“That Is Not It at All; That Is Not What I Meant, at All”: Gender and Communication in T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Abstract

T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock has long been examined through the lenses of modernist alienation and psychological paralysis. While previous scholarship has emphasized the poem’s existential themes and innovative form, it has often overlooked the central role of gendered discourse in shaping Prufrock’s communicative anxieties. This article argues that Eliot critiques patriarchal norms by portraying Prufrock’s paralysis as a product of masculine performance anxiety—his fear of miscommunication, emasculation, and judgment in interactions with women. Drawing on contemporary sociolinguistic frameworks by Deborah Tannen and Jennifer Coates, the analysis reveals how Prufrock’s internal monolog reflects early 20th-century anxieties around shifting gender roles and expectations. By situating Prufrock within both the literary traditions and sociocultural tensions of Eliot’s time, the article offers a new interpretation of the poem as a subtle but powerful commentary on the constraints of patriarchal communication. This reading not only deepens our understanding of Eliot’s engagement with gender but also reframes Prufrock’s alienation as a socially constructed and gendered crisis.

T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock has long been read as a portrait of psychological paralysis and modernist alienation, with women occupying a central focus of his attention (Fleissner 1989, p. 17). Prufrock’s halting voice, elliptical thought, and anxious self-consciousness have earned him a place among the most emblematic figures of early 20th-century literary disillusionment. However, these readings often present Prufrock’s alienation as either a spiritual or existential dilemma, overlooking how deeply his crisis is shaped by gendered norms of communication and self-presentation. This article argues that Prufrock’s failure to connect with others—especially women—is not merely symbolic of human isolation, but a symptom of patriarchal discourse, which restricts how men can speak, feel, and relate.

Building on sociolinguistic frameworks developed by Deborah Tannen, Jennifer Coates (2013, 2015), and Eckert and McConnell-Ginet (2016), this study situates Eliot’s poem within a broader cultural context in which masculinity is performed through restraint, rationality, and verbal control. In this world, vulnerability—especially emotional and linguistic—is gendered feminine, and thus threatening to male identity. Prufrock’s retreat into ambiguity and self-censorship reflects his internalization of these norms, even as he feels trapped by them. His imagined interactions with women are riddled with anxiety and projected rejection, suggesting not only social awkwardness but a deeper fear of being unmanned by the failure to communicate on patriarchal terms. By reframing Prufrock’s anxiety through gendered discourse, this article connects the poem’s psychological tension to its social and linguistic conditions. In doing so, it offers a reading that complements, rather than displaces, the poem’s existential themes—arguing that modernist alienation, in this case, emerges from the pressures and impossibilities of patriarchal masculinity.

1. Fractured Selves and Shifting Structures: Situating Prufrock Within Modernism and Gendered Critique

Since its publication in Poetry in 1915, T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock has unsettled and intrigued readers with its fragmented voice, disjointed imagery, and haunting portrayal of psychological paralysis. Early reviewers like F. L. Lucas (1920) and Harold Monro (1920) interpreted Prufrock’s hesitations as symptoms of a broader cultural malaise, emblematic of the disillusionment of the early twentieth century. Later modernist critics emphasized Eliot’s technical innovations—his manipulation of time, voice, and literary allusion—while continuing to treat the poem’s themes as representative of existential crisis. Yet what many of these readings missed was the extent to which Eliot’s vision of fragmentation is not only personal or spiritual but also socially and genderedly constructed.

Prufrock was published during a moment of profound cultural transformation. Eliot began composing the poem before the First World War, but its first publication during the war imbued it with a retrospective sense of cultural disillusionment. Evans (2014) points out that the Great War came to symbolize the collapse of Western ideals, and Prufrock’s indecision, isolation, and self-consciousness can be read as both personal failures and broader indictments of modern civilization (91). Rather than proposing a definitive message, Eliot instead immerses the reader in the disturbed psyche of his protagonist, reflecting what Evans describes as “a condemnation of the superficial life of his whole class, culture, and era” (90).

