Humanities

The Sexual Awakening of the Female Protagonist in Modern Danish Literature, Kristen F. Lindbloom

Nasa’s Mission: Should It Be Changed, C. Dawson Stokley

A “Ten-Meter War”: Common Themes in Letters Home from the World War II Tenth Mountain Division January - May 1945, Luc Polglaze

The Anthropomorphization of Houses in Film, Kelli M. Johnson

 

The Sexual Awakening of the Female Protagonist in Modern Danish Literature, Kristen F. Lindbloom

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The modern sexual awakening in Danish literature perpetuates itself through female liberation and domination as the naturalistic manifestation of sexuality strives to replace the romantic one. As opposed to the sexual awakening of masculinity, the feminine awakening portrays the life lived in average despair as it begins to appear more prominently in modern literature. Although feminine sexual dominance is idealistically modern, it is also indicative of modernity's movement towards exposing the commonplace, the pathetic, and the disappointed as artistic reality. The boy trapped inside the man, the unfulfilled dreamer, and the lovely woman denied the romantic ideal are all represented by the sexual awakening of female protagonists. This notion of the modern sexual awakening is so powerfully relatable because it is based not in fantasy but in reality. In correlation with Scandinavia's move towards modernity, Norwegian playwright “[Henrik] Ibsen believed that we talk too much of ideals that cannot be found in real life. A conspiracy of silence is maintained by men to cover up their habitual violation of their ideals and their own baseness and barbarism. Society, poetry, and aesthetic canons all participate in this conspiracy” (Brandes 149). As Danish modernism strives to illuminate and glorify the realistic, the sexual awakening of the female reveals itself to be so modern because of how rooted it is in real life.

            Sexual awakening of the female in literature definitively reveals itself as a specified point in time or circumstance. That the awakening is usually determined by one transformative event suggests that Danish writers intentionally used realistic circumstances to crescendo up to the climax; the emergence of a more scientific cause-and-effect relationship manifests instead of simply relying upon a single romantic flood of magical circumstance. Modern Danish writers apply with great precision their observation of literal and metaphorical symbols through which they may communicate their intentions of realism to the reader. These symbols are ultimately intended not only to reveal the beauty found within bland reality but also to strengthen mankind's connection to the natural and sever its obsession with the fanciful.

            The age at which the sexual awakening occurs is carefully regarded and thus it determines whether the woman will de-evolve into a girl or the girl will seize womanhood. As treated in Danish literature, sexual awakenings must be accompanied by some transcendence of the woman's true age. In Bang's Katinka, Katinka's awakening describes her as almost becoming younger as she receives the love of Huus: “They didn't move. Huus listened, then stood up cautiously and took a step forward. Yes, she was sleeping. She looked like a child with her head tilted and her mouth slightly open, smiling in her sleep” (77). She is metaphorically going backwards in time to relive her ideal–an ideal manifested not only in the lightening of her spirit, but also of her body. Interestingly enough, her awakening is a failed one and thus her loss of body mass: “She took off her dressing gown and looked at her neck. Yes, she really had grown thin” (29). This subtly illustrates that Huus' devotion is realistically not enough to counteract the consuming force of Mr. Bai. Because Katinka never becomes liberated enough in her sexual awakening to act upon it physically, Bang uses her character to reveal the realistic outcome of a failed awakening of any sort. Instead of Katinka dominating the system (and the man) that has enslaved her, it consumes her.

            Another modern Danish writer, Hans Christian Branner, creates female characters able to dominate their male counterparts and thereby transcend the restraints placed upon them by age and society. Helle, from the short story “Playing by the Beach,” also undergoes a sexual awakening, yet the outcome of hers is considerably more successful than that of Katinka. She not only removes herself further from the constraints of society but also dominates Andreas and the sexual experience to such a degree that she becomes the catalyst for his sexual awakening as well:

That way they lay quietly, both of them pretending that they were asleep, but it was impossible to sleep, for now she was different again, not thin and hard, but soft and somehow big, he had never known she was this way . . . ” What's that you've got?” he suddenly heard her voice, and answered–it's just a letter from school . . . She snatched it out of his hand and crumpled it up and threw it into the glow of the fire. (Branner 121-122)

 

Like Katinka, Helle too undergoes a change in age and size, yet her transformation is more positive. She, not Andreas, throws his letter of punishment into the fire as a rejection of society and its judgment. To Andreas, her body expands and softens in correlation with this transformation. She becomes a woman in this moment, thereby signifying her increase in mass as a metaphorical increase of importance in society and even in the realm of sexuality. Unlike Katinka, it is Helle who becomes the consumer of man and society as a consequence of her awakening.

            In his short stories, Branner often creates female characters with a visible streak of cruelty–as if this cruelty is necessary to compete against the patriarchal structure inhibiting their sexual awakening. The most common metaphor employed by Branner regards the trope of the ice queen. The color white, iciness and a stone-like visage all reflect the desire within the young girl to transcend society, man and perhaps even emotion. In Branner's “The Blue Parakeets,” Katrine is described as having a “face with its two cold eyes that didn't change, [that] only became a shade more white and cold if he hit back” (75). Although she is both physically and verbally abusive towards Nils, Nils is masochistically drawn to her sexuality. He regards her as an evil queen, “beautiful and evil . . . if he was a prince, he wanted to love the evil queen and not the princess” (91).Katrine's cold nature, which drives both hers and Nil's sexual awakening, is a result of abandonment by her mother and lack of communication with her father. Her iciness is reactionary to cruel social expectations and her lack of control over the one thing that meant the most to her–her mother. Although Nils is baffled by her actions, Katrine's mannerism arouses him nonetheless, potentially due to her acceptance of the masculine role. Katrine relieves the social pressure imprinted on Nils that urges him to drive sexual experience; her commanding nature allows Nils to gain sexual experience by simply following her lead.

            For Branner, the color white, as used to describe the girls' faces, symbolizes not only lack of emotion, but also coming of age. Helle from “Playing by the Beach” is frequently noticed by Andreas as having a white face–a description usually followed by Andreas commenting on her sudden maturity: “She was different now, completely different, not free and wild and angry, but quiet and more grown up than the grown-ups, it was as if she knew everything and could do everything” (119-120). Symbolism rooted in the tangible is so critical to the modern sexual awakening because it is that touchable symbol that creates the transcendence from girl to woman or woman to girl. In her essay “Meaning and Visual Metaphor,” Hermine Feinstein asserts that “when a symbol has been created, a transformation has taken place. Something has been carried across or through, a change of form has occurred, and one thing now stands for another” (46). The reasoning behind Branner's obsession with using the color white to symbolize coming of age is unimportant; the true importance lies within whether or not the reader draws the intended parallel between a girl's white face and her imminent sexual awakening.

            Whether the women find liberation through cruelty or romance matters not; the idea of liberation holds such high importance because its failure or success influences the failure or success of manifesting realism. Modern Danish authors began to shift their characters' circumstances towards the realistic and away from the romantic. However, in keeping with realism, the characters must still possess some sort of romantic ideal upon which to base their actions. Although we as readers can see realism in a life despairingly lived, the characters themselves require a certain degree of romantic hope rooted in the past in order that they might move forth to the present. Katinka has “a large cardboard box with many withered flowers, little ribbons, and frilly things made of tulle . . . They were her old cotillion mementos . . . She often took everything out on winter evenings and rearranged them all over again and tried to remember who had given her this one or that” (Bang 25). Katinka's memories of her cotillion cards remind her of the almost-manifested sexual awakening of her youth–a memory imperative to preserve if she wishes to maintain any hope for the future. Another example of romantic hope being used to create realism appears in Blicher's “The Hosier and his Daughter.” After being driven to insanity, Cecil murders her beloved in attempt to achieve her romantic ideal:

But when I looked more closely, his face was deathly pale, and the sheets were red with blood. I screamed and sank to the floor, but Cecil beckoned me with one hand, patting his cheek with the other. “Hush, hush,” she said, “my dearest is sleeping sweetly now. As soon as I have buried his body, the angels will take his soul to Paradise, and there our wedding shall take place with great splendor and rejoicing. (95)

 

Although murder isn't a common avenue of sexual awakening in Danish modernism, Blicher uses it with great success to explicitly describe the horrific failure of the awakening. Later to become binding, at this moment, Cecil's murder is the ultimate liberation, for she has not only freed her own sexuality and dominance, but also literally freed her lover's soul from his body. For both Katinka and Cecil, obsession with the past becomes the means to liberate the future, no matter how despairing that future may seem. In both scenarios, it is easy to pity the women and their preoccupation with the past. However, to comprehend the artistic realism, it is absolutely essential to resist pity. Bang and Blicher are both deeply aware of the impossibility of reaching the future without the support of past illusions. Romanticism comes naturally to the enamored human–it is the duty of realism to expose and trace this expectation and its liberating or binding effect upon a character's sexual awakening.

            Perhaps one of the most critical traits for a modern sexual awakening lies within modernity's reverence of the natural world. As modern Danish writing begins to incorporate more natural imagery into its erotic encounters, a parallel between sexual liberation and naturalism emerges. Branner's Ariel makes explicit the connection between acknowledgement of natural forces and a developed sense of female sexuality:

Her thick black hair slid like a smoothing wave over his face, it was soaked with rain, with a wet odor of earth and grass and evergreens, and the wet cold of her body met his dry warmth and pulled it into itself and made it its own . . . he went deeper into the forest of desire and was no longer himself but her, a woman out in the night, out in the rain, running on bare feet over the sand, making her way through the cracking twigs and long whipping branches of the dark pine-brush, and now out on the slope facing the sea, supine in the wet grass, stretched out under the rain, drinking the rain with a wide-open mouth. (194)

 

In this instance, Branner does not use nature as a catalyst for sexual awakening, but rather he uses the forces of the sea, rain, and forest to embody female sexuality. By working with the forces of nature, Branner's female character accumulates sexual power, which she then may share with her male counterpart. Her confidence within her own skin–and perhaps the skin of her lover as well–illustrates this woman as being a fully awakened sexual being in the most modern of senses. Although one of the most ancient tropes, the binding of a woman's sexuality with the natural world is exceeding modern; it looks beyond the recent past to the ancient past, thereby creating the new modernity by contrast. The relationship between sexuality and the natural transcends literary naturalism in order that it may become social commentary as well. A society that kindles a balanced relationship with nature often also celebrates sexuality due to its comprehension of their connectivity. Therefore, the close interactions with nature in Danish literature reflect not only a sexual awakening, but also a society that is gradually becoming more sexually liberated. 

            Regarding social impact, the transition in Danish modernity from the romantic to the realistic was closely accompanied by the segueing of strict religiosity into a loose atheism. Spirituality began to manifest itself through interpersonal, and often sexual, connections instead of through a church-led religion. Although romanticism too spoke of religious communion through erotic love, the contemporary personalization of the divine experience created a modern spirituality devoid of the once-necessary “God medium” between lovers. As Marylu Hill asserts about the romantic poet Christina Rossetti and her poem “Goblin Market,” the “nature of Rossetti's central image of the erotic body as the vehicle for salvation–an image that is at once profoundly spiritual and profoundly erotic–can only be understood through an appreciation of the Anglo-Catholic doctrine of the Holy Eucharist” (455). The more modern sexual and spiritual awakening omits thesalvation of the bodies and instead forces the characters to come to terms with both sexuality and spirituality without the crutch of a God-like notion. Branner's “Playing by the Beach” illustrates this awakening well through his character, Andreas, who, on the brink of his sexual awakening, realizes that “there were no father and no brothers and not even a God any more–suddenly the moon disappeared, Helle's head got in its way and her eyes were right over his” (123). Andreas' friend and lover, Helle, replaces the humanistic need for the divine; her sexuality and their sexual communion become his spiritual experience. The female sexual awakening in Danish literature then reveals itself to be motivated by humanity's longing to transcend itself in order that some higher connection might be forged. Usually the function of religion, Danish modernity instead replaces the divine with the human in attempt to create a realistic awakening experience. The intended effect is achieved when realism acknowledges human desire and hope, yet solidly grounds itself in reality by providing a transcendent awakening experience within the most base of human acts–sex.

 

Bibliography

Bang, Herman. Katinka. Seattle: Fjord, 1990. Print.   

Blicher, Steen Steensen, Paula Hostrup-Jessen, and Povl Christensen. The Diary of a Parish Clerk and Other Stories. London: Athlone, 1996. Print.

Brandes, Georg. “The Infinitely Small and Infinitely Great in Literature.” Anthology of Danish Literature: Realism to the Present. N.p.: Southen Illionois UP, 1971. 262-87. Print.

Branner, H. C., and Vera Lindholm Vance. Two Minutes of Silence: Selected Short Stories. Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1966. Print.

Dyrenforth, Harald O. “Georg Brandes: 1842-1927.” Educational Theatre Journal15:2 (May, 1963): 143-150. 21 Nov. 2013.

Feinstein, Hermine. “Meaning and Visual Metaphor.” Studies in Art Education 23:2 (1982): 45-55. Web. 21 Nov. 2013.

Hill, Marylu. “‘Eat Me, Drink Me, Love Me’: Eucharist and the Erotic Body in Christina Rossetti's ‘Goblin Market.’” Victorian Poetry 43:4 (Winter 2005): 455-472. Web. 21 Nov. 2013.

Markey, Thomas L. H.C. Branner,. New York: Twayne, 1973. Print.

Nasa’s Mission: Should It Be Changed, C. Dawson Stokley

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Since the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), was founded in 1958, it has landed men on the moon, launched the first manmade object to leave the solar system, and explored other planets–among many other great achievements (Abbey). NASA was supposed to continue on its path of accomplishment until at least 2020, which is when the United States would return to the moon according to the Vision for Space Exploration, an initiative started by President George W. Bush in 2004. Along with this goal came the decision to end the space shuttle program by 2010, which at the time would have freed NASA’s resources allowing them to allocate funds to future missions to the moon and beyond (Abbey). This plan quickly fell apart as massive budget shortfalls stalled development on the project and it became apparent that the nation was no longer fully devoted to space exploration (Abbey). Today NASA is at a pivotal point. After years of several national commissions suggesting major reform of the organization, the Obama administration has stepped up to create a new direction for the agency (Pelton). However, to many people this is still not enough. There have been further efforts to change NASA’s short-term mission from human exploration to scientific discovery, and even to eliminate the agency entirely (Abbey and Lane). Even though NASA’s future is questionable, it still leads the world in space exploration and scientific development, and should remain funded accordingly so that it can continue with its main objective: human exploration.                            

            In 2004, Scaled Composites’ SpaceShipOne became the first privately funded manned space vehicle (Pelton). Since then, a company called SpaceX has become the first to launch a privately funded vehicle and dock with the International Space Station, while also reestablishing the United States’ ability to send cargo to and from space without international assistance (SpaceX). Recently, there has been a strong push towards commercializing human space exploration (Pelton). While this effort has been increasingly successful, it is not a viable option. The theory is that commercial companies are more creative, more efficient, and better managed than government organizations (Pelton). While this is mostly true, private companies cannot meet the expectation of accelerating and widening space development. A study done by Brent Goldfarb shows the productivity of researchers working outside of NASA, but still, grants set up by NASA produce 25% fewer publications. Consequently, there is a massive waste of funding that could otherwise be used to pay the salary of employees doing the same research at greater efficiency (Goldfarb). Another issue with privatizing the space industry is that the only sustainable customer for many of these companies would be the United States government (Abbey). Development within the private market will be slowed even further when companies transition to manned spaceflight, as new safety standards and government regulations will have to be introduced. Although the private sector is clearly growing, it cannot continue to do so without proper support and funding from NASA, as there is not yet any established non-governmental infrastructure or market for these companies to use (Abbey). As a result, NASA should revise and continue to work on its own exploration vehicles, while also utilizing private sector innovation and efficiency. Accomplishing this requires a more extensive contracting of private companies as well as reallocating money spent on international contracting to these private companies.

           Projected funding for NASA has been decreasing significantly over the last few years, even though NASA’s FY13 budget of roughly $17.7 billion only accounts for about 0.47% of the $3.803 trillion in total federal spending (United States Government). Without mitigating this trend, none of NASA’s current objectives can be accomplished. When the Vision for Space Exploration was announced in 2005, it was immediately apparent that it would run into financial constraints. At the time, NASA’s anticipated budget from 2006 to 2009 fell $2.5 billion short of the expected funds required to implement the program (Abbey and Lane). Also in 2005, the projected budget for NASA in FY15 was roughly $22 billion, as shown in Figure 1 (NASA). This projection was meant to account for inflation as well as the progression of manned space exploration as laid out in the Vision for Space Exploration. As of 2010, the new projected budget for FY15 is just under $21 billion, a difference of over $1 billion (United States). This figure could see even deeper reductions as lawmakers struggle to balance the budget and seek to cut excessive spending. Since NASA cannot garner the support for many different programs at once, a strategy of working towards only one objective at a time must be adopted (Cobb). In figure 1, it is clear that the administration is working towards this with funding cuts for both the Space Shuttle and the International Space Station in FY10 and FY17 respectively (NASA). If NASA can manage to consolidate its projects to cope with reduced funding, it is still possible to slowly continue working towards the goals of the Vision for Space Exploration, so long as further budget cuts do not occur.

            One of the main arguments against continued funding for NASA is that space exploration is only supported by a small fraction of the United States population (Cobb). Although the percentage of individuals who believed that NASA had the proper amount of funding was greater than the percentage of those who believed they had too much funding in 1996, the two groups have remained relatively unchanged since then. According to a report by Wendy Cobb that analyzed General Social Survey data regarding public opinion on space from 1973 to 2010, there is one group who makes up the small minority of supporters for an improved space program (Cobb). If the group, which consists mainly of younger republican men with at least a college degree and who also have a high socioeconomic standing, wishes to increase United States space activity, then they “should also seek to expand the portion of the public who understand and support space spending” (Cobb 238). This is an incorrect way of viewing the issue, as what happens in space significantly affects our daily lives on Earth regardless of whether or not the public realizes it. In 2002, the commercial space industry employed over 576,000 in the United States, resulting in over $23 billion in employee earnings. The United States also relies heavily on space technology for anything from intelligence gathering and weather prediction to communication and navigation (Abbey and Lane). So, regardless of whether or not the general public is aware of or even in favor of continued space exploration and development, it has become an integral part of the average American’s life. Space is relevant to all Americans and should be treated as a priority by lawmakers so that NASA can continue with its mission.

            NASA has a chance in the next decade to re-solidify its place as the world’s leader in space exploration, although this can only be accomplished if there is a major reversal in funding trends. NASA needs to rework its current goals into one or two big projects as opposed to trying to support many smaller projects at a time. While private companies have a significant chance to take over NASA’s work in human exploration, it is important that this occurs very slowly (Pelton). Through extensive contracting, NASA can build up the private sector space industry so that it can operate more efficiently and independently, but we must remember that for the near future, the United States government will remain the biggest customer for all of these companies (Abbey). It is argued by many people that NASA as an organization should no longer continue to exist because it is only supported by a small minority of the American public (Cobb). While it is true that only a small minority recognizes it, NASA still affects the daily lives of the majority, and is a critical aspect of many things we take for granted (Abbey and Lane). Over fifty years ago when President John F. Kennedy addressed the nation on the future of the United States space program he said:

We mean to be a part of it–we mean to lead it. For the eyes of the world now look into space, to the Moon and to the planets beyond . . . In short, our leadership in science and in industry, our hopes for peace and security, our obligations to ourselves as well as others, all require us to make this effort, to solve these mysteries, to solve them for the good of all men, and to become the world's leading space-faring nation. (Abbey 17-18)

Let us continue with Kennedy’s vision, as we once again enter a new era of space exploration.

 

Works Cited

Abbey, George, and Neal Lane. United States Space Policy: Challenges and Opportunities. Baker Institute. American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 31 Aug. 2005. Web. 29 Oct. 2012.

Abbey, George W.S. Restore the Vision. Baker Institute. James A. Baker III Institute for Public Policy of Rice University, 20 July 2011. Web. 28 Oct. 2012.

Cobb, Wendy N. Whitman. “Who’s supporting space activities? An ‘issue public’ for US space policy.” Space Policy 27.4 (November 2011): 234-239. ISSN 0265-9646.

Goldfarb, Brent. “The effect of government contracting on academic research: Does the source of funding affect scientific output?” Research Policy 37.1 (February 2008): 41-58. ISSN 0048-7333.

NASA. "Strategy Based on Long-Term Affordability." Chart. NASA.gov. National Aeronautics and Space Administration, n.d. Web. 13 Nov. 2012.http://www.hq.nasa.gov/legislative/hearings/2004%20hearings/longtermaffo...

Pelton, Joseph N. "A New Space Vision for NASA–And for Space Entrepreneurs Too?" Space Policy 26.2 (2010): 78-80. Print.

SpaceX. "Dragon Spacecraft Returns To Earth In First Official Cargo Resupply Mission to Space Station." SpaceX.com. Space Exploration Technologies Corp., 28 Oct. 2012. Web. 4 Nov. 2012.

United States. National Aeronautics and Space Administration. President's FY 2011 Budget Request Summary. U.S. Government, n.d. Web. 13 Nov. 2012.

United States Government. Executive Office of the President of the United States. Office of Management and Budget. Fiscal Year 2013 Budget of the U.S. Government. By US Government. Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office, 2012. Web. 14 Nov. 2012.

A “Ten-Meter War”: Common Themes in Letters Home from the World War II Tenth Mountain Division January - May 1945, Luc Polglaze

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Abstract

This thesis argues that men in the Tenth Mountain Division discussed World War II in letters home from the front in Italy. In particular, they wrote about the effects of censorship, their impressions of Italy and the Italians, the experiences of combat, and their anticipation of the end of the war. Importantly, soldiers revealed many details about their wartime experiences, especially while in combat. This thesis will contribute to the ongoing discussion of the value of soldiers’ letters as historical sources, demonstrating that these soldiers at least were willing to discuss their experiences of combat in their letters home. These letters home are important sources to understand conceptually the way that soldiers thought about and wrote about the war and remained connected to home.

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my deepest appreciation to all those who provided me the possibility to complete this thesis. This simply would not have been possible without the assistance of the following people.

This thesis is about telling the stories of the men involved. For that, I thank first and foremost the men of the Tenth Mountain Division for their service and for their stories. This would not have been possible without them, so I am extremely grateful to them.

A very special thank-you goes to my faculty advisor, Professor Martha Hanna, who not only helped me conceptualize the thesis but gave me feedback on the process as it went. She provided guidance to a thesis that was unclear at the beginning and the final product owes a lot to her input.

I would certainly be remiss if I didn’t thank Dennis Hagen, the archivist at the Tenth Mountain Division Resource Center, who helped me determine what collections to use and provided some sometimes much-needed comic relief from research. I am quite sure Dennis knows more about the Tenth than anybody else, so working with him was an honor and a pleasure.

I have met several veterans over the years, but nobody has been more important in my life than Hugh Evans. I first met Hugh ten years ago at the museum exhibit that sparked my interest in the Tenth Mountain Division and he has been a mentor and resource (not to mention being one of the fifteen soldiers in my thesis!) for me ever since.

I would like to thank the CU Undergraduate Research Opportunities Program and the 10th Mountain Division Foundation for funding me first to research the thesis and then travel to present it at the 2013 Division Reunion in Washington D.C. I am very grateful for their support throughout this process.

Thank you also to the other two members of my thesis council. Professor John Willis of the History Department is the History Honors Director at CU and taught me in the Honors Seminar. He helped to show me how history is researched, which fundamentally changed the way I looked at my thesis. Thanks too to my other council member, Professor Tim Kuhn of Communications for his service.

I also owe a large debt of gratitude to CU History advisor Patrick Tally for first broaching the subject of a history honors thesis to me. I would never have started down this path if it weren’t for him.

Of course, a big thank you goes to my family. My father, mother, and sister have been constant sources of love and support for me throughout the process of the thesis and my academic career. I really appreciate everything they have done for me personally.

Thanks also to the following archivists for their assistance in identifying sources and helping with the thesis. Debra Van Tassel at CU Government Documents, Lynn Heidelbaugh at the National Postal Museum, and Laurie Sampsel at the CU Music Research Center were all very useful in my quest for secondary sources. I am also grateful to the Research Room proctors at the Tenth Mountain Division Resource Center who worked with me sitting in the corner reading letters and having boxes pulled from the archives.

A final thank you to my friends who have reached out and given me a pat on the back. If I listed all of you, it would make this thesis longer than it already is. Just know that you are appreciated.

Dedication

Simply, to the men of the Tenth Mountain Division. Sempre Avanti.

Introduction

For years, historians have debated the value of soldiers’ letters as historical sources.  Many scholars have argued that self-censorship limited the value of frontline correspondence to historians. According to scholars such as Martyn Lyons, letter-writers would intentionally avoid or obfuscate descriptions of combat in order to placate a domestic audience of worried family and friends. More recently however, historians such as Martha Hanna and Sönke Neitzel have suggested that letters home can actually provide an important look into soldiers’ wartime experiences and that soldiers reveal more than was expected.

However, this debate has ignored certain time periods. While there is much debate on World War I soldiers’ letters, World War II has been largely ignored by scholarship. This thesis will consider the letters and diaries of men in America’s Tenth Mountain Division during World War II, specifically during the period from January to May of 1945 when the Division saw action as part of the Italian campaign.

Due to the approximately 700 collections available at the Tenth Mountain Division Resource Center at the Denver Public Library, I had to limit my research to fifteen soldiers. I read roughly 750 individual letters over the course of three weeks at the Resource Center in Denver. The letters from these fifteen soldiers form the content of this thesis. For a discussion of the 15 soldiers and brief biographies of each, see Appendix A. For a chart of military rank and abbreviations, see Appendix B.

This thesis aims to contribute to the ongoing debate by arguing that soldiers’ letters can, in fact, be useful sources for historical research. To accomplish this, I examine soldiers’ letters (and, to a much lesser extent, journals[1]) to determine the extent to which soldiers would write about their experiences such as combatants or other topics of their time overseas.

This thesis discusses four different themes in letters home from soldiers in the division. It also incorporates sources (where available) from other soldiers in the Second World War to describe how the sentiments of the men of the Tenth compared to those of other men fighting.

Firstly, censorship limited what soldiers could write. They were cognizant of the impact that the censors had on their letters home and thus, referred their families to popular sources of news for a clearer understanding of the war they were experiencing. Although they would discuss their time in combat, they refrained from doing so until censorship was less intense. At that time, they would open up and describe combat to their families.

As the men were deployed to Italy, the letters understandably focused on Italy and the Italians. Since Italy was very damaged by the war, especially in the port cities, multiple men remarked on the destruction of Italy in their letters, which they rationalized as a necessity of war. They described the Italians that they encountered in the port cities as being poverty-stricken beggars and held low opinions of those civilians. As the soldiers traveled north, their opinions shifted. They grew to like the families who took them in and shared what they had with the soldiers.

The soldiers were very willing to discuss their experiences in combat in letters home. There appeared to be no impetus that caused them to hesitate in describing specific details of combat in Italy or the situations where they received their wounds. Men would reveal these details either at the behest of their families to discuss the war, or simply as an unprompted revelation of combat experiences. Soldiers also used religion as a release from what they had seen and spoke of the relief that writing a letter home brought them.

Finally, as soldiers, men never stopped looking ahead to the end of the war. They embraced any kind of news that seemed to signal the end. While in combat, they were conscious of the chance that they would be transferred to another front after the cessation of combat in Europe. While in combat, they also plotted out their post-war life, diagramming the house they wished to build, emphasizing the importance of a future education, or marriage to their girl back home.

This thesis demonstrates that soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division were extremely willing to discuss their combat experiences in no uncertain terms in letters home. This is important in today’s world, particularly considering the number of soldiers suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.[2], [3], [4] It is important to understand the motivations behind discussing war experiences for both scholarly inquiry and the state of today’s veterans.

 

Thesis Background

This thesis concentrates on the months between January and May 1945, when the division saw combat. I concentrated on this time because, as it was, there were still 750 letters during this timeframe. What’s important about this block of time is that the Tenth Mountain Division was the last division to enter the war in the European Theater. They only fought during those four months but were the spearhead of Allied forces in Italy and sustained correspondingly large amounts of casualties.

The title of this thesis is important to understanding the specific framework in which the thesis operates. The idea of a “ten-meter war”[5] came from veteran Hugh Evans at a division reunion in which he discussed the war that he experienced. He called it a “ten-meter war,”[6] in that he could only see the ten meters to his front and sides and only experienced that stretch of terrain. In other words, he was not aware of anything else. This was true for many soldiers.

