Welcome to the Forest of Doors, an eclectic collection of views about culture, politics, the environment, and more. Brought to you by Comrade Broguy—a.k.a. Comrade Rybin, Brotato, and Loreguy of the TerraGenesis Collective. We’ll be making scheduled posts every month and a half (forty-five days) and, perhaps, some unscheduled posts in between. Happy trails~
Shortly after finishing reading what is perhaps Washington Irving's most well-known work, I told my partner, Loreguy: "The thing about reading the classics is they're always so much weirder than the popular conception makes them out to be." The original text doesn't differ much from the tale as I've seen/heard it play out through this or that adaptation/homage seen at such and such a time(s) in my life (so imprecise a time, in such uncalculated moments, that the recollection is swathed in dream). But, while the original is fairly similar to the tale as I've somehow internalized it (the Legend, as it were) it is still weird — and I had already expected something pretty weird to begin with.
The Multiplicity of Ichabod Crane and Sleepy Hollow
Like I said, I don't know when I first encountered the story. I have a vague recollection of Disney's Ichabod — not the Disney film The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, mind you, as I can't say with certainty that I've seen it to completion, and I have no memories of Mr. Toad — no, I just mean Ichabod Crane as depicted by Disney in that particular film. I must have seen it at some point, but I remember nothing save for this unforgettable character design — which, as it turns out, originated in the mind of Washington Irving. I was surprised (read: pleasantly horrified) to discover that Disney's Ichabod was staunchly faithful to his original description, practically lifted from the text.
The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew.
Borderline body horror. A caricature of a human being, perfect for cartoon adaptation. If anything, Disney played down the full extent of Crane's bizarre physique. Irving goes on to say:
To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
In these descriptions of Crane, every detail is meant to emphasize his ludicrous character. When I read the above-quoted section to Lore, he said, "I feel like normally you'd put the genius of famine AFTER the scarecrow..." It's a perplexing choice, to be sure, but that's the point: To end the sentence comparing him to a "genius of famine" would leave a stronger impression, yes, but Irving uses anticlimax to humorous effect.
Irving goes to a far extreme by comparing Crane to a "genius of famine," summoning the image of an unnaturally gaunt and gangly character, with an undertone of menace, as he "descends upon the earth." If the sentence ended on that note, you would be left with the impression of a frightful character. But Crane is not meant to be an intimidating person, so Irving softens the blow by evoking the image of an errant scarecrow, out of place but ultimately harmless. The juxtaposition and particularly the order of these two images is unexpected and playfully jarring.
It's also worth noting, I think, how the combination of concrete but cartoonish descriptions with metaphors paints Crane's appearance in a nearly impressionistic style: more emotionally vivid than realistic. With this in mind, Irving's use of anticlimax takes on another meaning: simulating Crane's impression on the mind. By beginning with the "genius of famine," Irving establishes that Crane is so utterly and consummately gangly and gaunt he might — at first glance — strike fear into the hearts of onlookers. By ending on "scarecrow," this initial impression abates, though it cannot be wholly forgotten, and leaves its marks on the overall image. The scarecrow does not replace the “genius of famine” so much as it macerates it, acting as a solvent. The final product — or solution — is greater than the sum of its parts, and this is because we were given space to process the first image before it could be suffused with the second.
This strange description also serves to set up one of the story’s major themes: the fallibility of the senses as a source of horror and confusion. If a scarecrow managed to "elope" from a cornfield (blown perhaps by a particularly strong gust of Autumn wind) it might appear — at first glance, or from the corner of the eye — very much like a "genius of famine descending upon the earth." The tricks our eyes (and minds) play on us are arguably the main source of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’s supernatural elements — more on this in the next section.
The story is full of humorous descriptions; I wish I had time to highlight them all. One of my favorites is this description of Ichabod Crane riding a horse:
He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings.
Humorous as it remains to be, Crane's characterization can be viewed from multiple angles; he may be more reminiscent of a caricature than a human being, but he is definitely not "flat." His quirks, both in appearance and in personality, are so peculiarly described as to vividly inspire the imagination. In my own experience, while the image I conjured looked and behaved like no person I'd ever met, he still felt human. It is Irving's execution of this character — showing him in different situations — that makes Ichabod Crane leap off the page. Viewing his later actions in light of his initial characterization yields multiple interpretations, adding intrigue and depth to the character.
Take this description of his pedagogy:
Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled.
...he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little tough wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch.
Does Crane read as champion of the underdog, or a teacher on a power trip abusing his position? The implication seems, to me, that Crane identifies himself with the "puny stripling," and may be meting out justice to those who remind him of his childhood bullies — this is a reading I find very compelling, even though it is textually tenuous.
Crane, an adult, seems to insert himself into schoolyard politics by taking a side. It reeks of wish fulfillment. While in the schoolhouse, he metes out punishment disproportionately against the strong, wielding his institutional power as schoolmaster like "the rod" he flogs the kids with. But as an adult, Crane still sees this dynamic of strong vs. weak playing out around him.
Before going on: Washington Irving’s decision to specify the stronger children are Dutch while omitting the ethnicity of the weaker kids is worth mentioning. There is a large Dutch presence throughout the story, overall, though I don't know enough about the context of Dutch-American settlements and interactions with non-Dutch Americans to form a reading out of this specific detail. Still, I think it's likely no coincidence that Ichabod Crane falls for a Dutch girl, Katrina Van Tassel, and his rival for her affections is a burly, rascally Dutchman, Brom, who bears some resemblance to the pupils Crane chooses to bully. The Dutch angle of the story (no, not that Dutch angle) is one that I would need to do more research to explore; it might warrant another essay to elaborate on it.
Strong contrasts are at the center of this story, namely the supernatural vs. the mundane and the strong vs. the weak.
Weakness is sometimes, but not always, conflated with femininity. Crane himself is somewhat effeminate, and I'm not referring to his gangly appearance. Rather, he socializes a lot with women, and seems to get along with them better than the local men. He seems to favor the company of old women, who share his superstitions and propensity for gossip.
He is not without his charms, being somewhat sensitive and possessing a sweet singing voice. His education tends to draw the respect of women, but earns him little from other men. Because Crane's work doesn't pay particularly well, he uses his favor with the town's women to couch-surf and get free meals. Granted, it's not really "free" as he provides soft services in exchange — singing lessons, or babysitting.
Burly Brom Van Brunt, on the other hand, is a mischievous troublemaker, yet admired by both men and women of the town on account of his charisma. Other men vie for the favor of Katrina Van Tassel, but in the end it narrows down to these two suitors who couldn't be more different. That Crane and Van Brunt are capable of competing in the same league is baffling to everyone, especially Brom himself. Brom tries to coax Ichabod into a physical confrontation, in which he knows there will be no contest, but Ichabod is well aware of this and never allows it to come to blows. Instead, he focuses on courting Katrina and for that matter her father, a wealthy farmer whose estate and financial assets seem to attract Ichabod to Katrina more than her fair looks.
