by Sophie Handler, Durham University
Throughout medieval Europe, the most prevailing opinion of the state of children was their inherent sinfulness. The belief in the notion of Original Sin at home in the child, only to be cleansed away on one’s journey to adulthood through a positive, dutiful and pious life, was strong and widespread, such was the power and influence of the Church. The infiltration of Enlightenment philosophy from the eighteenth century onwards turned the world of established European thought on its head. The Middle Ages’ view of the young was characterised by “the temptation to equate the child with the savage”.[i] As close to basic physical and sexual urges as animals, children had to learn to become civilised in order to be considered human, for “childhood [was] merely the life of a beast”.[ii] However, by the eighteenth century, empirical thought had made considerable headway in chipping away at the cultural cornerstone of Europe that was religion, and began replacing it with a more sceptical attitude that declared man responsible for the corruption of an otherwise innocent and pure child. Accordingly, eroticism was no longer seen as something innate within a child, but acquired through exposure to the evil of the adult world; “crucial to the modern conception of childhood as a state of innocence was the notion that sexuality is dormant, or even non-existent, in the prepubescent body”.[iii] This attestation generated a sense of urgency on the part of social thinkers and philosophers of the period to protect the innocence of the young for as long as possible. In complete contrast to the tolerance of the unruly, carnal child of the medieval era, the Enlightenment period saw every effort imaginable to shield infants from the immorality of the world, perhaps to such a degree, according to some, that most anything besides the overtly pure and innocuous was considered a taboo subject, regardless of its natural roots: “Foucault contends that during the Enlightenment people became deprived of certain ways of speaking about sex”.[iv]
It is unsurprising, then, that by the nineteenth century, attitudes to the moral fibre of the child, particularly in relation to sexuality, were muddled and varied at best. Linda Pollock accurately summarised the perplexity of the situation thus: “The mingling of sexuality and purity, freedom and restraint, material indulgence and corporal punishment, in attitudes to and treatment of children in the nineteenth century indicates both the legacy of the past and the increased anxiety of Victorian society with respect to the new emphasis on the responsibilities of parents and educators”.[v] Social reform in Europe in the nineteenth century had launched parents especially into the spotlight of public scrutiny with regards to appropriate care and education of children, which had consequently intensified anxieties over the place of sexuality in the lives of children.[vi] Far from a sensible and considered approach being established, the pressure of the modern age appeared to merely conflate the issue, most often resulting in the projection of two very polarised images of the child, reflecting the paradoxical combination of innocence and sexuality at play: “in nineteenth-century Europe the diffusion and sentimental glorification of the cult of childhood coincided exactly with an unprecedented industrial exploitation of children”.[vii]
Correspondingly, this paper shall investigate the ways in which these two conflicting ideas of the child were represented in the visual culture of nineteenth century Britain and France, focusing on the depiction of the female child. This focus upon girls invites an issue that is something of a crux to the paper; that is to say, the identities, roles and manifestations assumed by children in these examples of visual culture are invariably a construct of adult design, a physical or symbolic ideal or concession to support popular and material culture of the epoch. The significance of the female child arises from the fact that this commodification of the image of the child is intensified tenfold in the case of little girls, who, from a very young age are “prepared to be looked at by another”, serving as a constant reminder that “the feminine body is constructed for display”.[viii] [ix] The ineffectualness of the child becomes enhanced yet further when that child is female, for her powerlessness does not dissipate gradually on the pathway through adolescence to adulthood as it does for boys. She will remain similarly objectified and manipulated throughout her life, having been prepared and worked upon for this very purpose from an early age. Given that childhood in general has been “primarily a cultural invention and a site of emotional projection by adults”, the subject of the female child becomes all the more loaded, meaning that “representing them visually can project adult questions and assumptions about the social order and can place [female] children in a political (and often sexual) economy that is greater than the contingency of the individual child”. [x] [xi] In order to investigate this issue, this paper will explore and discuss various examples of revealing visual culture of the period, including the work of Impressionist artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919), the fairy paintings of British artists John Simmons (1823-1876) and Robert Huskisson (1820-1861), the photography of writer Lewis Carroll (1832-1898), and relevant advertising artwork of the period. By turning to some of the most prevalent yet simultaneously controversial artwork of this era from either side of the Channel, this paper can arguably obtain the most accurate gauge of how the female child was viewed and presented, both in terms of the extremes of artistic license and the representativeness, acceptance and popularity of such artwork amongst the general public.