What this thesis discusses are the common themes that resulted from so many separate “ten-meter wars.”[7] Although these different soldiers had different experiences, these four themes of censorship, Italy and the Italians, the combat and the end of the war, in their letters are all the same. I have organized these four themes into chapters chronologically in their experiences. First, censorship, which impacted their letters even before their journey over. Second, Italy and the Italians, where they landed starting in early January. Third, the combat, which they saw starting in mid-February. Finally, the end of the war, which they began to truly consider in March.

Letters home took two different and distinct forms: Airmail and V-mail letters. Airmail is the typical letter we imagine. It was mailed in a single envelope, in which soldiers could include their letter, which typically listed several pages. V-mail[8] was a separate entity. V-mail, or Photomail, was a small form which soldiers filled in to write home. Like letters, V-mail would be “censored by their respective company officers or other designated officers before sealing.”[9] The forms were then photographed and flown home on photographic rolls to save packing space and shipping weight. Once across the ocean, they were printed in the original small form and delivered to their addressee. Photograph 1 shows a size comparison of Airmail and V-mail, with a pencil for size. The V-mail on the right was the complete letter, while the Airmail was page one of four, typical for Airmail. Both went through stringent censorship before they ultimately reached their destination.

Photograph 1 A comparison of Airmail (left) and V-mail (right).[10]

 

Airmail and V-mail actually led to a matter of contention amongst the soldiers. No less than nine[11] of the fifteen soldiers whose collections I studied kept track of whether Airmail or V-mail arrived faster, a fully understandable fascination amongst the troops. I have been told by veterans that V-mails arrived faster. Mail reportedly took about two weeks to make its way from the front to the home front and vice versa.

These letters contain many interesting sentiments and descriptions of different events. The content ranges from the day-to-day activity (“In the evening I went to the opera and saw Madame Butterfly”[12]) to the logistical (six[13] soldiers mentioned being under fire, which meant they were awarded the combat infantryman badge and received $10 a month’s pay increase) to the important, which can be found in this thesis’s four themes.

Although the content of these letters is remarkable, it is important to discuss the language that the soldiers used.[14] Some letters contain slang used by the soldiers. For instance, “dogface”[15] (along with its derivative “doggie”) and “G.I.” (General Issue, referring to the clothing and equipment issued to soldiers) were slang for the soldiers themselves. These terms could be used in a singular or plural form to represent a group. “Poop” referred to any kind of official word or orders. A “foxhole” was a hole in which soldiers lived, similar to a trench, except condensed to fit only a couple of men. Where possible, I have explained in footnotes the meaning of slang words in letters.

Soldiers also referred to the Germans using a multitude of terms, some of which were more pejorative than others. Soldiers used slang such as “Jerry,” “Heinie,” “Fritz,”[16]“Huns,” “Krauts,” and the various iterations of “Tedesk”/“Tedeski”/“Tedeschi”[17] all appeared in different letters. They would also refer to them with more typically appropriate terminology, such as Germans or Nazis.

Men also referred to battlefield elements, such as mines or artillery, which obviously had a large impact on their day-to-day lives. On the front, dug in, soldiers could expect to be under artillery fire fairly commonly. Many soldiers described the artillery that they received and its disruption in their daily lives: “Had to stop last nite [sic] for a little while as we took on a L—[18] of a shelling.”[19] One artillery piece in particular mentioned above all others was the “88.” The German 88mm gun was designed for use against aircraft. However, the Germans re-appropriated it as a field artillery piece. The 88 gun terrified soldiers in the Tenth: “An 88 shell is the worst thing I’ve run up against. It is the only sound that really churns up the fear in me… I have never felt fear like that before. After [a shell] hit a few yards off splashing mud all over me I lay there for half an hour completely out of breath.”[20]

I have also left letters written as they were with minimal correction to the material. There are certainly grammar and spelling mistakes. I have used [sic] where the situation allows it; however, in some cases, I just believe it distracts the reader from the natural flow of the letter as the soldier would have intended it. Any spelling or grammar mistakes within the letters as cited are accurate transcriptions of the letter; one soldier in fact was French-Canadian and spelled most of his letters phonetically. And, in some cases, seeing as the original letters were written in pencil, words are unreadable. I have marked that as [unreadable] where applicable.

Photograph 2 Walter Prager, of the Tenth Mountain Division, 87th Regiment, Headquarters Company, 3rd Battalion, sits in a chair under a tree in bloom, writing a letter home from Passatore, Italy.[21]

 

Historiographic Context

To date, there has been little scholarly work done on letters home from American soldiers in World War II. Most of the historical literature on soldiers’ correspondence focuses on other eras and geographic areas such as the French during the First World War. Until recently, scholars like Martyn Lyons argued that soldiers’ letters are useless sources as the soldiers would not say anything meaningful in their letters. “In the First World War, and very likely in other contexts too, soldiers’ correspondence is remarkable not for its authentic personal revelations, but for its reticence and the banality of its formulaic descriptions. Its purpose was not to reveal the truth so much as to disguise it.”[22]

Scholars have examined soldiers’ diaries and letter writing from many different eras and areas. Research on pre-1914 letter-writing includes Frank Emery’s 1981 article “From The Seat Of War,” which concentrates on Victorian English soldiers during the Anglo-Zulu War and other conflicts in the late 19th century,[23] and James McPherson’s seminal For Cause and Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War from 1997 describing letter writing in the Civil War.[24]

Much scholarship has concentrated on letter writing from the First World War. Among these are Anne Powell’s 1994 article “Another Welcome Letter: Soldiers’ Letters From The Great War;”[25] Martyn Lyons’ 2003 article “French Soldiers and Their Correspondence: Towards a History of Writing Practices in the First World War,” which deals with French correspondence during the First World War;[26] Martha Hanna’s 2003 article “A Republic of Letters: The Epistolary Tradition in France during World War I”[27]and her 2006 book Your Death Would Be Mine,[28] both on the subject of French letters home from World War I (specifically focused on the letters of the Paul and Marie Pireaud correspondence, particularly in Your Death Would Be Mine); and Anthony Fletcher’s 2009 article “Between the Lines” on British soldiers in World War I.[29]

Scholarship on World War II has often focused on two different sources. Firstly, Judy Barrett Litoff and David Smith have analyzed American women’s letters in World War II (such as Since You Went Away: World War II Letters From American Women on the Home Front[30] in 1991 and We're In This War, Too: World War II Letters From American Women in Uniform[31] in 1994). Secondly, Sönke Neitzel and Harald Welzer’s Soldatenon German POW interviews and what they revealed[32] and Michaela Kipp’s “The Holocaust in the Letters of German Soldiers in the Letters of German Soldiers on the Eastern Front (1939-44)” both cover what German soldiers would discuss.[33]

Two other works exist which have researched and compared letters across multiple conflicts; Samuel Hynes’ 1997 book The Soldier’s Tale discusses American soldiers throughout the 21st century[34] and D.C. Gill’s How We Are Changed By War, which contains a discussion of “letters and diaries from colonial conflicts to Operation Iraqi Freedom.”[35]

These scholarly works all examine letters from soldiers in different conflicts but differ on a few key points. According to Hanna in “A Republic of Letters” when describing this debate, “Scholars have long disagreed over the value of letters as a source for understanding World War I. Many have argued that censorship, either imposed by the state or exercised by the soldiers themselves, prompted frontline soldiers to reveal little in their letters home of what the war was really like. …Anxious to offer reassurance that all was well, unwilling to describe the horrors of war… they wrote often but essentially dishonestly.”[36]

Previously, historians like Martyn Lyons have argued that soldiers would not reveal details of their wartime experiences. He writes,

There were things one preferred not to write, in order to maintain the essentially consoling and comforting nature of the letter from the front. As a result, soldiers’ writing leaves us with an overwhelming sense of banality. The letters of the Savoyard soldier Delphin Quey are a good example of the emptiness and silences of soldiers’ correspondence…. He would repeat the same formulas over and over again: ‘Je suis toujours en bonne santé je pense que toute la famille soit de même,’ or to close: ‘Plus rien qui peut vous intéresser pour l’instant. Votre fils qui pense à vous.’[37] There are no intimacies, and few expressions of feeling, even though Delphin’s elder brother Joseph had been killed in action in 1914.[38]

This “secret” war that Lyons describes prevailed for many years in the historiographical study of soldiers’ correspondence.[39] Scholarship on World War I has primarily focused on this concealment in regard to civilians; that soldiers would not in fact describe their wartime experiences in letters home. Paul Fussell described letter-writing in World War II: “One reason soldiers’ and sailors’ letters home are so little to be relied on by the historian of emotion and attitude is that they are composed largely to sustain the morale of the folks at home, to hint as little as possible at the real, worrisome circumstance of the writer. No one wrote: ‘Dear Mother, I am scared to death.’”[40] As this thesis will show, some soldiers did, in fact, say something very much like that. 

However, recent scholars like Hanna have begun to argue the opposite; that in fact soldiers would reveal details in their letters that scholars previously would not have expected to find. Hanna writes that “scholars of the war have often maintained that a profound cognitive divide separated those who fought, and thus knew the war firsthand, from those who did not and thus remained ignorant of its horrors. At the heart of this thesis is a belief, long maintained as canonical and only recently challenged, that combatants rarely told civilians what the war was really like.”[41] Instead of keeping their war experiences from civilians, soldiers did reveal details. As Sönke Neitzel writes, “What most surprised me [in the study of interviews of German POWs] was how openly they talked about fighting, killing, and dying.”[42] I plan to further argue this point: soldiers would speak about their combat experiences, sometimes to an extent that would surprise the reader as a civilian.

Since the deactivation of the Tenth Mountain Division on November 30, 1945, fascinated writers have been describing the exploits of the division. This movement began as early as December 8th of the same year with Richard Thruelson’s “The 10th Caught It All At Once” in the Saturday Evening Post, which described the “crack mountaineers” and their role in the defeat of the Germans in Northern Italy.[43] This article is unique among newspaper articles of the division as it heavily quotes from the letters one soldier, Richard Ryan, I-85 sent home after the end of the war. Most newspaper articles focused more broadly on division experiences and not on the war account of a single soldier on the ground. More recent work has had a very different focus, going back to the division-level history.

Recent research into the Tenth Mountain Division has been much more focused on the division-wide experience of the war. Works such as Flint Whitlock’s and Bob Bishop’sSoldiers On Skis (1992),[44] George and Beth Gage’s documentary Fire On The Mountain(1996),[45] Peter Shelton’s Climb to Conquer (2003),[46] McKay Jenkins’ The Last Ridge(2004),[47] and Charles J. Sanders’ The Boys of Winter (2005)  mainly focus on the history of the division as a whole. However, The Last Ridge and, to a lesser extent, The Boys of Winter, focus on specific soldiers from the division, using interviews and personal writings as sources to show the story through the eyes of some of the soldiers. Despite this use of sources, not one of these accounts is an academic study of the Tenth and instead most of them function as books for amateur and armchair historians. While many of these works cite letters and diaries of soldiers in the division, they do not focus on what was said and not said within the letters and journals, an area that requires study.

In addition, work on censorship and its effects on the soldiers’ letters and the home front is limited. Books such as Michael Sweeney’s Secrets of Victory[48] and George H. Roeder Jr.’s The Censored War[49] deal with the government censorship of the wartime press. Historical research has documented this process. However, there has not been any examination of the effects of censorship on soldiers’ letters. No historical research focusing on World War II has looked into soldiers’ awareness of the censors reading the letters, although soldiers certainly would make comments about the censor, as documented in Hanna’s Your Death Would Be Mine.

There is no shortage of scholarship relating to the Italian front, despite its status as the “Third Front” (behind Western Europe and the Pacific) for the Americans. Works such as Edwin Hoyt’s Backwater War,[50] James Holland’s Italy’s Sorrow: A Year Of War,[51]Douglas Orgill’s The Gothic Line,[52] and Ian Gooderson’s A Hard Way To Make A War[53] (among many other books) have studied the Allied campaign in Italy. There are plenty of secondary sources studying this era and the combat in which the Tenth participated. They have argued that, unlike British Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s description of Italy as “soft underbelly of the axis,”[54] the front was in fact a difficult one to fight on. Titles of books like A Hard Way to Make a War reflect this scholarly consensus that the Italian front was a brutal battle.

This thesis seeks to contribute a World War II American perspective on the extent to which details were revealed in letters home, through the letters of the Tenth Mountain Division. Scholars interested in the nature and significance of wartime correspondence have not looked closely at how American soldiers in World War II used correspondence to talk about the war; thus, this is fresh academic territory. It also seeks to discover what exactly soldiers would write about when writing home. In addition, this paper aims to contribute to the field by relating to an ongoing debate concerning the use of soldiers’ letters as historical sources.

This thesis will, as stated before, rely on letters of the men of the Tenth Mountain Division. My process was to closely examine and analyze letters written by 15 men from the division to determine what soldiers would discuss in their letters home and what, in particular, they were willing to say about combat. The themes that emerged from my examination of the letters were those of censorship, Italy and the Italians, combat and the end of the war. To a lesser extent, I also used the letters of the soldiers comparatively, to find out what the differences were between these historical primary sources. In other words, I sought to see what soldiers might say in a letter to their parents as opposed to a wife or girlfriend. They would also include details not pertaining to their combat experiences that they deemed pertinent to their readers in order to connect with them on a personal level. The soldiers were worried that they would return home and find that they would be unable to communicate with their loved ones once they returned home.[55] As D.C. Gill writes in How We Are Changed By War, “A letter of diary ties people to their prewar sense of self and to their prewar reality. It particularly allows soldiers a tenuous purchase on a world with which they no longer have a sensory connection.”[56]

Unfortunately, one of the challenges I had in writing this thesis was the simple lack of relevant secondary sources to some of the material. Where possible, I have included secondary sources related to the content. However, for some subjects, there is simply no academic work available. For instance, I could find no scholarly examination of the impact censorship had on soldiers’ letters.

Thus, letters had an important impact for soldiers in terms of morale. Scholarship has recognized this: “Throughout the wartime years, mail was universally recognized to be the number one morale builder in a service person’s life.”[57] Soldiers acknowledged this in letters home: as Stan Cummings, one of the protagonists of this thesis, put it, “How your letters bolster my morale.”[58] Science has actually shown that “individuals who exchange affectionate communication regularly are buffered against the effects of stress and…writing about one’s affectionate feelings for another can accelerate physiological recovery from stress.”[59] And, to hear some soldiers talk, mail was essential: “Altho [sic] both your letters and mother’s letter left little to be answered they certainly contained plenty to be read. Mail call is the climax of my day. Actually mail is the only thing we soldiers in Italy need. On all other counts we are well taken care of.”[60]

In fact, letters were a daily staple of the soldiers’ lives. Every day, they hoped for letters from home. “I got six letters from you yesterday. They certainly help”[61] and “A letter over here is far more valuable than gold”[62] were common sentiments among soldiers. It was the next-best thing to actually having their loved ones with them. “Mail will be absolutely the only link I have with you now darling, except for the spirit of your love I carry with me.”[63] Soldiers would explicitly thank their family members when they received mail: “Mom, I was so glad to get your 2 letters yesterday and 2 V-Mails today.”[64]

Soldiers also worried about mail. When they went a few days without receiving a letter, their writing was often full of fretful and melancholy remarks. Other soldiers, outside the division, had similar experiences. As S/Sgt. Gray Wilcox Jr. wrote, “Why is it that the mail I write / Gets home okay, without a blight? / But all the mail that’s sent to me / Takes ten damn months to cross the sea?”[65] At a presentation I gave, one veteran in the crowd speaking on the subject also reported that he “really felt for the guys who didn’t get mail.”[66] Obviously, the importance of receiving mail had the inverse effect too.

Photograph 3 Casmer Omilian of the Tenth Mountain Division, 87th Regiment, Company I, reads a letter from home in the window of a rubble-strewn and artillery-shattered stone building.[67]

 

The History of the Tenth: A Remarkable Division

The Tenth Mountain Division owed its formation to Charles Minot “Minnie” Dole, one of the founders of the National Ski Patrol. The division was formed in 1941 after Dole successfully petitioned the War Department for a ski and mountain division. Dole took his inspiration from the Russo-Finnish war, in which the winter-equipped Finns were able to defeat a Soviet force superior in both numbers and materiel by using guerrilla warfare and winter equipment. Dole foresaw the need for a mountain division to defend U.S. mountains from a hypothetical Nazi invasion.

From its beginning, the division was unique. Not only was it the first mountain-trained U.S. Army division in history, but also required a special application and three letters of recommendation for admission to the unit. It was also the only division to have civilians involved in the recruiting process (the National Ski Patrol helped to recruit for the division). They also were one of only several units to have a specialized tab above their unit insignia that read “Mountain,” signifying them as elite troops. Other examples of this in the Army were the Airborne divisions and the Rangers.

The division was activated at Fort Lewis, WA, on November 15, 1941 but in November of the following year, it was moved to Camp Hale, high in the Colorado Rockies. At Fort Lewis, the division only contained the 87th Mountain Infantry Regiment. However, it was expanded in 1943 to include the 85th and 86th Mountain Infantry Regiments. The three regiments formed the majority of the strength of the division. They were later complemented by smaller units attached to the division, including the 604th, 605th and 616th Field Artillery Battalions (Pack), 10th Medical Battalion, 126th Mountain Engineer Battalion and 10th Mountain Cavalry Reconnaissance Troop.

Each of the three Regiments (the 85th, 86th and 87th) contained three Battalions, with four companies each. Battalion 1 had Companies A, B, C and D and an associated Headquarters unit. Battalion 2 had Companies E, F, G and H, et cetera. References to men in the units consist of an abbreviation of their unit designation. Therefore, 85-C means C Company, 1st Battalion, 85th Mountain Infantry Regiment. 87-E means E Company, 2nd Battalion, 87th Mountain Infantry Regiment. 86-1HQ refers to Headquarters, 1st Battalion, 86th Mountain Infantry Regiment. It is also correct to both refer to the division singularly as the 10th or the Tenth, I use them interchangeably throughout this thesis.

At Camp Hale, specially built for the division, the Tenth trained in mountain warfare, including learning to ski and climb. They also took part in “D Series,” a grueling mock warfare practice that involved playing war in a Colorado blizzard. Later, in combat, men would remark that, as bad as combat was, it couldn’t top D Series. They also underwent infantryman training at Camp Swift, Texas.

The division was deployed to Italy, beginning in December of 1944. The Tenth Mountain saw action from January to May of 1945. The Allies invaded Sicily in July 1943 and had fought their way up the peninsula from that time until 1945 when the Tenth entered the theater. The Allies took Rome on June 4, 1944. They had fought through several German fortified lines, including the Bernhardt Line, Gustav Line, Tasimene Line and Winter Line. The Germans were waiting behind their Gothic Line when the Tenth arrived.

Figure 1 10th Mountain Division Battle Route, December 1944-May 1945[68]

 

The division first saw true combat action[69] at Mount Belvedere and Riva Ridge southwest of Bologna February 18 and 19 in 1945. What follows is a map of the combat alignment of the forces in that area. I discuss that particular offensive in Chapter 3.

Figure 2 Disposition of 10th M.D. USA and German forces Before the attack at Mt Belvedere[70]

 

After the Riva Ridge-Belvedere offensive, the division fought north, past the Po River, and ended near the Austrian border at Lake Garda. They were the last division to enter the war in Europe, secured every objective to which they were assigned, and never retreated. Their contributions were essential to winning the war in Italy because they were able to break the deadlock at the Gothic Line in February, starting events in motion that culminated in the defeat of Germany.

Previous scholarship is divided on why men fought in World War II. For Lawrence Cane, a noted anti-Fascist, “Ideology remained the central motivating factor in his intense desire to serve his country in an effective way during the Second World War.”[71] However, Samuel Stouffer’s comprehensive 1949 study of troops’ opinions concluded that “beyond acceptance of the war as a necessity forced upon the United States by an aggressor, there was little support of attempts to give the war meaning in terms of principles and causes involved, and little apparent desire for such formulations.”[72]When he surveyed soldiers, 91% agreed with the statement “Whatever our wishes in the matter, we have to fight now if we are to survive.”[73]

Men in the Tenth were simply there to fulfill their obligation and fight in the war. “I’m just doing my duty as an American doggie[74] – doing my duty + not batting an eye. To knock off a Kraut is just doing the job.”[75] They had no grand conceptions of fighting fascism or world evil–they were simply fighting for their families and America.

 

Chapter 1: “I only hope there is nothing…to worry the censor:”[76] Censorship

Soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division were restricted by military-mandated censorship of letters “to prevent information of military value from reaching a hostile country.”[77]This meant that they simply could not speak of certain topics in their letters home. Censorship regulations had a large impact on the content of letters as the soldiers were sent to Italy. However, once the men had been in Italy for a few weeks, the prohibitions were eased somewhat and soldiers were more willing to discuss sensitive topics. As censorship limited the content of their letters, soldiers would suggest their families read the newspapers to stay most up to date on the goings-on. Although newspapers were subject to censorship themselves, it was less pronounced than what the men experienced. Twelve of the fifteen soldiers made some kind of reference to censorship in their letters.

“We are allowed to say a few more things to-day:”[78] Soldiers and Censorship

Although censorship was government- and military-regulated, it was actually carried out by men in the units. One man per company, typically a lieutenant, would be responsible for censoring the mail home from men in the company. There was a list of ten subjects that men were forbidden to discuss in letters home, including such topics as “military information of Army units – their location, strength, matériel, or equipment.”[79] Although the rules were stringent, the actual censorship depended on the officer carrying out the task and how much he would allow. When something was found to violate the censorship rules, the offending word or sentence was literally cut out of the letter.

Unfortunately, I have only a few sources available on the topic of censorship, all of them government documents. Some Important Facts You Must Know and When You Are Overseas: These Facts Are Vital, which date from 1942 and 1943, respectively, are the primary documents I used. To a lesser extent, the War Department Field Manual for Photomail Operation from 1945 and the Executive Order that created the Office of Censorship are also both useful. There appears to be no scholarly analysis of censorship of soldiers’ letters home from the war and all information available to me about the censorship of letters comes from those four primary sources. From those four sources, I have assembled an approximate idea of what soldiers could and couldn’t discuss in letters home.

Censorship of mail destined for the U.S. really happened at first, while the men were being sent to Italy. Thomas Dickson wrote in a V-mail to his wife, “At this writing I’m limited by space, time, and security to the following salient points: (1) I’m in Italy….It’s not sunny! (2) I came here by boat. (3) I’ve seen the Rock of Gibralter [sic]…Just like in the Providential[80] ads. (4) Saw the Isle of Capri…From a distance…But very beautiful. (5) Saw Mt Vesuvius…It didn’t burp for me. (6) Have seen the darndest assortment of Italians and beat-up towns and cities.”[81] Many men would discuss these items. They were told they could say they’d seen Gibraltar. They would then list those talking points.

 

“Be sure and watch the papers:”[82] Soldiers and the Press

Due to the role of censorship, topics on which the soldiers could write home were severely curtailed and they were forced instead to tell their families to resort to the press and media for any kind of news concerning the division and its movements in Italy. When soldiers wrote home, they instead referred their families to newspapers to get a fuller understanding and conception of the fighting they faced: “Just watch the papers and you’ll get a better idea of what’s going on than if I told you myself.”[83] Sentiments like “Be sure and watch the papers. How well I have learned to appreciate the old saying ‘Silence is Golden’!!!!”[84] were common in letters home.

Soldiers refused to talk about anything due to the censorship, as was expected under the wartime regulations. “It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you, but then, we’ve come a long way since then. You have been following the campaign here in the papers and undoubtedly have a pretty fair idea of where we are and where we’ve been. From the reports of correspondents you can get a pretty fair idea of the kind of chase it was.” [85]Yet, soldiers would speak more openly of the war, and their part in it, when the restrictions were lifted, or in person: “Someday I’ll be able to tell you all about it in detail.”[86] Soldiers knew that their families were able to get more details from newspaper reports than from the censored letters home. As Marty Daneman wrote on March 19, “The newspapers, as usual, can tell more about what happened than we can.”[87]

Yet, the press was not a perfect source. It too was subject to the restrictions of censorship, common for any country at war. However, unlike the men, the press was permitted to tell the soldiers’ families important details about their situation. This included their whereabouts, which was something that soldiers couldn’t even reveal in letters. Censorship regulations’ rule number five, “Don’t disclose movements of ships, naval or merchant, troops, or aircraft[,]”[88] prohibited the soldiers from mentioning where they were. Letters like Harris Dusenbery’s March 9th letter showed this:  “In mother’s last letter she sent a clipping saying the 10th was in action in Italy. Now you can follow us in the newspapers and will at last know in what part of Italy I’m in.”[89] Not being able to disclose “towns or locations in connection with military organizations”[90] meant that in some circumstances families had no knowledge of their soldier’s whereabouts or well-being.

This was equally important toward the end of the war as well, when the speed of the advance meant military mail both in and out was limited. Dusenbery and Daneman both described this: “You’ve probably been reading about us in the papers and know that we are going too fast for mail service.”[91] “As the papers have doubless [sic] informed you, I’ve been busy again, + there fore [sic] unable to write.”[92] The papers served as a benchmark for the pace of the division and informed families when there was no mail to be had.

Yet, the papers were not perfect sources. John Parker Compton noted several inaccuracies in letters to his brother. On January 24, Compton wrote, “Now, Jim, I suggest you read your Stars and Stripes[93] more assiduously. What’s this about the Allies being in the Po Valley [The Tenth, as the Allies’ spearhead unit, would not reach the Po River Valley until April 20][94] and past the mountains? I’ll be a salt ticker if they are!!”[95] Compton was obviously a stickler for accuracy missing in the press. On February 2, he again wrote his brother, “You and Dan are from slightly to horribly misinformed on Italy and what the screaming condors[96] of the 10th (that’s us) are doing. Dan says he hears we’re in the city of the Seven Hills – all wet! … I already rebuked you for saying we’re past the mountains in Italy.”[97] Although these letters referred to theStars and Stripes, men had some knowledge of the contents of U.S. domestic newspapers as their families would send newspaper clippings in letters to them. This, and information that their families wrote in letters, was the extent to which soldiers were cognizant of what the home front knew.

The soldiers, cognizant of the limitations imposed on them by censorship, would apologize for the lack of material in their letters. “There’s still a lot to write about – but I still can’t write it. Maybe if the War should wind up, in this Theatre, they’ll lift the censorship, and I will be able to tell you more of what I’ve seen and done. In the meantime, my letters are apt to be skimpy and not too interesting.”[98] They also tried to make light of the censorship that seemed to be overly restricting to the only contact they had with their families: Denis Nunan wrote, “Censorship prevents putting kisses on letters so just know they are sent anyway.”[99]

Soldiers would in fact use the censor as an excuse for not talking about combat. When the regulations were eased, however, they would talk freely about their combat experiences. Here, the lack of secondary sources is apparent. Although I couldn’t find the order for or the reason why it took place, the first time that restrictions were eased was around January 21 or 22 based on the letters’ content. The regulations only continued to be lessened. Melville Borders addressed this on March 12:

I can tell you more news as our censorship regulations have been lifted considerably….I was in the town of Castel D’Aiano, and if you’ll look at the front line I think you’ll see that it’s a salient in the line. It was a hot spot and Jerry pounded the place day and night with artillery. It wasn’t ever safe to let nature take its course, because as soon as you exposed yourself the shells started flying. I was literally ‘caught with my pants down once.’ Artillery and mines or booby traps are the only thing the Krauts have got that worries you. As for the Germans themselves, they’ll give up when the going gets a little too rough and they’re only too glad to do that. Snipers give you a little trouble but they’re easily taken care of. Never the less, they’re [sic] artillery is terrific and I was praying to the good Lord more than once. They’re mean with their mines and booby traps but if you’re careful you’ll be okay.[100]

Once Borders was told of the less strict censorship guidelines, he started into a nine-page description of his experiences in combat to that point. The above is a small excerpt of that.

