Kat McAdaragh

Reading Power Through Marxist and Ethnic Studies Lenses

Literature has always been a mirror reflecting the power structures that shape our world. When we examine classic and contemporary works through the focused lenses of Marxist and Ethnic Studies theories, we uncover not just stories, but entire systems of oppression and resistance. Two works, separated by over a century, reveal how economic exploitation and racial subjugation operate across different contexts: Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) and Maya Angelou’s And Still I Rise (1978).

Wealth and Status in Jane Eyre

Edward Rochester’s backstory in Jane Eyre reads like a guide for capitalist exploitation disguised as family planning. Through a Marxist lens, Rochester’s arranged marriage to Bertha Mason reveals how the wealthy manipulate human relationships to preserve their economic advantages. His father, unwilling to divide the family estate between two sons, orchestrates a financial transaction masquerading as matrimony.

“When I left college, I was sent to Jamaica, to espouse a bride already courted for me,” Rochester tells Jane, his passive voice revealing his powerlessness in the arrangement. He becomes a commodity himself—a younger son with “good race” to be traded for Bertha’s thirty thousand pounds. The families conspire to keep the couple apart during courtship, ensuring “very little private conversation” that might disrupt their carefully constructed deception.

The true horror emerges not just in Bertha’s concealed mental illness, but in the systematic nature of the betrayal. “My father and my brother Rowland knew all this; but they thought only of the thirty thousand pounds, and joined in the plot against me.” This isn’t merely personal duplicity—it’s the logical outcome of a system where human worth is measured in capital. 

Bertha herself becomes a tragic figure when viewed through this economic framework. Her family’s desperation to marry her off before her mental illness becomes apparent reflects the precarious position of women in society where their value depends entirely on their marriageability. Both Rochester and Berta are victims of a system that prioritizes wealth accumulation over human welfare, though their sufferings take different forms.

The arrangement’s aftermath—Rochester’s years of torment living with Bertha—illustrates how capitalist structures create ongoing trauma. He describes being “bound to a wife at once intemperate and unchaste,” trapped not by love or even duty, but by contract. The marriage becomes a prison built from legal and economic obligations, demonstrating how seemingly private relationships are shaped by larger power systems.

Resistance in “And Still I Rise“

If Rochester’s story shows us how oppressive systems trap individuals, Maya Angelou’s “And Still I Rise” demonstrates the power of refusing to be contained by them. Through an Ethnic Studies lens, the poem transforms from personal declaration to collective manifesto, speaking not just for the narrator but for generations of African Americans who have faced systematic dehumanization.

The poem’s opening stanza establishes the dynamic between oppressor and oppressed with shocking clarity: “You may write me down in history / With your bitter, twisted lies, / You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I’ll rise.” Here, Angelou identifies how dominant narratives work—through the literal writing of history that marginalizes and distorts the experiences of the oppressed. The dust metaphor is particularly powerful; what appears to be complete destruction becomes the very substance of resurrection.

Angelou anticipates the dominant group’s expectation with precision: “Did you want to see me broken? / Bowed head and lowered eyes? / Shoulders falling down like teardrops, / Weakened by my soulful cries?” These lines catalog the physical and emotional postures that systems of racial oppression demand—submission, shame, and visible suffering. The narrator’s refusal to perform this expected role becomes an act of revolution.

The poem’s most radical moment might be its tone of celebration rather than supplication. “Does my haughtiness offend you? / Don’t take it awful hard / ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines / Diggin’ in my backyard.” The narrator doesn’t ask for freedom; she claims it, and more provocatively, she claims joy. The metaphorical gold mines suggest that the speaker’s power comes from within, from resources the oppressor cannot access or destroy. 

By the poem’s climax, individual resistance becomes collective liberation: “Out of the huts of history’s shame / I rise / Up from a past that’s rooted in pain / I rise / I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide / Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.” The shift from “I” to oceanic imagery suggests that personal liberation is inseparable from communal freedom. The speaker becomes not just herself but the embodiment of historical resilience.

Why These Lenses Matter Now

Reading these works through Marxist and Ethnic Studies theories isn’t an academic exercise—it’s a way of understanding how literature can both expose and resist systems of oppression. Rochester’s story shows us how economic arrangements disguised as personal choices can trap individuals in cycles of exploitation. Angelou’s poem demonstrates how marginalized voices can reclaim narrative power and transform trauma into strength.

These theoretical approaches reveal connections between seemingly different forms of oppression. Both Rochester and the speaker in Angelou’s poem face systems that deny their full humanity— one through economic manipulation, the other through racial subjugation. Both texts show how oppressive systems rely on deception: the concealment of Bertha’s illness mirrors the “bitter, twisted lies” that dominant histories tell about oppressed peoples.

More importantly, these readings show us different strategies for resistance. Rochester’s tragedy lies partly in his isolation; he faces the system alone and remains trapped within its logic. Angelou’s speaker, by contrast, connects her struggle to collective history and finds power in that connection. She rises not despite her people’s suffering, but because of their endurance.

Literature as Liberation

Literary theory offers us more than analytical tools—it provides languages for understanding power, resistance, and possibility. When we read Jane Eyre through a Marxist lens, we see how capitalism shapes the most intimate aspects of human relationships. When we approach “And Still I Rise” through Ethnic Studies, we witness how marginalized voices can transform oppression into empowerment.

These approaches matter because they help us recognize similar patterns in our own moment. The economic arrangements that trapped Rochester persist in new forms, from student debt that forces career choices to healthcare tied to employment. The racist systems that Angelou’s speaker confronts continue to shape contemporary life, from mass incarceration to educational inequities. 

But literature also models resistance. It shows us that systems which appear natural and inevitable are actually constructed and therefore changeable. It demonstrates how individual stories connect to collective struggles, and own personal liberation can contribute to social transformation.

Reading through these theoretical lenses doesn’t diminish literature’s beauty or complexity—it reveals new dimensions of both. It helps us understand not just what stories mean, but how they work in the world, how they can perpetuate or challenge existing power structures, and how they can help us imagine different possibilities.

These nineteenth and twentieth-century voices speak with urgent relevance in our current social upheaval and economic uncertainty. They remind us that literature isn’t just entertainment or even art— it’s a form of consciousness, a way of seeing and being that can contribute to the work of justice. When we read with attention to power, we discover that every text is political, every story is ideological, and every act of interpretation is a choice about the kind of world we want to create.