(Skip this part, it’s mostly pointless)
Everybody hates bureaucracy, but Heller’s portrayal of upper echelon military leadership is beyond anything I could have imagined. It is the most obvious irony in the book. In Catch 22, everyone and anyone that occupies a position of significant responsibility is incompetent, vain and irresponsible. It’s relentless. The entire chain of command is just ridiculous. It is extremely unsettling to think of a military lead by these characters. They spend most of the time fighting themselves, not the Axis. Even the missions detailed in the book are undertaken only to wage war against other commanding officers. Forget the Nazis.
This irony is maximized in the case of Yossarian’s moving of the bomb line. The chain of information is inverted and the commanders learn of the apparent capture of Bologna through their subordinates. Yossarian’s attempts to disrupt the “war effort” are another point of interest in the book. He launches a guerilla war against the military establishment, which is in turn fighting amongst itself and trying to fight the Axis as well.
I love how Yossarian’s crazy and sane at the same time. He is perhaps the craziest soldier ever imagined, however he is one of the most clearheaded characters in the book. He cuts through the attitude of patriotic and wartime rationalization that affects most of the other soldiers and focuses upon the basic truth that holds true for every individual soldier in the field. They are trying to kill me. He is not affected by the team mentality that soldiers are trained think about. Yossarian concerns himself only with the most necessary condition of life…survival.
(This part is way better)
I don’t know. Usually you can identify one main idea that a text addresses. One main question with which it deals. Like a good experiment, it identifies and explores this question, discovering the nature and consequences of the question itself. But in this book, I see more than that. It addresses so many of these issues. And I think the structure of the book allows this. Each section (or in some cases chapter) of the book addresses a different question.
Many of these issues are fundamental questions about one’s humanity, nationality and existence. This book examines question from patriotism to leadership to reward and punishment to meaning and definition of life. I think this is what confuses us while reading Catch 22. Very nearly every chapter examines a different aspect of the (very cliché) human condition and the role of a modern human being in society. The book is not pointless or rambling as some (I also fell prey to this misunderstanding at first) think.
It is not meaningless; it’s comprehensive. It is an encyclopedia of human concern. Like a good recipe, the book is written in the perfect way to achieve this effect. Heller poses many questions, so he needs many characters. In fact, it needs a whole army of them, so that is what he gets. You need time to develop a single idea. Heller briefly examines many ideas, so he doesn’t need time. He doesn’t need to maintain a structured chronology. He only needs enough time to move characters from point to point and allow events to occur. He doesn’t need his time to connect end to end. He doesn’t need his chronology to dovetail perfectly. He only needs a collection of times that fit within a larger framework where some characters can interact throughout events. He needs a war, so he goes and gets one. Like a philosophical Dr. Pepper, this book has at least 23 of the finest and most ultimate questions known to man, and like Iron Chef Mario Batali himself, Heller fuses his ideas with perfect synergy. This story is truly a delightful mix of universal mysteries and flavors. Mmmm, savory and sweet.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A Description of "A Description of the Morning"
In “A Description of the Morning”, Jonathan Swift very nearly describes a morning. There is no great immediate metaphor running throughout the poem and no obvious structure to which he adheres. Swift’s trademark satire is even more subtle than we expect. The poem is far from the obvious satire of his “Modest Proposal” and structurally resembles nothing in particular. It is Swift’s mix of satirical and completely serious characters and events in the poem that mislead us.
In the poem, we encounter mischievous or immoral characters engaging in the last moments of their inappropriate behaviors. Betty steals away from her master’s bed (presumably after some inappropriate and risqué behavior), and the corrupt Turnkey sees his flock of prisoners returning with the loot. Swift obviously satires these unfavorable characters, although he passes no obvious judgment on their actions. We also see a range of characters that might be just lazy inattentive such as Moll whirling her mop, but not having actually done work. However, Swift mixes favorable characters in with the unfavorable ones as well. The apprentice who has already cleaned up around the door and the “youth with the broomy stumps” who has began to sweep the cart tracks have already began their work and are contributing to the preparation of the city for a day’s work. The positioning of these unfavorable or bad characters in comparison to good ones in one of the methods that Swift uses to satire the occupants of the city. The melding of the bad characters with the rest of the poem suggests a way in which the city overlooks this behavior in its attempt to function.
His irony is most immediately present in his portrayal of the lower social class characters as the more hardworking, honest and productive section of society. He presents the official and higher class characters as lazy, dishonest and oblivious (or maybe corrupt). The youth and the apprentice are already at work in the morning, as are the other lower class characters. However, the lord is in debt, the turnkey is corrupt and the bailiffs seem to be lazy and oblivious to the previous line's events. Swift is well known for opposing upper society and this poem perhaps reflects his attitude.
The structure of the poem is even more hazy. It does not resemble any common structure that we have seen. It is more a collection of couplets than anything. However, it does follow certain patterns. The poem generally leads from inside to outside. It begins in a bedroom, with Betty, progresses to the door, and then out into the street with the Duns and the Schoolboys, This sequence of events leads us from the private inner sanctum of the master, where he may do anything he so chooses, out into the real world of official rather than personal moral corruption. Swift leads us from the personal world of secrets, she does steal away after all, to the official world of corruption and greed represented quite plainly as the jailkeeper. This sequence is also very much like waking up, preparing and leaving the house in the morning. The reader makes his or her way to the outside street after being initially left in the bedroom.
Swift also presents a pattern in his use of tense within the poem. Early in the poem, most of the character had done what he described. For example, Betty had flown and Moll had twirled. After the twirling incident, the tense of the verbs changes to more recent past. In the middle section, the youth began, the man was heard, and the Duns began to meet. In the last section of the poem, the actions enter the present. The turnkey sees his flock, the bailiffs take their stands and the schoolboys lag. Initially, all the action seems distant and removed from the reader. However, by the end of the poem, we can see action in the street as the morning progresses. We can see movement directly, such as the flock returning or the schoolboys lagging.
In the poem, we encounter mischievous or immoral characters engaging in the last moments of their inappropriate behaviors. Betty steals away from her master’s bed (presumably after some inappropriate and risqué behavior), and the corrupt Turnkey sees his flock of prisoners returning with the loot. Swift obviously satires these unfavorable characters, although he passes no obvious judgment on their actions. We also see a range of characters that might be just lazy inattentive such as Moll whirling her mop, but not having actually done work. However, Swift mixes favorable characters in with the unfavorable ones as well. The apprentice who has already cleaned up around the door and the “youth with the broomy stumps” who has began to sweep the cart tracks have already began their work and are contributing to the preparation of the city for a day’s work. The positioning of these unfavorable or bad characters in comparison to good ones in one of the methods that Swift uses to satire the occupants of the city. The melding of the bad characters with the rest of the poem suggests a way in which the city overlooks this behavior in its attempt to function.
His irony is most immediately present in his portrayal of the lower social class characters as the more hardworking, honest and productive section of society. He presents the official and higher class characters as lazy, dishonest and oblivious (or maybe corrupt). The youth and the apprentice are already at work in the morning, as are the other lower class characters. However, the lord is in debt, the turnkey is corrupt and the bailiffs seem to be lazy and oblivious to the previous line's events. Swift is well known for opposing upper society and this poem perhaps reflects his attitude.
The structure of the poem is even more hazy. It does not resemble any common structure that we have seen. It is more a collection of couplets than anything. However, it does follow certain patterns. The poem generally leads from inside to outside. It begins in a bedroom, with Betty, progresses to the door, and then out into the street with the Duns and the Schoolboys, This sequence of events leads us from the private inner sanctum of the master, where he may do anything he so chooses, out into the real world of official rather than personal moral corruption. Swift leads us from the personal world of secrets, she does steal away after all, to the official world of corruption and greed represented quite plainly as the jailkeeper. This sequence is also very much like waking up, preparing and leaving the house in the morning. The reader makes his or her way to the outside street after being initially left in the bedroom.
Swift also presents a pattern in his use of tense within the poem. Early in the poem, most of the character had done what he described. For example, Betty had flown and Moll had twirled. After the twirling incident, the tense of the verbs changes to more recent past. In the middle section, the youth began, the man was heard, and the Duns began to meet. In the last section of the poem, the actions enter the present. The turnkey sees his flock, the bailiffs take their stands and the schoolboys lag. Initially, all the action seems distant and removed from the reader. However, by the end of the poem, we can see action in the street as the morning progresses. We can see movement directly, such as the flock returning or the schoolboys lagging.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
College Advice from Dave
College is basically a bunch of rooms where you sit for roughly two thousand hours and try to memorize things. The two thousand hours are spread out over four years; you spend the rest of the time sleeping and trying to get dates.
Basically, you learn two kinds of things in college:
1. Things you will need to know in later life (two hours).
2. Things you will not need to know in later life (1,998 hours).
These are the things you learn in classes whose names end in -ology, -osophy, -istry, -ics, and so on. The idea is, you memorize these things, then write them down in little exam books, then forget them. If you fail to forget them, you become a professor and have to stay in college for the rest of your life.
It's very difficult to forget everything. For example, when I was in college, I had to memorize -- don't ask me why -- the names of three metaphysical poets other than John Donne. I have managed to forget one of them, but I still remember that the other two were named Vaughan and Crashaw. Sometimes, when I'm trying to remember something important like whether my wife told me to get tuna packed in oil or tuna packed in water, Vaughan and Crashaw just pop up in my mind, right there in the supermarket. It's a terrible waste of brain cells.
After you've been in college for a year or so, you're supposed to choose a major, which is the subject you intend to memorize and forget the most things about. Here is a very important piece of advice: be sure to choose a major that does not involve Known Facts and Right Answers. This means you must not major in mathematics, physics, biology, or chemistry, because these subjects involve actual facts. If, for example, you major in mathematics, you're going to wander into class one day and the professor will say: "Define the cosine integer of the quadrant of a rhomboid binary axis, and extrapolate your result to five significant vertices." If you don't come up with exactly the answer the professor has in mind, you fail. The same is true of chemistry: if you write in your exam book that carbon and hydrogen combine to form oak, your professor will flunk you. He wants you to come up with the same answer he and all the other chemists have agreed on.
Scientists are extremely snotty about this.