 Borders wasn’t the only one to feel that way. Stan Cummings wrote, on a similar subject, to his wife, “Of course you want all the news. I will give you what I can. You blamed me in a recent letter, Darling, for not giving you particulars. Well, security regulations prevent one’s writing anything but generalities. Personally, I feel no compulsion against writing or speaking of any of my experiences. In fact I want to remember them. I want to remember that war was more excitement than even I – excitement lover that I am – could stomack [sic].”[101]

Cummings also had a unique perspective on the proceedings of censorship as he was responsible for the censorship of the letters of his platoon. “As you know I have to censor the mail and one thing that gripes me is the way these men whine in their letters about all the hardships they are enduring. Hell, every man in my platoon is sleeping on a cot, gets three damn good meals a day, and can squeeze in a hot bath once every two days. They give the folks back home the impression they are enduring a living hell. It’s ridiculous!”[102] Cummings believed that the soldiers gave a worse impression of the war than was actually the case, an interesting perspective considering most of the letters I read extolled the virtues of the Italian front. For example, Harris Dusenbery believed the soldiers ate “better than we did in the States.”[103]

When censorship regulations were lifted, soldiers would discuss the war and locations. On February 26, about a week after their first combat experiences, Weldon Chase wrote home, “Well the 10th Div. hit the headlines to-day for the first time in the Stars and Stripes’ the Armies [sic] newspaper. They really announced our landing and our first actions. I’ll try to send you a copy of it or at least the article. They credited us with Mt. Belvedere, Mt. Gorgole[s]co and Mt. Della Torraccia. So we’re official in. This is the first official word so I guess it’s OK to talk now.”[104] Both he and other soldiers henceforth began to write home about their experiences.

Interestingly, when soldiers like Stan Cummings were wounded, they used the press (as their families did at home) to find out about the Tenth’s whereabouts. “The radio just said that they were issuing skiis [sic] and winter equipment to the troops striking for the Brenner Pass so it doesn’t take any imagination to know where the old outfit is.”[105] As Cummings had no contact with his unit, he too was forced to rely on the press for reports on the whereabouts and situation of the division.

In conclusion, the men of the Tenth Mountain Division, like all other American military units during World War II, were under censorship that curtailed the substance of their letters home. Although they were willing to discuss their experiences in combat, they waited until censorship regulations were lifted to describe the combat they saw. Instead, they referred their families to the press and newspapers to have a meaningful understanding of what was going on with them in combat and even to find out something as simple as where they were deployed.

 

Chapter 2: “We’re here…in what used to be ‘Beautiful, sunny, Italy’:”[106]Italians and the Italian Front

Deployed in Italy for the duration of their combat service,[107] Tenth Mountain Division soldiers had a great deal to write about in regards to the Italians and the Italian front. As this was their first direct encounter with a war zone, they were especially struck by the devastation that they encountered in Italy and even rationalized it in their own combat experiences.  They also had definite opinions on the Italians. When they arrived in Italy at the war-torn ports of Naples[108] and Livorno, they had rather low opinions of the Italians in those areas, whom they perceived as being poverty-stricken beggars. However, as they proceeded further north, they changed their minds and grew to like the Italians with whom they came into contact. These Italians were welcoming, allowed the soldiers into their houses, and shared what little they had with them. What follow through the chapter are a series of photographs from men in the Tenth Mountain Division that help to illustrate the destruction of the war in Italy.

Photograph 4 10th Mountain troops debark at Leghorn, Italy[109]

 

Although the above image is of Livorno, Italy, the Tenth Mountain Division’s second stop,[110] it still shows some of the devastation that men of the Tenth Mountain Division saw when they first disembarked from the boats into Italy. As Denis Nunan wrote, “The damage done to such ports as Naples and Leghorn[111] bring home the first realization of the horror or war. Ports that have been magnificent for years on end, now lay in ruins – ruins that will never retake the acient [sic] architural [sic] style that made them places of beauty and seats of history.”[112]

The Tenth Mountain Division was deployed to the Italian Front, in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations. For the majority of the division, this was the first combat they saw.[113] Although the ships transporting the division landed at Naples and Livorno between December 22 and January 18, they saw the majority of their combat action in the Apennine Mountains in the north, continuing beyond to the Po River. They were engaged in constant combat from February 18 until the end of the war, May 2.

The Tenth first disembarked at Naples; what follows are their perceptions of that particular city. Later in the war, Stan Cummings described a scene of the poverty he encountered, on March 16, after having passed through Naples. “I saw a sign on a wall written in the reign of Mussolini ‘A nation can only find its strength in war.’ It was signed by the Duce himself. Most of the wall had been toppled by allied bombs. Below the sign two boys were almost murdering each other for a stick of gum a passing truck driver had thrown them. A girl of five in a dress made from sandbags timidly held out a can for any cigarette butts she could get thrown her way. The spectacle was the strongest allied propaganda I have seen in this war.”[114] Naples was one of the most-bombed Italian cities during the war and also saw great destruction as the Allies pushed north through what British Prime Minister Winston Churchill termed the “soft underbelly of the axis,”[115] the Italian peninsula. Naples, as a port city, saw increased bombing to try to destroy German-held infrastructure and “the Luftwaffe…concentrated in the Naples area,”[116] especially in the lead-up to Allied Operation Husky.[117]

Photograph 5 Patrols securing Corona, Italy[118] -- A patrol moving through destroyed buildings.

 

Italy and its residents had seen several years of war by the time the Tenth Mountain Division arrived in January of 1945. The Italians had become used to and had adapted to the fighting going on around them. Both the letters and other sources like Norman Lewis’ diary Naples ’44 described the devastation and the poverty-stricken population.

Seeing this poverty led many soldiers to feel overprivileged. Stan Cummings wrote on January 15,

You can never never comprehend the destruction war leaves in its wake until you see it then you believe it for the first time and it’s appalling! When I saw grown men fishing cigarette butts out of the filthy water around the pier I thought I was seeing total war. When they began to fight over an apple core I threw away I almost got sick to my stomach. I have an idea that many foreigners these days pray to go to America instead of heaven. Not that they believe us angels by any means but surely we have all an angel could ask for. Don’t ever accuse any nation of ‘getting the better’ of us or trying to do us out of anything. Economically we are a different world. Whenever I see a foreigner I feel like J.P. Morgan [the well-known American industrialist and banker] and I’m ashamed of it.[119]

The soldiers, as Americans and liberators, felt shame as they compared their own relative affluence with such widespread poverty. Although belts were tightened at home in the States with rationing, men in the Tenth Mountain Division still believed living conditions at home were far better than anything they saw in Italy.

Denis Nunan encapsulated much of this in a long, ruminating letter home on February 28 in which he spoke of things that many soldiers (including Cummings) believed:

You feel for the poor and seemingly suffering, but if one thinks back, we have the same type at home; but so many of us don’t like to admit that our own backyards are not perfect. There is a certain aire [sic] about the people that makes one wonder at times if they are for us or against us….They still lack food, clothing, heat and many things which they had in limited quantities at least. So, I’ll always wonder – are we really welcome here. True, they say yes, but I have yet to have any one throw their arms about my neck or strew flowers in my humble path! The real young kids seem to like us, but after all hasn’t there always been magic in candy?! The old people seem reconcilled [sic] to our presence, but isn’t it true that one grows tired of troubles as one ages and is willing to accept the ways of the world more readily. The young men – I question them, but why wouldn’t my attitude be as theirs if strangers made passes at my women folk. And the womenfolk? They are the same as women anyplace – excited with the attention of so many new men.[120]

Nunan in particular was very skeptical of the Italians at the beginning as he was introduced to the Italian culture near the coast where they landed.  He believed that the Italians were too quick to try to take advantage of the soldiers and their generosity.

The Italians’ economic conditions improved the further north soldiers went. Correspondingly, the soldiers’ attitudes of distrust or disgust towards the Italians lessened. Northern Italy had long been a more industrialized and affluent area while the south was more rural. This, combined with the devastation of war in the area around Naples, was noticeably an improvement in territory. Likewise, quite simply, in northern Italy, the people weren’t as poor as in the port cities. Gone were the dirt-poor “grown men fishing cigarette butts out of the filthy water around the pier”[121] from Naples; instead, the soldiers encountered what they termed a “high type”[122] of Italians. These good hosts were so welcoming, wrote Stan Cummings on January 21, that they were tolerant and encouraging of his road-building crew, which only created more destruction in their assigned area.

You hear all kinds of tales on the attitude of the Italian people but all that I have encountered have been friendlier than I could properly expect them to be. After all, I scar [sic] into their quiet countryside, tear down their walls and make road paving, tear up their terraces it must have taken generations to establish on such an incline and what do I get in return – the urchins grab the picks and shovels from my men and do the work, the young girls invite the young lieutenant in for dinner (who politely refuses but finds it impossible to refuse a liter of wine – the kind you can still smell the grapes in).[123]

The Italians in the north welcomed the men wholeheartedly, despite the continued suffering it may have meant for them. Interestingly, the men were engaged in serious combat in the north and not in the south where they landed. This is an interesting paradox: as life got worse for them, facing combat, it also improved in the quality of day-to-day treatment they received from the Italians.

On April 5, Nunan wrote of an Italian family he stayed with,

When we left [the home where they’d been billeted with an Italian family] they thanked us very sincerely for the food and soap we gave them and the Mother even cried. Made a guy feel that maybe if given the same chances we Americans get, the Italians would be an okay bunch – Maybe after we left they said ‘good ridence,’ [sic] but while we were there they treated us swell, and they stirred our hearts when we left, and in this kind of a life, it’s nice to have one’s heart stirred![124]

However, despite their original misgivings, as the soldiers progressed further north, they quickly grew to like the Italians they encountered. Even harder hearts like Nunan changed their minds. Towards the end of the war on May 2, Nunan wrote,

The natives[125] cheered us and threw flowers at us and brought out the vino.…At first one was prone to look on the natives with misgiving, as one wondered if the same people hadn’t greeted their former leader and the once proud Kraut army in the same manner. But then one soften [sic] to the waves of the older people and the bewilderment of the kids, and remembering we have not only the task of fighting the enemy, but also that of spreading good will, we waved back and smiled and in return for vino, bread, onions, etc., we gave candy and cigerettes [sic]. It’s quite a job to fight in a hostile country and still be a diplomate [sic], but that is the American Army for you – the American Army and that wonderful guy known as a ‘doggie’ (Forget that I am one too).[126]

The soldiers perceived the Italians to be different from the Germans and the Japanese, the other two countries who were members of the Axis. “The divergence between…[American] approaches [in Germany and Japan] and that adopted in Italy reflected the fact that American policymakers viewed Italian fascism as something imposed upon a malleable people, whereas Nazism and militarism were seen as reflections of the true character of the German and Japanese peoples.”[127] As Andrew Buchanan argues in his article “‘Good Morning Pupil!’ American Representations of Italianness and the Occupation of Italy, 1943-1945,” Americans believed during the war that the Italians were simply misled; “Italian fascism arose when the Italian people made the terrible ‘mistake’ of turning to an ‘ambitious rabble-rouser’ to solve their problems. … Italians…might be naïve and easily deceived by operatic bombast, but they were not fundamentally evil.”[128]

However, for all the good deeds they did for soldiers, Italians remained prey to some of the common American conceptions about them. For instance, Stan Cummings wrote on January 21 “Frankly I’ve come to think an awful lot of Italians. That they are lousy fighters is nothing against them as far as I am concerned.”[129] The soldiers characterized once they had been welcomed into their homes the Italians as welcoming people who’d simply had a bad break in the war, a sentiment which was actually common in the day. Ernie Pyle, noted war correspondent of the day, was no stranger to representing that opinion.

Pyle's widely read articles helped form precisely the image of Italianness he attributed to the soldiers he was with, picturing Italians as backward and malodorous but nevertheless deserving of help. He passed on the soldiers' casual racism, explaining that one gunner's use of the term 'gook' didn't imply contempt because 'Muncy loved the Italians and they loved him'. 'Those people were our enemies,' Pyle mused, but 'when we had won, they looked upon us as their friends.[130]

The Italians were looked down upon by the Americans but they still had valuable qualities, according to the literature of the time, including being good hosts and being extremely welcoming to the soldiers in their homes.

Photograph 6 “Residential District” Castel D’Aiano, Italy[131]

 

The Italian Front: “As Pleasant a Front as One Can Find.”[132]

In terms of the front they found themselves in, the men were very happy to be on the Italian Front, as opposed to fighting in Northern Europe or the Pacific. The Italian Front has often been treated in scholarship as a minor, “third front” for World War II, although it actually played a key role in deciding the outcome of the war by diverting German troops and resources that could well have been used against the Russians or Allied forces in Northern Europe. It also boosted morale: “For the first time in the Second World War, soldiers of the Anglo-American alliance engaged the German Army fighting on the defensive on the ground that was, to all intents and purposes, Europe[.]”[133] In addition, the Tenth Mountain Division as a unit was decisive in winning success on that front: historian Ian Gooderson writes of the 10th Mountain Division’s impact on the fighting, “It was the old story – skilled mountain troops could achieve much in Italy, but there were never enough of them. Had the Allies possessed them in greater numbers and the knowledge of how best to use them at the beginning of 1944, the Italian campaign would have been a very different story.”[134]

Photograph 7 “Digging in” under shell-fire near Corona, Italy[135]-- Men digging in next to a shell-pocked wall on a rocky hillside. Riva Ridge is visible in the background left.

 

As has been mentioned, the front they arrived in had seen much damage. Martin Daneman summed it up well on January 17 when he wrote “We’re here -, in what used to be ‘Beautiful, sunny, Italy’ – now it’s only sunny.”[136] Italy had seen much destruction during the war, and the shock of seeing the country in ruins was only compounded by the soldiers seeing it before they had experienced combat. In other words, they were seeing destruction with fresh eyes. Weldon Chase described the scene when he arrived in January:

It is really very beautiful here in this part of the country [near Pisa, at the hunting grounds of Italian King Victor Emmanuel III] although there are only a few buildings they are pretty badly damaged. A good many of the towns and cities we passed were in terrible bad shape and condition. I guess that can be accounted to the fact that the rest of them have been bombed by both ourselfs [sic] and the Germans in this sector. Most, in fact, all the structures in this country appear to be made intirely [sic] of stone and cement and when they get hit they really crumple up and fall.[137]

Chase was correct; many parts of Italy had been bombed by both sides (as was also true in other combat zones in Europe) as the Allies advanced and the Germans retreated.

When they encountered this great widespread destruction, soldiers tried to rationalize it to themselves and to their families. They framed it in a dynamic of “kill or be killed,” a necessary destruction in order to save the lives of soldiers. Again, a letter from Denis Nunan on February 28:

When one first travels thru the country side and sees the destruction his heart misses many beats – He realizes war must touch cities, bridges, ports, etc. (but even then the works of time and history are destroyed never to be restored) but when he sees isolated hamlets, farms, villiage [sic] churches and individual homes laid waste, he can’t comprehend the reasoning of war wreckage. But then he goes into combat, and it’s then he understands why war spares nothing. The isolated hamlet – with its century old buildings, with walls of stone feet thick – make fortress for the enemy to gather strength within and strike out to kill. The villiage [sic] churches make ideal observation posts so the enemy can watch your every move and direct death against you. The littly [sic] home with it’s red-tile roof, white walls and blue door is hiding an 88 that will blast your foxhole by night. Now, instead of rebelling within at the sight of seemingly wanton destruction, we beg the artillery and air corp [sic] to lay waste to even the most innocent structure – even though it might be mellowed by centuries of laughter; the smoke of thousands of fiesta cook fires; the love of generation upon generation of family happiness. War knows no love, rare, or creed – only the desire to live. Even I have begged my air corp [sic] to lay waste to a church steeple as the 88’s were crashing too near my foxhole for comfort. So you see Mother, Daddy, et al, in my short time in combat, my heart has hardened and my soul grown bitter. I have killed, and I shall continue to do such without flinching until peace comes to the world or me. I shall destroy whatever the enemy hides behind.[138]

Soldiers found that they could reconcile the destruction with what they found to be the necessity of war. Although the demolition that they saw was unparalleled to what many of them had seen, they still thought of it as essential for victory and wanted the destruction to occur, no matter its toll on their surroundings. Here, Nunan creates an interesting contrast: although these beautiful towns appear to be innocent, the enemy sheltering inside could be and were deadly. Although the Italian countryside and villages are picturesque, Nunan reminds himself that he is still at war and that that damage was necessary for victory.

Thomas Dickson wrote on March 29, “I’m glad I landed here instead of all those other places I could have gone – and glad I’m in the outfit I’m in.”[139] Is some of this due to the fact that they arrived in Italy relatively late in the Italian campaign, after the very heavy fighting of 1943-44?  Many soldiers in the division felt they had caught a lucky break by being sent to the Mediterranean Theater of Operations. “If I could stay here for the duration [of the war] I’d never say a word about war being hell, we eat 3 good warm meals a day + have very good quarters, I get more rest than I ever did. We get all the cigs + chocolat [sic] + gum we want.”[140] Although they were seeing combat, it was not a difficult front to be a part of.

In fact, this front was so ideal that soldiers such as Harris Dusenbery would write, “I believe that our sector from the soldiers point of view is by far the best of all fronts. During the winter it was the kind of front that soldiers dream about, but isn’t supposed to exist in reality [emphasis mine];”[141] in other words, this was quite possibly literally the perfect front. It appeared from the letters that this was something that soldiers truly believed and wasn’t just something they said to make their families feel at ease.

It is perhaps ironic that, despite all the damage Italy had seen, the soldiers believed it was still the best place to be. Yet as the war progressed further north through the countryside, the devastation remained.  As late as April 5, one soldier could observe:   “If all the countrys [sic] are as badly wrecked by shelling and bombeing [sic] as Italy the world must be a torn up place. It’s hard to find a house that hasn’t been damaged in some way”[142] and (April 2)

This has been one of those delightful Spring days when for no reason at all one suddenly finds himself emitting strange bleating noises. Except when they have been spaded or pock-marked with shells the hills are a soft green. The fruit trees are in blossom. Little flowers, dandelions and daisies, are in bloom. A few birds are around singing. It’s really pleasant, especially if one can let his eye skip over the signs of war: the shell craters, the hillside houses with their gaping holes and the trees that have taken a shellacking from shells and shrapnel. The tops of some trees have been blown off completely: heavy branches, partly severed, droop in a horrible fashion almost like the arm of a maimed human, : gashes in the trunks are almost like human wounds. But there is one reassurung [sic] thought: one sees humans come trhough [sic] an aid station with hell knocked out of them: a few weeks later many return to the line just about as good as ever.[143]

The soldiers saw no end of destruction in Italy, and it did not cease as they moved further north. Interestingly, Draper’s letter here seems to discuss the trees as a metaphor for the men fighting there. The wording suggests that he isn’t actually discussing the after-effects of shelling so much as the damage done to the men. Draper served in an aid station and thus had plenty of contact with wounded soldiers as they came through.

Photograph 8 ''Pauvre Italia!'' Destroyed Landscape[144] -- A destroyed hillside with the remnant of a building. This landscape of shattered buildings and splintered trees (possibly near Malandrone, at the location the men called Punchboard Hill)[145] would have been something men in the Division encountered on a daily basis.

 

In conclusion, men in the Tenth Mountain Division had definite opinions about the Italians they encountered. When they first met Italians (at the port cities) they were suspicious of their motives and thought that they were mostly interested in taking advantage of them. However, as the Division progressed further north, they characterized the Italians they met as being good hosts and welcome people.

They saw widespread destruction of Italy. Although they rationalized it as a necessity of war, they were still taken aback by the amount of devastation that the war had brought to the country. However, despite the damage, soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division believed that it was better to be on the Italian front than anywhere else. They had just about everything they could ask for, between what the Army provided and what was sent to them in packages from their families.

 

Chapter 3: “I’ll try to report…a true and grim picture of the whole fracas:”[146]The Combat

Although historians of soldiers’ letters from combat have frequently argued that they are effectively useless sources for historical research, the actual letters home tell a very different story. Soldiers instead would be very willing to reveal details of the combat that they experienced, sometimes to an extreme extent. They would often discuss horrific experiences and leave nothing to the reader’s imagination, generally in response to their family’s prompting or citing a desire to be open and honest with their family. I find it important to mention here, before I discuss the soldiers’ combat experiences in depth, that I have chosen to quote some letters in near-entirety. In some cases these excerpts stretch for paragraphs. I have chosen to include that much material because it is very representative of the men and, in some circumstances, is essential to understanding the way men in the Tenth Mountain Division conceptualized combat or discussed it with those with whom they corresponded.

When soldiers were first at the front, they were effectively silenced. They had no opportunities to write home. As Murphy wrote, “I hope your [sic] not to[o] worried about me if I don’t write for a while, it was just because we we[re] in a place where we just couldn’t send out or receive any mail.”[147] However, by late February, there were a wave of letters and a wave of mentions of combat. It was around this time that soldiers first wrote home about combat to their families. Stan Cummings provides an example of this.

The soldiers of the Tenth Mountain Division first experience of combat came when they were stationed on the front lines on January 8.[148] At first, they only saw minimal duty: a patrol and firefight involving members of 86-B on January 15.[149] At this time, soldiers were able to write home with little interruption about the front. And, to hear them speak, it was not that difficult. Stuart Abbott wrote on February 6,

I have been up in the front lines, as you must well know from the gap in my mail. I have also earned my combat Infantryman’s badge by being under small arms fire. I don’t wish to sound like I know it all now because I am still about as green as a combat Infantryman can be but life in the front lines isn’t as bad as I expected. It’s not a soft touch, it can not [sic] be, but it isn’t a Hollywood hell of living in fox holes under constant fire etc etc….Anyway I got enough to eat and got enough sleep to get by and while their [sic] were bad moments they were the exception.[150]

Although Abbott wasn’t excited to be on the front, he was clearly struck by how different the front was as compared to his expectations. Yet, unlike what one might imagine, Abbott actually was underwhelmed by the combat, which failed to be quite the horror he expected to have to endure at the front.

In fact, even when the soldiers had an individual encounter with war, they were struck by how little it was like the descriptions of it. Stan Cummings, on February 6, described an experience in which he climbed up to an Observation Post (OP), observed the enemy and returned. He did not take fire, just observed the enemy. He discussed this in a letter home.

Some days ago I had a little excitement. Perhaps now would be as good a time as any to write you about it. This is war as I have met it. It’s inane. It’s ridiculous. It’s like nothing you ever saw in the movies. Or probably ever will see. I actually believe that here and now the infantry has almost caught up with the air corp [sic] on their style of living. … Isn’t that the damnest sort of fighting you ever heard of. Of course it won’t always be this way probably but while it lasts we are certainly enjoying it.[151]

Cummings’ experience struck him as being ridiculous because it was so unlike anything he had expected. Visiting the OP struck him as being the height of his combat experiences to that point, an exciting journey into the unknown against the enemy.

However, the Tenth would eventually win their spurs in an actual offensive attack. On the night of February 18, elements of the 86th Mountain Infantry Regiment attacked Riva Ridge in a night-time climb that totally surprised the German defenders. Riva Ridge is a steep mountain chain in the Italian Apennines that both German and American commanders had labeled unclimbable. The following night, February 19, the 85th, 87thand 3rd Battalion 86th attacked the Mt. Belvedere-Mt. Gorgolesco-Mt. della Torraccia ridge with help from the Brazilian Expeditionary Force. Nearly all of the Tenth took part in the action. This ridge, with a less extreme slope, had been attacked four times before. Each attack had succeeded in taking the summits of the Belvedere-Gorgolesco-della Torraccia ridge but had been repulsed in consequent counter-attacks, aided by artillery on the higher Riva Ridge. The assaults of February 18-19 were instrumental to the allied victory on the Italian front and formed a large part of the material in the soldiers’ following letters home. Ian Gooderson wrote that the attack was “to clear dominating ground astride Highway 64 leading to Bologna and a jump-off position for the spring offensive. Spearheaded by specialist rock-climbing teams,[152] and in one instance roping an entire battalion up a 3,000-foot ridge, the attack secured some daunting heights[.]”[153]

Figure 3 A Google Earth three-dimensional view of Riva Ridge and Mount Belvedere. This helps to show how steep Riva Ridge was as opposed to the gentler-sloped Mount Belvedere. Riva Ridge on the left was the ridge which required a night climb to surprise the German defenders.[154]

 

Prior to the first offensive, soldiers looked forward to playing a part in the battle. Bernard Murphy wrote on the night of the attack on Riva Ridge, “Well Honey I got a few munites [sic] to spare while I dry out my sack + wait till all hell breaks loose, I expect that in one hour or so great things will occur up hear [sic] which may be the deciding factor of the wor [sic]. I’m playing a very small parth [sic] of it but I guess whit [sic] enough small parts you can really make out somethings [sic].”[155] Although Murphy was in 86-E, which, as part of the second battalion, was held in reserve near Lizzano in Belvedere and was unlikely to see combat during the initial attack, he still looked forward to being a part of the action. Remember that the Tenth had been in training since 1943. Although Murphy joined the unit in July of 1944 at Camp Swift, he too was itching to see action in a war which increasingly seemed to be nearing its conclusion.

Although Cummings had been unimpressed with his original encounter with the front lines, this soon changed as he first related his experiences going up Belvedere with the 85th. In a letter to his wife Jean, he wrote,

It’s hard to say when things began. We had just loaded a weasel[156] with ammo and it had gone fifty yards up the road when a mortar got it….A boy from my class at OCS[157] came tramping down the road whistling. Half his jacket was blown off and blood was showing through the hasty bandage on his shoulder[.]…About this time a litter squad came running down the draw pell mell. Mortar shells were landing about 50 yards behind them following them right down but luckily never catching up. We all took refuge under a stone bridge which was perfect shelter from mortars. Here we found a Lt[158] I vaguely recognized[.] He kept asking me for my rifle and spoke about getting back to ‘the area’[.] It dawned on me finally that he was shocked. I pointed in the direction of the battallion [sic] aid station and said that was ‘the area’ and off he went. I didn’t have a man to spare to send with him[.][159]

Cummings’ account describes the confusion he felt when he first encountered war. It was no longer an orderly or straightforward process.

In that same letter, he also described being under shelling and the terror he felt during that instance:

An 88 shell is the worst thing I’ve run up against. It is the only sound that really churns up the fear in me. The closest one came when I was lying in a tank track. I had dived for it when I heard the first one. They whistle down when they come at you and from the whistle of the second one I was sure it was going to hit me right between the shoulders. I pushed my face as far into the mud as it would go but I could still hear it coming. I was sure it was going to be a direct hit. I have never felt fear like that before. After it hit a few yards off splashing mud all over me I lay there for half an hour completely out of breath.[160]

Of all the men surveyed in this thesis, Cummings was the most open about his war experiences in letters home. Whereas other men were willing to describe being under fire, he was one of the few to discuss the intense psychological fear he felt when in combat.

After combat, men were increasingly willing to discuss their time in battle. What follows is a long excerpt from Cummings. I think it valuable to include the quote the letter at length so as to convey the full impact of his letter.

In my last letter I was telling you the gory details of the war. Perhaps I had better finish it before I forget all about it. … Darling, don’t read this next page if you don’t care to hear of the horrors of war. You are in no condition to be shocked so perhaps I’d better order you to show it to Dad first and then let him summarize it for you in gentle language.

Well while you are asking for gory details let me give you the worst. It was my job to get every American, German, and civilian dead, put them in mattress covers, and ship them back to the rear by mule and jeep. I handled more dead in a few days than an undertaker does in a year! The first time I came upon a group of dead and told my GRO[161] squad to go to work they laid a mattress cover by each body and just stood looking, stunned. When I came back and bawled them out they replied ‘Well look at their arms and legs. They are frozen out like that and they won’t fit in the bags!’ So I had to show them. It was impossible to move the frozen joints so I had to step on them. I thought only of the job to be done. I got a mess on my hand and wiped it on the dead man’s pants. I never let my eyes quite focus on the face or wound but through the blur I knew they were awful. I wouldn’t write to you like this, Darling, if I didn’t know you were a biologist and could take it. But war is like this. People should realize it so they will be willing to make any sacrifice to prevent it. No one, however, - not even Ernie Pyle[162] can really give a good account. It is all so gigantic, hideous and unbelievable.

Some of the German dead had their fingers cut off for the rings they carried whether by our own men, civilians, or other Germans I do not know.