Whilst in most art historical accounts, Impressionism is hailed as a deliciously treasonous movement, brashly subverting the established style and subject matter of the academic art world, its presentation of girlhood is all too often obedient and supportive of the status quo. [xii] Instead of concentrating on the blotchy, heavily stylised landscapes that gave Impressionism its name and renown, and which were so popular with key artists of the movement like Claude Monet (1840-1926) and Alfred Sisley (1839-1899), Renoir became arguably the most prolific producer of Impressionist artwork in which the focus was people in everyday scenes. From sisters collecting flowers and dreamy boat trips to intimate dancing couples and busy café scenes, Renoir became the purveyor of the simple bourgeois social scene for the Impressionist movement. Indeed, for although his style was decidedly neglectful of traditionally accepted techniques as supported by the Salon, conversely, his compositions often buttressed the approved lifestyle of the conforming middle classes. This is perhaps particularly evident in his idyllic family arrangements of mothers, daughters and sisters, whose leisurely role in the home “emphasises this cyclical reproduction of ideal feminine domesticity” at the heart of bourgeois culture. Consider, for example, Renoir’s Children’s Afternoon at Wargemont (1884), in which three sisters of varying ages are depicted partaking in activities appropriate to their delicately domestic upbringing and future, such as reading and sewing. [xiii]
These pastimes are peaceful and require little or no supervision; Renoir enhances the quiet insignificance of these girls and their activities by carefully blending them into their surroundings. The girl on the left in particular almost becomes part of the furniture; dressed in shades of blue and white and holding a blue book, she becomes camouflaged in the settee upon which she is seated, her chambray skirt fanning out into the navy stripes of the upholstery, which in turn fades into the blues of the wall behind. Similarly, though not to the same extent, the girl on the right, dressed in reds and with a plait of auburn hair is placed before a predominantly russet background. Far from individuals in their own right, these girls, engrossed in their pastimes, are a decorative feature of a blissful middle class home. Subject to the voyeuristic gaze of the adult viewer, they are “put on display as a commodity of bourgeois culture, signifying wealth, leisure and domesticity”, neither their activities nor appearance disturbing the idyll. [xiv]
It is perhaps the youngest girl in the centre of the composition who is most interesting, however. Unlike her sisters, her dress contrasts with the fabrics immediately surrounding her, and she is not wholly engaged with an activity, instead stood slightly nonchalantly, looking out of the artwork and in the general direction of the viewer, possibly meeting his gaze in a more confident, perhaps coquettish manner. Significantly, she is holding a doll, whose general appearance and countenance is strikingly similar to her own; that is to say, Renoir has seemingly painted the child’s face in much the same way as the doll’s, supporting the notion that in nineteenth-century Europe, “dolls had a powerful influence in helping to internalise, on an unprecedented scale, stereotyped role models”.[xv] In order to compete with the enormously successful German toy market, French company Jumeau, founded in the early 1840s, began designing and manufacturing high quality bisque dolls, whose soaring popularity with the middle and upper classes resulted in an explosion in doll sales by the latter decades of the nineteenth century.
