This is the first comic-book I've ever read and I love it.
I have found it very difficult to put Maus I down, and I look forward to starting the second. The Spiegleman family's tale of survival is quite captivating, especially since I know that each word of it is true. The drawings and the text are very detailed, down the Vladek's Eastern European-American dialect to the finest black stipled background.
One thing I especially like about this book are the different levels of story lines it contains. I feel as though this book's narrations are very personal, raw, and put each character in a vulnerable position. I am thankful that Art Spiegleman has portrayed each character honestly, even if that meant that his father would come across as a caricature. Primarily, there is the story of Vladek Spiegleman, a Polish Jew trying to escape the Nazi Reich. His story is told in first person through his son, Art, whose personal story also comes through. We also learn about Mala, Vladek's second wife who resents Vladek and the way he treats her. I am a bit disappointed, however, because it seems as though the only story that is missing is that of Vladek's first wife, Anja. While Anja is described in great detail and is constant throughout the book, I wish I could hear more from her perspective. It is mentioned several times in the book that Anja kept extensive journals during the war that were destroyed or lost and so she wrote new journals recounting her struggle during the war when she arrived in America. I wonder if these journals were ever found, and if Art Speigleman ever had the chance to read them. I'm interested to hear Anja's view; it may help readers, and her son, understand her suicide.
Also, I'm glad that the two last books of the semester are books that I enjoy immensely.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
In Response to Brown's Slaughterhouse Five Analysis [EXTRA]
Here is what I find most interesting about this essay.
First off, since first being hit by Vonnegut’s Tralfamadore curveball, I, like Billy’s patronizing daughter Barbara, have been struggling to make sense of it all. My first impression was that Billy was suffereing from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); a double-effect of he surviving the plane crash after everyone else, including his wife, perished and also his wartime experience in Dresden years before. I was surprised at how willing to believe Billy and his extraterrestrial experience my classmates seemed to be. Briefly, it seemed important to me to find out whether or not Billy’s Tralfamadore experience ‘really happened’ or not. This quest was soon replaced by the somewhat apathetic thought that it really does not matter at all whether or not Billy Pilgrim was captured by aliens, all that is important is the way in which it affects him. Kevin Brown seems to agree somewhat with my philosophy, and explains the phenomena in the following way.
Billy does not become vocal about his Tralfamadore experience until after the war. It is also after the war that Billy admits himself to a psychiatric ward. Here, he meets the colorful Eliiot Rosewater. The two seem divinely appointed to have hospital beds next to each other due to the fact that they each share similar life views. Specifically, nihilistic views. It is Rosewater that introduces science fiction to Billy. I read through Billy and Rosewater’s encounter without thinking too much about the significance of the scenes. Things began to become more clear, however, after reading Brown’s critical essay. After returning from the warfront, Billy seems to have trouble making grasping the things that he witnessed and experienced. He sporadically weeps, an act which I have found to be the most heart-wrenching in all of the novel thus far. He has trouble sleeping at night but falls asleep during the day while he is at work. An endless drone of “why me? Why me why me?” seems to circulate through his head. Rosewater introduces Billy to the idea that “new lies” must now be created, because otherwise, the hardened wartime generation will no longer desire to go on living. According to Brown, Billy then “tries to develop new lies to live his life; but in his attempt, he creates the Tralfamadorians and their philosophy. (51)” Suddenly I begin to make correlations between the science fiction plots that Billy has read and his own story of his experience with the Tralfamadorians. Billy’s stories and the science fiction stories he reads all seem to blur together. Billy has created the Tralfamadorians as a coping mechanism to deal with his PTSD. Brown also points out that the mindset and philosophy of the Tralfamadorians often mimes that of the Germans. Neither party seem too put-off by death, no matter how gruesome. Billy creates a mindset in the tralfamadorians that is a bit more romantic than that of the way the Germans are gruesomely portrayed. This too seems symbolic, as if Billy is somehow trying to grant parodnto the Germans, as well as to his own country and Great Britain, who were responsible for bombing Dresden. Under the mindset of the Tralfamadorians, the city was always meant to be destroyed, and it always will be destroyed. Billy was always meant to live. That is just the way things are; so it goes. Billy has adopted the mindset of his ”made-up,” otherworldly captors, and has thus developed a “peace that comes through understanding.” It all seems very complex and intricate, and yet somehow, it works for Billy.
It seems to me that Billy travels in time to his stay in Tralfamadore in a flashback-type manner while he is at war. It could be that I am confusing his flashbacks to his old life in The States to his time in outer-space. If I am not confusing these times however, I am still left with one question, a question which I am not sure I know how to answer just yet.
If Billy created the story of the Tralfamadorians, a story which he obviously believes to be true and thus IS true for him, AFTER the war when he was in the psych ward, then why is it that he has “flashbacks” to his times in Tralfamadore DURING the war?
So much confusion.
First off, since first being hit by Vonnegut’s Tralfamadore curveball, I, like Billy’s patronizing daughter Barbara, have been struggling to make sense of it all. My first impression was that Billy was suffereing from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); a double-effect of he surviving the plane crash after everyone else, including his wife, perished and also his wartime experience in Dresden years before. I was surprised at how willing to believe Billy and his extraterrestrial experience my classmates seemed to be. Briefly, it seemed important to me to find out whether or not Billy’s Tralfamadore experience ‘really happened’ or not. This quest was soon replaced by the somewhat apathetic thought that it really does not matter at all whether or not Billy Pilgrim was captured by aliens, all that is important is the way in which it affects him. Kevin Brown seems to agree somewhat with my philosophy, and explains the phenomena in the following way.
Billy does not become vocal about his Tralfamadore experience until after the war. It is also after the war that Billy admits himself to a psychiatric ward. Here, he meets the colorful Eliiot Rosewater. The two seem divinely appointed to have hospital beds next to each other due to the fact that they each share similar life views. Specifically, nihilistic views. It is Rosewater that introduces science fiction to Billy. I read through Billy and Rosewater’s encounter without thinking too much about the significance of the scenes. Things began to become more clear, however, after reading Brown’s critical essay. After returning from the warfront, Billy seems to have trouble making grasping the things that he witnessed and experienced. He sporadically weeps, an act which I have found to be the most heart-wrenching in all of the novel thus far. He has trouble sleeping at night but falls asleep during the day while he is at work. An endless drone of “why me? Why me why me?” seems to circulate through his head. Rosewater introduces Billy to the idea that “new lies” must now be created, because otherwise, the hardened wartime generation will no longer desire to go on living. According to Brown, Billy then “tries to develop new lies to live his life; but in his attempt, he creates the Tralfamadorians and their philosophy. (51)” Suddenly I begin to make correlations between the science fiction plots that Billy has read and his own story of his experience with the Tralfamadorians. Billy’s stories and the science fiction stories he reads all seem to blur together. Billy has created the Tralfamadorians as a coping mechanism to deal with his PTSD. Brown also points out that the mindset and philosophy of the Tralfamadorians often mimes that of the Germans. Neither party seem too put-off by death, no matter how gruesome. Billy creates a mindset in the tralfamadorians that is a bit more romantic than that of the way the Germans are gruesomely portrayed. This too seems symbolic, as if Billy is somehow trying to grant parodnto the Germans, as well as to his own country and Great Britain, who were responsible for bombing Dresden. Under the mindset of the Tralfamadorians, the city was always meant to be destroyed, and it always will be destroyed. Billy was always meant to live. That is just the way things are; so it goes. Billy has adopted the mindset of his ”made-up,” otherworldly captors, and has thus developed a “peace that comes through understanding.” It all seems very complex and intricate, and yet somehow, it works for Billy.
