since it allows him to stand in for the thousands of Native Americans assimilated
by the mission schools. When he returns home to his people, he immediately feels
estranged from them, even from his own parents. Sitting with them, he thinks, “ I
did not feel at home … far apart in spirit our ideas and faiths separated us ” (120 – 1). 28
While preaching, he is attacked by the medicine man – whose views seem clearly
endorsed by the author – who reminds him of the injustices of the whites, declaring
that his dress is that of the “ foreigner ” who “ ‘ bound a native of our land, and …
kindled a fi re at his feet ’ ” (122). He continues, turning to his people, “ ‘ Why do you
sit here giving ear to a foolish man who could not defend his people because he fears
to kill, who could not bring venison to renew the life of his sick father? With his
prayers, let him drive away the enemy! With his soft heart, let him keep off starva-
tion ’ ” (122), accusations echoed by the narrator ’ s family (123), since his assimilation
has rendered him unfi t to hunt for meat for his starving, ill father. Finally, he is driven
to steal a cow, but chased by the farmer, he commits murder to escape, only to fi nd
that his father has perished while he was away. He is then arrested, and, as the story
concludes, awaits execution at the hands of white law. The story is a plea to white
readers to understand the plight of Native Americans, and to get the Euro - American
government and society to cease attempting to impose their values on them.
The following year, Zitkala - Š a published a story that addresses themes of both
racial pride and women ’ s rights, “ A Warrior ’ s Daughter ” (1902) . On the one hand,
as she strove to do in much of her fi ction and non - fi ction, the author tries to convey
to her white audience the dignity and signifi cance of her tribal culture, as well as the
intimate particulars of daily life among the Sioux, details designed, as with Sui Sin
Far, to lead her readers to see the racial Other ’ s humanity. 29 At the beginning of the
story, Tusee is very young, with a “ childish faith in her elders ” and a “ child ’ s buoyant
spirit ” (134), much loved by her parents and uncles; this is one of the few moments
Short Fiction and Social Change
205
in the story where the author relies on domestic tropes. At the same time, however,
she shows her readers the fi erce pride of her people and their traditions – Tusee ’ s
father has won by ferocious “ heroic deeds ” many privileges, showing that the Sioux ’ s
cultural conventions are equivalent to the heroic traditions valorized by Western
culture – and uniquely preaches a feminist message via violent confl ict and the appli-
cation of female physical strength and bravery.
As I argue in “ ‘ A Mighty Power Thrills Her Body ’ : Zitkala - Š a ’ s ‘ A Warrior ’ s
Daughter ’ and Natural Feminism, ” Tusee speaks to the aspirations of many other
American women of the time, regardless of ethnic or racial background, who fought
to escape from the constraints of the Cult of True Womanhood. On the one hand,
Tusee exemplifi es the superiority of Native American women to overcivilized, hyper-
feminized Euro - American women, especially in their alternative sex role as warrior
women; on the other, Tusee is a model for what all American women can achieve if
they break free of Victorian notions of femininity (Furer, “ Natural Feminism ” ). After
the brief vignette set during Tusee ’ s childhood, the narrative focuses on her transfor-
mation into a warrior woman as an adult. When her lover is captured in battle, and
no men volunteer to go after him, Tusee single - handedly rescues him. First, she uses
her feminine attractiveness as a young woman to lure away her lover ’ s captor. Appear-
ing to fl ee seduc
tively, she then lets him catch her, at which point she whirls,
announces herself as his enemy, and kills him with a single knife thrust, having previ-
ously prayed for her warrior - father ’ s heart to be planted within her “ strong to slay a
foe, and mighty to save a friend ” (Zitkala - Š a, “ Daughter ” 137). Next, Tusee disguises
herself as an old woman to pass unnoticed to where her lover is being kept, and then
reveals herself to him, frees him, and takes him back to safety. Particularly notable
in the text are the brilliance of Tusee ’ s disguises, and the fact that she uses both
traditional feminine and masculine modes of behavior to achieve her goal, culminating
in a signifi cant feat of strength. The story culminates with a moment of signifi cant
role - reversal, at least as her contemporaries would have perceived it: “ ‘ Come! ’ she
whispers, and turns to go; but the young man, numb and helpless, staggers nigh to
falling. The sight of his weakness makes her strong. A mighty power thrills her body.
Stooping beneath his outstretched arms grasping at the air for support, Tusee lifts
him upon her broad shoulders. With half
-
running, triumphant steps she carries
him away into the open night ” (140). This ending, while highly unusual in its redefi -
nition of the feminine, is not surprising in the context of the author ’ s life. In 1901,
writing to her fi anc é , Native American activist Carlos Montezuma, she asks combat-
ively, “ Am I not an Indian woman as capable in serious matters and as thoroughly
interested in the race – as any one or two of you men put together? Why do you dare
leave me out? ” 30
“ A Warrior ’ s Daughter, ” of course, was part of a fl ood of feminist fi ction that
appeared during the Progressive Era, far outstripping its antebellum counterpart in
volume. Writers such as Kate Chopin, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Jack London,
among others, attempted to redefi ne gender roles in an age during which women were
going to college and entering the workforce in far greater numbers than ever before
206
Andrew J. Furer
(see p. 196, above). 31 Between them, Gilman and Chopin published dozens of feminist
A Companion to the American Short Story Page 45