Again I learned first hand something I hard [sic] often heard of but never believed. I was clearing up a dark shed for an ammo dump when I came upon a pile of bones. On further examination here is what we found: the remains of 7 people, 4 adults and three children all with either a bullet hole in their skull or their skull bashed in. from shreds of clothing remaining, we could tell they were civilians. Apparently some attempt had been made to burn most of the remains. What the real story is I don’t know if anyone will ever know. We dug a hole, shoveled in the bones and made seven rude crosses out of ration crates.”[163]

At that point, Cummings obviously had not easily forgotten the experiences he had in combat. These are vicious, vivid memories of the horrors of war that Cummings chose to share with a wife who was eight months pregnant at the time. In this case, he references her request not to hide his experiences. Unfortunately, her correspondence has been lost and so I cannot say what she wrote to him to provoke such a response. However, Cummings references another such request in a later letter, writing “I only write this at all Darling because you ask for it [.]”[164]

Cummings was not, however, the only soldier to open up completely in a letter. Marty Daneman, until March 9, filled his letters with banalities. From his letters, there was no way to discover that he had been in combat, unless you were already aware of that fact. However, on March 9, one witnesses a complete about-face in his letter as he described combat for the first time. He really opened throughout up to his girlfriend and describes the war that he’d experienced. Again, as with Cummings’s letter, I think it valuable to quote Daneman’s letter in its near-entirety in order to display the emotion behind what he’d saying:

 I’ve been keeping something from, + I think that I’d better tell you for several reasons. 1st I don’t want any secrets between us – 2nd – Some changes in my mind have taken place, + as I told Jerry [his brother, not the euphemism for Germans], I think you above all should keep abreast of them.

I think you must have read in the papers about the attack on Mt Belvedere, Mt. Della Torrachia, etc. I was in on it darling - + the story I’ll tell you about it isn’t pretty. There are still some things I can’t say[165] – not for a while yet, but I’ll tell you what I can.

I wasn’t in the group that jumped off, with the element of surprise greatly in their favor, but in the next one. When I got there, the Krauts knew we were there, + were waiting for us. I went up with the CO to look for a new CP location at 12AM, + was caught in a counter attack. I managed to get in a dugout during part of the shelling, but when the Krauts started to assault us, I got in a shallow slit trench + started firing. I spotted one Kraut running across a gully I was covering + shot him. I’d always wondered how I’d feel shooting a man, + I found out quick enough. I felt no remorse doing it, almost pleasure. In one short period of time I learned to hate as I never thought I could. I saw enough blood + torn flesh + death to last forever. I came near to it a few times myself – shells landing all around, machine gun bullets flying etc – but the closest shell was about 25 yds. I left my hole for a while after that to carry a stretcher. I came back to find that an 88 had landed right in it [his hole]. I lost 10 years of my life in that operation, + my watch and + something more important than either, which I can’t mention for a week yet. But I came out whole, + I’m thankful for that. It was pretty bad, but as the papers say – we did it – 4 outfits tried it before,[166] + we did it. But we paid a price.

Stan Nelson + I ran across a wounded Kraut in a dugout, + killed him. I guess hate does things to the mind. You’ll see why I feel as I do when I can say more.

Since those terrible days I can’t get back into my old frame of mind. I relive the torture in my mind too often. I can’t laugh like I did, nor sing, nor write the way I did. Please darling, don’t ask for poetry just yet. Only now do I fully realize that inadequacy of words to cover human emotion. I’ve thought a thousand times of the way I’d tell you this without worrying you, but I guess there can’t be any way. All I can say is that I’m safe now and there’s no more danger….

When it was over I shook for 3 days, jumped at every noise, + couldn’t hold a meal. And came out with a hate for war I’ll never lose, I don’t think anyone except a front line soldier, who has endured the mental agony of shelling, seen the gaping ragged shrapnel wounds in flesh; seen his buddies die before him, + smelled the sickly odor of dead men can develop the hate of war that I now have.”[167]

Combat quite clearly had a visceral effect on Daneman. Here, he opened up to his future wife, citing his insistence that their relationship required such uncensored honesty. Unlike with Cummings, this was an unprompted exposure of combat memories.

Even soldiers who didn’t serve directly on the front had memories of combat. Arthur Draper was a medic in 3rd Battalion, 86th. From what I can tell, he was at an advanced operating station, the first medical line of work, meaning he and his fellow medics were just off the front and dealt with some serious wounds.

At the moment I’m back in a so-called rest area, where as yet I have not had very much rest….It seems, though, we would spend a few days here and move on, spend a few more days there and move on. Inbetween [sic] would be a gruesome attack followed by a counter attack. We’d work like dogs for 24 or 48 hours and then subside into a sort of dazed stupor. It will take a long time to work the whole thing out into a half-way clear picture. … During the height of battle we didn’t have much time to play with the fires. There were times when I thought we’d never catch up with the patients. They came in battered and banged up in every conceivable manner. Scissors snipped clothing to hell to expose the wounds. It didn’t take long before the floor was ankle deep in debris and in that debris, alas, I lost my spectacles and my moccasins. Yes, those same damn moccasins I had so painstakingly smuggled out of Swift. They were finally lost in the pile of junk we tossed out the front door, and I had no desire to dig into that because in the mess were bits of discarded flesh, including amputated limbs. Ah well, it was so much extra weight to trot around.[168]

Draper’s subject matter, like anything pertaining to combat, was certainly unpleasant to read. This was extremely provocative material, evocative of the horrors of war that the men faced.

Soldiers’ experiences of combat, like those which I’ve quoted here, offered a look into the mental and psychological aspect of their war. “War is more of a mental strain, I believe, than physical cause the enemy is always trying his darndest to kill you no matter if you are in a foxhole or tending to the call of nature.”[169] The war that the soldiers experienced involved a serious mental strain, as is typical of any conflict. Denis Nunan wrote later of the April Offensive,

Our first day was terribly bloody, and it ‘bout tore my heart out to see the trails and hillsides drenched with the blood of the best guys in the world….The small-arm fire and arty was endless, and our objectives seemed out of reach. He [sic] hills and draws would first be on our side and afford us some semblance of cover from the enemy, and then on the other hand, nature would hide the enemy from view or reach as he stabbed out at his with his tools of death….Night decended [sic], but it was not a signal for silence, only an increase in arty and mortar fire. The cries of the wounded and the stillness of the dead finally broke my heart.[170]

As he had done earlier in the war, Nunan was trying to conceptualize the war mentally as much as anything. For him, the war served to take on an almost philosophical tinge the more that he thought about it.

Despite their initial reactions, soldiers quickly became adjusted to the habits of war and to the brutality of combat. For them, killing came hard. They didn’t like it, but it was the nature of doing duty as a soldier. Denis Nunan wrote, “In case the tax payers are wondering about their investment in me, I have now three notches in my gun stock, but you needn’t worry as I’m not a killer at heart – I’m just doing my duty as an American doggie – doing my duty + not batting an eye. To knock off a Kraut is just doing the job.”[171] The men had to focus on what they believed was the task at hand. Only when they rationalized it as such could they fully do their duty.

The men got used to the nuances of life on the front. After having seen the difficulties of war, their attitudes actually hardened and they were a little less open. Cummings wrote, “When we first got here all the boys called me ‘action lover.’ They don’t now. They know that I, like everyone else, has [sic] had a stomach full.”[172] Harris Dusenbery also describes the nature of this transformation. He wrote on March 18, “Back at Montecatini a letter from my wife brought news of the death of my brother-in-law, Franklyn Shields, killed in action in the Philippines. My heart ached for Evelyn and the family, but with death so close at hand here, I did not feel it like I would in ordinary circumstances.”[173]In other words, life on the front hardened soldiers’ attitudes and left them less emotional. As Cummings admitted, “Grief is a civilian luxury.”[174]

Marty Daneman too discussed this in an April 4 letter home in which he discusses this shift of opinion in an extremely pessimistic manner:

It’s strange trying to stand off from myself and try to analyze myself – before + after Belvedere. Before I came over, + for a while afterwards – I actually itched for action – glory boy that I was, but it sure changed fast. It takes only one time – one shell, to change an old opinion. The story about living thru it all if you live thru the 1st one is partially strengthened + partially disproved. After seeing what hell a piece of shrapnel can do to your buddies, you develop infinitely more caution. You don’t take the chances, you aren’t a hero anymore, unless you’re ordered to be one – or unless your [sic] so mad you lose your head. – But, by necessity, you become somewhat of a fatalist. That way it looks now to a line co rifleman is this ----: He’s lived thru it – very luckily. Perhaps it was because of the precautions taken, more probably because of luck. So he assumes the attitude that sooner or later he’s going to get hit – when + how badly are determined by luck, but he will get hit. When I was under shelling, the fact that I was temporarily acting as a rifleman, made me believe it too. With men all around getting it, I didn’t wonder if I’d get it too – I just wondered when + how bad. I don’t still don’t see how or why I got out without ever a missing hair. Maybe the shell that blew my foxhole apart had my initials on it, + I fooled them by not being there. I’ll keep right on fooling them too –”[175]

Daneman obviously doesn’t hold out much hope after having seen combat. He no longer wants to return to the fighting. Although he acknowledged that he once longed to enter combat, his attitude has shifted. He has become mechanical in his sentiments.

Yet, the soldiers were still emotional when discussing the losses they had seen and experienced. Although censorship regulations admonished “Don’t tell of any casualty until released by proper authority (The Adjutant General) and then only by using the full name of the casualty,”[176] this passage from Marty Daneman describing the deaths of two buddies clearly violated that injunction:

It is now the morning of the 19th and I can tell you what hit me so hard and left be [me] so bitter after [censored] Johnny and Ned were both killed a month ago by artillary [sic] fire. An 88 hit 2 feet behind their foxhole and detonated. Johnny was literally cut to pieces from shrapnel, and the same hunks that got Johnny, got Ned. They went right on thru him and into Ned. It still seems hard to believe that they are dead -- just a corpse and a memory. Johnny was always so full of life and fun, he always had a remark to make to break the tension, and was always in there pitching. It was a terrible shock to walk from my foxhole to theirs 75 yds and see the both of them bent up in it. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. Nor forgive for it. The hardest letter I ever had to help write was to Johnny’s mother and dad, and Neds too. It must have been harder on Neds folks. He was an only child, and such a kid. He never even had time to look around and see what life was about. He never had a girl, or went to a dance, which was amazing considering his handsomeness. What can you say to a mother or a father to compensate for the loss of a son? We could think of nothing, so we told them that. It’s a bitter experience, seeing your buddy of two years die when it could have been somebody else, but the mind heals. I hope mine does, tho [sic] it will, as I said, never forget not [nor] forgive.[177]

Daneman was obviously traumatized by the sight, so much so that he was still discussing it a month after having seen it while on Mt. Belvedere.

As the war progressed, the men were no easier at heart for it. “One never gets really use[d] to combat – no matter how many times you enter it, you still sweat it out – No doubt due to one’s great desire to live rather than one’s fears. And although spring is in the air and ‘tis warmer, one finds himself still trembling like a leaf when caught in an artillery barrage. There is less ducking however, ‘cause when you hear a shell from an 88 sing overhead, it has already passed you – you don’t hear the one that scores a direct hit on you; and the one that gets you with shrapnel sings in the distance and explodes in your ear!”[178]

However, the more combat the soldiers saw, the more they would actually speak of the everyday, quotidian elements of being on the front. They would also discuss the things that might take place while writing a letter, often negative events. Albert Brockman mentioned such occurrences in two separate letters when he wrote, “I was writing a letter a couple of nights ago in my hole by candle light. Jerry tried to sneak through our barbed wire and I had to spend the rest of the night makeing [sic] sure he didn’t. I still have the page I did get written”[179] and “A shell just landed a few yards away and blew dirt in on me. Don’t mind if my handwriting is a little bit jumpy.”[180] Writing letters at the front meant that the reader was exposed to all of what might have happened during the action there.

In fact, soldiers would speak of specific and bloody details that are shocking to the reader and are quite unexpected. Stan Cummings wrote of an instance laying a minefield at night under German fire: “Suddenly there is a flash and a report and I know something has gone wrong. My platoon sergeant comes back holding his shattered hand. An antipersonnel mine with a defective firing pin went off while he was setting it. I still don’t know why [we] weren’t all killed. It was suppose [sic] to be deadly for over a hundred yards.”[181] This is not something you would write to your family to set their minds at rest. Cummings wrote of another instance:

[O]ne night about 3 in the morning the door burst open and a kid yelled ‘Come quick Sgt –[182] is under the stones.’ A shell had hit a house fifty yards down the street and I had been sleeping so soundly I didn’t even hear it. This time 3 floors had caved in. two men sleeping beneath had crawled out from the pile of rubble. A third – a sgt – was still underneath. We could hear his crys [sic] for help faintly at first – fainter – not at all. After two hours of feverish digging in the dark a pick uncovered a white hand. A gold wedding band gleamed in the moonlight. The battallion [sic] surgeon said he was dead. I can see why soldiers seldom repeat such stuff as this. I get a kick out of writing letters but not this. An instinct inside one keeps shouting ‘Forget it. Forget it.’ You can’t think it out. All thoughts on war lead up blind alleys. Forget it. Grief is a civilian luxury. How in hell are we going to get that tactical unit up to B Co. Will the rations get through tonight. That is all that matters.[183]

Again, this is an instance of a horrific event that a soldier was more than willing to describe. I realize that these two examples are only from Stan Cummings, who was more open than most when discussing his combat experiences. I offer as another example this following entry from Harris Dusenbery.

Starting with the April 14 Offensive, Dusenbery’s diary, constructed mostly from scraps of letters (soldiers were ostensibly not allowed to keep a diary during the war) becomes much more descriptive of combat. One section from April 30 reads:

The only news to mar an otherwise perfect day was the report that about ten men of Baker Company [86-B] were killed during the night by aerial bombs. We heard that three bombs were dropped by a German plane and one of them was a direct hit on a squad closely bunched on a mule trail.

After getting word to move our HQ company into Nago, we wound down the mountainside and passed the spot where what was left of the bodies lay. Blood and bits of bone and flesh lay scattered over the ground. Someone had made a partial attempt to clean up the mess. In the trail there was a gunny sack of arms and legs with the grisly ends sticking out. No bodies or heads were visible. We surmised that they had simply been blown to pieces. This is the thing that gnaws at your heart yet in war we have been hardened.[184]

Again, in this letter, like so many of his fellow Tenth Mountain Division soldiers, Harris Dusenbery discussed the war as he had experienced it in a very real, unalloyed, and brutal sense. Dusenbery touches on event in specific, gory detail and also mentions that same emotional hardening and shutdown that others referenced.

As they experienced the horrors of combat, many soldiers turned to religion as a way to find solace for themselves despite the devastation they had witnessed and been a part of. Religion had an interesting effect on soldiers; those who entered the war with an active or robust faith[185] had their religious beliefs confirmed by the combat experiences they saw; those who went in as being un-religious[186] remained so. The war tended to continue soldiers’ polarization of beliefs, establishing what they held true: in that way, it didn’t reverse any opinions. However horrendous the men’s experiences, some at least were able to cope with the stress and the imminence of mortality by taking comfort in their faith.

Some soldiers, having made it through combat, credited their religious beliefs with having brought them through it all. Albert Brockman wrote shortly after the Tenth’s first offensive, “A fellow doesen’t [sic] have much to turn to except prayer when things are going tough. I thank God for watching over me and bringing me out in good health. I carried Grandfather’s Testiment [sic] with me. I wouldn’t part with it for anything. I never knew what a help and comfort faith in God could be before.”[187] Religion prompted religious soldiers to thank God that they had made it through unscathed. It comforted them to be able to discuss religion openly in their letters. Denis Nunan wrote,

However, this time when we jumped off [referring to moving into combat] your youngest felt much better than on previous occassions [sic] due to a very simple fact – he had written home – written more than just a V-mail. Written home letting you all know how much you are in his thoughts, how much he appreciates all the kindnesses you have always bestowed upon him, how glad he was to have such swell parents, and last but not least, he sent his love. True, he might not show his love as openly as other sons and brothers do but did you ever stop to think about the showing of one’s love. What greater love can one have other than one’s love for God?[188]

Nunan’s letter shows how much certain soldiers believed that religion had an important impact in their well-being through combat. They did thank God that they had made it through safe, and, as Albert Brockman wrote his mother on May 7, at the end of the war,

The news came in about four hours ago about Germanys surrender. There wasn’t any shouting nobody seemed very excited about the whole thing. I guess it came as sort of a anti climax [sic] after the surrender here in Italy and in Holland and Denmark. It seems funny here it is, the day everybody has waited so long for at last come. I don’t think it’s a day to get drunk on it’s a day to get down on your knees and thank God, as someon [sic] said.[189]

Brockman became a more religious person as a result of his experiences in the war.

However, this was not the case for all the soldiers. Those who were fairly secular when first experiencing combat remained that way after the fact. Stan Cummings wrote of experiencing shelling,

I think it was at this point, that I thought of ‘no atheists in foxholes.’ What an erroneous assumption. You’re in a foxhole. The shells start screaming down. You push your face in the mud and sweat and tremble and squirm. It makes every man – even such specimens as myself – whimpering crawling cowards. I suppose that hurts a man ego. He’d rather say it made him a Christian. I doubt if anyone really prays in a foxhole. Those murmurings are nothing but desperate animal cries for help only it usually happens that God is the only one around with sufficient time on his hands to listen.[190]

Cummings’ passage here illustrates just how fundamental his response to religion in combat was. He vehemently believed that religion had no influence in determining one’s ultimate fate on the battlefield.[191]

 

Writing As A Release

Even for those who didn’t turn to religion to assuage their concerns, writing served as a way to relieve soldiers’ anxiety.  Science has shown that “Individuals who exchange affectionate communication regularly are buffered against the effects of stress and…can accelerate physiological recovery from stress.”[192] And, although soldiers were unaware of this evidence, they did speak of having positive effects from writing home. Their minds were put at ease by writing home:

Now that I have had this opportunity to write you, I hope that I shan’t be so shaky under enemy artillery, but time alone will tell. After the first shock of combat I began writing you little notes which I carried in my pocket prayer book with hopes the chaplain would mail them to you. Am enclosing them in this letter. I want you all to know I think of you constantly and only wish that I could repay you all for being so good to me. … I can go back into combat feeling much better now that I’ve written this.[193]

Nunan’s letters in particular were marked by similar sentiments. He also wrote, “However, this time when we jumped off your youngest felt much better than on previous occassions [sic] due to a very simple fact – he had written home – written more than just a V-mail.”[194] For Nunan, as a soldier, being able to write home eased his concerns before going into combat.

 

On Wounds and Death

Although all soldiers were facing death on a real, personal and individual level in combat at the interpersonal level, the idea of death was something that the men were forced to internally consider. On a battlefield, this was a real possibility. As best I could discover, four of the men whose collections I studied were wounded during their service in Italy and three were killed in action. More generally, through the four or so months that the Tenth was in combat, they suffered a thousand dead and 3,871 wounded. Twenty-five percent of all men who served in the division were casualties, with 1,126 casualties per month during the four months.[195] This was one of the highest casualty rates[196] in World War II.

Obviously, given that they were in a division that suffered high combat casualties, the men were aware that there was a chance they could be WIA or KIA. This was something that they discussed in their letters abstractly. Denis Nunan wrote shortly after their first sustained action, “My one concern in combat is how you and Daddy will accept any misfortunate [sic] that might befall me. Please, you all must be brave, and if I am to go, ‘tis merely God’s will, and you must accept it as such. Accept it and hope that my going shan’t be in vain. Please be brave about it, and remember also that others have suffered greater loses [sic] than we can ever suffer. I hate to be the cause of you all to worry and grieve, but c’est la guerre!” [197], [198] Nunan told his family in this instance simply to accept his death if it should come. He was doing his duty and his family would be doing theirs by moving on if anything happened to him.

If they were in fact wounded, soldiers would describe what happened in detail to their families. Here, Weldon Chase describes one of the two wounds he received in the war, near Mt. Belvedere.

The Red Cross girl just went through and tells me that the War Dept. has already sent you folks a telegram telling you I have been wounded and hospitalized. I don’t know how what they told you but you know the luck of the Chases so I picked up my Purple Heart easily. We were on a little scrap on a hill side a day or so ago and it got rough where my section was and a mortar shell landed to [sic] close. It wasn’t bad at all honest there was a loud bang and I got some scrapnel [shrapnel] in my leg above my knee. There was only a few peices [sic] and they were small. I got trucked down by Jeep, truck, and ambulance, and landed in a good enough evactuation [sic] hospital here where they stuck me in this area and took this scrap metal out and bandaged me up. I feel fine now can walk on it and it’s just stiff from a few cut muscles.[199]

Chase’s account of how he received his wound is typical of the soldiers’ letters in that they would discuss the circumstances of how they received their wound. Chase did the same when he was wounded on Hill 913 April 15th near Castel D’Aiano. This was the simple nature of being wounded; if soldiers were, it was important to write their family of the news and “try to beat the WD[200] telegram again and not worry”[201] them.

In addition, soldiers were willing to talk about their wounds in letters home. Hugh Evans discussed his wound in a letter to his mother on April 20:

All that happened was that a shell went off too close….The darn thing went off in a tree about four feet above my head. I was on a hill side observing and just heard it coming at the last second. I just started up when it went off right in my face. It flipped me, put a pin prick on my forhead [sic] and made my ears ring lie well [sic] it’s hard to say. I just lay on the ground after it went off and wondered how I was missed. Then I realized I had better get to a hole and took off. Once in the ‘well loved’ hole I started to look myself over for wounds – none except for the pinprick. Right then I gave a little prayer and then returned to the platoon. The medic looked me over and said the ringing in my ears would just take a little time to go away. Well it did but two days later my left ear was soar [sic] and still felt like it had water in it so I told Lt. Jones I was going down to Battalion aid to see if I could get it drained. The next thing I found myself starting back for hospital, and here I am.[202]

Evans even provided an illustration of the incident in his following letter:

Photograph 9 Evans’ sketch of the incident.[203]

 

Chase and Evans were not alone in describing the way in which they had received their wounds. Melville Borders had arguably the most severe wound of these three with a “Penetrating wound of the left thigh and knee”[204] received on April 15. He too discussed his wound in a letter home, starting with a worrying introduction.

The G.I. in the next bed is writing this for me as I guess I have told you I don’t have full use of my arms yet. I will tell you what happened. During an attack I met head on with an unexpected guest mainly a Kraut[.] we both fired at the same time[.] my bullet traveled faster than his rifle grenade so I saw him fall. I killed him. ‘However you caint [sic] have your cake and eat it too.’ he got me in the leg tearing off a good size piece of flesh from my knee up to my hip[.] The blast also tore up my arms a bit. I am supprised [sic] I still have my man hood.…This is a nice place and I’m getting the best of care please don’t worry about me as it sounds.[205]

Chase, Evans and Borders all reassured their families not to worry although they did describe the series of events that led to their wounds.

However, not every soldier could remember the events leading to their injury. Stan Cummings was under fire when, as he wrote, “the hole in front of me seemed to explode. I didn’t hear it but I remember seeing the flash and I felt a crack on my head like being hit with a plank or a shovel.”[206] From his letters, it seems likely that Cummings was concussed and certainly suffering from amnesia and loss of memory. He had to deal with the psychological ramifications of being wounded. “In a way it would be so much simpler if I could write ‘I picked up a bit of shrapnel in the chest’ or even ‘lost a hand.’ But you can’t pick your wounds in this war. Me – I’ve lost a few months of my memory. It doesn’t show – but there is a brooding uncomfortableness about it and it doesn’t seem to be healing easily. I suppose in the vernacular I am ‘shell shocked’.”[207] Cummings wrote that he could only remember two things since boarding a ship in the United States: the sound of falling German shells and putting bodies in a bag as a Graves Registration Officer.[208] For him, his wound was a struggle to remember who he was as well as what he was doing in Italy as a soldier.

 

Life on the Front 

Photograph 10 Shrapnel Alley, Italy[209] -- A trench with various items (i.e. a fuel can in the foreground, for example) left behind and littered with rocks and branches.

 

 Soldiers would not only talk about combat but also be extremely willing to discuss the small details of life on the front. Reading their letters often takes the reader into the world that they were experiencing on the front. In a few different instances, soldiers would discuss key elements of their front-line lives, such as packages or their foxholes.

Packages from home were a large part of life on the front. They boosted morale: as LaVern Trepp wrote, “The boys liked the packages.”[210] Soldiers made a specific point of asking for specific objects. Often a page of their letters home would be devoted to a list of requests. The paragraphs with requests in LaVern Trepp’s letters were circled by the family.[211] Obviously members of Trepp’s family were taking note of what Trepp wanted so they could send that material to him in a package.

When soldiers received a package, an equivalent page in the following letter would be used to thank their family members for each object in turn, showing their gratitude for the home front’s care. Packages from home were a community tool. When one soldier received a package, he usually split it with his buddies. Food would often be shared around and consumed almost immediately. The morale boost from a package was therefore distributed through the recipient’s unit. And yet the packages were worth more than just the contents: “Thanks so much for everything [in a package] including the cheese, crackers, book and film. Most of all I appreciated the love that seemed crammed into every corner.”[212]

At the front, men spent their time in foxholes, effectively holes instead of trenches. Often these were dug hastily under shellfire or simply re-occupied and re-purposed German constructions. Soldiers seemed to take a thrill in describing their accommodations to their families. Hugh Evans described his and even provided an image:

I mentioned earlier in this letter about our foxhole, but seeing that it is such a new design I cannot just run through this letter and mention it just as a mere foxhole, instead right more I plan to describe it for you. I[t] is really beautiful mom. All the comforts of home except that they are sort of compressed into a small space. First of all in this new type hole we have a kitchen, a living room, a writing room (that is where I am now) a bedroom, and a semi bathroom of the portable type in case of need. Below you see a full blue print plan of our hole. How do you like it [sic]. You know mother its [sic] funny how quickly a human ajusts [sic] himself to his surrounding [sic]. Here we have been living in foxholes mostly under the ground for a week or so and really it isn’t have bad. I guess though that I always did like to get in the dirt and mud.[213]

Photograph 11 Hugh Evans' Sketch of Foxhole.[214]

 

Evans’ description of his foxhole was not the only one. Others also described their living arrangements, some even providing a more complete description of the scenario in which they were writing. Albert Brockman’s letter, in addition to describing his foxhole, also discusses the environment he was in on the front.

Mabey [sic] you’d like a description of my foxhole. I sleep with the platoon Sgt. We have a hole dug back under the bank with straw and blankets on the floor and a candle on a stick stuck in the wall. That’s about the only decoration. Were [sic] thinking of putting up this weeks [sic] Yank pin up girl for decoration. Outside we have a squar [sic] hole about four feet deep and about four feet squar [sic] where we have the telephone. I have my chair and myself there now. We have a cabinet riged [sic] up and have our rations and writeing [sic] paper stuffed in them. There are sandbags, and packs and all sorts of junk scattered around. Most of the fellows are cooking supper now or reading on blankets in front of there [sic] holes. Overhead there is the dull roor [sic] of the piper cubs buzzing around and the continous [sic] boom of artillery and the long sharp whistle as the shells go overhead. You get use [sic] to them after awhile [sic] and don’t even hear them.[215]

Brockman’s letter in particular takes the reader inside the head of a combat infantryman on the front, providing a description of his whereabouts as well as the sounds of the front. These letters, written whilst the normal action of the front continued, are important looks into the psyche and state that soldiers found themselves in.

In conclusion, the men of the Tenth Mountain Division were very open and willing to discuss their wartime experiences in letters home. They would discuss extremely sensitive details with their families, including graphic descriptions of deaths of their buddies. There appeared to be no hesitation in describing the intimacies of combat in Italy or the circumstances in which they received their wounds.

Men would reveal these details either in response to their families’ urging them to discuss the war or simply as an unprompted revelation of combat experiences. Soldiers also turned to religion as a type of consolation from the devastation that they had seen and described the release that writing a letter home brought them.

From these letters, we can see the reality of the war and combat that soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division faced. The psychological nature of these letters coupled with the provocative content and descriptions of the war are remarkable, and may require further academic study to fully ascertain and understand the rationale behind why these soldiers discussed combat to the extent which they did; I could only discover so much in this limited sample of 15 soldiers’ collections.