It seems to me that Billy travels in time to his stay in Tralfamadore in a flashback-type manner while he is at war. It could be that I am confusing his flashbacks to his old life in The States to his time in outer-space. If I am not confusing these times however, I am still left with one question, a question which I am not sure I know how to answer just yet.
If Billy created the story of the Tralfamadorians, a story which he obviously believes to be true and thus IS true for him, AFTER the war when he was in the psych ward, then why is it that he has “flashbacks” to his times in Tralfamadore DURING the war?
So much confusion.
Slaughterhouse5
So far I find myself really enjoying this novel, and somewhat surprised that I do. As a general rule of thumb I do not enjoy science fiction. I do not enjoy war novels. Slaughterhouse Five is a melange of these two styles, and yet I like it quite a lot. Perhaps the reason I am enjoying this scientific war novel is because it is unlike any novel of war or science fiction that I have read before.
For one, the author does not focus on one style or another. It is not completely a story of science fiction, nor is it completely a story of war. As far as war-novel protagonists go, Billy Pilgrim is also unique. He is not the typical hero. Billy Pilgrim is weak, loony, and bizarre. Even his name reflects immaturity and weakness. So far in my reading up to chapter seven, Billy has done nothing particularly exciting or extraordinary. Billy just seems to float through his POW status, escaping reality periodically to visit past memories.
You know when you are watching horror movies and you say to yourself, “that loser/idiot is going to be the first to die.” This theory of mine is played out several times in the novel. For example, the stubborn hobo starves to death. Annoying, loud, and pompous Weary dies off as well. The characters of intelligent mind and strong body are always the ones to live. People like Edgar Derby. Derby, however, ends up being shot at by a firing squad in Dresden. Why is it that Billy gets to live? Why him? “Why anybody?...So it goes.”
It is here that Vonnegut proves me wrong, showing that in war, there are no rules. The heroes die, the losers (bless them) die as well. No one is spared, no one is pardoned. No one, that is, except our goofy Billy Pilgrim.
***
Other things I like about this novel is Vonnegut’s writing style. I enjoy the way he is able to create such vivid, developed characters in a short amount of time. I find myself able to clearly picture each of the characters, no matter how small. Though bizarre at times, they are characters that are believable, and people that I can identify with and relate to my own everyday encounters. It seems that Billy is the hardest character to understand. I haven’t quite been able to “figure him out” just yet. I doubt I will by the end of the novel. I would be alright with that though, because his complexities and bizarre idiosyncrasies enhance his merit as a character, rather than make him a weak character that is annoying to readers.
I also enjoy Vonnegut’s dry humor and satire (funny how those traits so often go hand in hand..) and his sensitiveness to the war that can go undetected at time. There is a quote on the back of my book by “Life” contributor Wilfrid Sheed that reads, “Splendid art…a funny book at which you are not permitted to laugh; a sad book without tears.” I think that this captures the affect and tone of the book quite well. There are very humorous aspects to the book, but I think that most would have trouble actually laughing at them due to the rawness and truth in the scenes. Nearly everything is dark; nearly everything is shadowed by brutal pessimism. It’s hard for readers to laugh at the more humorous scenes (even though there are many of them) because we are constantly being reminded that this is the very true, very real life of a prisoner of war, and that topic just isn’t funny. Billy can appear so pathetic in his confusions between Tralfamadore and Earth that not even this seems laugh out loud funny. Similarly, even though so many aspects of the novel are heart wrenching and depressing, there is no true grief. The Tralfamadorians and Billy do not believe in grief. They take up the mantra of Whitman, saying “all goes outward and onward… and to die is different than anyone supposed, and luckier.” So it goes so it goes so it goes. Readers are not permitted to grieve and the novel is void of tears due to this everlasting acceptance of reality.
This combination is a unique one, but hey, uniqueness does seem, after all, to be the goal of modernist authors.
For one, the author does not focus on one style or another. It is not completely a story of science fiction, nor is it completely a story of war. As far as war-novel protagonists go, Billy Pilgrim is also unique. He is not the typical hero. Billy Pilgrim is weak, loony, and bizarre. Even his name reflects immaturity and weakness. So far in my reading up to chapter seven, Billy has done nothing particularly exciting or extraordinary. Billy just seems to float through his POW status, escaping reality periodically to visit past memories.
You know when you are watching horror movies and you say to yourself, “that loser/idiot is going to be the first to die.” This theory of mine is played out several times in the novel. For example, the stubborn hobo starves to death. Annoying, loud, and pompous Weary dies off as well. The characters of intelligent mind and strong body are always the ones to live. People like Edgar Derby. Derby, however, ends up being shot at by a firing squad in Dresden. Why is it that Billy gets to live? Why him? “Why anybody?...So it goes.”
It is here that Vonnegut proves me wrong, showing that in war, there are no rules. The heroes die, the losers (bless them) die as well. No one is spared, no one is pardoned. No one, that is, except our goofy Billy Pilgrim.
***
Other things I like about this novel is Vonnegut’s writing style. I enjoy the way he is able to create such vivid, developed characters in a short amount of time. I find myself able to clearly picture each of the characters, no matter how small. Though bizarre at times, they are characters that are believable, and people that I can identify with and relate to my own everyday encounters. It seems that Billy is the hardest character to understand. I haven’t quite been able to “figure him out” just yet. I doubt I will by the end of the novel. I would be alright with that though, because his complexities and bizarre idiosyncrasies enhance his merit as a character, rather than make him a weak character that is annoying to readers.
I also enjoy Vonnegut’s dry humor and satire (funny how those traits so often go hand in hand..) and his sensitiveness to the war that can go undetected at time. There is a quote on the back of my book by “Life” contributor Wilfrid Sheed that reads, “Splendid art…a funny book at which you are not permitted to laugh; a sad book without tears.” I think that this captures the affect and tone of the book quite well. There are very humorous aspects to the book, but I think that most would have trouble actually laughing at them due to the rawness and truth in the scenes. Nearly everything is dark; nearly everything is shadowed by brutal pessimism. It’s hard for readers to laugh at the more humorous scenes (even though there are many of them) because we are constantly being reminded that this is the very true, very real life of a prisoner of war, and that topic just isn’t funny. Billy can appear so pathetic in his confusions between Tralfamadore and Earth that not even this seems laugh out loud funny. Similarly, even though so many aspects of the novel are heart wrenching and depressing, there is no true grief. The Tralfamadorians and Billy do not believe in grief. They take up the mantra of Whitman, saying “all goes outward and onward… and to die is different than anyone supposed, and luckier.” So it goes so it goes so it goes. Readers are not permitted to grieve and the novel is void of tears due to this everlasting acceptance of reality.
This combination is a unique one, but hey, uniqueness does seem, after all, to be the goal of modernist authors.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
"Waiting for Elmo"
Top Ten Things Which Come To Mind While « Waiting »
1. Before reading it, when I only knew the title, I thought it was a war novel by Tim O’Brian. The title sorta gives that feel don’t you think? No? No one agrees? Sorta like other war book/film titles like “Saving Private Ryan” and “Going after Cacciato”
2. Not this crap again.
3. Honestly, who cares?
4. The characters are somewhat amusing in the way they interact with each other. Amusing in a Fred & George bickering /Mad Hatter talking in circles in Alice In Wonderland sort of way.
5. I wonder if Lucky has rabies. Or fleas.
6. Why is he named Lucky?
7. I could not sit through an hour and a half of this performed live.
8. There is a reason why this play is not on Broadway.
9. Was translating it from French to English really necessary?
10. Godot is most likely a total jerk. And also a loser.
Tonight I spent entirely too much time on YouTube.