The early twentieth century marked a shift in artistic conventions, societal roles, and philosophical outlooks. As. Evans notes, the poem not only helped define literary modernism but also challenged Romantic and Victorian ideals through its deliberate irony, fragmented narrative, and unromantic imagery (Evans 2014, p. 89). The ironic juxtaposition in the poem’s title—combining “love song” with the stuffy, bourgeois name “J. Alfred Prufrock”—establishes its modernist tone from the outset, signaling a rejection of sentimentalism in favor of psychological complexity and social critique. Prufrock’s world is one of numbed alienation, echoed in images like the “evening … spread out against the sky/Like a patient etherized upon a table” (Eliot 1963, pp. 2–3), which Evans argues introduces readers to a disturbing emotional and social reality (90).

Feminist and sociolinguistic critiques emerged more prominently in the late 20th century, challenging earlier readings that depersonalized or universalized Prufrock’s anxiety. Critics such as Gilbert and Gubar (1979), and Mary Jacobus (1986) began reassessing male speakers in light of gendered discourse, noting the limitations imposed by patriarchal expectations on both men and women. More recently, scholars like Brian Clifton (2018) and Kyung-Sim Chung (2008) have explored how Eliot’s formal choices—especially his manipulation of poetic structure, pronouns, and temporality—construct gendered subject positions and reveal sociolinguistic tension within the text. Despite these developments, few readers explicitly recognized the poem as an intervention in the dynamics of gendered communication. Its critique of masculine performance and failure is often interpreted as personal neurosis or symbolic malaise rather than as a commentary on patriarchal structures.

Prufrock is frequently interpreted as a portrait of psychological paralysis and existential anxiety, emblematic of a modern subject caught in a disintegrating cultural landscape (Dickson 1988, p. 141; Fleissner 1989, p. 14; Griffiths 2009, p. 108; Oroskhan and Jahantigh 2021, p. 33). Yet as Hong-Seop Lee (2016) emphasizes, this crisis is not purely internal. It reflects a broader symptom of industrialized urban life, where alienation, detachment, and routine replace intimacy and human connection (Lee 2016, p. 58). In Lee’s view, the city functions as an allegorical hell, and Prufrock’s imagined relationships with women express not erotic desire but a deeper longing for meaning in a disenchanted world (Lee 2016, p. 59). His crisis, then, is shaped as much by cultural forces as by personal insecurity. While traditional modernist readings focus on Prufrock’s hesitation—epitomized in his question, “Do I dare/Disturb the universe?” (Eliot 45–46)—as an existential dilemma, they often neglect how gender complicates his paralysis. Eliot’s portrayal reveals that existential dread and patriarchal pressure are not distinct forces but intertwined conditions. Prufrock’s inability to fulfill the masculine ideals of confidence and rhetorical control deepens his fragmentation, rendering him both socially and ontologically adrift.

2. Constructing Silence: Gendered Language and the Crisis of Masculine Voice in Prufrock

In The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T. S. Eliot constructs a world in which language is not a bridge between selves but a barrier, especially between men and women. This breakdown in communication is not the product of individual failure alone but emerges from the sociolinguistic pressures and patriarchal structures that dictate who can speak, how, and with what consequences. Prufrock’s monolog exposes how masculine identity is both shaped and constrained by culturally constructed norms of gendered discourse. He is paralyzed not simply by fear or shyness, but by the internalization of a system that equates male speech with authority, control, and emotional restraint—qualities he both aspires to and fails to maintain. This paper draws on sociolinguistic theory to argue that Eliot critiques the patriarchal construction of masculine silence through Prufrock’s fragmented voice.

John Hughes (1996) argues that Prufrock “believes human interaction to be flawed, if not impossible, because … the ‘surfaces’ of human interaction prevent ‘true’ communication” (408). However, Prufrock’s struggles are not merely with “human interaction” in a general sense but more specifically with verbal and non-verbal communication between men and women, highlighting the gendered nature of his communication challenges. The poem’s original title underscores this focus on gendered communication. Originally titled “Prufrock Among the Women” (Southam 1994, p. 47), Eliot later revised it to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. The original title situates Prufrock “among” women rather than “with” them, symbolizing the emotional and communicative distance between Prufrock and women in particular, rather than with people in general. This distinction is significant, as Prufrock never expresses difficulty conversing with men; his anxieties and insecurities are centered around his interactions with women.

