What was most extraordinary about this 1832 novel, was that it posited the Romantic subject – which is to say an individual of exceptional sensitivity, who will exhibit the most self-absorbed form of suffering – as female. Up until this point all the Romantic heroes you care to think of have been men, who at this stage in history are considered the only gender with the education and self-awareness necessary for the full gamut of Romantic emotional experience. But Sand begged to differ: Indiana is the story of a woman’s emotional journey through a series of abusive and unhappy relationships that will end with an ambivalent and enigmatic vision of ideal mutual harmony.
The novel opens with Indiana in a state of death-in-life, married to the bellicose, elderly Delmare. In this situation she is utterly miserable, exhibiting the classic hysterical symptoms of the woman imprisoned and restricted both physically and ideologically. She has some comfort in the ever-present Ralph, a taciturn Englishman who has rescued her from abandonment as a child and remained her companion ever since. However, into this uncomfortable ménage a trois comes Raymon, a silver-tongued young rogue who quickly insinuates himself into Indiana’s affections. For the love of him, Indiana will commit any number of astonishing rebellions, leaving Delmar and making the perilous crossing from her homeland back to France to be with him. But Raymon is feckless and abandons Indiana for a society marriage. Indiana then falls ill, a regular motif in Sand’s works in which fundamental change to the self can only be effected at the cost of a kind of mental and physical breakdown. In a sordid hotel room while the July revolution rages outside, she suffers a series of depersonalizing losses, including the loss of her identity papers, and of her hair.
If the reader breathes a sigh of relief at Ralph’s ability to rescue Indiana in the nick of time, that breath will quickly turn into a gasp, for rescue comes in the form of a mutual suicide pact. Where we might have expected a declaration of undying love, Ralph instead convinces her of their intolerable marginality, alone, unloved, and different to their fellow beings, and suggests the best thing is to return abroad and commit suicide together. When they finally reach their destination, the banks of a waterfall, with the intention of throwing themselves into its fury and splendour, Indiana effects an extraordinary talking cure on the silent Ralph. She persuades him to tell her his life story and in doing so, she liberates him psychically and recentres him in his existence. The chapter ends with what would appear to be their jump, but in an epilogue a young male narrator comes to visit Ralph and Indiana living in isolated harmony on their island, engaged in a perpetual struggle to free blacks from white slavery.
So what we can see in this story, which might strike the reader initially as surprisingly discordant, is an astonishing mix of the ideal and the real, of social comment and Romantic passion. Sand binds together in causal and consequential ways the erotic, the moral and the political, as contemporary political events are woven into an unconventional love story and a woman’s fight for individual emancipation. But let’s consider the extent of that emancipation. Indiana fights articulately and literally for her right to freedom from base male desire, and from a system that makes women (and blacks) into possessions – indeed the freedom from patriarchal bondage is represented as inseparable from the dream of emancipating the victims of colonialism. The island paradise she and Ralph have created is a fantasy ending removed from the social reality of contemporary France and one that leaves the couple in a state of indeterminacy somewhere between life and death, between the personal and the political between the ideal and the real. The antislavery politics she and Ralph champion are purely local; they have no place in a wider social or historical context, they are in fact exiled from the polis, the heart of politics and power, and worst of all it is not clear what the actual state of their relationship is – we are not at all sure whether they are married, or even whether they are lovers.
The suicide ritual they perform is a moment of rebirth but into a kind of monumental passivity. This is a text about suicide and survival, but Indiana’s survival as a liberated woman is ambivalent; her independence never truly being freed from dependence on a man. Sexuality is a vexed issue in Sand’s work, as regularly we find in her novels female love and desire taking the form of a maternal nurturing of a man. The equal relationship Indiana finally achieves with Ralph is marked as asexual. So we are left with a number of questions to the political problems this text poses. Must the self always be so deformed to be transformed? Can love find a place within real society? And must women be desexualized if they are to be authentic and free?