I can't read Waiting For Godot without falling asleep. I tried and tried but I just kept dozing off. The saddest part is that even when I was able to concentrate on the text, it was so bizarre I wasn't entirely sure that I wasn't dreaming. I finally got through Act One and then decided to do some further research on the play. Sparknotes was absolutely no help, and so, on a whim, I tried YouTube. Jackpot. Well...sorta.
Anyone reading this is most likely part of the Millennial Generation, which means you can appreciate my fascination with both YouTube and Sesame Street. Tonight I was about to find a summary of Waiting For Godot in a segment of Sesame Street's Monsterpiece Theatre called "Waiting for Elmo." How cute. Before the clip started, Cookie Monster summed the play up nicely by saying " it is a play so modern and brilliant, it makes absolutely no sense to anybody." The big ball of dessert-eating blue fur has an excellent point, and I think that this analysis not only sums up this play by Beckett, but just about every other piece we've read this fall. Raise your hand if you have said some form of "What the hell?" when reading at least six of our seven authors this semester. Seriously, nothing makes sense! It's like modernist authors are somehow merited on how completely confusing and ridiculous they can make a piece. We have men turning into bugs, men being killed by gorillas, men pounding out nonsense that is supposed to be symbolic of just about everything ever written in the history of time, a rabid dog riding a cow through a hurricane, and; my personal favorite, the story of The Hillbilly Family and the Rotten Mother. Every story has a twist of the absurd, a splattering of unusual occurrences which unceasingly, annoyingly, point towards some form of symbolism and the human experience.
Waiting For Godot is no different. I'm not meaning to bash modernist authors; for the most part, I like them. But I feel like the pattern in our reading curriculum is causing my reaction blogs to blur together in a general hue of awkward phrases like "umm. that was...interesting." I can recognize the underlying message-- Vladimir and Estragon are two down-on-their-luck-men who are trying to find meaning and purpose to their life, waiting for that sudden change which can somehow help them to sort out their lives. This theme is typical to the era. Besides the theme, there are other things which keep the play from being a complete dud. I was hoping that maybe watching the play would be easier but no, I was wrong. I tried watching a film clip on YouTube and I lasted a total of 30 seconds.
1. Before reading it, when I only knew the title, I thought it was a war novel by Tim O’Brian. The title sorta gives that feel don’t you think? No? No one agrees? Sorta like other war book/film titles like “Saving Private Ryan” and “Going after Cacciato”
2. Not this crap again.
3. Honestly, who cares?
4. The characters are somewhat amusing in the way they interact with each other. Amusing in a Fred & George bickering /Mad Hatter talking in circles in Alice In Wonderland sort of way.
5. I wonder if Lucky has rabies. Or fleas.
6. Why is he named Lucky?
7. I could not sit through an hour and a half of this performed live.
8. There is a reason why this play is not on Broadway.
9. Was translating it from French to English really necessary?
10. Godot is most likely a total jerk. And also a loser.
Tonight I spent entirely too much time on YouTube.
I can't read Waiting For Godot without falling asleep. I tried and tried but I just kept dozing off. The saddest part is that even when I was able to concentrate on the text, it was so bizarre I wasn't entirely sure that I wasn't dreaming. I finally got through Act One and then decided to do some further research on the play. Sparknotes was absolutely no help, and so, on a whim, I tried YouTube. Jackpot. Well...sorta.
Anyone reading this is most likely part of the Millennial Generation, which means you can appreciate my fascination with both YouTube and Sesame Street. Tonight I was about to find a summary of Waiting For Godot in a segment of Sesame Street's Monsterpiece Theatre called "Waiting for Elmo." How cute. Before the clip started, Cookie Monster summed the play up nicely by saying " it is a play so modern and brilliant, it makes absolutely no sense to anybody." The big ball of dessert-eating blue fur has an excellent point, and I think that this analysis not only sums up this play by Beckett, but just about every other piece we've read this fall. Raise your hand if you have said some form of "What the hell?" when reading at least six of our seven authors this semester. Seriously, nothing makes sense! It's like modernist authors are somehow merited on how completely confusing and ridiculous they can make a piece. We have men turning into bugs, men being killed by gorillas, men pounding out nonsense that is supposed to be symbolic of just about everything ever written in the history of time, a rabid dog riding a cow through a hurricane, and; my personal favorite, the story of The Hillbilly Family and the Rotten Mother. Every story has a twist of the absurd, a splattering of unusual occurrences which unceasingly, annoyingly, point towards some form of symbolism and the human experience.
Waiting For Godot is no different. I'm not meaning to bash modernist authors; for the most part, I like them. But I feel like the pattern in our reading curriculum is causing my reaction blogs to blur together in a general hue of awkward phrases like "umm. that was...interesting." I can recognize the underlying message-- Vladimir and Estragon are two down-on-their-luck-men who are trying to find meaning and purpose to their life, waiting for that sudden change which can somehow help them to sort out their lives. This theme is typical to the era. Besides the theme, there are other things which keep the play from being a complete dud. I was hoping that maybe watching the play would be easier but no, I was wrong. I tried watching a film clip on YouTube and I lasted a total of 30 seconds.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The word unfortunate was used three times in this blog...
Before reading Their Eyes Were Watching God, the only experience I had had with Zora Neale Hurston was in short essays, which I had enjoyed. I also enjoyed this novel, and I'm glad it was part of the curriculum. A couple years ago I saw the movie with friends, and found it idealistic and aesthetically pleasing, but not much else. Oprah calls this one of the best modern love stories, however, I am not convinced. As a story about love as an object, yes it is quite good; and captures well the dreams and idealistic views of the concept. As a story about love as a verb however, or character even, I did not find this novel an impressive "love story."
I was also unimpressed by Tea Cake as a man. Throughout the novel, Janie is ruled by men despite her independent, free spirit. While this is realistic of the time, it is still unfortunate that the talents of this vivacious protagonist are stifled by a string of second-rate men, specif ally, powerful men. Killicks is a powerful man because he owns land and in a sense, owns Janie. Jody also is wealthy, charismatic, and a leader in Eatonville. Even though Tea Cake is poor and owns nearly nothing to his name, he is also charismatic, and holds power over Janie for the simple fact that she loves him. Hurston is showing the weakness of women at the time, and in many ways, today as well. Women were over-ruled by men with money, with leadership in the eyes of others, and by men who abused the love of women. The novel builds up this hope for Janie, a hope that she will one day posses happiness, independence, and most importantly, the happiness and independence found through 'true' love. Unfortunately, this never really happens for Janie. Even Tea Cake, the knight who whisks her away from her old life with promises of love and adventure lets Janie down. He steals her money but all is forgiven when he wins it back in a game of chance. Later, he flirts with one of the muck workers, and refuses to be responsible and respectful of Janie and put a stop to Nunkie's advances. Finally, in chapter 17, he goes so far as to beat Janie. Blinded by love, she stays with him, stays silent, and the situation seems to be ignored completely. Is this the sort of love Janie has been waiting for her entire life? Janie is determined to continue loving Tea Cake, and while some may find her new forgiving attitude endearing and romantic, I find it rather tragic, and, when reading chapter 17, I shook my head in disappointment.
I still enjoy Janie as a character however, and in many ways, respect her a fellow woman. I was impressed with her decision to face the reality of Tea Cake's condition at the end of the novel, and in an act of love for him and need to protect herself, she shot him. I think that this act showed her final act of achievement over men. For once Janie had complete control over the situation. This is hinted at earlier in the novel when she become a better shot than Tea Cake. Guns were manly objects, and shooting was a sport reserved solely for men. Janie however, excels at it, and I find myself proud of her for holding some ground in a man's world.
Would this novel have had a stronger message if Janie's life had played out the way she and readers wanted it to? I don't think so. I think it took tragedy rather than a stereotypical love story to show her true strength. I still think it is unfortunate, however, that she did not achieve power over a man until he was rendered completely incoherent and unable to function do to rabies...
