Innocence and Nature in Jewett's "A White Heron"

Introduction: Realism and Pastoral Innocence

Sarah Orne Jewett's "A White Heron" is a story with several important themes, chief among them pastoral innocence coming into contact — and into conflict — with the loss of innocence in a modern, industrial world. The tone, conflict, and character development in this story align with what is known as American literary realism. Realism is evident in a story when character is more critical than plot or action. It is a narrative strategy in which ethical choices are central, the story line is plausible, and human beings are placed within natural world settings.

In "A White Heron," those elements are very much present. The character of the innocent girl at the story's center matters more to the reader than the precise steps of the plot. This is an intriguing and original tale about the innocence of a girl who seems more like the creatures of the natural world than like young people her own age. The story embraces the changes and challenges facing a young girl as she is confronted with a potential loss of innocence.

Nine-year-old Sylvia is the central character, the protagonist. She is a working-class girl living near a manufacturing center in New England — an industrially focused metropolis — and the shy Sylvia has somehow grown "afraid of folks" (598, Norton Anthology of American Literature). This is not entirely surprising for a girl who "feels as if she were a part of the gray shadows and moving leaves." Sylvia has been adopted by her grandmother, a widow, and lives in a tiny house in the middle of a wooded area. From the outset, readers understand that she loves this natural world setting and is free from any apparent stress or pressure. The wooded world where she must daily hunt down the dairy cow functions as a metaphor for a pastoral place beyond the boundary of the real and often ugly world.

Sylvia as Symbol of the Natural World

Jewett writes that Sylvia "had all the time there was, and very little use to make of it" (597, Norton). With all that time and no playmates, it is entirely reasonable that an alert yet shy young girl would become fascinated with the birds and animals of the forest. Sylvia's grandmother noted that Sylvia had a knack of "straying about out-of-doors" and believed that the "wild creatures counts her one o' themselves" (599).

This child can be read as a metaphor for innocence within the genre of realism. She might be thought of as a symbol of what the world was like before industrialization, before wars, greed, the lust for power, and before the invention of weapons that kill. Her heart "beat fast with pleasure" as she listened to the thrushes — whereas many young girls' hearts might beat fast at the prospect of a movie, a shopping trip, or a party with friends. Sylvia belongs to the world of trees, birds, and solitude, far from the stress and impersonal relationships of busy city sidewalks.

Sylvia is walking in the forest rather late one evening, thinking about the "red-faced boy" who had bullied her back in the city, when she suddenly hears a "clear whistle" and is "horror-stricken" (598). This is a dramatic narrative choice by Jewett: ordinarily a person would be startled and curious by a whistle, not horror-stricken, even if the whistle was "somewhat aggressive." The effect signals just how attuned Sylvia is to the quiet rhythms of the natural world — and how jarring any human intrusion can be.

The intruder — whom the narrator calls "the enemy" — claimed to be lost. His arrival is a moment of foreshadowing as well as conflict, because this stranger had none of Sylvia's reverence for birds. He was a hunter who shot birds and stuffed them as prizes and trophies. With his appearance, the pastoral story acquires genuine tension, and Sylvia's world of innocence is partially disturbed for the first time.

The Hunter's Intrusion and the Temptation of Money

A second intrusion into Sylvia's innocence follows swiftly: the hunter offers ten dollars to anyone who can lead him to the white heron. As deeply as Sylvia loves wild birds and reveres the white heron, she is tempted by the money. The story's narrative power at this point lies in how honestly Jewett portrays that temptation — money has a way of corrupting even the most gentle and fair-minded people.

There is a great pine tree in the woods, described as "the last of its generation" (601), extraordinarily tall. Sylvia had long believed that if she could climb to the top, she might see the ocean from there. Now she was excited about the tree in a new way: not only could she perhaps see the sea from its summit, but she might also be able to locate the secret nest of the white heron and thereby earn the hunter's reward.

Readers begin to see Sylvia changing under the hunter's influence. On page 600 they learn that Sylvia would have liked the young man "vastly better without his gun," and on page 601 she cannot understand why anyone would kill birds — yet she watches the hunter "with loving admiration." That seems paradoxical for a girl so naive and so connected to the natural world. The explanation the narrator offers is both revealing and bittersweet: there was a "woman's heart asleep in a child," one that was "vaguely thrilled by a dream of love." This awakening complicates Sylvia's relationship to the world she has always inhabited, and it is precisely the kind of inner complexity that defines literary realism as a mode.

Conclusion: Innocence Preserved

In his essay on realism, Richard Chase writes that realism is "a reaction against romanticism" and also shows an interest "in scientific method." Moreover, realists tend to center their attention — "to a remarkable degree" — on "the immediate, the here and now, the specific action, and the verifiable consequence." That description maps accurately onto Jewett's story. The "scientific method" can be linked to the hunter's fascination with birds: so enthralled with their beauty was he that he wanted to preserve them through taxidermy, turning nature into a kind of personal museum. The "immediate" dimension of the story is Sylvia's need to make a decision about the hunter and the white heron — she cannot delay indefinitely, however attracted she may be to him. And the decision she makes carries a "verifiable consequence": the bird will live or die depending on what she chooses. In the broader literary frame, the consequence is innocence lost or innocence preserved.

Innocence is, in many respects, already lost in the modern world. Children grow up too quickly nearly everywhere one looks, and the natural world — as habitat for plants and animals and as a playground for children — is shrinking by the hour. Reading a story in which innocence perseveres is therefore refreshing and enlightening, and hopefully instructive on both an intellectual and social level. Jewett's decision to preserve innocence in this story remains a meaningful and resonant act of authorship, one that readers across generations have recognized and valued.

Atkinson, Michael. "The Necessary Extravagance of Sarah Orne Jewett: Voices of Authority in 'White Heron'." Studies in Short Fiction, 19.1 (1982): 71–74. Gale Research.

Bily, Cynthia. "An Overview of 'A White Heron'." Exploring Short Stories. Gale Research (1998).

Chase, Richard. "Realism in American Literature, 1860–1890." Retrieved April 13, 2007, from (Web site material excerpted from Chase's book The American Novel and Its Tradition.)

Jewett, Sarah Orne. "A White Heron." The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Sixth Edition, pp. 597–604. Ed. Nina Baym. Volume C. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

Nagel, Gwen L. "A White Heron: Overview." Reference Guide to Short Fiction, 1st ed. Edited by Noelle Watson. St. James Press (1994).