Far from an innocuous plaything, the Jumeau dolls became a powerful tool by which adults could project their ideals onto children, for these immaculate miniatures embodied the tiny ladies to which these little girls ought to aspire; “the dolls were as placid and perfect as the parent wished the child to be”.[xvi] Spotlessly manicured, stylishly clad, with engaging and unflinching eyes, sweet mutism and reassuring stillness, the Jumeau doll provided the perfect example of feminine decoration and domesticity from which the obedient and dutiful bourgeois girl could learn, and which Renoir’s portrayal of girls eagerly conflated. The ivory complexion, soft rosy cheeks and bright glassy eyes of Renoir’s infant subjects, combined with their idle and somewhat ornamental positioning in the home supported the aesthetic and behavioural ideal for the little bourgeois girl: “the prevalence of the doll type as a visual standard of children shows that children – girls especially – were being commodified as an essential element of bourgeois spectacle”.[xvii]
To explicate this issue yet further, it is important to understand the potential inferences that can be drawn from the name Jumeau, which translates from French to mean ‘twin’, and thus carries a sense of novelty appealing to a materialistic audience or buyer. This is perhaps best explored by looking to another of Renoir’s paintings, Pink and Blue (1881), a portrait of Alice and Elisabeth, the daughters of Jewish French banker Louis Raphaël Cahen d’Anvers.
Although not twins, Elisabeth was just fourteen months older than Alice, and the resemblance is palpable, further expounded by their outfits. The sisters, like a pair of little Jumeau dolls, are positioned before the viewer in matching outfits, separable only by the pink or blue embellishments, as if to offer the consumer a choice of colour, or indeed the complete set of two: “these children are like commodities on a store shelf, the shiniest of many luxury goods”.[xviii]
Reflective of the paradoxical projection of both innocence and sexuality upon the female child in this period, Renoir’s presentation of little girls fittingly corresponds to both characterisations. On the one hand, she embodies the pure innocence of childhood, partaking in simple, harmless activities, seemingly unaware of the adult surveillance to which she is subject; on the other, she has been prepared for viewing, trained from an early age to perform the appealing and perversely alluring role laid out for her, and which she is thus far unable to fully comprehend. Perhaps then, she personifies the “infantile stage of sexual ignorance (not innocence)”, for she is simply unaware, or at least does not wholly appreciate, the sexual economy into which she has been forced from an early age as an unavoidable rite of passage to womanhood. [xix] This is conflated and muddied yet further by the contention that in some cyclical twist, it is from the very innocence and purity of the female child that her sexual appeal is derived. Given that women of nineteenth century Europe had few, if any, rights beyond those of a child, it is unsurprising that the traditional male voyeur gleaned some sexual intrigue if not satisfaction from the same basic sense of innocence and powerless which characterises the perceived role and image of both women and little girls. [xx] The traditional social expectation of women in this era, namely that they should be “pious, modest, virtuous and chaste” could equally be applied to one’s anticipations of a little girl, a comparison that becomes all the more poignant when coupled with the fact that in nineteenth century France at least, a married woman was considered a minor. [xxi] [xxii] In both life and culture, “young girls and adult men are the preferred couple”, and being that “rich men turned young and beautiful women into ‘trophy wives’ [who were] pampered, indulged and well-dressed, but […] uneducated, led pointless lives, and were little more than rich men’s playthings and status symbols”, it is scarcely remarkable that this deep preoccupation of innocence extended yet further to those most innocent and thus with the most potential for modulation, control and even initiation. [xxiii] [xxiv]
The nineteenth century saw a disconcerting shift in its symbolic figurehead, the middle class adult male. Whilst originally a protective authority, albeit an increasingly curious “voyeur of puberty”, the middle class man was transforming instead into an individual of considerable means and power dangerously captivated by the notion of “childhood innocence sullied by adult intrusion”. [xxv] [xxvi] It was Victorian Britain especially in which morbid and perverse fascination of all sorts flourished, and indeed where “the child-woman came into vogue [as] one yearned for unripeness”, and so the popularity of the bizarrely tantalising art form of fairy painting soared. [xxvii] The combination of the erotic and the supernatural in the art world was not new to the nineteenth century. Consider Henry Fuseli’s (1741-1825) 1781 painting The Nightmare, which, whilst ostensibly depicting a sleeping woman and the demonic manifestation of her nightmare, has overtly sexual motifs running through it, including connotations of violent male libido, conquest and rape of a virgin, and female orgasm. This mingling of the supernatural with taboo aspects of sexuality reached a climax of sorts in Victorian fairy paintings, which offered its viewers an acceptable and accessible way of exploring “a mixture of childish innocence and ripening eroticism”.[xxviii] Once again, the female child is “on passive display, an object of visual pleasure”, and now, instead of a doll, fills the role of a sweet little fairy, disturbingly similar to the ones found in her storybooks, thus partaking in the dangerous, though carefully otherworldly, game of mystical sexual initiation. [xxix] Against a backdrop of advancing awareness of the potentiality of the sexual life of the child, especially in light of “the Victorian era’s cultural fascination with fallenness and prostitution” and the wavering ambivalence towards the eroticising powers of the male gaze, fairy paintings offered an escape into the harmless, fictional land of guilty pleasures: “it often seems as if pictorial fairies overtly acted out what humans only covertly expressed in literature and kept under wraps in varying degrees in real life”. [xxx] [xxxi] By equating the little girl to a fairy, a chaste and miniature being belonging to a fictional universe, she is both protected by the reaffirmation of her innocence and unobtainability in the real world, and eroticised as a sexually appealing commodity to be viewed and sought, instead of appreciated and understood as a person.