So you should major in subjects like English, philosophy, psychology, and sociology -- subjects in which nobody really understands what anybody else is talking about, and which involve virtually no actual facts. I attended classes in all these subjects, so I'll give you a quick overview of each:
ENGLISH: This involves writing papers about long books you have read little snippets of just before class. Here is a tip on how to get good grades on your English papers: Never say anything about a book that anybody with any common sense would say. For example, suppose you are studying Moby-Dick. Anybody with any common sense would say that Moby-Dick is a big white whale, since the characters in the book refer to it as a big white whale roughly eleven thousand times. So in your paper, you say Moby-Dick is actually the Republic of Ireland.
Your professor, who is sick to death of reading papers and never liked Moby-Dick anyway, will think you are enormously creative. If you can regularly come up with lunatic interpretations of simple stories, you should major in English.
PHILOSOPHY: Basically, this involves sitting in a room and deciding there is no such thing as reality and then going to lunch. You should major in philosophy if you plan to take a lot of drugs.
PSYCHOLOGY: This involves talking about rats and dreams. Psychologists are obsessed with rats and dreams. I once spent an entire semester training a rat to punch little buttons in a certain sequence, then training my roommate to do the same thing. The rat learned much faster. My roommate is now a doctor. If you like rats or dreams, and above all if you dream about rats, you should major in psychology.
SOCIOLOGY: For sheer lack of intelligibility, sociology is far and away the number one subject. I sat through hundreds of hours of sociology courses, and read gobs of sociology writing, and I never once heard or read a coherent statement. This is because sociologists want to be considered scientists, so they spend most of their time translating simple, obvious observations into scientific-sounding code. If you plan to major in sociology, you'll have to learn to do the same thing. For example, suppose you have observed that children cry when they fall down. You should write: "Methodological observation of the sociometrical behavior tendencies of prematurated isolates indicates that a casual relationship exists between groundward tropism and lachrimatory, or 'crying,' behavior forms." If you can keep this up for fifty or sixty pages, you will get a large government grant.
- Dave Barry
Basically, you learn two kinds of things in college:
1. Things you will need to know in later life (two hours).
2. Things you will not need to know in later life (1,998 hours).
These are the things you learn in classes whose names end in -ology, -osophy, -istry, -ics, and so on. The idea is, you memorize these things, then write them down in little exam books, then forget them. If you fail to forget them, you become a professor and have to stay in college for the rest of your life.
It's very difficult to forget everything. For example, when I was in college, I had to memorize -- don't ask me why -- the names of three metaphysical poets other than John Donne. I have managed to forget one of them, but I still remember that the other two were named Vaughan and Crashaw. Sometimes, when I'm trying to remember something important like whether my wife told me to get tuna packed in oil or tuna packed in water, Vaughan and Crashaw just pop up in my mind, right there in the supermarket. It's a terrible waste of brain cells.
After you've been in college for a year or so, you're supposed to choose a major, which is the subject you intend to memorize and forget the most things about. Here is a very important piece of advice: be sure to choose a major that does not involve Known Facts and Right Answers. This means you must not major in mathematics, physics, biology, or chemistry, because these subjects involve actual facts. If, for example, you major in mathematics, you're going to wander into class one day and the professor will say: "Define the cosine integer of the quadrant of a rhomboid binary axis, and extrapolate your result to five significant vertices." If you don't come up with exactly the answer the professor has in mind, you fail. The same is true of chemistry: if you write in your exam book that carbon and hydrogen combine to form oak, your professor will flunk you. He wants you to come up with the same answer he and all the other chemists have agreed on.
Scientists are extremely snotty about this.
So you should major in subjects like English, philosophy, psychology, and sociology -- subjects in which nobody really understands what anybody else is talking about, and which involve virtually no actual facts. I attended classes in all these subjects, so I'll give you a quick overview of each:
ENGLISH: This involves writing papers about long books you have read little snippets of just before class. Here is a tip on how to get good grades on your English papers: Never say anything about a book that anybody with any common sense would say. For example, suppose you are studying Moby-Dick. Anybody with any common sense would say that Moby-Dick is a big white whale, since the characters in the book refer to it as a big white whale roughly eleven thousand times. So in your paper, you say Moby-Dick is actually the Republic of Ireland.
Your professor, who is sick to death of reading papers and never liked Moby-Dick anyway, will think you are enormously creative. If you can regularly come up with lunatic interpretations of simple stories, you should major in English.
PHILOSOPHY: Basically, this involves sitting in a room and deciding there is no such thing as reality and then going to lunch. You should major in philosophy if you plan to take a lot of drugs.
PSYCHOLOGY: This involves talking about rats and dreams. Psychologists are obsessed with rats and dreams. I once spent an entire semester training a rat to punch little buttons in a certain sequence, then training my roommate to do the same thing. The rat learned much faster. My roommate is now a doctor. If you like rats or dreams, and above all if you dream about rats, you should major in psychology.
SOCIOLOGY: For sheer lack of intelligibility, sociology is far and away the number one subject. I sat through hundreds of hours of sociology courses, and read gobs of sociology writing, and I never once heard or read a coherent statement. This is because sociologists want to be considered scientists, so they spend most of their time translating simple, obvious observations into scientific-sounding code. If you plan to major in sociology, you'll have to learn to do the same thing. For example, suppose you have observed that children cry when they fall down. You should write: "Methodological observation of the sociometrical behavior tendencies of prematurated isolates indicates that a casual relationship exists between groundward tropism and lachrimatory, or 'crying,' behavior forms." If you can keep this up for fifty or sixty pages, you will get a large government grant.
- Dave Barry
The Einstein and the Eddington
This little poem-lyric thing was written by physicist Dr. W. H. Williams of U.C. Berkeley. It is based on Lewis Carroll's lyric "The Walrus and the Carpenter." It has golf and science, so it was basically written for me. (Sir Arthur Eddington was the first astronomer to (seemingly) confirm Einstein's General Relativity and was one of the theories most knowedgable experts and one of its strongest supporters.)
The sun was setting on the links,_The moon looked down serene,_The caddies all had gone to bed,_But still there could be seen_Two players lingering by the trap_That guards the thirteenth green.
The Einstein and the Eddington_Were counting up their score;_The Einstein's card showed ninety-eight_And Eddington's was more._And both lay bunkered in the trap_And both stood there and swore.
I hate to see, the Einstein said;_Such quantities of sand;_Just why they placed a bunker here_I cannot understand._If one could smooth this landscape out,_I think it would be grand.
If seven maids with seven mops_Would sweep the fairway clean_I'm sure that I could make this hole_In less than seventeen._I doubt it, said the Eddington,_Your slice is pretty mean.
Then all the little golf balls came_To see what they were at,_And some of them were tall and thin_And some were short and fat,_A few of them were round and smooth,_But most of them were flat.
The time has come, said Eddington,_To talk of many things:_Of cubes and clocks and meter-sticks_And why a pendulum swings._And how far space is out of plumb,_And whether time has wings.
I learned at school the apple's fall_To gravity was due,_But now you tell me that the cause_Is merely G_mu-nu,_I cannot bring myself to think_That this is really true.
You say that gravitation's force_Is clearly not a pull._That space is mostly emptiness,_While time is nearly full;_And though I hate to doubt your word,_It sounds like a bit of bull.
And space, it has dimensions four,_Instead of only three._The square of the hypotenuse_Ain't what it used to be._It grieves me sore, the things you've done_To plane geometry.
You hold that time is badly warped,_That even light is bent:_I think I get the idea there,_If this is what you meant:_The mail the postman brings today,_Tomorrow will be sent.
If I should go Timbuctoo_With twice the speed of light,_And leave this afternoon at four,_I'd get back home last night._You've got it now, the Einstein said,_That is precisely right.
But if the planet Mercury_In going round the sun,_Never returns to where it was_Until its course is run,_The things we started out to do_Were better not begun.
And if before the past is through,_The future intervenes;_Then what's the use of anything;_Of cabbages or queens?_Pray tell me what's the bally use_Of Presidents and Deans.
The shortest line, Einstein replied,_Is not the one that's straight;_It curves around upon itself,_Much like a figure eight,_And if you go too rapidly_You will arrive too late.
But Easter day is Christmas time_And far away is near,_And two and two is more than four_And over there is here._You may be right, said Eddington,_It seems a trifle queer.
But thank you very, very much,_For troubling to explain;_I hope you will forgive my tears,_My head begins to pain;_I feel the symptoms coming on_Of softening of the brain.
The sun was setting on the links,_The moon looked down serene,_The caddies all had gone to bed,_But still there could be seen_Two players lingering by the trap_That guards the thirteenth green.
The Einstein and the Eddington_Were counting up their score;_The Einstein's card showed ninety-eight_And Eddington's was more._And both lay bunkered in the trap_And both stood there and swore.
I hate to see, the Einstein said;_Such quantities of sand;_Just why they placed a bunker here_I cannot understand._If one could smooth this landscape out,_I think it would be grand.
If seven maids with seven mops_Would sweep the fairway clean_I'm sure that I could make this hole_In less than seventeen._I doubt it, said the Eddington,_Your slice is pretty mean.
Then all the little golf balls came_To see what they were at,_And some of them were tall and thin_And some were short and fat,_A few of them were round and smooth,_But most of them were flat.
The time has come, said Eddington,_To talk of many things:_Of cubes and clocks and meter-sticks_And why a pendulum swings._And how far space is out of plumb,_And whether time has wings.
I learned at school the apple's fall_To gravity was due,_But now you tell me that the cause_Is merely G_mu-nu,_I cannot bring myself to think_That this is really true.
You say that gravitation's force_Is clearly not a pull._That space is mostly emptiness,_While time is nearly full;_And though I hate to doubt your word,_It sounds like a bit of bull.
And space, it has dimensions four,_Instead of only three._The square of the hypotenuse_Ain't what it used to be._It grieves me sore, the things you've done_To plane geometry.
You hold that time is badly warped,_That even light is bent:_I think I get the idea there,_If this is what you meant:_The mail the postman brings today,_Tomorrow will be sent.
If I should go Timbuctoo_With twice the speed of light,_And leave this afternoon at four,_I'd get back home last night._You've got it now, the Einstein said,_That is precisely right.
But if the planet Mercury_In going round the sun,_Never returns to where it was_Until its course is run,_The things we started out to do_Were better not begun.
And if before the past is through,_The future intervenes;_Then what's the use of anything;_Of cabbages or queens?_Pray tell me what's the bally use_Of Presidents and Deans.
The shortest line, Einstein replied,_Is not the one that's straight;_It curves around upon itself,_Much like a figure eight,_And if you go too rapidly_You will arrive too late.
But Easter day is Christmas time_And far away is near,_And two and two is more than four_And over there is here._You may be right, said Eddington,_It seems a trifle queer.