Ichabod is smart. He is not physically strong or handsome, but he knows how to play to his strengths, or use his position, in order to get what he wants.
Ultimately, it's not enough. "The strong" triumphs over "the weak." There is a great amount of ambiguity here, but Katrina seems to reject Ichabod. Then Brom, under the guise of the Headless Horseman, seems to run him out of town - unless you take the perspective that the ghost of the Headless Horseman really did kill him.
But then what?
What's the Point?
The issue I've always had with Sleepy Hollow is that, in the end, I wasn't sure what "the point" of the story was, or what I was meant to take away. In what was perhaps the naive simplicity of childhood, I always thought that Crane was truly killed by the Headless Horseman — or scared dead from his superstitious fear — on the way home from the party. This seemed disconnected from the story's love triangle plot, even if Brom told Ichabod the story to scare him, which I think he did in the Disney movie.
But Ichabod Crane is not actually killed in the book, at least not definitively. He's believed dead by the townsfolk (who never recover his body, only a shattered pumpkin and his tricorn hat) but then we have this tidbit of hearsay in the end:
...an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; electioneered; written for the newspapers; and finally had been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court.
It certainly sounds plausible. So things did not turn out too badly for Ichabod Crane... or did they?
The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. ...The schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.
The point of Sleepy Hollow (which utterly escaped me in my youth) is liminality, multiplicity, ambiguity. Like Schrodinger's cat, Ichabod Crane is in a way both alive and dead. To get the most out of the text, we must come to terms with what seems like two mutually exclusive endings.
Consider both of these potentialities as you read the conclusion of Brom's side of the tale:
Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.
Is this the hearty laugh of a rascal, or a murderer? And what would we make of this passage, and Brom’s “exceedingly knowing” look, if we believed that the Headless Horseman was real?
For another example, consider that during the chase scene on horseback, Crane believes he will be safe if he can just cross the bridge into the churchyard, where the Headless Horseman can’t follow him. As Crane crosses, the Horseman, true to legend, halts in his tracks. However, Crane is not safe on the other side, for the Horseman hurls what appears to be his own head across the river, hitting Crane and throwing him off his horse. The head might have been the shattered pumpkin later found at the scene, which would lead you to think this was all Brom’s doing. But then you have to wonder: if the Horseman was just Brom, why did he stop at the bridge? Adherence to the legend? I hardly think Crane’s terror would have been lessened had the Horseman continued to pursue him — getting him to fall for the prank would have been the easiest part, so I don’t think he needed extra convincing.
Ultimately, what is the point of sowing all this doubt as to the fate of Ichabod Crane, when either ending taken to the exclusion of the other seems to leave its own set of holes?
I consider Irving's tale to be like a diptych in stereoscopic 3D:
If you close one eye, you can see a story about a simple quarrel between two men over a woman, which results in the rejection and humiliation of one and the triumph of the other.
Close the other eye and you see the sinister mists of Sleepy Hollow, its shady characters, and its Revolutionary legends enclosing Crane, an outsider, and swallowing him whole.
But you are meant to look at the whole image, with both eyes open, in order to get the full picture. As a kid, I didn't really "get" The Legend of Sleepy Hollow because I had one eye shut; watching the story shift in meaning as a grown-up has been part of the fun.
Instead of an optical illusion, Irving crafts a literary one. Because this is fiction, Ichabod Crane getting spirited away by the ghost of a Hessian soldier is just as plausible as Ichabod Crane skipping town to save face. The endings are both given the exact same weight, and yet the first instinct (at least in my experience) is to gravitate to one or the other. As I’ve said, as a child I gravitated towards the supernatural reading, but as an adult I felt a strong pull towards the mundane.
This is because the mundane version makes for better fiction. You'd think it'd be the opposite, that fiction is the place for the fantastical; I agree with you, but the chief fantasy entertained in nearly all literature is that of meaning and significance, and the supernatural reading just falls flat in this regard. If the Headless Horseman is really a spectral entity rather than a person playing a prank, what is the point of this story? Why include all that about Brom and Katrina? If we try to connect that part of the story to its ending, what did Ichabod do to merit his fate? Was the love triangle plotline an irrelevant preamble, a separate episode, a red herring? If a ghost is really responsible for Ichabod Crane’s disappearance, nearly everything leading up to that point is meaningless and inconsequential; as a narrative, it feels flaky and incomplete.
In the mundane reading, all of the events leading up to Ichabod's disappearance are relevant and connected, which we expect from a well-crafted story. For a while, in my mind, this seemed sufficient reason to prefer this ending, and for that reason I made the logical leap to thinking that this ending made more sense.
But isn't that strange? If the events of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow were real life, the mundane reading would make the most sense, but only because the alternative is impossible: I don’t believe that ghosts are real, so if someone told me a man was really spirited away I wouldn’t believe them. The supernatural reading would make no sense in real life. What’s important, however, is that it would make no sense independently of the apparent irrelevance of events leading up to the story’s conclusion; I might accuse the storyteller of meandering, but I wouldn’t discount the love triangle storyline as false purely on account of being irrelevant to the ghost storyline. Real life isn’t organized like a narrative: it’s full of random encounters. In other words, things that happen in real life often aren't fitting, and things that happen in fiction often don’t make sense. While the mundane ending is more fitting, it doesn’t follow that it makes more sense.
It’s natural to take the full context into account when trying to solve a problem. In a multiple-choice problem on a test, for example, if you can’t recall the answer, you fall back on your expectations of the format, such as that only one answer can be correct. But what if that assumption was wrong? What if you were allowed to circle more than one answer? This is the problem with interpreting literature through literary expectations. It is “outside” — or what we might call “metatextual” — information, and this can lead you astray.
Readers are predisposed to expect fictional events to be meaningful. For a great example of a story taking full advantage of this, see Nabokov's "Signs and Symbols". Readers are nurtured into a special kind of insanity — or superstition, to tie back to Ichabod Crane. Take Chekhov’s gun: Is there any reason why a gun, if mentioned, must go off? Perhaps, but any reason you might give would be purely aesthetic, not logical. By considering Chekhov’s gun, a writer can craft a more satisfying payoff, and a reader may predict the events of an unfinished book. But let’s say we have a story where a gun is shown, but the ending is ambiguous as to whether or not it ever actually fired — let’s say that both endings seem equally viable from the content of the text. You could not argue for the “shots fired” ending using Chekhov’s gun as your premise. That would be ridiculous. In the same way, we can’t argue for the mundane ending of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by virtue of “fittingness.” (It’s worth noting that Washington Irving died in 1859, one year before Anton Chekhov would be born in 1860. I wonder if Washington Irving would have agreed with the principle of Chekhov’s gun? His story seems unconcerned with straightforward setup and payoff.)