This is also a story about finding voices, notably about the amazing transformation of Ralph from silence into health-giving speech (which has led some critics to argue that George Sand identified with Ralph rather than her female heroine). However, Indiana is an enigma in that her linguistic development is not equated to her personal evolution. The text is probably most famous for some of her speeches delivered while she is living with Delmare, in which she denounces arbitrary patriarchal power. She is most eloquent and convincing when railing against her tyrannical husband and the injustice of marriage. But this is counterbalanced by her submissive discourse to her lover, Raymon, which is a syrupy and alarming mishmash of subservient rhetoric. When she finally reaches the island Indiana is the catalyst enabling Ralph to speak out, but his rehabilitation and her implied contentment seem to come at the cost of her silence. We can perhaps see, then, that Indiana is troubled in her self-expression as she can only be reactive – either in rebellion or in resignation. The extreme uncertainty and ambivalence of the ending of this novel cannot help but prove indicative of Sand’s inability to envisage the truly liberated woman who has all her needs met. In the mid-nineteenth century, in the hands of a woman writer who had known what it was to be autonomous, sexually free and politically active, there is still no voice truly possible for the new ideal form of femininity.
This story is really much more complicated than you would think–for a story of “romance and betrayal”! I had not thought of this being a “romantic heroine” story, but you’re right–it is always told from the man’s point of view, isn’t it? It reminds me of Madame Bovary and of the Awakening. Can I ask a question (which I should have picked up on), Who is the narrator? The botanist? I was wondering why Indiana never consummated (or it appeared that way anyway) any of her relationships–but if this is Sand’s way of emancipating woman? She didn’t have the benefit of the sexual revolution, so I suppose it is hard envisioning what liberation means for a woman of this time. Sex does complicate things (look at Noun). I suppose women are still seen as being subserviant even in idea of sex. Was this book a success when it was published? How did the general public react? Thanks so much for posting on this–lots more to think about!
I don’t remember any botanist in Indiana; there is a full-blown exploitation of botanists in the unpublished Memoires de Jean Paille (which you can find in George Sand Studies) as well as in the 1862 novel Antonia. But in Indiana, there is a gardener – not a botanist – who provides useful information as to the identity of Raymon and his dalliance with Noun, but he’s not a narrator.
In my opinion, there are at least 3 narrators; but as has been said here, it is murky territory and can be argued in a few different ways.
Danielle – you are very astute – people have wondered who the narrator is at the end, and yes, it appears to be the unknown botanist, and we tend to assume he is different from the invisible narrator who directs the main narrative. As for the consummation, well that’s Sand painting herself into a tricky corner. An ideal woman was a virtuous one, in Sand’s day, and whilst she shows Indiana falling for a bounder, she’s keen to make us realise that she remains ‘innocent’. Sand was also keen to protect her own reputation by effectively telling her reading public that she would keep her heroines pure. Now of course in real life she herself was anything but (hence the need to put out good PR). Rather than struggle to reconcile her own actions with her idealism, she cops out of the battle altogether with that odd ending. And yes, the book was a big success when it was published. Sand’s heroines are often suggested as templates for those of the Brontes – particularly Catherine in Wuthering Heights.
Thank you so much for this. I for one certainly needed perspective and context to appreciate what Sand was doing in the novel. I’m very ignorant where the Romantics are concerned but willing to rethink my initial impressions.
It never crossed my mind that there were TWO narrators.
Thank you for the post — you’ve clarified a lot of things for me. I like your description of what happens to Ralph — the talking cure — and I can now see why some critics think Sand identified with him. Put Ralph and Indiana together somehow, and you’ve got a much more coherent character trajectory. I also liked what you wrote about slavery and the patriarchy — how Sand connects anti-colonialism with her rebellion against the patriarchy, even though the anti-slavery argument might be limited in scope.
I didn’t catch that there were two narrators either, though really they do sort of have different “voices”. Now I am really going to have to reread Wuthering Heights–I love discovering how books/authors influence each other. It really enriches the reading experience! I may just have to read some more Sand as well. Aren’t there three books that are associated together? Must go back to the intro and find where I saw that.
You are all most welcome. I more or less typed up my lecture notes on this novel – so it probably has a very teacherly feel to it!! 1830 is about as far back in time as I go where teaching is concerned, so my own appreciation of the Romantics (in their purest incarnations) is only sketchy, but in France the movement was quickly diluted by realism (primarily). Danielle – if you find which 3 books are related, let me know, as I don’t think I could say myself for sure!
Thanks Litlove. I find it most interesting after your post about Sand and how gender-bending and sexually liberated she seemed that she can’t manage to translate her real life into something more imaginative for Indiana. I wonder why the disconnect?
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