I was also unimpressed by Tea Cake as a man. Throughout the novel, Janie is ruled by men despite her independent, free spirit. While this is realistic of the time, it is still unfortunate that the talents of this vivacious protagonist are stifled by a string of second-rate men, specif ally, powerful men. Killicks is a powerful man because he owns land and in a sense, owns Janie. Jody also is wealthy, charismatic, and a leader in Eatonville. Even though Tea Cake is poor and owns nearly nothing to his name, he is also charismatic, and holds power over Janie for the simple fact that she loves him. Hurston is showing the weakness of women at the time, and in many ways, today as well. Women were over-ruled by men with money, with leadership in the eyes of others, and by men who abused the love of women. The novel builds up this hope for Janie, a hope that she will one day posses happiness, independence, and most importantly, the happiness and independence found through 'true' love. Unfortunately, this never really happens for Janie. Even Tea Cake, the knight who whisks her away from her old life with promises of love and adventure lets Janie down. He steals her money but all is forgiven when he wins it back in a game of chance. Later, he flirts with one of the muck workers, and refuses to be responsible and respectful of Janie and put a stop to Nunkie's advances. Finally, in chapter 17, he goes so far as to beat Janie. Blinded by love, she stays with him, stays silent, and the situation seems to be ignored completely. Is this the sort of love Janie has been waiting for her entire life? Janie is determined to continue loving Tea Cake, and while some may find her new forgiving attitude endearing and romantic, I find it rather tragic, and, when reading chapter 17, I shook my head in disappointment.
I still enjoy Janie as a character however, and in many ways, respect her a fellow woman. I was impressed with her decision to face the reality of Tea Cake's condition at the end of the novel, and in an act of love for him and need to protect herself, she shot him. I think that this act showed her final act of achievement over men. For once Janie had complete control over the situation. This is hinted at earlier in the novel when she become a better shot than Tea Cake. Guns were manly objects, and shooting was a sport reserved solely for men. Janie however, excels at it, and I find myself proud of her for holding some ground in a man's world.
Would this novel have had a stronger message if Janie's life had played out the way she and readers wanted it to? I don't think so. I think it took tragedy rather than a stereotypical love story to show her true strength. I still think it is unfortunate, however, that she did not achieve power over a man until he was rendered completely incoherent and unable to function do to rabies...
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
As I Lay Dying: Initial Response
For me, my appreciation of modernist works increses with each piece read. I like each piece more and more (well, sorta. I think I liked The Wastland more than Mrs. D. but whatever). I like As I Lay Dying, which is interesting because I don't think that it is something that I would normally have read. Also, I have a confession to make...I think Oprah has good taste...this is, afterall, An O Book Club novel...
I have always really liked books that focus on several different narrations, so that you are able to learn what each of the different characters are thinking. Even though William Faukner is classified as a different form than Virginia Woolf, there are several similarities in their writing. Both contain narration from several different characters, and both contain stream of conciousness that can be hard to follow at times. Readesr are allowed a view into the mind of th characters, but it still is impossible to understand completely these complex characters that Faulkner has created, and so at times I stopped myself while reading and said, "What?" Ok actually I found myself stopping, puzzled, quite a lot. There are a lot of bizarre things going on, and for me, it can be hard to catch-up to speed with all that is happening. Another thing about this novel that is hard for me to follow is the subject-verb agreement. At certain times, so many different characters are piping in their own thoughts, that it is hard to remember who the main narrator is, and who is saying what about what. Cetain sentences get me all befuddled and even a bit annoyed, like this section from Darl on page 40 "She wouldn't say what we both knew. 'The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true: is that it? But you know it is true now. I can almost tell you the day when you knew it is true. Why won't you say it, even to yourself?" I've never been a fan of grammar, and anayzing sentences. It all just gets too analytical and math-y for me. I love words, and I want words to just be, not classified. But I'm wishing I had paid attention more to all of my English classes, because I don't know how to classify all of the 'its' in this section. I think that 'it' is used here as a noun, and also a subject, and a direct object, and an indirect object..AHH! I really have no idea. But I know it's confusing to me. And, similar to Mrs. Dalloway, I find myself once again comparing this writing to Hemingway's. I can't help it, I just like his writing, and seeing as how he was a modernist author too, I guess it makes sense that I would find correlations. When reading Hemingway, it can be hard to distinguish which subject he is referring to with his use of nouns and propositions. Similarily, when Faulkner's characters ramble on about this or that, their thoughts quickly shifting through their stream of conciousness, it can be hard to follow them as a reader.
So far I really like this story, and it has been the easiest for me to read out of any of the other pieces we have looked at. I flew through the short sections, completing the assigned reading in two brief sittings. Each character is very developed by Faulkner, and I am interested to see what happens to this broken, lonely family. The family is very much messed up, and each of them are handling their bizarre life in their own way. Right now, the two characters I am most interested in are Dewey Dell, who I suspect was raped by this Lafe fellow and is now pregnant and wants an abortion from Dr. Peabody; Darl is the only one who knows this, due to some odd connection they have. I could be throwing darts in the dark though, that's just an initial guess. Vardaman I also love, and I want to adopt and feed. I am fascinated by each of the characters, but these two in particular I am interested in right now.
I have always really liked books that focus on several different narrations, so that you are able to learn what each of the different characters are thinking. Even though William Faukner is classified as a different form than Virginia Woolf, there are several similarities in their writing. Both contain narration from several different characters, and both contain stream of conciousness that can be hard to follow at times. Readesr are allowed a view into the mind of th characters, but it still is impossible to understand completely these complex characters that Faulkner has created, and so at times I stopped myself while reading and said, "What?" Ok actually I found myself stopping, puzzled, quite a lot. There are a lot of bizarre things going on, and for me, it can be hard to catch-up to speed with all that is happening. Another thing about this novel that is hard for me to follow is the subject-verb agreement. At certain times, so many different characters are piping in their own thoughts, that it is hard to remember who the main narrator is, and who is saying what about what. Cetain sentences get me all befuddled and even a bit annoyed, like this section from Darl on page 40 "She wouldn't say what we both knew. 'The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true: is that it? But you know it is true now. I can almost tell you the day when you knew it is true. Why won't you say it, even to yourself?" I've never been a fan of grammar, and anayzing sentences. It all just gets too analytical and math-y for me. I love words, and I want words to just be, not classified. But I'm wishing I had paid attention more to all of my English classes, because I don't know how to classify all of the 'its' in this section. I think that 'it' is used here as a noun, and also a subject, and a direct object, and an indirect object..AHH! I really have no idea. But I know it's confusing to me. And, similar to Mrs. Dalloway, I find myself once again comparing this writing to Hemingway's. I can't help it, I just like his writing, and seeing as how he was a modernist author too, I guess it makes sense that I would find correlations. When reading Hemingway, it can be hard to distinguish which subject he is referring to with his use of nouns and propositions. Similarily, when Faulkner's characters ramble on about this or that, their thoughts quickly shifting through their stream of conciousness, it can be hard to follow them as a reader.
So far I really like this story, and it has been the easiest for me to read out of any of the other pieces we have looked at. I flew through the short sections, completing the assigned reading in two brief sittings. Each character is very developed by Faulkner, and I am interested to see what happens to this broken, lonely family. The family is very much messed up, and each of them are handling their bizarre life in their own way. Right now, the two characters I am most interested in are Dewey Dell, who I suspect was raped by this Lafe fellow and is now pregnant and wants an abortion from Dr. Peabody; Darl is the only one who knows this, due to some odd connection they have. I could be throwing darts in the dark though, that's just an initial guess. Vardaman I also love, and I want to adopt and feed. I am fascinated by each of the characters, but these two in particular I am interested in right now.
