Now, an interesting point that Frye seems to get at (with his extensive knowledge of every single book that has ever been written) is that what constitutes all of these steps can, symbolically, vary widely between stories and is often highly displaced. This is especially true in more sophisticated and "high brow" tales. Virginity does not always mean physical virginity. However, the important thing seems to be the meaning of the structure behind it. Dr. Sexson mentioned this already in class, and Frye addresses it explicitly in the ever-so-fascinating third section of his book when he says, "It is precisely the elementary facts of structure that we are so inclined to overlook, and the social facts that we are inclined to exaggerate. One of the social facts is that in a male-dominated society a man often assumes that he ought to get a virgin at marriage, otherwise he may feel that he has acquired a secondhand possession. Yet it seems clear that romance, even when it comes to terms with this notion, is talking about something else in its emphasis on virginity" (78). At its very core, what is important about virginity isn't so much the social convention which tells us that nobody wants to have hand-me-downs in love (although this is certainly a factor); this is, at the very most, the tip of the virginity iceberg, and doesn't fly with such perceptive readers as Frye. It is precisely this often exaggerated fact that is as unimportant as it is obvious. There is a very basic structural principle at work here in romance, which lies submerged under the surface of perception in your typical reader, yet makes up the bulk of importance in our virginity iceberg. So the question that now remains is, "Why is virginity so important in romance? Why does it keep showing up time and time again? What does it say about the nature of humanity and our experience?"
I think the answer to this question of what it means to remain chaste, can only be answered by first asking ourselves what it means to lose our chastity, our naivete, and our innocence. And in this, we not only ask it in the literal sense that we find in early stories such as Daphnis and Chloe, but in the deeper sense that Frye mentions as well. This realm of the symbolic virginity goes beyond the scope of single, isolated stories and plucks at one of the threads in Jung's collective human psyche that defines who we are, and defines our identity. If I may quote from page 89, Frye summarizes the nature of our existence by saying, "One of the most fundamental of human realizations is that passing from death to rebirth is impossible for the same individual." We are human, and part of being human is dying. We are born, we live, and we die, which is why our sense of identity is so crucial. To make a Lucretian reference, it is the meaning we create for ourselves, the swerve that comes about in the midst of our linear plunge. So in this sense identity is not only present in the world of stories, but also in the foundational make-up of how we create meaning for ourselves as humans. In thinking about romance we must remember that identity is key. In the pages previous to the above quote, Frye plays off of this idea, and explains exactly why virginity is so important when he says, "Deep within the stock convention of virgin-baiting is a vision of human integrity imprisoned in a world it is in but not of, often forced by weakness into all kinds of ruses and stratagems, yet always managing to avoid the one fate which really is worse than death, the annihilation of one's identity" (86, my emphasis). That sounds to me like romance setting up a perfect imitation of human mortality in a nutshell, and offering a short explanation as to why we feel the need to tell these sorts of stories. When we lose our identity, when we forget who we are, we're as good as dead, if not worse. However, a few sentences later Frye shows us how this same concept ties in with virginity. He explains that, "What is symbolized as a virgin is actually a human conviction, however expressed, that there is something at the core of one's infinitely fragile being which is not only immortal but has discovered the secret of invulnerability that eludes the tragic hero" (86). I think this may serve as an answer to my question at the beginning of the paragraph. To lose our virginity (and not just in the physical sense) means to lose our identity; the two almost go hand in hand. When we lose our virginity, our naivete, our identity, we begin early the slow process of the death that is ultimately inevitable. In the context of romance and humanity's experience, virginity represents that immortal part of our selves that has somehow found a way to cheat the epitome of human foils: death. Much like Scheherazade telling stories every night to the King to avoid sleeping in his bed, so we tell stories to prolong our life, maintain our own virgin innocence, and avoid death.
And it is in this way that a romance ultimately starts to reflect the cycle of human life. Maybe I am stretching this too far or in the wrong direction, but if I may refer back to the pattern that I mentioned in the first paragraph of my post it would seem that it still holds true, except now we have a deeper and richer understanding of how it relates to ourselves. In the beginning there is a spark of innocent love which resembles our human birth and a fresh sense of naivete, innocence, and love of life. Then there are events which cause the separation from this love and cause us to become experienced and lose our naive ways. As a result, we lose a part of our original identity and meet many trials and suffering along the way in an attempt to get back to what we had before. This can be seen to resemble the break in consciousness and descent to a lower world which Frye covers in later chapters where we see a distinct split between the self as a dreamer and the self as a dream character. This descent to a lower world signifies a return to a maternal creator and to our own life source from which we first came. Afterwards, there is the ascent where the spell we have been placed under is cast off, our disguises are removed, the ideal and abhorrent begin to polarize, and an event of recognition reveals to us our original identity, our innocence. From here we are reunited with our true love, our identity, the one who completes us. And there is a consummation of that love and a "happily ever after." Whether or not this consummation results in a rebirth of virginity that prolongs life, or a redemption in death, depends on the story. But it can still be seen as humanity's answer to the inevitability that we all must face at the end of our lives. We're born, we live, we die. All of us our falling, and in the midst of it we must create a swerve.
Of course, Frye puts it much better than I can. So I've decided to close with one of his lengthy examples in an excerpt from page 125 that really stuck out to me. He says, "In William Morris' Earthly Paradise, a group of lonely old men from Classical and Northern worlds gather on an island and exchange the traditional tales that they have known from childhood. It seems the most futile of activities, the work of disillusionment, weariness, and exhaustion, almost of senility. Even the designer of the whole enterprise calls himself 'the idle singer of an empty day.' And yet, we read in 'The Epilogue' that they are not simply putting in the time until they die: they are fighting a battle against death, with some dim understanding that the telling and retelling of the great stories, in the face of the accusing memory, is a central part of the only battle that there is any point in fighting."
Very well written blog. You nailed it on the head with the identity-virginity connection.
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