Wow. I have just experienced one of the most disturbingly grotesque sentences in my literary lifetime, detailing a father(Aureliano) looking over his garden while searching for his newborn son: “ …he admired the persistence of the spiderwebs on the dead rose bushes, the perseverance of the rye grass, the patience of the air in the radiant February dawn. And then he saw the child. It was a dry and bloated bag of skin that all the ants in the world were dragging toward their holes along the stone path in the garden” (445). The mental image of a dead newborn baby being dragged by ants into their holes stuck with me throughout the rest of the book, leading me to gloss over the last several pages. Long after I put the book down, still sitting on my sofa, a chill ran down my spine to my feet, then back up again to my stomach. But somehow, I wasn’t exactly surprised.
Such is the power of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. His imagery goes from beautiful to utterly horrific in the width of a period; his writing reflects the sudden, awful aspects of his characters’ lives. For instance, the happy promise found in the arrival of Colonel Aureliano Buendia’s seventeen sons is sharply contrasted with the eventual murder of all of them. The exhilaration of the workers’ strike is followed by the horrendous massacre of thousands of the same workers and their families. The gorgeous Remedios the Beauty, whose very presence horribly kills her suitors. In my opinion, the most horribly cruel event in the novel was the shooting and subsequent paralysis of Mauricio Babilonia, Meme’s lover, who is “mistaken” for a chicken thief: “He died of old age in solitude, without a moan, without a protest, without a single moment of betrayal, tormented by memories and by the yellow butterflies, who did not give him a moment’s peace, and ostracized as a chicken thief” (313). The novel merely cycles the same effective plot device: a good episode, shortly followed by a disastrous event that eclipses the previous good episode and must be followed by another good incident. In this way, reading the novel becomes reminiscent of drowning in a depressing, melancholic ocean that is occasionally interrupted by a frantic gasp for redeeming air. Just when the reader thinks that the novel couldn’t be any darker, a someone else suddenly dies. It is a relentless, harsh novel detailing the rises and falls of one extremely unlucky family.
In making his novel an unending deluge of misfortune and sorrow, Marquez achieves several remarkable effects on the reader. For one, he made me glad that I’m not a Buendia. Secondly, in dehumanizing us through such unremitting catastrophe and really weird, incestual relations(!), Marquez shows us just how lucky we are, and even made this reader grateful for all that has not befallen him. And by the end of the novel, this makes us even more human: call it a humble pie made up of death, insanity, and a big slice of sexual perversion. (514)
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Seeing as how I will be in Bowdoin and Cornell all weekend visiting the campuses with no access to a computer, and the fact that I haven’t read enough more of my book to constitute another blog entry, I figured I would just post some Jstor articles I found that might be useful. I’ll write the blog when I return and have read more.
Thanks!
· Review: Gabriel Garcia Marquez & the Lost Art of Storytelling
· Ricardo Gullon
· Diacritics, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Autumn, 1971), pp. 27-32
· Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press
· The Necessity of the Literary Tradition: Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "One-Hundred Years of Solitude"
· James C. Jupp
· The English Journal, Vol. 89, No. 3, Our History, Ourselves (Jan., 2000), pp. 113-115
· Published by: National Council of Teachers of English
· Play and Playfulness in Garcia Marquez' "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
· Enrique A. Giordano
· Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature, Vol. 42, No. 4 (1988), pp. 217-229
· Published by: Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association
Thanks!
· Review: Gabriel Garcia Marquez & the Lost Art of Storytelling
· Ricardo Gullon
· Diacritics, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Autumn, 1971), pp. 27-32
· Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press
· The Necessity of the Literary Tradition: Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "One-Hundred Years of Solitude"
· James C. Jupp
· The English Journal, Vol. 89, No. 3, Our History, Ourselves (Jan., 2000), pp. 113-115
· Published by: National Council of Teachers of English
· Play and Playfulness in Garcia Marquez' "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
· Enrique A. Giordano
· Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature, Vol. 42, No. 4 (1988), pp. 217-229
· Published by: Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association
Bill is Too Harsh With Us
“The World is Too Much With Us”, by the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth, deals with man’s self-absorption and resulting disregard of nature in the early nineteenth century. The poem reads much like a pastor preaching from his pulpit; there is very little humility in the way Wordsworth scolds the reader for turning his or her back on Mother Nature’s gifts. Using both a threatening and frustrated tone along with a smattering of vivid imagery and metaphors, Wordsworth tries to warn his audience of an imminent threat before it becomes too late for mankind to redeem itself.
The first four lines of the sonnet address Wordsworth’s critical point: that the world is “too much with us”; in other words, that we dwell too much on our “material world”. In saying this, Wordsworth is not just talking about the material-capitalistic aspect of our lives. He is also referring to the rapid modernization and urbanization of his time. In doing so, Wordsworth argues that we have forgotten about the pure, simple joys to be found in Nature. When talking about “[g]etting and spending”, he bemoans the fact that we “lay waste our powers” by taking our world’s natural wonders for granted. These wonders are represented by our “hearts” which are, paradoxically, the very things that make us human.
The next three lines describe some of Nature’s awe-inspiring qualities, such as the sea that “bares her bosom to the moon” and the “howling” winds. Ironically, Wordsworth uses personification to describe such an inhuman force. Despite the awful magnificence of this apparent storm, Wordsworth exclaims that it “moves us not”. In being focused on our own selfish pursuits and material objectives, our eyes have become blind and our ears deaf to the natural world around us— even towards something so brutally powerful as a rampaging tempest.
The most interesting aspect of the poem begins halfway through the ninth line with the exclamation “Great God! I’d rather be / A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn”. Wordsworth is basically saying that he would rather be a pagan who is able to glean some joy from nature than belong to the materialistic 19th century society that he is surrounded by. The references to Greek mythology (Proteus and Triton, two sea gods) evoke a wistful longing for a return to an ancient world where Nature is revered. Wordsworth undoubtedly intended to shake pre-Victorian era England by renouncing both his society and his religion in the hopes of getting his point across.
Starting out as a gentle admonition, climaxing as a hopeless revelation, and ending with a pensive yet dramatic reflection, “The World Is Too Much With Us” uses many different styles of tone to guilt, teach, and shock the audience into realizing what they have become. While nineteenth century Englishmen thought they were becoming more and more “civilized” and “human”, Wordsworth argues that they are only reverting more and more to the base human tendencies of greed and egotism. In this desperate, apocalyptic plea for change, Wordsworth implicitly and explicitly states that the only hope for mankind lies in drastic action being taken to reverse such an unnatural course.
Discussion Questions:
1) Does anyone disagree with my interpretation of the poem? If so, please elaborate.
2) What is the significance of the “pagan” references in the poem?
3) Is the world too much with us? In other words, does this poem bring up an important issue in today’s society?
4) Why do you think Wordsworth is so upset about our growing insensitivity towards Nature?
The first four lines of the sonnet address Wordsworth’s critical point: that the world is “too much with us”; in other words, that we dwell too much on our “material world”. In saying this, Wordsworth is not just talking about the material-capitalistic aspect of our lives. He is also referring to the rapid modernization and urbanization of his time. In doing so, Wordsworth argues that we have forgotten about the pure, simple joys to be found in Nature. When talking about “[g]etting and spending”, he bemoans the fact that we “lay waste our powers” by taking our world’s natural wonders for granted. These wonders are represented by our “hearts” which are, paradoxically, the very things that make us human.
The next three lines describe some of Nature’s awe-inspiring qualities, such as the sea that “bares her bosom to the moon” and the “howling” winds. Ironically, Wordsworth uses personification to describe such an inhuman force. Despite the awful magnificence of this apparent storm, Wordsworth exclaims that it “moves us not”. In being focused on our own selfish pursuits and material objectives, our eyes have become blind and our ears deaf to the natural world around us— even towards something so brutally powerful as a rampaging tempest.
The most interesting aspect of the poem begins halfway through the ninth line with the exclamation “Great God! I’d rather be / A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn”. Wordsworth is basically saying that he would rather be a pagan who is able to glean some joy from nature than belong to the materialistic 19th century society that he is surrounded by. The references to Greek mythology (Proteus and Triton, two sea gods) evoke a wistful longing for a return to an ancient world where Nature is revered. Wordsworth undoubtedly intended to shake pre-Victorian era England by renouncing both his society and his religion in the hopes of getting his point across.
Starting out as a gentle admonition, climaxing as a hopeless revelation, and ending with a pensive yet dramatic reflection, “The World Is Too Much With Us” uses many different styles of tone to guilt, teach, and shock the audience into realizing what they have become. While nineteenth century Englishmen thought they were becoming more and more “civilized” and “human”, Wordsworth argues that they are only reverting more and more to the base human tendencies of greed and egotism. In this desperate, apocalyptic plea for change, Wordsworth implicitly and explicitly states that the only hope for mankind lies in drastic action being taken to reverse such an unnatural course.
Discussion Questions:
1) Does anyone disagree with my interpretation of the poem? If so, please elaborate.
2) What is the significance of the “pagan” references in the poem?
3) Is the world too much with us? In other words, does this poem bring up an important issue in today’s society?
4) Why do you think Wordsworth is so upset about our growing insensitivity towards Nature?
Monday, April 14, 2008
100 Pages of Solitude
While reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, this reader found himself asking whether or not the book transcends the normal realm of rational human thought and action and takes place in some sort of magical world. Of course, some of it is clearly seen through the eyes of an uneducated third-person narrator; for instance, the magnets and magnifying glass that are thought to be magical. On the other hand, the appearance of Prudencio Aguilar’s ghost (Who was killed by Jose Arcadio Buendia in a duel) is wholly unsurprising, even expected: “ Ursula…saw Prudencio Aguilar by the water jar…It did not bring on fear in hear, but pity. She told her husband what she had seen, but he did not think much of it”(24).The beauty of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s writing, however, is that he manages to portray everyday events and items as fantastic while supernatural events are described as if they were an everyday occurrence. In this way, Marquez captures the reader in a spell-binding place that leaves my head spinning long after I put the book down. I half-expected a unicorn to be sitting on my living room couch when I walked out of my room, yet I found the ice in my refrigerator to be wholly awe-inspiring. In creating a world that walks the line between reality and fantasy, Marquez creates a Harry Potter-like effect in that Marquez’s world is related to ours but is much, much better.
