Lost Voices: The Perpetual Struggle for Female Narrative Agency in Frankenstein and Mrs.Dalloway

“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” Virginia Woolf once wrote, reflecting on the systematic erasure of women’s voices throughout time. But what happens when even the most pioneering female authors inadvertently silence their female characters? Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, written during the Romantic period, and Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, a cornerstone of Modernist literature, grapple with this very paradox. Romanticism, with its focus on individual expression and the sublime, gave birth to Frankenstein, yet its female characters

are relegated to the margins, voiceless and powerless in a male dominated world. Mrs. Dalloway, written in the aftermath of World War 1 during a time of social upheaval, still reflects the lingering constraints of a patriarchal society, where even Woolf’s progressive vision cannot fully

liberate her female characters. The novel Frankenstein follows the trials and tribulations of scientist Victor Frankenstein as he endeavors to bring a creature to life; however, he soon learns that there are severe consequences for his efforts as his life starts to spiral. Mrs. Dalloway

follows a day in the life of Clarissa Dalloway, an affluent elite woman living in London, as she plans and prepares for a dinner party that she is hosting. Despite their placement in transformative literary periods, Shelley’s Frankenstein and Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway ultimately

fail to empower female characters, reflecting a tragic, persistent struggle for women to seize narrative control across centuries of cultural and social change.

Both novels employ groundbreaking, literary techniques that highlight the societal constraints on women but their execution ultimately reinforces male-dominated perspectives. Mary Shelley, the daughter of renowned feminist Mary Wollstonecraft, was born into an

intellectual legacy of progressive ideals yet lived in a society that continually undermined women’s creative and intellectual contributions. When Frankenstein was first published, it was published anonymously. Mary Shelley’s husband, Percy Shelley, had written a preface that

allowed the novel to gain attention while obscuring her authorship –a reflection of the gendered biases that made it difficult for women to claim ownership of their ideas. This initial erasure of Shelley’s authorship mirrors the novel's male-centric structure, where female voices and

perspectives are overshadowed or entirely excluded. Through its epistolary form, the novel layers male voices–Walton, Victor, and even the creature–over female experiences, effectively silencing women within the narrative. Elizabeth, for instance, is presented and characterized

entirely through Victor’s perspective, diminishing her to an idealized, passive figure whose existence revolves around Victor’s ambitions and emotions. Her role as a companion and eventual victim underscores her lack of autonomy, as she is denied the opportunity to shape her

own story. Similarly, Justine’s trial is dominated by male figures, and despite her innocence, she is wrongfully convicted and executed. The male-dominated judicial system ensures that her voice is rendered powerless, emphasizing the systemic subjugation of women in both society and literature. These techniques mirror Shelley’s constraints as a female writer, suggesting that women’s stories must be told through male perspectives to gain validation. Shelley critiques the erasure of women in her society; however, she becomes entangled in the patriarchal norms she

aims to challenge, as the novel’s reliance on male narrators ultimately reinforces the exclusion of female voices. Similarly, Virginia Woolf, writing over a century later in the Modernist period, faced the question: could women finally break free from the constraints that had silenced them

for generations? Despite her effort to depict women’s inner lives and struggles, Woolf too grappled with internalized sexism, societal expectations, and personal battles with mental health,

her novel ultimately reveals that true liberation remains elusive. Her stream-of-consciousness technique offers a revolutionary window into the internal worlds of her characters, particularly the frustrations and complexities of women’s lives, but it ultimately emphasizes their confinement rather than their liberation. In Mrs. Dalloway, although Clarissa Dalloway occupies he novel’s center, male perspectives dominate key moments, including the ending. Drawing on

her own life experiences, Woolf infuses Clarissa’s reflections on her dissatisfaction with her life as a wife and hostess with poignant authenticity, yet her role remains inescapably defined by the

expectations of others. The final scene, which concludes with Peter Walsh’s thoughts about Clarissa, shifts the narrative focus back to a male perspective, undermining the potential for Clarissa’s agency or liberation—a dynamic discussed further in the essay. Woolf’s exploration of

women’s inner lives, while insightful, stops short of granting her characters the ability to act upon their frustrations. This lack of resolution reinforces the idea that agency remains an unattainable ideal, even in the socially experimental Modernist period. Together, Shelley and

Woolf highlight how even the most innovative techniques–whether the layered narration of Frankenstein or the introspective depth of Mrs. Dalloway–can inadvertently reinforce the dominance of male voices, illustrating a tragic continuity in the marginalization of women’s

stories across time and literary movements.

