Tamora as Shakespeare's Female Monster

At the end of Shakespeare's play Titus Andronicus, Aaron the Moor, the architect of the woes of the Andronici, is sentenced to a slow death for his nefarious deeds. Yet, in the closing lines of the play, Titus' son Lucius commands that the dead Goth queen Tamora should be thrown to wild beasts to be devoured. Why did Shakespeare feel that he had to inflict more punishment on a character who had met a grisly fate already at the hands of its title character? The role of women within Shakespeare's plays is an issue which has been often cross examined by Freudian psychoanalysis, with results which illustrate the deep rooted fear with which the men of Renaissance England regarded the female sex. It thus follows that it is not surprising that Shakespeareís Titus Andronicus, one of his earlier works, is steeped with images of the woman as a devouring, all enveloping monster which must be totally eradicated. In this light, Tamora becomes the ultimate object of Titus' hatred and fear, whose destruction must be doubly confirmed before the play can close.

In examing the rivalry between Titus and Tamora, Shakespeare appears to immediately reveal his fear of female sexuality in his choice of characters. Upon appearing on stage, Titus explains that he has lost twenty one sons in his battles with the Goths, yet throughout the play a "Mrs. Titus" does not appear. In leaving out this character without adequate explanation, Shakespeare sets up a situation in which the audience can subconsciously believe that a man has been able to sire a host of children without the aid of the female sex. Thus, Titus is like a heavenly deity, untouched by the taint of human vice. It is left for mothers to be the source of evil in the world, as represented in this play by its only maternal figure: Tamora.

Tamora is quickly identified with being not only a powerful woman but also as one who is lascivious. In her first appearance on stage she is accompanied not by a husband but with her Moorish lover, and she becomes the controlling Queen of Saturninus within the first act. She is a creature whom Shakespeare paints as controlled by lust, both for sex and revenge, who marries for political gain. Yet it is her sexual desire which seems to rule her more, as illustrated in Scene Three of Act Two, in which she entreats her lover to while away a few hours in her arms. Aaron reproaches her for her thoughts, citing that there are acts of vengeance to be committed: "(T)hough Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine" Tamora here is seen as nothing more than a woman controlled by her sex hungry womb, who can only be tamed by the spite minded Aaron, little more than a beast.

In Barbara Creed's essay, Horror and the Monstrous Feminine, the author speaks about how the image of the female body becomes abject to the view of patriarchal society. This, she explains, is due to the theory that it is the mother who is the first thing we recognize as "the other" in our childhood. Thus, the mother is the eternal symbol of the alien, that which is not "us." Our relationship with the mother, Creed argues, is "one marked by conflict: the child struggles to break free but the mother is reluctant to release it... In the childís attempts to break away, the mother becomes abject." Thus, the very image of the mother, and of female sexuality itself, becomes one of horror and revulsion.


It is in Act Two of Titus that Tamora's sexuality is revealed as a deadly force, the images of which crop up continuously. First, in the scene preceding the rape of Lavinia, when the daughter of Titus is pleading with Tamora to spare her the horror of being ravished, Lavinia draws attention to Tamora's siring of her sons:

"When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
O, do not learn her wrath: she taught it thee.
The milk thou suckst from her did turn thee to marble;
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny."

Shakespeare seems to be implying that Tamora's role of the mother is one which taught her offspring to be cruel. Here, it appears, mothers are revealed as the source of evil: In that they pass on their own base nature onto those they bear, implicating all in the primal act of the copulation necessary for human reproduction. Not to be ignored either is the reference to Tamora as a tiger, an animal who feeds on the flesh of others. The mother figure of Shakespeare's play is not even allowed to be human, but is instead a symbol of female horror, whose appetite is mirrored by the popular Renaissance image of the womb that must be fed.