 

Chapter 4: “I’m wondering what the future holds for us now:”[216] The End of the War

Understandably, as soldiers, men in the Tenth Mountain Division closely tracked any kind of news that they could relating to the end of the war, which became a main feature in their letters. The end of the war in Italy and the European theater served as a way to get home sooner, but for them it meant they would likely go to face the Japanese in the Pacific Theater. Their war was not truly over until both enemies[217] were defeated. They would track news through any source available to them, which was mostly radio broadcasts when available and military media such as Yank and Stars and Stripes. Soldiers were consistently enthusiastic for the end of the war and suffered no ill will as they waited for the eventual German surrender. Interestingly, the longer the war seemed to last, soldiers gained a hatred for the Germans, which seemed to manifest itself in April letters in particular. Unfortunately, there is a major lack of secondary sources on the subject for World War II specifically, so this discussion is missing some insight as to other soldiers on other fronts’ perspectives.

Communication over war news was a staple of many letter collections. One soldier’s[218]private journal and correspondence to his parents and wife contained no less than twenty-two separate mentions of end-of-war news from January to May. In fact, all fourteen letter collections that I studied included a reference to the end of the war or the progression of other fronts. This was obviously something that fascinated almost all soldiers from a broad range of backgrounds; unlike some of the other themes identified in the wartime correspondence of this unit, interest in the end of the war was a fairly universal sentiment. Why was this the case?

Obviously, soldiers were interested in the end of the war because it meant they could return home, something which they discussed and eagerly looked forward to. The end of the war meant they could see their family members again or return to pre-war occupations. It also meant the cessation of fighting and the end of a war in which too many soldiers had given the ultimate sacrifice. These are all typical of soldiers and will be important to understanding the actual content of soldiers’ letters.

Soldiers consistently discussed the war news in their letters, despite the fact that that news would likely be far outdated by the time it reached their addressees. Post was too slow and the war too fast moving during the period I examine (from January-May) to allow any kind of consistency in letters and current news. They wrote about war news because it was a remaining link that they had with their family members, something they could discuss with each other and both could understand.  Like their families at home, they shared a common desire of wanting an end to the war and wanting to be reunited. This was something that was true for other soldiers in the war as well. Lawrence Cane was a soldier fighting in Northern Europe, who, “Throughout his letters…expressed enthusiastic support for the Russian war effort.”[219]

In addition, end of war news served as a definitive morale booster for soldiers. Dusenbery wrote, “News from the Russian front has been extremely good for the last few weeks and it was important in keeping our morale high at the front. That prediction you made [Dusenbery’s father predicted that the war would be over by April 1] that Germany would be out of the war by April may be good. I certainly hope so. We are all willing to do our share of the fighting, but the less we have to do the better.”[220] Although they were taking part in the fighting, they absolutely would have rather been back at home.

Excitement for the end of the war was so great that soldiers would often prematurely celebrate any kind of news that seemed to signal the end of the war. Harris Dusenbery’s letter of February 7 is an example. At that time, the Allied Twelfth Army had nearly passed through Luxemburg.[221] In his letter, Dusenbery made a list of requests of his wife, Evelyn, nothing out of the ordinary for a letter. However, one of his requests was for “one quart of the best whiskey (Scotch) you can buy to celebrate victory-in-Europe.”[222] The letter was written approximately three months before the surrender, so at the time, surrender must have seemed near enough to make such a request, despite the long months of war that actually lay ahead of him.

An early end to the war had other benefits as well, more pragmatic ones for soldiers who were on the front facing combat. Hugh Evans wrote in February, “Isn’t it wonderful the way Russia’s moving now. I certainly don’t think we’ll have to go through another winter’s fighting with Germany. That makes things much more pleasant for all of us because all we have to look forward to now is a pleasant warm summer, and we don’t have to worry about the winter that follows.”[223] The soldiers’ future was often brightened by the prospect of a shortened war simply due to logistics on the front.

And, no matter how well the war appeared to be progressing, soldiers were never satisfied. As Bernard Murphy wrote, “Gee Honey You say the news is good on all Fronts, but there still not good enough to suit me.”[224] They always hoped for an end, and although each new piece of news was welcomed, it was still not the final surrender. Arthur Draper echoed this, later, in May, when he wrote, “How much longer it will take I would not want to hazard a guess. …  More and more I’m looking forward to the day when the peace terms are signed and we all come marching home. By golly, I’ve seen a lot of countryside where the people cheered us as we passed because to them the war was over. That was a thrill you couldn’t help but share even though to us it was slightly hollow.”[225] Soldiers hoped for the end of the war from before they arrived in Italy until when they were fighting the Germans, even up until the actual surrender.

In fact, the wait for victory led many soldiers by April to detest the Germans. Thomas Dickson’s outburst helps describe this, in part.

Feel slightly impatient about the war. Since the breakthru [sic] on the Rhine, this has become a war of attrition. If the German people want it that way – OK, we are in position A to make it hurt. But I’d hate to see any of these guys hurt down here for the reason that the group of people called Germans don’t have the collective guts to override their leaders. That they still believe any adherence to Nazism to be right or even profitable is nonsense. They had nerve enough to start a big war – nerve enough to want England invaded. And were willing to gamble on being able to knock Russia out, and either neutralize us, or, with Japan’s help – defeat us. Their chances weren’t too long at that – based as they were on a beleif [sic] in their own superiority. Nor did they miss by very much. Now they’re in a bad spot – but continue to kill any of us they can. The result has been to eliminate any feeling we soldiers might have had of them as people to be re-educated. And the more of them who die from any cause, from now on, the better.[226]

Many soldiers shared such emotions. These opinions seemed to stem, once again, from a desire to see the end of the war. Many soldiers favored a total annihilation of the Germans, a thought which Stan Cummings summed up on the day the cease-fire was announced: “[I]f someone made out a case for wiping out the entire German nation I don’t think I could plead much of a defense for them. Unlike an individual you can’t put a nation in a padded cell and forget about it yet that is what certainly needs to be done. [emphasis added]”[227] According to what they wrote, soldiers’ unique perspective as being a part of the war on the front lines contributed to their opinion on the end of the war and their desire to see the surrender. Hugh Evans wrote in April,

“Mother you have alot [sic] different idea about how long the war is going to take when you are sitting in a fox hole and realize how far you have to go before it can end. You look at it in steps and sweat, and not in how many miles the ninth[228]advanced today. These observers and guessers about the proximity of the end of the war don’t seem to realize that men have to move over every in[ch] of the ground that’s taken. That those men have to fight on top of that for it and besides that they have to get fed and sleep alittle [sic] too and all that takes time. The war wont [sic] end suddenly mother, but slowly and surely as a cattapiller [sic] inches along a log we will crush the German nation. And boy mother we better really crush her. At times I would like to see her surrender but that’s only because I’m lazy or like the others don’t like this frightning [sic] business much. Yet I stop and think and realize there is only one answer, kill her!”[229]

Startling expositions of anti-German feeling were all too common amongst soldiers, as shown in these letters. Despite the fact that these soldiers were on the Italian front, a less important theater of operations, these soldiers had no resentment. Instead, they were simply happy to be able to contribute to the war effort. They knew that they were unlikely to reach Germany or any areas of interest to the home front, but they were doing their part in the war effort. Interestingly, despite what might seem to make sense, the anti-German sentiment among soldiers didn’t result from knowledge of the Holocaust and what the Germans were doing to the Jews. In fact, there was only one mention of the Holocaust in the anti-German letters. The horrors of the Holocaust would have been somewhat-common knowledge among the soldiers at this point in the war and it is intriguing that they did not refer to this.

This anti-German sentiment was true too of other soldiers on other fronts. Again from Lawrence Cane:

During the hard, slogging fighting of the summer of 1944 Cane's revulsion for the Nazis only intensified. In a June 24 letter he angrily remarked: 'One word is engraved in my heart when we go after those bastards, 'REVENGE.' For Spain and my maimed and dead comrades,[230] for my people, the Jews, for the destruction, the devastation, the suffering of all the peoples of the world. It's a terrible thing to say, perhaps, but I am full of hate and my soul cries with the Russians, 'DEATH TO THE GERMANS. DEATH TO THE NAZI DESPOILERS.'[231]

When the end of the war actually arrived, it often came as an opportunity for soldiers to philosophize. On April 30, Marty Daneman wrote to his sweetheart Lois,

Rumors of peace have been flying around here thick + fast – we don’t know what to believe any more. Only one thing seems sure – it’s a matter of days, or perhaps only hours til this mess is over. I don’t know what the reaction on myself will be. Maybe I’ll yell my head off, + maybe I’ll just sit + wonder why so many men had to die + be wounded, + why so many wives, sisters + sweethearts had to pay with broken hearts. I’ll never understand how man can destroy himself by such horrible means. Even more than I hate the Krauts + Japs, I hate war. I cannot consider our enemies as men – they may, as individuals, once have been human, but as a mass they have done nought but bring misery + chaos to the world. I can see only one solution to it all, - we must remain strong, + crush any attempt at disturbing peace before it gains any momentum. I said it before, + I say it again – it must never happen again.[232]

Many soldiers felt similarly, that the horrors of such a war needed to be stopped before it ever repeated.[233]

Finally, although the end of the war caused jubilation in the ranks, soldiers remained fully pragmatic about the war – they remained on the front, and danger seemed to still be present. On the day the armistice was announced, Albert Brockman was writing a letter home when the news broke. “The news just came that the Germs have surrendered in Northern Italy. The place is going made. Jeep are fireing [sic] machine guns rifles and everything else. I hope it’s true. It will take a month to get ammunition up to us again.”[234] Despite the joy they must have felt, some soldiers restrained themselves as it would not have been the first false rumor; Stan Cummings described the situation by writing “I have had so many wonderful hopes blasted, however, that I count on nothing now until it is a certainty.”[235] Soldiers also reflected on the mortality that they perceived close to the end of the war.

Had to stop last nite [sic] for a little while as we took on a L—of a shelling. As I layed [sic] here in my foxhole last nite [sic] during the middle of one of the beatings I couldn’t help but think of all the foolish people that have relaxed because they think this war is nearly over. There were fellows last nite [sic] that will never think that the 25 of March was the end of the war. If the war stopped to morrow [sic] the shells won’t fall any lighter or with less terror to night. Enough of this talk but it, the thought, comes to all of us when we run by a machine gun or through an impact area that any thing [sic] would be easier and people at home complain because they can’t have intertainment [sic] after mid night and gas to roam around and clothes and food. If you want to see someone that really wants a new white sheet you want to see a non man [sic] laying in a snow field in OD[236]while a sniper or machine gun throws snow along him.[237], [238]

The men certainly reflected on the end of the war, but never mentally stopped fighting in the war.

 

“Everyone over here is sweating out the Japs:”[239] Another Front

Although soldiers looked forward to the end of the war in Italy, it meant one thing to them – another war front. The end of the war in Europe meant the beginning of their war against Japan in the Pacific Theater. Many soldiers discussed this and urged their families not to worry, that they would return home as soon as they could, despite the impending fight against the second enemy. Soldiers were very aware of the fact that “there is still work ahead; whether it be up north or in the Pacific sector we do not know – all we know is that the big job is not over.”[240]

Arthur Draper summed this up when he wrote, “I believe our mission may not be over even when a formal surrender has been announced. Of course, we may find ourselves moving homeward by way of China and Japan. Or again we may find ourselves stuck in Europe as occupational troops who go around mopping up fanatical nests until a reasonable semblance of law and order is restored. In short, it may yet be quite some time before I hit up-state New York.”[241] In terms of demographics, there was no different between married soldiers and single soldiers when writing about the war in the Pacific. Soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division believed that they were likely to face combat in the Pacific Theater.

Every one, on the radio and in the press at any rate, seems to be optimistic about the end of the war in Europe. I certainly hope all the optimism is warranted. But no one says anything about the war in the East ending at the same time. My hunch is the CBI theater[242] will continue to operate somewhat longer. And now that we are youthful combat veterans I have a hunch we may continue our world travels. You never can tell, but I just mention it so that you won’t be killing the fatted calf too early. As someone is apt to remark, it’s a long, hard road to the end of the duration plus six months.[243] Ah, phooey.[244]

Although they felt pessimistic, as demonstrated in Arthur Draper’s above letter, the men still tried to put a bright spin on the situation. Hugh Evans wrote, “You can only expect me home after the war is over both in Europe and Japan which is still quite aways [sic] off. Not too long I hope though. It could all be over within the next year or year and a half. At least mother I’ll get a trip around the world.”[245] They tried to encourage their families and tell them not to worry, for they believed that they would eventually be sent to their “work ahead; whether it be up north or in the Pacific sector.”[246]

In fact, the soldiers were fully correct in their predictions that the US military high command expected to redeploy the 10th Mountain Division to the Pacific Theater. The Tenth Mountain Division received orders to return home and were sent “back to the U.S. for further training in preparation for the invasion of Japan. Plans call[ed] for the division to attack Kyushu on November 2, 1945.”[247] In the eventual attack plans, the Tenth Mountain Division was strategically assigned to attack the high cliffs on the Japanese beaches. However, the division returned home between four and eight days before the surrender was announced. Although they were likely to have been sent to the Pacific Theater, their concerns didn’t come to pass.

And, although the soldiers had wanted to return home, they weren’t shirking their duties. “[A]ll we know is that the big job is not over. We are proud to have taken part on this operation that brought victory after so many months of trials and tribulations – we are proud to have played such an important part on the 5th Army’s drive to victory – spearheading the break out of the Appennines [sic], across the valley and the famous Fiume Poe to the Alps.”[248] They remained faithful to the Army and their cause despite their continued combat, although they never stopped awaiting the end of the war, which they continued to dream about.

 

“Someday soon…you will…be in my arms…and then I shall start living again:”[249]Returning Home After the War

Soldiers eagerly looked forward to the end of the war, as has been demonstrated above, and had definite plans for after the war. This often consisted of visions for their future, whether education, housing or marriage. Mostly though, the soldiers just seemed eager to get away from the combat they had seen for months.

In June 1944, Congress passed the G.I.[250] Bill of Rights, which helped to finance soldiers’ post-war educations and provide for veterans after the war. According to noted historian David Kennedy in his seminal World War II work Freedom From Fear, “The bill aimed to regulate the flow of returning veterans into the job market by offering them vocational training and higher education, as well as housing and medical benefits while in school and low-interest rates thereafter for buying homes and starting businesses.”[251]The G.I. Bill came about after a failure to provide for veterans after World War I, who suffered from massive unemployment during the Great Depression. In other words, “ensuring that history did not repeat itself [was] the primary objective both of the U.S. Army and of Great War veterans.”[252], [253]

Some of the soldiers wrote home about taking advantage of the legislation of the G.I. Bill. Melville Borders wrote to his father,

I expect to go to school, after I get home again, under the G.I. Bill of Rights but I know that law school will cost money and I’m not covered by the Bill of Rights for that. Even if I don’t go to law school the money will come in very handy I’m sure for some other educational purposes. I have a lot of reasons for going back to school. One of them is that since I’ve been in the army I realize how important it is. Another one is that I have a lot of personal pride and the ambition (more than ever) to raise myself up higher than I was before I came into the army.[254]

Although money was no problem for his family – Borders had attended one year of university prior to the war and (according to the 1940 census), his father was a “Private Practice Lawyer” and the family owned a home worth $30,000[255], [256] – he still dreamed of getting an education. For some of these soldiers, an education meant being able to climb the social ladder. In a post-war world in which veterans flooded back into the job market, education would be important indeed in finding employment, and the G.I. Bill helped them take advantage of that.

Several soldiers wrote often of their plans for building a post-war house. They concentrated on describing it in great detail to those reading the letter and tried to make it as real as possible for themselves. In some cases, soldiers provided diagrams of how they imagined it. As Weldon Chase wrote, “I think this is a good time to really plan my house I guess I will have to work on that. It will take up the time.”[257] At the time, Chase was unmarried and was writing to his parents.[258] For instance, Weldon Chase drew several figures in his letter of March 3.

Photograph 12 Chase's diagram of the barn he wished to build.[259]

Photograph 13 Part of a letter in which Chase described the house in great detail. Present here is his rendering of how he envisioned part of the house.[260]

 

Thinking about after the war helped soldiers to escape the reality they faced. As Arthur Draper wrote, “After the war, when we build our little cabin, there are two things I want one is a bthroom [sic] with an inexhaustible supply of hot water and the other is the nearest one can come to perfect sunlight illumination. For all I care plumbing and illumination can all be in the same room. Ever since we hit Italy both things have been abominable.”[261] Planning a post-war house and all the logistics that went along with it[262] helped soldiers to concentrate on their golden dream: making it home after the war and returning to their sweethearts. This too may have been a way reflect on American material life, in contrast to what must have seemed like substandard conditions in Europe (where indoor plumbing would still have been something of a luxury, for example).

A reunion with their loved ones was something most soldiers eagerly anticipated as was the case with all soldiers and their families. Phrases such as “Someday darling, we’ll make a ceremony of burning our pens, + never have to write to each other again”[263] or “I want to hold and kiss you so much that my life is miserable altho [sic] I can assure you it is quite perfect on all other counts. Someday this war will end. Someday that boat will sail. Someday I’ll see you there waiting. Someday you’ll be in my arms again. The future beyond that point has no meaning to me. That is all I really want”[264] were commonplace amongst the letters. For some, it meant simply being with their wife or sweetheart.[265]

For other soldiers, returning home meant “no delay”[266] before marriage. They attributed this to their combat experiences and what they had learned under fire. As Martin Daneman wrote, “I want to have the wedding as soon as possible dearest – I’ve found life is too short, + too uncertain to waste waiting. Our love has been proved a thousand times, + it can’t be said that we’re too young anymore. I want to be with you every moment of my life dearest, + never have to wait[.]”[267] The bonds that soldiers had with their sweethearts constituted a major theme in their letters. As another soldier in the Mediterranean Front wrote in his poem “Assurance,” “How could I ever feel alone / When I know you wait for me.”[268] This was also reflected in the songs popular at the time, with titles such as “Till Then” and “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” showing this desire.[269] For soldiers, returning home meant getting to see their girls again and for some, that was one of the great promises of the end of the war.

In conclusion, soldiers tracked any news they could of the war’s end and wrote about it often in their letters, as it was a common point of reference that they shared with their families and friends. They hoped for the end as soon as possible. Any kind of news that seemed to be a conclusive statement as to the war’s impending close was fully welcomed although the soldiers’ perception of the end of the war included pragmatism when the end came, in hoping that the news was finally true and that the news wasn’t another red herring as they had seen so many times before. The lack of satisfaction when the end of the war failed to come led to intense, visceral distaste for the German nation. These men had no patience for or sympathy with the German people. In contrast, for example, they had generally positive perceptions of the Italian citizens they encountered.

When the end of the war did arrive, soldiers were highly conscious of the fact that the end in Europe meant they were likely to be transferred to the Pacific Theater. They reassured their families but were cognizant that they were not likely to arrive home for some time yet. They were worried about having to go and fight the Japanese, although they thought of it in a positive light.

In fact, soldiers eagerly looked forward to the post-war environment when the war was completed. They saw opportunities in education, which would help further their social status; housing, so they could settle down and create a life for themselves; and marriage, when they could finally marry the girl that they had dreamed about during their time overseas in combat. They carefully considered all alternatives while in combat and plotted them out and described them in letters home.

 

Conclusion

In summary, this thesis has demonstrated that, despite these numerous separate combat experiences (or “ten-meter wars”),[270] there were many commonalities between or similar points in the content of different soldiers’ letters. In most of these cases, these sentiments were similar to those of other soldiers in the war.

Censorship had a major impact on the content of letters home. Soldiers knew that what they could reveal in letters was severely curtailed by this military ordinance. Instead, they told their families to rely on the newspapers to find out more details about the combat that they were going through and even their location (mentioning it was forbidden under censorship measures). After censorship restrictions were relaxed, men would be willing to discuss their time at the front.

The more the men experienced the Italian front, the more they described it in their letters. As this was the first time most of them had been in a war zone or somewhere that the ravages of war had touched, they were understandably struck by the damage that they saw in Italy. Their descriptions of this are therefore colored by expressions of surprise at the destruction. In some cases, the men even wrote of the desolation as an unfortunate side-effect of war. In other words, so much demolition was necessary to win the war.

The men also wrote of the Italian citizens they encountered. At first, in the port cities, they held unfavorable opinions of the civilians, believing they were trying to take advantage of the soldiers’ generosity. However, as they progressed further north, this relationship reversed. The Italians instead were willing to share what they had with soldiers and welcomed them into their homes. This shifting dynamic between the soldiers and civilians changed the perception of Italians in the letters.

Likewise, the men’s discussion of combat shifted. Although they originally thought it far less difficult than what they had believed going into the war, this perception transformed quickly. After having experienced combat, they were extremely willing to discuss the time they had spent in combat, in all its specific and brutal details. Furthermore, soldiers were willing and open to write of the deaths of their buddies or the way in which they received their wounds. Men would discuss these instances either in response to their families’ urging them to speak of their combat experiences or simply as an unprompted revelation of their time under fire.

In addition, men either turned to religion as a release and consolation or wrote of their atheist feelings after having fought in the war. Whatever the case with the soldier, it was clear that writing a letter home brought them a release. This sentiment from the soldiers has been confirmed by scientific research, proving that, in fact, a letter home was valuable for preserving their psychological well-being.

In letters home, men always anticipated the end of combat. They heralded the arrival of any news that might mean the end of combat in Europe, although they knew that they were likely to be sent to the Pacific Theater of Operations to continue the fighting. While in combat, however, they never gave up on the cause.

As the end of the war seemed more likely, soldiers developed a fascinating anti-German sentiment. This vehement hatred was not related to the atrocities being perpetrated by the Nazis in the Holocaust. Instead, the men seemed purely to be frustrated with the Germans for having caused so much devastation in their lives and (so they thought) led to the death of their comrades-in-arms.

Finally, men anticipated the end of the war to such a degree that they carried out distinct and careful planning for their post-war lives when returning home. Emblematic of this was their desire to diagram their post-war house, receive an education courtesy of government funding from the G.I. Bill or simply settle down with their girl and look to a happier future.

In this thesis, I have demonstrated that soldiers discussed combat in a very frank manner, holding little back from the reader and leaving few details to the imagination. This situates itself importantly in a historical debate on the subject of letters home from soldiers. I argue that soldiers tended to describe their specific experiences in combat, unlike what Martyn Lyons argued. This is representative of a larger trend in scholarship finding that soldiers would discuss their war experiences in letters home. In that sense, the Tenth Mountain Division is no different than Victorian-England soldiers, American doughboys and French poilus in World War I or Wehrmacht troops in the Second World War.

Yet, in particular, the Tenth Mountain Division is interesting as it entered the war so late and fought for so short a time, sustaining a casualty rate of 25%. The Tenth were baptized under fire and continued to stay under fire for a short yet intense four months.[271] Veteran and historian John Imbrie compared casualty rates from the Tenth with two other infantry divisions who fought in Italy. Despite fighting for 10 months less than the 88th Infantry Division and 16 less than the 34th Infantry Division, the Tenth suffered 396 and 279 (respectively) more casualties per month than the two other divisions. The men of the Tenth Mountain Division were thrown into combat in 1945 at the very front of the Allied Campaign in Italy, which offers an interesting dynamic in that the men experienced such dramatic combat in so short a time. They didn’t have a large and gentle exposure to combat (if there can be such a thing); instead, they experienced the vicious nature of combat at Riva Ridge and Mount Belvedere, which only continued the further north they went. Recall that this is a division which never retreated or failed to secure a combat objective.

This division merits further academic or scholarly research. The comprehensive letter collection of Stan Cummings and his wife Jean in particular merits a close examination. These letters have shown a distinct and definite look into the heads and minds of soldiers in the Tenth Mountain Division while in combat. It shows them from their strongest to their weakest, most emotional and psychologically fragile. It displays the often quotidian nature of combat for men in the division, who would write letters home while under fire. Some letters contain menial or ordinary details (such as the increased pay which resulted from receiving the Combat Infantryman’s badge) but these letters display a remarkable look into the war from a unique division.

 

The Anthropomorphization of Houses in Film, Kelli M. Johnson

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Abstract

Movie critics traditionally categorize houses as part of the set design or production design. They are purposefully furnished and decorated according to the director’s vision. Filmmakers, scholars, and critics recognize the importance of the setting and its decorations. However, this thesis considers the possibility that a house is more than the set design; it is a character.

            The characterization of a house can be both literal and implied. There are the houses that come alive as in Gil Kenan’s 2006 Monster House, and houses whose character is more subtle in presence as in James Wale’s 1932 The Old Dark House or Robert Wise’s 1963 The Haunting. The house as a character is neither static nor flat, but dynamic and complex. In order to understand the complexities of the house, this thesis will analyze the major characteristics of any character in film: costume, physicality, the mind of a character, and its personalities.

            Like a human being, each house has a unique characteristic and personality. To name a few, a house can be a murderer, a seductress, a femme fatale, or an isolated being. Its personality is structured around the foundations. The exterior is representative of the character’s physicality. The inner decorations of a house provide the costuming. A character’s mind is explored through the house’s rooms, spaces, and trap doors. Each room uncovers a new secret and reveals the depth of the house’s personality. A house’s personality is enhanced through its gestures and movements. These foundations cover the skeleton of the house by being the heart and muscle of the character.

            I want to explore the character of a house by studying a variety of classic and modern films such as Victor Fleming’s 1939 The Wizard of Oz, Orson Welles’s 1941Citizen Kane, Alfred Hitcock’s 1960 Psycho, Terrence Malick’s 1978 Days of Heaven, Johnathan Demme’s 1991), Silence of the Lambs, and Barry Sonnenfel’s 1991 The Addams Family. Thus, this thesis will expand our understanding of the complexity and importance of the house in film. By examining the anthropomorphic qualities of a house, we will discover the house as an animate being. I define the concept of anthropomorphism as attributing human characteristics to inanimate objects such as a house. The goal of this thesis is to explore the means through which films routinely anthropomorphize houses, to what ends, with what implications, and why.

 

Introduction

No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home.

– L. Frank Baum

 

Dorothy spoke these words in L. Frank Baum’s classic children’s novel The Wonderful World of Oz. The former of these two sentences is often dwarfed by the famous last line, “There is no place like home.” By adapting the novel into the 1939 film Wizard of Oz,Victor Fleming capitalized on the meaning of this sentence. In her last moments in Oz, Dorothy learned that the key to her passage home was simply to click her red heels together and repeat the phrase, “There’s no place like home.” Through repetition, Fleming helped make the phrase an icon that continues to symbolize the ideal life at home. Despite the fame and over quotation, Baum’s last sentence in the phrase holds profound meaning. Standing alone, the symbolism represents idealism and is often used to allude to the nuclear family household. However, when this phrase is read in its entirety, its meaning is stronger and deeper in comparison to each sentence standing alone. It creates an image of home.

Pliny the Elder coined the phrase, “Home is where the heart is.” The idea of home is a firmly rooted cultural institution. Each individual has a unique perspective on this idea; however, society distinguishes between house and home. Margaret Morse’s essay “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam”[1] states that the concept of home “is not a real place” (63). Alternatively, home is “a personal…link to the imaginary [with] feelings and memories…[that] are highly charged, if not with meaning, then with sense memories” (Morse 63). As the concept of home usually starts with a house, the house becomes “home” when we fill empty spaces with our past, present, and future memories. We also tend to project our conscious and unconscious psyche onto the dwelling. As such, the home transforms into a dynamic being instead of a static and lifeless dwelling. In her essay “Inside Fear: Secret Places and Hidden Spaces in Dwellings”[2] (1997), Anne Troutman further describes home by saying: “We dwell in the home; the home dwells in us” (143).

By itself, a house is a work of architecture. To an architect, the house may be a piece of commercial property that is comprised of angles and uninhabited spaces enclosed by wood, stone, and cement. It is static. Similar to that of an architect’s perspective, the house in film is often a disposable, temporary space that serves the functions of the director’s vision and story. In film, the house is typically categorized as a setting.

The house, as a setting or set design, serves the director’s vision in a variety of ways. It can serve as an aid for the audience to identify with the primary character. The house can help create the tone of the scene through its furnishings and architecture. It can also help create an identity of the human character occupying the setting. Although these examples aid the film, these functions of the house maintain its function as set design. As a setting, the house and its furnishings are significant to recognize in film, but its purposes at first seem functional and transparent.

