After reading the long list of possible books for this essay, I made check marks next to the ones I was interested in reading in hopes of finding the perfect book. However, when this method failed to "narrow" down my list in any sense of the word, I had to call in the troops. After prolonged discussions with several valuable sources (my mom, who gave me a short synopsis of each book and a rundown of their benefits and disadvantages; and my sister, who said "That one looks weird. Don't do it."), I finally had about five books on my short list. I still couldn't choose just one, so I chose two!
I am reading both Lolita and Tender Is the Night. After I finish reading them, I will choose which one I am more interested in writing a paper about. They are very different; Lolita would be more of a study into a sick man's mind; Tender Is the Night is both a snapshot in time and a study of human character -- and love.
So far, I haven't decided which book I like more -- but I am sure enjoying both!!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Lady Lazarus (Cool J Was So Right To Abbreviate That)
Sylvia Plath was a woman tortured by an age that couldn’t help or understand her. Afflicted by a litany of mental ailments, from bipolar disorder to depression, she was suffocated by a culture that favored and promoted men over women to the point of completely ignoring her work and forcing her to close her eyes to her husband’s infidelity. Her difficult family situation, from the early death of her father to her tumultuous relationship with her husband, along with a general societal incomprehension of mental disease, brought much of her tortured inspiration. In the last months of her life, Plath wrote several poems that revealed much of her splintered psyche. “Lady Lazarus,” a poem written shortly before her final and successful attempt at suicide, is interesting on several layers. First, the poetry itself utilizes numerous forms and devices that are mostly successful in getting across Plath’s chaotic order. Secondly, the organization of the poem, thematically and structurally, is notable. Finally, there are multiple layers of meaning to Plath’s poem, from the double-meanings of her words to the various interpretations of her themes and overarching message. The poem is confusing and violent, using many allusions and shocking references to portray Plath’s turbulent emotions and fractured sense of self as her life becomes centered around her suicide attempts.
The poem is structured into four parts, all of it a bizarre contest and sick show-and-tell between the speaker and a constantly mutating audience. In the beginning, (lines 1-12), the speaker refers to herself as an object (whether it be a lampshade or a napkin). This section also plunges the reader into the heavy irony of the poem: in the very first stanza, the speaker claims: “I have done it again. / One year in every ten / I manage it – “ In this disturbing and ironic phrase, the speaker makes her failed suicide a kind of Pyrrhic victory, though who has won exactly is unclear. The speaker feels tortured by the “others” she speaks to, her “enemy” (line 11). She is a resurrected Jew, dead and alive at the same time and referring to the Holocaust in an uncomfortable allusion. Although her body has been made into a product by others, she is still alive, “a sort of walking miracle” (line 4).
In the second section of the poem (lines 13-66), the speaker focuses on imagery having to do with her physical body. She revels in the horror that her decaying form may cause in her audience, juxtaposing herself as a “smiling woman” and a “cat” that has nine lives, ending up as a death-ridden Cheshire Cat (lines 19 and 21). Next, she aggressively demotes her enemy/audience to a consuming “crowd,” watching the deathly strip tease of the speaker. She takes on the fanciful tone of a barker at a freak show, talking to the “Gentlemen, [and] ladies” (line 30). This section also includes a short, impersonal rundown of her attempts at suicide or brushes with death. The speaker reveals again her love/hate, pride/shame relationship with death when she says “Dying / Is an art, like everything else. / I do it exceptionally well” (lines 43-45). She is bitingly ironic, referring to the “charge” for seeing her, as if she is a show or a spectacle for an audience of voyeurrs (line 57). However, in the next stanza, she becomes almost as a saint, her body parts religious artifacts (lines 62-64). This part of the poem puts the speaker on a kind of pedestal, performing a strip-tease on a stage or creating her art of self-hurt in a paradox of guilt and blame, and ending with a reference to her enemy again as a Nazi.
In the third section, the speaker again becomes an object, but not one of death. She is an “opus,” a “valuable,” or a “pure gold baby” (lines 66-67). She is a morbid work of art – but now the creation of someone else. This section is also a reference to the stolen belongings of the killed Jews of the Holocaust – the “gold fillings” found among the “ash” of their cremated bodies (lines 78, 73). Now, too, her enemy is lifted even higher, into the realm of gods – he is “Herr God, Herr Lucifer” (line 80). Furthermore, it is this section which brings another layer to what the peeping public may represent – the enemy is male and German and thinks of her as a baby – much like Plath’s father.
In the final section – the last two stanzas – the speaker becomes supernatural. She warns her enemy to “beware,” and, like an avenging specter, she says “I rise with my red hair. / And I eat men like air “ (line 80, lines 82-84). This spiritual transformation alludes back to the title of the poem, which is a reference to the Biblical Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead as one of his miracles. The reference to men makes the suspicion about Plath’s father stronger, as well as perhaps including her husband, Ted Hughes. This four-part structure, cycling through references to objects, the body, treasured objects, and the spirit – along with complex metaphors involving history, religion, society, and her own past – brings the reader along to a very confusing conclusion.