Monday, September 22, 2008
EXTRA-- Nancy Drew, Lookin For Clues
As the novel Mrs. Dalloway continues, I am curious to see how the use of symbols in Woolf's writing progresses (term paper topic, anyone?). I see reoccurring nouns popping up with possible significance here and there such as Elizabeth, Clarissa's narrow bed, and external objects drawing character's attention away from current events. Primarily, I am interested in Peter's knife as a symbol, and I am almost certain that it signalizes something important. He whips it out when he is thinking about or talking to women (readers note I have only read to page 83 so far), and also when he is nervous or getting worked up about something. I read somewhere online that the pocket-knife is a sexual symbol that signifies his dominance over women. I am wary of this theory. While it's true that Woolf was a more feminist writer, and her perspectives on men can no doubt be one of dominance and chauvinism, I am not yet entirely convinced that this was her intent with Peter's pocket knife. Often, actors will develop a "character tick," something that makes their character more distinguishable and recognizable. A tug on one braid when thinking, stamping feet when frustrated, or twirling their fingers when standing idle. I think that in part, the knife serves as a character tick for Peter; it is an object unique to him. Also, perhaps he wields the knife because he subconsciously feels the need for protection. He is intimidated by Clarissa, both out of love and due to her mysterious ability to hold power over people. On page 59 he remarks on her ability to "frighten people." He notes that "every one wobbled; every one seemed to bow, as she spoke, and then to stand up different." Somehow, our dear Mrs. Dalloway (or was it only Ms. Clarissa...?) seems to have an alluring, aloof, powerful quality about her. Peter is obviously taken aback by this, and captivated by her. For independent, adventurous Peter, who enjoys giving the impression of falling in love at his own accord, this will just not do. And so perhaps he uses the knife for safety against her, that is after all, what knives are for.During his first interaction with Clarissa, Peter keeps the knife close to his body, and plays with it idly, without thinking. It is during this first interaction that he is again stunned by her, and realizes that the young girl from India he claims to be in love with "would look ordinary next to Clarissa (43)." His knife cannot protect him from realizing he is still, after all these years, in love with Clarissa, nor can it protect him from his emotional breakdown. From this point on in the novel --or at least from here to page 83-- he seems to use the knife in more violent motions.
For instance, on page 80 he actually goes so far as to hold the knife out from his body, as if he is brandishing it at a foe. "It was jealousy that was at the bottom of it- jealousy which survives every other passion of mankind, Peter Walsh thought, holding his pocket knife at arm's length." Peter then goes on to muse over a letter from his lover Daisy in which she mentioned a Major Orde in a girlish attempt to make him jealous. "He was furious!" What bothers him most is seeing Clarissa so calm and collected, and independent of him. He shuts his pocket knife then, thinking that women "don't know what passion is." Could it be true that Peter's knife symbolizes his desire to be above women, and so he angrily brings it out when he feels threatened by their power over him, power to incite jealousy or love?Another object of Mrs. Dalloway that is sure to prove symbolic as the novel continues is the clock tower Big Ben. I think that Big Ben's bell, which rings at each half hour, could symbolize a transition in reality, or back into reality. Big Ben, the guardian of London, brings its citizens out of their revelries back into the city limits of reality. On page 48 when Elizabeth interrupts the tense scene between Clarissa and Peter, for instance, Big Ben "[strikes] out between them with extraordinary vigor, is if a young man, strong, indifferent, inconsiderate, were swinging dumb-bells this way and that." This is a very accurate and poetic description of Big Ben for this novel. Big Ben stands tall, and strong, very much like a proud young man. He looks over his city, disinterested. His only job is to strike out the time for the people of London. Big Ben cares neither for their afflictions nor their problems; he stands only to tell the time. Inconsiderately, he cries out the time, harshly breaking the conscious of his city's citizens.
I also believe that Regent's Park hold special significance. Briefly, I amused myself by inwardly comparing Regent's Park to the fairy land in Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream." In the fairy woods, the Athenian people all come together, each with their own problems. It is there that they ponder their predicaments (Rezia and Septimus thinking), sleep them off (Peter), are befuddled and confused (Septimus) and inexplicably drawn together. However, like I said, this literary parallel was not thought out, or dwelled on, because it was only a brief, passing whim of a correlation. However, I do believe it is true that, like the fairy-filled woods of "Midsummer," Regent's park holds great symbolism in this story.
I realize that my examination of symbolism in Mrs. Dalloway was brief, and filled almost entirely with speculation, however it is still (for me) rather early in the novel to make any sound conclusions, and a full analysis would take too long for my humble little blog.
For instance, on page 80 he actually goes so far as to hold the knife out from his body, as if he is brandishing it at a foe. "It was jealousy that was at the bottom of it- jealousy which survives every other passion of mankind, Peter Walsh thought, holding his pocket knife at arm's length." Peter then goes on to muse over a letter from his lover Daisy in which she mentioned a Major Orde in a girlish attempt to make him jealous. "He was furious!" What bothers him most is seeing Clarissa so calm and collected, and independent of him. He shuts his pocket knife then, thinking that women "don't know what passion is." Could it be true that Peter's knife symbolizes his desire to be above women, and so he angrily brings it out when he feels threatened by their power over him, power to incite jealousy or love?Another object of Mrs. Dalloway that is sure to prove symbolic as the novel continues is the clock tower Big Ben. I think that Big Ben's bell, which rings at each half hour, could symbolize a transition in reality, or back into reality. Big Ben, the guardian of London, brings its citizens out of their revelries back into the city limits of reality. On page 48 when Elizabeth interrupts the tense scene between Clarissa and Peter, for instance, Big Ben "[strikes] out between them with extraordinary vigor, is if a young man, strong, indifferent, inconsiderate, were swinging dumb-bells this way and that." This is a very accurate and poetic description of Big Ben for this novel. Big Ben stands tall, and strong, very much like a proud young man. He looks over his city, disinterested. His only job is to strike out the time for the people of London. Big Ben cares neither for their afflictions nor their problems; he stands only to tell the time. Inconsiderately, he cries out the time, harshly breaking the conscious of his city's citizens.
I also believe that Regent's Park hold special significance. Briefly, I amused myself by inwardly comparing Regent's Park to the fairy land in Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream." In the fairy woods, the Athenian people all come together, each with their own problems. It is there that they ponder their predicaments (Rezia and Septimus thinking), sleep them off (Peter), are befuddled and confused (Septimus) and inexplicably drawn together. However, like I said, this literary parallel was not thought out, or dwelled on, because it was only a brief, passing whim of a correlation. However, I do believe it is true that, like the fairy-filled woods of "Midsummer," Regent's park holds great symbolism in this story.
I realize that my examination of symbolism in Mrs. Dalloway was brief, and filled almost entirely with speculation, however it is still (for me) rather early in the novel to make any sound conclusions, and a full analysis would take too long for my humble little blog.
Viginia The Poet
When I first began reading Mrs. Dalloway, I found myself very confused and uninterested. I gave up reading for comprehension or enjoyment, and read only because I was assigned too. A procrastinator, I skimmed quickly to make up for lost time, trying to reach my page quota.
