Before the coining of the term “ornamentalism” in 2018 by Anne Anlin Cheng, the concept was explored by Winnifred Eaton in her short story “A Half-Caste” (1899). The alternation of Okikusan’s depiction as an object or a human being is reliant on movement; in categorizing movement in the story as either organic or inorganic, as well as analyzing the movement between settings that can be labeled the same way, it becomes clear that the motif of movement is a way of granting agency, and stasis as a way of withdrawing agency from the story’s characters.
In analyzing movement in “A Half Caste”, it must be separated into two spheres: organic and inorganic. Most present in body language, organic movement is primarily depicted as the act of looking or the act of speaking in the short story. Between people, looking is an act of engagement – it is reciprocated. In the case of Hilton and Okikusan, however, looking becomes an action used to alienate or objectify the other person. Upon their first encounter, Hilton is enamored by the image of Okikusan when she waits on him, “softly looking unutterable things at her out of his deep gray eyes” (4). Looking becomes a means to objectify Okikusan, rendering her true feelings of resentment for Hilton invisible, as he is simply preoccupied with her image. “Unutterable things” implies something dark, perverted, and subconscious – a truly personal and organic thought. As a white male, Hilton holds the dominant gaze, and thus power in his ability to “other” the Japanese women he has encountered. This power to alienate, however, is reversed in Hilton’s penultimate moment of discovery that she is his daughter; after he confesses his so-called love for her, Okikusan returns the alienating gaze to Hilton, the narrator stating that “the girl’s eyes were fixed full on his face. He caught the elfish, searching full gaze, and for a moment released her” (7). Having been viewed as an object throughout the entirety of the story, it is this organic act of looking that allows Okikusan to take control of her narrative. The repetition of the word “full” emphasizes her status as a human, rather than a collection of fragmented Japanese aesthetics as Hilton sees her. It is in the act of looking that actually forces him to pause, and let go of her – because he sees her as a person. This organic act is most often accompanied by or contradicted by speech.
In line with organic movement is the act of speaking, which also holds the capacity to present characters as human or object. It is a uniquely human ability, and thus it is crucial in considering the objectification of Okikusan. The language barrier is one major example of this; Hilton is in love with what her speech connotes as a Japanese woman. Her voice is fetishized, and thus she is reified: “Her broken English was prettier than anything he had ever heard” (4). Because she cannot speak the same language as him, she is not provided with humanity nor the agency to voice herself. The word “prettier” in referencing something that is “heard” (i.e. her English) highlights that he is only seeing her voice, rather than hearing her. Her speech holds no power. In another reversal of alienation, however, Hilton’s agency is later rescinded upon his moment of anagnorisis. The narrator states that “The man could not speak. He stood looking out in front of him with a pitiful look of horror, and only half comprehension on his face” (8). Okikusan is humanized in her monologue in the field, whereas Hilton is left speechless and stagnant – “he stood looking”. All he is capable of is looking at Okikusan, and his lack of power is shown in his inability to move or speak fluently. They have effectively switched roles. These acts of organic movement are then contrasted by the inorganic.
For all intents and purposes, inorganic movement translates primarily to choreography in “A Half Caste”, which functions as a way to deny Okikusan agency. For a majority of their interactions, Hilton and Okikusan are within the confines of the tea-house, and he is simply watching her perform. From the very beginning of their reunion, Hilton sees her as a product; they only meet as a result of his desire for entertainment. When Okikusan feigns kindness and service towards him, “Hilton stared at her in amazement. The moment Takahashi had passed out of sight, she rose impatiently to her feet” (4). Okikusan breaks from her fake, hospitable choreography inside the tea-house, and thus shows her organic self. The choreography of her line of work effectively operates as a box restricting her from reaching humanity. This inorganic movement overlaps with the organic act of looking, when “[Okikusan] had started to dance without once glancing at the visitor. By chance her eye happened to fall on him, and with a sudden whim she paused in her steps and subsided to the mats, her little feet drawn under her” (2) . The organic act of looking paints Okukisan as a human briefly, and breaks her from her choreography – but she is quickly returned to her status as an object in the tea-house when she “subside[s] to the mats”. She is diminished in this movement; she is forced to sit stagnant, essentially removing any and all human action. What must furthermore be acknowledged is the rhetorical devices that go hand in hand with organic and inorganic movement.