In summary, I don’t think The Legend of Sleepy Hollow has a “true” ending. It is a fictional story that doesn’t need to conform to reason, so we cannot rule out the supernatural ending on this basis. In addition, the conventions of narrative we’re all familiar with are not rules, and so we cannot rule out the supernatural ending on the basis that it lacks narrative cohesion. Because this is fiction there is actually no logical reason to prefer a mundane reading over a supernatural one: both are equally plausible, and equally fantastic, because (it's obvious but I can't stress it enough) this is fiction, and the text itself is thoroughly ambiguous. My initial preference for one reading over another wasn't logical: it was purely aesthetic, and that just weirds me out the more I think about it.
What does it say about me that, in growing up, I tossed out the fantasy of ghosts for the fantasy of everything making sense and happening for a justifiable reason? Which fantasy is the more delusional?
I think this is the main "point" of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and why I encourage the "Schrodinger's Crane" reading. If we favor either reading to the absolute exclusion of the other, what we have either way is a disappointing story that doesn't seem to have much of a place in the popular imagination, let alone "American Literature," if you ask me. It doesn't matter if Ichabod is dead or alive or if the Horseman was real or not — not really. If you read the story exclusively one way or the other, tell me: what was the point of reading all of that?
And yes, that question is rooted in aesthetics again — I don’t think we can escape the fact that this is ultimately an aesthetic discussion. But I am still rejecting the idea that an aesthetic argument can serve as evidence to support a specific interpretation of events in a fictional story: only textual evidence can do that, and the text is ambiguous.
Rather, I am using an aesthetic argument to justify my noncommitment to any interpretation of the story itself in favor of a more holistic reading.
The story has good prose and mood, but the narrative at face-value, whichever way you look at it, is just not very compelling. (My idea of a compelling ambiguous ending would be if both possibilities were equally interesting; see Frank Stockton's "The Lady, or The Tiger?" for a good example.) It is literally unconventional in that it thwarts many typical story conventions, which makes it a bit more difficult to enjoy. I could just say The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is bad, but I'd rather be a naively generous reader than an arrogantly lazy one. We need to take a step back, or (to use the metaphor from earlier) look at it with both eyes at once.
And if you think I'm reaching here, I again urge you to read Nabokov's "Signs and Symbols".If you take that story at face-value, it is fairly unimpressive — interesting, perhaps, but it doesn't say much. But if you accept that the craft of the story lies in its encouragement of parallel readings, it takes on new meaning. It makes you a more self-conscious reader, and makes the text more aesthetically enjoyable.
Nabokov's story features the parents of a mentally ill young man, who is afflicted with a conspiratorial sort of paranoia that causes him to see everything that happens to him as significant or meaningful, viewing his own life in terms of the conventions of fiction. Irving's story features the acutely superstitious Crane, who is himself swallowed up in local superstition. If we accept that both stories challenge the reader's expectations of fiction (which Nabokov's definitely is, pretty uncontroversially) then we might have to own that Irving did it with more subtlety and skill.
While we're all aware that fiction is fiction, this is nonetheless a little trippy. We like tidy little narratives and, as early as Aristotle’s time, we've been trying to work out the formula of a satisfying ending. I think Aristotle would say The Legend of Sleepy Hollow lacks catharsis. I think it lacks a meaningful "arc," which might amount to a different way of saying more or less the same thing: the story does not satisfy. We've clearly come to identify various formulas for stories which resonate with humans, but perhaps we've catered to that desire for so long we've come to conflate satisfying that desire with the purpose of fiction itself. Is The Legend of Sleepy Hollow a bad story because it doesn't give me catharsis, a narrative arc, or whatever we want to call that "high" we get from our favorite stories? If we define stories by these criteria, maybe.
Maybe stories don't have to be satisfying, though. Even if it's unconventional, something about The Legend of Sleepy Hollow has had staying power in our collective imaginations.
And this longevity seems unconnected to everything I've just pointed out.
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow lives on, I think, because of its spooky atmosphere and iconic characters, as well as its reputation as an American classic. I think if it didn't have those elements, no one would enjoy it enough to adapt it to film, or spend the amount of time I have dragging an interpretation out of it.
By encouraging parallel readings, Irving might be calling attention to our expectations about fiction, which are not grounded in reality, but in mutually agreed upon convention. But even if this is an accidental effect of the text which Irving hadn’t intended, I maintain that this aspect of the text is what makes it worth engaging with more than 200 years after its initial publication.
The Nice Guy in the Room
I think the most interesting results of leaving the story open-ended are meta-textual, regardless of whether Washington Irving intentionally crafted it this way. But there are some in-text benefits to the Schrodinger's Crane approach, as well. We already covered that the scene with Brom and Katrina getting married, with Brom's knowing smile at the mention of Crane, which we can understand differently depending on whether or not Brom took part in the Headless Horseman incident, and whether or not Ichabod is dead.
I think we can also ask if the story is drawing a comparison between its parallel endings. Could it be that Ichabod's defeat and subsequent embarrassment are comparable to his dying and leaving behind a mournful ghost? I find this somewhat compelling when paired with the idea of Ichabod as a vengeful schoolmaster, getting back at his own bullies by inflicting punishment on others.
A very consistent feature of Ichabod Crane is his understated obsession with power, which manifests as both desire (for example, to marry into the wealthy Van Tassel family) and fear (for example, he often carries Cotton Mather’sHistory of New England Witchcraft with him, and is earnestly frightened by the power of witches). Crane is not a strong man. He is educated, and smart, but I don't know if he's that smart. He is not handsome. He has not been endowed with many gifts, and what he's had he's had to earn. I don't think that in itself is pathetic. I think it's actually quite respectable.
What's pathetic is that it seems Crane seeks out positions of authority to exercise power over others he'd otherwise have no power over. Brom has power and influence because he is physically strong and charismatic, not because of formal authority. Ichabod derives power largely from arbitrary social position. I think it's part of why he wants to marry Katrina: her father is wealthy, and his wealth would increase his status.
It's not bad for Ichabod to want to better his lot in life. But both his position as schoolmaster and, possibly later, as justice, put him in the position of punishing others. And continuing his love of gossip, his stint as a journalist seems another opportunity to express his judgmental side — and to be in the position to judge someone implies superiority. I think he enjoys being in these positions. Maybe it's just me, but I don't see him as someone driven by strong morals — we see that, when it comes to disciplining his students, he does so with extreme prejudice, and I see no reason why he would go on to restrain the influence of personal bias when it comes to his later occupations.
I respect Ichabod Crane’s industriousness and ambition. Putting himself in a position to punish others to air his insecurities is the part that feels pathetic to me.