On the most superficial topic, the physical elements of the writing, “Lady Lazarus” is a confessional poem (according to some) with a sort of part-time terza rima and iambic structure. Plath uses several literary devices to make her poetry interesting. First, the use of irony is heavy throughout her sarcastic and rebellious poem. She challenges her enemy, making him a reviled and ridiculous figure. Plath also relies on disturbing imagery to affect the reader with frank portrayals of death and Nazi atrocities. She also brings in much metaphor (“My face a featureless, fine / Jew linen,” lines 8/9) and simile (“worms…like sticky pearls,” line 42)). Her enemy is personified in many forms (Herr Doktor / Herr Enemy / Herr God / Herr Lucifer) and spoken to with apostrophe. Plath uses slant rhyme (eg, “enemy/terrify,” lines 11/12) as well as some direct rhyming (mostly masculine), in addition to rhymes within her lines (“grave cave ate”, line 17). She plays with words, including repetition (lines 58/59, 46-50) as well as a mix of enjambment and end-stopped lines. This mix allows the double-meanings of her words to shine through: for example, lines 52-54 could easily be read as an allusion to her husband (“the same place, the same face, the same brute”) until you get to the next line and see that “brute” is actually an adjective, not a noun. In general, the poem’s vocabulary is a mix of sophisticated allusions and conversational and simple words.
So, how can we interpret this mishmash of death and defiance? The poem has been argued about and many critics have many, many different ideas on how to view this poem – if, indeed, it is even worth looking into at all. Much like the four-part structure of the poem, I found four ways of looking at this work that I found both deep and disturbing. First, as the speaker’s (and Plath’s) relationship with suicide; secondly, as her relationship with society; thirdly, as her relationship with men; and, finally, as her relationship with herself. All of these bonds are strained and scary, confused through the speaker’s strange outlook on things (perhaps caused by mental delusion) as well as the sense of pride and shame evident in every line. Finally, I think that the poem is very clearly a cry for help, the swan song of a women trapped in an unhappy marriage, an unhappy mind, and an unhappy body, completely out of control and with only her poetry as a means of escape.
(1294)
Sources:
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1031006/the_manifestation_of_mental_illness.html
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A688197
http://www.womenwriters.net/editorials/whitton0500.htm
The poem is structured into four parts, all of it a bizarre contest and sick show-and-tell between the speaker and a constantly mutating audience. In the beginning, (lines 1-12), the speaker refers to herself as an object (whether it be a lampshade or a napkin). This section also plunges the reader into the heavy irony of the poem: in the very first stanza, the speaker claims: “I have done it again. / One year in every ten / I manage it – “ In this disturbing and ironic phrase, the speaker makes her failed suicide a kind of Pyrrhic victory, though who has won exactly is unclear. The speaker feels tortured by the “others” she speaks to, her “enemy” (line 11). She is a resurrected Jew, dead and alive at the same time and referring to the Holocaust in an uncomfortable allusion. Although her body has been made into a product by others, she is still alive, “a sort of walking miracle” (line 4).
In the second section of the poem (lines 13-66), the speaker focuses on imagery having to do with her physical body. She revels in the horror that her decaying form may cause in her audience, juxtaposing herself as a “smiling woman” and a “cat” that has nine lives, ending up as a death-ridden Cheshire Cat (lines 19 and 21). Next, she aggressively demotes her enemy/audience to a consuming “crowd,” watching the deathly strip tease of the speaker. She takes on the fanciful tone of a barker at a freak show, talking to the “Gentlemen, [and] ladies” (line 30). This section also includes a short, impersonal rundown of her attempts at suicide or brushes with death. The speaker reveals again her love/hate, pride/shame relationship with death when she says “Dying / Is an art, like everything else. / I do it exceptionally well” (lines 43-45). She is bitingly ironic, referring to the “charge” for seeing her, as if she is a show or a spectacle for an audience of voyeurrs (line 57). However, in the next stanza, she becomes almost as a saint, her body parts religious artifacts (lines 62-64). This part of the poem puts the speaker on a kind of pedestal, performing a strip-tease on a stage or creating her art of self-hurt in a paradox of guilt and blame, and ending with a reference to her enemy again as a Nazi.
In the third section, the speaker again becomes an object, but not one of death. She is an “opus,” a “valuable,” or a “pure gold baby” (lines 66-67). She is a morbid work of art – but now the creation of someone else. This section is also a reference to the stolen belongings of the killed Jews of the Holocaust – the “gold fillings” found among the “ash” of their cremated bodies (lines 78, 73). Now, too, her enemy is lifted even higher, into the realm of gods – he is “Herr God, Herr Lucifer” (line 80). Furthermore, it is this section which brings another layer to what the peeping public may represent – the enemy is male and German and thinks of her as a baby – much like Plath’s father.