The characters in One Hundred Years of Solitude only add to the mystique. Jose Arcadio Buendia, the ranting lunatic; Rebeca, the orphan who eats dirt and whitewash; Melquiades, the leader of the gypsies who possesses many strange and seemingly devilish powers; Jose Arcadio, the tattooed giant; and many, many more exotic and intriguing characters. Another important facet of the novel is its preoccupation with death. When the line between life and death is blurred so indiscriminately, Macondo (the village) becomes either a heaven or a hell in the eyes of the reader. To me, there is certainly something satanic about the village, especially once strange things start happening, such as the inability of the villagers to sleep and retain memories for awhile.
By juxtaposing realistic, everyday life with the magical, supernatural events that give Macondo an eerie sort of zest, Marquez allowed me to relate character’s lives. Using intense, descriptive realism— and, might I add, overly sexual language that forms a gritty, genuine undertone— Marquez has written another masterful novel. In addition, I must say that I prefer this novel over Love in the Time of Cholera because although Love in the Time of Cholera deals with the tortured existence of one man, One Hundred Years of Solitude portrays the tortured existence of an entire family. And that, my friends, is tragic realism at its best. Now excuse me; I have to go feed that unicorn. (496)
The characters in One Hundred Years of Solitude only add to the mystique. Jose Arcadio Buendia, the ranting lunatic; Rebeca, the orphan who eats dirt and whitewash; Melquiades, the leader of the gypsies who possesses many strange and seemingly devilish powers; Jose Arcadio, the tattooed giant; and many, many more exotic and intriguing characters. Another important facet of the novel is its preoccupation with death. When the line between life and death is blurred so indiscriminately, Macondo (the village) becomes either a heaven or a hell in the eyes of the reader. To me, there is certainly something satanic about the village, especially once strange things start happening, such as the inability of the villagers to sleep and retain memories for awhile.
By juxtaposing realistic, everyday life with the magical, supernatural events that give Macondo an eerie sort of zest, Marquez allowed me to relate character’s lives. Using intense, descriptive realism— and, might I add, overly sexual language that forms a gritty, genuine undertone— Marquez has written another masterful novel. In addition, I must say that I prefer this novel over Love in the Time of Cholera because although Love in the Time of Cholera deals with the tortured existence of one man, One Hundred Years of Solitude portrays the tortured existence of an entire family. And that, my friends, is tragic realism at its best. Now excuse me; I have to go feed that unicorn. (496)
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
By Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Hamlet Subtext
SCENE IV. The Queen's closet.
Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,And that your grace hath screen'd and stood betweenMuch heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.Pray you, be round with him.
This is typical Polonius; in a pleading, ingratiating tone, he implores the Queen to scold Hamlet while he hides himself and listens
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
Spoken in a mocking, high-pitched voice
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
(Agreeing to Polonius's request, she gestures at the arras and frantically pushes him over)
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Fake concern, comical, caring expression on his face, while his words drip with scorn
QUEEN GERTRUDE
(Brushes away her hair, which was mussed in her distress. Pulls herself up in an attempt to appear haughty and powerful)Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
(Stares at her and shakes his head)Mother, you have my father much offended.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.(Her eyes dart around. She is clearly scared of him.)
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;And--(glancing towards the sky)would it were not so!--you are my mother.(He grimaces at the word 'mother')
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.(Starts to walk towards the door)
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;You go not till I set you up a glassWhere you may see the inmost part of you.(He grabs her left arm and forces her to turn around and face him)
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?Help, help, ho! (Her voice becomes frantic. Her eyes dart around before settling on the arras)
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat?(He barks) Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
Falls and dies(One hears the sound of his body crumpling to the floor)
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?(She exclaims, clutching her dress)
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:(laughing)Is it the king?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!(Still scared, but her interest is piqued)
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
He spits out the words:Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,If it be made of penetrable stuff,If damned custom have not brass'd it soThat it is proof and bulwark against sense.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongueIn noise so rude against me?
HAMLET (Grabbing her)
Such an actThat blurs the grace and blush of modesty,Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the roseFrom the fair forehead of an innocent loveAnd sets a blister there, makes marriage-vowsAs false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deedAs from the body of contraction plucksThe very soul, and sweet religion makesA rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:Yea, this solidity and compound mass,With tristful visage, as against the doom,Is thought-sick at the act.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (is taken aback)
Ay me, what act,That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.(His eyes look upwards while he describes his father)See, what a grace was seated on this brow;Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;A station like the herald MercuryNew-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;A combination and a form indeed,Where every god did seem to set his seal,To give the world assurance of a man:This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?(Pointing at his eys)Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?(Pointing at his eyes again, more frantically this time)You cannot call it love; for at your ageThe hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,And waits upon the judgment: and what judgmentWould step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,Else could you not have motion; but sure, that senseIs apoplex'd; for madness would not err,Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'dBut it reserved some quantity of choice,To serve in such a difference. What devil was'tThat thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,Or but a sickly part of one true senseCould not so mope.O shame! where is thy blush?(Grabs her cheeks forcefully) Rebellious hell,If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shameWhen the compulsive ardour gives the charge,Since frost itself as actively doth burnAnd reason panders will.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;And there I see such black and grained spotsAs will not leave their tinct.
As she begins to realize what she has done, she weeps
HAMLET (His voice gradually crescendoes)
Nay, but to liveIn the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making loveOver the nasty sty,--
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Putting her hands up)
O, speak to me no more;These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;No more, sweet Hamlet!
HAMLET (With volume still increasing)
A murderer and a villain;A slave that is not twentieth part the titheOf your precedent lord; a vice of kings;A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,And put it in his pocket!
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Hands still raised, cups her ears)
No more!
HAMLET (Screaming now)
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
(Hamlet's voice drops to a whisper)Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Slowly uncups ears, whispers to herself)
Alas, he's mad!
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go byThe important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitationIs but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:O, step between her and her fighting soul:Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:Speak to her, Hamlet.
Is reminding Hamlet of the original purpose of his mission
HAMLET (turns to her, calm and collected now)
How is it with you, lady?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,That you do bend your eye on vacancyAnd with the incorporal air do hold discourse?Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?(Scared, voice shaking)
Gertrude describes his disheveled appearance and crazy actions and how much they scare her
HAMLET(Gesturing at the ghost)
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;Lest with this piteous action you convertMy stern effects: then what I have to doWill want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Eyes darting from Hamlet to where he is pointing)
To whom do you speak this?
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET (Grabbing her)
Nor did you nothing hear?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET (Wildly gesticulating)
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!My father, in his habit as he lived!Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:This bodiless creation ecstasyIs very cunning in.
HAMLET
Ecstasy!My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,And makes as healthful music: it is not madnessThat I have utter'd: bring me to the test,And I the matter will re-word; which madnessWould gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,Infects unseen.(Draws his dagger and points it at her) Confess yourself to heaven;Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;And do not spread the compost on the weeds,To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;For in the fatness of these pursy timesVirtue itself of vice must pardon beg,Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Falls to her knees, rests her head against the wall)
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,And live the purer with the other half.Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;Assume a virtue, if you have it not.That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,That to the use of actions fair and goodHe likewise gives a frock or livery,That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence: the next more easy;For use almost can change the stamp of nature,And either [ ] the devil, or throw him outWith wondrous potency. Once more, good night:And when you are desirous to be bless'd,I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
He is offering her a chance at redemption, yet states that he already gave Polonius his chance
Pointing to POLONIUS
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,To punish me with this and this with me,That I must be their scourge and minister.I will bestow him, and will answer wellThe death I gave him. So, again, good night.I must be cruel, only to be kind:Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.One word more, good lady.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
HAMLET (Pensive, hand on his chin)
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,Make you to ravel all this matter out,That I essentially am not in madness,But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?No, in despite of sense and secrecy,Unpeg the basket on the house's top.Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,To try conclusions, in the basket creep,And break your own neck down.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Slides all the way down the wall, until she is lying down)
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,And breath of life, I have no life to breatheWhat thou hast said to me.
Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,And that your grace hath screen'd and stood betweenMuch heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.Pray you, be round with him.
This is typical Polonius; in a pleading, ingratiating tone, he implores the Queen to scold Hamlet while he hides himself and listens
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
Spoken in a mocking, high-pitched voice
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
(Agreeing to Polonius's request, she gestures at the arras and frantically pushes him over)
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Fake concern, comical, caring expression on his face, while his words drip with scorn
QUEEN GERTRUDE
(Brushes away her hair, which was mussed in her distress. Pulls herself up in an attempt to appear haughty and powerful)Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
(Stares at her and shakes his head)Mother, you have my father much offended.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.(Her eyes dart around. She is clearly scared of him.)
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;And--(glancing towards the sky)would it were not so!--you are my mother.(He grimaces at the word 'mother')
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.(Starts to walk towards the door)
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;You go not till I set you up a glassWhere you may see the inmost part of you.(He grabs her left arm and forces her to turn around and face him)
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?Help, help, ho! (Her voice becomes frantic. Her eyes dart around before settling on the arras)
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat?(He barks) Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
Falls and dies(One hears the sound of his body crumpling to the floor)
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?(She exclaims, clutching her dress)
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:(laughing)Is it the king?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!(Still scared, but her interest is piqued)
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
He spits out the words:Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,If it be made of penetrable stuff,If damned custom have not brass'd it soThat it is proof and bulwark against sense.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongueIn noise so rude against me?
HAMLET (Grabbing her)
Such an actThat blurs the grace and blush of modesty,Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the roseFrom the fair forehead of an innocent loveAnd sets a blister there, makes marriage-vowsAs false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deedAs from the body of contraction plucksThe very soul, and sweet religion makesA rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:Yea, this solidity and compound mass,With tristful visage, as against the doom,Is thought-sick at the act.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (is taken aback)
Ay me, what act,That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.(His eyes look upwards while he describes his father)See, what a grace was seated on this brow;Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;A station like the herald MercuryNew-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;A combination and a form indeed,Where every god did seem to set his seal,To give the world assurance of a man:This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?(Pointing at his eys)Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?(Pointing at his eyes again, more frantically this time)You cannot call it love; for at your ageThe hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,And waits upon the judgment: and what judgmentWould step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,Else could you not have motion; but sure, that senseIs apoplex'd; for madness would not err,Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'dBut it reserved some quantity of choice,To serve in such a difference. What devil was'tThat thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,Or but a sickly part of one true senseCould not so mope.O shame! where is thy blush?(Grabs her cheeks forcefully) Rebellious hell,If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shameWhen the compulsive ardour gives the charge,Since frost itself as actively doth burnAnd reason panders will.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;And there I see such black and grained spotsAs will not leave their tinct.
As she begins to realize what she has done, she weeps
HAMLET (His voice gradually crescendoes)
Nay, but to liveIn the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making loveOver the nasty sty,--
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Putting her hands up)
O, speak to me no more;These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;No more, sweet Hamlet!