Tying it back to Ichabod as a ghost: whether Ichabod is dead or alive is less important than the fact that he is unable to move past his insecurities. Because Katrina rejects him he leaves Sleepy Hollow in shame, finding a job that lets him exert power over others with little oversight; or, after he is killed by the Headless Horseman, he haunts the abandoned schoolhouse (notably NOT the spot where he died) because he is unable to move past that place, which allowed him to exert power over others with little oversight. In both endings, he gravitates towards places of power, showing a consistent, unwavering desire to occupy such positions. He doesn’t grow and, ultimately, he never gets over being bested by Brom — maybe an extension of never getting over getting bullied in school, but this isn't textual, (I guess it’s what the kids these days might call “headcanon”) so we'll focus on Brom as a proxy for his insecurities.
But does this make Sleepy Hollow an elaborate tale of nerds versus jocks? Is that really what this boils down to? Thanks, Washington Irving, I hate it.
Seriously, though, rivalry between men who view themselves in terms of the weak and the strong is central to the story. It is about the homosocial relationships (namely rivalries) that arise out of men trying to compete on the stage of "hegemonic masculinity" which posits a man's self-worth in his physical strength and his ability to "get" women and attain status. Note how Crane’s education is worth very little to Sleepy Hollow’s men. However, there is nothing objectively less masculine about Ichabod. Masculinity is subjective and relative, and the standards men have for themselves and other men aren’t always the same as the standards women have for men; we see this in the fact that Sleepy Hollow’s women actually adore Ichabod for the same qualities that other men disparage him over.
In the mundane ending, Ichabod leaves on account of his rejection and subsequent humiliation. While he was made to feel small, his education and perseverance allow him to get a more high-status job, while as far as we know Brom and Katrina just stay in Sleepy Hollow, perhaps happily married.
In this version of the story, Ichabod gets a good outcome: he leads what sounds like a successful life. I am glad this wasn't another story where we lift someone up at the expense of everyone who ever did that person wrong. That sort of spiteful irony imparts the wrong message.
I think it's cool Ichabod has the courage to try his hand at wooing Katrina, even though he knows he couldn't beat Brom if it came down to a fight. But just because he got rejected by the hottest girl in Sleepy Hollow doesn't make him undesirable, and it seems like a lot to skip town over. That, and the fact that he gets yet another job that involves punishing people, makes me think he's still hung up on his resentment towards Brom.
That's the good ending for Ichabod. He gets rejected, but he goes on to find success in life without having to be the strongest or the most good-looking. In the bad ending, or the supernatural ending, Ichabod is dead and his soul never moves on from the school. The only difference between the good and the bad ending is that the good ending involves Ichabod getting a good job; in both endings, he struggles to let go of what has happened to bruise his ego, but in the good ending he just finds a more prestigious place to vent his resentment than the schoolhouse.
Looking at this with both eyes open, both endings occur simultaneously: Ichabod Crane is dead; Ichabod Crane is alive; Ichabod Crane can’t get over his wounded pride, and gravitates towards places that make him feel powerful.
I think we can get a lot out of comparing him to the other ghost in the story: The Headless Horseman. Legend says the Horseman was once a Hessian soldier in the Revolutionary War. The Hessian soldiers were state-backed mercenaries (also called “auxiliaries”) rented out by their government to fight in other countries’ wars; in this case, they were fighting on the side of the British. Crane, perhaps, could be described as similarly mercenary in his motivations: he does not seem to teach for love of children, and he pursues Katrina mainly for her father’s wealth.
The Horseman’s head got blown off by a cannon, and now he spends the afterlife looking for his head. Crane, in turn, is struck down by the “Horseman” (who may or may not be Brom) in a similar way: The Horseman hurls his head (or, perhaps, only a pumpkin) at Crane, striking him square in the head and knocking him off his horse, just like the cannonball. The Hessian’s death is probably meant to be seen as well-deserved; could the same be said for the fate of Crane? Perhaps Ichabod is a restless ghost (or a spiteful justice) because he, too, is looking in vain for something he's lost: his pride, perhaps.
I think Ichabod Crane has a number of admirable qualities, and I don't know if I'm reading too much into what I perceive as a resentment towards other men/boys. But to men/boys (and any gals and enby pals) who feel like everyone is against them: don't be like Ichabod Crane. Don't jump at the chance to be a bully because you have been bullied. Don't treat people as prizes. Most importantly, let go of resentment towards the Brom Boneses of the world. He's probably not your oppressor or anything, he's just a run-of-the-mill jerk, so he isn't worth all the energy. Especially if it gets self-destructive, let it go. You don't always get anything for being a nice guy, but you should be one anyway. Otherwise, you may not actually be all that nice.
By the way, there's old-timey racism in this book.
We’ve covered a lot of weird and unexpected elements in this story, and I guess we’ll wrap up by touching on Sleepy Hollow’s perplexing racism. There's the dubious position of the Dutch in the story, but then there are some pretty weird descriptions of African Americans here, too, just sort of thrown in the mix.
[Class] was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in a tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.
Uhhhh. So the messenger is shown to be exceedingly shabby, that much is clear, but there's this comedic undertone with his "effort at fine language" which is a jab at the man's powers of speech.
I read this part to Lore and he was just as baffled as I was at "having delivered his message with that air of importance [...] which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind".
"What is he talking about?" It seemed like he was referencing some forgotten stereotype, perhaps, but it doesn't strain the mind too much to reason it's something to do with portraying African Americans as servile. The drama with which he delivers his master's party invitations implies he has been honored with some grand quest. While it is another example of Irving attempting to employ mismatched descriptions to a comedic or vivid effect, it doesn't age well at all.
Then, at the party in question, Ichabod proves himself to be a great dancer, and so:
He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear.
This is just straight up minstrelsy, folks, plain and simple.
Verdict
Is Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow worth the read in 2022? My answer is that it depends on who you are and what you're looking for.
If you are an English language or American literature nerd, this might be worth checking out. Same for if you get a lot of value out of seeing "the classics" for yourself rather than just absorbing them secondhand through cultural osmosis.
If you want a story that gives you a snapshot into early America, this definitely fits the bill, and I think you will enjoy it. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was published around 1820, though the story takes place around 1790. The Headless Horseman himself was a Hessian soldier downed in the American Revolutionary War.
If you're a fan of gothic romance and horror such as Mysteries of Udolpho or Frankenstein, this probably won't scratch that itch. Its supernatural elements, while fantastically described, feel more tongue-in-cheek than anything. It is also lacking in the clear sense of morals and virtue which, love it or hate it, are baked into the genre. And look at hard as you want, you won't find the brooding Byronic Hero in Ichabod Crane.
My opinions, ultimately, are mixed. It's a decent story, but I still feel like there's something I don't "get" about it, and if I read it again it will probably be to try my hand again at understanding it.
Bonus: Sleepy Hollow Vocab!
I love learning new words! Here are some I learned from this book: whilom and rantipole! Neat-o!
Thanks for reading! If you want to check out my other stuff, check out my carrd!