Shelley’s Frankenstein perpetuates anti-feminist ideas through the marginalization of female characters and their exclusion from the central narrative of creation and justice, demonstrating the Romantic Period’s failure to envision empowered women, despite feminists

like Mary Wollstonecraft’s contributions. Elizabeth Lavenza, presented as a passive figure, embodies this marginalization. She exists primarily to serve Victor’s emotional needs and is even described as “docile and good tempered, yet gay and playful as a summer insect ....she appeared

the most fragile creature in the world” (22). This depiction reduces Elizabeth to a decorative presence—delicate and fleeting, like an insect whose worth lies only in its transitory beauty. Shelley’s diction, particularly the use of words like “docile” and “fragile”, underscore Elizabeth’s subservience and lack of agency, painting her as an idealized, yet powerless figure. The repetition of these descriptors emphasizes her delicacy and playfulness, conforming her role to that of a pleasing, ornamental companion rather than an individual with autonomy. Her role

within the narrative is confined to supporting Victor’s ambitions, and her tragic death further emphasizes her inability to assert control over her life. By relegating Elizabeth as a passive object, Shelley critiques the patriarchy, yet also reinforces it by failing to grant Elizabeth any

narrative control. Similarly, Justine Moritz’s wrongful execution highlights the silencing and subjugation of women within the male-dominated framework of the novel. Justine laments, “I did confess, but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain absolution.....Ever since I was

condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was” (60). Shelley’s choice of words like “besieged” and “menaced” conveys the overwhelming pressure Justine faces from male authorities, stripping her of the ability to defend herself. The dual meaning of the word “monster” emphasizes her internalized guilt of the crime she did not commit, while also reflecting her dehumanization by the patriarchal system. Shelley’s decision to frame Justine’s story through Victor’s perspective mirrors the broader societal exclusion of women from positions of intellectual and creative power. Justine’s ultimate execution becomes a silent commentary on the erasure of women’s voices, as her story ends without justice or vindication. Victor’s monopolization of creation, bypassing women entirely, exemplifies the most overt erasure of female agency. By assuming the role of creator, Victor excluded women from the act of life-giving and thus seizes control over a

narrative traditionally associated with femininity. His predatory language–“I pursued nature to her hiding places” (36)–casts nature itself, often gendered as female, as something to be subdued and conquered. The word “pursued” evokes an unsettling dominance, suggesting that Victor’s

creation is not a celebration of human ingenuity but rather an assertion of male superiority over the maternal and natural processes. Shelley powerfully critiques Victor’s hubris by showing the devastating consequences of his actions: the death of his loved ones, his descent into isolation, and the misery he endures. This depiction could be read as a condemnation of male ambition and its disregard for the natural processes; however, even as Shelley critiques this drive for control,

her narrative sidelines the voices of women entirely. The destruction wrought by Victor’s creation is presented solely through his perspective, leaving women like Elizabeth and Justine as collateral damage with no power to shape their own stories. Through Elizabeth's objectification,

Justine’s coerced confession, and Victor’s exclusion of women from creation, Shelley critiques the patriarchal structures of her time while simultaneously perpetuating them. While Shelley reveals the consequences of male ambition and power, her failure to grant female characters narrative authority leaves Frankenstein deeply steeped in patriarchal values.

Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway delves into the internal struggles of women in a patriarchal society, yet ultimately reinforces their inability to define themselves or claim control over their narratives. Despite moments of ambition and introspection, none of the female characters in the novel achieve genuine agency, illustrating that their lives are confined to societal expectations with no real escape. Lady Bruton’s luncheon scene vividly encapsulates this dynamic. Although Lady Bruton is portrayed as an ambitious and capable woman with political

ideas, she defers to Richard Dalloway and Hugh Whitbread to help her draft a letter, but Hugh takes complete control: “carefully writing capital letters with rings round them in the margin” and transforming her ideas into “sense, to grammar such as the editor of the Times, Lady Bruton

felt, watching the marvellous transformation, must respect” (78). Woolf’s diction here, particularly words like “marvellously” and “transformation” satirizes Hugh’s patronizing role, implying that women’s voices require male refinement to gain respect. However, Lady Bruton’s admiration and reliance on Hugh’s work reinforces how she accepts the notion that her voice is inadequate without male refinement. Rather than empowering Lady Bruton, the scene reveals how societal norms strip women of the ability to define their contributions. Lady Bruton acts as a parallel character to Mrs. Dalloway, as they have similar constraints but cannot seem to escape them. Rather than uniting their ambitions in the hopes that they would help each other break free from their patriarchal norms, the characters are isolated from one another. Woolf does not choose

to separate Clarissa and Lady Bruton; rather, their distance reflects the societal forces that prevent women from uniting. The social structures of their time, rooted in class, tradition, and patriarchy dictate their separation, crowding in on any possibility of solidarity and ensuring that

women remain confined to their roles rather than collaborating to assert agency. Once the embodiment of rebellion and individuality, the woman who dared to live boldly outside the societal norms has been utterly subdued. Sally Seton, who once defied the expectations with her

wild spirit and fearless authenticity, now finds herself trapped in the role of a conventional wife, tucked away in a comfortable house in Manchester. The fiery, daring woman who once lit up

rooms with her defiance has been dulled into compliance, her vibrant identity extinguished by the suffocating expectations of her gender: “the luster had gone out of her” (121). Sally ultimately succumbs to the same societal pressures she once challenged—a reminder of how

society crushes even the most daring women under the weight of conformity. Furthermore, Woolf reinforces the patriarchal dominance over women’s stories through the final moments of

the novel, which are defined by Peter Walsh’s thoughts rather than Clarissa’s own. The last words of the novel, “What is this terror? What is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement? It is Clarissa, he said. For there she was.” (137),

position Peter’s perspective at the forefront of Clarissa’s story, leaving her identity defined by his reflection rather than her own. In the final moments of the novel, it is Peter’s perspective that claims ownership of her existence, positioning her as an object of his excitement and fascination. Despite the novel being largely centered on Clarissa’s internal struggles, Woolf’s choice to end with Peter’s thoughts underscores the larger narrative pattern where male voices continue to dominate, even in the context of a female protagonist. The final moment exemplifies how, even in a novel about a woman’s life, the male perspective still claims the final word, reinforcing the idea that women are denied the ability to assert control over their own stories. In the end, Mrs. Dalloway critiques the limitations of female agency, but Woolf offers no meaningful solutions for her characters. Sally Seton, once rebellious, succumbs to the expectations of marriage and respectability, while Lady Bruton and Clarissa, despite their shared ambition, remain isolated

from one another. The final words of the novel, dominated by Peter’s reflection, further cement the notion that, even in a narrative focused on a woman’s experience, the male gaze defines the ending. Woolf’s portrayal of these women’s struggles reveals the tragic reality that even the most ambitious women can be rendered powerless within the constraints of their gender roles.

In both Frankenstein and Mrs. Dalloway's exploration of women’s struggles within a patriarchal society is evident, but ultimately, the narratives reflect a failure to offer meaningful liberation for female characters. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein reduces women to supporting,

passive roles and Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway reinforces women’s subjugation by allowing male perspectives to dominate the narrative. Both authors critique the limitations placed on women, yet neither offers an escape from these oppressive structures, leaving their female

characters entrapped in cycles of confinement. The question remains: when will women finally be able to seize their narratives, to define themselves beyond the expectations placed upon them

by men?

Works Cited

Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. Frankenstein. Edited by J. Paul Hunter, W. W. Norton &

Company, 2021.

Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway: Authoritative Text, Contexts, Criticism. Edited by Anne

Fernald, W. W. Norton & Company, 2021.