HAMLET (With volume still increasing)
A murderer and a villain;A slave that is not twentieth part the titheOf your precedent lord; a vice of kings;A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,And put it in his pocket!
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Hands still raised, cups her ears)
No more!
HAMLET (Screaming now)
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
(Hamlet's voice drops to a whisper)Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Slowly uncups ears, whispers to herself)
Alas, he's mad!
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go byThe important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitationIs but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:O, step between her and her fighting soul:Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:Speak to her, Hamlet.
Is reminding Hamlet of the original purpose of his mission
HAMLET (turns to her, calm and collected now)
How is it with you, lady?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,That you do bend your eye on vacancyAnd with the incorporal air do hold discourse?Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?(Scared, voice shaking)
Gertrude describes his disheveled appearance and crazy actions and how much they scare her
HAMLET(Gesturing at the ghost)
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;Lest with this piteous action you convertMy stern effects: then what I have to doWill want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Eyes darting from Hamlet to where he is pointing)
To whom do you speak this?
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET (Grabbing her)
Nor did you nothing hear?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET (Wildly gesticulating)
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!My father, in his habit as he lived!Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:This bodiless creation ecstasyIs very cunning in.
HAMLET
Ecstasy!My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,And makes as healthful music: it is not madnessThat I have utter'd: bring me to the test,And I the matter will re-word; which madnessWould gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,Infects unseen.(Draws his dagger and points it at her) Confess yourself to heaven;Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;And do not spread the compost on the weeds,To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;For in the fatness of these pursy timesVirtue itself of vice must pardon beg,Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Falls to her knees, rests her head against the wall)
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,And live the purer with the other half.Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;Assume a virtue, if you have it not.That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,That to the use of actions fair and goodHe likewise gives a frock or livery,That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence: the next more easy;For use almost can change the stamp of nature,And either [ ] the devil, or throw him outWith wondrous potency. Once more, good night:And when you are desirous to be bless'd,I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
He is offering her a chance at redemption, yet states that he already gave Polonius his chance
Pointing to POLONIUS
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,To punish me with this and this with me,That I must be their scourge and minister.I will bestow him, and will answer wellThe death I gave him. So, again, good night.I must be cruel, only to be kind:Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.One word more, good lady.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
HAMLET (Pensive, hand on his chin)
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,Make you to ravel all this matter out,That I essentially am not in madness,But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?No, in despite of sense and secrecy,Unpeg the basket on the house's top.Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,To try conclusions, in the basket creep,And break your own neck down.
QUEEN GERTRUDE (Slides all the way down the wall, until she is lying down)
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,And breath of life, I have no life to breatheWhat thou hast said to me.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Man, “The Metamorphosis” Has Got Me Buggin’( A Reader's Reaction to Kafka's Greatest Work)
So let me get this straight: one morning, a man wakes up as a bug. He is not surprised by this fact, but worries about the potential career-threatening possibilities of such a transformation. Huh. That’s a rather atypical reaction to a sudden transformation into a bug—to be fair, one could argue that there hasn’t exactly been a precedent for judging such matters, but still. Right off the bat, the reader is both forced to suspend rational thought and given a rather unflattering portrait of the protagonist, Mr. Gregor Samsa. As the story progresses, one hopes that there will be some redeeming character traits to be found in Mr. Samsa. Nope. He becomes even more spineless (Ha. Get it?), as evidenced by his opinions on his newfound and undesirable role in the family: “He stayed there all night, spending the time partly in a light slumber… and partly in worrying and sketching vague hopes, which all led to the same conclusion, that he must lie low for the present and, by exercising patience, and the utmost consideration, help the family to bear the inconvenience he was bound to cause them in his present condition” (¶ 37). As I continued reading, I found that, in my rising disgust for the man, I had to put down the textbook several times to seek out cockroaches and other such large insects with the hope of squashing Mr. Samsa. Alas, it was all to no avail.
Anyway, Kafka’s characterization of Gregor got me thinking (Unintentionally, I’m sure) about the necessity of such a story. Is it like “The Death of Ivan Ilyich”? That is, a not-so-hidden sermon on how the reader should live his or her life? If so, then apparently we should be less cowardly and bug-like and more courageous and human-like. It is my opinion that this is indeed the case, and Samsa represents either Kafka’s own failings(or self-perceived failings) or a dramatic characterization and personification( bugification?) of the many cowardly, ingratiating people that he and we have encountered in our lives. In the end, however, one cannot help but feel pity for poor Gregor Samsa. His death is a dramatically pathetic and pitiable conclusion to an already pathetic and pitiable existence: “The decision that he must disappear was one that he held to even more strongly than his sister, if that were possible…Then his head sank to the floor of its own accord and from his nostrils came the last faint flicker of his breath” (89).Whether we hate, identify with, or pity his cowardliness, the reader strongly reacts to Mr. Gregor Samsa. That universality is what has made “The Metamorphosis” one of the most famous short stories of all time. And in the end, it’s really just a story about a guy who wakes up as a bug. (492)
Anyway, Kafka’s characterization of Gregor got me thinking (Unintentionally, I’m sure) about the necessity of such a story. Is it like “The Death of Ivan Ilyich”? That is, a not-so-hidden sermon on how the reader should live his or her life? If so, then apparently we should be less cowardly and bug-like and more courageous and human-like. It is my opinion that this is indeed the case, and Samsa represents either Kafka’s own failings(or self-perceived failings) or a dramatic characterization and personification( bugification?) of the many cowardly, ingratiating people that he and we have encountered in our lives. In the end, however, one cannot help but feel pity for poor Gregor Samsa. His death is a dramatically pathetic and pitiable conclusion to an already pathetic and pitiable existence: “The decision that he must disappear was one that he held to even more strongly than his sister, if that were possible…Then his head sank to the floor of its own accord and from his nostrils came the last faint flicker of his breath” (89).Whether we hate, identify with, or pity his cowardliness, the reader strongly reacts to Mr. Gregor Samsa. That universality is what has made “The Metamorphosis” one of the most famous short stories of all time. And in the end, it’s really just a story about a guy who wakes up as a bug. (492)
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Last Breath of Ivan Ilyich
“The Death of Ivan Ilyich”, by Leo Tolstoy, is a textbook example of an author presenting social commentary about his status quo. In the story, a petty, ambitious judge falls ill to a mysterious disease that leaves him increasingly miserable and helpless. As the thin façade that is Ivan Ilyich’s life begins to crumble around him, he begins to notice the vanity and phoniness of the people surrounding him. Through the third-person narrator’s critical tone and unflattering portrayal of the key characters, the reader realizes that the material and superficial benefits of Ivan’s socially-gratifying life have all amounted to nothing in the end.
In the beginning of the story, it is hard feel any sympathy for Ivan. The reader asks himself what such a man must be like to elicit such an unsympathetic reaction to his death from close friends and family members: “[Ivan’s] face was handsomer and above all more dignified than when he was alive ( ¶ 28). They are self-absorbed, and seem to always think only of their own discomfort or inconvenience: “the more intimate of Ivan Ilych;s acquaintances, his so-called friends, could not help thinking also that they would now have to fulfill the very tiresome demans of propriety by attending the funeral service and paying a visit of condolence to the widow”(18) Throughout the funeral service Peter Ivanovich, Ivan’s closest “friend”, can only think of the bridge game later that night and his own discomfort at the social norms surrounding a funeral. By portraying his friends and family’s reactions to Ivan’s death, Tolstoy asks the reader a poignant question: What kind of society and/or person would inspire such a superficial lifestyle?
The other important defining point in the novel is Ivan’s realization of the shallowness and hopelessness of his former life. At first, he denies it to himself: “And whenever the thought occurred to him, as it often did, that it all resulted from his not having lived as he ought to have done, he at once recalled the correctness of his whole life and dismissed so strange an idea”(305). It is only when he begins to question himself that he realizes the bad aspects of his life; the memories that had seemed so pleasant now appear to him as distant and forlorn.
Throughout the novel, Tolstoy paints an unflattering portrait of the upper crust of the nineteenth-century Russian society and those who aspire to be in it. As he describes Ivan’s bourgeois home: “In reality it was just what is usually seen in the houses of people of moderate means who want to appear rich, and therefore succeed only in resembling others like themselves”(100). As Ivan realizes the mistakes he has made and the skin-deep, petty life he has led, it is already too late; apparently, Tolstoy thinks greed is punishable by death. In one man’s death, Tolstoy is teaching the reader how to live, and in one man’s greed, Tolstoy leaves the question of humility. Sometimes what isn’t said and what isn’t done is what’s important.(512)
In the beginning of the story, it is hard feel any sympathy for Ivan. The reader asks himself what such a man must be like to elicit such an unsympathetic reaction to his death from close friends and family members: “[Ivan’s] face was handsomer and above all more dignified than when he was alive ( ¶ 28). They are self-absorbed, and seem to always think only of their own discomfort or inconvenience: “the more intimate of Ivan Ilych;s acquaintances, his so-called friends, could not help thinking also that they would now have to fulfill the very tiresome demans of propriety by attending the funeral service and paying a visit of condolence to the widow”(18) Throughout the funeral service Peter Ivanovich, Ivan’s closest “friend”, can only think of the bridge game later that night and his own discomfort at the social norms surrounding a funeral. By portraying his friends and family’s reactions to Ivan’s death, Tolstoy asks the reader a poignant question: What kind of society and/or person would inspire such a superficial lifestyle?
The other important defining point in the novel is Ivan’s realization of the shallowness and hopelessness of his former life. At first, he denies it to himself: “And whenever the thought occurred to him, as it often did, that it all resulted from his not having lived as he ought to have done, he at once recalled the correctness of his whole life and dismissed so strange an idea”(305). It is only when he begins to question himself that he realizes the bad aspects of his life; the memories that had seemed so pleasant now appear to him as distant and forlorn.
Throughout the novel, Tolstoy paints an unflattering portrait of the upper crust of the nineteenth-century Russian society and those who aspire to be in it. As he describes Ivan’s bourgeois home: “In reality it was just what is usually seen in the houses of people of moderate means who want to appear rich, and therefore succeed only in resembling others like themselves”(100). As Ivan realizes the mistakes he has made and the skin-deep, petty life he has led, it is already too late; apparently, Tolstoy thinks greed is punishable by death. In one man’s death, Tolstoy is teaching the reader how to live, and in one man’s greed, Tolstoy leaves the question of humility. Sometimes what isn’t said and what isn’t done is what’s important.(512)
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Character Analysis:Fermina
As the object of love in Love in the Time of Cholera, Fermina Daza is the hub of the story around which the plot turns. A beautiful and haughty woman, she is appealing to both Dr. Urbino and Florentino Ariza because of her exclusivity. Florentino could write sixty to seventy pages of compliments to her. In my opinion, she has many traits that make her appealing to the reader and allow her to be the hypotenuse of such an intense love triangle.