In the final section – the last two stanzas – the speaker becomes supernatural. She warns her enemy to “beware,” and, like an avenging specter, she says “I rise with my red hair. / And I eat men like air “ (line 80, lines 82-84). This spiritual transformation alludes back to the title of the poem, which is a reference to the Biblical Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead as one of his miracles. The reference to men makes the suspicion about Plath’s father stronger, as well as perhaps including her husband, Ted Hughes. This four-part structure, cycling through references to objects, the body, treasured objects, and the spirit – along with complex metaphors involving history, religion, society, and her own past – brings the reader along to a very confusing conclusion.
On the most superficial topic, the physical elements of the writing, “Lady Lazarus” is a confessional poem (according to some) with a sort of part-time terza rima and iambic structure. Plath uses several literary devices to make her poetry interesting. First, the use of irony is heavy throughout her sarcastic and rebellious poem. She challenges her enemy, making him a reviled and ridiculous figure. Plath also relies on disturbing imagery to affect the reader with frank portrayals of death and Nazi atrocities. She also brings in much metaphor (“My face a featureless, fine / Jew linen,” lines 8/9) and simile (“worms…like sticky pearls,” line 42)). Her enemy is personified in many forms (Herr Doktor / Herr Enemy / Herr God / Herr Lucifer) and spoken to with apostrophe. Plath uses slant rhyme (eg, “enemy/terrify,” lines 11/12) as well as some direct rhyming (mostly masculine), in addition to rhymes within her lines (“grave cave ate”, line 17). She plays with words, including repetition (lines 58/59, 46-50) as well as a mix of enjambment and end-stopped lines. This mix allows the double-meanings of her words to shine through: for example, lines 52-54 could easily be read as an allusion to her husband (“the same place, the same face, the same brute”) until you get to the next line and see that “brute” is actually an adjective, not a noun. In general, the poem’s vocabulary is a mix of sophisticated allusions and conversational and simple words.
So, how can we interpret this mishmash of death and defiance? The poem has been argued about and many critics have many, many different ideas on how to view this poem – if, indeed, it is even worth looking into at all. Much like the four-part structure of the poem, I found four ways of looking at this work that I found both deep and disturbing. First, as the speaker’s (and Plath’s) relationship with suicide; secondly, as her relationship with society; thirdly, as her relationship with men; and, finally, as her relationship with herself. All of these bonds are strained and scary, confused through the speaker’s strange outlook on things (perhaps caused by mental delusion) as well as the sense of pride and shame evident in every line. Finally, I think that the poem is very clearly a cry for help, the swan song of a women trapped in an unhappy marriage, an unhappy mind, and an unhappy body, completely out of control and with only her poetry as a means of escape.
(1294)
Sources:
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1031006/the_manifestation_of_mental_illness.html
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A688197
http://www.womenwriters.net/editorials/whitton0500.htm
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Rebirth of a Salesman
When reading Death of A Salesman, I found the structure a little intimidating and hard to understand at first. The flashbacks and transitions between different times were jarring and not easy to comprehend; I think that maybe this would have been easier if the blocking on stage had been more apparent (ie, all the explanations about walking through walls when it’s a different time, etc.). Furthermore, the names seemed strange and even the lingo was a little out of place for me. When I finished the play, I admit to a morose feeling of slight depression. The play just seemed so sad.
I was especially struck with what I saw as the tragedy of the play – Willy’s inability to reach a peak of greatness or respect or even honesty with his family. Although he tries and tries, he never quite makes it. This seemed like a statement of great sadness to me. Furthermore, none of the characters really knew who they were or what they wanted. They were held back by their goals and by their fears; by their own expectations and by the expectations of others. Willy and Linda didn’t even teach appropriate values to their sons – they expected them to cheat and lie their way to the top. Willy, supposed to be the protagonist, was not nearly as appealing as Linda, the long-suffering wife, who still frustrated me because she meekly accepted Willy’s verbal abuse and infidelity (though, to be fair, she probably didn’t know about it). The play seemed to paint a bleak picture of life in America, an immoral waste of talent and manpower in the irrational and unsatisfying workday of the average drudge.
However, when I read the essay that immediately followed the play, I was struck again by Arthur Miller’s completely different interpretation. According to him, the play represents the grandeur of humanity – to him, Willy is the very peak. Miller completely reframed everything I had thought before, stating that the play is actually representative of man’s constant attempts to better and perfect himself. Like all the other great tragedies, Death of A Salesman does not doom man to a flawed existence – instead, the play aims to inspire man to reach for the highest goals as well as to commend man for being able to recognize his flaws, even when the result is death or loss. Willy is not as attractive a hero as the kingly Othello or the young Hamlet – but that is part of the point. Miller leaves the option for the everyman to become a tragic hero, if he will just be honest about his own dishonesty.
