But She Doesn't Look Like a Fiend . . .

If the most significant "factual" books about the case prove unreliable, one might consider turning to the contemporary press coverage to get a clearer view of things. After all, this was on-the-spot reporting. Even if the local papers showed bias, and we know that reporters make errors in accuracy, surveying a variety of papers might provide a fair account of people and events, and allow us to judge for ourselves. However, a review of the newspaper stories shows this is problematic too. The reporting scenario is marked by the complexities of economics, attitudes and anxieties about gender, class, and family. It is useful to keep in mind that newspapers are in business to make money, and in the late 19th century, as now, publishers and editors were shaping their product with an eye on the bottom line. News had to be "interesting, entertaining, and diverting" (Baldasty 113). A gruesome murder case with a respectable young woman as the prime suspect fills the bill nicely, and it is no surprise that the papers played it up. The murders and trial received wide coverage, which is reflected in David Kent's Lizzie Borden Sourcebook. This compilation of clippings from forty-three newspapers also shows that contradictory images of Lizzie were present early on.

An enormous amount of attention is devoted to her appearance. This ranges from sympathetic observations to far harsher judgments. The Fall River Herald states that "in the past few days Lizzie has terribly aged," but "from her every movement the woman would be the last person to suspect of the crime" (Kent 38). The New York Herald finds her "masculine looking" (32), and journalist Joe Howard remarks on her "unpleasant stare," her unattractive cheeks "which are over full," and her "obstinate and stubborn" chin (202-4).

Even more of an issue is Lizzie's demeanor, and the extent to which it conforms to standards of feminine behavior. When she shows emotion and distress such as weeping or fainting, as all women in her circumstances should, it tends to be met with sympathy and approval. When she holds her feelings in check, some find her disturbing, and she moves to the realm of "other." Lizzie's stoicism seems to have obsessed everyone, even though it was punctuated by the occasional breakdown. It seems as though contemporary observers were more impressed with the aberrations from the female stereotype, and these left a lingering image. For example, daily reports in the New York Times during the trial describe her as "self-possessed" ("Borden Murder"), "calm and unmoved as ever" ("Lizzie...Faint"), "calm and self-possessed" ("More Talk"). There is an interesting complication marking the reporting scenario. The press is caught between two types of gender bias. Because Lizzie is a woman, there must be attention to her looks and femininity. Any hint of hysteria or emotion, or deviation from conventional responses must be noted. But she is accused of two grisly murders, and the ruthless binary formula of horror requires indirect masculinization (looks and behavior) of the culprit. Hence we see these perspectives coexisting uneasily in the stories of reporters, and they helped to shape the legend as well.

Attempts to uncover Lizzie's personality had mixed results. Interviews of her relatives paint a consistently unflattering portrait of her. Lizzie's uncle John Morse calls her "peculiar" (Kent 31-2), as does her cousin Henrietta (48). Even the devoted and loyal Emma agreed. When she broke her long silence and gave an interview in 1913, she reiterated her belief in her sister's innocence, but added that "Lizzie is queer" (337). Even worse were the words of uncle Hiram Harrington, who was married to Andrew's only sister. Obviously, there was no love lost between Hiram and Lizzie. His comments shortly after the murders were reported widely, and resonate in many Borden texts. They were devastating, and provided fodder for Lizzie's enemies. The woman he describes is surly, greedy, ambitious, and combative. Some of the choice phrases describing his niece are "haughty and domineering," "repellant disposition," "sulky," and "bitter" (27-8). On the other hand, Lizzie's friends thought her a paragon of womanhood. They praised her "church work, her modesty of manner, unswerving sincerity, gentle forbearance and aspirations to be and do all that is best and right in life" (14-5).