But thank you very, very much,_For troubling to explain;_I hope you will forgive my tears,_My head begins to pain;_I feel the symptoms coming on_Of softening of the brain.
I must be crazy...
I don’t really know what to say about Catch-22 so far. It is confusing, even unintelligible in spots. The characters fade in and out the story. The story jumps back in forth throughout time in an almost random sequence of flashbacks and it is futile to try and string together to events of the story in your head. And there is absolutely no plot (at least none so far). It violates or stretches almost every rule of literature that you can imagine. I love it. For some reason, I love this type of storyline. The book Jarhead (upon which the movie starring Jake Gyllenhall was based) was the same way. No definite plot, just a collection of anecdotes related by subject or approximate time. I guess plot ruins to current moment by introducing a new one. Once I find that moment, I don’t want it to end. Anyway, Catch-22 fits the bill and I really enjoy reading it.
All of the literary properties of the book that would normally make a story confusing, in this case, appeal greatly to me. I mean, reading this book never gets boring because it never focuses on one event or character for more than a number of pages. It is always unpredictable and is always a challenge to interpret. Reading this book is like spending a day with that kid who incessantly makes inside jokes to his friends in passing but never explains any of them as you follow along in complete humorless confusion. I hate that kid. But I still love this book.
However, I think the structure of Catch-22’s storyline is deliberate or at least effective in describing the wartime lives of the characters. It is easy to see a goal if you are reading a book or watching a movie that compresses years into hours. However, you would get lost if you read a book that took five years to read. That’s how I perceive the characters in this book. Their story is so long that they can’t see where they are going or where they have been. They only vaguely know if they are alive or dead, and that drives them.
I think the structure of the story reflects this attitude. Not really a story, just a collection of memories that are so convoluted that they cannot be ordered anymore, just recalled. I don’t know what that really means. The book also appeals greatly to my sense of humor. Everything in the story is backwards. Even old adages and clichés are backwards in this story. And yes, all of it highlights the absurdity of the war and the military hierarchy. It is so sarcastic and sardonic and ironic and I love it. So far, the military court scene with Clevinger has been my favorite part of the book. I can’t even describe how amazing it is.
Anyway, Heller’s persistence in maintaining the absurd environment in which Yossarian lives is inspiring. To tell the truth, I have no idea what is going on in this story. Heller has got me thinking that maybe I am the crazy one. And I think that’s exactly what he wants.
Sorry this blog is late Mr. Coon, but this time I just wanted to read further in the story before posting any commentary. The delay really didn’t help me any. Ironic.
All of the literary properties of the book that would normally make a story confusing, in this case, appeal greatly to me. I mean, reading this book never gets boring because it never focuses on one event or character for more than a number of pages. It is always unpredictable and is always a challenge to interpret. Reading this book is like spending a day with that kid who incessantly makes inside jokes to his friends in passing but never explains any of them as you follow along in complete humorless confusion. I hate that kid. But I still love this book.
However, I think the structure of Catch-22’s storyline is deliberate or at least effective in describing the wartime lives of the characters. It is easy to see a goal if you are reading a book or watching a movie that compresses years into hours. However, you would get lost if you read a book that took five years to read. That’s how I perceive the characters in this book. Their story is so long that they can’t see where they are going or where they have been. They only vaguely know if they are alive or dead, and that drives them.
I think the structure of the story reflects this attitude. Not really a story, just a collection of memories that are so convoluted that they cannot be ordered anymore, just recalled. I don’t know what that really means. The book also appeals greatly to my sense of humor. Everything in the story is backwards. Even old adages and clichés are backwards in this story. And yes, all of it highlights the absurdity of the war and the military hierarchy. It is so sarcastic and sardonic and ironic and I love it. So far, the military court scene with Clevinger has been my favorite part of the book. I can’t even describe how amazing it is.
Anyway, Heller’s persistence in maintaining the absurd environment in which Yossarian lives is inspiring. To tell the truth, I have no idea what is going on in this story. Heller has got me thinking that maybe I am the crazy one. And I think that’s exactly what he wants.
Sorry this blog is late Mr. Coon, but this time I just wanted to read further in the story before posting any commentary. The delay really didn’t help me any. Ironic.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Witty, Clever and Extremely Insightful Title
Hey, I liked Fences. I also liked Troy Maxson. He might be a little rough around the edges, but he has good intentions at heart. Troy is just going through what I imagine to be one of the most difficult acts of parenting. He doesn’t want his sons to go through the same pain that he had to endure when he tried to pursue his own dream—that dream being professional baseball of course. He doesn’t want his sons to follow their dreams and subsequently be crushed and end up in poverty. Troy’s path led only to despair, financial hardship and discrimination. Troy’s unwillingness to embrace his son’s passion results from his desire to prevent his sons the same pain he went through and his harbored anger towards the society that denied him his chance. This frustration blinds him to the fact that although progress is slow, society is changing. Troy’s children, however, do not face the exact same conditions that he faced, but Troy is unwilling to compromise his hardened image of the world. Troy wants to protect his children from a future similar to his own. Therein lies the challenge. Can he find confidence enough in his children, himself and his world to let them go their own way and follow their own ambitions. Can he find confidence enough in society to let his children risk their own futures. It must be incredibly difficult to let your children go down a path that you feel will cause them pain. Troy must also find the courage to let his children find their own definition of success, even if he thinks that journey will be lonely and desperate. In this way, Fences is as much a story of forgiveness as it is a narrative of the black experience. Troy must learn to forgive society its wrongdoings against him so that he can willingly let his children find their own way in the world. I suppose there is a fine line between the possible mistakes that you can’t allow your children to make and the ones you have to allow them to risk making. Anyway, Troy Maxson shows us that even though all dreams aren’t attained, everyone must still chase them.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Sub-texting in Scottsdale should be Illegal Too
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 between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
[Hamlet calls mockingly to his mother, like a child that doesn't fear an expected but ineffectual punishment]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Gertrude speaks assuredly to Polonius that she will lay down the law appropriately]
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
[Hamlet continues to mock his mother]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
[Hamlet turns from mockery to indirect accusation and an accusatory manner]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
[Virtually spewing sarcasm]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
[Hamlet turns from sarcastic mockery to contempt as he finishes this sentence]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
[Hamlet grabs hold of her and forces her into chair]
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
[Holds up a mirror to her face]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
[Shudders and pushes herself back into the chair, scared]
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
[Hamlet drops the mirror (it shatters) and lightly paces over to arras]
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
[white arras begins to stain red with blood]
[Falls and dies]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
[Queen is frantic]
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
[Snyly , hoping that it is the king]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
[appalled at her son's brutality]
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
[turns back towards his mother with contempt in his eyes]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
[She is confused and still scared of Hamlet]
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
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,
[Looks at Polonius with contemptful pity. He is not sorry, but sees him as pathetic]
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 so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
[Hamlet turns back toward Gertrude]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
[Frustrated with Hamlet's disrespect. Raises her voice to counter Hamlet and rises out of the seat]
HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A 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.
[Asserts himself and comes in close to her. He physically intimidates her and looks down upon her. She backs down into the seat]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
[becomes less confrontational]
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
[Hamlet points at two portraits on the wall]
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 Mercury
New-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:
[stares at portrait of his father as he speaks]
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?
[Speaks pathetically of Claudius and asks her questions in confused wonderment and misunderstanding]
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
That 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 sense
Could not so mope.
O shame! where is thy blush? 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 shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And 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 spots
As will not leave their tinct.
[Wallows in pity and begins to sob into her hands]
HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
[Hamlet speaks as if to twist the metaphorically knife into his mother]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
[overcome by conscience]
HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of 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!
[livid with contempt for the lowly acts of Claudius. He speaks with utter disdain in his voice. Spit flies from his mouth as his anger boils over in his words]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
[Gertrude frantically sobs, screaming at Hamlet]
HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
[turns toward ghost and speaks to the phantom with arms outstretched]
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
[stops crying and looks up with awe at Hamlet]
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
[looks up, inquiring. Hesitates as he expects reprimand from the ghost]
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is 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.
HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
[surprised at her blank amazement and confused look]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And 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 distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
[Temporarily forgets her gulit. Her tortured conscience disappears from her face and she investigates the curious behavior of her son]
HAMLET
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 convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
[He gestures toward the ghost , angry at her disbelief in the ghost of her husband]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
[Asks her in wonderment, perhaps looking for justification for his listening to the ghost]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET
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!
[points at the ghost again]
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
[She speaks with a hint of triumphant understanding, sure that she has found proof of Hamlet's madness]
HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would 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. Confess yourself to heaven;
[Hamlet's temper flares and he totally goes all puritan-fire-and-brimstone on Gertrude]
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 times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
[Hamlet then becomes sarcastic and sardonic, forcing his mother to acknowledge his irony]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
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 good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you.
[Hamlet continues to relentlessy torment her with description of her sins. He assumes a voice of judgment as he gives her a last chance to repent and win back his love and trust]
For this same lord,
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 well
The 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.
[Hamlet speaks with a fatalistic attitude as he has given up on proper life and accepted his eternal damnation]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
[eager to regain his love]
HAMLET
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.
[Hamlet assumes his role as final judge of her trustworthiness. He again offers her her final resort]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
HAMLET
I must to England; you know that?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alack,
I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
HAMLET
There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS
Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Act 3, Scene 4
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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 between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
[Hamlet calls mockingly to his mother, like a child that doesn't fear an expected but ineffectual punishment]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Gertrude speaks assuredly to Polonius that she will lay down the law appropriately]
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
[Hamlet continues to mock his mother]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
[Hamlet turns from mockery to indirect accusation and an accusatory manner]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
[Virtually spewing sarcasm]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
[Hamlet turns from sarcastic mockery to contempt as he finishes this sentence]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
[Hamlet grabs hold of her and forces her into chair]
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
[Holds up a mirror to her face]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
[Shudders and pushes herself back into the chair, scared]
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
[Hamlet drops the mirror (it shatters) and lightly paces over to arras]
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
[white arras begins to stain red with blood]
[Falls and dies]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
[Queen is frantic]
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
[Snyly , hoping that it is the king]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
[appalled at her son's brutality]
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
[turns back towards his mother with contempt in his eyes]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
[She is confused and still scared of Hamlet]
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
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,
[Looks at Polonius with contemptful pity. He is not sorry, but sees him as pathetic]
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 so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
[Hamlet turns back toward Gertrude]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
[Frustrated with Hamlet's disrespect. Raises her voice to counter Hamlet and rises out of the seat]
HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A 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.