(441)
I was especially struck with what I saw as the tragedy of the play – Willy’s inability to reach a peak of greatness or respect or even honesty with his family. Although he tries and tries, he never quite makes it. This seemed like a statement of great sadness to me. Furthermore, none of the characters really knew who they were or what they wanted. They were held back by their goals and by their fears; by their own expectations and by the expectations of others. Willy and Linda didn’t even teach appropriate values to their sons – they expected them to cheat and lie their way to the top. Willy, supposed to be the protagonist, was not nearly as appealing as Linda, the long-suffering wife, who still frustrated me because she meekly accepted Willy’s verbal abuse and infidelity (though, to be fair, she probably didn’t know about it). The play seemed to paint a bleak picture of life in America, an immoral waste of talent and manpower in the irrational and unsatisfying workday of the average drudge.
However, when I read the essay that immediately followed the play, I was struck again by Arthur Miller’s completely different interpretation. According to him, the play represents the grandeur of humanity – to him, Willy is the very peak. Miller completely reframed everything I had thought before, stating that the play is actually representative of man’s constant attempts to better and perfect himself. Like all the other great tragedies, Death of A Salesman does not doom man to a flawed existence – instead, the play aims to inspire man to reach for the highest goals as well as to commend man for being able to recognize his flaws, even when the result is death or loss. Willy is not as attractive a hero as the kingly Othello or the young Hamlet – but that is part of the point. Miller leaves the option for the everyman to become a tragic hero, if he will just be honest about his own dishonesty.
(441)
Monday, February 23, 2009
Love and Loss in A Doll’s House
Response to 7.: In what respects does A Doll’s House seem to apply to life today? Is it in any way dated? Could there be a Nora in North America today?
I would like to respond to this question as well as to the major topic of discussion in class last week, which was love and marital happiness.
In class, we had a rather lively discussion , debating whether we thought the modern day ease of divorce made or broke more marriages; some of us thought that not having an out forced one to “make it work,” while others merely saw the old way of marriage as simple that, old and outdated and no better than the method we have now. Clearly, Nora (and Ibsen) does not feel that the constraints of a 19th century marriage were enough to satisfy the typical couple. More than this, though, I feel that the play represents Ibsen’s general discontent with social norms and especially male and female roles of the day.
In class, several of us remarked that we were disgusted with and by Helmer’s ways of speaking with (or, more accurately, speaking down to) Nora. He calls her ridiculous pet names and speaks to her as if she is a child, several times specifically referring to her as a child (he says she has “childish fears” and in the last scene says her rhetoric is that of a child). He says she is good at nothing but spending money and looking pretty; in fact, Nora sees all her skills as for nothing but entertaining Helmer. In turn, she fulfills her role, resorting to wile and playacting the ninny in order to get what she wants. The very thing she is most proud of, her saving of Helmer’s life and her raising the money to do so, she can never share with him because it would hurt his “pride.”
In the end, the dishonesty of this relationship is finally revealed to be toxic. While Helmer is supposed to be the perfect, masculine caretaker, he is exposed as selfish and quick to betray Nora. The problem with not allowing women to be real people in a real relationship becomes clear. Even though Nora has never been allowed to make her own decisions or act as an adult and is always treated as a child, Helmer is immediately ready to allow her to flounder in the wake of her actions as an adult. He will not protect her, as one would a child; even though she has not been given the knowledge necessary to make informed decisions, she will be judged as though she had. This is one of the many double standards clear by the end of Ibsen’s work. Nora immediately sees the falsity of the life she has lived; Helmer is not the column of morality she believed him to be. Instead, he is quick to throw her to the wolves and eager to spurn her as a wife and mother. More tellingly, he says quite plainly that honor is more important than love and that no one would give up their good name for a loved one. Nora, just as plainly, responds that many women do, as she has. This exchange demonstrates another of the inequalities between men and women at this time.
Now, back to the question: yes, I think that A Doll’s House could easily be transformed to 21st century America. 20th century America, mid-century, would probably be even more appropriate. In any relationship, there is always a give and take; however, any long-term relationship hinges upon honesty and trust. There is neither of these in Helmer and Nora’s situation. Nora does, in fact, hope to trust Helmer – this is the miracle she speaks of and is eventually refused. Although I think that the Women’s Rights Movement has gone a long way towards erasing many of the inequalities between men and women, there is still a long way to go. For example, we see time and time again on television or in books these same themes of honesty and rejection of stereotypical gender roles.
In order to fully understand this topic, I would like to do some research on JStor or the other databases made available on the PCDS website.
Also, I am not really sure about the lesson provided by the relationship between Krogstad and Mrs. Linde, or exactly what Nora is supposed to do with the display of love from Dr. Rank. What do these have to do with the central theme of the play? How do they add to the reader’s new understanding of love (as Nora defines it), a true meeting of the minds between two people? I feel like these two parts of the plot definitely are a commentary as well, but I am not quite sure how.
(774)
I would like to respond to this question as well as to the major topic of discussion in class last week, which was love and marital happiness.
