Poppet
I couldn’t help but notice
that the gate at the top of the stairs was ajar
Oh?
which suggests to me
that a certain someone
has been going downstairs
can you think of who that might be?
Oh dear
Oh John, I’m sorry
I called for you but you weren’t at home
no one was home
and I was so thirsty
Darling
you know that going downstairs makes you hysterical
I know
It’s called a rest cure, darling
Not a going downstairs cure
How right you are
you’d better stay in bed this time
or someone’s going to lose her sitting up in bed privileges
I’m sorry
little goose
John
couldn’t I go outside even for a little while
just for a walk in the garden
just for a moment
why must you ask for the moon
you know I wish I could give it to you
but that it’s the last thing you need
I just can’t bear another minute staring at these same walls
This wallpaper
I’m afraid that as a doctor
I can’t advise going out into the garden
it’s full of night humors and cross-breezes
any one of which could do any number of things to your nervous system
to say nothing of your chalkstones
it would simply ruin your blood
all right
I’m afraid I just can’t allow it
all right
What do you think we should name the child?
Oh, John, I’m so glad you asked
I’ve missed talking to someone
and I do hope the baby’s doing well
I’ve thought about it a great deal these last few months
oh sorry, darling
that wasn’t for you
meant to send that to Williams
we’ve already named him
It’s a boy?
We had a son?
What’s his name, darling?
John?
What’s his name?
I’ll tell you what, my darling
You’ve been awfully good this week
and I think you deserve a treat
What’s that?
you can have all the air that you want
I know
I spoil you
you’ll open one of the windows, then?
I would love to see the sky again
Good God, no
not fresh air
Good lord
do you want to catch winter fever?
But it’s summer, John
surely it couldn’t be as bad as all that in the summer
Summer is the worst time of all to catch winter fever
the body simply doesn’t expect it
Next thing you know, your dropsy is so bilious it makes ship fever look like barrel fever
And then where would you be
I’m not sure
where would I be?
Nowhere good
I can tell you that much
nowhere good, medically speaking
Go back to sleep
I’ve been asleep all morning
and all night before that
I couldn’t possibly sleep any more
I’ll go mad if I try to lie still another hour
ah
that’s how you know you need rest
only a truly sleepy woman would say that
John have you noticed a yellow smell in the house
I’ve noticed a yellow smell
A yellow smell?
Not particularly
Could be some sort of miasma
I’ll have the garden torn up just in case
and extra bars set on the windows
darling
you know the broken-necked reverse-eyed witch nightmares in the wallpaper?
the what?
you know the ones I mean, John dear
they writhe in those slinking hate patterns?
good God
Well they’ve started to chant in unison
what has happened to you
Oh, don’t worry, pet
I know how to quiet them
I know how to make them stop their needle dance
They promised me
once I’ve done what they want
they’ll be at peace again
So there’s nothing to worry about!
I’ll be right down, darling
coming downstairs at last
Tags: charlotte perkins gilman, questionable medicine, rest cures, stabbing, texts from, the patriarchy, the yellow wallpaper
Oh Mallory. Please marry me.
I promise I won’t shut you up in an attic/bedroom and never let you out.
ahhhhhhhhhhh
I can only hope the little goose needledanced the eyes out of John.
This whole series should be compiled into a Crib Notes-type app. I mean, the original “Yellow Wallpaper” is like 15 pages, you could definitely just read this and be fine.
Also, this gave me shivers like the opening credits of “American Horror Story.”
Dear The Toast: please stop posting from inside my head. For one thing, it’s a little unsettling to wake up and find whatever I read in bed last night mentioned here. For another, it must be terribly damp in there.
jk, don’t stop, I like the surprises and also it tickles.
This is perfect because it elicits the exact same mixture of sorrow, fury and horror as the original.
Also why don’t we use the word “miasma” anymore?
oh goodness, yes. i distinctly remember growing increasingly uncomfortable while reading it and then just needing to sit…and process everything.
Good God! I must read this horrific tale.
YES! So good.
On a related note, Jessica Probus’ ‘The YOLO Wallpaper’: http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/the-yolo-wallp…
Yessssss, thank you. “Dance like no one is watching, except the woman who is trapped behind your wallpaper pattern.”
“When your husband closes a door he also closes the windows. ” I’m laughing but also making this face D:
omg
I’m not familiar with this story, but I just found it online and am going to read it now!
A rest cure done right sounds pretty good though. Would anyone like to Kickstart a sanatorium with me? A $50 donation gets you a note excusing you from chores due to your nerves. $300 gets you a weekend of sitting quietly in the garden with a lap blanket over your knees. $450 gets you a visit from your former sweetheart, who will bravely tell you how well you look, it must be this country air.
It’s called a rest cure, darling
Not a going downstairs cure
Or a using-a-blanket cure
Or a looking-at-plants cure
Or a talking-to-sweethearts cure…
(I occasionally prescribe myself a rest-cure day, and I end up cleaning the kitchen/bathroom by noon, because staying in bed all day when not medically necessary is actually awful for me.)
If I’m allowed to read loads of books during it, fine.
I think I’d have a problem with the rest cure as was where you weren’t allowed to do anything except lie in bed and stare at the walls because even books would excite your natural feminie hysterical tendencies.
I could not love this more.
I am about as creeped out as I was after reading the actual yellow wallpaper!
This is great. And this story is why there will NEVER be wallpaper in my house. The only thing keeping me sane are the beige-painted walls.
I know that John is not GLADoS, yet I read his texts and hear that voice.
“Darling, just stay still a little longer, and I’ll bring you some cake. No, you’ll still have to eat it in bed.”
My face looks like this right now: 🙁 🙁 :(. My sad eyes and frown are three times a normal emoticon. I mean this was awesome and so so depressing, just like the original.
And then where would you be
And then where would you be
And then where would you be
I didn’t think it was possible to make that story creepier…
I thought my day was made by the TATLER post, then I read this, and now I’m just giddy. Perfect.
Oh man, just exactly which feels, I cannot say, but OOF, the feels!
I had a student one time argue that the speaker is in a mental hospital because who has chains in the wall in an attic?
Am I missing something? I feel like I should know this but can’t find confirmation.
My only defense is that I was a medievalist thrown into teaching comp.
AND this was awesome!
Yes. So good. Almost as creepy as the original! “The Yellow Wallpaper” was the first thing I ever enjoyed being creeped out by, and I love when other people love it too.
HOW DI DYOU MAKE IT EVEN SCARIER MELIS
I find great comfort that in real life, after her psychotic moment, she went to stay with friends for a month, came home, asked for a divorce, and moved to California with the baby.
today is my birthday and I’m just going to consider this post my personal birthday present from The Toast, because it is perfect.
happy birthday!
just saw this, thanks!
Another one to add to the ole curriculum for next year. Love it!
This is amazing. So perfect.
“Next thing you know, your dropsy is so bilious it makes ship fever look like barrel fever” happens to me all the time
Since reading novels (while female) was actually, literally, unironically a commonly diagnosed ailment worthy of institutionalization during the period (I think I might have even read that on this site? It helps to remember that mental institutions functioned as a dumping ground for unwanted wives and female relatives, many diagnoses were actually excuses) I kind of doubt they'd be on board with the loads-of-books cure.
I cried laughing, literally there are tears still on my face, at the last “stanza”. The whole thing was brilliant, wow. Shared this and Emily Dickinson with my English nerd friends. Bravo!!!