Instead of viewing the house as static architecture, we can change our perspective by considering the possibility of the house as a character in and of itself in film. In The Poetics of Space (1969), Gaston Bachelard declares, “It is not enough to consider the house as an ‘object’” (4). The house as a character, which can call itself “home,” can be a dynamic character whose presence can be apparent or subtle and somehow “alive.” In this thesis, the house is not just a piece of architecture, but a being filled with memories, fears, and dreams. It can have a mind of its own. The mind of the house can directly correlate with the mind of the inhabitant. The inhabitant and the house can equally influence each other. This includes the inhabitant’s conscious and unconscious psyche. Furthermore, the house as a character inhabits itself but as the setting, the house can also be inhabited by humans and spirits. Like a human body, the house can be seen as a whole, but it is best understood by studying and exploring each “body” part that makes up the whole.

The sections of the house that will be explored include the character’s exterior and interior spaces. The interior is composed of costuming, movements, and the house’s inner thoughts. This thesis will primarily examine films from multiple genres such as horror, drama, and musicals, including but not limited to The Haunting (Robert Wise, 1963), The Others (Alejandro Amenábar, 2001), Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), andThe Wizard of Oz (Victor Fleming, 1939). It will also explore other narrative horror films such as: The Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991), Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960), The Shining (Stanley Kubrick, 1980), and The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932). Aside from narrative films, this thesis will also analyze James Watson and Melville Webber’s experimental film, The Fall of the House of Usher (1928).

In order to gain a broad understanding of the house as a character, I will draw upon other film genres such as drama and comedy in which houses that are similarly anthropomorphized. Films like Days of Heaven (Terrence Malick, 1978) and The Addams Family (Barry Sonnenfeld, 1991) will play an important part in this section of the thesis. The houses in each of these films are unique, and it is the goal of this thesis to investigate precisely how. By concentrating on films from a variety of genres, this thesis will provide a unique perspective into the anthropomorphization of houses.

I will also use a combination of a psychoanalytic methodology with material from literature on the phenomenology of houses to help analyze and interpret the houses in these films. This thesis will create a foundational understanding of the anthropomorphization of houses by utilizing material from Gaston Bachelard’s Poetics of Space (1969). Sigmund Freud’s Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis (1966) will further our understanding by providing a psychoanalytic examination of the house. Anne Troutman’s “Inside Fear: Secret Places and Hidden Spaces in Dwellings” will further expand understanding of the psychological framework of the house’s spaces and the fear that can be derived from it, as will Marilyn R. Chandler’s Dwelling In the Text (1991) and Susan Bernstein’s Housing Problems (2008). Additional material will also be incorporated from Margaret Morse’s “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam,” as she focuses on the concept of home. Finally, I will also draw upon literature that examines the anthropomorphization of houses in films such as: Barry Curtis’ Dark Places: The Haunted House in Film (2008), Architecture + Film II as edited by Bob Fear, as well as Ernesto R. Acevedo-Muñoz’s “Horror of Allegory: The Others and Its Contexts.” By utilizing these books and essays to help analyze the aforementioned films and their characteristics, the personalities (seductive, protective, fatal) of each cinematic house will become apparent, and by examining the means by which films anthropomorphize houses, we can gain a clear understanding of each film and its elements as a whole.

Chapter 1: The Exterior - First Impressions

To make a bold claim, houses that occupy screen space are more dynamic than houses in reality. They are more dynamic in their mystery. Audiences know every nook and cranny of their dwellings. Nothing, including dark spaces and secret doors, can hide from the inhabited. Their houses become an intimate aspect of life. Freud states that the “representation of the human figure as a whole is a house”[3] (Chandler 12). As this thesis unfolds, it will uncover the relationship between houses and humans through a variety of films. The house that occupies screen space is fragmented and unknown in both its exterior and interior. There are always dark places, secret doors, shadows, and unexplored spaces that help create each house’s mystery in the film. In order for us to have a more complete understanding of the complexity and mystery of houses in film, we must explore the exterior of the dwelling before exploring the interior.

Like a human body, a house’s exterior represents the physicality of a being. It displays itself as a structure, a piece of architecture, and a dwelling. When the dwelling first appears in film space, spectators regularly see the front of the house, whether it is at the door, behind a gate, or off in the distance. With this superficial view of the front, the appearance of the side or back of the house can be considered insignificant. One such example is the Buchanan residence in Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of The Great Gatsby(2013). The camera tracks Tom Buchanan riding his horse to the entrance. The aerial tracking shot captures the grandiosity of the architecture, but we only see a fraction of the exterior of the house before entering a parlor room. The rest of the exterior space is unknown and off-screen. However, as Norman N. Klein describes it, “Human beings have evolved a unique skill; they can imagine completeness, even when it is not there.”[4] With the rest of the exterior absent from view, the audience’s imagination builds the rest of the exterior and gives each spectator a unique image of the dwelling. No house is the same.

To anthropomorphize a house, spectators attribute human qualities and characteristics to it. The director aids in this anthropomorphization through the film’s mise-en-scène and cinematography. John Ruskin’s “The Pathetic Fallacy” might find the attribution of human characteristics to houses an error because houses are inanimate objects given human characteristics by humans involved in the act of projection. Ruskin describes this kind of error as a “state of mind which attributes…these [characteristics] of a living creature…produce in us a falseness in all our impressions of external things” (Ruskin 71). It is beyond the scope of this thesis to address the complexities of Ruskin’s argument on the anthropomorphization of an inanimate object into a human being. However, given the place his essay hold in the concept of anthropomorphization, I mention it here because it names and describes the human tendency to attribute animate qualities to inanimate objects so often found in the horror film. Indeed, the genre of horror films consistently exploits the anthropomorphization of inanimate things, transforming the inanimate into animate beings or beings that somehow embody human characteristics to chilling effect. In this thesis, I will explore how a particular group of these films, horror and otherwise, feature houses with uniquely human attributes. Let us start this exploration by studying the anthropomorphization of a house’s exterior.

As the exterior architecture of the house represents the outward physicality of a being, it also takes on the burden of the first impression of both the primary character(s) and the spectators. First impressions are highly instinctual. Whether it is meeting a person, interviewing for a job, or visiting a new city, the first impression plays a vital role in human perception. With respect to houses in film, the exterior architecture occupying the screen space often gives the primary character and the audience their first impression of the house as a character. This impression indicates a purpose and gives the audience a small sense of the house as a being.

Before entering a house, one of two impressions is often given. One can be an impression of welcome. The exterior is typically pleasing to the eye and suggests that the interior space is the same. Or, there may be an impression of danger. The exterior appears menacing by way of its shape and shadows. It suggests that the interior is full of dark places and unknown terrors. Sometimes there can be signs or people who warn the person. However, most of the time the warning can be psychological and instinctual upon the first viewing of the house. It can be felt in the pit of one’s stomach or in one’s consciousness, or it can appear as a tiny voice in the back of one’s mind. Horror stories and films capitalize on this particular impression.

In Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, “The Fall of the House of Usher” (1839), when the narrator saw the Usher house for the first time, he stated that the house projected “a sense of insufferable gloom [that] pervaded my spirit”[5] (Poe 299). The narrator, Roderick Usher’s friend, also called it “a sickening of the heart,” which suggests that happiness is impossible in the Usher household. With this first impression, the protagonist’s perspective is determined and the humanizing of the house begins.

In Poe’s story, the house appeared decayed and fragile. Its walls were intact but had an air of collapsing at any moment. A fissure from the ceiling to the foundation seemed to be tearing the house in two. The windows morphed into eyes whose stare was vacant and unnerving. All of these elements transform the house into the depiction of an aged, fragile, and decaying body whose life is hanging by a thread. Although the exterior of the Usher house creates a vivid impression, the psyche of the house’s character can only be hinted at because it is concealed inside. Through the exterior, we get the impression that the life of the house can be linked to the state of mind of Roderick Usher, the head of the house. Later on in this thesis, a more detailed understanding of the decay of the house and its psyche will be revealed when we study the complex interior from Watson & Webber’s 1928 film The Fall of the House of Usher.

Watson and Webber’s filmic adaptation of Poe’s story is an American film that mimics filmic techniques from German Expressionist films. The German Expressionists in the 1920s were some of the first filmmakers to give the set design purpose and life. Directors in this era of films used the setting to mirror the mind of the primary protagonist. Instead of an objective world that was uniform and symmetrical, the German Expressionists created a world that depicted the mind as an exaggerated and distorted labyrinth.      

Robert Weine’s 1920 film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, for example, is one of the best-known German Expressionist films. The architecture in this film features multiple houses whose angles are acute, abstract, and off center. The setting represents the inner turmoil of the primary protagonist, Francis (Friedrich Feher), and hints that the film’s point of view is from an unreliable narrator. It is not until the end of the film that the audience learns the story is Francis’ fantasy. He, along with Cesare (the somnambulist) (Conrad Viedt) and Jane (his betrothed) (Lil Dagover), are all patients in the mental asylum that Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss) supervised. Francis himself suffered from fantastical delusions that warped his reality. The architecture of this film becomes alive because it is a visual representation of his warped psyche. This silent horror film, along with Nosferatu (F.W. Murnau, 1922) and other German Expressionist films have helped pave the way for the interpretation of the psyche through the houses’ exterior in various films throughout film history, as we shall see in what follows.

The setting as a character in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is much more prominent than the subtle physicality of Poe’s house of Usher. Another house whose character is prominent from the beginning is that in Robert Wise’s 1963 film The Haunting. The house in this film generates an impression that can be opposite to that of the house of Usher. Based on Shirley Jackson’s 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill of House, the house in the film version is not decaying, but maliciously thriving. The primary protagonist, Eleanor Vance (Julie Harris), is a recluse in her thirties who considers herself an outcast with no home. Upon first sight of the house, Eleanor slams on her brakes and the scene cuts to the house. The audience enters Eleanor’s mind through a voiceover that calls the house “evil” and “diseased,”” and her first instinct tells her to leave immediately. The film then cuts to a pair of windows, as she mentions the house “staring” at her. The book also characterizes the life of the house by stating that the “face of Hill House seemed awake, with a watchfulness from the blank windows and a touch of flee in the eyebrow of a cornice” (Jackson 24). The suggested life of the house is apparent. The active gaze of the house suggests that the house is its own being and anticipated torturer. Unlike the house of Usher, whose windows appear as vacant eyes, this house is not dependent on the psyche of the inhabited; in fact, Hill House thrives by its own will. The exterior of Hill House warns its visitors of its own inherent evil that is waiting patiently inside.

The architectural style of the house both used in the book The Haunting of Hill House and its filmic adaptation is Victorian. The Victorian house was particularly popular in the 19th century. Horror films often use this type of house to create a suspenseful tone, in part because of its obscure angles, steep roofs, towers, and turrets. Victorian houses like the one in The Haunting are also frequently isolated from any nearby neighborhoods or large city. Norman Bates’ house in Psycho (Hitchcock, 1960) is a prime example. Located where the old and now unused highway used to be, Bates’ house stands guard behind the Bates Motel. Upon first viewing, the exterior of this Victorian style house appears simple and homely until the mother’s silhouette gracefully and eerily slides past the upper window. The spectator’s impression of home is uprooted and replaced by unease. The otherwise homely exterior becomes a guardian of a secret and one begs to ask the question, who or what is lurking freely inside the house?

Not all Victorian houses used in film are used for horror. The house in Terrence Malick’s 1978 filmDays of Heaven is a place whose exterior gives the audience an impression of both isolation and life. Inspired by Edward Hopper’s 1925 painting “House by the Railroad,”” the house in Malick’s film stands out in its isolation. Surrounded by fields, the only hint of civilization is the railroad nearby. At first, the house is an aesthetic relief for travelers looking for work. The tall tower and white washed walls give the audience comfort amidst the endless sea of wheat fields. However, Edward Hirsch’s poem “Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad” brings the house to life: “The utterly naked look of someone, being stared at…someone who is about to be left alone, again, and can no longer stand it.”[6] When comparing this poem with the exterior of the house, the life of the house is no longer aesthetically comforting to the seasonal workers and travelers. Instead it transforms into an isolated being. The first impression offered by this poem changes the house into a melancholy being trapped in its own isolation; this issue of isolation and how it adds to a house’s characteristics will be addressed further in the thesis.

The exterior of the first few houses mentioned above provide impressions of the danger, evil, and the isolation that waits inside. However, there is one house whose first impression may be that of safety and familiarity: the house in The Addams Family(Sonnenfeld, 1991). This house’s exterior visually contrasts Edward Hopper’s Victorian house. The house appears visually revolting and unwelcoming rather than appealing. Despite the visually repugnant exterior, the Addams’ house gives the impression of home because the members of the family project their memories and dreams onto the house. As Morse states, “home is thus an evocation that is of this sensory world” (Morse, 63). Meant to be a comical critique on houses in American suburbs, this film embodies L. Frank Baum’s quote almost literally. Unlike the previous dwellings mentioned, parts of the exterior of the Addams residence literally move. One example is the gate. In order to protect the house, the gate comes alive and bites unwanted solicitors such as the greedy lawyer Tully Alford (Dan Hedaya). The house also houses its ancestors in the backyard. To many, this house would be considered uninhabitable, but to the Addams family, this house is home.

Since German Expressionism in the 1920s, the exterior being of a house has evolved from a setting to a character. As a character, the exterior features of the house do not necessarily provide direct evidence of the house as a living, sentient being. The evidence provided is more psychological and instinctive. The exterior gives the primary protagonist and the audience a sense of what may be lurking inside. Its clues are given not with the space that is shown, but what is not shown, and the audience must fill in with their own imagination. The primary function of the exterior, as the physicality of a being, is to protect the heart and soul of the house’s character. But before we explore the character’s heart and soul (the interior), we must acknowledge the guardian who grants or declines access into the mind of the house–the door.

The Threshold: The Key

            The door, also known as the threshold, holds the power to reveal or conceal the secrets and dangers lurking inside. The physical act of opening a door is symbolic. In film, there are a variety of ways that the door opens. It can also close itself and capture the curious spectator. Although it is only a small fraction of the house, the door is one of the most relevant sections of the house as a character.

             When doors open in horror films, they often open by themselves. Although this seems like a clichéd technique, it is still very powerful. It suggests that the house wills the protagonists to come inside. The decision to open the door was not made by a butler, owner, or by the visitor, but by the house itself. This can be a dangerous way to enter the house because the visitor is succumbing to the will of the house. He or she is falling victim to the seductive temptation of the house as a kind of femme fatale.

            Doors may also open by the will of the visitor. In The Silence of the Lambs(Jonathan Demme, 1991) the film’s protagonist, Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) knocks on the door to Buffalo Bill’s residence. When Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine) opens the door, Clarice willingly enters the house. This also occurs in Nosferatu when Graf Orlok aka Nosferatu (Max Schreck) opens the doors for Hutton (Gustav von Wangenheim). These examples show that the character of the house can be an extension of the inhabitant. The houses seductively entice the protagonist to enter into the house’s psyche.

Breaking the door down is another way to enter the house, but this entry is not a welcome entry. The protagonist(s) or antagonist(s) force their way into the house’s heart and soul. In the process, the house is violated. What is concealed is revealed without permission. Stanley Kubrick’s infamous scene in The Shining (1980) is a fitting example. In the climax of the film, Wendy Torrance (Shelley Duvall) locks herself in the bathroom to protect herself from her husband Jack Torrence (Jack Nicholson). In a panic, the bathroom became Wendy’s safe haven from Jack’s insanity. For Wendy, this part of the house embodied the heart and soul of the house. Jack takes an axe to the door and proceeds to violently break his way in.

            Once one gains entry into the mind of the house, the mystery of the house is compromised. However, the door that is closed symbolizes a refusal of entry. The locking of the door encases the protagonist and the spectator inside. The Collyer Brothers’ house is an example. Paranoid recluses and hoarders living in a decayed New York mansion until 1947, the Collyer Brothers were a mystery to their neighbors and to their fellow citizens until their deaths. On March 21st, 1947, the NYPD received a call about a death in their house. They had difficulty gaining entry because once the door was forced open, there was still no way to get into the house. Boxes of junk covered the doorway. Once the police hacked their way in, the lifestyle of the brothers was slowly revealed. The interior was not only filled with collected junk, but also with booby traps. The two brothers died within their own horded interior. The psychology of the interior of the house is evidence of the paranoid mindset of Homer and Langley Collyer.

The locked door that prevented entry to the interior mind of the Collyer’s mansion presents an overt example of the psychology of the house. In film, the anthropomorphization of the door and mind of the house are more apparent. Using the Collyer Brothers’ mansion as a point of reference, let us now shift our perspective to a filmic example of the doorway. The Haunting is a good filmic example of the house’s mind because Hill House is locked at night. No one could enter and no one could hear the screams from inside. The house became a tomb for its visitors and an impenetrable barrier from the outside. The mind of the house was free to do what it pleased. Hill House preferred closed doors. It preferred it secrets to be concealed.

            When the audience and the primary character are accepted into the house, crossing the threshold is significant; it symbolizes crossing into another world. This world is the mind of the house. Sometimes it tricks the spectator and protagonist into thinking that it is the same as reality. At other times, it becomes a whole new world. The interior of every house is different. It is a complex being that can be nothing short of a labyrinth.

Chapter 2: The Interior – Costuming & the Mind

The Attic & The Cellar

The house’s exterior shows traces of life as it protects the interior. Once we cross the threshold and step inside, we see that the heart and mind of the house’s character lies in the interior. As we explore the interior, we find that it can be the most important aspect of the house as a character. The spaces in the interior are the most intimate spaces of the character. They “are a map of the conscious and unconscious” (Troutman 143). Each house and its intimate spaces are unique. Every house has a variety of rooms, secret spaces, furniture, and decorations that create a complex labyrinth which cannot be easily deconstructed. Every knick-knack, room, level, and dark corner mirrors the psyche of the inhabited, whether they are human or spirits. The psyche projects memories, secrets, and dreams into objects and rooms. In his book The Poetics of Space, Gaston Bachelard describes that the house filled with memories and even secrets “becomes psychologically complex.” Because of these projections, there is a presence of the ego, the id, and daydreams in the house. This psychological space is where we will discover the character of the house.

Before examining the costuming of the house, we should recognize that the interior spaces are both hidden and revealed. To explore these spaces, let us consider the possibility that, “a house is imagined as a vertical being” (Bachelard 17). As a vertical being, the house contains an attic, a main floor, and the basement or cellar. According to Bachelard, each level represents a different psychological frame of mind, and each has significance in the characterization of the house in film.

Let us first address the attic. In reality, the function of the attic is to store anything that may no longer be used. Typically it stores sentimental artifacts of the past. Symbolically, the attic represents the ego or the conscious. Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, describes the conscious mind as the reality principle[7]. The conscious mind deals with awareness in reality by rationalizing thoughts and perceptions. It governs the mind through one’s social and ethical upbringing and influences. The ego often represses memories, traumas, desires, dreams, and impulses into the unconscious, or the id. Symbolized by the attic, in this case, one can call it the “voice” of reason.

To get to the attic, “we always go up the attic stairs” (Bachelard 26). Bachelard describes getting to the attic as an act of ascension. We ascend into consciousness. The attic is meant to be a safe haven for one’s thoughts. It is a familiar place where fears can be rationalized and daydreams occur. There are a variety of films that present the attic as a place for daydreams. Many of these films are nostalgic comedies or children’s films. One such example is Alfonso Cuarón’s 1995 film A Little Princess. Sarah Crewe (Liesel Matthews) is a servant who dwells in the attic of a boarding house. The conditions of the attic in this film are grim, unpleasant, and at times scary. However, Sarah rationalizes the terrible conditions of the attic by daydreaming of fantastical stories. The attic comes to life through these stories, and as a result, the spectators and Sarah’s perspectives are altered by the rationalization of the conscious mind.

In horror films, the attic can also house spirits and ghosts. However, as the attic can be seen as the ego, the characters of the film and spectators rationalize their fear and the spirit’s presence. There is little room for fear in the attic because the reality principle and the daydream are in command. Bachelard describes this rationalization by stating “in the attic, the day’s experiences can always efface the fears of night” (Bachelard 19). For this thesis, it is not so much the attic itself that I want to focus on, but the act of ascending to another level and the top floor. The “reality” principle, or the conscious part of the mind, dominates our thinking, our actions, and our ways of living. As the attic represents the “reality” principle, it is significant that we examine the journey to the attic because it is a journey from danger and the unknown to reason, safety, and awareness. It is a psychological act of ascension. This journey is more significant to the characterization of the house than the filmic presence of the attic itself.

For example, James Whale’s 1932 film, The Old Dark House features a house whose interior is crumbling. We can assume that the cause of this deterioration is because of the broken, feuding family members who inhabit the house. The two aging siblings, Horace (Ernest Thesiger) and Rebecca Femm (Eva Moore) argue about who should get the heavy gas lamp from upstairs. Rebecca informs the guests that in order to get the lamp, one must enter the most evil family member’s room upstairs. This room houses their 102-year-old father. Horace takes Philip Waverton (Raymond Massey) but soon hides in fear in his bedroom. We find Philip and his wife, Margaret Waverton (Gloria Stuart), ascending the stairs to the room. In this film, ascending to the attic or to the top floor is a dark journey. The lighting in the scene is minimal and the shadows are accentuated. While ascending, their fear is heightened through anticipation of the unknown at the top floor. They fear the top floor, but they cannot go down the stairs because the menacing, drunk butler Morgan (Boris Karloff) waits for them on the main floor. When Philip and Margaret reach the bedroom, they learn that the father is in fact good and not evil. Their anxiety and fears are subdued by the reason and logic of the old father. It is through this dark journey that the anthropomorphization of the house is revealed. The attic in this scene exhibits the house’s reasonable mind. As it can be representative of the conscious mind, this top floor, or attic becomes a safe place, a familiar place to the protagonists and the audience.

The house’s consciousness does not necessarily limit itself to the attic. Gaston Bachelard uses the attic as an example because it is the highest one can ascend in a dwelling. In film, the spaces that spectators are aware of are the spaces shown on the screen. If the protagonist’s journey up the stairs doesn’t end in the attic, we must assume that the top floor of the house contains the house’s ego. As with The Old Dark House, the spectator is aware that the father dwells on the top floor. Whether the top floor is the attic or not is unknown.

A more complex example of the top floor housing consciousness is Alfred Hitchcock’sPsycho (1960). The house’s character can be more dynamic in the sense that the top floor houses two mindsets and not one. These two mindsets are shown in the two rooms. Norman Bates and his mother occupy the two bedrooms. As the attic represents the conscious, these two rooms represent Norman’s split personalities. Each personality (or room) fights for control. One may associate this mental disorder with the unconscious. However, let us consider Norman’s multiple personalities as a fight for the conscious mind.

Norman’s mother and Norman himself have two very different egos. Norman’s room is filmed as being considerably smaller than this mother’s. We can see this in the size and furnishings of his room. Through his speech and the size of his room, we can assume that he is stuck in a childhood phase. Norman’s character is fragile and childlike. His personality is that of the child. Norman’s traumas are replaced by the personality of his dead mother, who is representative of the conscious mind[8]. Mrs. Bates can be representative of the conscious mind because she, in a sense, prevents Norman from participating in anything gratifying.

As Norman’s mother represents Norman’s conscious mind, we can assume that her personality is the projection of Norman’s memories and his point of view of her. Norman projects Mrs. Bates’ personality as protective, murderous, demanding yet loving to her son. Hitchcock shows the audience that her room appears to be larger. The size of the rooms alone may be foreshadowing not only of Norman Bates’ split personalities, but also which of his personalities is winning the fight for his mind.

The journey of ascension in Psycho leads to death. “Mrs. Bates” attempts to protect Norman’s mind by killing any intruder who wants to access his ego. Detective Milton Arbogast (Martin Balsam) suffers this fate when he tries to access Norman’s conscious or, in other words, his mother. The top floor in this house can be representative of the conscious mind, or “Mrs. Bates.” This floor can also be a psychological space that “defends the individual against the anxiety of being alone” (Troutman, 149). In this case, “Mrs. Bates” is protecting Norman from a state of loneliness. However, we can also extend Troutman’s statement by recognizing that the Bates’ house itself may be trying to defend itself from abandonment. As we find out later on in the film, the house is assumed to be abandoned, just as Norman’s personality abandons his mind as his mother’s personality takes over.

The Bates’ house is battling itself. Two egos are fighting for control. As mentioned previously, those who inhabit the house project memories and daydreams onto the house. Because of this, we conclude that the dwellers can project their disorders onto the house as well. Like Norman’s opposing personalities, the conscious (ego) resists the unconscious (id). According to Freud, resistance occurs when one tries to “transform what is unconscious into what is conscious” (364). This resistance is also called repression.[9] Thus, we can interpret that the ego represses the id. However, there are slips of the unconscious where one’s repressed memories or self is revealed. This is typically called a Freudian slip.[10] Slips of this nature can create a sense of fear or a sense of the uncanny.[11] In terms of Gaston Bachelard’s description of the verticality of the house, the unconscious can be found in the basement or cellar. The cellar is the “dark entity of the house, the one that partakes of subterranean forces” (Bachelard 18). The dark entity that Bachelard describes thrives on fear and on the sense of uncanniness.

Horror films capitalize on the basement in order to generate fear from the audience. The basement in Psycho provides a useful comparison between the psychology behind the Bates’ attic (top floor) and cellar. The upper level, as stated before, contains the dueling personalities of Norman Bates: one is Norman himself, while the other is his mother. In one scene, Norman argues with his mother because he wants to safely hide her in the basement for a few days. Mrs. Bates protests. The scene cuts to Norman carrying his mother down to the basement. It is no coincidence that the revealing of the hidden mother takes place in the basement. The mother’s skeleton is revealed right before Norman Bates dressed in a wig and his mother’s clothing and attempts to kill Marion Crane’s sister, Lila Crane (Vera Miles) and Marion’s lover, Sam Loomis (John Gavin). What generates fear in the characters also provokes fear in the audience. The basement becomes a fearful place because it embodies and reveals Norman’s fractured state of mind. Norman’s house continues to come to life because of this revealing.

The cellar can be a place full of darkness and fear in many other horror films. Take for instance The Silence of the Lambs. In it, there are two iconic dwellings that are located in basements. The first is Hannibal Lecter’s cell. In order to get to the cell, Clarice takes a journey downward. Demme’s cinematographer, Tak Fujimoto, uses a montage to emphasize the long journey that descends to the cell. The lighting gets darker and the architecture becomes drab and primal. White walls are replaced with large and almost decaying foundation stones. Clarice and Dr. Frederick Chilton (Anthony Heald) enter through a variety of locked doors. The door with red lighting signifies the end of the journey’s descent. The color in this scene represents danger.

Many directors isolate certain colors in their films to symbolize something. For example, M. Night Shyamalan used red as a motif in his 1999 film The Sixth Sense to represent the world of the dead and extremely emotional moments. Another example is the use of green in Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958). We can assume that green represents Scottie’s (James Stewart) fixation on Madeleine (Kim Novak). The use of red in the Silence of the Lambs can be significant because it sends a subliminal message to the audience that both the audience and Clarice have entered the most dangerous part of the institution. Clarice’s descent into the psychiatric facility’s cellar represents the descent into the unconscious. The longer the journey downward, the more dangerous the unconscious becomes.

Even at the bottom of the unconscious, there is a presence of the conscious. Barney (Frankie Faison), one of the guards, literally holds the key to the fear filled state of mind. Demme’s placement of Hannibal’s cell at the end is intended. But before Clarice reaches his cell, she witnesses a variety of insane characters, such as Multiple Miggs (Stuart Rudin), who can enact the drive of their own unconscious. Demme shows them as locked behind bars in a small dark space.

Hannibal Lecter’s original cell is different. His surroundings are only a few feet deep and wide. There is no verticality to his dwelling; however, he still resides in the basement. Instead of bars, Hannibal resides behind a door less glass wall. The only place for transference of objects is through a small cabinet-like drawer. As this is his unwanted dwelling, the first time the audience meets Lecter, we find him politely standing in anticipation in the middle of the screen space. Everything in his cell is straight and clean, including his clothing. There is no sense of disorder. His room is flooded with light, which removes any possibility of dark spaces. As there are no dark spaces, there should be a sense of ease because whatever is hidden in the dark is revealed. However, the bright lighting turns a sense of safety into a sense of something more uncanny because it reveals that Hannibal possesses complete control. The sense of the uncanny occurs because we the audience are expecting a dark room that houses a mentally unstable cannibal. Instead, we are introduced to a clean well-lit room with a courteous, controlled psychologist.

