How does a woman’s social privilege determine her ability to be a mother? Children, at times, exist as a symbol for the success of a relationship and the ability to create a family. While the social behaviors regarding the expectations of marriage and female empowerment have evolved over time, the essential importance of children has not. In nineteenth-century literature, it’s virtually impossible to separate a woman from her reproductive abilities: a heroine’s integrity depends on her relationship to her children. Even contemporary depictions of women often center motherhood. Thus, when the audience is presented with narratives in which women acknowledge their individuality over their motherhood, or even choose not to have children, it becomes difficult to separate a protagonist’s character flaws from their attempt at achieving a greater happiness.

Two novels which successfully navigate the hardships of conflating womanhood with motherhood are Kate Chopin’s The Awakening (1899) and Tayari Jones’ An American Marriage (2018). Despite over a century between the publication dates of the novels, they both offer commentary on female independence and motherhood. The dichotomous experiences of Chopin’s Edna Pontellier and Jones’s Celestial Davenport explore how motherhood and female autonomy are dependent upon the intersection of spheres of privilege, whether they be racial or financial.

Published in 1899, The Awakening, made waves with its release. Chopin writes frankly about the woes of female desire and womanhood, creating a social commentary that finds relevance over a century later. The novel follows the life of Edna Pontellier, a woman who appears to be undergoing what some would call a midlife crisis. She is seen in a moment of internal conflict during a summer retreat to the Grand Isle, a resort held in high regard by the wealthy French-Creole community. While Chopin introduces a variety of characters and topics which deserve their own inspection, what stands out, and has been a point of contention long since the book’s release, is the relationship between Edna and her children, Etienne and Raoul. 

Edna’s personal awakening is shown through a separation from her children. Toward the beginning of the novel, the narrator highlights “mother-women,” describing them as

fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women who idolized their children…and esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as ministering angels.¹

The mother-women in question represent an idealized vision for women who find their worth in creating and sustaining life. Edna is diametrically opposed to these women. It is not that she does not love her children, but rather she suffers from an indescribable separation from them. This does not bode well with other characters in the book, and the audience witnesses a fight between Edna and her husband, Leonce, in which he “reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual neglect of the children. If it was not a mother’s place to look after children, whose on earth was it?”.² Admittedly, there are times in which Leonce departs from stereotypical behaviors of a nineteenth-century husband, and even grants Edna freedom in the marriage; however, he still expects her to ascribe to antiquated notions of parenting.

In her 1976 essay “The Motherhood Mandate,” Nancy Russo explains the central point in women’s identities at which motherhood has been placed: “men and women may disagree on the characteristics of the ideal woman, but there has generally been a consensus that the major goal of a woman’s life is to raise well-adjusted children… [motherhood] is a woman’s raison d’etre. It is mandatory.”³ Under this mindset, men and women function differently under parenthood. “Father” acts like a modifier, it is nothing more to men than a status update. For women, on the other hand, motherhood becomes a verb. To mother is a duty that must be upheld. The father might be responsible for impregnating a woman, but it is the woman’s responsibility to nourish and care for the child. In what feels like an attempt to further highlight Edna’s inadequacies, Chopin introduces Adéle Ratignolle. Described as “the embodiment of every womanly grace and charm,” Adéle is the quintessential woman.⁴ She upholds an idea of womanhood that Edna cannot meet. Writing about The Awakening, Katie Frye argues that Adéle “is the physical template upon which the text transcribes and critiques the politicization of motherhood and domesticity.”⁵ Adéle first appears in the novel preparing to have a fourth child with her husband. According to Frye, Adéle also upholds a Victorian ideal of femininity that sets Edna apart as a selfish anomaly.⁶ While Edna and Adéle represent different embodiments of motherhood, what makes it difficult to compare the two is that they both love their children; Edna just does not let it consume her.