Eliot’s portrayal of Prufrock suggests that gendered communication norms burden both men and women, though in different ways. Prufrock’s internal dialog reveals his acute awareness of being judged—both by women and by societal expectations of masculinity. His lament, “And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,/When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,/Then how should I begin…” (Eliot 56–58), captures this anxiety. He imagines himself as an insect under dissection, reinforcing the idea that communication—especially with women—exposes him to scrutiny and potential failure. Sociolinguistic studies, such as those by Coates (2013, 2015), Talbot (2010), and Tannen (1990, 1994), suggest that men often experience communication as a performance, in which maintaining authority is key (Coates 2015, p. 18; Tannen 1990, p. 77). Prufrock’s hesitation aligns with these findings; he anticipates misunderstanding and judgment, leading him to withdraw rather than attempt meaningful dialog. However, this reading must be tempered by the recognition that Eliot’s contemporaries may have understood Prufrock’s hesitation not as a gendered issue but as part of a broader theme of modernist uncertainty.

Lobbs (2013) adds another dimension to this discussion, asserting that “Prufrock is candid about his insecurities, but most suggestive when he is most indirect, and his gender presentation contributes to the parallel of sex and metaphysics in the poem” (173). Lobb argues that Prufrock’s insecurities reflect not only his struggles with masculine identity but also his engagement with an indefinite gender identity. This perspective suggests that Prufrock’s fear of inadequacy transcends traditional gender roles, as his self-doubt manifests in his physicality, language, and conceptualization of meaning. Lobb further claims that “his fears about his own body’s inadequacies are analogous to his anxieties about language and the possibility of expressing meaning, and this constitutes yet another link between sex and metaphysics in the poem” (175). This connection between bodily insecurities and linguistic failure underscores Prufrock’s avoidance of direct confrontation with his anxieties. Lobb interprets Prufrock’s frequent use of ellipses as a strategy to evade questions of sex and gender. While Lobb’s interpretation of Prufrock’s gender presentation as indefinite is compelling, I argue that his avoidance stems less from a rejection of gender identity and more from his internalization of rigid gender stereotypes. Prufrock’s hesitance to engage with themes of sex and his self-consciousness about his physical body are not necessarily signs of androgyny or an unwillingness to confront his “feminine” traits. Rather, they highlight the consequences of patriarchal gender constructs that define men as assertive, heroic, and articulate. Prufrock’s inability to embody these traits leaves him paralyzed, unable to engage with women, or assert his identity on his own terms. Instead of liberating himself from these stereotypes, he remains ensnared by them, reinforcing Eliot’s broader critique of patriarchal structures and their impact on both men and women.

Rather than viewing Prufrock’s silence as an evasion of gender altogether, it is more compelling to consider how his speech patterns reflect internalized expectations of what masculinity should sound like. This is where sociolinguistic theories of gendered communication—particularly Tannen’s concept of “discourse cultures”—offer a more grounded lens. Tannen’s work highlights how men and women are often socialized into distinct linguistic roles, and Prufrock’s fractured voice exemplifies the tension between these gendered expectations and his own desires for connection. Tannen’s research reveals that men and women are often socialized into distinct communication styles, which she terms “report talk” and “rapport talk” (Tannen 1990, p. 77). While men are conditioned to use language for status and information, women are more often socialized to foster intimacy and connection. Prufrock’s inner world reflects this division. His longing for communication is evident, yet his speech is filled with hesitation and fear of misinterpretation: “That is not it at all,/That is not what I meant, at all” (Eliot 107–10). His voice is tentative and fragmented, as he repeatedly rehearses conversations that never occur, anticipating rejection rather than risking vulnerability. Tannen’s framework also helps explain why Prufrock’s communicative paralysis is not merely personal but systemic. He fears speaking not because women are incomprehensible, but because the patriarchal model of masculine communication leaves no space for the kind of relational dialog he desires. His fear that “they will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’” (Eliot 44) reveals his anxiety about being judged according to male ideals of strength and composure. As Mary Crawford (1995) observes, in mixed-gender contexts, women’s speech is often devalued as illogical or emotional, while men’s is elevated as the norm (118). Prufrock’s silence is thus born from a paradox: to be masculine is to speak with confidence and control, yet expressing his true feelings risks violating those very ideals.