Everyone knows that playing hard-to-get is a surefire way to attract the opposite sex. Apparently, Fermina Daza is no exception. As a young girl, as Florentino rapturously stares at her while she studies, she “did not even respond with a charitable glance” (60). When he offers her a camellia as a gesture of adoration, she refuses, saying that it is a “flower of promises”. Dr. Urbino fares no better in his initial attempts to woo her; for example, she slams a window in his face when he pays a return visit to her. The simple letters that he sends her are never returned, and he must veritably lock her in his coach with him to get her to talk to him. Her tactics bring to mind the familiar expression about the apple: the higher it is (ie. the harder you have to work for it), the better it tastes.
To further add to Fermina’s appeal is the fact that underneath her haughty, sophisticated exterior lies a caring and adoring soul. For example, she is an “irrational idolator of tropical flowers and domestic animals”(21) who circumvents her husband’s seemingly impassable rule and buys a parrot. She is also an amazing wife to Dr. Urbino throughout their long and sometimes rocky marriage. In his old age, she assumes the unenviable role of a devoted mother: “She could not remember when she had also begun to help him dress, and finally to dress him, and she was aware that at first she had done it for love, but for the past five years or so she had been obliged to do it…because he could not dress himself” (26). To me, this devotion, even after many long years, speaks more about their love and about Fermina’s personality than any other aspect of their relationship.
Throughout the story, Fermina Daza captures the attention (and hearts) of two men with her beauty, poise, and nurturing personality. Along the way, the reader begins to understand how she can compel these men to go to such lengths to woo her. Gabriel Garcia Marquez needed to have the love interest of his book lovable enough to justify the plot, and he found such a likeability personality in Fermina Daza. Although the reader cannot see her, through her thoughts and actions we have an understanding as to why she shaped the lives of Dr. Urbino and Florentino Ariza, who are at first smitten merely by her beauty. (505)
As the object of love in Love in the Time of Cholera, Fermina Daza is the hub of the story around which the plot turns. A beautiful and haughty woman, she is appealing to both Dr. Urbino and Florentino Ariza because of her exclusivity. Florentino could write sixty to seventy pages of compliments to her. In my opinion, she has many traits that make her appealing to the reader and allow her to be the hypotenuse of such an intense love triangle.
Everyone knows that playing hard-to-get is a surefire way to attract the opposite sex. Apparently, Fermina Daza is no exception. As a young girl, as Florentino rapturously stares at her while she studies, she “did not even respond with a charitable glance” (60). When he offers her a camellia as a gesture of adoration, she refuses, saying that it is a “flower of promises”. Dr. Urbino fares no better in his initial attempts to woo her; for example, she slams a window in his face when he pays a return visit to her. The simple letters that he sends her are never returned, and he must veritably lock her in his coach with him to get her to talk to him. Her tactics bring to mind the familiar expression about the apple: the higher it is (ie. the harder you have to work for it), the better it tastes.
To further add to Fermina’s appeal is the fact that underneath her haughty, sophisticated exterior lies a caring and adoring soul. For example, she is an “irrational idolator of tropical flowers and domestic animals”(21) who circumvents her husband’s seemingly impassable rule and buys a parrot. She is also an amazing wife to Dr. Urbino throughout their long and sometimes rocky marriage. In his old age, she assumes the unenviable role of a devoted mother: “She could not remember when she had also begun to help him dress, and finally to dress him, and she was aware that at first she had done it for love, but for the past five years or so she had been obliged to do it…because he could not dress himself” (26). To me, this devotion, even after many long years, speaks more about their love and about Fermina’s personality than any other aspect of their relationship.
Throughout the story, Fermina Daza captures the attention (and hearts) of two men with her beauty, poise, and nurturing personality. Along the way, the reader begins to understand how she can compel these men to go to such lengths to woo her. Gabriel Garcia Marquez needed to have the love interest of his book lovable enough to justify the plot, and he found such a likeability personality in Fermina Daza. Although the reader cannot see her, through her thoughts and actions we have an understanding as to why she shaped the lives of Dr. Urbino and Florentino Ariza, who are at first smitten merely by her beauty. (505)
Monday, November 19, 2007
Which Love in the Time of Cholera?
Set in a romantic, quasi-mystical South American town, Love in the Time of Cholera is about the dramatic love triangle involving Florentino Ariza, Fermina Daza, and Dr. Juvenal Urbina. Throughout the novel, however, the reader is left wondering as to which one is the central love affair, the relationship that is supposed to be highlighted by the other. Is it the disturbing and unexpected love between Florentino and Fermina, or the socially-correct courtship and eventual long-lasting marriage of Dr. Urbina and Fermina? I will attempt to answer this question by dissecting the two relationships and therefore seeing which couple Marquez wants us to side with.
Florentino Ariza is an anomaly, an apparently unattractive man who attracts many women; a normally reserved, chaste person who falls passionately in love with Fermina with only a single glance: “… and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later”(55). At first, this lead me to believe that it was merely a fleeting obsession, the melodramatic well-I-can’t-have-her-might-as-well-stalk-her reaction typical of soap operas and television movies. However, as time passes (and Florentino writes a 60-page love letter), it appears more and more likely that Florentino may actually be in love. Even stranger still, Fermina Daza is returning these emotions. At first glance, it appears to the reader that Fermina merely returns Florentino’s affections out of a mixture of sympathy and childish innocence. However, we can see that her affections do not wane over the three years she is away, despite the fact that her returns seems to have disillusioned her. Fifty-one years, nine months, and four days afterwards, it is painfully obvious that she still has feelings for Florentino: “while she slept, sobbing, she had thought more about Florentino Ariza than about her dead husband”(51).
The relationship between Dr. Urbina and Fermina comes as a surprise, mostly because it begins in a “lull” between Florentino and Fermina. After the passionate, immature love of Florentino, the abrupt, socially-correct courtship of Fermina by Dr. Urbino stuns the reader. Although both men are similar in their fervent desire for Fermina, Urbino’s money and eminent position seems to win Fermina over. At the beginning of the novel, however, it appears as if the long years have not withered their love, despite the fact that their relationship has become almost that of a mother and son: “After bathing him, Fermina Daza helped him to dress: she sprinkled talcum powder between his legs, she smoother cocoa butter on his rashed, she helped him put on his undershorts”(31). After falling out of the tree, his last words to her dispel all doubt that he has loved her for these many years: “Only God knows how much I loved you” (43). However, as previously noted, Fermina’s thoughts turn to Florentino after he returns to her and declares his love. Love in the Time of Cholera can be seen in two different lights: the first, a tale of a young, passionate love interrupted during a moment of confusion by a charming, sophisticated man; the desolate Florentino then must suffer for fifty-one long years before being reunited with his long lost love. The second, that Florentino developed an obscure, unfounded love for Fermina akin to stalking that was only returned due to childish innocence and stupidity. The rich, intelligent Dr. Urbino saves her from an unhappy, unhealthy relationship, and the true sadness of the book is found in the first several chapters, when he suddenly dies. The widowed Fermina is now prey, in her weakened state, to the advances of her former stalker. In my opinion, the novel tells the tale of the former option, about a young love broken by a richer, more sophisticated suitor. Florentino’s love during the time of cholera withstands the tests of time and heartbreak, and stands as a testament to the power true love has over one’s soul. (660)
Florentino Ariza is an anomaly, an apparently unattractive man who attracts many women; a normally reserved, chaste person who falls passionately in love with Fermina with only a single glance: “… and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later”(55). At first, this lead me to believe that it was merely a fleeting obsession, the melodramatic well-I-can’t-have-her-might-as-well-stalk-her reaction typical of soap operas and television movies. However, as time passes (and Florentino writes a 60-page love letter), it appears more and more likely that Florentino may actually be in love. Even stranger still, Fermina Daza is returning these emotions. At first glance, it appears to the reader that Fermina merely returns Florentino’s affections out of a mixture of sympathy and childish innocence. However, we can see that her affections do not wane over the three years she is away, despite the fact that her returns seems to have disillusioned her. Fifty-one years, nine months, and four days afterwards, it is painfully obvious that she still has feelings for Florentino: “while she slept, sobbing, she had thought more about Florentino Ariza than about her dead husband”(51).
The relationship between Dr. Urbina and Fermina comes as a surprise, mostly because it begins in a “lull” between Florentino and Fermina. After the passionate, immature love of Florentino, the abrupt, socially-correct courtship of Fermina by Dr. Urbino stuns the reader. Although both men are similar in their fervent desire for Fermina, Urbino’s money and eminent position seems to win Fermina over. At the beginning of the novel, however, it appears as if the long years have not withered their love, despite the fact that their relationship has become almost that of a mother and son: “After bathing him, Fermina Daza helped him to dress: she sprinkled talcum powder between his legs, she smoother cocoa butter on his rashed, she helped him put on his undershorts”(31). After falling out of the tree, his last words to her dispel all doubt that he has loved her for these many years: “Only God knows how much I loved you” (43). However, as previously noted, Fermina’s thoughts turn to Florentino after he returns to her and declares his love. Love in the Time of Cholera can be seen in two different lights: the first, a tale of a young, passionate love interrupted during a moment of confusion by a charming, sophisticated man; the desolate Florentino then must suffer for fifty-one long years before being reunited with his long lost love. The second, that Florentino developed an obscure, unfounded love for Fermina akin to stalking that was only returned due to childish innocence and stupidity. The rich, intelligent Dr. Urbino saves her from an unhappy, unhealthy relationship, and the true sadness of the book is found in the first several chapters, when he suddenly dies. The widowed Fermina is now prey, in her weakened state, to the advances of her former stalker. In my opinion, the novel tells the tale of the former option, about a young love broken by a richer, more sophisticated suitor. Florentino’s love during the time of cholera withstands the tests of time and heartbreak, and stands as a testament to the power true love has over one’s soul. (660)
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Character Analysis: Father
Although much attention has been given to Mrs. Compson— or as she would prefer, Mrs. Bascombe— I find one of the most intriguing characters in Faulkner’s novel to be Father (Mr. Compson). He carries the burden of an aristocratic lineage, something that his wife is all too happy to harp to him about incessantly. While we see the actual downfall of the family through the eyes of its younger members, Faulkner never clearly shows the impact it has on Father, despite the fact that he is the patriarch and oldest member. A fatalist by nature, Father remarks that man’s every breath is a “fresh cast with dice already loaded against him” (p. 177). He is also a Southern gentleman whose “honorable” beliefs rub off on young, impressionable Quentin; throughout the tale, his upper-class status appears to be more of a curse than a blessing. In the novel, he most closely identifies with Quentin, his favorite son and potential Harvard undergraduate. The reader can see that this relationship is an integral part of the storyline; his closeness with Quentin leads to extreme depression and an early grave after Quentin’s death, and it created a distant relationship between him and Jason. In my opinion, Father’s treatment of his sons leads to the horrible events that result in the downfall of the family and is therefore one of the key characters of the story.