It is hard to reconcile these opposing versions of Lizzie, and of course this strict binary image unravels under close scrutiny. However, it remains a strong element in the archive from which the popular images of Lizzie are created. Reporters also contributed versions of Lizzie which were influenced by familiar narrative conventions. The correspondent for the Boston Herald refers to her as "the Puritan maiden" who steeled herself against adversity, but broke down when Mr. Jennings, one of her lawyers, spoke eloquently and kindly about her life and reputation. Her old friend "championed her cause with an ancient knight's consideration for her sex and herself" (287-8). Lizzie's gender and social position indeed cast her as a damsel in distress, an image with great appeal for readers. Along the same lines, a New York Times editorial after the verdict ("Lizzie...Acquitted") calls Lizzie a "most unfortunately and cruelly persecuted woman" victimized by the "inept and stupid and muddleheaded" police in Fall River. Class plays a part here as well. Lizzie's acquittal was a reaffirmation of the status quo, and most newspapers praised the verdict. After all, "through its routine practices and claims of news professionals to arbitrate knowledge and to present factual accounts, news legitimates the status quo" (Tuchman 14). Surely it must have been consoling to think that this "girl" did not murder her parents, and that the American family was safe from ambitious, irritable spinster daughters. It must have been gratifying to see the American system of justice unfold majestically to a satisfactory conclusion. And it must have been a relief to see affirmed in no uncertain terms that the "better" classes do not behave like common criminals.

But something happened. The favorable response to Lizzie began to change rapidly. Her former allies and defenders wanted only silence, and some shunned her, while her critics continued to speak out. As time went by, she became a villain in the popular view, despite the fact that her person was immaculate minutes after her father's murder and no weapon was ever found. Perception dictates one image, but imagination another, and so she became and remains the lady who took an axe and gave her parents all those whacks. It might also be that the very presence of the incongruencies in the picture of Lizzie influenced the adoption of the familiar iconic figure. She was not consistently shown as the wronged, romantic heroine; fissures appeared, and they took over. In the arena of popular culture, institutions such as the press play a leading role, usually dedicated to preserving the status quo. The press tried in the Borden case, but was unsuccessful in maintaining the desired effect. The consumers of popular culture do not just passively accept an image; sometimes they resist, and sometimes they create as well. In this instance, they also resisted the attempts of other powerful institutions to keep the lid on the Borden affair. The court declared her innocent, and both her church and her socially prominent friends maintained that she was wrongly accused, but to no avail. This interesting phenomenon is a good example of heteroglossia, a term used by Mikhail Bakhtin for "linguistic centrifugal forces and their products." He saw the cultural world traversed by "centripetal (or `official') and centrifugal (or `unofficial') forces. The former seek to impose order on an essentially heterogeneous and messy world; the latter either purposefully or for no particular reason continually disrupt that order" (Morson 30). Bakhtin discusses heteroglossia as an element in stylistics of the novel, but his ideas also have a wider application to cultural criticism. And so we witness various institutions trying to impose "official" meanings on the events in Fall River, only to be defeated by "unofficial" versions which took root among the population at large. The "social diversity of speech types" (Bakhtin 263) and the clamor of many voices are factors in the texts which have proliferated over the years, and they complicate the seemingly straightforward image of our venerable murderess. One thing is certain-- Lizzie exists for us as an agent of disruption, and that is one reason she captures our gaze.

Disruption also marks expectations about "truth" and history and the biographical subject. The "objective" reporting by the press proves to be governed by economic and social concerns, not to mention narrative conventions. Later, the biographers, working in a supposedly reassuring "non-fiction" genre, provoke the disconcerting recognition that "non-fiction" is not necessarily synonymous with "fact." Although we tend to invest their books with more credibility than we do a TV movie, the field has become quite level. It becomes obvious that the biographical enterprise does not unproblematically recover its subject. The "real" Lizzie (fact) and the imagined Lizzie (fiction, legend) are untenable but haunting polarities which collapse. If the interviews with family and friends reflect their honestly held views, she was several people, as most of us admit we are when we get beyond the comforting myth of the unitary subject. The imagined Lizzie not only has qualities of the "real," but has also taken on a powerful reality and historical presence. The historical subject vanishes, replaced by representations constructed from various texts, the author's particular concerns and desires, and the author's anticipation of responses and interests of the audience.

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