[Asserts himself and comes in close to her. He physically intimidates her and looks down upon her. She backs down into the seat]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
[becomes less confrontational]
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
[Hamlet points at two portraits on the wall]
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 Mercury
New-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:
[stares at portrait of his father as he speaks]
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?
[Speaks pathetically of Claudius and asks her questions in confused wonderment and misunderstanding]
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
That 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 sense
Could not so mope.
O shame! where is thy blush? 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 shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And 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 spots
As will not leave their tinct.
[Wallows in pity and begins to sob into her hands]
HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
[Hamlet speaks as if to twist the metaphorically knife into his mother]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
[overcome by conscience]
HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of 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!
[livid with contempt for the lowly acts of Claudius. He speaks with utter disdain in his voice. Spit flies from his mouth as his anger boils over in his words]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
[Gertrude frantically sobs, screaming at Hamlet]
HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
[turns toward ghost and speaks to the phantom with arms outstretched]
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
[stops crying and looks up with awe at Hamlet]
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
[looks up, inquiring. Hesitates as he expects reprimand from the ghost]
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is 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.
HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
[surprised at her blank amazement and confused look]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And 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 distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
[Temporarily forgets her gulit. Her tortured conscience disappears from her face and she investigates the curious behavior of her son]
HAMLET
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 convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
[He gestures toward the ghost , angry at her disbelief in the ghost of her husband]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
[Asks her in wonderment, perhaps looking for justification for his listening to the ghost]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET
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!
[points at the ghost again]
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
[She speaks with a hint of triumphant understanding, sure that she has found proof of Hamlet's madness]
HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would 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. Confess yourself to heaven;
[Hamlet's temper flares and he totally goes all puritan-fire-and-brimstone on Gertrude]
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 times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
[Hamlet then becomes sarcastic and sardonic, forcing his mother to acknowledge his irony]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
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 good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you.
[Hamlet continues to relentlessy torment her with description of her sins. He assumes a voice of judgment as he gives her a last chance to repent and win back his love and trust]
For this same lord,
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 well
The 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.
[Hamlet speaks with a fatalistic attitude as he has given up on proper life and accepted his eternal damnation]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
[eager to regain his love]
HAMLET
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.
[Hamlet assumes his role as final judge of her trustworthiness. He again offers her her final resort]
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
HAMLET
I must to England; you know that?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alack,
I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
HAMLET
There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS
Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Act 3, Scene 4
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Wednesday, January 30, 2008
My Big Fat Greek Problem
Bottom line… Creon is more right. I sympathize with Antigone (as much as I can sympathize with a character from a completely undeveloped storyline), but she is wrong. Polynieces is a traitor. I admit, the limiting factor of this story is that we have no idea how the dispute over the thrown went down. Polynieces probably was the rightful heir to the thrown, but he forfeited his justification when he lead an army on his own people. I don’t care about Eteocles or Creon. I could care less that he killed his brother, but he attacked his own people. He attacked the people that he would be charged with protecting and helping to prosper if he was king. You can’t care about them one day and not the other and be a just, responsible king. Doesn’t work like that. Even if he and Eteocles were the only ones to die, he purposefully attacked his own city and put an entire army of his fellow countrymen at the mercy of a bunch of Argive mercenaries. Mercs are not always the nicest guys on the block. The Argives could of turned out to be the Blackwater of Greece. Oh wait, that comparison can’t be right. They are security contractors not hired guns, right. (Hey you hippie, left-wing, vegetarian, tree-hugger. Hybrid-driving, pot-head liberals…this doesn’t mean I’m on your side. I just hate useless, poorly trained idiots with guns. I still love guns.)
How can Polynieces care for his people when he attacks them just to reclaim the thrown so he can protect them from attack as king. “ Ok, I will attack and possibly kill thousands of my people so I can help them live better lives in the future (as widows and orphans of course).” Maybe Eteocles deposed Polynieces because he was a selfish jerk. Polynieces didn’t deserve to be king. Neither does Creon, so Polynieces only removed a potentially bad king (I say potentially bad because we just don’t know. He could be a great king too.) to instate a suredly bad one. Polynieces was selfish. He valued himself over his people (and most certainly his family).
Creon is also obsessed with power.His edict is a bad law. Not because it is fundamentally wrong, but because it goes too far. King of the state is not enough for him. He wants to extend his powers beyond the worldly (he wants to be god-like, and we all know that he couldn't even multi-kill). He is obsessed with controlling the afterlife of Polynieces. He shows little concern for the higher law of the gods,but Creon is focused upon preventing Polynieces his nectar and ambrosia. In this way Creon both levels himself with the gods and shows his lack of faith in the gods (big mistake for a character in a Greek myth. Just say no to hubris). If he did have faith in them, he would let them take care of the punishment. Ironically, Creon should be thanking Polynieces. He just wouldn’t be king if Polynieces hadn’t knocked off his own brother. Creon doesn’t even listen too his people regarding Antigone’s actions. He is too busy playing God. Creon needs to pay attention to his own zoo (meaning the state).
Antigone is also selfish. Yeah, I think she’s selfish. Like Creon, she goes nuts with her cause. Like most martyr, she is too wrapped up in her cause to step back and solve the problem. I like the Hollywood version too, but dying for the dead doesn’t do a thing (other than reduce my morning traffic). Ironically, Creon is just as much a martyr (and killing for the dead doesn’t make much sense either). These Greeks can not possibly stand for the reason that they hold so dear. The world has too many martyrs. It is way too fashionable to “die” for your cause. And you don’t have to be burned at the stake or blow yourself up to follow in Antigone’s footsteps. While everyone is glorifying themselves by defying the whole world, the problems are just growing. We should all just lift our fingers off the triggers and put down our explosive vests and try to talk to each other a little. I promise, I won’t make you eat meat if you don’t make me grind with a redwood.
My advice? Antigone, think about how much it’s going to hurt before you nail yourself to the cross (and by the way, Jesus had a good reason…you, not so much). You can’t help anyone from the inside of a crypt. Creon, if you can’t get off your pedestal, I’ll get you a ladder. Go ahead and kill’em all, but let God sort’em out. You two could be a great team. You stab’em, she’ll slab’em.
By the way, Mr. Coon, 24 isn’t on this season. The writers ruined it. I can never forgive them for denying me my Jack fix. WWJBD? Take them out, just for the inconvenience.
How can Polynieces care for his people when he attacks them just to reclaim the thrown so he can protect them from attack as king. “ Ok, I will attack and possibly kill thousands of my people so I can help them live better lives in the future (as widows and orphans of course).” Maybe Eteocles deposed Polynieces because he was a selfish jerk. Polynieces didn’t deserve to be king. Neither does Creon, so Polynieces only removed a potentially bad king (I say potentially bad because we just don’t know. He could be a great king too.) to instate a suredly bad one. Polynieces was selfish. He valued himself over his people (and most certainly his family).
Creon is also obsessed with power.His edict is a bad law. Not because it is fundamentally wrong, but because it goes too far. King of the state is not enough for him. He wants to extend his powers beyond the worldly (he wants to be god-like, and we all know that he couldn't even multi-kill). He is obsessed with controlling the afterlife of Polynieces. He shows little concern for the higher law of the gods,but Creon is focused upon preventing Polynieces his nectar and ambrosia. In this way Creon both levels himself with the gods and shows his lack of faith in the gods (big mistake for a character in a Greek myth. Just say no to hubris). If he did have faith in them, he would let them take care of the punishment. Ironically, Creon should be thanking Polynieces. He just wouldn’t be king if Polynieces hadn’t knocked off his own brother. Creon doesn’t even listen too his people regarding Antigone’s actions. He is too busy playing God. Creon needs to pay attention to his own zoo (meaning the state).
Antigone is also selfish. Yeah, I think she’s selfish. Like Creon, she goes nuts with her cause. Like most martyr, she is too wrapped up in her cause to step back and solve the problem. I like the Hollywood version too, but dying for the dead doesn’t do a thing (other than reduce my morning traffic). Ironically, Creon is just as much a martyr (and killing for the dead doesn’t make much sense either). These Greeks can not possibly stand for the reason that they hold so dear. The world has too many martyrs. It is way too fashionable to “die” for your cause. And you don’t have to be burned at the stake or blow yourself up to follow in Antigone’s footsteps. While everyone is glorifying themselves by defying the whole world, the problems are just growing. We should all just lift our fingers off the triggers and put down our explosive vests and try to talk to each other a little. I promise, I won’t make you eat meat if you don’t make me grind with a redwood.
My advice? Antigone, think about how much it’s going to hurt before you nail yourself to the cross (and by the way, Jesus had a good reason…you, not so much). You can’t help anyone from the inside of a crypt. Creon, if you can’t get off your pedestal, I’ll get you a ladder. Go ahead and kill’em all, but let God sort’em out. You two could be a great team. You stab’em, she’ll slab’em.