When troubled Quentin goes to his father for advice about Caddy between pages 176 and 178, he is seeking guidance that, in all honesty, could probably never be found. However, his father’s use of the word “temporary” to describe the love Quentin feels for his sister upsets Quentin to no end. Quentin identifies himself through this love, and to hear his father talk of it as “temporary” crumbles whatever self-respect or identity that Quentin had at all. Furthermore, Father’s lack of caring towards Caddy’s “situation” completely contradicts the Southern gentleman ideals that Quentin holds so dear to his heart, ideals that his father brought him up with. As if to further underline the importance of this conversation to Quentin, it is this painful conversation that he is thinking about before he goes to commit suicide. The repudiation of both Quentin’s personal identity and his beliefs at the same time leads to Quentin believing that he has nothing left to live for.
Perhaps most representative of Jason’s relationship with Father is the scene in which Father has Caddy, Benjy, and Quentin on his lap, while Mother has Jason on her’s. Mother insists that Jason is truly a Bascombe: “thank God you are not a Compson except in name” (196). Throughout the novel, she insists that the only reason Jason is normal is because he does not have to deal with the burden of “blue” blood. Unfortunately, the reader can see that Jason is quite a disturbed individual; he lies to his mother, steals from his sister, and intimidates his niece, all while self-righteously complaining. It is apparent that going from the lack of attention he received during his childhood to the pinpoint-intense attention he is receiving now has changed him for the worse.
Father drinks himself to death after Quentin’s suicide; he cannot help but blame himself for the permanent solution to the “temporary” problem. His lack of desire to keep on living further highlights the low value he places on his other son, Jason. While outwardly contemptuous, it is clear that Jason longs for the attention he never received from his father; he must pay a prostitute in order to get it. Thus, it is Father who defines the outcome of the family; after favoring Quentin his entire life and then losing him through a lack of understanding, Father finds that he has nothing left to live for. The Compson family is sucked into the vacuum his death creates; without him, the Compsons have becomes the Bascombes. (660)
When troubled Quentin goes to his father for advice about Caddy between pages 176 and 178, he is seeking guidance that, in all honesty, could probably never be found. However, his father’s use of the word “temporary” to describe the love Quentin feels for his sister upsets Quentin to no end. Quentin identifies himself through this love, and to hear his father talk of it as “temporary” crumbles whatever self-respect or identity that Quentin had at all. Furthermore, Father’s lack of caring towards Caddy’s “situation” completely contradicts the Southern gentleman ideals that Quentin holds so dear to his heart, ideals that his father brought him up with. As if to further underline the importance of this conversation to Quentin, it is this painful conversation that he is thinking about before he goes to commit suicide. The repudiation of both Quentin’s personal identity and his beliefs at the same time leads to Quentin believing that he has nothing left to live for.
Perhaps most representative of Jason’s relationship with Father is the scene in which Father has Caddy, Benjy, and Quentin on his lap, while Mother has Jason on her’s. Mother insists that Jason is truly a Bascombe: “thank God you are not a Compson except in name” (196). Throughout the novel, she insists that the only reason Jason is normal is because he does not have to deal with the burden of “blue” blood. Unfortunately, the reader can see that Jason is quite a disturbed individual; he lies to his mother, steals from his sister, and intimidates his niece, all while self-righteously complaining. It is apparent that going from the lack of attention he received during his childhood to the pinpoint-intense attention he is receiving now has changed him for the worse.
Father drinks himself to death after Quentin’s suicide; he cannot help but blame himself for the permanent solution to the “temporary” problem. His lack of desire to keep on living further highlights the low value he places on his other son, Jason. While outwardly contemptuous, it is clear that Jason longs for the attention he never received from his father; he must pay a prostitute in order to get it. Thus, it is Father who defines the outcome of the family; after favoring Quentin his entire life and then losing him through a lack of understanding, Father finds that he has nothing left to live for. The Compson family is sucked into the vacuum his death creates; without him, the Compsons have becomes the Bascombes. (660)
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Frustnarration (These Titles are Getting Punderful)
There’s no doubt about it— The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner, is a confusing book. Plot twists, unreliable narrators, and grammatical mistakes abound, and the story is not placed in chronological order. It’s almost as if Faulkner was trying to make his novel famous by making it almost impossible to read and fully understand— if no one could read or comprehend it, no one could criticize it, either. Of course that’s not true; however, most readers would agree that it probably just seemed like a good idea at the time. In my opinion, this bizarre and often perplexing style of narration forces the reader to view the events through the eyes of the characters in the story, taking a form of realism to a whole new level.
Benjy’s character is obviously the most pitiable. In the novel, we can see his innermost thoughts and, simple though they may be, can see the both the underlying pain and the love he receives from his sister Caddy. Benjy’s disability also prevents him from thinking certain things; for instance, we only learn of his actions via other’s reactions, he does not punctuate any part of his memory, and inexplicable occurrences (such as the drinking of “sarsaparilla”) can only be derived using context clues and common sense. For instance, we only know when Benjy speaks because others react, like when Luster says: “Shut up that moaning. I cant make them come if they aint coming, can I. If you don’t hush up, mammy aint going to have no birthday cake for you” (4). In fact, the action during the “Benjy portion” of the novel centers around the dialogue surrounding him rather than his own actions. Through a muddled and bewildered viewpoint, the audience understands the toll that the Compson family’s actions have on Benjy. Because of his disability, we are the only ones who can.
Through Quentin’s mind, the reader is finally offered a fully-developed brain’s insights into events. Unfortunately, this brain also happens to be extremely depressed, severely tormented, and rather maniacal. From his obsession with clocks to his fervent (and rather disgusting) fascination with his sister, it is quite apparent that Quentin is not at all a well-balanced young man. Through such a disturbed mind, it becomes shockingly clear that the downfall of this once-prestigious family is having disastrous effects on its members. Quentin’s most shocking trait is obviously his lustful infatuation with his sister; this desire sharply contrasts with the previous section’s demonstration of Benjy’s utter love and dependence.
Using these two characters, Faulkner demonstrates a plethora of emotions. Although the narration style may be frustrating in the extreme, at the end of the day, it serves to cast Caddy as the main impetus for the Compson family’s downfall. As Quentin talks about Death he highlights the damage his sister has caused: “And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister”(76). Highlighting another type of damage is the fact that Benjy now pines every day at the gate, waiting for his sister to return. She won’t. (544)
Benjy’s character is obviously the most pitiable. In the novel, we can see his innermost thoughts and, simple though they may be, can see the both the underlying pain and the love he receives from his sister Caddy. Benjy’s disability also prevents him from thinking certain things; for instance, we only learn of his actions via other’s reactions, he does not punctuate any part of his memory, and inexplicable occurrences (such as the drinking of “sarsaparilla”) can only be derived using context clues and common sense. For instance, we only know when Benjy speaks because others react, like when Luster says: “Shut up that moaning. I cant make them come if they aint coming, can I. If you don’t hush up, mammy aint going to have no birthday cake for you” (4). In fact, the action during the “Benjy portion” of the novel centers around the dialogue surrounding him rather than his own actions. Through a muddled and bewildered viewpoint, the audience understands the toll that the Compson family’s actions have on Benjy. Because of his disability, we are the only ones who can.
Through Quentin’s mind, the reader is finally offered a fully-developed brain’s insights into events. Unfortunately, this brain also happens to be extremely depressed, severely tormented, and rather maniacal. From his obsession with clocks to his fervent (and rather disgusting) fascination with his sister, it is quite apparent that Quentin is not at all a well-balanced young man. Through such a disturbed mind, it becomes shockingly clear that the downfall of this once-prestigious family is having disastrous effects on its members. Quentin’s most shocking trait is obviously his lustful infatuation with his sister; this desire sharply contrasts with the previous section’s demonstration of Benjy’s utter love and dependence.
Using these two characters, Faulkner demonstrates a plethora of emotions. Although the narration style may be frustrating in the extreme, at the end of the day, it serves to cast Caddy as the main impetus for the Compson family’s downfall. As Quentin talks about Death he highlights the damage his sister has caused: “And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister”(76). Highlighting another type of damage is the fact that Benjy now pines every day at the gate, waiting for his sister to return. She won’t. (544)
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
The Things They Hid...
In “The Things They Carried”, Tim O’Brien shares his platoon’s experiences during the Vietnam War. Narrating in third person, he describes what the men of his platoon— especially Jimmy Cross, the protagonist—are thinking and offers explanations for their sometimes inexplicable actions. As the men encounter hardships, fear, and death, they become hardened; they carry human thumbs and trying to disguise their pain behind a façade of bravado and curses. As a grunt, or ground infantry soldier, O’Brien experienced the Vietnam War firsthand; in this short story, he attempts to convey what it really felt like to be a young, frightened soldier far away from home.
Perhaps one of O’Brien’s most useful tools in emphasizing the plight of these men is his frequent use of the phrase “they carried” to signify both the literal and figurative burdens that they must bear. For example, they all hold standard equipment such as “P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches… and two or three canteens of water”(¶ 2). Each man, however, carries something unique that says something about himself: Ted Lavender carries illegal drugs, Rat Kiley carries comic books, Dave Jensen carries various hygienic items such as toothpaste and dental floss, and Jimmy Cross carries letters and photos from a girl named Martha. These simple items represent more than just casual idiosyncrasies; they offer each man a chance to briefly escape the awful reality that he lives in. Jimmy Cross spends much more time thinking about New Jersey than he does thinking about where he actually is. After the death of Ted Lavender, he realizes that as the lieutenant, he cannot afford to ignore the reality of this war. The lives of his men depend on him being there both physically and mentally; as a result of this revelation, he burns Martha’s picture and letters.
