The Girl of the Period, and Other Social Essays, Vol. 2 (of 2) — Context and Discussion

The Rhetoric of Contrast

Linton’s essays rely on a recurring structural device: she sets up an ideal—often a masculine ideal of “calm, grave, restrained” strength—and then contrasts it with a contemporary failing. In “Gushing Men,” the ideal is drawn from women’s own imaginations: “Greathearts with an eye cast Mercywards” or “Goethes with one weak corner left for Bettina.” The failure is the gushing man, who lacks “ballast.” In “Modern Man-Haters,” the contrast is between the “pretty, frail, delicate woman” who accuses men of “the meaner and more cowardly class of faults” and the implied ideal of mutual respect. This pattern of antithesis gives each essay a clear argumentative spine, even when the evidence is purely anecdotal.

A Vocabulary of Disapproval

Linton’s diction is precise and often withering. She describes the gushing man as “all heart and no brains, all impulse and no ballast.” The modern man-hater “ascribes to her own sex every good quality under heaven” and “robs men of their inborn characteristics that she may deck her own sex with their spoils.” The “shrieking sisterhood” is a label that recurs, and Linton uses “nasty subject” to dismiss causes she disapproves of. She favors concrete, almost physical metaphors: “ballast,” “spoils,” “heavy end of the stick.” This language reinforces her authority as a social commentator who sees through pretension.

The Implied Reader and the Target

Linton writes as if addressing a like-minded audience that shares her assumptions about natural gender roles. She uses “we” and “us” to include the reader: “The picture of a gushing creature … is familiar to most of us.” The targets are clearly defined: the gushing man, the man-hating woman, the “shrieking sisterhood.” But she also critiques women who “would rather have brutality with love than no love at all,” suggesting a broader dissatisfaction with contemporary manners. The essays are not neutral descriptions but polemics, and the reader is positioned to nod along—or to resist.

What the Excerpts Leave Unsaid

The excerpts cover only the opening of “Gushing Men” and a portion of “Modern Man-Haters.” We do not see how Linton develops her arguments across a full essay, nor do we have examples from the many other pieces listed in the contents—such as “Sweet Seventeen,” “The Habit of Fear,” or “Hotel Life in England.” The volume’s subtitle, “Reprinted, by permission, from the Saturday Review,” indicates these were periodical pieces, likely intended to provoke immediate reaction. Without the complete essays, we cannot assess whether Linton offers solutions or merely diagnoses. The excerpts suggest a consistent, conservative viewpoint, but the range of topics hints at a broader social survey.

Readers approaching this volume should treat each essay as a self-contained argument, not a chapter in a developing narrative. Linton’s voice is consistent, but her targets vary widely—from gushing men to shrieking sisterhood to hotel life. Pay attention to her use of contrast and her precise, often cutting vocabulary. The excerpts give a clear sense of her method, but the full range of her social criticism can only be grasped by reading the complete essays. This is a book to be sampled and argued with, not swallowed whole.

Some evenings, when I tire of noise, I recall how Linton’s sharp-eyed exasperation—her grid of proprieties—mirrors the quiet fury of Ruskin’s economics, both weary of a world pretending sentiment can be purchased. Their kinship isn’t agreement but shared sorrow. I keep Unto This Last, and Other Essays on Political Economy — A Reader’s Guide near her second volume, like two stern old friends who only speak through me.