To compound this image, there is the Freudian image of woman as what Creed calls the archaic mother, a figure as old as the earth goddesses which invariably appear in the mythology of ancient religions, she who supposedly gave birth to the entire world. Yet when the image of the mother becomes abject, that which repels us, the archaic mother is almost always portrayed as "(T)he voracious maw, the mysterious black hole which signifies female genitalia as a monstrous sign which threatens... (T)o incorporate everything in its path." This image can be seen clearly in the description of the hole into which Bassianus, Quintus and Martius are all thrown:

"What subtle hole is this,
Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briars
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
As fresh as morning dew distilled on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me."

Here, the connection between the hole in the earth and the image of the menstruating vagina is made quite obvious. Much like Creed's image of the archaic mother, this "subtle hole" devours three of the characters of the play, an act which seems closely connected to their deaths.

This cave, which swallows up men whole, seems to be the center of the pastoral woods: A place which is apart from the patriarchal seat of Rome, almost a shrine to the figure of the Earth Mother. And, while it is Tamora who is the first character to mention the danger of the pit into which Bassianus is eventually thrown, she is able to escape with impunity. Markedly, Lavinia also escapes being tossed into the depths. This is primarily a male fear, as Marion Wynne-Davies points out in her essay "The Swallowing Womb."

"The swallowing womb does carry the promise of death, but for men and not women."

Thus, the threat that the womb of the archaic mother presents is one primarily directed at males. Their contact with the pit, and thus with the taboo sexuality of the mother figure, takes the form of the fear of reverse birth: An act which leads to death.

Unsurprisingly, Titus himself makes mention this later, when he tells Chiron and Demetrius of their fate: To be fed to their mother Tamora, whom he will make "Like to the earth to swallow her own increase." The image of the mother as a devouring monster comes full circle, with her being made to ingest her own children, returning them to the body of the mother. This brings up the connection between Tamora and the vision of the archaic mother within the context of horror, which Barbara Creed says is one in which "The Archaic mother is present... (A)s the blackness of extinction - death... (A) force that threatens to reincorporate what it once gave birth to." Tamora fulfills this role quite sufficiently. Given the sub context of the play, her ingestion of her own children seems almost inevitable.

Given the pseudo historical background of the play, it also becomes important to understand how myth comes into play within the context of the world of ancient Rome. Since it is also the mere sight of the female genitals which provides a sense of dread within the context of Titus Andronicus, we are forced to remember that within Greek mythology, almost all monsters were women. Tamora herself disguises herself later as the spirit of Revenge, which in both Greek and Roman tradition was symbolized in the image of the Furies: A depiction of women as violent creatures who oozed forth foul liquids which we find abhorrent, such as blood. The fact that Tamora disguises herself as this image of woman reveals Shakespeare's attempt to make a connection between his own constructed character and the hideously powerful women of past dramatic works, even those who are not truly human.

Put in this light, the conflict between the terrible powers of Tamora and the seeming sexual purity of Titus is one which can be more fully understood when comparing it to the myth of Perseus and Medusa, something which Barbara Creed draws some attention to. Their rivalry closely mirrors that of the battle within patriarchal society to view male heroes as the origin of civilization and of true human life, while the woman's role in creating life has been repudiated. Thus, even though Medusa's blood gives birth to Pegasus, reminding us that she is the original giver of life, she is reimagined as an obstacle which must be destroyed to allow civilization to exist. The opposite of this is, of course, the god like patriarch who can create without the aid of sex. Using this as an imprint on Titus, the play takes on the aspect of a mythic battle between the reality of our origins within the body of the female "other" and the dream of being molded into existence by a pure father figure. In this model, it becomes very important that Tamora be killed, so that the world can be made safe for the patriarchy. This message still rings true within Shakespeare's world, and is even compounded by the fact that England was ruled at that time by a woman. The need for men to exorcise the latent discomfort that this created, if even only subconsciously, springs forth in this play. Even though it is set in Ancient Rome, it is obvious that the issues with which it deals are timeless as long as ours is a patriarchal society which fears the abject woman.