Tannen’s insights illuminate how Prufrock’s fractured speech patterns arise from gendered expectations of communication. Yet the implications of his silence extend beyond conversational style and into the deeper cultural scripts that regulate emotional expression and linguistic authority. These sociolinguistic constraints are reinforced by broader cultural narratives that align verbal restraint with masculine dignity and stigmatize vulnerability as feminine. In this context, silence is not merely a personal failing, but a socially sanctioned mode of masculine self-presentation. Graddol and Swann (1989) note that societal expectations often cast men as “strong, silent types”, while women are seen as excessively verbal or emotional 2). In such a framework, silence becomes a masculine performance, a way of preserving dignity and avoiding exposure. Prufrock’s verbal reticence aligns with this role. Though he desperately wishes to “force the moment to its crisis” (Eliot 1963, p. 80), he ultimately withholds speech, retreating into a cycle of imagined interactions that never materialize. David Spender takes this critique further, arguing that language itself has been constructed within a patriarchal framework that privileges male perspectives: “Having learnt the language of a patriarchal society, we have also learnt to classify and manage the world in accordance with patriarchal order…” (Spender 1985, p. 3). This observation is crucial for understanding Prufrock’s failure to communicate. His silence is not merely an absence of speech—it is the product of a linguistic system in which authentic, vulnerable self-expression is not only devalued but effectively erased. Eliot’s poem dramatizes this erasure through syntax and imagery: ellipses mark moments of repression, metaphors obscure rather than clarify, and the poem’s structure itself mirrors Prufrock’s fragmented identity.

If Prufrock’s silence is a performance shaped by patriarchal norms, it is also part of a broader discursive imbalance in which women’s voices are systematically diminished (Gamble and Gamble 2014). Women, in this discursive world, are not interlocutors but objects of esthetic contemplation. They “come and go/Talking of Michelangelo” (Eliot 13–14), speaking in a loop that Prufrock observes but never enters. His dismissal of their conversation as superficial echoes what Jennifer Coates (2013) describes as a male-dominated framing of women’s speech as trivial “chatter”, a form of dismissal that reinforces male authority by denying women discursive legitimacy (549). Yet, as Eckert and McConnell-Ginet (2016) argue, gossip and casual talk among women often function as potent forms of social regulation and community-building (111). Prufrock’s fear of being gossiped about—his concern that women will scrutinize his appearance and mock his inadequacies—reveals the extent to which he feels threatened by female speech not because it lacks substance, but because it holds power.

Eliot’s depiction of Prufrock offers a powerful critique of patriarchal communication systems that silence by design—systems in which Prufrock is both a victim and an active participant. His silence is not simply imposed by external forces but emerges from his internalization of rigid gender norms that equate masculinity with emotional restraint and detachment. Prufrock anticipates rejection and misunderstanding, and thus avoids speaking altogether. He views women not as conversational partners but as esthetic objects, denying them subjectivity and evading meaningful dialog. His claim that “I have known them all already, known them all” (Eliot 49) reflects not understanding but retreat—a refusal to engage shaped by patriarchal assumptions about gendered communication. In this way, his silence becomes a performance, a means of preserving a fragile masculinity that unravels under the pressure of emotional honesty. Eliot uses Prufrock to expose how language, far from being a neutral medium, is saturated with gendered expectations that inhibit authentic connection and reduce communication to a performance of power, fear, and evasion.