If Edna was a woman who simply abandoned her children and was careless with them, it would be convenient to create an argument about her inferior character. However, she does love her children, but they are not her reason for living. Edna’s relationship with her children, Etienne and Raoul, is described as complex, a relationship not widely understood by Chopin’s audience. Chopin writes,

[Edna] was fond of [them] in an uneven, impulsive way. She would sometimes gather them passionately to her heart; she would sometimes forget them . . . Feeling secure regarding their happiness and welfare, she did not miss them . . . Their absence was a sort of relief, though she did not admit this, even to herself. It seemed to free her of a responsibility which she had blindly assumed and for which Fate has not fitted her.⁷

In a way, it is almost as if Edna is a babysitter to the children, one who, at times, feels as if they are hers. Edna does not feel the visceral connection between the two that is meant to be felt by mothers after having children. One cannot help but feel that Edna’s separation from her children would not be such a hindrance if the essentialism of motherhood ceased to exist. But, for women, motherhood presents itself as an inherent characteristic of their femininity. 

The idea of gender essentialism forces women into a box where they are judged not only by their decision to have children, but how they connect with those children as well. Edna’s blind undertaking of motherhood undermines prevalent ideas about women and motherhood, introducing a conversation about the separation from a woman’s personhood and her body. This separation is further discussed in a scene between Edna and Adéle in which they discuss the severity of the sacrifices they would make for their children. Edna tells Adéle that “I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I would not give myself.”⁸ Adéle, clearly confused, responds by claiming that she does not “know what you would call the essential, or what you mean by the unessential… But a woman who would give her life for her children could do no more than that.”⁹ This consideration of the essential versus nonessential is a catalyst for a changed narrative about the abandonment of one’s self. For Edna, the unessential presents itself through tangible objects that bear no significance over her being. Even her body she could give easily, seeing as it is a vessel for her soul, not the soul itself. There is a clear distinction between one’s life—or better yet, one’s living and breathing body—and one’s self that Adéle does not understand. For her, she is her body, her children come from her body, and therefore that is the biggest sacrifice she could make. Edna disagrees. The biggest sacrifice for her children would be giving up her personhood in order to be their mother. Abandoning freedom, her affairs, and her independence? Those are true sacrifices for Edna, not death. Chopin expertly foreshadows the trajectory of Edna’s life in this short scene. 

Ali Khoshnood, in her essay, “Kate Chopin’s The Awakening: an exploration of Edna Pontellier’s transition during her midlife crisis,” suggests that some might consider Edna’s suicide to be the result of a midlife crisis, but it actually speaks to a greater narrative of women acknowledging their positioning in the world as free-thinking entities. In Edna’s final moments, she “thought of Leonce and the children. They were part of her life. But they need not have thought that they could possess her, body and soul.”¹⁰ Given this description of Edna’s thoughts, Khoshnood believes that Edna took her life “to emphasize her self-ownership . . . Edna’s suicide is a statement that individuality and selfhood are incompatible with motherhood.”¹¹ While Edna speaks to a liberated feminism for the nineteenth century, her race and social status allow her to engage in this self-awakening. In order to truly understand the relationship between motherhood and social obligations, it helps to look at Celestial Davenport, a heroine introduced over a century later. 

Released in 2018, An American Marriage performs as a commentary on love, loyalty, and the criminal justice system. Jones’s narration of a man’s incarceration for a false conviction of rape grants the novel wide revery for a harrowing navigation of racism and judicial prejudice, but the story finds its heart with the main female protagonist, Celestial Davenport. Similarly to Edna, Celestial stands in opposition not only to nineteenth-century conceptions of a woman and mother carried into the twenty-first century, but to a particular experience of white motherhood. In Chopin’s novel, the children work to demonstrate how Edna fails as a mother, and thus as a woman. In Jones’s novel, Celestial exists in a more progressive society—her decisions surrounding children speak to her integrity as a modern woman, but also reveals difficult truths about what it means to be a Black woman in America. At the beginning of the novel, Jones makes it clear that a baby is a point of contention between Roy and Celestial. About having a child, Roy thinks to himself that Celestial is “being overly emotional. I quietly hope that it’s because she’s pregnant, because a baby is what I need to lock this thing in and throw away the key.”¹² Where having children used to function as a natural progression in a relationship between man and wife, it shifts, becoming a way to stabilize a relationship, and in this instance, keep Celestial from “abandoning” her husband. What Roy does not understand about this, however, is that Celestial would shoulder the burden of mothering. In the same scene, while Roy is wishing for a child, Celestial questions the fate of her life, feeling, like Edna, obligated to motherhood. 