In class, we had a rather lively discussion , debating whether we thought the modern day ease of divorce made or broke more marriages; some of us thought that not having an out forced one to “make it work,” while others merely saw the old way of marriage as simple that, old and outdated and no better than the method we have now. Clearly, Nora (and Ibsen) does not feel that the constraints of a 19th century marriage were enough to satisfy the typical couple. More than this, though, I feel that the play represents Ibsen’s general discontent with social norms and especially male and female roles of the day.
In class, several of us remarked that we were disgusted with and by Helmer’s ways of speaking with (or, more accurately, speaking down to) Nora. He calls her ridiculous pet names and speaks to her as if she is a child, several times specifically referring to her as a child (he says she has “childish fears” and in the last scene says her rhetoric is that of a child). He says she is good at nothing but spending money and looking pretty; in fact, Nora sees all her skills as for nothing but entertaining Helmer. In turn, she fulfills her role, resorting to wile and playacting the ninny in order to get what she wants. The very thing she is most proud of, her saving of Helmer’s life and her raising the money to do so, she can never share with him because it would hurt his “pride.”
In the end, the dishonesty of this relationship is finally revealed to be toxic. While Helmer is supposed to be the perfect, masculine caretaker, he is exposed as selfish and quick to betray Nora. The problem with not allowing women to be real people in a real relationship becomes clear. Even though Nora has never been allowed to make her own decisions or act as an adult and is always treated as a child, Helmer is immediately ready to allow her to flounder in the wake of her actions as an adult. He will not protect her, as one would a child; even though she has not been given the knowledge necessary to make informed decisions, she will be judged as though she had. This is one of the many double standards clear by the end of Ibsen’s work. Nora immediately sees the falsity of the life she has lived; Helmer is not the column of morality she believed him to be. Instead, he is quick to throw her to the wolves and eager to spurn her as a wife and mother. More tellingly, he says quite plainly that honor is more important than love and that no one would give up their good name for a loved one. Nora, just as plainly, responds that many women do, as she has. This exchange demonstrates another of the inequalities between men and women at this time.
Now, back to the question: yes, I think that A Doll’s House could easily be transformed to 21st century America. 20th century America, mid-century, would probably be even more appropriate. In any relationship, there is always a give and take; however, any long-term relationship hinges upon honesty and trust. There is neither of these in Helmer and Nora’s situation. Nora does, in fact, hope to trust Helmer – this is the miracle she speaks of and is eventually refused. Although I think that the Women’s Rights Movement has gone a long way towards erasing many of the inequalities between men and women, there is still a long way to go. For example, we see time and time again on television or in books these same themes of honesty and rejection of stereotypical gender roles.
In order to fully understand this topic, I would like to do some research on JStor or the other databases made available on the PCDS website.
Also, I am not really sure about the lesson provided by the relationship between Krogstad and Mrs. Linde, or exactly what Nora is supposed to do with the display of love from Dr. Rank. What do these have to do with the central theme of the play? How do they add to the reader’s new understanding of love (as Nora defines it), a true meeting of the minds between two people? I feel like these two parts of the plot definitely are a commentary as well, but I am not quite sure how.
(774)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
What the Heck is Wrong with Hamlet?
Hamlet is not a very heroic hero. He wonders and waffles, vacillating between when and even whether he should kill his uncle and what he decides is the moral plan of action. He is mean and even cruel to Ophelia. He ends up killing everyone around him, even those who are relatively innocent. In my opinion, there is not even a clear moral at the end of Hamlet. Shakespeare does not make one clear point: should Hamlet have just killed Claudius? Does Hamlet really deserve to die? Should he have killed himself? What was the resolution of his “to be or not to be” speech? Clearly, not much is clear. Just as in Oedipus Rex, the protagonist is flawed and the ending is tragic – with uncertain conclusions.
Other characters, too, are portrayed as completely imperfect. Both of the women characters, Ophelia and Gertrude, are frustratingly inept and alarmingly docile. Ophelia’s willingness to blindly obey her father and ignore Hamlet adds to Hamlet’s madness (or at least to his depression), his mistrust of women, his rampage of killing, his falling out with Laertes, and her own suicide. Gertrude’s blindness to or ignorance of Claudius’s treachery and her inability to make strong actions without a man at her side leads to Hamlet’s unhinging and many of his unstable actions (based on this lost mother). Shakespeare allows Hamlet to berate and antagonize both women. In one scene, Hamlet even makes extremely crude remarks to Ophelia, cruelly antagonizing her to the point of tears. Why must these women be so weak? What is the point of having not one positive female figure in the play?
For that matter, there really aren’t any positive male role models either. Hamlet’s father is dead and goading him on to murder; Claudius is a murderer; Polonius is a spying old fool. There aren’t even any good friend role models – Laertes, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern all end up failing in that arena. Who, really, is left for Hamlet to sympathize with? Hamlet is clearly an empathetic and sensitive young man. He has thoughts of suicide and reflects on his own actions with a troubled eye. He is trying to be a good kid; but he has no one to help him. What can we expect, when Hamlet cannot trust anyone or talk to anyone about his fears?