By the way, Mr. Coon, 24 isn’t on this season. The writers ruined it. I can never forgive them for denying me my Jack fix. WWJBD? Take them out, just for the inconvenience.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Shock Value
Kafka’s metamorphosis is one of the most confusing stories I have ever read or seen… or even heard about. To some degree, I believe the story’s outrageous plot prevents the reader from uncovering the true message of the text. I also believe that this effect may be somewhat by design and may reinforce the message of the text. Gregor’s absurd transformation renders the reader helpless. The reader can no longer view the story seriously. The story’s removal from the realistic prevents the reader from uncovering the true nature of the text… initially at least. The eight hundred pound gorilla that is the storyline blocks us from truly seeing the meaning of the situation. We cannot get past the plot. The insane events that befall Gregor Samsa overwhelm our critical mindsets and force us to react to the circumstances. In this respect, we the readers are much like Gregor’s family in that we are distracted by the shock of Gregor’s transformation and condition. Gregor’s family is shocked by the transformation of their son into such a horrid, unacceptable thing, and we are shocked by the transformation of the text into a wildly unrealistic and insensible thing. We, as readers, are not prepared for this development and are therefore disarmed and transformed ourselves. We are blinded by the shock value of the story and are rendered unable to analyze the story past the transformation of Gregor into an insect. Gregor’s family is likewise unable see past Gregor’s transformation. They are rendered incapable of recognizing their own son for who he is because his transformation has shocked them into a state of petrified vulnerability. Gregor’s transformation has blinded them to Gregor’s true nature and left them unable to see their son as anything other than a monster. It is this blindness that connects the reader and the story. We are distracted by the overwhelming situation at hand, and this strips us of our insight.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Ignorance is Bliss
Ivan Ilych suffers incredible anguish because he can’t come to grips with the meaning of his life. It is not impossible to imagine. We spend most our lives achieving success based on society’s standards. The worst realization would be that most of our lives are spent achieving society’s standards of success. Most of our time on earth will be spent working towards a set of standards created by the successful and proper society that we are trying to join. They are not even our own goals. And if we convince ourselves that they are our own goals, they just happen to fit right in with the man’s expectations and everything is just great. You know who I envy? The ski bum. There is a person who has their priorities straight. Is the ski bum’s life meaningful? Maybe not to you, but your considerations mean nothing to him. Your approval doesn’t add meaning to his existence, so he does not seek it. The real twisted thing about the realization that your life is meaningless if its meaning is influenced by others’ standards is that even though I have just written it down in words, I am going to continue to let society determine at least a significant part of my worth. I am in too deep. I don’t know. I couldn’t imagine to expect reconciliation or rectification or enlightenment of Ivan Ilych’s kind on my deathbed. Instead, if I look at the odds, I choose ignorant bliss. I think I just might choose to remain behind under the illusion of what my life meant. If it really is a meaningful life, then I win. If it isn’t, and I don’t know that it isn’t, I still win. Then again, maybe my life was meaningful and my standards of meaning are wrong, and I lose.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Loves...in the Time of Cholera
I’m not used to writing about or concerning myself with love, but this entire book is nothing but a love story. Not a romantic love story but an objective situational report on the status love in the lives of the main characters. It is a story about love but it is not a sentimental story about love. I suppose this is why I like the story…or can at least stand it. It’s not about idealized sentimental love. Instead, Love in the Time of Cholera shows us several different types of love and contrasts them to each other.
Like we talked about in class, there are two main types of love in the story. Florentino represents an intensely passionate, fast-paced love. He loves on sight with no hesitation. He is relentless in his pursuits…at first, but most of his flings end unceremoniously with a general loss of interest. He continually replaces his faded glories with a new short-term passion. Florentino’s love is something like a bottle rocket. Starts out big but doesn’t last long.
However, Florentino has this perpetual obsession with Fermina Daza also. Fermina is his emotional passion and obsession and his numerous mistresses are his physical passion in her absence. His affairs combined with his emotional obsession for Fermina make one whole love for Florentino.
He needs both loves to feel whole but he consciously tries to keep them separate in an effort to be faithful to Fermina. There are only two explanations for this behavior. One, Florentino has no true emotional connection to his mistresses and considers them only as purely physical and sexual relationships. Therefore, he must not consider his flings as substantial relationships and feels that they are not comparable to his love for Fermina. Two, he is a lying, deceitful fraud who is totally uncommitted to Fermina. I have no problem with his being a player but his mental disassociation of his love affairs and his love for Fermina even though he wishes to appear faithful is both interesting and startling. Through Florentino, Marquez presents physical love and unattainable love-from-a-distance.
Of course, Urbino and Fermina represent the other type of love. Their type is not passionate. It is not immediate. It can only be described as an acquired taste. They slowly come to depend on each other physically and emotionally but their relationship is almost devoid of physical passion. Yet, it can be considered no less true than any other type of love. Indeed, in many ways it is more real than Florentino’s type of love simply because it has lasted through the years. Urbino and Fermina’s love is the exact opposite of Florentino’s. Their love is slow, emotional and stable. More like a diesel engine--slow to start up but long running. However, neither type of love can be considered inferior.
Like we talked about in class, there are two main types of love in the story. Florentino represents an intensely passionate, fast-paced love. He loves on sight with no hesitation. He is relentless in his pursuits…at first, but most of his flings end unceremoniously with a general loss of interest. He continually replaces his faded glories with a new short-term passion. Florentino’s love is something like a bottle rocket. Starts out big but doesn’t last long.
However, Florentino has this perpetual obsession with Fermina Daza also. Fermina is his emotional passion and obsession and his numerous mistresses are his physical passion in her absence. His affairs combined with his emotional obsession for Fermina make one whole love for Florentino.
He needs both loves to feel whole but he consciously tries to keep them separate in an effort to be faithful to Fermina. There are only two explanations for this behavior. One, Florentino has no true emotional connection to his mistresses and considers them only as purely physical and sexual relationships. Therefore, he must not consider his flings as substantial relationships and feels that they are not comparable to his love for Fermina. Two, he is a lying, deceitful fraud who is totally uncommitted to Fermina. I have no problem with his being a player but his mental disassociation of his love affairs and his love for Fermina even though he wishes to appear faithful is both interesting and startling. Through Florentino, Marquez presents physical love and unattainable love-from-a-distance.
Of course, Urbino and Fermina represent the other type of love. Their type is not passionate. It is not immediate. It can only be described as an acquired taste. They slowly come to depend on each other physically and emotionally but their relationship is almost devoid of physical passion. Yet, it can be considered no less true than any other type of love. Indeed, in many ways it is more real than Florentino’s type of love simply because it has lasted through the years. Urbino and Fermina’s love is the exact opposite of Florentino’s. Their love is slow, emotional and stable. More like a diesel engine--slow to start up but long running. However, neither type of love can be considered inferior.
Monday, November 26, 2007
This is Gary’s special edition Thanksgiving blog!
Note: For this this blog entry, I will speak…sorry…Gary will speak of himself in the third person.
Note (again): Addressing myself in third person was extremely tiresome, so I gave up. Just wanted you to know that I was going to do it.
Love in the time of Cholera is an uplifting, wonderful story about the delights of first and true love…not. It’s depressing and frightening…and quite dark. It appears to be about the neverending hope and eternal happiness supplied by true love, but in reality we soon discover that it faithfully describes neverending hope… and the subsequent neverending hopelessness. Instead of filling our hearts with hope of a chance for true and unimaginable, unrealistic love, it smashes our dreams and tears our hope into shreds with it’s sudden shift to the stereotype of realistic love and marriage. Never has the void in me that I sometimes pretend holds emotion and sentimentality been torn as it was by Fermina’s rejection of Florentino.
It’s not so much that I felt for Florentino as I felt for myself. I had committed hours of my time to reading the hundred or so pages that led up to this event. I had invested my time, which could have been spent playing FIFA or Guitar Hero, in this book believing that I was working toward a final solution to this fifty page obsession that was Florentino and Fermina’s verbal fling, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. Or very seriously wrong, at least.
I know that the book started at the end of Urbino’s life and that we knew that Fermina and the doctor get together but I didn’t know it happened like this. When so many tragic stories end with forced marriage breaking up a physical connection but leaving an eternal love intact, I didn’t expect this one to break apart in a sudden change of heart on the behalf of the hot girl. That’s not uplifting. That is devastating. Yes, devastating (and I mean the total destruction, nothing left, nuclear winter, Sherman’s march to the sea devastating). Who cares if the star-crossed lover is devastated. I am devastated. All of my attention and effort was wasted on an ending that I would have guessed from the get go. My outlook on life was not changed by Fermina’s rejection. It was sadly confirmed. If every story ended like this one, glasses would always be served half empty and the terrorists would probably be waiting for me at home.
I mean the happy ending is an archetype for a reason. Real life ends like this book does. And real life sucks. Why would I waste my actual life reading about a realistic ending. I could just watch the news. Go on, call it great literature. I call a perversion of the human spirit.
Note: For this this blog entry, I will speak…sorry…Gary will speak of himself in the third person.
Note (again): Addressing myself in third person was extremely tiresome, so I gave up. Just wanted you to know that I was going to do it.
Love in the time of Cholera is an uplifting, wonderful story about the delights of first and true love…not. It’s depressing and frightening…and quite dark. It appears to be about the neverending hope and eternal happiness supplied by true love, but in reality we soon discover that it faithfully describes neverending hope… and the subsequent neverending hopelessness. Instead of filling our hearts with hope of a chance for true and unimaginable, unrealistic love, it smashes our dreams and tears our hope into shreds with it’s sudden shift to the stereotype of realistic love and marriage. Never has the void in me that I sometimes pretend holds emotion and sentimentality been torn as it was by Fermina’s rejection of Florentino.
It’s not so much that I felt for Florentino as I felt for myself. I had committed hours of my time to reading the hundred or so pages that led up to this event. I had invested my time, which could have been spent playing FIFA or Guitar Hero, in this book believing that I was working toward a final solution to this fifty page obsession that was Florentino and Fermina’s verbal fling, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. Or very seriously wrong, at least.
I know that the book started at the end of Urbino’s life and that we knew that Fermina and the doctor get together but I didn’t know it happened like this. When so many tragic stories end with forced marriage breaking up a physical connection but leaving an eternal love intact, I didn’t expect this one to break apart in a sudden change of heart on the behalf of the hot girl. That’s not uplifting. That is devastating. Yes, devastating (and I mean the total destruction, nothing left, nuclear winter, Sherman’s march to the sea devastating). Who cares if the star-crossed lover is devastated. I am devastated. All of my attention and effort was wasted on an ending that I would have guessed from the get go. My outlook on life was not changed by Fermina’s rejection. It was sadly confirmed. If every story ended like this one, glasses would always be served half empty and the terrorists would probably be waiting for me at home.
I mean the happy ending is an archetype for a reason. Real life ends like this book does. And real life sucks. Why would I waste my actual life reading about a realistic ending. I could just watch the news. Go on, call it great literature. I call a perversion of the human spirit.
Friday, November 2, 2007
La Familia
The Compson family disintegrates because of one reason. Every single member of the family fails to live up to the expectations of their role within the family setting. Every single member fails to do their duty and sacrifice for the survival of the family. They are all too selfish, in their own particular ways, to give up their pride and beliefs and be what the family needs them to be.
I’ll start with the parents. Mother is terrible. She does not at all resemble her namesake and does not fulfill any of her position’s requirements. It’s ridiculous. I do not feel that I even have to state any evidence to support the fact that she is selfish and does not sacrifice anything for well-being of her children or her family. She treats Benjy as an embarrassment and a trouble. We could not expect a stranger to show less compassion than Mother shows towards Benjy. She had no business becoming a mother and would be a far more suitable candidate for a high-class call girl than a home-maker or a family woman.
