The Collector

Frederick and Miranda’s relationship dramatizes the class conflict in England between the upstart working class (which Miranda calls the New People) and the bourgeoisie. As Miranda writes toward the end of her journal, “It’s a battle between Caliban and myself. He is the New People and I am the Few” (255). In their relationship, this class conflict manifests as the lord–bondsman dialectic developed by the 19th century philosopher Hegel (see Background). In this dialectic, which characterizes a specific zero-sum power dynamic, the two parties vacillate between being superior and inferior—a constant battle between class status and physical power.

Miranda refuses to yield to Frederick’s physical dominance of her, positioning herself as the psychological winner of their struggle for power. Around him, she adopts the snobbishness she otherwise disavows in an effort to get the upper hand on her captor by using her bourgeois background. In contrast, Frederick wants to adopt Miranda’s class status in an effort to get closer to her. In the first weeks of her captivity, he represses his physical dominance as well. Praising himself for losing his desire to photograph her nude like the women in the pornographic photo books he likes, he commits to a higher expression of class:

I didn’t think about the books or about her posing, things like that disgusted me, it was because I knew they would disgust [Miranda] too. There was something so nice about her you had to be nice too, you could see she sort of expected it (36).

Just as in The Tempest Caliban lusts for Miranda’s virtue, so too here Frederick yearns to internalize some of Miranda Grey’s cultured presence. Frederick’s obsequy makes Miranda feel obligated to correct his inferior ways: “I’m so superior to him. I know this sounds wickedly conceited. But I am. And so it’s Ladymont and Boadicaea [Boudica] and noblesse oblige all over again. I feel I’ve got to show him how decent human beings live and behave” (134). Miranda sees herself as Boudica, the first-century British queen who became a national heroine for leading a failed revolt against the invading Romans. As someone of a higher social class, Miranda feels the nobleman’s obligation—noblesse oblige—to shepherd people like Frederick.

Frederick represents the New People Miranda despises; she tells him “You’re the most perfect specimen of petit bourgeois squareness I’ve ever met” (77). Resentment, conventionalism, and conservatism define this upstart class. Frederick rails against the bourgeoisie for their snobbery, yet aspires to their status. Even when Frederick strikes it rich, his social standing remains mostly unchanged: Money doesn’t equate to class status in England; in London, Frederick and his family continue being condescended to as new money. Similarly, he resents Miranda for patronizing him, yet worships her as a Madonna. Frederick wants something he can’t have, a frustration that expresses itself in violence, sexual assault, and kidnapping. 

Frederick prizes the conventionality of the bourgeoisie, but his version of it is even less aesthetically pleasing because it’s imitative: His stilted speech, kitschy decorations, and overly-formal wardrobe are a poor facsimile of the already bad taste of the middle classes (who themselves tend to be mocked in England for not quite being elevated enough to be upper class). Frederick wants to be middle class and tries to impress Miranda with his taste: “Something I thought a lot about was how I would like her to see my house and all the furnishings!” (47). Even after Miranda condemns his unfashionable décor, Frederick sticks to his poor impression of bourgeois aesthetics, arranging the cottage like “really grand hotel” (81) for the farewell party Miranda requests—an aspiration that betrays his lack of understanding about what English upper classes value. (Hotels are déclassé, unlike stately manor homes, for example.)

All of these socio-economic details seemingly put Frederick on the back foot in his power struggle with Miranda—he is agreeable, servile, and polite, often more servant than warder. Miranda remarks on this reactive dynamic (dialectic): “I always seem to end up by talking down to you. I hate it. It’s you. You always squirm one step lower than I can go” (55). Miranda finds herself forced into the role of the superior aesthete. However, this hides the reality that in their lord–bondsman dynamic, he has total physical power over Miranda. Frederick subordinates himself to Miranda as protection against her condescension and as a way to excuse to himself his kidnapping, sexual assault, and torture of her: If he makes himself nothing, he can pretend to be Ferdinand rather than Caliban. Eventually Frederick tires of subordinating himself and exploits his true power: He chloroforms her and dumps her on her bed: “She looked a sight, the dress all off one shoulder. I don’t know what it was, it got me excited, it gave me ideas, seeing her lying there right out. It was like I’d showed who was really the master” (93). Violence identifies Frederick as superior; a position he cements by murdering Miranda.