John Simmons’ watercolour painting of 1872, entitled There Titania Lies, is just one example of his extensive work on Shakespeare’s fairy queen Titania. In the centre middle ground of the piece lies Titania, the reclining, erotic yet unknowing nude illuminated by her ethereal fairy bedchamber, sleepy, if not sleeping, and angelic. She is surrounded, in the foreground, by a collection of similarly delicate and unconscious fairies, one of whom, in the centre of this protective ring of supernaturalism, is clearly a small fairy child, huddled in the foetal position, the purest of the pure. The dusky background features the vague figure of an adult male approaching; whilst we may assume this is Oberon, Shakespeare’s king of the fairies, this is unclear, and could just as easily be some sort of threatening imposter suggestive of “rather orgiastic undertones, […] of male desire and possession” as he makes his way towards the collection of virginal girl fairies. [xxxii]
A strikingly similar scene is replicated in Robert Huskisson’s painting The Midsummer Night’s Fairies (1847), in which the figure of Titania lies limp and unaware in the light of her purity, whilst a strong and virile knight approaches her from the opaque darkness behind, his white helmet plume aloft as he surveys this diminutive yet invitingly voluptuous child-woman, Huskisson’s use of chiaroscuro emphasising their moral polarity: “sleeping, recumbent, and vulnerable, she is visited by an erect […] youth with a shield […] who has entered her private boudoir”.[xxxiii] The secondary scene in the foreground is a violent one, featuring muscular male fairies battling one another, their lances raised and threatening, perhaps indicative of the all too frequent “sinister spectre of rape or assault [who] lurks in many corners” of the Victorian fairy world of lust, aggression, and prepubescent erotic investiture. [xxxiv] Ultimately, the fixation with fairy paintings points to a need for an outlet through which sexual taboos of the period (which included concepts of bestiality and gender non-conformity as well as the exploitation of young girls) could be safely explored and even enjoyed. Both virtuous and enticing, whilst maintaining a crucial level of fiction and thus separation from the human world, fairies served as the perfect fantasy, the personification of “the ubiquitous fetishisation of girlhood which is at once innocent and erotic”.[xxxv]
More worrying perhaps is the fact that such fetishisation and commodification of little girls, particularly on a paradoxical see-saw combining innocence and sexuality, extended beyond the fictional world and emerged into the human one. Charles Dodgson, better known by his pen name Lewis Carroll, is most renowned for his works about Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865 onwards), but it is his photographs of little girls, in particular a little girl named Alice Liddell, the reported inspiration behind his eponymous character, which is of particular interest to this paper. Carroll spent a considerable amount of time and often photographed the daughters of friends and acquaintances, (consider for example, his controversial child-nudes featuring sisters Beatrice and Evelyn Hatch), frequently terming the infantile muses his ‘child friends’. Whilst Carroll sought and cultivated “the friendship of many little girls”, it was arguably Alice Liddell to whom he was most firmly attached. [xxxvi] The daughter of Henry Liddell, a long-established friend of Carroll’s from the University of Oxford, Alice became something of a muse to the young writer, manifesting herself in a series of photographs, which have, in more modern times, come under significant scrutiny for their paedophilic undertones.