In exploring movement as a provider of humanity, the prevalent nature similes sprinkled throughout “A Half Caste”, must be addressed, all of them being attributed to Okikusan; one such example occurs when she waits on Hilton, and he remarks that “Now [she] look[s] like a Japanese sunbeam” (4). The likening of Okikusan to nature grants her traits of a living thing, without treating her as a living human being. In saying that she “look[s]” like a thing of nature, Hilton once again imposes his dominant white male gaze upon her, exhibiting his agency as a character at that moment. Additionally, Hilton emphasizes the word “Japanese” despite the fact that he does not need to – he conflates “Japanese” with beauty. This illustrates her objectification, but is turned against Hilton when “[Okikusan] turned and left him, with the same still look of despair on his face and the pitiless sun beating on the golden fields” (8). It is in the second juxtaposition of Okikusan and the sun that emphasizes her agency; the sun is “beating on the golden fields” – Okikusan is fighting back and thus taking control through this metaphorical movement. In a shift of comparisons, organic movement occurs in the scenery and nature around them; the flowers and the sun are personified, giving them human traits in juxtaposition to Okikusan’s lack thereof. In the field, she is described as “blazing in a vivid glory of natan and azalea-blossoms” (7); it is unclear in this passage, however, whether it is the flowers themselves or Okikusan being described. The movement of nature mirrors the movement of Okikusan, emphasizing her status as an object despite the fact that both she and nature are living, breathing things. In examining descriptions of the settings themselves, the viewer can see the manifestations of organic and inorganic movement differs depending on the location.
The nature of movement changes depending on physical location, which can also be seen as organic or inorganic and thus holding the capability of granting or removing agency. Outside, objects of nature move organically. Inside, Okikusan moves methodically and falsely. The tea-house is an inorganic, man-made setting, thus her choreography. In being forced to speak to Hilton, “[Okikusan] still sat on the mat, looking straight out before her, her face unreadable in its cold indifference” (4). She only complies due to her setting, which requires her to act inorganically – to stay still. She is treated as a piece of furniture, with no control, as shown by her “cold indifference”. She cannot perform the organic act of looking in this stagnant setting. Opposite to this, she is able to take agency when she is confronted outside in the field. Free from her choreography, Okikusan is allowed to avoid Hilton: “She saw him coming toward her and stooped down among the long grass to hide from him” (7). This lowering of herself into the grass is a natural, organic movement of the body, and thus a representation of her true feelings. It is also another instance of her being juxtaposed with nature, but it is the difference in setting that allocates the space for her to take control of her narrative – this is seen in her final monologue. Given her setting, she is able to use the organic movement of speech to articulate that she is not simply an image, but a human. She is given distinct features: “thick, shining brown curls” (8), as well as the “white purity of her skin” (8). Okikusan, who thus far has been seen only as a beautiful foreign object by Hilton, is made human and known by the presence of her white traits. Her proximity to humanity relies on her physical action and the assertion of her characteristics.
Although primarily a story depicting the gross orientalist objectification of Okikusan, it is the overlap of organic and inorganic movements and settings that portrays the true nuance of humanity, especially as an Asian woman. There is no pure black and white – there is a spectrum on which we lie, with “object” on one side and “human” on the other. Okikusan is initially a victim of this spectrum, only being perceived by the dominant gaze rather than understood; she is able to break this cycle, however, through the same organic means of looking and speaking that objectified her earlier. Through the depiction of organic looking and speaking, inorganic choreography, and their respective effects in regards to the story’s setting, Winnifred Eaton stresses the idea that our organic selves wax and wane depending on our environment, which in themselves influence our movements as a whole.