Did I want a child? . . .  I did wonder what was going on inside my body, but I won’t say what I hoped for. Is motherhood really optional when you’re a perfectly normal woman married to a perfectly normal man? . . . My supervisor said to me over espressos and croissants ‘ Have a baby and save the race! . . .  If girls like this are having all the kids and girls like you stay childless and fancy-free, what’s going to happen to us as a people?’ Without thinking, I promised to do my part. This is not to say that I didn’t want to be a mother. It’s not to say that I did. This is only to say that I was certain that the check would come due.¹³

At times, for Celestial, it feels as if motherhood is a hoop she must jump through to fulfill her goals. She deviates from nineteenth-century traditional women with her financial freedom and business savvy; yet, she is still expected to find motherhood as her greatest achievement. Celestial’s neutrality towards children should be regarded in the context of autonomy and empowerment. Where Edna distanced herself from her children for self-discovery, Celestial distances herself from the prospect of having children for self-sufficiency. 

In her decision to have Celestial undergo two abortions, Jones speaks to a new idea that motherhood is a choice, one that a woman must make with confidence. About her first abortion, Celestial tells Roy that she “mourned as if I had miscarried. My body apparently was fertile soil, but my life was not.”¹⁴ Again, the division between body and life is presented. For Celestial, she had the physical ability to carry a child, but she was not in the right emotional or financial state for it. For her, mothering goes beyond being a woman and therefore able to reproduce. It is about fostering an environment in which a child can thrive. Where Edna felt that fate had thrust a child on her, Celestial makes the conscious decision to create her own destiny. In another one of her letters to Roy, Celestial writes that 

If you’re a grown woman and you have more than ten dollars in the bank, nobody understands why you can’t have a baby. But how could I think about being a mother with my husband in prison? I know you’re innocent . . . but I also know you’re not here.¹⁵

What makes Celestial stand apart from other nineteenth-century heroines is her unwavering realism. She does not sugarcoat her condition or attempt to flee the life she lives. Rather, she struggles with the challenges presented to her. 

Following the influence of other novels regarding the complex reality of marriage and autonomy, Celestial’s characterization would represent some greater truth about the strength of female character; but, she also speaks to a greater exploitation of Black womanhood and responsibility. Historically, Black women have been believed to possess a boundless compassion and selflessness, one that prioritizes the livelihood of men and children above their own. As Danielle Fuentes Morgan asserts in “Visible Black Motherhood is a Revolution,” these stereotypes of Black women were initiated in response to slavery and chattel hierarchies and meant to uphold not only Western ideas of the nuclear family, but white feminism as well. Where women like Edna, can be considered free-thinking and brave for her abandonment of family, women like Celestial are relied upon for support and guidance. In her writing on The Awakening, Frye explains that slavery manipulated gender in a way that makes Black women bodiless. Despite possessing a physical form, their existence is determined by the efficiency of their labor. Take the unnamed nurse in Chopin’s novel, for example. Despite being a real character, there is a noticeable lack of information that would allow the audience to picture her as a multidimensional character. She instead functions as a plot device that allows Edna to explore her own fantasies. What remains ironic about this de-personalization is that Black women were also meant to function as sexual outlets for white slaveowners, creating a hypersexualization that has extended to modern society. We see a similar sexual loyalty and gratitude in the relationship between Roy and Celestial. Her body and role as a wife is synonymous with being a sexual object. Roy feels entitled to her sexual labor becuase she is his wife. While he might not force her, it is clear what he expects. About this reality, Jones has explained in an interview that “Roy loves being [Celestial’s] subject when it feels like an uncomplicated expression of desire and admiration,” but when it comes to Celestial’s own success independent of him, he hesitates.¹⁶ But for Celestial, her motivation largely comes from outside her relationship to Roy, and instead from building her business and having financial security. 

To readers, it can look like Celestial is unfairly prioritizing one lifestyle over another. One would expect her to be focused on the future of her and Roy’s relationship, not a career. It is unfortunate that Jones would position Celestial in the classic debate between having a career or being a mother, but it aligns with a specific experience all women encounter, and this fraught choice is one on which women, especially Black women, are judged. About Black motherhood, Leah Rigueur explains that “Black mothers’ private lives are consistently subjected to public surveillance, scrutiny, and judgment, as if to suggest these women cannot be trusted to be responsible for themselves.¹⁷ In this context, it would appear that Black women who value themselves over men and children are deemed irresponsible and “loose.” When Celestial makes the executive decision to get an abortion, Roy cannot help but second-guess her choices. While it might not have been intentional, his constant questioning of her choices pushes an idea that the child is the final destination for their relationship, and Celestial’s body is the means through which they can arrive. Her individuality is not considered without an inquiry into the baby’s future. The navigation of Celestial’s abortion is also difficult because of its racial implications. While Edna did not have access to an abortion, she also would not have been in a situation where her husband was falsely accused of rape and thus forced into a prolonged absence, unable to perform the traditional duties of a husband and father. Edna essentially lived in her own reality, one where race is a secondary characteristic to daily life, or not even relevant. Both women might have made decisions that benefited themselves, but only one had the privilege of true self-service.