Consider as a prime example, Carroll’s 1858 photograph Open your mouth, and shut your eyes, in which Alice is pictured alongside her sisters Lorina and Edith, one sister dangling a pair of cherries before another who waits with closed eyes and open mouth, whilst the third sister watches. On the one hand, it is simply a portrait of three young sisters, wearing their white Sunday dresses. On the other, of course, it is overtly sexual; from the title of the photograph, suggestive of tactile and sensory games, to the poignant use of the cherries, a symbol of virginity and the relinquishment thereof, in the hands of Carroll as a practiced coercer. Perhaps an insight into the largely secretive and thus controversial relationship between Carroll and Alice, the image of cherry bobbing, just like “an adult male playing with a little girl, carries erotic connotations of sexual initiation”.[xxxvii] Reinforced by the third sister who coquettishly observes the scene, this is an acting-out of feminine, infantile sexuality to a captive audience, a “performance of childhood for the adult”.[xxxviii] Encouraging the little girl to come out and play on this intimate stage is metaphorical of the “titillating attractions of the young girl becoming a sexually mature adult”.[xxxix]
Stretching beyond the realm of art and entertainment, the power of the fetishised girl carried economic sway, allowing the materialistic and greedy heart of nineteenth century Europe to maximise upon her potential: female “childhood was elaborately capitalised”.[xl] Interestingly adopting a similar focus on the heavily loaded symbol of the cherry, British soap company Pears made use, from the early 1900s onwards, of John Everett Millais’ (1829-1896) 1879 work Cherry Ripe.
Originally commissioned by the editor of Victorian newspaper The Graphic, the image proved immensely popular. Featuring a young girl sat beside a bundle of cherries, she is dressed in eighteenth century garb, a nostalgically unreachable image of yesteryear. Her tiny hands pressed together in black fingerless gloves and her ankles are exposed as her skirts bunch around her thighs and hips, suggestive of the curves which will develop beneath the fabric. As she gazes out to the viewer, half smiling, the inference here is that the little girl is ripening just like the cherries. However, her smile is unfounded, for like the other dolls and fairy girls to which she can be compared, her role and appearance is a construct that in itself feeds off its own ignorance: “girl children in particular must not be seen to explore sexual knowledge on their own terms […] they must perform childishness as if unaware of their sexual appeal”.[xli] Once again buttressing the juxtaposition of innocence and sexualisation in which the little girl is passively embroiled, this coy child is unknowingly harnessed for her pubescent sexual appeal in order to sell a product solely for the purposes of cleansing, cleanliness and purity.
A doll, a fairy, or a nostalgic ideal of the past or even one’s own youth, the female child is constructed in a contradictory manner that reflects her lack of natural place in nineteenth century Europe. Her absence of personal or cultural identity as formed on an independent basis conflates her role as harnessed by the beholders of the male gaze. As the miniature version of the already commodified woman, even more ineffectual than her adult counterpart, her existence and image renders her all the more useful to the unbending culture of materiality into which she has been tossed. Perplexed and unnerved by an unfathomable array of historical and philosophical accounts and teachings on the role and morality of the female child, the powerful male populace of nineteenth century Britain and France manipulated this situation, as they did with many others, in order to benefit from the material gains that their influence of careful modulation could afford. Little girls, like dolls and fairies, quite literally became constructions, not so much formed of bisque, fabric and painted magic, as of greed, enterprise and power.
[i] Colin, Heywood, Growing Up in France: From the Ancien Régime to the Third Republic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 286.
[ii] Ibid, 1.
[iii] Jennifer Milam, “Sex education and the child: gendering erotic response in eighteenth-century France”, in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 45.
[iv] Ibid, 49.
[v] Linda A. Pollock, foreword to Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, by Marilyn R. Brown (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), xix.
[vi] For example, the loi sur la déchéance de la puissance paternelle (‘law on the forfeiture of parental power’), which was passed in France in 1889 and essentially dictated that parents would lose their rights as such if convicted of “crimes committed against ‘the person or persons of their children’”. Sylvia Schafer, Children in Moral Danger and the Problem of Government in Third Republic France. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 19.