Her favoritism towards Jason is also beyond reason and propriety. Parents are not supposed to pick favorites. That’s a given, but it’s the real world and I can’t expect every action of every parent to be unbiased. Mother’s preferential treatment of Jason is so blatant that it has become a weapon that mother uses against her family and her husband. Her favoritism for Jason also displays her lack of judgement as Jason is nothing but a bitter little stool-pidgeon anyway. Mother’s support of this cowardly, base behavior does not help the situation either.
Father is also flawed. He is detached and aloof from the needs of his children. When his children need guidance and personal reassurance—as in the case of Quentin—he offers only his often pessimistic or fatalistic opinion. Sometimes, his children need to hear a certain thing, and he offers them only an extremely limited and in some cases harsh point of view. However, he is not harsh in the discipline of his children. In fact, his forgiveness of Caddy is admirable and very compassionate but he seems out of touch with the emotional needs of all his children—Quentin in particular. He forgoes his responsibility to console all of his children and instead sticks to his logic and pessimistic disposition when confronting his family. He also fails to take control of the situation—in this case the Caddy predicament--and be strong for his family. Instead, he drowns his sorrows in whiskey and abandons his responsibility as leader of the household. He forgets the problems of the family and, in a selfish way, concerns himself only with his grievances and turmoils.
The children also contribute to the family’s demise. Each child acts selfish in his or her own way. Caddy’s initial affair with Dalton Ames, although not evil, still begins the selfish trend. She, whether consciously or not, rejects her role in the family and focuses on her own life and passions. It may not be a malicious decision but in a family environment as fragile as the Compson’s, it was a tragic choice with dire consequences. She is then forced to abandon the family when she marries. Quentin, in his own way, also decides not to sacrifice his concept of honor for the good of the family and in turns runs away from his problems, whether real or imaginary, by killing himself. He also abandons the family in this way. Jason, on the other hand, does not physically abandon the family. His providing for the family after the death of Quentin and Father are to be commended, but he has long abandoned the family in an emotional sense. He does not make any effort to emotionally rebuild the shattered lives of his brother, sister or her daughter.(648)
I’ll start with the parents. Mother is terrible. She does not at all resemble her namesake and does not fulfill any of her position’s requirements. It’s ridiculous. I do not feel that I even have to state any evidence to support the fact that she is selfish and does not sacrifice anything for well-being of her children or her family. She treats Benjy as an embarrassment and a trouble. We could not expect a stranger to show less compassion than Mother shows towards Benjy. She had no business becoming a mother and would be a far more suitable candidate for a high-class call girl than a home-maker or a family woman.
Her favoritism towards Jason is also beyond reason and propriety. Parents are not supposed to pick favorites. That’s a given, but it’s the real world and I can’t expect every action of every parent to be unbiased. Mother’s preferential treatment of Jason is so blatant that it has become a weapon that mother uses against her family and her husband. Her favoritism for Jason also displays her lack of judgement as Jason is nothing but a bitter little stool-pidgeon anyway. Mother’s support of this cowardly, base behavior does not help the situation either.
Father is also flawed. He is detached and aloof from the needs of his children. When his children need guidance and personal reassurance—as in the case of Quentin—he offers only his often pessimistic or fatalistic opinion. Sometimes, his children need to hear a certain thing, and he offers them only an extremely limited and in some cases harsh point of view. However, he is not harsh in the discipline of his children. In fact, his forgiveness of Caddy is admirable and very compassionate but he seems out of touch with the emotional needs of all his children—Quentin in particular. He forgoes his responsibility to console all of his children and instead sticks to his logic and pessimistic disposition when confronting his family. He also fails to take control of the situation—in this case the Caddy predicament--and be strong for his family. Instead, he drowns his sorrows in whiskey and abandons his responsibility as leader of the household. He forgets the problems of the family and, in a selfish way, concerns himself only with his grievances and turmoils.
The children also contribute to the family’s demise. Each child acts selfish in his or her own way. Caddy’s initial affair with Dalton Ames, although not evil, still begins the selfish trend. She, whether consciously or not, rejects her role in the family and focuses on her own life and passions. It may not be a malicious decision but in a family environment as fragile as the Compson’s, it was a tragic choice with dire consequences. She is then forced to abandon the family when she marries. Quentin, in his own way, also decides not to sacrifice his concept of honor for the good of the family and in turns runs away from his problems, whether real or imaginary, by killing himself. He also abandons the family in this way. Jason, on the other hand, does not physically abandon the family. His providing for the family after the death of Quentin and Father are to be commended, but he has long abandoned the family in an emotional sense. He does not make any effort to emotionally rebuild the shattered lives of his brother, sister or her daughter.(648)
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Stream of Consciousness in ohh look a bird the Sound and the Fury-ous monster truck
In the first section of The Sound and The Fury, we see the world through the memories of Benjy. Throughout the section, Benjy recounts his memories by stream of consciousness instead of chronological order. Faulkner’s choice of stream of consciousness writing allows for interesting psychological associations to take place within Benjy’s mind. Many of Benjy’s memories are triggered by associations within the memories themselves. Most of these memories are triggered by similarities in events or locations or emotions felt by Benjy.
A good percentage of his memories are triggered by similarities in a central focal point of the memory. In the text, a single significant object or word can be found in both the previous and triggered memory. For example, when T.P. tells Benjy that he “can’t do no good moaning and slobbering through the fence”, it triggers Benjy’s memories of Father interrogating Jason to the cause of the fence being open when Benjy escaped. Benjy’s memory is then turned to the night that he escaped through the gate, another memory association by event.
Benjy also associates certain events with each other. In his mind, certain events and impressions are combined and blurred into a single memory. The most specific blurring of two separate events in Benjy’s mind is his association of grabbing the schoolgirls and struggling to communicate with his memories of his subsequent surgical castration.
He combines the physical and emotional feelings of struggle and helplessness of both events. In both events, Benjy feels as if he cannot speak and he struggles to exhale and cry. In the escape incident, he feels as if he cannot force out the words that he wants to say to the girls. During the surgery, Benjy also struggles to cry out and breathe because of the constricting ether mask on his face. The feeling of helplessness is the common factor of these memories, so the recollection of one memory triggers the other to be recalled and merged with the other.
Benjy also recalls a part of this mixed memory at the end of the section. He mentions the bright shapes while he is going to sleep. In this instance, Benjy is associating his memory of being anesthetized during his operation with the act of falling to sleep.
Stream of consciousness writing is also extensively used in the Quentin section. Faulkner uses in an extreme manner though, intertwining memories and thoughts. The ridiculous lack of punctuation also emphasizes the chaotic nature of the human stream of consciousness. When reading, thoughts may seem completely jumbled and random, yet the content of these memories are related.
Faulkner uses the stream of consciousness method to compare each character’s interpretations and connotations of each specific event brought up in the text. Faulkner uses the same events in both sections of the text to present each character’s differing opinions and interpretations of the events by his or her stream of consciousness. Faulkner also uses many different types of mental associations to present his character’s personality by stressing their values and preferences as presented in their memories. (508)
A good percentage of his memories are triggered by similarities in a central focal point of the memory. In the text, a single significant object or word can be found in both the previous and triggered memory. For example, when T.P. tells Benjy that he “can’t do no good moaning and slobbering through the fence”, it triggers Benjy’s memories of Father interrogating Jason to the cause of the fence being open when Benjy escaped. Benjy’s memory is then turned to the night that he escaped through the gate, another memory association by event.
Benjy also associates certain events with each other. In his mind, certain events and impressions are combined and blurred into a single memory. The most specific blurring of two separate events in Benjy’s mind is his association of grabbing the schoolgirls and struggling to communicate with his memories of his subsequent surgical castration.
He combines the physical and emotional feelings of struggle and helplessness of both events. In both events, Benjy feels as if he cannot speak and he struggles to exhale and cry. In the escape incident, he feels as if he cannot force out the words that he wants to say to the girls. During the surgery, Benjy also struggles to cry out and breathe because of the constricting ether mask on his face. The feeling of helplessness is the common factor of these memories, so the recollection of one memory triggers the other to be recalled and merged with the other.
Benjy also recalls a part of this mixed memory at the end of the section. He mentions the bright shapes while he is going to sleep. In this instance, Benjy is associating his memory of being anesthetized during his operation with the act of falling to sleep.
Stream of consciousness writing is also extensively used in the Quentin section. Faulkner uses in an extreme manner though, intertwining memories and thoughts. The ridiculous lack of punctuation also emphasizes the chaotic nature of the human stream of consciousness. When reading, thoughts may seem completely jumbled and random, yet the content of these memories are related.
Faulkner uses the stream of consciousness method to compare each character’s interpretations and connotations of each specific event brought up in the text. Faulkner uses the same events in both sections of the text to present each character’s differing opinions and interpretations of the events by his or her stream of consciousness. Faulkner also uses many different types of mental associations to present his character’s personality by stressing their values and preferences as presented in their memories. (508)
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Missing the Exit
In Joyce Carol Oates’s story, “Where are you going, Where have you been?”, the main character Connie faces a dilemma when she must choose between separating herself from her family remaining close to her most familiar environment. Connie wants to differentiate herself from the ways of her family and become her own individual, but in order to change she has to distance her family environment and her home. In the story, we find Connie struggling to maintain a position in between these two paths. We find her trying to neither forsake her roots and become independent or acknowledge her connection to her family. She must decide whether to break away from tradition and lead a free life or become part of the community and familial infrastructure that raised her.
This dilemma begins with the impossibility to completely reconcile these two paths. To choose a radical, individual life that is not “sanctioned” by the family is to seem ungrateful for the sacrifices that the family has made to raise you in one set of ways. It seems as if you were slandering the way of life of the family and stabbing those responsible for the continuation of that way of life right in the back. If you do not necessarily agree with the family customs, choosing to become a part of the family lifestyle can mean stabbing yourself in the back.
Connie struggles with this dilemma, but is indecisive until the presence of Arnold Friend (devil, dream, stalker or whatever he is) forces her down one path. Connie wants the support system of her home and friends and her conventional life, but she does not want to participate in family activities and makes no attempt to reconcile her differences with those of her family. For example, she makes no attempt to acknowledge her relationship with her sister or mother. She tends toward the path of independence but is too immature to make a commitment to this way of life and instead remains in limbo for too long. In this way, Oates shows hoe independence without the necessary maturity is a bad situation and that the decision to become independent should only be made when one is mature enough to understand the sacrifices of such a choice.