3. “Almost, at Times, the Fool”: Literary Masculinity and the Weight of Expectation

Heteronormative pressures emphasize the way gender roles, particularly those that promote patriarchal ideals of masculinity, regulate behavior and interaction between men and women. In Eliot’s portrayal of Prufrock, both forces intersect, revealing how social expectations around masculinity and gendered communication contribute to Prufrock’s paralysis and inability to connect with others. In other words, sociolinguistic realism—the realistic portrayal of speech or dialog--explains Prufrock’s perception of women and language, while heteronormative pressures highlight the broader gender roles that shape his insecurities and behavior. Prufrock’s fears are rooted in a patriarchal ideal of masculinity that demands stoicism, rationality, and decisiveness. Coates (2013) explains that “heteronormative discourse limits men’s ability to express vulnerability” and encourages them to present themselves as emotionally self-sufficient (549). This expectation is exemplified in Prufrock’s hesitation to “force the moment to its crisis” (Eliot 80). His internal refrain—“Do I dare/Disturb the universe?” (45–46)—reflects the crushing weight of societal judgment, which inhibits him from taking risks in communication, especially with women.

Temple’s (2014) argument is essential to understanding the role of gender and communication in Prufrock, as it highlights how social pressures and cultural expectations for men shape Prufrock’s feelings of inadequacy. Temple argues that Prufrock’s failure stems from his “consistent identity-relation to the masculine symbols of his literary history” (Temple). These figures, renowned for their heroism and transformative actions, stand in stark contrast to Prufrock’s mundane existence, which he describes as “measured in coffee spoons” (Eliot 1963, p. 51). This contrast illustrates Prufrock’s deep-seated sense of inadequacy and his fear of failure. His outright denial—“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be” (111)—reveals a conscious rejection of the heroic archetype. Yet, paradoxically, he remains bound by and complicit in the very patriarchal ideals he rejects, trapped in a cycle of self-doubt and inaction. These figures, often renowned for their boldness and cultural significance, present ideals of masculine agency—even though Hamlet, famously indecisive, problematizes this ideal. Eliot’s (1920) own reflections on Hamlet suggest an awareness of the character’s conflicted role (96). In Prufrock, the persona exposes how patriarchal traditions impose unrealistic and unattainable standards on men, ultimately leading to their inertia and alienation. This critique parallels Prufrock’s broader inability to establish meaningful connections, particularly with women.

The social pressures to embody “heroic masculinity” are most apparent in his self-assessment as “a bit obtuse” (Eliot 1963, p. 117) and “Almost, at times, the Fool” (119). These moments of self-deprecation reflect the influence of patriarchal ideals on Prufrock’s self-image. As Lloyd Dickson (1988) observes, Prufrock’s reference to “the Fool” evokes Shakespeare’s stock character, who is “often ridiculous but possesses a dubious but effective kind of wisdom” (143). By associating himself with the figure of the Fool, Prufrock signals his awareness of his own inadequacy but also attempts to maintain some dignity by stating “Almost.” While Shakespearean Fools often possess a subversive wisdom beneath their absurdity, Prufrock’s self-deprecation lacks this redemptive layer. His comparison underscores alienation rather than ironic dignity.

Temple (2014) further argues that Prufrock’s fixation on these masculine figures creates a self-defeating cycle:

Prufrock denies his kinship with Hamlet as he refuses to act, substituting for action the questions of propriety with which Polonius is concerned throughout Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Prufrock’s inability to express himself to women follows as a direct consequence of his consistent identity-relation to the masculine symbols of his literary history, prescribing a set of tropes he constantly compares himself to.

(Temple)

Prufrock’s self-doubt is not a reflection of existential dread alone but a product of the broader social scripts that define masculinity. Prufrock does not compare himself to women, nor does he attempt to understand them as intellectual equals. Instead, he measures himself against archetypes of “great men”, yet also tragic figures, such as Hamlet, Polonius, and John the Baptist, and finds himself lacking, as he sees “the moment of [his] greatness flicker” (Eliot 1963, p. 84). His inability to fulfill these roles produces a cycle of shame, inaction, and retreat into isolation.

