Kate Chopin was born in St. Louis, Missouri,In 1851. She began writing shortly after herHusband's death and,
from 1889 until her ownDeath, her stories and other miscellaneousWritings appeared in Vogue, Youth's companion,Atlantic
Monthly, Century, Saturday EveningPost, and other publications. In addition to The Awakening, Mrs. Chopin
published another novel, At Fault, and two collections of short stories and sketches, Bayou Folk
and A Night at Acadie. The publication of The Awakening in 1899 occasioned shocked and angry response
from reviewers all over the country. The book was taken off the shelves of the St. Louis mercantile library and
its author was barred from the fine arts club. Kate Chopin died in 1904.
Sample Chapter
A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept repeating over and Over:
"Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!"
He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which nobody understood, unless it was the mocking bird that
hung on the other side of the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the breeze with maddening persistence.
Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree of comfort, arose with an expression and an exclamation
of disgust. He walked down the gallery and across the narrow "bridges" which connected the Lebrun cottages
one with the other. He had been seated before the door of the main house. The parrot and the mocking bird were
the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the fight to make all the noise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the
privilege of quitting their society when they ceased to be entertaining.
He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the fourth one from the main building and next to the
last. Seating himself in a wicker rocker which was there, he once more applied him self to the task of reading
the newspaper. The day was Sunday; the paper was a day old. The Sunday papers had not yet reached Grand Isle. He
was already acquainted with the market reports, and he danced restlessly over the editorials and bits of news which
he had not had time to read before quitting New Orleans the day before.
Mr. Pontellier wore eye glasses. He was a man of forty, of medium height and rather slender build; he stooped a
little. His hair was brown and straight, parted on one side. His beard was neatly and closely trimmed.
Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and looked about him. There was more noise than ever
over at the house. The main building was called "the house," to distinguish it from the cottages. The
chattering and whistling birds were still at it. Two young girls, the Farival twins, were playing a duet from "Zampa"
upon the piano. Madame Lebrun was bustling in and out, giving orders in a high key to a Yard boy when ever she
got inside the house, and directions in an equally high voice to a dining room servant when ever she got outside.
She was a fresh, pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves. Her starched skirts crinkled as she came
and went. Farther down before one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up and -down, telling her
beads. A good many persons of the pension had gone over to the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's lugger to hear
mass. Some young people were out under the water oaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier's two children were there--sturdy
little fellows of four and five. A quadroon nurse followed them about with a far-away, meditative air.
Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the paper drag idly from his hand. He fixed his
gaze upon a white sunshade that was advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He could see it plainly between the
gaunt trunks of the water oaks and across the stretch of yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, melting hazily
into the blue of the horizon. The sunshade continued to approach slowly. Beneath its pink-lined shelter were his
wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert Lebrun. When they reached the cottage, the two seated themselves with some
appearance of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing each other, each leaning against a supporting post.
"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed Mr. Pontellier. He himself had taken a
plunge at daylight That was why the morning seemed long to him.
"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of
personal property which has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them
critically, drawing up her lawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which she
had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, under standing
took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then
clasping her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her fingers. He sent
back an answering smile.
"What is it?" asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from one to the other. It was some utter nonsense;
some adventure out there in the water, and they both tried to relate it at once. It did not seem half so amusing
when told. They realized the, and so did Mr. Pontellier. He yawned and stretched himself. Then he got up, saying
he had half a mind to go over to Klein's hotel and play a game of billiards.
Come go along, Lebrun," he proposed to Robert But Robert admitted quite frankly that he preferred to stay
where he was and talk to Mrs. Pontellier.
"Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna," instructed her husband as he prepared to
leave.
"Here, take the umbrella," she exclaimed, holding it out to him. He accepted the sunshade, and lifting
it over his head descended the steps and walked away.
"Coming back to dinner" his wife called after him. He halted a moment and shrugged his shoulders. He
felt in his vest pocket; there was a ten dollar bill there. He did not know, perhaps he would return for the early
dinner and perhaps he would not It all depended upon the company which he found over at Klein's and the size of
the game." He did not say this, but she understood it, and laughed, nodding good-by to him.
Both children wanted to follow their father when they saw him starting out. He kissed them and promised to bring
them back bonbons and peanuts.
"Interesting and Timely . . . Chopin's oracular feminism and prophetic prophetic psychology almost outweigh
her estimable literary talents."
--Newsweek
"Chopin shares the boldness in technical experiment and moral relativism of her contemporaries in the 1890s
. . . a writer of considerable sensibility and talent . . . in her stories she worked for breadth. In height, however,
and depth, it is The Awakening that will serve as her passport in to our time and posterity."
--The Times Literary Supplement (London)
"Kate Chopin was long before her time in dealing with sexual passion . . . and the personal emotions of
women."
--The New York Review of Books
Submitted by Publisher July, 2001
Summary
An American classic of sexual expression that paved the way for the modern novel, The Awakening is both
a remarkable novel in its own right and a startling reminder of how far women in this century have come. The story
of a married woman who pursues love outside a stuffy, middle-class marriage, the novel portrays the mind of a woman
seeking fulfillment of her essential nature.
First published in 1899, this beautiful, brief novel so disturbed critics and the public that it was banished
for decades afterward. Now widely read and admired, The Awakening has been hailed as an early vision of
woman's emancipation. This sensuous book tells of a woman's abandonment of her family, her seduction, and her awakening
to desires and passions that threatened to consume her. Originally entitled "A Solitary Soul," this portrait
of twenty-eight-year-old Edna Pontellier is a landmark in American fiction, rooted firmly in the romantic tradition
of Herman Melville and Emily Dickinson. Here, a woman in search of self-discovery turns away from convention and
society, and toward the primal, irresistibly attracted to nature and the senses. The Awakening, Kate Chopin's
last novel, has been praised by Edmund Wilson as "beautifully written." And Willa Cather described its
style as "exquisite," "sensitive," and "iridescent." This edition of The Awakening
also includes a selection of short stories by Kate Chopin.
"This seems to me a higher order of feminism than repeating the story of woman as victim... Kate Chopin
gives her female protagonist the central role, normally reserved for Man, in a meditation on identity and culture,
consciousness and art."