What remains critical in the comparison between Edna and Celestial is how they navigate their own spheres of privilege. Socially, Edna presents as a white, wealthy woman, one who can afford luxe vacations and indulge in her self-discovery. Culturally, however, she is confined under misogyny and medical paternalism that made it impossible for her to possess bodily freedom. Celestial, on the other hand, exists in an entirely different society. The ideas about marriage and parenting have shifted, and she has access to medical procedures like abortion. However, her positioning as a Black woman limits her freedom. She might have more autonomy over what she does with her body, but society will control her narrative, no matter what decision she makes. A modern critique of nineteenth-century literature raises a conversation about the exclusionary nature of feminism. It caters to a particular woman whose subjugation can also garner sympathy for victimhood. Edna was allowed to leave her children under the care of her Quadroon nurse. She was expected to have children, but did not assume the sole responsibility of caring for them. Had Celestial bore children sooner in the novel, it is heavily contested whether or not a nanny would have been present in the narrative. So, Celestial is in a trap. She cannot have a child with Roy in prison because people would perceive her as a “loose” woman, stepping out on Roy as soon as the opportunity presented itself; however, if she had a child and decided to continue working, she would be deemed an unfit mother. It feels, at times, that the sexism Celestial faces is worse than Edna. Edna was looking for a freedom that she could not name. Celestial was looking for a freedom she knew, but could not have. While both novels feature women struggling under subjugation, the endings could not differ more. Edna’s story concludes with an ambiguous, but surprisingly calm, suicide, whereas Celestial gets the husband, the baby, and the booming business. 

As a modern commentary, the differences in these conclusions speak to Black women having the ability to turn their pain into profit. Suicide is often presented as a selfish act, and therefore a viable option for only some individuals; Black women are not included in that narrative, making suicide a taboo act in opposition with their social expectations of strength and self-sacrifice. A conflict ensues when witnessing Edna’s demise because one cannot help but feel that she had freedoms other women, especially Black women could not dream of. Where Edna could abandon her body and die, had Celestial taken the same route it would not have been seen as her decision, but rather about Roy’s livelihood or the legacy of her second husband, Andre, or the future of the business. She would be removed from her own death. In a way, both Celestial and Edna’s fates introduce a question about whether or not freedom for women is authentic, especially when it is defined by social, cultural, and political hierarchies. 

1. Kate Chopin, The Awakening (Bedford St. Martin’s, 2000), 11.
2. Chopin, The Awakening, 11
3. Nancy Russo, “The Motherhood Mandate,” The Society for the Psychological Study of Social Issues 32, 3 (1976), 144.
4. Chopin, The Awakening, 11.
5. Katie Frye, “Edna Pontellier, Adèle Ratignolle, and the Unnamed Nurse: a Triptych of Maternity in The Awakening,” Southern Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal of the South (Fall/Winter 2006), 46.
6. Frye, “Edna Pontellier, Adèle Ratignolle, and the Unnamed Nurse,” 47.
7. Chopin, The Awakening, 55
8. Chopin, The Awakening, 55
9. Chopin, The Awakening 56
10. Chopin, The Awakening, 133
11. Chopin, The Awakening, 571
12. Tayari Jones, An American Marriage, Algonquin, 2018, 14.
13. Jones, An American Marriage, 34
14. Jones, An American Marriage, 55
15. Jones, An American Marriage, 51
16. Eisa Nefertari Ulen, “In Conversation: On Love, Art and a New Vision of Liberated Black Womanhood in ‘An American Marriage,’” Los Angeles Review of Books, February 6, 2018.
17. Leah Rigueur, “The Persistent Joy of Black Mothers,” The Atlantic (Aug. 2021).