4. “Do I Dare?”: Facework, Judgment, and the Collapse of Persona

Prufrock’s haunting refrain—“Do I dare?”—captures not only a moment of hesitation but a deeper fear of social failure. This fear is best understood through the sociolinguistic concept of facework, first articulated by Erving Goffman and expanded by scholars like Eckert and McConnell-Ginet (2016). Facework refers to the actions individuals take to present a coherent self-image and to maintain social acceptability in interaction. Language, in this framework, becomes a key tool in performing identity, particularly in high-stakes moments of self-presentation. Eckert and McConnell-Ginet emphasize that “language increasingly [serves] as a resource for the construction of selves—of personae—for carving out places for ourselves in the social landscape” (42). In Eliot’s portrayal of Prufrock, this facework is manifest in the speaker’s obsession with appearance, verbal hesitations, and constant internal rehearsal of social scenarios, all of which underscore the pressures of gendered self-presentation. This idea underscores the performative nature of gender and identity, as individuals must navigate the intersection of personal identity and socially constructed norms. In other words, people connect to the social world by balancing who they want to be with who others will allow them to be. Successful interaction depends on a mutual understanding of roles, where individuals present versions of themselves that they believe will be acknowledged and validated by others. As Eckert and McConnell-Ginet (2016) explain, “face is something we can ‘lose’ or ‘save’ in our dealings with one another: it is tied to our presentation of ourselves and to our acknowledgements of others as certain kinds of people” (46). This negotiation of “face” requires people to constantly position themselves and others within a shared social framework, where gender plays a significant role in how personae are performed and maintained.

Eliot explores the concept of facework through Prufrock’s internal monolog, revealing the anxieties that arise from his attempts to construct a socially acceptable self. Prufrock is acutely aware of the need to prepare his “face” to meet the world’s gaze, stating, “There will be time, there will be time/To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet” (Eliot 26–27). This refrain, “there will be time”, reflects a sense of fragile confidence, as Prufrock attempts to convince himself that he will have ample opportunity to perfect his self-presentation. However, his language also reveals doubt, as he delays action in favor of endless preparation. Women occupy a prominent role in this performance, as Prufrock sees them as both the audience and the judges of his presentation. Within their world of “tea, marmalade, porcelain, and novels”, (88–90) Prufrock feels deeply uncomfortable, fearing that he will be misunderstood or misjudged. Despite his efforts to maintain an appearance of social competence—“my morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,/My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin” (42–43)—he remains preoccupied with his perceived physical inadequacies, worrying that women will gossip, saying, “But how his arms and legs are thin!” (45). Prufrock’s question, “Shall I part my hair from behind?” (82), further illustrates his preoccupation with self-presentation and the fear of social judgment.

Prufrock’s fixation on his appearance exemplifies Eckert and McConnell-Ginet’s claim that “communicative style … combines with other components of style such as dress, ways of walking, hairdo, consumption patterns, leisure activities and so on to constitute the presentation of a person, a self” (47). For Prufrock, this process of self-presentation is not limited to language but extends to his clothing, posture, and bodily awareness. His concern with his “morning coat” and “collar mounting firmly to the chin” illustrates his attempt to fit into upper-class social spaces, but his insecurities regarding his thin physique highlight the gap between his desired self-image and the image he believes others will see. His obsessive need to control his appearance reflects a broader anxiety about gendered communication and self-presentation, where men are expected to display confidence, competence, and control over their social “face.”

As part of his facework, Prufrock frequently rehearses possible social interactions in his mind, playing out potential scenarios where his attempts to connect with women are met with dismissal. His fear of miscommunication manifests in an imagined moment where a woman misunderstands his intentions, declaring, “That is not it at all,/That is not what I meant, at all” (Eliot 107–10). His internal rehearsal of possible rejections reflects his hyper-awareness of facework and his desire to protect his self-image. This anxiety culminates in his wish to escape human interactions altogether, imagining himself as a silent, inhuman creature: “I should have been a pair of ragged claws/Scuttling across the floors of silent seas” (Eliot 73–75). By transforming into a crab-like creature, Prufrock imagines shedding the burdens of self-presentation and human interaction. As a pair of “ragged claws”, he would no longer be bound by social expectations of gender, class, or conversation. This fantasy reveals the psychological toll of facework, as Prufrock yearns for a space where he is no longer subject to the scrutiny of others. In this fantasy, he avoids the vulnerability required for human connection, freeing himself from the potential for shame and rejection.

