Stace's Misfortune and the Incredible Power of Names

Wesley Stace’s Misfortune is a thoroughly pleasurable read, despite the fact that it is riddled with cringe- worthy moments forcing readers to both consider the depths of human cruelty and question their own notions of “natural” sexuality.  The richness of the book’s construction transforms what could be considered merely a politically relevant novel into a truly excellent read. One aspect of this wondrous intricacy is the names Stace utilizes, and the manner in which these surface identifications relate to the broader themes of the work.  The importance of names in the novel is revealed within the novel’s title, which itself reflects on the infinite possibilities language presents. Misfortune is drawn from the name “Miss Fortune,” the fond nickname given to Rose by the villagers surrounding Lovehall during her happy girlhood.  However, the title also is representative of the literal definition of misfortune, as Rose does not have the luxury of remaining “Miss Fortune” for long in several senses, and the ensuing destabilization leads to a regrettable series of events. The title deftly encapsulates the variance of emotional tones resulting from Rose’s struggles with identity.

The plethora of interpretive possibilities names present are further explored through the Loveall name.  The name Loveall , like the title of the book itself, offers an array of connections to the story and the family which bears it.  Lady Loveall, who dies in the work’s first section, certainly does not “love all” or tolerate individuals despite their gender, class, or demeanor. However, the promiscuous connotation of the name- within the heterosexual matrix-  which the family was hoping to avoid when they decided to make the singular version of the name Loveall rather than Lovealls, may fittingly represent Lady Loveall, who reflects on a fondness for the Bad Lord Lovell, an infamous womanizer.   In contrast, Anonyma, the next Lady Loveall, embodies the name’s connotation of tolerance, as she dedicates her life to the work of Mary Day, a poet who advocates for a genderless world contrasting the heterosexual culture intolerant of anything queer in which the work takes place. These many interpretations show that language is slippery and often imprecise, questioning the rigid and coherent ideas readers or characters of the novel associate with names, including gender signifiers.

      Nevertheless, though the relationship between names and identity within the novel is anything but simple, names are still key to power dynamics.  The Osbern children are a fitting representation of this complexity. The family descends upon Love Hall the moment Rose’s gender is revealed, suggesting they have no life aside from biding their time and hoping the Loveall fortune somehow falls into their collective laps.  However, the youth Reliance, whose name would lead one to infer he  is the most leech-like of the bunch, is, in fact, “a less frequent visitor, because, unlike the rest, he had interests outside Love Hall”(279). On a similar note, Praisegod, whose name is suggestive of mildness, kindness, and piousness is described as “the most bitter and relentless” of the Osbern clan able to “justify any evil in the name of God”(279-83).  In contrast, Prudence, the individual who quite forcefully discovers Rose’s true sex and alternative childhood,  the sort of situation her family has been pining for and pinning all of their economic hopes upon, certainly lives up to her name . Guy, Prudence’s hyper masculine cousin and beau, also seems to embody his name through a deep investment in patriarchy. This inconsistency suggests that though names can be true summations or representations of the individuals they represent, oftentimes they are not.  As Prudence and Guy, the individuals whose characters and identities are in harmony with their names, stand to inherit the Loveall fortune many family members covet, one must wonder if there is a correlation between having a fitting name and accruing power, including economic dominance.  It does not take much of an interpretive  leap to translate these sentiments onto gender roles, as Stace repeatedly asserts that gender identity is a product of language through Rose’s struggles with the identity of girl and boy, which for much of the novel are mere words due to Rose’s lack of understanding of the biological basis of the designations and their full cultural context.  The usage of names within the Osbern family seems to symbolize that individuals whose sex matches their gender identity are more likely to be powerful members of our heterosexual society than those who struggle to fulfill their proscribed gender role, a reality that is not as archaic as the carriages of the inhabitants of Love Hall.

Names are also used within the novel as narrative tools to emphasize connections forged throughout its course. The story begins with the tale of Pharaoh, an underprivileged orphan whose only protection from the harsh streets of London is a woman whom readers can assume is an abortionist or some sort of marginalized medical professional.  This woman, a clear authority figure the boy refers to as mother, takes advantage of his timidity and apparent social impairment in order to effectively carry out her work.  This is the first instance of manipulation and exploitation of an individual through the use of the powerful tool of ignorance seen within the novel, and such strategic denials of knowledge riddle the ensuing pages, including the christening  of the main character with the name Rose.  In using the biblical name Pharaoh, Stace highlights the connection he makes between himself, as a writer, and God, and further illustrates the stakes of this proposed parallel. The writer professes his intention to create a complete and coherent picture of the world in which his life has unfolded based on “truths,” with the same authority the omniscient voice of God crafted in the first section of the book.   Nevertheless, Stace also candidly admits the limitations of the truth; after describing his sources of knowledge states, “The rest I concocted”(79).  By reintroducing the name of Pharaoh amongst these sentiments, Stace invites readers to question how Rose could possibly know the specifics of how he ended up on a trash heap, and, in this moment, realize that they also inhabit the role of one who is taken advantage of for their ignorance. One could argue all books put readers into this vulnerable position, but most try to hide this power dynamic.  Stace actually points it out, inviting readers, like the followers of the world’s many Gods, to have faith he will not leads us astray. His frankness is fun and, in my opinion, his acknowledgement of his own power does not make Rose an unreliable narrator, but increases the intimacy between reader and writer.  I, as a reader, am willing to embody the metaphorical role of Pharaoh and try to sort out his use of names for however many pages Stace can remain this interesting.

     - Tracy

Works Cited

 Stace, Wesley. Misfortune: a Novel. New York: Little, Brown and, 2005. Print