Maybe Hamlet’s biggest problem, the problem that Shakespeare is trying to explore, is that when the authority (government) is out of whack, nothing can be right.
Other characters, too, are portrayed as completely imperfect. Both of the women characters, Ophelia and Gertrude, are frustratingly inept and alarmingly docile. Ophelia’s willingness to blindly obey her father and ignore Hamlet adds to Hamlet’s madness (or at least to his depression), his mistrust of women, his rampage of killing, his falling out with Laertes, and her own suicide. Gertrude’s blindness to or ignorance of Claudius’s treachery and her inability to make strong actions without a man at her side leads to Hamlet’s unhinging and many of his unstable actions (based on this lost mother). Shakespeare allows Hamlet to berate and antagonize both women. In one scene, Hamlet even makes extremely crude remarks to Ophelia, cruelly antagonizing her to the point of tears. Why must these women be so weak? What is the point of having not one positive female figure in the play?
For that matter, there really aren’t any positive male role models either. Hamlet’s father is dead and goading him on to murder; Claudius is a murderer; Polonius is a spying old fool. There aren’t even any good friend role models – Laertes, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern all end up failing in that arena. Who, really, is left for Hamlet to sympathize with? Hamlet is clearly an empathetic and sensitive young man. He has thoughts of suicide and reflects on his own actions with a troubled eye. He is trying to be a good kid; but he has no one to help him. What can we expect, when Hamlet cannot trust anyone or talk to anyone about his fears?
Maybe Hamlet’s biggest problem, the problem that Shakespeare is trying to explore, is that when the authority (government) is out of whack, nothing can be right.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Antigone and Other Myths
In Scene IV of Antigone, the Chorus and Antigone herself make mention of several other myths of Greek lore. These stories, which would have been part of the common knowledge of the original Greek audience, add new ways to look at and interpret Antigone’s position, mostly in negative ways. In this scene, composed entirely of the conversation between the chorus and the protagonist, the listener/reader is forced to weigh Antigone’s heroism and moral strength with her potential for perhaps too much rigidity and self-righteousness. The similarities and differences between these myths and Antigone’s position can help with this interpretation.
The first comparison is brought up by Antigone herself. She matches her moribund situation with that of Niobe, who died bereft of family. She says, “I feel the loneliness of her death in mine,” noting that her family is either dead or forbidden to her (in the case of her sister and fiancé) (Scene IV line 20). The other part of the legend of Niobe is the reason she was punished: her hubris in boasting that she was greater than the gods (at least, that her children were). Antigone does not really relate to this part of the myth – however, both Creon and Oedipus can be seen as claiming to have more power than the gods over the city’s and their families’ affairs. The Chorus recognizes this, responding to Antigone that “I cannot tell / What shape of your father’s guilt appears in this.” This seems to be more a plea for pity by Antigone than any realization of hubris or self-righteousness.
The second myth that Antifone is compared to is that of Danae. In this story, Danae is prophesied to bear a son that would kill her father; in order to avoid this, her father locks her up and prevents suitors from seeing her. But, like any who try to avoid their fate, Danae does indeed bear a son (Perseus) who eventually and accidentally kills her father. The parallels to Oedipus’s story are clear; the lessons for Perseus’s grandfather and for Oedipus’s parents were learned too late for fixing them. The part of Danae’s myth that Antigone is paralleled with is her imprisonment in a room with no doors; this is similar to the sepulcher that Antigone will die in. However, Danae was paid a visit by Zeus, and there will be no respite for Antigone; furthermore, Danae is really portrayed as a passive person who lets her father and son boss her around – clearly, Antigone is not similar.
The last two myths that are briefly made reference to by the Chorus are that of King Lycurgus and King Phineas. King Lycurgus was a king of Thrace, struck by madness as a punishment for pride and the death of Dionysis’s nursemaid who then killed his family and himself. Oedipus is really a more likely comparison for the family-destruction part; however, Antigone can be seen as prideful in some regards. King Phineas cast off his wife Cleopatra and imprisoned her in a cave, then allowing his second wife to be cruel to Cleopatra’s children. Perhaps the lesson here is that even being nobly born cannot save you from your fate and from death. These two comparisons are not very favorable for Antigone.
Although I set out to analyze the myths made reference to in this passage because I thought they might add clarity to an interpretation of Antigone, in the end I am left with more questions than before. Why are these myths mentioned, when they are difficult to use to interpret Antigone’s position? How can she be a helpless princess, a cruel king, and an evil king? I am not sure what the reader should take from these passages – perhaps the average play attendee in the original audience would have gotten more out of these references. (639)
The first comparison is brought up by Antigone herself. She matches her moribund situation with that of Niobe, who died bereft of family. She says, “I feel the loneliness of her death in mine,” noting that her family is either dead or forbidden to her (in the case of her sister and fiancé) (Scene IV line 20). The other part of the legend of Niobe is the reason she was punished: her hubris in boasting that she was greater than the gods (at least, that her children were). Antigone does not really relate to this part of the myth – however, both Creon and Oedipus can be seen as claiming to have more power than the gods over the city’s and their families’ affairs. The Chorus recognizes this, responding to Antigone that “I cannot tell / What shape of your father’s guilt appears in this.” This seems to be more a plea for pity by Antigone than any realization of hubris or self-righteousness.