The other loads that the men carry are intangible, and O’Brien weaves these emotional weights in with the material ones. Jimmy Cross carries “a compass, maps, code books, binoculars… a strobe light and the responsibility for the lives of his men” (7). Kiowa carries “an illustrated New Testament… his grandmother’s distrust of the white man, [and] his grandfather’s old hunting hatchet” (2). Among other things, they carry “ghosts” (17), “the land” and “the sky” (39), “shameful memories” and “the soldier’s greatest fear, the fear of blushing” (77). The death of Ted Lavender is just one more immaterial load on their backs, demonstrated by Jimmy Cross when he repents his lack of attention: “as a consequence Lavender was now dead, and this was something he would have to carry like a stone in his stomach for the rest of the war” (42).
The platoon’s members act almost inhuman in their attempts to hide their weaknesses. Their disregard for human life appears in many incidents, most apparently in Mitchell Sanders’ removal of the dead boy’s thumb and its “moral” and their reactions following the death of Ted Lavender. After he is shot and killed, they “sat smoking the dead man’s dope until the chopper came” (11), and refer to him as being “zapped while zipping”(46). O’Brien aptly places the real sentiment behind such bravado when he says that they commit and say such atrocities “as if to encyst and destroy the reality of death itself” (68). They know that they are only human, and they carry “the common secret of cowardice barely restrained, the instinct to run or freeze or hide, and in many respects this was the heaviest burden of all” (77). They realize that at any moment, they could be the next Ted Lavender, lying on the ground dead with broken teeth and a missing cheekbone.
The experiences of Jimmy Cross and his platoon underline the youth and innocence of the soldiers of the Vietnam War. “The Things They Carried” digs beneath the superficial surface of bravery and cruelty and reveals a generation that was too young and inexperienced to come to terms with the killing of others or the sudden, violent deaths of their friends. Although young, each man carries a weapon and the knowledge of the awful potential within it: “They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried” (12). (724)
Questions:
1) Do you blame Jimmy Cross for Ted Lavender's death? Does Tim O'Brien?
2)What is the significance of the dead VC boy and the "moral"?
3)What is the purpose of the overly-descriptive language(Exact numbers, etc.)?
4)Do you sympathize with the men for trying to dehumanize the experience?
Perhaps one of O’Brien’s most useful tools in emphasizing the plight of these men is his frequent use of the phrase “they carried” to signify both the literal and figurative burdens that they must bear. For example, they all hold standard equipment such as “P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches… and two or three canteens of water”(¶ 2). Each man, however, carries something unique that says something about himself: Ted Lavender carries illegal drugs, Rat Kiley carries comic books, Dave Jensen carries various hygienic items such as toothpaste and dental floss, and Jimmy Cross carries letters and photos from a girl named Martha. These simple items represent more than just casual idiosyncrasies; they offer each man a chance to briefly escape the awful reality that he lives in. Jimmy Cross spends much more time thinking about New Jersey than he does thinking about where he actually is. After the death of Ted Lavender, he realizes that as the lieutenant, he cannot afford to ignore the reality of this war. The lives of his men depend on him being there both physically and mentally; as a result of this revelation, he burns Martha’s picture and letters.
The other loads that the men carry are intangible, and O’Brien weaves these emotional weights in with the material ones. Jimmy Cross carries “a compass, maps, code books, binoculars… a strobe light and the responsibility for the lives of his men” (7). Kiowa carries “an illustrated New Testament… his grandmother’s distrust of the white man, [and] his grandfather’s old hunting hatchet” (2). Among other things, they carry “ghosts” (17), “the land” and “the sky” (39), “shameful memories” and “the soldier’s greatest fear, the fear of blushing” (77). The death of Ted Lavender is just one more immaterial load on their backs, demonstrated by Jimmy Cross when he repents his lack of attention: “as a consequence Lavender was now dead, and this was something he would have to carry like a stone in his stomach for the rest of the war” (42).
The platoon’s members act almost inhuman in their attempts to hide their weaknesses. Their disregard for human life appears in many incidents, most apparently in Mitchell Sanders’ removal of the dead boy’s thumb and its “moral” and their reactions following the death of Ted Lavender. After he is shot and killed, they “sat smoking the dead man’s dope until the chopper came” (11), and refer to him as being “zapped while zipping”(46). O’Brien aptly places the real sentiment behind such bravado when he says that they commit and say such atrocities “as if to encyst and destroy the reality of death itself” (68). They know that they are only human, and they carry “the common secret of cowardice barely restrained, the instinct to run or freeze or hide, and in many respects this was the heaviest burden of all” (77). They realize that at any moment, they could be the next Ted Lavender, lying on the ground dead with broken teeth and a missing cheekbone.
The experiences of Jimmy Cross and his platoon underline the youth and innocence of the soldiers of the Vietnam War. “The Things They Carried” digs beneath the superficial surface of bravery and cruelty and reveals a generation that was too young and inexperienced to come to terms with the killing of others or the sudden, violent deaths of their friends. Although young, each man carries a weapon and the knowledge of the awful potential within it: “They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried” (12). (724)
Questions:
1) Do you blame Jimmy Cross for Ted Lavender's death? Does Tim O'Brien?
2)What is the significance of the dead VC boy and the "moral"?
3)What is the purpose of the overly-descriptive language(Exact numbers, etc.)?
4)Do you sympathize with the men for trying to dehumanize the experience?
Friday, September 28, 2007
Equality… Doesn’t That Mean the Same Thing for Everyone?
Harrison Bergeron, by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., is a short story about a future society whose people’s natural abilities and advantages are suppressed in order to eliminate the “menace” of competition. In the story, a couple’s extremely talented son rebels against the government by refusing to suppress his abilities and is subsequently killed; his parents watch the event unfold on television and immediately forget what they have just seen. In contrast, Battle Royal, by Ralph Ellison, is a short story set in the mid 20th century in the South amidst awful racial prejudice. Narrated by an African-American, the story details a humiliating boxing match that ten black men—including the narrator— are forced to fight in front of a group of white men. Afterwards, in a cruel juxtaposition, the narrator must cruelly give his well-prepared speech about continuing the peaceful unifying strategies of Booker T. Washington. In my opinion these two stories—despite having vast discrepancies in plot and setting— put forward two polar opinions on the same theme: equality.
In Harrison Bergeron, equality is presented towards the reader as an extreme; the government’s complete control over competition and natural ability makes no one very good at anything. For example, while Hazel (Harrison’s mother) has “a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts”(¶ 3) while George ( Harrison’s father), who is intelligent, is forced to wear a little radio in his ear to disrupt his thoughts every twenty seconds. Throughout the story, the narrator also inserts little comments about the society: “And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody… and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive” (41). Because Vonnegut also mentions the “warm, timeless melody”, the reader can see what Vonnegut is really trying to say what he thinks about such a society. Because of the time period of this piece, I’m led to believe that this statement about total equality goes further than simply a sardonic comment on the benefits of natural selection. Rather, it is also a pointed remark on the failures of the communist systems and their respective countries. Through a dark, foreboding mood and occasional sarcastic comments on the nature of such a society, Vonnegut uses reverse psychology to underline the important of both equality and competition in American society.
As opposed to Harrison Bergeron, Battle Royal looks at equality from the other side of the “equality spectrum”: those who have none at all. In the story, a young black man is excited to recite his well-rehearsed speech on the importance of humility in order to obtain respect from the white man. Before he gives it, however, he is forced to degrade himself—along with 9 other young black men— in a pseudo-gladiatorial contest for ten dollars. As he spits out his own blood, dazed and tired from the fight, he begins to recite his speech. When he uses the phrase “social equality”, however, the crowd reacts derisively: “ The laughter hung smokelike in the sudden stillness. I opened my eyes, puzzled. Sounds of displeasure filled the room…They shouted hostile phrases at me. But I did not understand” (83). As the audience stops laughing, the narrator corrects himself and states that he meant to say “social responsibility”. In response, a small man in the front row states: “Well, you had better speak more slowly so we can understand. We mean to do right by you, but you’ve got to know your place at all times” (91). By putting the narrator through such abhorrent situations such as the fight and the ridicule of his speech, Ellison portrays the awful racial inequality present at this time.
While Vonnegut mocks an overabundance of equality and Ellison honestly portrays racial inequalities, both make equally significant points about equality. One, that equality is relative and, although a blessing in many respects should be kept within man’s own limits; the other, that equality is not true for all groups of people in the United States. After reading them in conjunction, the disgusting lack of equality in one story highlights the overabundance of it in the other. (711)
In Harrison Bergeron, equality is presented towards the reader as an extreme; the government’s complete control over competition and natural ability makes no one very good at anything. For example, while Hazel (Harrison’s mother) has “a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts”(¶ 3) while George ( Harrison’s father), who is intelligent, is forced to wear a little radio in his ear to disrupt his thoughts every twenty seconds. Throughout the story, the narrator also inserts little comments about the society: “And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody… and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive” (41). Because Vonnegut also mentions the “warm, timeless melody”, the reader can see what Vonnegut is really trying to say what he thinks about such a society. Because of the time period of this piece, I’m led to believe that this statement about total equality goes further than simply a sardonic comment on the benefits of natural selection. Rather, it is also a pointed remark on the failures of the communist systems and their respective countries. Through a dark, foreboding mood and occasional sarcastic comments on the nature of such a society, Vonnegut uses reverse psychology to underline the important of both equality and competition in American society.
As opposed to Harrison Bergeron, Battle Royal looks at equality from the other side of the “equality spectrum”: those who have none at all. In the story, a young black man is excited to recite his well-rehearsed speech on the importance of humility in order to obtain respect from the white man. Before he gives it, however, he is forced to degrade himself—along with 9 other young black men— in a pseudo-gladiatorial contest for ten dollars. As he spits out his own blood, dazed and tired from the fight, he begins to recite his speech. When he uses the phrase “social equality”, however, the crowd reacts derisively: “ The laughter hung smokelike in the sudden stillness. I opened my eyes, puzzled. Sounds of displeasure filled the room…They shouted hostile phrases at me. But I did not understand” (83). As the audience stops laughing, the narrator corrects himself and states that he meant to say “social responsibility”. In response, a small man in the front row states: “Well, you had better speak more slowly so we can understand. We mean to do right by you, but you’ve got to know your place at all times” (91). By putting the narrator through such abhorrent situations such as the fight and the ridicule of his speech, Ellison portrays the awful racial inequality present at this time.
