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.

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.)

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.

"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."

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.