The second myth that Antifone is compared to is that of Danae. In this story, Danae is prophesied to bear a son that would kill her father; in order to avoid this, her father locks her up and prevents suitors from seeing her. But, like any who try to avoid their fate, Danae does indeed bear a son (Perseus) who eventually and accidentally kills her father. The parallels to Oedipus’s story are clear; the lessons for Perseus’s grandfather and for Oedipus’s parents were learned too late for fixing them. The part of Danae’s myth that Antigone is paralleled with is her imprisonment in a room with no doors; this is similar to the sepulcher that Antigone will die in. However, Danae was paid a visit by Zeus, and there will be no respite for Antigone; furthermore, Danae is really portrayed as a passive person who lets her father and son boss her around – clearly, Antigone is not similar.
The last two myths that are briefly made reference to by the Chorus are that of King Lycurgus and King Phineas. King Lycurgus was a king of Thrace, struck by madness as a punishment for pride and the death of Dionysis’s nursemaid who then killed his family and himself. Oedipus is really a more likely comparison for the family-destruction part; however, Antigone can be seen as prideful in some regards. King Phineas cast off his wife Cleopatra and imprisoned her in a cave, then allowing his second wife to be cruel to Cleopatra’s children. Perhaps the lesson here is that even being nobly born cannot save you from your fate and from death. These two comparisons are not very favorable for Antigone.
Although I set out to analyze the myths made reference to in this passage because I thought they might add clarity to an interpretation of Antigone, in the end I am left with more questions than before. Why are these myths mentioned, when they are difficult to use to interpret Antigone’s position? How can she be a helpless princess, a cruel king, and an evil king? I am not sure what the reader should take from these passages – perhaps the average play attendee in the original audience would have gotten more out of these references. (639)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Love and Loss
Prompt: “[Love] could have rescued Ivan Ilyich from all the fright and despair which terorized him during the final two weeks had he allowed it to. . . Love masters death [only at the end].”
Throughout the anti-epic of Ivan Ilych, Tolstoy reinforces over and over the shallowness and vapidity of the Russian’s life. His schooling, his work, his relationships; everything is based off of what it should be. There is no soul-searching in his life, since he is never faced with any true crises or anything that would make him question his motives or aspirations. Instead, Ivan’s family, friends, and social position allow him to coast through life, never dipping below the surface of any experience or emotion. It is not until the end, when Ivan is literally on his deathbed, that he is forced to reflect on the validity of the choices he has made.
Although his entire life is a tragedy, the saddest part of Ivan’s commonplace and ordinary existence is the lack of true emotion he feels for other people. The other judges and magistrates that Ivan works with feel no pity for him when he is getting sicker and sicker; instead, he notices them eyeing his position as a method of their own advancement. Nobody in his high level of polite society has a sincerely kind word or even tiny moment of compassion for Ivan. Just as he had used others to get ahead (as when he moved and his salary almost doubled), now he feels the flip side of a society that values only fun and frivolity.
In a small way, this is demonstrated through his relationships with his “closest acquaintances,” Tolstoy’s tongue-in-cheek way of referring to those supposed to be of Ivan’s inner circle. From the very first chapter, where Peter is used to illustrate the feelings others had for Ivan at his funeral, a time when people should be mourning and reflecting over the wealth and depth of one’s contributions to life. Instead, those at the funeral want nothing more than to get the formalities (ie, the insincere motions that seem appropriate) over and go play a simple, thought-free game of cards. Even this man who has known Ivan since childhood – supposedly one of his closest confidantes – cannot bear to spend a moment in the room with the coffin, in the presence of a reminder of his own mortality. Like Ivan before his mysterious demise, all the others prefer to think of death as something that happens to other people. This lack of connection between all the people in his life is a sad comment on the lack of access to emotion that pervades Ivan’s life.
The biggest loss of true connection that doesn’t hit Ivan until it’s too late is the sour nature of the relationships in his family. His daughter is a perfect socialite, beautiful and engaged to a man with many prospects, but instead of wishing to take care of her father or even feeling sad that he is dying, she is merely disgruntled when his illness casts a pall over her night at the opera. Ivan’s wife shows only as much compassion as she needs to in order to get her way; at the funeral she cares more about how much money she can get than truly grieving for her husband. Only Ivan’s son, the youngest and most innocent, seems actually sad about his father’s death; his face is pale and drawn at the funeral and he cries at Ivan’s bedside. When Ivan finally passes, it is unclear whether anybody in this world truly cared about him at all.