Forest of Doors is happy to take submissions from its readers. For inquiries, please leave a comment and send an e-mail to comradebroguy@gmail.com.
Thoughts on Sleepy Hollow
Thoughts on Sleepy Hollow
Thoughts on Sleepy Hollow
Welcome to the Forest of Doors, an eclectic collection of views about culture, politics, the environment, and more. Brought to you by Comrade Broguy—a.k.a. Comrade Rybin, Brotato, and Loreguy of the TerraGenesis Collective. We’ll be making scheduled posts every month and a half (forty-five days) and, perhaps, some unscheduled posts in between. Happy trails~
Shortly after finishing reading what is perhaps Washington Irving's most well-known work, I told my partner, Loreguy: "The thing about reading the classics is they're always so much weirder than the popular conception makes them out to be." The original text doesn't differ much from the tale as I've seen/heard it play out through this or that adaptation/homage seen at such and such a time(s) in my life (so imprecise a time, in such uncalculated moments, that the recollection is swathed in dream). But, while the original is fairly similar to the tale as I've somehow internalized it (the Legend, as it were) it is still weird — and I had already expected something pretty weird to begin with.
The Multiplicity of Ichabod Crane and Sleepy Hollow
Like I said, I don't know when I first encountered the story. I have a vague recollection of Disney's Ichabod — not the Disney film The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, mind you, as I can't say with certainty that I've seen it to completion, and I have no memories of Mr. Toad — no, I just mean Ichabod Crane as depicted by Disney in that particular film. I must have seen it at some point, but I remember nothing save for this unforgettable character design — which, as it turns out, originated in the mind of Washington Irving. I was surprised (read: pleasantly horrified) to discover that Disney's Ichabod was staunchly faithful to his original description, practically lifted from the text.
Borderline body horror. A caricature of a human being, perfect for cartoon adaptation. If anything, Disney played down the full extent of Crane's bizarre physique. Irving goes on to say:
In these descriptions of Crane, every detail is meant to emphasize his ludicrous character. When I read the above-quoted section to Lore, he said, "I feel like normally you'd put the genius of famine AFTER the scarecrow..." It's a perplexing choice, to be sure, but that's the point: To end the sentence comparing him to a "genius of famine" would leave a stronger impression, yes, but Irving uses anticlimax to humorous effect.
Irving goes to a far extreme by comparing Crane to a "genius of famine," summoning the image of an unnaturally gaunt and gangly character, with an undertone of menace, as he "descends upon the earth." If the sentence ended on that note, you would be left with the impression of a frightful character. But Crane is not meant to be an intimidating person, so Irving softens the blow by evoking the image of an errant scarecrow, out of place but ultimately harmless. The juxtaposition and particularly the order of these two images is unexpected and playfully jarring.
It's also worth noting, I think, how the combination of concrete but cartoonish descriptions with metaphors paints Crane's appearance in a nearly impressionistic style: more emotionally vivid than realistic. With this in mind, Irving's use of anticlimax takes on another meaning: simulating Crane's impression on the mind. By beginning with the "genius of famine," Irving establishes that Crane is so utterly and consummately gangly and gaunt he might — at first glance — strike fear into the hearts of onlookers. By ending on "scarecrow," this initial impression abates, though it cannot be wholly forgotten, and leaves its marks on the overall image. The scarecrow does not replace the “genius of famine” so much as it macerates it, acting as a solvent. The final product — or solution — is greater than the sum of its parts, and this is because we were given space to process the first image before it could be suffused with the second.
This strange description also serves to set up one of the story’s major themes: the fallibility of the senses as a source of horror and confusion. If a scarecrow managed to "elope" from a cornfield (blown perhaps by a particularly strong gust of Autumn wind) it might appear — at first glance, or from the corner of the eye — very much like a "genius of famine descending upon the earth." The tricks our eyes (and minds) play on us are arguably the main source of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’s supernatural elements — more on this in the next section.
The story is full of humorous descriptions; I wish I had time to highlight them all. One of my favorites is this description of Ichabod Crane riding a horse:
Humorous as it remains to be, Crane's characterization can be viewed from multiple angles; he may be more reminiscent of a caricature than a human being, but he is definitely not "flat." His quirks, both in appearance and in personality, are so peculiarly described as to vividly inspire the imagination. In my own experience, while the image I conjured looked and behaved like no person I'd ever met, he still felt human. It is Irving's execution of this character — showing him in different situations — that makes Ichabod Crane leap off the page. Viewing his later actions in light of his initial characterization yields multiple interpretations, adding intrigue and depth to the character.
Take this description of his pedagogy:
Does Crane read as champion of the underdog, or a teacher on a power trip abusing his position? The implication seems, to me, that Crane identifies himself with the "puny stripling," and may be meting out justice to those who remind him of his childhood bullies — this is a reading I find very compelling, even though it is textually tenuous.
Crane, an adult, seems to insert himself into schoolyard politics by taking a side. It reeks of wish fulfillment. While in the schoolhouse, he metes out punishment disproportionately against the strong, wielding his institutional power as schoolmaster like "the rod" he flogs the kids with. But as an adult, Crane still sees this dynamic of strong vs. weak playing out around him.
Before going on: Washington Irving’s decision to specify the stronger children are Dutch while omitting the ethnicity of the weaker kids is worth mentioning. There is a large Dutch presence throughout the story, overall, though I don't know enough about the context of Dutch-American settlements and interactions with non-Dutch Americans to form a reading out of this specific detail. Still, I think it's likely no coincidence that Ichabod Crane falls for a Dutch girl, Katrina Van Tassel, and his rival for her affections is a burly, rascally Dutchman, Brom, who bears some resemblance to the pupils Crane chooses to bully. The Dutch angle of the story (no, not that Dutch angle) is one that I would need to do more research to explore; it might warrant another essay to elaborate on it.
Strong contrasts are at the center of this story, namely the supernatural vs. the mundane and the strong vs. the weak.
Weakness is sometimes, but not always, conflated with femininity. Crane himself is somewhat effeminate, and I'm not referring to his gangly appearance. Rather, he socializes a lot with women, and seems to get along with them better than the local men. He seems to favor the company of old women, who share his superstitions and propensity for gossip.
He is not without his charms, being somewhat sensitive and possessing a sweet singing voice. His education tends to draw the respect of women, but earns him little from other men. Because Crane's work doesn't pay particularly well, he uses his favor with the town's women to couch-surf and get free meals. Granted, it's not really "free" as he provides soft services in exchange — singing lessons, or babysitting.