While Vonnegut mocks an overabundance of equality and Ellison honestly portrays racial inequalities, both make equally significant points about equality. One, that equality is relative and, although a blessing in many respects should be kept within man’s own limits; the other, that equality is not true for all groups of people in the United States. After reading them in conjunction, the disgusting lack of equality in one story highlights the overabundance of it in the other. (711)
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Misfit
Character Analysis: The Misfit
“A Good Man is Hard to Find”, by Flannery O’Connor, is a shocking story about the sudden death of a peaceful family on vacation. In the story, the grandmother convinces the rest of the family (which is made up of her son, daughter-in-law, and three children) to visit an old plantation she recalled from her childhood. However, after the family crashes its car, it encounters a character known as the Misfit, the only character in the story with any real depth.
When we first meet the Misfit, he exudes intelligence and the sagacity that comes with age: “He was an older man… His hair was just beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look.”(¶73) However, we quickly realize who he really is as the grandmother identifies him as The Misfit, a criminal mentioned earlier in the story as having escaped. An awful aspect of the story’s most important dialogue is the fact that it is all delivered while the grandmother’s family is being killed in the forest while she talks with The Misfit. The reader must keep that in mind while The Misfit talks about his former innocence: “I never was a bad boy that I remember of… but somewheres [sic] along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive.”(111) While the reader wants to believe that he is a good man—not nearly as much as the grandmother does—we cannot help but feel disgusted by his actions, no matter his past troubles in life. As family member after family member perishes, only the Misfit and the grandmother are left talking. As she talks with him, his composure begins to crack: he admits that if he had had more faith in Jesus, “I wouldn’t be like I am now.”(137) As his voice begins to tremble and break down, however, the grandmother crosses the line— she reaches over and touches him. Instinctively he shoots her three times in the chest, eliminating any idea the reader might have had that this story had a happy ending.
The entire plot is based off of the following question: “Is The Misfit a good man?” The reader spends the entire story believing that this tense dialogue will not be wasted and that in the end The Misfit will let the grandmother live. As soon as he kills her, the story loses its purpose: the question has been answered. Even though The Misfit may be the deepest-explored character of the story, he is most definitely not a good man.(432)
“A Good Man is Hard to Find”, by Flannery O’Connor, is a shocking story about the sudden death of a peaceful family on vacation. In the story, the grandmother convinces the rest of the family (which is made up of her son, daughter-in-law, and three children) to visit an old plantation she recalled from her childhood. However, after the family crashes its car, it encounters a character known as the Misfit, the only character in the story with any real depth.
When we first meet the Misfit, he exudes intelligence and the sagacity that comes with age: “He was an older man… His hair was just beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look.”(¶73) However, we quickly realize who he really is as the grandmother identifies him as The Misfit, a criminal mentioned earlier in the story as having escaped. An awful aspect of the story’s most important dialogue is the fact that it is all delivered while the grandmother’s family is being killed in the forest while she talks with The Misfit. The reader must keep that in mind while The Misfit talks about his former innocence: “I never was a bad boy that I remember of… but somewheres [sic] along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive.”(111) While the reader wants to believe that he is a good man—not nearly as much as the grandmother does—we cannot help but feel disgusted by his actions, no matter his past troubles in life. As family member after family member perishes, only the Misfit and the grandmother are left talking. As she talks with him, his composure begins to crack: he admits that if he had had more faith in Jesus, “I wouldn’t be like I am now.”(137) As his voice begins to tremble and break down, however, the grandmother crosses the line— she reaches over and touches him. Instinctively he shoots her three times in the chest, eliminating any idea the reader might have had that this story had a happy ending.
The entire plot is based off of the following question: “Is The Misfit a good man?” The reader spends the entire story believing that this tense dialogue will not be wasted and that in the end The Misfit will let the grandmother live. As soon as he kills her, the story loses its purpose: the question has been answered. Even though The Misfit may be the deepest-explored character of the story, he is most definitely not a good man.(432)
Symbols in "Revelation"
“Revelation”, by Flannery O’Connor, tells the story of a woman’s enlightening experience in a doctor’s waiting room. At first glance, it’s a rather awkwardly-constructed story, with almost no rising action but a climax that comes from out of the blue. The characters—
especially the protagonist, Mrs. Turpin—are not very likeable, and the writing is far from an elevated style. It is only when the reader steps back and looks at the symbolism in “Revelation” that one can appreciate its importance.
Even the title of the short story is evocative, bringing to mind the biblical Book of Revelations, which addresses Judgement Day and the fate of sinners. In my opinion, the waiting room symbolizes Purgatory, where souls wait before entering Heaven. In O’Connor’s words, the waiting room (Purgatory) “was very small, was almost full when the Turpins entered… [Mrs. Turpin was] a living demonstration that the room was inadequate and ridiculous” (¶ 1). O’Connor is decrying the lack of space available for those who deserve to enter Heaven. As for those waiting in the room, there is nothing saintly about any of them. The second most important character—after Mrs. Turpin—is Mary Grace, a “fat girl of eighteen or nineteen… [and a face that] was blue with acne” (19). Her name represents her most important role in the story: the “saving grace” of Mrs. Turpin. When Mary Grace throws the book entitled (ironically) Human Development at Mrs. Turpin, Mrs. Turpin waits for an explanation “holding her breath, waiting, as for a revelation”(112). To this expectant query, Mary mutters “Go back to hell where you came from, you old wart hog”(113). To the reader, this is the moment where Mary’s purpose is revealed: to show Mrs. Turpin that she does not belong in the same room as Mary (Purgatory) because of her wicked thoughts and sayings. To Mrs. Turpin, this is the moment that becomes her “revelation”: she begins to question if she is in fact a good person— something she had never really asked herself before— and whether or not she belongs in heaven.
The question of Mrs. Turpin’s fate is never fully answered in the novel. For example, her perceived goodness by her slaves stands in marked contrast to her own thoughts: “[Mrs. Turpin’s slave] said it as if they all knew Mrs. Turpin was protected in some special way by Divine Providence” (148). As she begins to question her soul’s fate aloud at the end of the story, the reader is left hanging as to whether or not Mrs. Turpin changes her ways, making it forever unknown whether or not the “revelation” worked.(440)
especially the protagonist, Mrs. Turpin—are not very likeable, and the writing is far from an elevated style. It is only when the reader steps back and looks at the symbolism in “Revelation” that one can appreciate its importance.
Even the title of the short story is evocative, bringing to mind the biblical Book of Revelations, which addresses Judgement Day and the fate of sinners. In my opinion, the waiting room symbolizes Purgatory, where souls wait before entering Heaven. In O’Connor’s words, the waiting room (Purgatory) “was very small, was almost full when the Turpins entered… [Mrs. Turpin was] a living demonstration that the room was inadequate and ridiculous” (¶ 1). O’Connor is decrying the lack of space available for those who deserve to enter Heaven. As for those waiting in the room, there is nothing saintly about any of them. The second most important character—after Mrs. Turpin—is Mary Grace, a “fat girl of eighteen or nineteen… [and a face that] was blue with acne” (19). Her name represents her most important role in the story: the “saving grace” of Mrs. Turpin. When Mary Grace throws the book entitled (ironically) Human Development at Mrs. Turpin, Mrs. Turpin waits for an explanation “holding her breath, waiting, as for a revelation”(112). To this expectant query, Mary mutters “Go back to hell where you came from, you old wart hog”(113). To the reader, this is the moment where Mary’s purpose is revealed: to show Mrs. Turpin that she does not belong in the same room as Mary (Purgatory) because of her wicked thoughts and sayings. To Mrs. Turpin, this is the moment that becomes her “revelation”: she begins to question if she is in fact a good person— something she had never really asked herself before— and whether or not she belongs in heaven.
The question of Mrs. Turpin’s fate is never fully answered in the novel. For example, her perceived goodness by her slaves stands in marked contrast to her own thoughts: “[Mrs. Turpin’s slave] said it as if they all knew Mrs. Turpin was protected in some special way by Divine Providence” (148). As she begins to question her soul’s fate aloud at the end of the story, the reader is left hanging as to whether or not Mrs. Turpin changes her ways, making it forever unknown whether or not the “revelation” worked.(440)
Friday, September 14, 2007
Everyday Life
Alice Walker’s “Everyday Use” relates the story of an accomplished, young African-American woman named Dee returning to her humble roots. The story, told by Dee’s mother (known simply as “Mama”) provides little room for sympathy for Dee, with an emphasis on the plight of Mama and Dee’s disfigured sister, Maggie. Only when one reads some of Walker’s biographical information can one determine the reason for this slanted perspective and truly understand the sentiment behind this short story. In my opinion, this story says more about Walker’s feelings towards her own choices in life than about anything else.
Alice Walker was born into a poor family, daughter of a sharecropper and a maid. As a child, she was struck in the eye by a pellet, blinding her permanently. When she grew older, Walker attended college, eventually marrying a lawyer and becoming a poet. In the story, there are many parallels between Walker’s life and several of the characters’ situations. For example, Maggie, much like Walker herself, was disabled by no fault of her own. Walker describes Maggie with the empathetic knowledge of somebody who has felt the same pain:
“Have you ever seen a lame animal …sidle up to someone who is ignorant enough to be kind to him? That is the way my Maggie walks. She has been like this, chin on chest, eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since the fire that burned the other house to the ground”(¶ 9)
In the story, however, there is also a sinister insinuation that Dee herself started the fire because of her own hate for the house. Perhaps Walker is letting out some of the anger she feels toward the brother who shot her with the pellet gun? We will never know.
The most interesting facet of Walker’s story, however, is the representation of Dee. Dee is the accomplished college graduate who returns home, carrying pretensions of her own culture and what it means to her. For example, Dee has changed her name to “Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo” and wants to have some of her grandmother’s old quilts for mere decoration. Dee is also portrayed as an outsider, as being not part of the “real” family. The reader can see this aloofness in Dee’s dialogue: “You ought to try to make something of yourself, too, Maggie. It’s really a new day for us. But from the way you and Mama still live you’d never know it” (81). Dee’s “cultural awareness” is another source of curiosity. Her comment that Maggie would “put the quilts to everyday use” (66) makes us laugh at her supposed intellectual superiority. This blatant mockery makes me appreciate Walker’s self-deprecating humor; she is poking fun at herself 30 years ago, full of arrogance and disdain.