[vii] Brown, Picturing Children , 3.
[viii] Patricia Holland, Picturing Childhood: The myth of the child in popular imagery (London: I.B Tauris & Co Ltd, 2006), 188.
[ix] Ibid, 188.
[x] Brown, Picturing Children , 1.
[xi] Ibid , 2.
[xii] Renowned figure of the nineteenth century Parisian art scene, Louis Leroy (1812-1885) famously coined the term ‘impressionist’ by way of scathingly satirising Claude Monet’s artwork in a review for Le Charivari in 1874. John Rewald. The History of Impressionism. (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1973), 323. In more contemporary times, the National Gallery (London), for example, defines Impressionism as a “radical breakaway movement”. http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/guide-to-impressionism/guide-to-impressionism
[xiii] Greg M. Thomas, “Impressionist Dolls: on the commodification of girlhood in Impressionist painting” in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 105.
[xiv] Thomas, “Impressionist Dolls”, 107.
[xv] Ibid, 105.
[xvi] King, Constance Eileen King, Jumeau (Atiglen: Schiffer Publishing, 1983), 92.
[xvii] Thomas, “Impressionist Dolls”, 104.
[xviii] Ibid, 108.
[xix] Milam, “Sex education”, 47.
[xx] In the French Third Republic, for example, a married woman was considered a minor, over 40% of French women were illiterate and therefore excluded from education, and those who found employment had to settle for unskilled work for which they were paid less than half of their male counterparts. William Fortescue. The Third Republic in France 1870-1940: Conflicts and Continuities. (London: Routledge, 2000), 83-96.
[xxi] Fortescue. The Third Republic, 80.
[xxii] Ibid, 83.
[xxiii] Valerie Walkerdine. Daddy’s Girl: Young Girls and Popular Culture. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 140.
[xxiv] Fortescue, The Third Republic, 96.
[xxv] Alessandra Comini, “Toys in Freud’s attic; torment and taboo in the child and adolescent themes of Vienna’s image-makers” in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 174.
[xxvi] Walkerdine, Daddy’s Girl, 174.
[xxvii] Comini, “Toys in Freud’s attic”, 175.
[xxviii] Walkerdine, Daddy’s Girl, 140.
[xxix] Thomas, “Impressionist Dolls”, 109.
[xxx] Susan P. Casteras, “Winged fantasies: constructions of childhood, innocence, adolescence, and sexuality in Victorian fairy painting” in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 129.
[xxxi] Ibid, 127.
[xxxii] Ibid, 130.
[xxxiii] Ibid, 132.
[xxxiv] Ibid, 131.
[xxxv] Walkerdine, Daddy’s Girl, 9.
[xxxvi] Iain Mclean. Classics of Social Choice. (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995), 52.
[xxxvii] Diane Waggoner, “Photographing childhood – Lewis Carroll and Alice” in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 152.
[xxxviii] Ibid, 158.
[xxxix] Ibid, 153.
[xl] Carol Mavor, “Introduction: the unmaking of children” in Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud, ed. Marilyn R. Brown. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002), 27.
[xli] Holland, Picturing Childhood, 180.
Brown, Marilyn R. ed. Picturing Children: Constructions of childhood between Rousseau and Freud. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2002.
Fortescue, William. The Third Republic in France 1870-1940: Conflicts and Continuities. London: Routledge, 2000.
Heywood, Colin. Growing Up in France: From the Ancien Régime to the Third Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.
Holland, Patricia. Picturing Childhood: The myth of the child in popular imagery. London: I.B Tauris & Co Ltd, 2006.
King, Constance Eileen. Jumeau. Atiglen: Schiffer Publishing, 1983.
Mclean, Iain. Classics of Social Choice. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995.
‘The National Gallery’. www.nationalgallery.org.uk (accessed 1st March 2016).
Rewald, John. The History of Impressionism. New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1973.
Schafer, Sylvia. Children in Moral Danger and the Problem of Government in Third Republic France. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997.
Walkerdine, Valerie. Daddy’s Girl: Young Girls and Popular Culture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997.