Burly Brom Van Brunt, on the other hand, is a mischievous troublemaker, yet admired by both men and women of the town on account of his charisma. Other men vie for the favor of Katrina Van Tassel, but in the end it narrows down to these two suitors who couldn't be more different. That Crane and Van Brunt are capable of competing in the same league is baffling to everyone, especially Brom himself. Brom tries to coax Ichabod into a physical confrontation, in which he knows there will be no contest, but Ichabod is well aware of this and never allows it to come to blows. Instead, he focuses on courting Katrina and for that matter her father, a wealthy farmer whose estate and financial assets seem to attract Ichabod to Katrina more than her fair looks.
Ichabod is smart. He is not physically strong or handsome, but he knows how to play to his strengths, or use his position, in order to get what he wants.
Ultimately, it's not enough. "The strong" triumphs over "the weak." There is a great amount of ambiguity here, but Katrina seems to reject Ichabod. Then Brom, under the guise of the Headless Horseman, seems to run him out of town - unless you take the perspective that the ghost of the Headless Horseman really did kill him.
But then what?
What's the Point?
The issue I've always had with Sleepy Hollow is that, in the end, I wasn't sure what "the point" of the story was, or what I was meant to take away. In what was perhaps the naive simplicity of childhood, I always thought that Crane was truly killed by the Headless Horseman — or scared dead from his superstitious fear — on the way home from the party. This seemed disconnected from the story's love triangle plot, even if Brom told Ichabod the story to scare him, which I think he did in the Disney movie.
But Ichabod Crane is not actually killed in the book, at least not definitively. He's believed dead by the townsfolk (who never recover his body, only a shattered pumpkin and his tricorn hat) but then we have this tidbit of hearsay in the end:
It certainly sounds plausible. So things did not turn out too badly for Ichabod Crane... or did they?
The point of Sleepy Hollow (which utterly escaped me in my youth) is liminality, multiplicity, ambiguity. Like Schrodinger's cat, Ichabod Crane is in a way both alive and dead. To get the most out of the text, we must come to terms with what seems like two mutually exclusive endings.
Consider both of these potentialities as you read the conclusion of Brom's side of the tale:
Is this the hearty laugh of a rascal, or a murderer? And what would we make of this passage, and Brom’s “exceedingly knowing” look, if we believed that the Headless Horseman was real?
For another example, consider that during the chase scene on horseback, Crane believes he will be safe if he can just cross the bridge into the churchyard, where the Headless Horseman can’t follow him. As Crane crosses, the Horseman, true to legend, halts in his tracks. However, Crane is not safe on the other side, for the Horseman hurls what appears to be his own head across the river, hitting Crane and throwing him off his horse. The head might have been the shattered pumpkin later found at the scene, which would lead you to think this was all Brom’s doing. But then you have to wonder: if the Horseman was just Brom, why did he stop at the bridge? Adherence to the legend? I hardly think Crane’s terror would have been lessened had the Horseman continued to pursue him — getting him to fall for the prank would have been the easiest part, so I don’t think he needed extra convincing.
Ultimately, what is the point of sowing all this doubt as to the fate of Ichabod Crane, when either ending taken to the exclusion of the other seems to leave its own set of holes?
I consider Irving's tale to be like a diptych in stereoscopic 3D:
If you close one eye, you can see a story about a simple quarrel between two men over a woman, which results in the rejection and humiliation of one and the triumph of the other.
Close the other eye and you see the sinister mists of Sleepy Hollow, its shady characters, and its Revolutionary legends enclosing Crane, an outsider, and swallowing him whole.
But you are meant to look at the whole image, with both eyes open, in order to get the full picture. As a kid, I didn't really "get" The Legend of Sleepy Hollow because I had one eye shut; watching the story shift in meaning as a grown-up has been part of the fun.
Instead of an optical illusion, Irving crafts a literary one. Because this is fiction, Ichabod Crane getting spirited away by the ghost of a Hessian soldier is just as plausible as Ichabod Crane skipping town to save face. The endings are both given the exact same weight, and yet the first instinct (at least in my experience) is to gravitate to one or the other. As I’ve said, as a child I gravitated towards the supernatural reading, but as an adult I felt a strong pull towards the mundane.
This is because the mundane version makes for better fiction. You'd think it'd be the opposite, that fiction is the place for the fantastical; I agree with you, but the chief fantasy entertained in nearly all literature is that of meaning and significance, and the supernatural reading just falls flat in this regard. If the Headless Horseman is really a spectral entity rather than a person playing a prank, what is the point of this story? Why include all that about Brom and Katrina? If we try to connect that part of the story to its ending, what did Ichabod do to merit his fate? Was the love triangle plotline an irrelevant preamble, a separate episode, a red herring? If a ghost is really responsible for Ichabod Crane’s disappearance, nearly everything leading up to that point is meaningless and inconsequential; as a narrative, it feels flaky and incomplete.
In the mundane reading, all of the events leading up to Ichabod's disappearance are relevant and connected, which we expect from a well-crafted story. For a while, in my mind, this seemed sufficient reason to prefer this ending, and for that reason I made the logical leap to thinking that this ending made more sense.
But isn't that strange? If the events of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow were real life, the mundane reading would make the most sense, but only because the alternative is impossible: I don’t believe that ghosts are real, so if someone told me a man was really spirited away I wouldn’t believe them. The supernatural reading would make no sense in real life. What’s important, however, is that it would make no sense independently of the apparent irrelevance of events leading up to the story’s conclusion; I might accuse the storyteller of meandering, but I wouldn’t discount the love triangle storyline as false purely on account of being irrelevant to the ghost storyline. Real life isn’t organized like a narrative: it’s full of random encounters. In other words, things that happen in real life often aren't fitting, and things that happen in fiction often don’t make sense. While the mundane ending is more fitting, it doesn’t follow that it makes more sense.
It’s natural to take the full context into account when trying to solve a problem. In a multiple-choice problem on a test, for example, if you can’t recall the answer, you fall back on your expectations of the format, such as that only one answer can be correct. But what if that assumption was wrong? What if you were allowed to circle more than one answer? This is the problem with interpreting literature through literary expectations. It is “outside” — or what we might call “metatextual” — information, and this can lead you astray.
Readers are predisposed to expect fictional events to be meaningful. For a great example of a story taking full advantage of this, see Nabokov's "Signs and Symbols". Readers are nurtured into a special kind of insanity — or superstition, to tie back to Ichabod Crane. Take Chekhov’s gun: Is there any reason why a gun, if mentioned, must go off? Perhaps, but any reason you might give would be purely aesthetic, not logical. By considering Chekhov’s gun, a writer can craft a more satisfying payoff, and a reader may predict the events of an unfinished book. But let’s say we have a story where a gun is shown, but the ending is ambiguous as to whether or not it ever actually fired — let’s say that both endings seem equally viable from the content of the text. You could not argue for the “shots fired” ending using Chekhov’s gun as your premise. That would be ridiculous. In the same way, we can’t argue for the mundane ending of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by virtue of “fittingness.” (It’s worth noting that Washington Irving died in 1859, one year before Anton Chekhov would be born in 1860. I wonder if Washington Irving would have agreed with the principle of Chekhov’s gun? His story seems unconcerned with straightforward setup and payoff.)