The next day in class Mr. Lannon informed us that Virginia Woolf's intricate and detailed "stream of consciousness" technique cannot be read in a hurry. Strike one. It cannot be read when you are tired. Strike two. I was off to a bad start, but determined to try better. After going over the first third of the book in class, I had a better grasp on the novel, and was able to enjoy reading it immensely. I think that Woolf writes beautifully, and I really admire her ability to delicately capture even the most minute details of an average day. At first glance Clarissa Dalloway's life would seem uninteresting and average. As a woman, her life during this time would seem unimportant and two dimensional. I like how Woolf has shown that beneath the exterior facade of the "network of visiting, leaving cards, being kind to people; running about with bunches of flowers, little presents (77)" that made up a typical ladies life, there could be love and heartbreak, suppressed eroticism, secret adventures and silent shouldered burdens. I also like how Woolf can tell a character's life story in a short paragraph. Certain aspects of her writing remind me of her fellow contemporary, modernist writer Ernest Hemingway, but only slightly. Similar to Woolf, Hemingway (though in a more dramatic way, and more habitually) had the unique gift of being able to capture and imply intricate life details through a short span of words. Virginia Woolf teaches readers quite a lot about her characters in a short amount of time.
The next day in class Mr. Lannon informed us that Virginia Woolf's intricate and detailed "stream of consciousness" technique cannot be read in a hurry. Strike one. It cannot be read when you are tired. Strike two. I was off to a bad start, but determined to try better. After going over the first third of the book in class, I had a better grasp on the novel, and was able to enjoy reading it immensely. I think that Woolf writes beautifully, and I really admire her ability to delicately capture even the most minute details of an average day. At first glance Clarissa Dalloway's life would seem uninteresting and average. As a woman, her life during this time would seem unimportant and two dimensional. I like how Woolf has shown that beneath the exterior facade of the "network of visiting, leaving cards, being kind to people; running about with bunches of flowers, little presents (77)" that made up a typical ladies life, there could be love and heartbreak, suppressed eroticism, secret adventures and silent shouldered burdens. I also like how Woolf can tell a character's life story in a short paragraph. Certain aspects of her writing remind me of her fellow contemporary, modernist writer Ernest Hemingway, but only slightly. Similar to Woolf, Hemingway (though in a more dramatic way, and more habitually) had the unique gift of being able to capture and imply intricate life details through a short span of words. Virginia Woolf teaches readers quite a lot about her characters in a short amount of time.
Another thing I love about Mrs. Dalloway is the presence of dramatic irony through Woolf's omniscient third party observer. As readers, we are allowed to know each (or at least most) of the character's inner workings and thoughts. We can see that Clarissa is not truly happy, however Peter does not. We know that Peter still loves Clarissa, and not the girl from India, but Clarissa is oblivious to this. Septimus panics when Rezia takes off her wedding ring, but we the readers know the real reason she took it off is due to the simple fact that it was falling off her slim finger. Readers are given the unique and conflicting perspectives of both Rezia and Septimus in their struggle to cope with their stresses, traumas, personal relationship, and befuddled minds. Knowing what each of the characters is thinking can be quite stressful for me as a reader though. Take for instance the scene between Clarissa and Peter when he charges up the stairs unannounced, surprising her while she mends her dress. While reading the scene, it is like watching a clip from a dramatic romance movie, in which the lovers, obviously made for each other, are risking everything by yelling at each other in a heated moment. As you are watching you want to pound on the T.V. screen and yell, "NO! Don't go, don't say that! You don't mean it! You love her, and she loves you!" But we can't. It's no use. As I'm reading pages 40 to 48 I find myself in a similar position, wishing that each character knew what the other thought. Woolf can be quite captivating; I couldn't put the novel down.
I find Woolf's writing style tricky, to be sure. I definitely have to make sure that I concentrate wholly on what I'm reading. But this trickiness is refreshing, and interesting. I am fascinated by the novel, and generally enjoy reading it. I really like her poetic language, certain phrases and fragments are just so perfect, I stop reading, and scan over the lines again and again and think, 'wow.' Emily Dickenson said something along the lines of "If I feel like the top of my head has just come off, I know it is poetry." Sometimes you read something, and you have to pause briefly, give your mind time to digest it, otherwise it is too large an idea, or too beautiful an object to fit all at once. When reading poetry, I sometimes have to wait for my mind to catch up, because it is busy just gaping in awe at this or that. Some phrases cannot even be contained to my mind, and so, like Dickenson, I feel them just float right on out through the top of my head, because they are that good. I feel this when reading Mrs. Dalloway. Woolf just explains certain things so simply, so perfectly, that they make absolute sense to me. Take page 30, "A matter-of-fact June morning." I can honestly say that I have experienced June mornings such as these, mornings in which you know that your only job is to exist and bask in the sunlight. I would never choose those words to describe it, but that's because I am not Virginia Woolf. She is one of those writers that you sometimes begin to resent, because they are just so darn good. You read a nicely structured sentence, with the perfect word choice and diction and you think, "well that's just great. That's perfect. Now none of us will ever have a chance at explaining a June morning so well. Thanks a lot, Virginia. Showoff."
The thing about talented writers, however, is that their lives are usually so screwed up and shitty, that you forgive them little faux pas like being good at what they do.
(Oh, and one more thing, I sorta like how Woolf is "paren-happy" like me. I can't help it, but I almost always seem to litter my written pieces with far too many parenthesis. I'm trying to break the habit.)
Monday, September 15, 2008
more ramblings on Eliot
I left class Thursday, Sept 11 feeling unsatisfied and annoyed with my consistent lack of understanding of "The Wasteland." I'm annoyed that I'm still hung up on this. Just what the world needs, yet another blog on the complexities of Eliot, posted by a frustrated student.
I have come to terms with my lack of understanding and coherence of the poem. Now I am frustrated that I still haven't been able to put it down. I'm still studying the piece, and the footnotes, and the post-poem articles, and Eliot's essays, and Internet analysis, and even asking advice. I have encountered a million answers but none seem to alleviate my perplexities of the piece as a whole. Here are some thoughts on some personal opinions I have made while desperately trying to learn on my own.
Eliot's allusions can be frustrating, however, is it possible that he included so many as a way to make what he is saying become more real? I know that the allusions are there for several reasons, but let's go back to the fundamental reasons writers choose to include historical or literary allusions. Often writers many include historical or literary allusions with the intent to give their writing emphasis or substance, some sort of historical backbone that supports their modern prose. Briefly, while re-reading "The Wasteland" the thought came to me that perhaps Eliot was doing something similar.
The physical allusions Eliot includes in "The Wasteland" include nouns from several different eras of history. The literary allusions range from early written works to those of his modern (no pun intended) contemporaries.
In the first section of the piece, Eliot speaks directly of clairvoyance, through the use of his Madame Sostrosis section. Also the second stanza of the first section includes the suggestion of the narrator's ghastly premonition. One of the larger themes of the poem includes the thought that death and decay is inevitable and that death is the only thing that brings true understanding or peace. Metaphorical aspects of the poem also seem to forshadow the destruction of human civilization, of empires, e.g. the destruction of Europe during WWI.
And so it occurred to me that perhaps Eliot was using these historical and literary allusions to say, partially, that this horrendous thing, this war, was inevitable. That everything in history was leading up to this climatic occurance.That the destruction was premeditated, that everything wondrous in society (modern advancements, beautiful artistry of literature, organized thoughts and doctrines) all of these things, though lovely, could be made ugly and useless, forgotten like the "empty chapel" in line 388. The chapel serves as a representation of a symbol no longer significant to people, for whatever reason. It may be that people have lost hope, as section V. seems to similarly spiral into darker imagery. I think that in a way the allusions can be reminders of something now made unattainable, symbols of something very far away from us, and for naught. Similar to the way the quest for the Holy Grail was always for naught, always out of reach, a wonderful myth of history that could never be attained or made true by the modern world. Eliot's wasteland echoes with voices of the past, of glittery things that the modern world no longer has a part of. His allusions are reminders of days gone by, paired side-by side with his dark imagery; the past and present colliding. Eliot is writing during a time of mourning for his (adopted) continent and it's culture. A generation has been obliterated; "he who was now living is now dead." This stanza of section V. clearly is a reference to Christ. Unlike the Biblical story of Christ however, the section does not speak of a Resurrection. Eliot feels as if there is no resurrection possible for Europe. It is here in section V. that the past and present finally meet with a sudden and abrupt reality check. This Christ reference is to Eliot and his readers yet another allusion. Unlike the fanciful story, there will be no resurrection in his wasteland's "real-life." Finally, as he closes, writer and reader have achieved peace with understanding. Understanding that there was a time and place for beauty (the origins of his represented allusions) however that time has passed. Death has reached him, that is all there is.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
"If I came across a historical allusion, I ignored it."