However, even sadder than the lack of feeling the others have for Ivan is the lack of feeling he can muster for the others. Even when he finally understands that he has not lived well, Ivan cannot feel much more than pity for himself. He cannot reach out to his wife and family; he does not wish to forgive and love them, but only to be forgiven. This is the saddest part of the whole tale; Ivan does not ever experience love, the most redeeming and empowering experience a human can have. If only he had been able to connect with those he is supposed to care and feel for at the very end, perhaps he could have reclaimed some meaning for his life. This is not to be.
The only true beacon of hope for humanity in the story is Ivan’s servant Gerasim, whose simple ministrations and honest, strong face tell the tale of a life lived with honesty and love. He tells his employer that he does not mind helping him, because Gerasim truly does feel pity for and an empathy with the bitter, dying old man. In the end, Ivan cannot crack the artificial façade of his life, although he does recognize its worthlessness. If Tolstoy had written in such a happy ending for his unheroic hero, the warning effect of the tale would not have been so strong; also, this sudden opening to love and light would have been very unrealistic. Clearly, though, Tolstoy believes that deep relationships with others and a true sense of love and compassion (completely absent from Ivan and his circle) are imperative for a well-lived life. (843)
Throughout the anti-epic of Ivan Ilych, Tolstoy reinforces over and over the shallowness and vapidity of the Russian’s life. His schooling, his work, his relationships; everything is based off of what it should be. There is no soul-searching in his life, since he is never faced with any true crises or anything that would make him question his motives or aspirations. Instead, Ivan’s family, friends, and social position allow him to coast through life, never dipping below the surface of any experience or emotion. It is not until the end, when Ivan is literally on his deathbed, that he is forced to reflect on the validity of the choices he has made.
Although his entire life is a tragedy, the saddest part of Ivan’s commonplace and ordinary existence is the lack of true emotion he feels for other people. The other judges and magistrates that Ivan works with feel no pity for him when he is getting sicker and sicker; instead, he notices them eyeing his position as a method of their own advancement. Nobody in his high level of polite society has a sincerely kind word or even tiny moment of compassion for Ivan. Just as he had used others to get ahead (as when he moved and his salary almost doubled), now he feels the flip side of a society that values only fun and frivolity.
In a small way, this is demonstrated through his relationships with his “closest acquaintances,” Tolstoy’s tongue-in-cheek way of referring to those supposed to be of Ivan’s inner circle. From the very first chapter, where Peter is used to illustrate the feelings others had for Ivan at his funeral, a time when people should be mourning and reflecting over the wealth and depth of one’s contributions to life. Instead, those at the funeral want nothing more than to get the formalities (ie, the insincere motions that seem appropriate) over and go play a simple, thought-free game of cards. Even this man who has known Ivan since childhood – supposedly one of his closest confidantes – cannot bear to spend a moment in the room with the coffin, in the presence of a reminder of his own mortality. Like Ivan before his mysterious demise, all the others prefer to think of death as something that happens to other people. This lack of connection between all the people in his life is a sad comment on the lack of access to emotion that pervades Ivan’s life.
The biggest loss of true connection that doesn’t hit Ivan until it’s too late is the sour nature of the relationships in his family. His daughter is a perfect socialite, beautiful and engaged to a man with many prospects, but instead of wishing to take care of her father or even feeling sad that he is dying, she is merely disgruntled when his illness casts a pall over her night at the opera. Ivan’s wife shows only as much compassion as she needs to in order to get her way; at the funeral she cares more about how much money she can get than truly grieving for her husband. Only Ivan’s son, the youngest and most innocent, seems actually sad about his father’s death; his face is pale and drawn at the funeral and he cries at Ivan’s bedside. When Ivan finally passes, it is unclear whether anybody in this world truly cared about him at all.
However, even sadder than the lack of feeling the others have for Ivan is the lack of feeling he can muster for the others. Even when he finally understands that he has not lived well, Ivan cannot feel much more than pity for himself. He cannot reach out to his wife and family; he does not wish to forgive and love them, but only to be forgiven. This is the saddest part of the whole tale; Ivan does not ever experience love, the most redeeming and empowering experience a human can have. If only he had been able to connect with those he is supposed to care and feel for at the very end, perhaps he could have reclaimed some meaning for his life. This is not to be.
The only true beacon of hope for humanity in the story is Ivan’s servant Gerasim, whose simple ministrations and honest, strong face tell the tale of a life lived with honesty and love. He tells his employer that he does not mind helping him, because Gerasim truly does feel pity for and an empathy with the bitter, dying old man. In the end, Ivan cannot crack the artificial façade of his life, although he does recognize its worthlessness. If Tolstoy had written in such a happy ending for his unheroic hero, the warning effect of the tale would not have been so strong; also, this sudden opening to love and light would have been very unrealistic. Clearly, though, Tolstoy believes that deep relationships with others and a true sense of love and compassion (completely absent from Ivan and his circle) are imperative for a well-lived life. (843)
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