Of course, not all of the femme fatales of mythology were monstrous in form, such as one which was closely tied to the image of the Fury: Clytaemnestra from Aeschylus' The Oresteia. Clytaemnestra also killed to revenge the death of her own children, yet it was her own husband (Agamemnon) whom she did away with. Women in power in this text are seen as dangerous not so much because they are killers, but because they attempt to subvert the world in which men are the dominant sex. Yet, while Clytaemnestra represents the dangerous ability of women to assume the roles of men, Tamora seems unable to actually do anything without the brain power of her Moorish lover. It is rather the presence of the threat of female sexuality (specifically Tamora's) in which Tamora is heavily implicated in the deaths which surround the gaping symbol of the archaic mother. And while it is Aaron who planned the deaths of the sons of Titus, it appears that Shakespeare will not let us forget what role Tamora plays in their demise as well, the hole in the ground standing in for her own genitals.

In Act Four, Scene Two, Aaron comments on Tamora's womb itself to her sons Chiron and Demetrius. While he reminds them of their time in their mother's womb to protect his own child with the queen, his speech reveals more of Shakespeare's subconscious feelings of fear towards women. Aaron reminds the two sons of Tamora that "(H)e is your brother, lords, sensibly fed / Of that self blood that first gave you life to you, / And from that womb where you imprisoned were / He is enfranchised and come to light." In this analysis, the womb is pictured as a prison from which all men must escape, a place to be dreaded. And, specifically, it is again Tamora's womb which is being discussed here. In connection with Demetrius and Chiron this once more raises the issue of sexual taboo, as it is their own mother's body which being discussed. Part of the fear of reverse birth deals with the taboo placed on sleeping with oneís own mother, a fear which is localized in the image of the motherís womb. In this way, the womb is a place which will reincorporate ourselves into it if we allow it to, dissolving our own identities. We cannot, it appears, escape from the womb twice.

Of course, Barbara Creed's article on the monstrous feminine was written in connection with the staples of the horror film, particularly the film Alien by Ridley Scott. It is in this sense that the ending of Titus Andronicus seems to become quite familiar. Much like Alien, Titus is filled with images of the mother as an object of horror, and takes its form both in the scenery as well as in its characters. It is very appropriate at the end of the play that Tamora be returned to the earth by way of leaving her body out to rot, a way to return the monster back to what it came from. The Alien from the movie of the same name dies in a somewhat similar manner, being ejected into the cosmic void which also represents the fear of woman, who possesses a more literal void. Both Alien and Tamora return back to their origins, yet we wonder how far removed they are from the archaic mother from which they sprang.

Still, Titus is also like the conventional horror film in that the object of terror is never quite dead until the very of the play. Thus, Lucius' command that Tamora's dead body be defiled by wild animals is connected very closely with the need of the horror film to kill its monsters numerous times before they are "truly" dead. Much like the monster of horror films, Tamora's presence rears itself into the forefront of the audiences mind shortly before the closing of the play, even overshadowing the upcoming death of Aaron. As Lucius invokes the "ravenous tiger" whose image has often been interpolated with that of Tamora, we can almost see the dead Queen leaping out at the audience, all subconscious context loosing itself as she returns to life for one final scare. In a way, it almost seems to be a cliff hanger, in which it seems as if the spirit of Tamora and the monstrous feminine will live on far beyond the play itself, even within Shakespeare's own works. For, as Freud suggests, all the monsters of the fiction of patriarchal societies are really women in disguise. And if we are to examine texts such as Titus Andronicus and Alien as examples, the disguise is a fairly thin one.

Starship Troopers

In the past week I have read at least three different reviews of the new film Starship Troopers, all of which seem to have completely missed the point. Surely, they spent a great deal of time expounding on the violence, the impressive computer generated effects, and the bare bones of the plot; but all of them failed to mention anything about the soul of the movie.

The film, which is basically a war drama in which earth is battling a race of giant insects (Termed, obviously, "Bugs") who colonize other worlds by hurtling meteors with their spore on it towards other planets. How this is accomplished, exactly, is not explored, but we generally get the impression that the "bugs" have colonized a number of worlds around their home planet. We follow a trio of high school friends as they rise in the ranks of humanityís military forces, all the while attempting to get the upper hand over the insects, who seem to have many advantages. First of all, they are incredibly difficult to actually kill and from time to time we are left in suspense as we expect a "dead" bug to lash out as it is dying and kill a character we may have grown attached to.