Mr. Lannon, cover your ears...er..eyes.
I may "get in trouble" for what I'm about to say, but I'm saying it anyway.
As I have matured through the scholastic process, teachers have started urging me to not just read a passage, novel, or play, but to read it while engaging in critical thinking. Teachers and professors encourage me to highlight, underline, annotate, take notes, compare what I'm reading to other works, my own works, or my own life. I am told to make reading an interactive, engaging process. Countless times I have been told by scholastic mentors "don't just read it, really focus on what the piece is saying, think critically, and really study the piece." I think that the process of critical analysis is great, I really do. Making annotations is fun to me! But sometimes you just want to tread for the sake of reading. This is what I did through most of "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot. I knew the piece was notorious for being difficult and hard to comprehend, and so I chose to regress down a couple levels in my thinking and I went back to the basics of reading. I took one word at a time. And I was rewarded with a genuine love and appreciation of "The Wasteland."
What's not to love? It's fantastic; it's beautiful. The first few lines caught me with their intense imagery and metaphorical content. "April is the cruelest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." By turning off my "Critical thinking" portion of my brain for just a little while, I was able to focus on the form of the piece, on each individual word or phrase rather than the overall message or theme. (Ok so maybe the critical thinking desire came back everyonce inawhile...I couldn't help but notice that his opening stanza ended each line with an ING verb...once a critical reader always a critical reader). I felt guilty while reading the poem, and if I were cheating or taking the easy way out. I felt like a young reader again, when I was in second grade and I read any books my parents or grandparents left lying around the house. When I was that young I didn't always understand what I was reading, I simply read for the pure enjoyment of the action of reading itself. I refused to read the foot-notes my first time through, I just languidly breezed though it, stopping only to translate the occasional German, French, Italian, or Sanskrit phrase. If I came across a historical allusion, I ignored it. I focused only on Eliot's word choice, syntax, and "pretty words." I read one section at a time, not even bothering to find connecting themes between them. My high school A.P. English teacher would be so ashamed.
Maybe it was cheating, I'm not sure, but it sure did help me get through the darn thing the first few times. And who knows, maybe it helped me to actually enjoy Eliot, rather than resent him as several of my peers seem to do.
Favorite parts that stick out to me were "Part II. A Game Of Chess." the imagery here is thick and rich and conveys a decadent yet mysterious image that eventually leads into the two women's conversation at what I think is a bar. Also, I really enjoyed the Biblical allusions in "What The Thunder Said." I did not catch the correlation in the first stanza to Christ until I read "The Significance of The Modern Wasteland." When I then re-read the poem I found this stanza really jumping out at me. Eliot says that because of Salvation, "We who were living are now dying/With a little patience." I love that line. The way it details a portion of the human experience really made sense to me. People can get fed up with living. Things get hard, or monotonous, but we keep waking up, with patience, because many of us feel as if we have a reason to. And so patiently, we continue. The following stanzas felt rushed and harried to me, I read through them quickly and almost breathlessly. I know this is no coincidence. Eliot's words became urgent and pleading and he repeats "If there were water...if there were only water...If there were water." The proceeding lines, 359 to 376 were also favorites of mine.
I believe that to read modern works effectively, one needs to approach the task with an engaging mind, make the process an interactive one, and search for correlations, themes, and submerged messages. In reading "The Wasteland" however, I chose to return to the basics of reading and read for pleasure only, remarking in awe Eliot's intricate writing style and vivid imagery and metaphors. I still have a long way to go with this piece, there is a lot about it I need to learn. But for my first initial readings this past weekend, I chose to ignore such pressures and i took it one word at a time. As a result, I enjoyed every word. Upon taking modern literature classes in high school, I developed a little crush on modernist works. Eliot has helped to solidify my interest and appeal to modernism. I find it a little ironic that my appreciation of modernism was furthered through a poem of which I understood little, but enjoyed none the less. To quote Eliot himself, "It's so elegant/So intelligent."
I may "get in trouble" for what I'm about to say, but I'm saying it anyway.
As I have matured through the scholastic process, teachers have started urging me to not just read a passage, novel, or play, but to read it while engaging in critical thinking. Teachers and professors encourage me to highlight, underline, annotate, take notes, compare what I'm reading to other works, my own works, or my own life. I am told to make reading an interactive, engaging process. Countless times I have been told by scholastic mentors "don't just read it, really focus on what the piece is saying, think critically, and really study the piece." I think that the process of critical analysis is great, I really do. Making annotations is fun to me! But sometimes you just want to tread for the sake of reading. This is what I did through most of "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot. I knew the piece was notorious for being difficult and hard to comprehend, and so I chose to regress down a couple levels in my thinking and I went back to the basics of reading. I took one word at a time. And I was rewarded with a genuine love and appreciation of "The Wasteland."
What's not to love? It's fantastic; it's beautiful. The first few lines caught me with their intense imagery and metaphorical content. "April is the cruelest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." By turning off my "Critical thinking" portion of my brain for just a little while, I was able to focus on the form of the piece, on each individual word or phrase rather than the overall message or theme. (Ok so maybe the critical thinking desire came back everyonce inawhile...I couldn't help but notice that his opening stanza ended each line with an ING verb...once a critical reader always a critical reader). I felt guilty while reading the poem, and if I were cheating or taking the easy way out. I felt like a young reader again, when I was in second grade and I read any books my parents or grandparents left lying around the house. When I was that young I didn't always understand what I was reading, I simply read for the pure enjoyment of the action of reading itself. I refused to read the foot-notes my first time through, I just languidly breezed though it, stopping only to translate the occasional German, French, Italian, or Sanskrit phrase. If I came across a historical allusion, I ignored it. I focused only on Eliot's word choice, syntax, and "pretty words." I read one section at a time, not even bothering to find connecting themes between them. My high school A.P. English teacher would be so ashamed.
Maybe it was cheating, I'm not sure, but it sure did help me get through the darn thing the first few times. And who knows, maybe it helped me to actually enjoy Eliot, rather than resent him as several of my peers seem to do.
Favorite parts that stick out to me were "Part II. A Game Of Chess." the imagery here is thick and rich and conveys a decadent yet mysterious image that eventually leads into the two women's conversation at what I think is a bar. Also, I really enjoyed the Biblical allusions in "What The Thunder Said." I did not catch the correlation in the first stanza to Christ until I read "The Significance of The Modern Wasteland." When I then re-read the poem I found this stanza really jumping out at me. Eliot says that because of Salvation, "We who were living are now dying/With a little patience." I love that line. The way it details a portion of the human experience really made sense to me. People can get fed up with living. Things get hard, or monotonous, but we keep waking up, with patience, because many of us feel as if we have a reason to. And so patiently, we continue. The following stanzas felt rushed and harried to me, I read through them quickly and almost breathlessly. I know this is no coincidence. Eliot's words became urgent and pleading and he repeats "If there were water...if there were only water...If there were water." The proceeding lines, 359 to 376 were also favorites of mine.