Prufrock’s struggle with facework becomes a source of alienation, as his attempts to manage his self-presentation only deepen his sense of isolation. Nandita Sinha (1993) offers a useful lens for understanding this retreat into fantasy, noting, “Imprisoned in his own subjectivism, Prufrock finds to his despair that communication serves merely to erect barriers to real understanding” (89). His stereotypical assumptions about women’s behavior—namely, that they are judgmental, superficial, and prone to gossip—combine with his internalized ideals of how he “should” behave as an upper-class man, creating a paralyzing internal conflict. He likens himself to a “patient etherized on a table” (Eliot 3), immobilized and helpless in the face of social pressure. The more he attempts to construct a respectable, socially acceptable “face”, the more he feels trapped, paralyzed by indecision and fear. The thought of exposing his true self to potential rejection drives him to retreat into a world of fantasy and inaction, ultimately resigning himself to isolation.

5. Women as Symbols: Objectifying, Othering, and Distancing

Prufrock’s inability to connect with women is not merely a product of social awkwardness or linguistic anxiety; it is rooted in his fundamental failure to perceive women as full participants in discourse. Throughout the poem, women are reduced to fragmented images and cultural references, filtered through Prufrock’s anxious and often aestheticizing gaze. They appear not as subjects, but as symbols—reflections of his insecurity, his longing, and his fear. The most iconic depiction of this occurs early in the poem: “In the room the women come and go/Talking of Michelangelo” (Eliot 13–14). These lines, repeated like a refrain, frame women’s speech as trivial and cyclical, more performance than communication. Rather than engaging with their voices, Prufrock dismisses them as part of the decorative background—simultaneously visible and unheard. This pattern continues with his descriptions of “arms that are braceleted and white and bare” and “long fingers” (Eliot 63, 76), which isolate parts of the body rather than evoke whole individuals. These fragmented images mirror what Bruch Hayman (1994) calls a symbolic reduction: women in Prufrock “have no name, no distinguishable face, no personality, and no past history” (64). This act of objectification, while certainly reflective of Prufrock’s neurosis, also implicates the broader patriarchal structures in which he exists. As Coates notes, patriarchal discourse often frames women’s speech as “chatter” and dismisses it as insignificant (Coates 2013, p. 549). Prufrock’s repeated fears—that women will comment on his appearance, misinterpret his words, or simply ignore him—stem not from empirical evidence but from his internalization of these cultural scripts. Rather than seeking meaningful connection, he assumes miscommunication, constructing an imaginary audience that reinforces his sense of failure.

Eliot dramatizes the sociolinguistic tension at the heart of Prufrock through a fragmented and hesitant inner monolog that reflects Prufrock’s deep psychological dislocation. The poem’s stylistic features—its ellipses, metaphors, and shifting points of address—serve as formal expressions of Prufrock’s alienation and failed attempts at meaningful connection. His language is riddled with pauses and self-interruptions, such as the trailing lines, “Would it have been worth while,/To have bitten off the matter with a smile…” (Eliot 87–88), which suggest that speech itself falters under the weight of his emotional repression and fear of exposure. The ellipses, in particular, become a visual and rhythmic manifestation of what remains unsaid: the hesitations, the self-censorship, the persistent avoidance of truth.

Prufrock’s use of mythic imagery furthers this emotional and symbolic distancing and othering. When he confesses, “I hear the mermaids singing, each to each./I do not think that they will sing to me” (Eliot 124–25), he positions himself outside a fantastical, feminine world of enchantment and communion. These mermaids, like the women at the party, do not represent romantic possibility but rather highlight his profound sense of exclusion. The detachment is not simply romantic but existential; even in imagination, connection is denied. His final lines—“And human voices wake us, and we drown” (Eliot 131)—underscore a deeper fear: that authentic communication, if it were ever to break through, would be not redemptive but annihilating.