One may ask how Hannibal’s cell is a character. His cell, much like Hannibal’s gentleman-like persona, is an illusion. Hannibal represents the most dangerous form of the unconscious. It creates an illusion of safety by way of it appearing clean and door-less. This polite and calm persona masks his desire to be free. The cell comes to life in the same way. As far as we know, Hannibal’s cell came into existence when Hannibal was originally imprisoned there. Once again, Lecter and the cell exude an uncanny fear for Clarice Starling and the audience. We fear it because it dwells in the unconscious, yet we desire it because the unconscious has no rules. It thrives on pleasure. Hannibal, although imprisoned and unable to take pleasure in his cannibalism, is still able to dwell in the Id.

Hannibal’s cell is significant and complex in its characterization of houses, but there is yet another basement that we need to explore. This basement belongs to Jame Gumb, also known as Buffalo Bill. Buffalo Bill’s basement is a maze that only he can navigate. The basement is home to him. He comfortably dwells in his unconscious. His cellar is full of doors that contain dark, hidden spaces. The only light available is artificial. Natural lighting is kept out. These incomplete dark spaces are endless to the spectator. They “guard and contain [one’s] anxieties” and are “accommodations of the unconscious” (Troutman, 153). Buffalo Bill projects his desires and anxieties in the basement. It is a place where he acts on his desires.

Buffalo Bill’s Id is concealed underneath the main floor. The main floor is where Buffalo Bill becomes Jame Gumb. But because Buffalo Bill has dwelt in the Id for so long, Jame Gumb’s personality appears unpolished and hesitant. The main floor of the house embodies this personality. It is a poor façade that fails to conceal the life of the basement, of the unconscious below.

During the climax of the film, when Clarice Starling enters Jame Gumb’s house, Clarice and the audience notices the house’s disarray. Dust hangs in the air like an early morning fog. The furniture and his knick-knacks are cluttered. Clarice’s instincts flair and she has to descend into another basement and another person’s unconscious. As Jame Gumb’s unconscious lies just barely underneath his conscious, the journey to descend into the basement is short. This basement embodies fear. After Clarice finds Catherine Martin (Brooke Smith), she proceeds to search for Buffalo Bill until the lights are turned off. The audience then enters Buffalo Bill’s point of view. The basement comes to life in its darkness. Buffalo Bill navigates his way through the basement by way of night vision goggles. He, like the basement, is comfortable in his unconscious.

This basement comes alive, but also dies. As stated before, there is no natural light present in the basement. The presence of natural light can be representative of the conscious mind. And as the conscious rules over the unconscious, Clarice’s instincts kill Buffalo Bill. The symbolic death of the house’s unconscious occurs when a bullet hits the window and natural light floods in. The house in a sense dies with Buffalo Bill. What has been concealed in the maze of his unconscious is forever repressed by the conscious and the dark spaces in the scenes remain dark, fearful spaces to the spectator.

Dark Spaces, Mazes, and Trap Doors

Now that we have a stronger understanding of the attic and the basement as the conscious and the unconscious mind of the house, let us broaden our perspective of the house as a character by further exploring the rest of the interior spaces of the house. Even though we cannot see or know every nook and cranny of the house in a film, the screen space that is shown is critical to explore and evaluate. Outside of the cellar and the attic, there are hidden spaces waiting to be uncovered.

            One may ask how hidden spaces contribute to the anthropomorphization of the house as a character. As we will find out, hidden spaces give the house’s character depth and help construct the personality of the house. They are the character’s secrets. The ego and id of the house show the inner workings of the mind. Hidden spaces are secrets that drive the house to “action.” These spaces can be dark and mysterious. They can be found in two parallel worlds. In this part of the thesis, we will analyze these dark, hidden spaces by exploring a house’s trap doors, secret compartments, and maze-like structure.

This section will also analyze the spaces that are revealed through the house’s furnishings. The mise-en-scène gives the audience a sense of the house. Through careful placement, each piece of furniture and knick-knack deliberately occupies a specific part of space in every scene. This becomes the costume of the house. As we will see later on in this thesis, the costuming of a house can unconsciously uncover secrets.

            Before we analyze the costuming of the house, let us explore the mazes, trap doors, and dark, hidden structure of the house. One real life example of a maze-like house is the Winchester Mansion located in San Jose, California. This Victorian mansion began construction in 1884 and did not stop until the owner Sarah Winchester died in 1922. The Winchester Mansion is truly a mystery and a maze. Containing “160 rooms, 2,000 doors, 10,000 windows, [and] 47 stairways,”[12] this house features stairs that lead to nowhere, windows built onto the floor and many other eccentricities in construction. There is speculation as to Sarah Winchester’s intentions in constructing the house. It has been said that she wanted to create a maze-like house that keeps spirits confused and away from her. This alone shows a glimpse into this mysterious woman’s psyche. We can assume that there are hidden spaces that still need to be discovered in her house. The Winchester House can be an example of a real structure that mirrors the maze of the mind.

In reality, there are very few examples that demonstrate a maze-like structure, but in horror films, almost every house is a maze. Barry Curtis states in his book Dark Places: The Haunted House in Film, “The haunted house film plays a game of alternating what can be seen and what is hidden” (20). Evidence of the house’s game can be seen through the maze of the house. Through the house’s maze of the mind, the audience must determine the purpose of the spaces shown and hidden. Let us use the Usher house in The Fall of the House of Usher (James Watson & Melville Webber 1928) as an example. This house plays a game with the audience because the spaces alternate and blur the lines between reality and fiction. This avant-garde film visually shows the weak, inner mind of Roderick Usher through spaces revealed in the interior architecture. Edgar Allen Poe tells the story of the Usher house through a visitor’s first person point of view, but Watson and Webber’s film visually tell the story through Roderick’s point of view.

            As this is a silent avant-garde film, the representation of Roderick’s mind is visually depicted through the house’s interior. In the beginning of the short film, Roderick’s sister enters the room where Roderick and she are to dine. The furnishings of the room are minimal. On the tablecloth covered table sit three plates, three glasses, silverware, and a vase of flowers. Three chairs also occupy the space of the room. The anthropomorphic characteristics of the house are apparent through the unoccupied space in the frame. The architecture’s “presence [in this film] defines the…social position of the characters and their inner moods” (Schaal, 13). The architecture in The Fall of the House of Usher is significant because it exhibits elements of German Expressionism found in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. In this particular setting, the walls in the background are abstract, off-centered, and are abnormally high. To the expressionists, elements such as off-centered architecture visually reveal the primary characters’ inner turmoil. In this scene, the abstract architecture alludes to Roderick’s weak psyche, but it is overshadowed by the tableware and furniture, which gives the audience an appearance of a stable mind. After his sister falls ill at the dinner table, the interior of the Usher mansion is presented through a montage of superimpositions, through which the interior spaces become a confusing and limitless maze.

In one particular sequence, the sister appears lifeless. Her lifeless face is superimposed six times in the frame. The film cuts to an oddly angled door and Roderick is ascending from the cellar, where his sister is laid to rest. The scene cuts once more to Roderick’s visual point of view. Here is a hallway where the stairs, ground, walls, and door to the next level are uneven. In this scene, there is no sense of complete space. The lighting of the room gives the frame heavy shadows. These shadows appear to fracture the spaces in the hallway. Through the visual theme of fracturing, the audience recognizes that like Roderick’s mind, the Usher house is splitting as well. The concept of splitting “provides us with a portrait of [the] unconscious” (Troutman 153). Poe regards the house as a “sentient” being. Roderick influences the house as much as the house influences him. He states the “evidence of the sentience…had molded the destinies of his family, and which [Roderick]…what he was” (Poe 307). The dreariness of the house had no doubt affected Roderick’s psyche. It is here that we further recognize the strong connection between Roderick and the house. In Dwelling in the Text (1991), Marilyn Chandler notes that the house not only mirrors Roderick’s psyche, “it also reflects Roderick’s physical state to such a degree that the building and the man seem united” (Chandler 54). We do not fully recognize the anthropomorphic qualities of the Usher house until its collapse. Given Chandler’s claim regarding the physical and emotional connection between Roderick and the house, we can only assume that the destruction of the house visually represents the collapse or mental death of Roderick.

Watson and Webber’s filmic interpretation of Poe’s story visually shows the maze-like mind of the Usher house through experimental techniques that emulate German Expressionist films. Through these techniques, the mind of the house can be discernible through the confusing interior spaces. As previously mentioned, the evidence for the anthropomorphization of a house can be subtle or apparent. In The Fall of the House of Usher, the house’s anthropomorphic qualities are apparent. This house is the film’s central character. Robert Wise’s film The Haunting is another film that makes the house a central character. Hill House as we have already discussed, was “born” as an evil being. As the interior of the house can be both the mind and the “actions” of a being, one can assume that Hill House’s hidden spaces are endless. The maze in the house is an attempt to thwart any possibility of the intruders creating identification and a sense of homeliness in the house. It can be both “possessed and possessing” (Curtis 66) as long as it maintains “ownership” of itself.

            As the possessor, Hill House attempts to possess its inhabitants through its interior. In Shirley Jackson’s novel, Dr. Montague asks Eleanor, Theodora, and Luke, “Have you not wondered at our extreme difficulty in finding our way around? . . . Time after time we choose the wrong doors, the room we want eludes us” (Jackson 77). Dr. Montague further explains that the house is off-center. Every angle is slightly off and no floor is truly level. It was created to adapt to Hugh Crain’s (the architect of Hill House’s) psyche.

The mind of the house is complex but fairly easy to identify. Hidden spaces are harder to understand. Hill House actively attempts to make its tenants lost. This active confusion of space begs the question, what is the house protecting by having such a complicated maze? The answer is the heart of the house. Every house is different. To Hill House, the heart resides in the nursery.

Although the book does emphasize the vastness and confusion of space, the 1963 film helps the audience visual it. There are a variety of scenes that display the house’s hidden spaces. Although we do not have an architectural blueprint of the house that makes it possible for us to see the maze, we understand that the maze is present through the protagonist’s actions and body language. The cinematography does well to emphasize the confusing space.

Director Robert Wise first gives the audience a sense of Hill House’s confusing spaces when Eleanor and Theodora cannot find their way to the dining room. Insisting that they have checked every door and followed Dr. John Markways’s instructions, the two remain lost until John opens the door for them. The screen space in this scene creates a sense of claustrophobia for the spectators. The more they panic, the more the space seems to shrink. The spaces of the house capitalize on the psyche and emotions of the characters.

There are two prominent scenes that display this capitalization of a maze-like space. The first example occurs when Eleanor runs towards the nursery to find Mrs. Grace Markway. Earlier in the film, John Markway finds the nursery by accident, but in this scene, Eleanor finds the room without any trouble. How does she find the room so easily? The house possesses certain characters and allows them to navigate the house with a little more ease than others. In this case, Hill House wanted Eleanor to not only find the heart of the house’s character, but to enter it alone as well.

Right after Eleanor enters the heart of the house comes a second prominent example of space. This can be seen in the climax of the film. Eleanor has succumbed to the house’s desire to possess her. As she stands at the top of the stairs in the library, a room that primarily gave Eleanor a sense of nausea and fear, a trap door opens and reveals the horrified face of the lost Mrs. Grace Markway (Lois Maxwell). The opening of this trap door confirms the seemingly infinite space of Hill House. Trap doors are important because they are the gateway to the secrets of the house. But in this film, one of the many secrets behind that trap door shuts just as quickly as it opens. The secret remains hidden and the trap door disappears.

The anthropomorphic characteristics of Hill House, as seen in its mazes and trap doors, introduce the question of possession and ownership. Who possesses whom? In horror films, “the discourse of ownership is complex–haunted houses are possessed and possessing” (Curtis 66). In this case Hill House appears to be possessed by the temporary inhabitants; however, the power of the house lies in its possession of inhabitants. Hill House desires Eleanor. As the narrative progresses, the audience senses the house’s power and possession over her. She recognizes this in her thoughts and notes, “I am disappearing inch by inch into this house” (Jackson 149). For Eleanor, the mazes of Hill House slowly seduce and possess her. To the doctor, Luke, and Theodora, the spaces of this house are confusing, claustrophobic, and terrifying. There is a lot more to say when it comes to the hidden spaces of Hill House, but we must analyze other houses in order to gain a better understanding of the importance of hidden spaces as a characteristic for the house’s character.

In The Haunting, the audience is given a glimpse of the secret behind Hill House, but they cannot explore it. It maintains its sense of mystery and threat. Sonnenfeld’s The Addams Family, by contrast, reveals the secrets of the house by showing what is behind the trap doors and secret compartments of the house. When Uncle Fester finally gets past the secret bookcase, he discovers that the secrets of the house are revealed after a journey of pulling the correct chain, sliding down the passageway, and riding a gondola to the next passage. Gomez and Fester enter their childhood playroom. Fester, clearly disappointed, stumbles upon the secret wall that leads to the treasure room. The editing of the film cuts from Fester’s expression to the seemingly endless amount of gold. The secrets of the Addams Family are not secrets per se, but they are well known characteristics of the family that need to be protected by the house.

The journey to the secret treasure room and childhood playroom evokes a sense of limitless space in the house. It gives a spectator an impression of knowing the house. Instead of creating a feeling of suspense in these unknown spaces, the Addams house creates a sense of play, a sense of home. Occupied by secret compartments and trap doors, this house can be anthropomorphized as a fun house to its occupants, instead of a haunted house.

As stated earlier in this thesis, screen space cannot capture every corner and shadow of the character of the house. Instead, the screen space gives the audience hints to the house’s “actions.” We have already mentioned the haunted and funhouse space, but there is another space to consider. Let us consider the house occupying space in two parallel worlds. These spaces are visually the same, but the occupants utilize them differently. Alejandro Amenábar’s 2001 film, The Others is film where the house is occupied in two worlds.

The Others is an allegorical attempt by a Spanish director to deal with the past. According to Ernesto R. Acevedo-Muñoz in “The Horror of Allegory: The Others and its Contexts,” Grace and her kids are stuck in a sort of limbo that is indicative of Spain’s citizens being stuck in the country’s history. From 1939 to 1975, Spain was under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco. Until his death, Franco led an oppressive government against the citizens of Spain. Since Franco’s death in 1975, Spanish cinema has attempted to reconcile the past by creating “a world where children, ‘monsters,’ and ghosts constantly interact” (Muñoz 208). In The Others, Grace’s world is some kind of limbo, whereas the other world (where the ghosts abide) is representative of Spain’s past. As it is a violent past, the reconciliation of Spain’s history is evident through the thematic elements of darkness, religion, and repression. We will find that these elements are present in the house’s interior and are important to the characterization of the house as a whole.

Grace Stewart (Nicole Kidman) and her two children, Anne (Alakina Mann) and Nicholas (James Bentley) live in a large house on the Channel Islands during World War II. The exterior of house is surrounded by beautiful scenery, but the interior is dark. Anne and Nicholas both have a genetic condition where coming in contact with direct sunlight harms them. With this photosensitivity to light, Grace keeps the house dark and the rooms locked.

The darkness of the house hides the interior’s spaces while the locked doors are meant to keep out the invading light and the invading spirits and spectators. The house can be representative of Grace’s repressed psyche. Grace’s power lies in her control of “isolation and religion” of Anne and Nicholas (Muñoz 211). She constantly conceals what wants to be revealed and manipulates her children by mentally “threatening them with eternal damnation” (Muñoz 213). In this case, hidden spaces are abundant because the light is an intrusion when the children are present. We only see sunlight permeating the house when the kids are absent. In this case the light is not an invader, but rather a welcome relief to Grace and the spectators. This light reveals the previously dark spaces of the interior. But what is revealed can be concealed just as quickly because Grace controls the dark and the light. By controlling light and dark, Grace actively represses any knowledge of the past. Throughout this film, we recognize that darkness is a theme that obscures the truth.

The hidden spaces are threatened and revealed when the other world invades Grace’s world. She has built a home that protects her projection of her mind. We see evidence of her mind in the opening scenes of the film when she gives Mrs. Bertha Mills (Fionnula Flanagan), Mr. Edmund Tuttle (Eric Sykes), and Lydia (Elaine Cassidy) a tour of the house. The tour leads to the music room, which is by far the brightest room of the house. On the walls are murals of a wooden boat sailing towards a single, rocky island. In the murals, the colors are rich and dark. This is in contrast to the deteriorating, white door, baseboards, and fireplace. On top of the fireplace are two dark red gas lanterns sitting on the edges. In the center are two blue and white printed urns with a miniature statue enclosed in a glass case in between. Behind the urns is a four-piece mirror framed in a dull gold. The primary object in the room is the grand piano. As Grace’s children are not present in the room, the curtains are open, in which they reveal the piano’s dark cherry wood composition. The light in the music room displays elegant furnishings that suggest the Stewart’s affluence. This is one of the few times we see a naturally illuminated room during the film. After the music room, Lydia and Mrs. Mills shut the curtains in the following rooms and Grace illuminates the house by a gas lamp. As there is no electricity in the house, the interior spaces of the house are dark. Details of the rest of the house are only lit up when Grace walks by with the   gas lamp. Otherwise it is full of darkness and shadows. Through this tour of the house, we get a glimpse of what Grace chooses to reveal and conceal in her mind.

Whereas Grace conceals the light, the parallel world invites it. In one scene, Nicholas and Anne wake up to missing curtains. Supposedly removed by the other world’s occupants, Victor (Alexander Vince) or his parents, the two worlds suddenly collide. The dark spaces that are prevalent in Grace’s world are unacceptable in Victor’s world. The spaces of their home are dangerous when revealed. These dark spaces hide the dark secret of tragic murder. We find out in the climax of the film the nature of these two worlds. Mrs. Bertha Mills (Fionnula Flanagan) reveals the mystery of the film by stating that “sometimes the world of the living gets mixed up with the world of the dead.”

The hidden spaces in Grace’s world reveal that she lives in the world of the dead whereas Victor’s world is the land of the living. The two worlds collide and meet during a séance performed by the Old Lady (Renée Asherson). Amenábar refrains from entering the world of the living until Grace and her children watch Victor and his family leave the house. With the revealing of the land of the living, Grace and her children’s “healing process can begin” (Muñoz 214) because they recognize their world and their haunted past.

We relate to Victor's concept of home. The spaces that we occupy in the home are projections of memories and the past. However, in the land of the dead, unless revealed by an outside source, the memories and projections of the past are repressed in the interior of the house. The dark, hidden spaces conceal the Stewart’s violent past and the truth of the land of the living. This is a film that deals with the Stewart’s (and Spain’s) “reconcilement with the past” (Muñoz, 215). Those who live in our world can project memories and experiences into the spaces of many houses. But in the land of the dead, Grace and her children can only occupy one house. This is the house they died in. The spaces in their house may be flooded with light and their past, unrepressed memories. But since the house is their only home in the land of the dead, they will ward off any future trespassers in the land of the living. The house is “alive” in both worlds, but according to Grace, Anne, and Nicholas, “home is the beginning and the end, the ‘long’ or ‘last’ home” (Morse 71). This is their home, hidden spaces and all.

Costuming

As we have already seen, the interior architectural spaces of a house can be representative of the house’s mind. It is a labyrinth with an infinite amount of space. A house, like one’s mind, can be a place that stores secrets and memories. The size of a room, the angle of a ceiling, or the integrity of a wall are all important elements to consider when exploring the anthropomorphization of a house. However, when the inhabitants project memories and secrets onto the house, they project it onto objects such as furniture and decorations. The furnishings of a house can be a variety of objects such as: furniture and memorabilia, such as photos, art, toys, curtains, antiques, etc.

One may ask how and why the furnishings of the house are applicable to the house as a character. Furniture and décor gives life to every room in the house. As every room is distinct, the décor is an aesthetic that designates a room as a bedroom, a living room, a study, etc. Without them, the household is an empty space. It is an empty mind. Every object whether it was bought or inherited, represents the personal aesthetic styles of the dweller. An object becomes a personal possession when it receives the inhabitant’s projections of his or her memories and secrets. This is what helps build the concept of home. It also gives each piece of décor and furniture more depth.

In film, we cannot know the meaning behind every knick-knack and possession. However, we can get an impression of the animation of a house by viewing the furnishings in the screen space as a collective. As a collective, the audience will gain a general understanding of the personality of the inhabitant and the house. The collections of furnishings are a conscious decision of the director and art director. He or she carefully places each object onto the screen in order to enhance the mise-en-scène. Stanley Kubrick demonstrates this technique in his film The Shining. For example, the subtle message of this film references the genocide of the American Indians. Kubrick discreetly delivers this message to the audience by placing Indian artwork and Calumet baking soda cans in the background of the scene. Although the audience may be aware of the director and art director’s involvement in the placement of a house’s furnishings, they suspend their belief and assume that the placement was a conscious decision made by the inhabitant. Like the Calumet cans, the audience must take a closer look into the furnishings and objects in the frame in order to find the underlying message of the film. Studying the placement and detail of a house’s furniture and décor in a film’s screen space is significant because it can both reveal and conceal the inhabitant’s unconscious.

A house’s décor is a conscious stylistic decision made by the inhabitant. It is an attempt to conceal an individual’s true self. But, instead of concealing, it reveals one’s secrets, memories, and desires in one’s unconscious. This is where we discover the costuming of the house. Written and drawn in a cinematic style, Alison Bechdel’s memoir and autobiography of her father Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic (2006) is an ideal example of the unconscious being revealed in the furniture and décor of the house. Bechdel’s father had a passion for redecorating the family house into period rooms. He attempted to hide his sexuality and shame behind the decorations and furniture. In the opening chapter, Bechdel writes, “His shame inhabited our house…[the] period interiors were expressly designed to conceal it” (20). It was through her father’s conscious choice of décor that unconsciously revealed his secret sexuality and his shame for it. Although this is not a filmic example of the anthropomorphization of the house, it is important to consider this house because Bechdel records the evidence of a house’s character through her writing whereas a film visually implies the evidence in the screen space.

Bechdel’s book gives us a literary example of the unconscious being revealed through a house’s furnishings. For example, one particular panel in Bechdel’s book shows her father’s Victorian style library. Instead of describing the color of the library, Bechdel describes the textures. In her father’s library, the author describes two large windows whose curtains are made of velvet and are held up by gilt curtain rods. The detail of these curtain rods are suggested as there is a centerpiece and perched bird on each end of the rod. This panel also describes “flocked” (Bechdel 60) wallpaper with an impression of ornate patterns and designs. Four paintings, one of which appears flowery, hang on the walls. Don Quixote and Mephistopheles lamps light the room. Towards the left of the panel, an ottoman separates two plush, Victorian style chairs. To the right of the panel, a “leather-topped mahogany and brass-second empire desk” (60) is situated in front of the “massive walnut bookcase” (Bechdel 61). This is the main attraction of the library. In the next couple of panels, we learn that the bookcase is full of books that her father has not read; however, a furnishing sparks conversation with his favorite students and possible sexual partners. Here, Bechdel describes her father as “a nineteenth-century aristocrat” because of his Victorian styled room. In this room, the textures evoke visual and cutaneous senses. In her essay “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam,” Margaret Morse cites Proust and his comparison of “the sense memory to an anchor at great depth” (68). To Bechdel, the library comes to “life” through her memory of feeling the texture and detail of the room’s furnishings.

Revisiting the film The Haunting can make a useful comparison of Bechdel’s library by examining its use of furnishings and recognizing how these contribute to the process of anthropomorphization. We have already established the house as an evil character by studying the house’s angles and hidden spaces. Hill House attempts to hide its true nature through its furnishings and décor in every room, with the exception of the nursery. Dr. Markway describes the nursery as the “cold, rotten heart” of Hill House. The furnishings of the nursery are plain and less extravagant than Eleanor’s room. The design of the wallpaper is simple and flowery. In the foreground sits an empty birdcage. To the right is a large fireplace with ornate designs. The center of the room displays a small round table partially covered by a tablecloth. The most notable furnishings in the nursery are the two wheelchairs draped with homemade blankets. These wheelchairs depict Hugh Crain’s child living in the nursery from childhood till death. They evoke Eleanor’s memories of her mother. In the background, a child or angel is painted on a panel screen in the shape of a church window. All around the room are tiny knick-knacks and books. Despite their simplicity, the furnishings are also more sinister. Repeatedly written on the archways of the room is the phrase, “Suffer little children.” This room and its furniture possess multiple memories, traumas, and secrets from multiple inhabitants. The desires of the house dwell here and as a result, the décor appears threatening in its simplicity, rather than elegant and innocent. The rest of the house’s furnishings maintain its appearance of elegance and innocence. These two facades embody the house’s costume.

As there are many furnishings to note in this film, there is one that particularly stands out among the rest. It is the motif of angelic statues. Often symbolized in modern religious and Christian cultures, an angel is thought to have virtuous, innocent qualities. When Eleanor steps up to the doors of Hill House, she notices the house’s knocker as that of an angel’s face. It appears to be laughing with a wide grin. The laughing knocker suggests the house’s innocence and childishness. Is the angel mocking her or is it attempting to hide its true personality?

The statue of St. Francis, or “Hugh Crain,” provides another interesting example. St. Francis is not an angel. However, in Catholicism, a religious person who has performed a variety of good deeds can be deemed a saint after his or her death. Although St. Francis is not an angel, the religious characteristics of sainthood suggest innocence and goodness. This statue is seen twice in the film. Shot in a low angle, the statue occupies a lot of the screen space and commands its presence. We also get a sense of the grandiosity of the statue in an extreme long shot. St. Francis’ left arm is extended and three women surround him. Every face of the statues wears an enigmatic smile that cannot be deciphered. Dr. Markway, Luke, Theo, and Eleanor anthropomorphize the statue by renaming St. Francis “Hugh Crain,” and the three ladies, Crain’s wife, his daughter, and Eleanor as the companion. Eleanor is goaded into “dancing” with Hugh Crain and thinks she has seen him move. Theo replies, “Haven’t you noticed how nothing in this house seems to move, until you look away, and then you catch something out of the corner of your eye?” This line is key to The Haunting and to this thesis as it describes the elusiveness of seeing a house physically move. Giving this statue a personal name changes its enigmatic expression into a sense of wry, patient knowing. The statues and the house as a whole come “alive” in the statues’ body language and expressions. Overall, the aura of goodness and innocence changes into an aura of foreboding danger and evil. Because of this statue, we recognize that the motifs of angelic and saintly statues unsuccessfully hide the house’s evilness through its apparent goodness.

Aside from trying to hide the Hill House’s evil nature and desires, there are also many instances where the décor holds an active gaze. Each statue in Hill House always engages in the act of watching its inhabitants. There are many instances where there is a medium close up shot of a statue subtly facing Eleanor. In almost every scene, something is “watching” her. The placement of a statue “staring” at Eleanor implies the mind of Hill House as active. Hill House is a complex being whose anthropomorphic qualities can be found in every furnishing, space, and floor of the house.

“The key theme of haunted house films is the past’s power to disrupt the present” (Curtis 84). With a theme as powerful as this, horror films must take great care in the details within each shot. In particular, the furnishings and décor of the house in The Others are significant because they occupy the world of the living and the world of the dead. As mentioned previously, the memories and desires in the land of the living are repressed in the land of the dead. They are “unaware of their condition” (Curtis 133) until “the others” reveal their violent past to them.

In this film, the children suggest Grace’s unstable mentality. In one scene, Grace’s mind is questioned when she hears the running footsteps of a child upstairs. Thinking that it is Anne or Nicholas, she apprehensively exits her reading room and heads to the stairs. Finding Anne there, she asks if Nicholas is upstairs, and finds out from Anne that he is not. Anne further explains that it is the boy, Victor, who is running around and making the noise upstairs. Grace hears the ghostly dialogue and footsteps and chases these invading ghosts to an unused room. In this room, white sheets cover every piece of furniture and decoration. Every thing in this room looks like a ghost. Grace slowly and apprehensively walks through this room in search of the whispering invaders. These sheets imply the repression of memories and events in the other world, but to Grace, they hide the invaders. In Housing Problems (2008), Susan Bernstein suggests that as the “past intrudes into the present, the repressed returns in a disguised form to haunt the present and bear witness to its lack of wholeness” (Bernstein 98). These sheets are one of the many forms of repression that haunt Grace. In a sense, her past memories are the invaders because they are hidden under the sheets that symbolize her repression. It is here where we get a glimpse into the mind and memories of Grace’s unconscious. In fear from the ghostly hand that touches her, Grace tears off the first sheet, which unveils an angelic statue. She then uncovers a coat rack, a chair, and finally a mirror that displays the door closing behind her. This unrevealing of the sheets leads her to “discovering her historical past” and “understanding her family’s present death” (Muñoz 215) in the next room, which is the attic. The anthropomorphic qualities of the house are displayed in the sheets and furniture. As the house mirrors the inhabitant, the revealing of the furniture can be a revealing of one’s memories.