Not that it is easy to become attached to anyone, seeing as the secondary characters are killed left and right. This, however, seems to have a good deal to do with the way this concept was presented to us by the director, Paul Verhoeven (Robocop, Total Recall). We are not watching a movie about the our own individualism versus the cold alien resolve of the "bugs." Indeed, we are instead watching a movie about our own inhumanity and tendency to put the needs of many above the individual. After all, in this future the world is a Fascist State in which one must serve in the military to procure citizenship (One character says that sheís joined up so that she can one day have a baby, a task more easily accomplished as a citizen.), and there are numerous visual references to Nazi Germany among the grey uniforms and lightning bolt insignias to distinguish rank among the troopers. Even the symbol of the new world order is an eagle with its arm stiffly outstretched, reminiscent of the Romanesque Banners which Hitler's troops carried in parades.

Robert Heinlein, who wrote the original novel, had perhaps intended this tale to be a warning about believing too much that your side is absolutely right, and the other is obviously wrong. In his version, written at the height of the cold war, Earth was America, and the "bugs" represented the American view of the North Koreans during the Korean War. Though that particular read has been altered in the movie version, we certainly get a somewhat chilling tale about the nature of humanity. In one of the scenes which resolves the movie we see the "brain bug," a thinking insect, hauled out before a giant crowd of soldiers- All indistinguishable from each other. A psychic reads the bug's mind and proclaims: It's afraid! The crowd cheers. An interesting development that, after we are dehumanized to the point where we are merely troopers, the bug is the only character left who seems to have any true feeling. The roles reversed, the audience leaves the theater oblivious or disturbed. Many people mumble: "What was that ending all about?," "Weird . . ." and even: "I thought we'd get to see them kill all of the bugs."

It is sort of sad to say, but I believe that Starship Troopers just went over far too many people's heads, even though it was flagrantly obvious about its intentions. But, I guess that's not really surprising. It is refreshing to know, though, that you can make an entertaining action movie and still maintain a fairly interesting social commentary at the same time.

Thank you, and good night.

Dear John,

The sound of the traffic in the street below was faint and sonorous, each car's gently humming motor pulling Elizabeth towards slumber. She sat on the edge of the small bed and stared at the letter in her hands with suddenly bleary eyes. The sentence she had been reading for the last five minutes continued to elude her. She realized that she had been staring at the word "irrevocable" for so long that it no longer meant anything. It was just a word among many others.

Her cotton night dress seemed cold and flimsy, though her cheeks felt as though they were being gently caressed by flame. She stood up slowly, delighting at the punctual manner with which her left knee distinctly popped. As she curled her toes into the coarse and tightly knit rug she felt the slightest amount of displeasure on realizing that she was undressed. The mirror above the drawers revealed to her several flaws which she had not previously been thoroughly introduced to. Yawning, Elizabeth entered the washroom.

The cool interior of the small cubicle where the sink and bath were located filled her with a sense of wakefulness. Running lukewarm water over her hands she rubbed her face methodically. She let the moisture bead up on her forehead as she compulsively rubbed her surprisingly frigid nose. Drying her face off with an unsatisfyingly cheap bath towel she walked back into the bedroom, still touching her now clammy cheeks. Slightly revived she took up her place on the bed and let her eyes return to the letter which lay mockingly on the thin comforter. She squinted at it until she couldnít even tell that it was a letter anymore. It might have been an oddly out of place design on the bed's brown coverlet. She then grabbed it with her hand and placed it within one of the folds that made up the geography of the blankets. Sickly, she stood again and proceeded to dress.