To me, the narration by Mama plays a very significant role in the story as a part of Walker’s life. It is almost as if Walker is trying to imagine her mother’s own reaction to Walker’s return home after making something of herself. Through Mama’s eyes, we see flaws in Dee such as her superficiality, selfishness, and feeling of self-superiority. Talk about some awful alliteration. Because of Mama’s perspective, the reader is offered a rather biased viewpoint on Maggie and Dee; invariably, the reader sides with Maggie. In my opinion, this prejudice reflects Walker’s own regret at leaving behind her family and friends and the guilty belief that her mother felt betrayed by her success. In order to highlight this alienation from the family, Mama even refers to Dee by her “new” name: “I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched quilts out of Miss Wangero’s hands and dumped them into Maggie’s lap”(76).
In “Everyday Use”, Alice Walker paints a literal portrait of her own life, shrouded in character names and descriptions. While Maggie represents her simple, scarred childhood, Dee represents her evolution into a social creature, someone who has “made something of themselves”. At the same time, the reader realizes something else: that Walker is not totally content with her change, with her becoming the “Dee” in her own life. Part of her wants to become Maggie again: simple, innocent, and truly loved by her mother. (707)
Alice Walker was born into a poor family, daughter of a sharecropper and a maid. As a child, she was struck in the eye by a pellet, blinding her permanently. When she grew older, Walker attended college, eventually marrying a lawyer and becoming a poet. In the story, there are many parallels between Walker’s life and several of the characters’ situations. For example, Maggie, much like Walker herself, was disabled by no fault of her own. Walker describes Maggie with the empathetic knowledge of somebody who has felt the same pain:
“Have you ever seen a lame animal …sidle up to someone who is ignorant enough to be kind to him? That is the way my Maggie walks. She has been like this, chin on chest, eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since the fire that burned the other house to the ground”(¶ 9)
In the story, however, there is also a sinister insinuation that Dee herself started the fire because of her own hate for the house. Perhaps Walker is letting out some of the anger she feels toward the brother who shot her with the pellet gun? We will never know.
The most interesting facet of Walker’s story, however, is the representation of Dee. Dee is the accomplished college graduate who returns home, carrying pretensions of her own culture and what it means to her. For example, Dee has changed her name to “Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo” and wants to have some of her grandmother’s old quilts for mere decoration. Dee is also portrayed as an outsider, as being not part of the “real” family. The reader can see this aloofness in Dee’s dialogue: “You ought to try to make something of yourself, too, Maggie. It’s really a new day for us. But from the way you and Mama still live you’d never know it” (81). Dee’s “cultural awareness” is another source of curiosity. Her comment that Maggie would “put the quilts to everyday use” (66) makes us laugh at her supposed intellectual superiority. This blatant mockery makes me appreciate Walker’s self-deprecating humor; she is poking fun at herself 30 years ago, full of arrogance and disdain.
To me, the narration by Mama plays a very significant role in the story as a part of Walker’s life. It is almost as if Walker is trying to imagine her mother’s own reaction to Walker’s return home after making something of herself. Through Mama’s eyes, we see flaws in Dee such as her superficiality, selfishness, and feeling of self-superiority. Talk about some awful alliteration. Because of Mama’s perspective, the reader is offered a rather biased viewpoint on Maggie and Dee; invariably, the reader sides with Maggie. In my opinion, this prejudice reflects Walker’s own regret at leaving behind her family and friends and the guilty belief that her mother felt betrayed by her success. In order to highlight this alienation from the family, Mama even refers to Dee by her “new” name: “I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched quilts out of Miss Wangero’s hands and dumped them into Maggie’s lap”(76).
In “Everyday Use”, Alice Walker paints a literal portrait of her own life, shrouded in character names and descriptions. While Maggie represents her simple, scarred childhood, Dee represents her evolution into a social creature, someone who has “made something of themselves”. At the same time, the reader realizes something else: that Walker is not totally content with her change, with her becoming the “Dee” in her own life. Part of her wants to become Maggie again: simple, innocent, and truly loved by her mother. (707)
Thursday, August 30, 2007
"Father"
Whether or not a reader can relate with a character is one of the most defining aspects of a novel. The more believable and interesting a character is to the reader, the more his or her actions will create an atmosphere that we, as fellow humans, can relate to. The essence of humanity, if I may be so bold as to presume to have an inkling of what it is, would have to be the ability to be flawed and yet still be an appealing person. In Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, this characteristic is found in the protagonist’s father, called simply “Father” throughout the book by the protagonist, Christopher.
In a sense, even the name of the character Father is appealing; in the reader’s mind he becomes one’s own father, who, despite his flaws, loves you no matter who you are or what you do. Although most fathers are not quite like Christopher’s (I asked, and my dad has never killed a dog with a garden fork), there is no father out there who does not lose his temper every once in a while. Admittedly, Father has to put up with far more problems than the average parent due to Christopher’s autism, but this perseverance only strengthens his resolve in the eyes of the reader. For example, despite the fact that he is a single working father he manages to cater to Christopher’s unique dietary and educational needs. Furthermore, he willingly does it without a single real gesture of returned affection from Christopher. To me, his steady belief in Christopher’s unspoken love makes their relationship far more inspiring than if Christopher readily returned such adoration. The father aspect appeals to two different mindsets at the same time: those of the fathers and those of the sons. Because every father is a son (but not every son is a father) some readers are able to relate twice as well to Father’s personality; they can envision their own reactions through both viewpoints. Although the novel obviously sympathizes with Christopher’s situation, I myself felt more than a little pity for Father.
When Father’s imperfections are shown to Christopher, they are also shown to the reader. After Christopher learns about the lies his father has told him about his mother, Father breaks down, his formerly rock-like dependability crumbling with each additional word: “God knows, I try, Christopher, God knows I do, but… Life is difficult, you know. It’s bloody hard telling the truth all the time. Sometimes it’s impossible. And I want you to know that I’m trying, I really am” (120). It is the moments like these that define a characters role in the novel; without them, the reader would not be able to see much more into a character than a fabricated name and personality. Only when the character displays flaws can the reader truly begin to relate with him; in Father’s case, one feels sorry for his situation but at the same time recognizes the awful things that he’s done. Complex relationships such as this between the reader and character are what make a good writer great. (523)
In a sense, even the name of the character Father is appealing; in the reader’s mind he becomes one’s own father, who, despite his flaws, loves you no matter who you are or what you do. Although most fathers are not quite like Christopher’s (I asked, and my dad has never killed a dog with a garden fork), there is no father out there who does not lose his temper every once in a while. Admittedly, Father has to put up with far more problems than the average parent due to Christopher’s autism, but this perseverance only strengthens his resolve in the eyes of the reader. For example, despite the fact that he is a single working father he manages to cater to Christopher’s unique dietary and educational needs. Furthermore, he willingly does it without a single real gesture of returned affection from Christopher. To me, his steady belief in Christopher’s unspoken love makes their relationship far more inspiring than if Christopher readily returned such adoration. The father aspect appeals to two different mindsets at the same time: those of the fathers and those of the sons. Because every father is a son (but not every son is a father) some readers are able to relate twice as well to Father’s personality; they can envision their own reactions through both viewpoints. Although the novel obviously sympathizes with Christopher’s situation, I myself felt more than a little pity for Father.
When Father’s imperfections are shown to Christopher, they are also shown to the reader. After Christopher learns about the lies his father has told him about his mother, Father breaks down, his formerly rock-like dependability crumbling with each additional word: “God knows, I try, Christopher, God knows I do, but… Life is difficult, you know. It’s bloody hard telling the truth all the time. Sometimes it’s impossible. And I want you to know that I’m trying, I really am” (120). It is the moments like these that define a characters role in the novel; without them, the reader would not be able to see much more into a character than a fabricated name and personality. Only when the character displays flaws can the reader truly begin to relate with him; in Father’s case, one feels sorry for his situation but at the same time recognizes the awful things that he’s done. Complex relationships such as this between the reader and character are what make a good writer great. (523)
Monday, August 27, 2007
My Monkey-Free Evolution
I come from a family of readers. That is, although most everybody’s family has read at some point in their lifetime, mine has happened to make a hobby out of it. Following in my sisters’ footsteps, I started reading at the ripe old age of three, and would often stay up late in bed to finish books I had started earlier and could not put down. As I grew older, the literary worlds of Phillip Pullman and Brian Jacques fascinated me, those of Roald Dahl and P.G. Wodehouse made me roar with laughter, and, to be perfectly honest, Little Women bored me senseless. As my age spiraled ever so higher, unfortunately, so did my awareness of the lack of “coolness” that such a hobby brings. For the past several years, my taste in books has been mostly limited to historical fiction and nonfiction about war (authors such as Jeff Shaara and Tim O’Brien) and older detective novels (authors like Donald Hamilton, Adam Hall, and Mickey Spillane). Like any normal person, I hate being bored when I read, and I believe that only so much satisfaction can be derived through the reading of the “elevated style” of works by authors such as Dickens and Hawthorne.
Because I hate reading boring material, I strive to make my writing interesting. In other words, I won’t write it if I can’t enjoyably read it. Of course, when one must meet certain requirements this is not always a plausible standard; I have yet to read or write an enjoyable research paper. As an activity, writing is not very enjoyable for me; I’d rather be up and about than sitting at a computer chair racking my brain for something clever to put down. My top writing achievements would, of course, include the (too) many research papers I’ve written and have yet to write. For me, writing those papers is more like running a marathon than it is like creating a work of art; it’s almost a physical pride in my ability to coherently assemble such massive amounts of information. My writing strengths include my pretty substantial vocabulary and decent sense of humor, while some of my weaknesses are my tendency to ramble off-topic, speak in run-on sentences, and to use parentheses too often. What I have read over my lifetime has influenced the way that I will write for the rest of it, and every time I read a new book I find something that I would like to add to or subtract from my own style. It’s a work in progress. (426)
Because I hate reading boring material, I strive to make my writing interesting. In other words, I won’t write it if I can’t enjoyably read it. Of course, when one must meet certain requirements this is not always a plausible standard; I have yet to read or write an enjoyable research paper. As an activity, writing is not very enjoyable for me; I’d rather be up and about than sitting at a computer chair racking my brain for something clever to put down. My top writing achievements would, of course, include the (too) many research papers I’ve written and have yet to write. For me, writing those papers is more like running a marathon than it is like creating a work of art; it’s almost a physical pride in my ability to coherently assemble such massive amounts of information. My writing strengths include my pretty substantial vocabulary and decent sense of humor, while some of my weaknesses are my tendency to ramble off-topic, speak in run-on sentences, and to use parentheses too often. What I have read over my lifetime has influenced the way that I will write for the rest of it, and every time I read a new book I find something that I would like to add to or subtract from my own style. It’s a work in progress. (426)
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