The drapery in this film decides what shall be revealed and concealed. Although the costuming of the house in this film is subtler than Hill House, the curtains are the gatekeepers of the house’s mind. One can compare this to the gatekeeper in Franz Kafka’s short story, “Before the Law.” The curtains, like the gatekeeper, are the guardians of the conscious mind[13]. The curtains hide Grace’s unconscious, that is, her memories, desires, and traumas from the other world. The furnishing only reveals what is necessary to the inhabitants and the audience. Like the white sheets, they must be moved in order to reveal the unconscious. As the presence of “the others” becomes known to Grace and her children, the drapery and curtains become a battleground of revealing and concealing in both worlds. This is evident towards the climax of the film when the children wake up to missing curtains.

As Grace is mourning the departure of her husband at the front gates of the house, Anne wakes up to a room filled with light. She screams. Grace hears her scream and runs towards the children’s room. This long run suggests the distancing of Grace and her children. When Grace reaches the room, she discovers the missing curtains. She then shrouds her children in her robe and attempts to find a dark room. This becomes an impossible search as all of the curtains are missing. Grace’s search for darkness is an escape from the monster of past (the light). It is in this scene that the past reveals itself to the present, or the children. History is the “monster to escape from, vanquish, eliminate and eventually overcome” (Muñoz 215). The curtains were the gatekeepers that concealed their repressed history. With the curtains gone, the monster of their shared violent past must be dealt with. If we view the drapery as a gatekeeper of the mind, we can then recognize the evidence of the anthropomorphization of the house through the furnishings.

Significant use of furnishings to anthropomorphize a house can be found in films from other genres as well. The furnishings and décor in Orson Welles’ 1941 film Citizen Kane, for example, reveal some of the many anthropomorphic qualities of Kane’s estate, Xanadu. Inside the great palace of Xanadu, Kane’s possessions are limitless. Charles Foster Kane grew up as one of the wealthiest men in the world. He began his collection of priceless artifacts when he acquired the ownership of the New York Inquirer. At the beginning of the film in the documentary The News on the March, the narrator describes Kane’s possessions as “a collection of everything. So big it could never be catalogued or appraised. . . . [It is] enough for ten museums, the loot of the world.” In this beginning, we as the audience are given hints as to Kane’s possessions. However, Orson Welles does not reveal the extent of Kane’s possessions until Kane marries Susan Alexander Kane (Dorothy Comingore).

In one particular scene, Kane walks through a large arch and enters a foyer or living room. As he enters the infinitely large room, the large scale of the arched entryway and three statues dwarfs Kane. These statues represent three different nations at the height of their power. One statue is Greek, another is Chinese, and the last one is Egyptian. The arches themselves are representative of the Roman era. Xanadu’s possession of these statues unconsciously claims that the house may be more powerful and influential than these previous dominating governments. Kane walks confidently past them, as if he were royalty. When he reaches Susan, who is playing with puzzles, Kane stands in front of the enormous fireplace. The fireplace, Kane, a couple of statues, Susan, a chair and a table occupies the space in this scene. They complement the house’s character with their extremely detailed designs. The statues reflect eras of other empires. However, it is the grand fireplace that commands the presence of the frame. The fireplace appears to engulf Kane. It takes up more than half of the space on the screen. Although it is viewed by an extreme long shot, the audience can still identify the intricate details of the fireplace. The furnishings in Xanadu reflect the power of the house, but we will not have a full understanding of the grandiosity of Kane’s possessions until his death.

At the end of the film, Kane’s possessions are all brought into a room with seemingly infinite space, one similar to that where Susan played with her puzzles. Even after death, Kane’s possessions anthropomorphize the house through the sheer volume of their priceless objects. As Troutman puts it in her essay “Inside Fear: Secret Places and Hidden Spaces in Dwellings,” “Consciously and unconsciously, we assign meaning to every surface, every cavity, visible and invisible until certain types of spaces become associated with specific feelings” (Troutman 156). The furnishings that Kane had acquired are countless. To expand on Troutmans’ statement, we project meaning onto the spaces of a house through acquired objects and artifacts. Kane’s possessions were so grand and innumerable that Kane couldn’t project meaning and feeling onto every object. There is one object, however, that serves as a key player to the movie and the house. This is Rosebud, Kane’s childhood sled. It is one of the few objects onto which Kane has projected his memory. Aside from Rosebud, the furnishings and priceless décor point to the isolation of a house as a character, and reinforce our sense of the isolation of Kane as a man.

The furnishings are important to the house as a character because they give life to the empty spaces of the interior. By filling a room with personal objects full of memories and desires, the mind of the house will exhibit a variety of complex, anthropomorphic qualities. The majority of this thesis has explored how the interior, the exterior, the door, and the furnishings of a house display evidence of its anthropomorphic qualities. By examining a variety of horror films, we have begun to understand the complexity of the house as a character. Now that we have explored the structure, the spaces, the mazes, and the threshold of the house, let us explore how all of these elements of the house create a personality.

Chapter 3: Personalities

When we look at the anthropomorphic evidence of the house as a whole, we can see the personality of the house. The idea of a house possessing a personality is central to the examination of the house as a character because it enables us to perceive each complex section of the house as a part of a complete being. The interior and exterior of a house “do not function as binary opposites but rather coarticulate each other” (Bernstein 107). As Bernstein suggests, each unique section of the house complements the other and builds the overall personality of the character. A house can embody a variety of personalities. In horror films, houses are given a bad reputation. Spectators associate the house with the nefarious actions of the antagonist. In this thesis, it has been proposed that the mind of the inhabitant correlates with the mind of the house. We have also explored the complexity of the mind of the house and its latent meanings and actions. That being said, this section of the thesis argues that the houses in horror films, including Hill House, are not as dangerous as they appear. In fact, with a little exploration, we may learn that they have the most innocent of personalities.

Hill House is a staple dwelling to any study of houses in film. Let us return to this house once more. Throughout this thesis, we have explored the interior, the exterior, and the furnishings of Hill House. As it is a complex being, the house has been established as being “born” evil. If we look at the evidence of the house’s anthropomorphization, Hill House appears to embody an evil personality. It begins with the exterior of the house. From the moment Eleanor saw Hill House, her mind told her to leave immediately. She likened the tall Victorian windows of the house to eyes that were watching her. This impression of evil starts before the house is entered. It gives the inhabitants and the spectators a sense that Hill House’s personality is menacing and malevolent. When we enter the interior of the house, the personality of the house becomes more apparent. As the heart and mind of Hill House is located throughout the interior, the house’s true personality is visible.

Hill House is a complex being. Its personality appears to be pure evil; however, let us instead consider the house as a seductress or a femme fatale. By taking a deeper look into the “evil” actions of the house, we may recognize that these actions are intended to seduce Eleanor. From the beginning of the film, the audience subconsciously recognizes that Eleanor’s weak psyche is already crumbling. She is a recluse who has no place to call home. From the moment she saw the house, the house began to seduce her. The eyes of the house may have been voyeuristically gazing at her. The windows and the statues were constantly watching her. She became the object of desire. This seduction is not a sexual seduction. It is a seduction of possession. The seduction of the house’s gaze directly correlates to Eleanor’s subconscious voyeuristic gaze of the house.

To the other inhabitants and Eleanor’s conscious mind, the house’s actions constitute a threat. Instead of being a threatening force, the house taunts the residents in its game of seduction. It actively separates the others from Eleanor. For example, Dr. Markway and Luke are led outside of the house when they catch sight of a dog wandering the house. With this separation, the house searched for Eleanor’s location by banging loudly on the doors. Thinking that it was her dead mother, Eleanor wakes up to the house banging on the walls. Once she realizes where she is, Eleanor hurries to Theo’s room. The banging starts at the end of the hallway and makes its way towards Theo’s room. It also varies in noise. At times, the banging is loud and tremulous, and at other times, it sounds like someone is banging a cane against a hollow wall. Once it reaches the room, the banging momentarily stops. Hill House found that which it desired, Eleanor. It tries to get in by turning the medusa head doorknob. The camera follows the cracks of the door as if it were the house looking for a way in. Theo and Eleanor both felt the presence of the house through the sensation of being cold. She gave away her location by screaming that the house itself should not enter the room. After banging on the door a few more times, a woman’s maniacal laughter is heard and the sensation of warmth indicates the momentary departure of Hill House presence. It is significant that aside from Eleanor, Hill House does not physically come in contact with the house’s inhabitants. By way of its mazelike structure and ghostly noises, the house confuses and taunts the inhabitants. It also does not physically kill Eleanor. She kills herself. The house lets the residents know that it is present by way of a cold sensation, as is suggested in the description of the scene examined earlier.

The seduction of Eleanor can be evident in two key scenes. The first scene is when Luke finds the writing on the wall. Written in chalk, it says, “Help Eleanor come home.” Consciously, Eleanor responds by fear. The house is calling her by name. Her unconscious mind is starting to call her home. She becomes aware that the house’s intention is not an evil one, but rather an act of seduction. In the novel, Eleanor recognizes the powerful seduction of the house in her thought: “I am disappearing inch by inch into this house, [sic] I am going apart a little bit at a time” (Jackson 149).

This first scene reveals Hill House’s desires. It wants Eleanor. In the second scene, the seduction of the house becomes more personal. As Eleanor’s mental connection with the house becomes stronger, the house’s possession of her grows stronger. This becomes evident when Eleanor dreams of the house banging on her door for the second time. In this dream, she holds Theo’s hand in fear. She mentions to Theo that her hands are as cold as ice. Eleanor then wakes up on a daybed with Theo nowhere nearby and an empty grasp. Who or what was holding her hand? The scene suggests that it was the hand of the house. This second act of seduction shows the house’s growing influence and possession of Eleanor. Her conscious psyche is crumbling whereas her unconscious mind is merging into the house.

The house’s seduction is complete when Eleanor “joins” the house after her death. This is where the personality of the house reveals itself to be a femme fatale. Femme fatales are beautiful yet dangerous and fatal. One’s impression of the house is that of danger. It emits an aura of evil, but this aura is slightly masked by the elegant furnishings of the house. As previously discussed, the furnishings of the house hide the house’s true character. Although the house does not directly kill Eleanor, it aids her death through its actions of seduction.

The seductions of the house are psychological. At the end of the film, Dr. Markway insists on Eleanor leaving due to her weakened mental state of being. Eleanor is in the car waiting for Luke to escort her. The scene cuts to a shot of the house. With two lights on, the house is watching her. “The house was waiting now…it was waiting for her” (Jackson, 178). Before Luke was able to get in the car, Eleanor sped off towards the gate. Her conscious mind had reverted to her unconscious self. However, the farther she got away from the house, the more her conscious mind took control. The house’s last act of seduction is through the unexpected presence of Mrs. Grace Markway. The moment Eleanor’s conscious mind took control, a confused and lost Mrs. Markway runs into the path of Eleanor’s speeding car. Eleanor reacts and swerves her car into a tree, where she dies. Mrs. Markway explains that the house led her outside and that is when she saw Eleanor. The house finalized the act of seducing Eleanor to “come home” through the manipulation of the lost Mrs. Markway. With this deadly act of seduction, Eleanor joins Hill House.

Hill House, as a seductress, opens up the possibility of viewing houses in horror films from a new perspective. The appearance of a haunted house can be the manifest personality of the character. If we look deeper into the anthropomorphic elements of haunted houses, we notice that their true personalities are more innocent than they appear. For instance, the house that appears to be homely can be more deadly than the haunted house. Before we explore a house’s murderous personality, let us explore another kind of personality for the house.

The houses in Citizen Kane and Days of Heaven are examples of houses with personalities of isolation, but each represents of a different form of isolation. Examining the distinct personalities of these two houses will broaden our understanding of the character of the house as a whole. Let us return for a moment to Kane’s estate, Xanadu, in Orson Welles’ film Citizen Kane. By briefly studying the furnishings of the house, we got a glimpse of Xanadu as a character. Xanadu is complex. The exterior of the house is intricate and grand. The News on the March describes the house as a “never finished, already decaying palace.” Not much is seen in the exterior except in the visual obituary of “Xanadu’s Landlord.” In the newsreel, the exterior of Xanadu is captured in a montage. The towers and outer walls are presented in a low angle shot. The exterior walls of Xanadu display its intricate designs and details. Its purpose is to reflect Kublai Khan’s palace. The next scene in the montage displays Xanadu in an aerial shot. The narrator then describes the “ingredients” of Xanadu as a mixture of “one-hundred thousand trees and twenty thousand tons of marble.” Through the aerial and low angle shots, the grandiosity and power of the house can be asserted. Xanadu’s exterior displays the isolation of the house as a conscious choice. As Kane’s status fluctuated, the integrity and structure of the house did the same. What was once revered became abandoned and forgotten. We see this at the end of the film when the last shot mirrors the opening shot of the film. This shot displays the gate with a “K” in the foreground of the frame whereas the palace stands in the background. The composition of the opening and closing shots are almost the same, except in the final shot smoke rises from chimneys of the residence. The smoke is a result of burning Kane’s personal, “worthless” possessions, but it can also be representative of the fall of an empire. At first, Xanadu’s isolation was envied and revered. It was an outer expression of wealth that turned the house into a personality whose isolation can be compared to that of a sick person in quarantine.

The interior of Xanadu better captures the house’s isolation. The interior of the house has grand empty spaces that are only filled by priceless treasures. Orson Welles beautifully captures the limitless interior spaces through his lighting techniques and deep focus shots. The interior, like the houses previously mentioned in this thesis, correlates with Kane’s mind. The interior displays Kane’s ego. Take, for example, the scene where Susan leaves Kane. Kane is standing in Susan’s bedroom when she leaves. The spaces in her bedroom are filled with knick-knacks and trinkets. This is a room filled with Susan’s memories. The scene cuts to a deep focus shot of Susan’s departure through Kane’s point of view. In this shot, Xanadu appears empty and isolated. The sense of isolation grows when the darkness engulfs Susan completely. As this scene states Susan’s departure from Kane’s life, it also displays Kane’s isolation. In the next scene that is again shot in deep focus, Kane walks by a mirror that infinitely multiplies him. This suggests that Kane’s only company is himself. The empty yet infinite spaces in this shot display the isolation of both Xanadu and Kane. The spaces in Xanadu and Kane’s possession of treasures display his narcissism.[14] Kane’s narcissism is visible through his treasures because they are meant to display and boost his wealth and power as a man. They can also remind Kane himself of his power as a man. As stated before, the house becomes an isolated personality through these impersonal objects and limitless spaces. Like the exterior, the house’s personality changes into a character whose personality becomes isolated and outcast from society.

The house in Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven can also be representative of an isolated personality. However, this house is isolated because it is alone. Set in a landscape where wheat fields are limitless, the exterior of the farmer’s (Sam Shepard) house appears to be both a deliverer and a captor. These two characteristics of the house are expressed through Bill’s (Richard Gere) point of view. As the movie progresses, so does the house’s personality and our understanding of it.

The Farmer’s house is elusive. The film is told from the point of view of Linda (Linda Manz), Bill’s little sister. For much of the film, the character of the house is determined by an outsider’s point of view. This is typically Bill’s perspective. The first time we get a glimpse of the interior of the house, it is viewed from an outsider’s perspective. In this scene, the Farmer has already asked Bill, Abby, and Linda to stay and work for him after the harvest. Abby is churning butter in the foreground and the open door in the background reveals the kitchen. This is a small glimpse into the house’s personality, but we, the audience, are outsiders who must wait to enter the interior of the house at another time. As an outsider, we still see the house as a savior.

The first time we see the interior of the house is on the wedding night of Abby and the Farmer. The bedroom of the couple is elegant and homely. The design of the bed’s headboard is beautifully engraved. Lace hangs down as a curtain on the outside of the bed. Covering the white sheets is a beautifully made lace blanket. In this shot, we get a sense of the homeliness of the house. However, this is not through the perspective of Bill. The house does not become an isolated being until he enters the house on Abby and the Farmer’s honeymoon.

When Bill first enters the house, the interior is simple and homely. The sunlight brightens the hallway. It warms the room by bringing out the rich colors of the red rug, the green plant, the rich brown chair, and the tan walls. As Bill gets to the living room, we notice the warm, rich colors once more. The most notable piece of furniture is the red couch in the living room. This couch occupies the center spaces of the room. Its purpose is to suggest the affluence of the Farmer. To the right of the couch is a piano that holds miniature statues and a cushioned chair with a pink diamond design. To the left of the couch sits two chairs and a small plane. The lighting in the living room enhances the warm, rich brown and red colors of the furniture that occupies this space. This gives a sense of welcome and homeliness to any outsider.

After Bill entry, the house’s character changes into a character of isolation. Curtis mentions that “isolation [is] always metaphorically present, even in relatively humble houses” (Curtis 66). The interior of the house shows the isolation of the farmer through its furnishings. Every piece of furniture and décor in the house are aesthetically welcoming to the eye, but they also unconsciously display the house’s solitude. As many things are handcrafted, one’s memories are projected onto that personal object. The farmer is surrounded by memories of the past. As previously mentioned, Edward Hirsch describes the house’s inability to stand its own isolation. This isolation is almost unbearable. Every piece of furniture and architectural structure displays the isolation in the farmer’s house. This is also reflected in Xanadu. These two distinct forms of isolation show that as the primary protagonist changes, so does the characterization of the house. Xanadu and the Farmer’s residence are primary examples of the volition of the house as a character, each within the context of its respective film. Each is a dynamic character.

Thus far, we have seen that the house can embody two personalities: one of which is isolated, the other a seductress. One more must be considered, namely, the most dangerous house, the house as murderer. As previously discussed, haunted houses are more innocent than they appear. It is the house that looks innocent that is in fact the most dangerous. Such a house can be found in Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic The Wizard of Oz.

The two worlds displayed in this film are representative of Dorothy’s (Judy Garland) mind. In her reality, Dorothy is a young woman who does not receive much attention at her Auntie Em (Clara Blandick) and Uncle Henry’s (Charley Grapewin) farm. Her dog Toto is also about to be taken away. Her reality is in direct opposition to the Land of Oz because that is a land where Dorothy’s dreams and desires come true.

The house in The Wizard of Oz has but a brief presence in the film. It is a dwelling that exists in both Dorothy’s conscious and unconscious mind. As it is a farmhouse in Kansas set in the 1930s, the house does not have any garish or excessive qualities. Rather, it is a plain one-story house made of wood. We get a good glimpse at the exterior of the house during the tornado sequence. When Dorothy arrives at the house, Auntie Em, Uncle Henry, Hunk, Zeke, and Hickory have just locked themselves in the storm cellar. As Dorothy enters the house, the white picket fence is caving in and the screen door flies off its hinges. As the beginning of the film is shot in sepia, we get a sense of the exterior through texture instead of color. The windows are large and box-like. The back porch of the house has two thin pieces of wood that pass off as pillars holding up the extended roof. Its roof itself has a small chimney and covers the house’s interior by its roof tile. The porch itself is mall and made of wood, but it does not have a fence, nor is it a raised porch. Outside of the porch appears to be couple of stools and a trough or metal bathtub turned upside down. At first glance, the outer personality of the house is deceptive in its simple architecture. Next to the back porch, the cellar is located on the outside. In this film, the cellar mirrors the protection of the conscious self. It can be a protection of reality from intruding forces. When Dorothy is looking for her family, the house’s interior is briefly shown. The house appears to have a few rooms. In this brief sequence where she looks for Auntie Em, we recognize a few furnishings in the house, such as a rocking chair, a stove, a portrait, a kettle, and a butter churner. Although it is not much, these few visible items that occupy the house give us a small sense into the simple, rural furnishings of the house. These simple furnishings allude to the innocence of the house; yet, their minimal presence does not overshadow the house’s purpose. For Dorothy, the house is a shell that protects her from physical and mental destructive forces and intruders.

With such a short presence in the film, the anthropomorphization of the house is evident in its purpose. Its purpose is to protect Dorothy. In reality, the farmhouse is a protector. It protects her from the destructive forces that were carried in the tornado. However, the lines between reality and fantasy become blurred in the tornado when the window knocks Dorothy unconscious. This window allows Dorothy to enter her unconscious. Through a superimposition of an unconscious Dorothy and the whirling tornado, the scene cuts to an exterior shot of house ascending in the tornado. The transformation from reality to fantasy can be seen in the characters passing by in the tornado. Dorothy’s family passes by in a comical way. Auntie Em is knitting, a cow flies by, and both Hunk and Zeke are humorously paddling through the tornado in a boat. The transformation to her fantasy is completed when Dorothy envisions Miss Gulch (Margaret Hamilton) riding a bike who then transforms into the Wicked Witch of the West riding her broom. The house as a guardian and protector then exits the tornado and descends to her fantasy of the Land of Oz. In this world, it protects Dorothy’s mind by becoming a murderer.

In Oz, the people in her life metamorphose into fantastical characters that influence her decisions in her unconscious. When the house is wildly descending into her unconscious fantasy, the house had a chance to land anywhere. Instead it lands on the Wicked Witch of the East and instantly kills her. Not much is known about the witch except that she is the sister of the Wicked Witch of the West and she wore magic ruby slippers. Why did the house fall on this witch? What was the house protecting?

We must explore the possibility that that the house became a murderer because its primary purpose is to protect Dorothy’s mind. The house projects a personality of innocence and simplicity. Yet it shows its capabilities as a danger and as a guardian in this lone action. Margaret Morse’s essay “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam” mentions that in order for a runaway (Dorothy) to find home, “there must be a disequilibrium of some kind; the hero must leave home before anything in the story can happen” (Morse 70). Dorothy had already run away from home in her reality, but as Morse suggests, Dorothy had to leave her house of reality in order to start her journey home. The disequilibrium for Dorothy is the house’s killing of the Wicked Witch of the East. The house could have landed anywhere, but as Dorothy’s guardian, the house became a murderer in order to give Dorothy a hero’s journey. She had to overcome the Wicked Witch of the West in order to find her way home. If the house landed elsewhere, Dorothy may have never found her way back to her conscious mind, back to home.

Conclusion

            To re-iterate the 1st century philosopher Pliny the Elder’s phrase, “Home is where the heart is.” Home, as we have learned, is a social construction, animated by the inhabitant’s fears, desires, and memories. Through a person’s memories and psyche, the spaces in the home are filled with meaning and purpose. As many associate the concept of home with a house, the dweller’s heart correlates to the house. A house by itself is a static work of architecture with empty spaces. In film, the house is often categorized as a setting. It is a simple and inanimate residence. However, “it is not enough to consider the house as an object…the house shelters daydreaming, the house protects the dreamer, [and] the house allows one to dream in peace” (Bachelard 3,6). To disregard the house as a character in film degrades the complexity of a house. The house seems “alive” because it possesses an inhabitant’s daydreams, memories, and fears.

This thesis has re-imagined the house as a distinct character, but there is still much to learn about the house and its significance in film as a whole. By exploring a wide range of films from different genres, this thesis has explored the possibility of the anthropomorphic qualities of a house. Essential films such as The Haunting, The Others, and The Wizard of Oz provide evidence of the ways in which houses in cinema become complex characters in their own right. In order to understand the different kinds of roles houses play, this thesis has analyzed the interior, the threshold, the costuming, and the exterior of a variety of cinematic dwellings. Each “part” of the house establishes the personality of the character.

By exploring the anthropomorphic qualities of the house, we determine that the physicality of the house is seen in the exterior. The exterior of every house is distinct. As seen in Edgar Allen Poe’s short story “The Fall of the House of Usher” and in the literary and filmic version of The Haunting of Hill House, the house’s exterior gives the audience and the primary inhabitant a first impression of its personality. First impressions can be misleading. We see this in Terrence Malick’s film Days of Heaven. What appears to be a savior in a landscape of wheat is really an isolated being. Edward Hopper’s painting “House by the Railroad” and Edward Hirsch’s poem “Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad” illuminates this interpretation of the anthropomorphization of the Farmer’s house. Hopper’s painting of the Victorian house also helps us understand, by contrast,The Addams Family house and Norman Bates’ house in Psycho. Although they may have similar architecture, we determine that the character and personality of houses in these two films are different from the Farmer’s isolated house in Malick’s film.

This thesis has also examined the interior of the house. By drawing upon the literature studying the phenomenology of a house and through a psychoanalytic analysis of the house, this thesis has interpreted the interior as the mind of each film’s central character(s). The spaces that are hidden and revealed in a film shot are analogous to the maze-like mind of the character. Gaston Bachelard’s book The Poetics of Space helps us understand the house’s attic and basement and their given relationship to the house’s conscious and unconscious minds. The attics and basements analyzed in The Haunting,Psycho, and The Old Dark House give us a strong sense of each house’s conceptualization of mind.

We have also determined that the house’s interior in horror and other films is rendered anthropomorphic or animate through the placement of furniture and décor in the empty spaces of the house. The inhabitant projects his or her memories onto the furnishings of the house and adds to the house’s dynamism. Without these furnishings and the sense memories linked to them, a house is only an empty and static work of architecture devoid of costume.

In the films explored in this thesis, each section of the house has uniquely animate qualities. When looking at these sections individually, it can be hard to grasp each house’s full anthropomorphic qualities. However, when looking at these elements as a whole, we find that they work together to create an entire being. The house in film may not be “alive” per se, but in each film explored herein, the house exudes its presence in a vital and compelling way that adds to our understanding of each film as a whole.

This returns us, finally, to the concept of home. Houses as characters maintain a sense of home for the primary inhabitants of the house. For the Stewarts, their house is a place to defend. It is the only thing that remains from their time in the world of the living. For Eleanor, Hill House was ultimately the one place that she could call home because it was the only place where she felt like she belonged. Lastly, Dorothy’s house is an unhappy home until she embarks on a journey that helps her realize the importance of home as the place from which she came, and hoped to return. To reiterate the famous line by L. Frank Baum, “There is no place like home.” Home may not be the safest or happiest place, but it is nonetheless a place where the inhabitant (onscreen or off-screen) can project his or her memories, dreams, and fears. Its significance for the psyche of characters and viewers alike is rich with conscious and unconscious meaning.

 

Images Bibliography

Figure 1. Screenshot of an exterior view of the Bates' House. Digital image. Retroweb. N.p., n.d.  Web. 29 Oct. 2013.            <http://www.retroweb.com/backlots/univ_psycho_house_ref_1960_d.jpg>.

Figure 2. Hopper, Edward. House by the Railroad. 1925. Oil on canvas. Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY.

Figure 3. The Collyer Home. Digital image. Blogspot. N.p., 28 Dec. 2012. Web. 29 Oct. 2013. <http://ellcanblog.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-collyer-brothers.html>.

Figure 4. Screenshot of Hannibal Lecter in his cell. Digital image. Dvd Beaver. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Oct. 2013. <http://www.dvdbeaver.com/film/dvdcompare/silence.htm>.

Figure 5. Winchester Mystery House. Digital image. Old House Web. Old House Web, n.d. Web. 29 Oct. 2013. <http://www.oldhouseweb.com/blog/a-fright-at-winchester/>.

Figure 6. Screenshot of Mrs. Mills, Lydia, and Mr. Tuttle in the Music Room. Digital image. Blogspot. MovieScreenShots, 28 Aug. 2006. Web. 29 Oct. 2013.   <http://moviescreenshots.blogspot.com/2006/08/others-2001.html>.

Figure 7. Screenshot of the Nursery. Digital image. Gone Movie. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Oct. 2013.             <http://www.gonemovies.com/WWW/Pictures/Pictures/Haunting24.jpg>.

Figure 8. Screenshot of Kane dwarfed by Xanadu. Digital image. Radiation Cinema. N.p., 10  Aug. 2009. Web. 29 Oct. 2013. <http://www.radiationcinema.com/2009/08/monster-kane-rom-green-xanadu.html>

Figure 9. Screenshot of an exterior view of Hill House. Digital image. Blogspot. Chilling Scenes of Dreadful Villainy, 21 July 2009. Web. 29 Oct. 2013.             <http://chillingscenesofdreadfulvillainy.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.....

Figure 10. Screenshot of an exterior view of Xanadu. Digital image. Blogspot. The Movie Projector, 26 Oct. 2009. Web. 29 Oct. 2013.            <http://themovieprojector.blogspot.com/2009/10/movie-houses-memorable-hom...ten.html>.

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