Eliot’s use of second-person pronouns such as “you” and “one” intensifies this theme of alienation and distance. Prufrock speaks not directly to himself, nor intimately to another, but to a shadowy, abstract interlocutor or other. This grammatical displacement reflects a psychological one; he cannot fully claim his own thoughts, desires, or fears, instead projecting them outward in a rhetorical performance that masks vulnerability. The fragmentation of form thus mirrors the fragmentation of self, as Prufrock navigates the confining scripts of masculinity that leave him performative, guarded, and ultimately voiceless.

Prufrock’s objectifying gaze is not merely a psychological quirk but a reflection of broader sociocultural conditioning. His failure to see women as subjects in discourse is both a cause and consequence of his communicative paralysis. Conditioned by patriarchal norms that reduce women to symbols or threats, he engages in a monolog that avoids dialog, performing rather than speaking. As sociolinguists like Tannen (1994) and Crawford (1995) have shown, gendered communication norms often position women as unknowable and men as emotionally withdrawn, fostering mutual misrecognition. Eliot’s poem does not simply illustrate Prufrock’s individual shortcomings; it critiques the cultural scripts that produce and sustain them. In rendering women as fragments, decorations, or distant myths, Prufrock erases their subjectivity—and in doing so, loses access to his own. The result is not only failed communication but a failure of identity. Without meaningful engagement, language collapses into echo and evasion. Prufrock thus dramatizes how patriarchal discourse silences both speaker and listener, leaving only a haunting soliloquy in place of connection.

6. Conclusions

T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock critiques patriarchal norms not by overt polemic, but through a nuanced dramatization of communicative failure under the weight of gendered expectations. By positioning Prufrock as a man silenced by the demands of masculine performance—by the need to appear composed, authoritative, and emotionally impenetrable—Eliot exposes how modernist alienation is not merely the product of metaphysical disillusionment but is also a distinctly gendered phenomenon. Prufrock’s paralysis emerges as a direct response to the conflicting imperatives of his cultural moment: to speak is to risk emasculation; to remain silent is to confirm inadequacy. His hesitations, evasions, and imagined rebukes—”That is not it at all,/That is not what I meant, at all”—are not failures of intellect or clarity but symptoms of a masculinity conditioned by fear of exposure and rejection. Through this lens, Eliot’s formal strategies—ellipsis, fragmentation, second-person address—become more than esthetic choices. They are structural enactments of Prufrock’s sociolinguistic entrapment. The fractured syntax and recursive self-questioning map the internal terrain of a speaker who lacks a viable mode of gendered self-expression. Eliot does not simply portray Prufrock as a passive victim of modernist angst; rather, he critiques the very patriarchal scripts that have shaped Prufrock’s inner life, suggesting that such scripts render meaningful connection—especially between men and women—not just difficult, but structurally inaccessible.

This reading reframes Prufrock as a critical intervention in gendered discourse. Drawing on the insights of Tannen, Coates, and Eckert, this article has demonstrated that Eliot’s poem participates in conversations about how language both reflects and enforces gender hierarchies. Prufrock’s voice—self-conscious, hesitant, and fractured—testifies to the psychic toll of these hierarchies on male identity and communication. He performs masculinity not through action, but through avoidance, deferral, and withdrawal. In doing so, Eliot aligns the poem with a broader critique of modern civilization—not simply in moral or philosophical terms, but in its discursive and relational failures. Prufrock’s alienation is not solely a condition of modernity; it is a condition of being male in a society where emotional authenticity is subordinated to performative control. Eliot invites readers to see how the very structures that promise coherence—gender roles, social rituals, conversational norms—ultimately inhibit connection and self-realization.

For Eliot studies and gendered modernist criticism, this analysis opens up further avenues of inquiry. Future scholarship might explore how Eliot’s other early poems engage with gendered speech, or how his male speakers variously inhabit or resist patriarchal discourses. Prufrock thus anticipates and contributes to ongoing debates about the intersections of language, gender, and power, offering a vision of masculinity not as stoic ideal but as fragile construct. In revealing the emotional costs of this construct, Eliot’s poem remains not only a landmark of modernist form but also a prescient critique of the gendered politics of communication—one whose implications continue to resonate today.