In summary, I don’t think The Legend of Sleepy Hollow has a “true” ending. It is a fictional story that doesn’t need to conform to reason, so we cannot rule out the supernatural ending on this basis. In addition, the conventions of narrative we’re all familiar with are not rules, and so we cannot rule out the supernatural ending on the basis that it lacks narrative cohesion. Because this is fiction there is actually no logical reason to prefer a mundane reading over a supernatural one: both are equally plausible, and equally fantastic, because (it's obvious but I can't stress it enough) this is fiction, and the text itself is thoroughly ambiguous. My initial preference for one reading over another wasn't logical: it was purely aesthetic, and that just weirds me out the more I think about it.
What does it say about me that, in growing up, I tossed out the fantasy of ghosts for the fantasy of everything making sense and happening for a justifiable reason? Which fantasy is the more delusional?
I think this is the main "point" of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and why I encourage the "Schrodinger's Crane" reading. If we favor either reading to the absolute exclusion of the other, what we have either way is a disappointing story that doesn't seem to have much of a place in the popular imagination, let alone "American Literature," if you ask me. It doesn't matter if Ichabod is dead or alive or if the Horseman was real or not — not really. If you read the story exclusively one way or the other, tell me: what was the point of reading all of that?
And yes, that question is rooted in aesthetics again — I don’t think we can escape the fact that this is ultimately an aesthetic discussion. But I am still rejecting the idea that an aesthetic argument can serve as evidence to support a specific interpretation of events in a fictional story: only textual evidence can do that, and the text is ambiguous.
Rather, I am using an aesthetic argument to justify my noncommitment to any interpretation of the story itself in favor of a more holistic reading.
The story has good prose and mood, but the narrative at face-value, whichever way you look at it, is just not very compelling. (My idea of a compelling ambiguous ending would be if both possibilities were equally interesting; see Frank Stockton's "The Lady, or The Tiger?" for a good example.) It is literally unconventional in that it thwarts many typical story conventions, which makes it a bit more difficult to enjoy. I could just say The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is bad, but I'd rather be a naively generous reader than an arrogantly lazy one. We need to take a step back, or (to use the metaphor from earlier) look at it with both eyes at once.
And if you think I'm reaching here, I again urge you to read Nabokov's "Signs and Symbols". If you take that story at face-value, it is fairly unimpressive — interesting, perhaps, but it doesn't say much. But if you accept that the craft of the story lies in its encouragement of parallel readings, it takes on new meaning. It makes you a more self-conscious reader, and makes the text more aesthetically enjoyable.
Nabokov's story features the parents of a mentally ill young man, who is afflicted with a conspiratorial sort of paranoia that causes him to see everything that happens to him as significant or meaningful, viewing his own life in terms of the conventions of fiction. Irving's story features the acutely superstitious Crane, who is himself swallowed up in local superstition. If we accept that both stories challenge the reader's expectations of fiction (which Nabokov's definitely is, pretty uncontroversially) then we might have to own that Irving did it with more subtlety and skill.
While we're all aware that fiction is fiction, this is nonetheless a little trippy. We like tidy little narratives and, as early as Aristotle’s time, we've been trying to work out the formula of a satisfying ending. I think Aristotle would say The Legend of Sleepy Hollow lacks catharsis. I think it lacks a meaningful "arc," which might amount to a different way of saying more or less the same thing: the story does not satisfy. We've clearly come to identify various formulas for stories which resonate with humans, but perhaps we've catered to that desire for so long we've come to conflate satisfying that desire with the purpose of fiction itself. Is The Legend of Sleepy Hollow a bad story because it doesn't give me catharsis, a narrative arc, or whatever we want to call that "high" we get from our favorite stories? If we define stories by these criteria, maybe.
Maybe stories don't have to be satisfying, though. Even if it's unconventional, something about The Legend of Sleepy Hollow has had staying power in our collective imaginations.
And this longevity seems unconnected to everything I've just pointed out.
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow lives on, I think, because of its spooky atmosphere and iconic characters, as well as its reputation as an American classic. I think if it didn't have those elements, no one would enjoy it enough to adapt it to film, or spend the amount of time I have dragging an interpretation out of it.
By encouraging parallel readings, Irving might be calling attention to our expectations about fiction, which are not grounded in reality, but in mutually agreed upon convention. But even if this is an accidental effect of the text which Irving hadn’t intended, I maintain that this aspect of the text is what makes it worth engaging with more than 200 years after its initial publication.
The Nice Guy in the Room
I think the most interesting results of leaving the story open-ended are meta-textual, regardless of whether Washington Irving intentionally crafted it this way. But there are some in-text benefits to the Schrodinger's Crane approach, as well. We already covered that the scene with Brom and Katrina getting married, with Brom's knowing smile at the mention of Crane, which we can understand differently depending on whether or not Brom took part in the Headless Horseman incident, and whether or not Ichabod is dead.
I think we can also ask if the story is drawing a comparison between its parallel endings. Could it be that Ichabod's defeat and subsequent embarrassment are comparable to his dying and leaving behind a mournful ghost? I find this somewhat compelling when paired with the idea of Ichabod as a vengeful schoolmaster, getting back at his own bullies by inflicting punishment on others.
A very consistent feature of Ichabod Crane is his understated obsession with power, which manifests as both desire (for example, to marry into the wealthy Van Tassel family) and fear (for example, he often carries Cotton Mather’s History of New England Witchcraft with him, and is earnestly frightened by the power of witches). Crane is not a strong man. He is educated, and smart, but I don't know if he's that smart. He is not handsome. He has not been endowed with many gifts, and what he's had he's had to earn. I don't think that in itself is pathetic. I think it's actually quite respectable.
What's pathetic is that it seems Crane seeks out positions of authority to exercise power over others he'd otherwise have no power over. Brom has power and influence because he is physically strong and charismatic, not because of formal authority. Ichabod derives power largely from arbitrary social position. I think it's part of why he wants to marry Katrina: her father is wealthy, and his wealth would increase his status.
It's not bad for Ichabod to want to better his lot in life. But both his position as schoolmaster and, possibly later, as justice, put him in the position of punishing others. And continuing his love of gossip, his stint as a journalist seems another opportunity to express his judgmental side — and to be in the position to judge someone implies superiority. I think he enjoys being in these positions. Maybe it's just me, but I don't see him as someone driven by strong morals — we see that, when it comes to disciplining his students, he does so with extreme prejudice, and I see no reason why he would go on to restrain the influence of personal bias when it comes to his later occupations.
I respect Ichabod Crane’s industriousness and ambition. Putting himself in a position to punish others to air his insecurities is the part that feels pathetic to me.