Arnold Friend represents a situation that forces her to choose a path. In this case, she is so far “behind the eight ball” that she can only go down one path. She has lost the power of choice because she has delayed too long and “flirted” with the idea of independence without serious consideration. She has lost her free will because she has denied her family for too long without acknowledging her commitment to the independent path. Arnold Friend is the last resort, and as he puts it where Connie wants to go now has been "cancelled out" and is no longer an option. To abandon the formal altogether, it’s like waiting too long to decide whether or not to get off the freeway. She has tended to continue down the path of independence. She has stayed too long in the right lane. If you miss the exit at first, you can still go across the gore point but this is a difficult thing to do without risking terrible consequences. Perhaps you hit the barrier and lose everything on both paths. If you stall even further, you cannot cross onto the exit without slamming into the concrete wall and dying a horrible death. At this point, you have no reasonable choice but to stay on your given path. Connie has waited too long and passed the gore point. She has no choice but to continue on the path to independent rebellion and follow Arnold Friend. Her indecision ends up making the choice for her.(635)
This dilemma begins with the impossibility to completely reconcile these two paths. To choose a radical, individual life that is not “sanctioned” by the family is to seem ungrateful for the sacrifices that the family has made to raise you in one set of ways. It seems as if you were slandering the way of life of the family and stabbing those responsible for the continuation of that way of life right in the back. If you do not necessarily agree with the family customs, choosing to become a part of the family lifestyle can mean stabbing yourself in the back.
Connie struggles with this dilemma, but is indecisive until the presence of Arnold Friend (devil, dream, stalker or whatever he is) forces her down one path. Connie wants the support system of her home and friends and her conventional life, but she does not want to participate in family activities and makes no attempt to reconcile her differences with those of her family. For example, she makes no attempt to acknowledge her relationship with her sister or mother. She tends toward the path of independence but is too immature to make a commitment to this way of life and instead remains in limbo for too long. In this way, Oates shows hoe independence without the necessary maturity is a bad situation and that the decision to become independent should only be made when one is mature enough to understand the sacrifices of such a choice.
Arnold Friend represents a situation that forces her to choose a path. In this case, she is so far “behind the eight ball” that she can only go down one path. She has lost the power of choice because she has delayed too long and “flirted” with the idea of independence without serious consideration. She has lost her free will because she has denied her family for too long without acknowledging her commitment to the independent path. Arnold Friend is the last resort, and as he puts it where Connie wants to go now has been "cancelled out" and is no longer an option. To abandon the formal altogether, it’s like waiting too long to decide whether or not to get off the freeway. She has tended to continue down the path of independence. She has stayed too long in the right lane. If you miss the exit at first, you can still go across the gore point but this is a difficult thing to do without risking terrible consequences. Perhaps you hit the barrier and lose everything on both paths. If you stall even further, you cannot cross onto the exit without slamming into the concrete wall and dying a horrible death. At this point, you have no reasonable choice but to stay on your given path. Connie has waited too long and passed the gore point. She has no choice but to continue on the path to independent rebellion and follow Arnold Friend. Her indecision ends up making the choice for her.(635)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Why does the old man need the cafe?"
Why does the old man need the café?
In “A Clean, Well Lighted Place, Hemingway presents a short, concise narrative concerning the after hours life of an apparently suicidal old man and his daily attendance of a street-side cafe. Throughout the story, Hemingway leads us to ask the question, “Why does the old man need the café?” Hemingway answers this question by presenting two characters. These characters are of course the two waiters. The two waiters answer this question by their contrasting responses and attitudes toward the old man. One waiter, the older, more patient waiter, understands why the old man needs the café while the younger, hurried waiter does not understand why the old man or his fellow server would need the café at such an hour.
The old waiter confesses to be “of those who like to stay late at the café (159-70).” He also must understand those who need the café because he is sympathetic to their plight and sees his being at the café as a sort of service to his fellow man. He says, “Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café (159-71).” He sees the café as an important service to those in need, a sort of shelter that he must keep open as long as possible.
The younger waiter, on the other hand, is more detached from the needs of the old man and indeed his fellow server. He becomes severely resistant to the consideration of the needs of the old man. He even becomes bitter as he “wishes” that the old man had been successful in his suicide attempt. Later on in the story, Hemingway does partially excuse his behavior by saying “He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry (159-58).” He does not understand the old man’s need for the café and treats him more like a drunk or an alcoholic than a emotionally dependent regular.
Now, the question “Why the old man needs the café?” has not yet been answered but the dichotomy created by the two waiters’ attitudes and their physical and emotional differences laid out in the story is central to understanding the answer to this question. First we have the young, detached waiter. He is rash and impatient and temperamental to a certain extent, but he provides a reason for his hurry to get home. He has a wife and a family and a world out side the café. The older, understanding waiter responds by pointing out that he does not have a family anymore. He even confesses to lack any sort of confidence in himself or the world. The younger waiter has a support structure outside of the café. He has separate world that keeps him from getting lonely and gives him a purpose. The older waiter and the old man lack this support structure and purpose. The café gives them a refuge where they can attain a dignified sense of order and respectful, benevolent causality. It also gives them a place in which to connect with other human beings, if only for a second while ordering a drink.
The older waiter says, “I am of those who like to stay late at the café. With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night (159-70).” The older waiter and the old man are in some sense afraid of the dark, but the dark is not simply the absence of light. It is the loneliness and purposelessness that fills the void where their support systems or families or careers used to exist. Yes, it’s the nothing (or the nada) that they avoid. They go to the café to find something to center their lives around. The old man needs the café for his support system and his routine and purpose. He does not need the brandy, but he needs the respectable light of the café to satisfy his inherent hunger for self-worth and keep the loneliness and seeming pointlessness of his life from engulfing him in darkness.
The older waiter needs the café for much the same reason. He needs it to satisfy his need for purpose. The needs of the late-night café customers become his purpose in life. He keeps himself out of the dark by working at the café. And he does understand the old man because he identifies with him and his need of a respectable, dignified place to spend the nighttime hours. Those who need the café need somewhere to belong and somewhere to matter, so that a dark, uncaring universe does not swallow their humanity. (781)
In “A Clean, Well Lighted Place, Hemingway presents a short, concise narrative concerning the after hours life of an apparently suicidal old man and his daily attendance of a street-side cafe. Throughout the story, Hemingway leads us to ask the question, “Why does the old man need the café?” Hemingway answers this question by presenting two characters. These characters are of course the two waiters. The two waiters answer this question by their contrasting responses and attitudes toward the old man. One waiter, the older, more patient waiter, understands why the old man needs the café while the younger, hurried waiter does not understand why the old man or his fellow server would need the café at such an hour.
The old waiter confesses to be “of those who like to stay late at the café (159-70).” He also must understand those who need the café because he is sympathetic to their plight and sees his being at the café as a sort of service to his fellow man. He says, “Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café (159-71).” He sees the café as an important service to those in need, a sort of shelter that he must keep open as long as possible.
The younger waiter, on the other hand, is more detached from the needs of the old man and indeed his fellow server. He becomes severely resistant to the consideration of the needs of the old man. He even becomes bitter as he “wishes” that the old man had been successful in his suicide attempt. Later on in the story, Hemingway does partially excuse his behavior by saying “He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry (159-58).” He does not understand the old man’s need for the café and treats him more like a drunk or an alcoholic than a emotionally dependent regular.
Now, the question “Why the old man needs the café?” has not yet been answered but the dichotomy created by the two waiters’ attitudes and their physical and emotional differences laid out in the story is central to understanding the answer to this question. First we have the young, detached waiter. He is rash and impatient and temperamental to a certain extent, but he provides a reason for his hurry to get home. He has a wife and a family and a world out side the café. The older, understanding waiter responds by pointing out that he does not have a family anymore. He even confesses to lack any sort of confidence in himself or the world. The younger waiter has a support structure outside of the café. He has separate world that keeps him from getting lonely and gives him a purpose. The older waiter and the old man lack this support structure and purpose. The café gives them a refuge where they can attain a dignified sense of order and respectful, benevolent causality. It also gives them a place in which to connect with other human beings, if only for a second while ordering a drink.
The older waiter says, “I am of those who like to stay late at the café. With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night (159-70).” The older waiter and the old man are in some sense afraid of the dark, but the dark is not simply the absence of light. It is the loneliness and purposelessness that fills the void where their support systems or families or careers used to exist. Yes, it’s the nothing (or the nada) that they avoid. They go to the café to find something to center their lives around. The old man needs the café for his support system and his routine and purpose. He does not need the brandy, but he needs the respectable light of the café to satisfy his inherent hunger for self-worth and keep the loneliness and seeming pointlessness of his life from engulfing him in darkness.
The older waiter needs the café for much the same reason. He needs it to satisfy his need for purpose. The needs of the late-night café customers become his purpose in life. He keeps himself out of the dark by working at the café. And he does understand the old man because he identifies with him and his need of a respectable, dignified place to spend the nighttime hours. Those who need the café need somewhere to belong and somewhere to matter, so that a dark, uncaring universe does not swallow their humanity. (781)
Friday, September 21, 2007
"A&P" and "Flannery O'Connor"
“A&P”
This blog is supposed to be a tool for me to vocalize my literary thoughts. Okay. Forgive me if some of my thoughts are ridiculous or over-the-top or insignificant. When I think about A&P, I imagine this great mythical battle, covering some chaotic ethereal plain. The plain is engulfed in rage as orthodox conventionalists smash against non-conformists in furious struggle. It may sound mock heroic or somewhat melodramatic but I think this image in my head sincerely compliments the effectiveness of the story and the writing abilities of John Updike. To instill the image of this epic struggle between conformity and non-conformity in my head through the description of some girls’ entering a supermarket is an amazing accomplishment. I am predisposed to imagine such glorious battle but the description that Updike offers throughout the narrative inspires such a contrast between the forces of the usual and the unique—as well as their respective generals and champions—that the archetypal image of the battle between good and evil must be conjured in the back of every reader’s mind.
To go further, A&P resembles many of our most sacred archetypes and themes in several specific ways. First, we have the girls’ challenge to authority in the form of their entering the store scantily clad and their confrontation—even if it did not amount to fight, physical or metaphorical, in any way—with Mr. Lengel, the general, if you will, of the conformist legions. Although it is not a well-defined archetype, the challenge to authority is central to many of our classic story formats. Challenging authority is a world-wide theme that has been a part of American culture forever—or as long as we have existed, which is not very long actually.