The hall reeked of cigarettes, yet at the same time it reminded her of her grandparents' house in Connecticut. The walls were covered with wallpaper depicting exotic birds interlocking strangely. Peacocks and nightingales seemed to defy collision, time and again as she passed door after door. But, as Elizabeth walked, she seemed to recall something that she had read in National Geographic magazine when she was young. It was about crows, and how they would occasionally steal other bird's infants to devour them. She then thought that maybe she was mistaken, that perhaps it was storks that would do that.

"Maybe sometimes the stork eats the baby," she whispered to room seven as she passed it.

When Elizabeth entered the street she tried hard not to wheeze uncontrollably in reaction to the heavy diesel fuel in the air. Across the street sat a true to life "greasy spoon." From where she stood, in front of the nickel and dime hotel, she could see into the filthy windows. Inside there was merely a sad collection of solitary old men, who all seemed to be wearing rough and oily work clothes. The singular waitress was a dumpy middle aged woman with greasy black hair and a tightly pinched sour expression etched on her face. As Elizabeth crossed the street she felt a shudder as the diner loomed above her menacingly. Silver chrome now gone to rust seemed to envelop her as she walked in.

A gust of stale cool air met her at the door, followed by the vulgarly intoxicating stench of grease. The waitress looked at Elizabeth with dull amber eyes and asked her to find her own seat. All of the old men's sorrowful eyes turned to her as she plopped herself down on a vinyl covered chair. Like a mourner in a graveyard she sat respectfully silent in the presence of the dead. The menu before her was printed on faded card stock, the edges of which were worn down from years of use. She chose an item that seemed to appeal to her as she passed over it and then waited patiently for the waitress to serve her. As she looked around the dining room she saw pretty much what she expected a diner would be like. A long bodied creature with a silver and scarlet interior, with a long bar to sit at and a kitchen visible in the back. Elizabeth picked up a complimentary packet of saltines and crushed the contents in her petite fist. At the edge of hearing an ancient record player was murmuring Cole Porter's Buddy Beware, Ethyl Mermanís brassiness muted by the grotesque atmosphere inside the room.

The waitress plodded up to Elizabethís table and asked for her order. "What'ya want?" The waitressís gnarled hand was wrapped around a ball point pen as she awaited instructions.

"I'll have the turkey sandwich and a coca cola." Elizabethís voice was business like and official.

"Mayo with that?" The waitress scrawled a mysterious series of letters over her pad.

"No, thank you." Elizabeth made to turn away but was stopped as the waitress cleared her throat as politely as possible.

"Chips or pickle?" she intoned sharply.

"Neither, thank you."

The waitress moved away from the table and disappeared into the back room. Elizabeth looked up and saw one of her new admirers staring at her with cataract clouded eyes as he spooned a soggy looking cherry pie into his maw. His teeth were practically mauve with decay, and she found herself hard pressed not to gag as she watched the pie turn to mush in his mouth. Instead she produced a charming smile and then pressed herself closer to the window.

Outside, in the street, car upon car cruised by the greasy spoon and the hotel like gentle beasts. Occasionally a lone man or woman would pass by her, and she would try and watch them for as long as she could before they disappeared around a corner, or even straight into the night. They walked with determination as they all strived to reach "point b," that famed destination where all people end up. Elizabeth suddenly felt uncomfortable in her seat and tried to shift herself into a better position.

The waitress brought her meal on a wooden tray. It reminded Elizabeth of when she was sick and her mother would serve her breakfast in bed. She set it down and smiled weakly. "Enjoy," she added as she walked over to an adjacent table and lit up a cigarette.

Elizabeth looked down at her meal. It was not a turkey sandwich. It was, in fact, a ham sandwich with Swiss cheese on rye bread. She stared at the alien item of food on her plate, looking intently at the rivulets of pure fat that ran like streams through the slice of ham. The scent of the cigarette pricked up her nose and she felt her eyes water. Her cheeks seemed to be growing hotter and hotter as she stared at the ham sandwich. It wasn't what she'd asked for. She didn't want it. As tears began to make their way gently down her cheek, she covered up her burning face with her hands and made a small weak noise in the back of her throat.

To her it sounded like a child in pain.