Tying it back to Ichabod as a ghost: whether Ichabod is dead or alive is less important than the fact that he is unable to move past his insecurities. Because Katrina rejects him he leaves Sleepy Hollow in shame, finding a job that lets him exert power over others with little oversight; or, after he is killed by the Headless Horseman, he haunts the abandoned schoolhouse (notably NOT the spot where he died) because he is unable to move past that place, which allowed him to exert power over others with little oversight. In both endings, he gravitates towards places of power, showing a consistent, unwavering desire to occupy such positions. He doesn’t grow and, ultimately, he never gets over being bested by Brom — maybe an extension of never getting over getting bullied in school, but this isn't textual, (I guess it’s what the kids these days might call “headcanon”) so we'll focus on Brom as a proxy for his insecurities.
But does this make Sleepy Hollow an elaborate tale of nerds versus jocks? Is that really what this boils down to? Thanks, Washington Irving, I hate it.
Seriously, though, rivalry between men who view themselves in terms of the weak and the strong is central to the story. It is about the homosocial relationships (namely rivalries) that arise out of men trying to compete on the stage of "hegemonic masculinity" which posits a man's self-worth in his physical strength and his ability to "get" women and attain status. Note how Crane’s education is worth very little to Sleepy Hollow’s men. However, there is nothing objectively less masculine about Ichabod. Masculinity is subjective and relative, and the standards men have for themselves and other men aren’t always the same as the standards women have for men; we see this in the fact that Sleepy Hollow’s women actually adore Ichabod for the same qualities that other men disparage him over.
In the mundane ending, Ichabod leaves on account of his rejection and subsequent humiliation. While he was made to feel small, his education and perseverance allow him to get a more high-status job, while as far as we know Brom and Katrina just stay in Sleepy Hollow, perhaps happily married.
In this version of the story, Ichabod gets a good outcome: he leads what sounds like a successful life. I am glad this wasn't another story where we lift someone up at the expense of everyone who ever did that person wrong. That sort of spiteful irony imparts the wrong message.
I think it's cool Ichabod has the courage to try his hand at wooing Katrina, even though he knows he couldn't beat Brom if it came down to a fight. But just because he got rejected by the hottest girl in Sleepy Hollow doesn't make him undesirable, and it seems like a lot to skip town over. That, and the fact that he gets yet another job that involves punishing people, makes me think he's still hung up on his resentment towards Brom.
That's the good ending for Ichabod. He gets rejected, but he goes on to find success in life without having to be the strongest or the most good-looking. In the bad ending, or the supernatural ending, Ichabod is dead and his soul never moves on from the school. The only difference between the good and the bad ending is that the good ending involves Ichabod getting a good job; in both endings, he struggles to let go of what has happened to bruise his ego, but in the good ending he just finds a more prestigious place to vent his resentment than the schoolhouse.
Looking at this with both eyes open, both endings occur simultaneously: Ichabod Crane is dead; Ichabod Crane is alive; Ichabod Crane can’t get over his wounded pride, and gravitates towards places that make him feel powerful.
I think we can get a lot out of comparing him to the other ghost in the story: The Headless Horseman. Legend says the Horseman was once a Hessian soldier in the Revolutionary War. The Hessian soldiers were state-backed mercenaries (also called “auxiliaries”) rented out by their government to fight in other countries’ wars; in this case, they were fighting on the side of the British. Crane, perhaps, could be described as similarly mercenary in his motivations: he does not seem to teach for love of children, and he pursues Katrina mainly for her father’s wealth.
The Horseman’s head got blown off by a cannon, and now he spends the afterlife looking for his head. Crane, in turn, is struck down by the “Horseman” (who may or may not be Brom) in a similar way: The Horseman hurls his head (or, perhaps, only a pumpkin) at Crane, striking him square in the head and knocking him off his horse, just like the cannonball. The Hessian’s death is probably meant to be seen as well-deserved; could the same be said for the fate of Crane? Perhaps Ichabod is a restless ghost (or a spiteful justice) because he, too, is looking in vain for something he's lost: his pride, perhaps.
I think Ichabod Crane has a number of admirable qualities, and I don't know if I'm reading too much into what I perceive as a resentment towards other men/boys. But to men/boys (and any gals and enby pals) who feel like everyone is against them: don't be like Ichabod Crane. Don't jump at the chance to be a bully because you have been bullied. Don't treat people as prizes. Most importantly, let go of resentment towards the Brom Boneses of the world. He's probably not your oppressor or anything, he's just a run-of-the-mill jerk, so he isn't worth all the energy. Especially if it gets self-destructive, let it go. You don't always get anything for being a nice guy, but you should be one anyway. Otherwise, you may not actually be all that nice.
By the way, there's old-timey racism in this book.
We’ve covered a lot of weird and unexpected elements in this story, and I guess we’ll wrap up by touching on Sleepy Hollow’s perplexing racism. There's the dubious position of the Dutch in the story, but then there are some pretty weird descriptions of African Americans here, too, just sort of thrown in the mix.
Uhhhh. So the messenger is shown to be exceedingly shabby, that much is clear, but there's this comedic undertone with his "effort at fine language" which is a jab at the man's powers of speech.
I read this part to Lore and he was just as baffled as I was at "having delivered his message with that air of importance [...] which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind".
"What is he talking about?" It seemed like he was referencing some forgotten stereotype, perhaps, but it doesn't strain the mind too much to reason it's something to do with portraying African Americans as servile. The drama with which he delivers his master's party invitations implies he has been honored with some grand quest. While it is another example of Irving attempting to employ mismatched descriptions to a comedic or vivid effect, it doesn't age well at all.
Then, at the party in question, Ichabod proves himself to be a great dancer, and so:
This is just straight up minstrelsy, folks, plain and simple.
Verdict
Is Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow worth the read in 2022? My answer is that it depends on who you are and what you're looking for.
If you are an English language or American literature nerd, this might be worth checking out. Same for if you get a lot of value out of seeing "the classics" for yourself rather than just absorbing them secondhand through cultural osmosis.
If you want a story that gives you a snapshot into early America, this definitely fits the bill, and I think you will enjoy it. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was published around 1820, though the story takes place around 1790. The Headless Horseman himself was a Hessian soldier downed in the American Revolutionary War.
If you're a fan of gothic romance and horror such as Mysteries of Udolpho or Frankenstein, this probably won't scratch that itch. Its supernatural elements, while fantastically described, feel more tongue-in-cheek than anything. It is also lacking in the clear sense of morals and virtue which, love it or hate it, are baked into the genre. And look at hard as you want, you won't find the brooding Byronic Hero in Ichabod Crane.
My opinions, ultimately, are mixed. It's a decent story, but I still feel like there's something I don't "get" about it, and if I read it again it will probably be to try my hand again at understanding it.
Bonus: Sleepy Hollow Vocab!
I love learning new words! Here are some I learned from this book: whilom and rantipole! Neat-o!
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