I believe that to read modern works effectively, one needs to approach the task with an engaging mind, make the process an interactive one, and search for correlations, themes, and submerged messages. In reading "The Wasteland" however, I chose to return to the basics of reading and read for pleasure only, remarking in awe Eliot's intricate writing style and vivid imagery and metaphors. I still have a long way to go with this piece, there is a lot about it I need to learn. But for my first initial readings this past weekend, I chose to ignore such pressures and i took it one word at a time. As a result, I enjoyed every word. Upon taking modern literature classes in high school, I developed a little crush on modernist works. Eliot has helped to solidify my interest and appeal to modernism. I find it a little ironic that my appreciation of modernism was furthered through a poem of which I understood little, but enjoyed none the less. To quote Eliot himself, "It's so elegant/So intelligent."
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Forgiving Kafka
Here's the deal.
If I were somehow turned into a giant bug in the middle of the night, freakishly, strangely transformed into an insect - I would have a problem with that. I would have a huge problem with that. I would scream, I would curse (mind you, I am not the curing type), I would become hysterical and my little bug-lungs would most likely pop from hyperventilation. If beetles had tear ducts then I would weep. Basically, I would freak-out. Why? Because turning into an insect is not natural, and the act deserves special attention, that's why.
Our protagonist Samsa, however, merely looks out the window and comments inwardly on the weather.
Samsa's very first reaction to his "predicament" is indeed a natural one, but each reaction after this become more and more bizarre. Samsa "lifted his head a little, saw his belly - rounded, brown...his numerous legs...(11)" and thought to himself "What's happened to me?(11)" This seems to be a normal reaction. Samsa then questions what I believe we all would question next and wonders if it were a dream. Upon concluding that it was not, rather than become hysterical as most would, he adopts a Scarlett O'Hara mindset ("I can't think about that now, I will think about it tomorrow"), and looks out the window. The weather outside is dismal, dark, and dreary. It makes poor Samsa feel "quite melancholy (11)."
This is where I paused when reading, and thought about the scene Kafka had portrayed.
And then, incredulous, I said, quite loudly, "What. The. Heck?!"
How is Samsa not going crazy at the realization that he is no longer a human but a dung-beetle!?
Now, here's something you should know about me. I am one of those complex people who just loved Peter Pan and Harry Potter when I was younger and eagerly read each book, believing every word, no questions asked, and then somehow, into my teen years, developed the annoying habit of whispering "That's not realistic..." under my breath at each fantastical scene of movies (the latest Indiana Jones just about killed me). My friends think it's annoying as anything, and urgently whisper back to me, "SHH! It's a movie!" I don't care if it's a movie, I at least want it to be realistic.
I want this book to be realistic also.
So imagine my frustration when the Samsa family's reactions were not.
Now, in Samsa's defense, remaining calm during this ridiculous situation is both logical and admirable. Samsa reasons that "the most sensible thing (14)" is to remember that "the calmest possible reflection is far preferable to desperate decisions (14)." This is one of those darling little quotes that people hang above their desks for inspirational advice. Despite the quote's obvious appeal, it is still not enough to allow me to forgive it.
And so here I was. Only a few pages deep and very much annoyed. I finished the novella, read F. D. Luke's analysis, and gradually, stubbornly changed my mind. Maybe this Kafka guy wasn't so annoying after all. So what if his character's has "unrealistic" responses to the transformation? Kafka meant for the characters to behave the way they did. There was a purpose.
According to Luke, Kafka wrote of the family's behavior as "strange, dreamlike, incongruous, inappropriate, and for this very reason lifelike - the ordinary behavior of humanity confronted with the ugliness of fact (234)." How often in dreams or nightmares do the people around you ignore you or seem as if every freak detail is perfectly normal? By choosing to portray Samsa's transformation as completely normal, Kafka is setting up for readers a dreamlike world where anything is possible. This serves several purposes. For instance, if I had gotten my way, and the characters had reacted to this predicament in a more "realistic" way, Gregor Samsa would have been carted to a hospital, stoned by neighbors, and a number of other, pesky situations would have arisen. Kafka has craftily simplified his story so that the reader can focus on the Samsa family's transformation, rather than their annoying panic at their son turning into a vermin.
Maybe it wasn't originally as realistic as I would have wanted, but honestly, who cares? If the story had been written any other way I, as the reader, would have lost much of its significance and symbolism, not to mention Kafka's nightmarish and comedic affect.
If I were somehow turned into a giant bug in the middle of the night, freakishly, strangely transformed into an insect - I would have a problem with that. I would have a huge problem with that. I would scream, I would curse (mind you, I am not the curing type), I would become hysterical and my little bug-lungs would most likely pop from hyperventilation. If beetles had tear ducts then I would weep. Basically, I would freak-out. Why? Because turning into an insect is not natural, and the act deserves special attention, that's why.
Our protagonist Samsa, however, merely looks out the window and comments inwardly on the weather.
Samsa's very first reaction to his "predicament" is indeed a natural one, but each reaction after this become more and more bizarre. Samsa "lifted his head a little, saw his belly - rounded, brown...his numerous legs...(11)" and thought to himself "What's happened to me?(11)" This seems to be a normal reaction. Samsa then questions what I believe we all would question next and wonders if it were a dream. Upon concluding that it was not, rather than become hysterical as most would, he adopts a Scarlett O'Hara mindset ("I can't think about that now, I will think about it tomorrow"), and looks out the window. The weather outside is dismal, dark, and dreary. It makes poor Samsa feel "quite melancholy (11)."
This is where I paused when reading, and thought about the scene Kafka had portrayed.
And then, incredulous, I said, quite loudly, "What. The. Heck?!"
How is Samsa not going crazy at the realization that he is no longer a human but a dung-beetle!?
Now, here's something you should know about me. I am one of those complex people who just loved Peter Pan and Harry Potter when I was younger and eagerly read each book, believing every word, no questions asked, and then somehow, into my teen years, developed the annoying habit of whispering "That's not realistic..." under my breath at each fantastical scene of movies (the latest Indiana Jones just about killed me). My friends think it's annoying as anything, and urgently whisper back to me, "SHH! It's a movie!" I don't care if it's a movie, I at least want it to be realistic.
I want this book to be realistic also.
So imagine my frustration when the Samsa family's reactions were not.
Now, in Samsa's defense, remaining calm during this ridiculous situation is both logical and admirable. Samsa reasons that "the most sensible thing (14)" is to remember that "the calmest possible reflection is far preferable to desperate decisions (14)." This is one of those darling little quotes that people hang above their desks for inspirational advice. Despite the quote's obvious appeal, it is still not enough to allow me to forgive it.
And so here I was. Only a few pages deep and very much annoyed. I finished the novella, read F. D. Luke's analysis, and gradually, stubbornly changed my mind. Maybe this Kafka guy wasn't so annoying after all. So what if his character's has "unrealistic" responses to the transformation? Kafka meant for the characters to behave the way they did. There was a purpose.
According to Luke, Kafka wrote of the family's behavior as "strange, dreamlike, incongruous, inappropriate, and for this very reason lifelike - the ordinary behavior of humanity confronted with the ugliness of fact (234)." How often in dreams or nightmares do the people around you ignore you or seem as if every freak detail is perfectly normal? By choosing to portray Samsa's transformation as completely normal, Kafka is setting up for readers a dreamlike world where anything is possible. This serves several purposes. For instance, if I had gotten my way, and the characters had reacted to this predicament in a more "realistic" way, Gregor Samsa would have been carted to a hospital, stoned by neighbors, and a number of other, pesky situations would have arisen. Kafka has craftily simplified his story so that the reader can focus on the Samsa family's transformation, rather than their annoying panic at their son turning into a vermin.
Maybe it wasn't originally as realistic as I would have wanted, but honestly, who cares? If the story had been written any other way I, as the reader, would have lost much of its significance and symbolism, not to mention Kafka's nightmarish and comedic affect.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)