The girls also contribute to another beloved archetype of our literary age. They--actually she, as only one of the girls attracts his full attention--inspire Sammy to champion the cause of non-conformity. They become the “maidens in distress” that ultimately cause Sammy to don his shining armor and rescue the fair Queenie and her companions from the wrath of Mr. Lengel and his hoards of obedient sheep. Sammy, our knight in shining armor, and Queenie, the fair maiden to which he devotes his glorious feat of bravery, fulfill another classic archetype of our culture.
To complement the girls’ challenge to authority, we see them starting a sort of revolution or rebellion in the store. You guessed it. Another archetype. The girls, and Queenie in particular, cause a wave of sensation to overcome several characters in the story. Only one quits, but this still constitutes a social rebellion of sorts against the tyranny of the A&P autocrat and his followers. Okay, it’s no Les Miserables but it still lives up to the revolution archetype that is central to much great literature, art and history.
To imagine a Thermopoly-like battle between conformity and it’s counterpart—the girls and Sammy being the Spartans, hopelessly outnumbered by the vast legions of Persian sheep—may be ridiculous or unnecessary, but the story does fit several classic literary archetypes that have spanned literary history back to the Homeric epics of history.
Flannery O’ Connor Stories
I don’t have a particular literary aspect of Flannery O’Connor stories in mind. What struck me about “Revelation” and “A Good Man is Hard to Find” is more of an overarching theme that applies to both of the stories. In both stories, God acts through human beings, not through impressive ecclesiastical miracles or acts of awe. In both stories, God’s grace is transferred into human beings—Mary Grace and the grandmother—and then used to affect others through human interactions—the ultimate recipients of these actions being Mrs. Turpin and the Misfit. The recipients of each story react differently but in both cases it is human action that attempts to change them. Perhaps O’Connor uses this human interaction to reject the biblical notion of heavenly intervention and to instead substitute the idea that human beings are responsible for improving the world through the inspiration offered by God. The one event that may be interpreted as a heavenly action is the revelation and the ghostly processional observed by Mrs. Turpin; however, it is not conclusively stated that the processional is the work of God and not the conscious or subconscious of Mrs. Turpin. (715)
This blog is supposed to be a tool for me to vocalize my literary thoughts. Okay. Forgive me if some of my thoughts are ridiculous or over-the-top or insignificant. When I think about A&P, I imagine this great mythical battle, covering some chaotic ethereal plain. The plain is engulfed in rage as orthodox conventionalists smash against non-conformists in furious struggle. It may sound mock heroic or somewhat melodramatic but I think this image in my head sincerely compliments the effectiveness of the story and the writing abilities of John Updike. To instill the image of this epic struggle between conformity and non-conformity in my head through the description of some girls’ entering a supermarket is an amazing accomplishment. I am predisposed to imagine such glorious battle but the description that Updike offers throughout the narrative inspires such a contrast between the forces of the usual and the unique—as well as their respective generals and champions—that the archetypal image of the battle between good and evil must be conjured in the back of every reader’s mind.
To go further, A&P resembles many of our most sacred archetypes and themes in several specific ways. First, we have the girls’ challenge to authority in the form of their entering the store scantily clad and their confrontation—even if it did not amount to fight, physical or metaphorical, in any way—with Mr. Lengel, the general, if you will, of the conformist legions. Although it is not a well-defined archetype, the challenge to authority is central to many of our classic story formats. Challenging authority is a world-wide theme that has been a part of American culture forever—or as long as we have existed, which is not very long actually.
The girls also contribute to another beloved archetype of our literary age. They--actually she, as only one of the girls attracts his full attention--inspire Sammy to champion the cause of non-conformity. They become the “maidens in distress” that ultimately cause Sammy to don his shining armor and rescue the fair Queenie and her companions from the wrath of Mr. Lengel and his hoards of obedient sheep. Sammy, our knight in shining armor, and Queenie, the fair maiden to which he devotes his glorious feat of bravery, fulfill another classic archetype of our culture.
To complement the girls’ challenge to authority, we see them starting a sort of revolution or rebellion in the store. You guessed it. Another archetype. The girls, and Queenie in particular, cause a wave of sensation to overcome several characters in the story. Only one quits, but this still constitutes a social rebellion of sorts against the tyranny of the A&P autocrat and his followers. Okay, it’s no Les Miserables but it still lives up to the revolution archetype that is central to much great literature, art and history.
To imagine a Thermopoly-like battle between conformity and it’s counterpart—the girls and Sammy being the Spartans, hopelessly outnumbered by the vast legions of Persian sheep—may be ridiculous or unnecessary, but the story does fit several classic literary archetypes that have spanned literary history back to the Homeric epics of history.
Flannery O’ Connor Stories
I don’t have a particular literary aspect of Flannery O’Connor stories in mind. What struck me about “Revelation” and “A Good Man is Hard to Find” is more of an overarching theme that applies to both of the stories. In both stories, God acts through human beings, not through impressive ecclesiastical miracles or acts of awe. In both stories, God’s grace is transferred into human beings—Mary Grace and the grandmother—and then used to affect others through human interactions—the ultimate recipients of these actions being Mrs. Turpin and the Misfit. The recipients of each story react differently but in both cases it is human action that attempts to change them. Perhaps O’Connor uses this human interaction to reject the biblical notion of heavenly intervention and to instead substitute the idea that human beings are responsible for improving the world through the inspiration offered by God. The one event that may be interpreted as a heavenly action is the revelation and the ghostly processional observed by Mrs. Turpin; however, it is not conclusively stated that the processional is the work of God and not the conscious or subconscious of Mrs. Turpin. (715)
Friday, September 14, 2007
“Teenage Wasteland” and “Soul Position”
In class the other day, we talked about the theme of running away from your problems in “Teenage Wasteland.” We talked about how running way was not a good long term solution to a problem or a good long term coping mechanism. Indeed, we all know you can’t run away forever and that your problems will eventually catch up with you. Yesterday, I listened to a song that commented on this very problem. The song is called “Run”, by “Soul Position” and it talks about the necessity and eventual consequences of learning to “run away” in the inner city. It begins by pointing out the importance of running away in a violent environment. In this instance it talks about running away from guns and shooting and everything that “threatens peaceful existence.” The artist believes that running is necessary coping mechanism in life in the inner city. Donny also runs away from the problems that interfere with his “peaceful existence.” However, later on in the song, the artist points out that in other areas of life, running away causes serious problems and threatens the peaceful state of life that everyone seeks. The artist states that running away can make ones life less fulfilling and less happy. He closes by stating that in the end, he “wishes we hadn’t learned to run.” He says that running way has not solved any of our problems. Anne Tyler makes the same point in “Teenage Wasteland.” Neither Cal nor Donny solved any of their problems by running.
“Everyday Use” – A Rant by Gary
Rejecting your roots or your present situation and then acknowledging them later on seems like a kind of trend. We always hear people telling their stories of ascent from poverty or misfortune and their attaining good fortune through their own merit. The “legend” of the self-made man is an extremely fashionable and revered past at this point in time. I don’t intend to demean the self-made man story or the value of hard work in order to achieve a goal. I believe it is something of which to be extremely proud. I believe the opportunity to better yourself through hard work and self-attained merit is the basic premise behind our country. However, I do intend to point out that it seems to be kind of trendy (at least throughout history… once upon a time, the aristocracy were proud of their not having to achieve their own wealth, and the self-made men were not considered to be truly aristocratic… then later, the self-made industrialists and capitalists became the figures held in the highest esteem) to first be embarrassed about your heritage and then become proud of it later.
I cannot really support my claim of the trendy nature of being self-made, but the thought has stuck in my head since our reading “Everyday Use.” Like we discussed in class, Dee only “accepts” her heritage when it becomes fashionable. And then, her poor roots become more of a bragging point to her than a real heritage.
Again, I can’t cite a specific reference; however, in countless movies and TV shows we see characters embarrassed about some aspect of their life (more often than not this aspect is materialistic or financial or superficial) until some supernatural being or hero or the tooth fairy or Morgan Freeman in God form makes them realize that they should be proud of themselves. This is of course the moral of the story. But in real life, not everyone has such a great emotional mentor or guardian angel. So, it becomes a trend. Once you achieve success (in whatever form that may be), your roots are no longer significant and only become a fact supporting the “hey you, I can do anything better than you can” attitude of which everyone has some (this includes every motivational speaker you have ever heard).
My attitude is indeed cynical, but it applies to Dee quite well. For example, when she was a girl she could not stand the sight of her run-down shack of a house. In fact, she enjoyed watching it burn. When she returns, grown up, she takes picture after picture of her family’s new but similar shack. Her destitute background has become a talking point. She is not even interested in her family, just her family’s living conditions and history (in the form of family heirlooms). Dee believes that her family cannot (and should not be able to) appreciate their heritage because they have not reached her considered measure of success. She thinks that they are too simple to understand their heritage. She believes that they don’t know what they have and where they came from just because they haven’t seen the top of the mountain. She is too proud of her success. She can no longer relate too her family because they consider their way of life as a way of life and she considers their way of life a talking point to highlight her own accomplishments.
I cannot really support my claim of the trendy nature of being self-made, but the thought has stuck in my head since our reading “Everyday Use.” Like we discussed in class, Dee only “accepts” her heritage when it becomes fashionable. And then, her poor roots become more of a bragging point to her than a real heritage.
Again, I can’t cite a specific reference; however, in countless movies and TV shows we see characters embarrassed about some aspect of their life (more often than not this aspect is materialistic or financial or superficial) until some supernatural being or hero or the tooth fairy or Morgan Freeman in God form makes them realize that they should be proud of themselves. This is of course the moral of the story. But in real life, not everyone has such a great emotional mentor or guardian angel. So, it becomes a trend. Once you achieve success (in whatever form that may be), your roots are no longer significant and only become a fact supporting the “hey you, I can do anything better than you can” attitude of which everyone has some (this includes every motivational speaker you have ever heard).
My attitude is indeed cynical, but it applies to Dee quite well. For example, when she was a girl she could not stand the sight of her run-down shack of a house. In fact, she enjoyed watching it burn. When she returns, grown up, she takes picture after picture of her family’s new but similar shack. Her destitute background has become a talking point. She is not even interested in her family, just her family’s living conditions and history (in the form of family heirlooms). Dee believes that her family cannot (and should not be able to) appreciate their heritage because they have not reached her considered measure of success. She thinks that they are too simple to understand their heritage. She believes that they don’t know what they have and where they came from just because they haven’t seen the top of the mountain. She is too proud of her success. She can no longer relate too her family because they consider their way of life as a way of life and she considers their way of life a talking point to highlight her own accomplishments.
Friday, August 31, 2007
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