So, it’s been eleven weeks. We’ve read, we’ve blogged, we’ve discussed (we’ve also not done a few of those things…no? okay just me then) and now it’s time to step back and reflect. Ahh…reflection. I always struggle with that part come week eleven. So, I do what any ‘respectable’ English major with a final paper to do, would do. I stall my little ass off. I might take my pee breaks, I might clean up a little around the dorm, I might fight crime (if I could) anything to keep my mind off of this last blog I have to do, who cares if I was diggin’ the class or not? I mean work is work…right?
But amid all of these distractions I seem to invent for myself, I can’t help but recognize just how much this class interjected itself in my decision making and value system this quarter. And when I look at the collection of everything we’ve accomplished in English 250, I know that this was a worthwhile experience.
I feel like this reading list, more so than most any of my English classes, hovered around some very, VERY weighty themes and struggles. For starters: the depictions and ambiguity behind the role of masculinity, the role of religion in determining the value system of a culture and the cultures that followed it, the role of the gothic novel in early American Literature and how it, sort of poo-pooed on everything the last thing I was talking about tried to accomplish. But c’maaan, when you really look at it there was some deep, dark, weighty stuff that this era in our history was trying to come to grips with. And it didn’t let up the farther we went down that syllabus (which might have been the effing coolest looking syllabus ever, just an fyi), we sized up the literature of sexual libertines and slave masters, then the psychological costs of both survival and oppression (yes, this is straight from the course description section of the syllabus I’ll broaden out I promise), or even the human want to evade society’s countless oppressions or expectations (see? Broadened out booya!). But this era of literature and its material had no choice but to be weighty, hard-hitting, and strenuous. It exists as the representative voice of a new nation’s sins and hardships that seemed to be never-ending, like a thread from the world’s largest ball of string. But underneath each of these varying circumstances, differing themes, when we examine the emotional baggage that dragged beneath each of these cultural contexts the literature emphasizes, similar words with parallel connotations spring to mind.
Words like endurance, perseverance, and struggle. But each of these words seem to swirl around the challenged state of the self in the face of society and society in the face of the individual.
So, life’s a challenge, big deal, like I’ve never heard or felt that before this winter quarter. But had I ever really felt it in a lit class? Or from discussion? I’d say yes and no.
Let’s face it, there’s only so much personality and honesty a person can put into a research paper, or a paper that they plan to turn in to a professor. After a couple of years worth of umpteen prompts and more research topics than you could possibly try to remember, writing papers in college for an English Major can often feel like a job, and it goes from fun to tedious pretty quickly. Not to mention the fact that papers also need to tackle course content with a degree of professionalism and attention to detail. While all of this is certainly essential and valuable when expressing opinions or trying to make a point, college students (especially creative college students) also deserve the opportunity to let loose in their interpretations, FIND THE JUICE without worrying about sounding studious or lucid to such a lofty degree. This is where class discussion comes in. And yet, some discussions prove to be more productive than others.
Never before had I really seen the opportunity to go through so many mediums and portals to reinforce or stir the themes that cropped up in the literature covered in a syllabus. Not only that, but never before had I had such freedom for personal input to course subject matter.
That’s where the blogging came in.
In most classes, I’m gonna be honest, here’s the routine. Read, class discussion, paper….read, class discussion, paper…..read, class discussion, paper…..then yay it’s spring! Pile on ten pages of hell and a random final and let’s call it a quarter.
Yeah, that’s fun. That’s education.
No, this class offered guidelines, structure, but within that structure the ability to roam around creatively and find influence from each other, our group members, in addition to the reading. And this process really felt necessary to do this course’s content justice…
I am going to be honest, I did not set out to embark on this blogging project with a set agenda. Hell, I’d never blogged before I was actually slightly intimidated come to think of it.
I figured, “Okay JT, just focus on this baby one blog at a time. It probably won’t make any sense at all when you look at the finished product but damnit it’ll get done and at least each blog will stand up okay on its own.” That’s pretty much what I told myself in January when I posted my first blog.
So, I posted. I put up pictures, I wrote the blogs from an honest place with personal and critical interpretations while trying to broaden out the best I could. One blog at a time I wrote, posted, threw in a picture and called it finished, all the while feeling like I had been neglecting the fact that most blogs have a set theme and mine had to look absurdly nonsensical.
And then, something strange happened…I noticed that without even meaning to, I was re-writing essentially the same themes from blog to blog. My pictures were, actually, going together with a want to-be Andy Warhol sense of fluency. The posts actually made sense together! And there they were! All of the course literature, my own interpretation of all of the literature sitting right there in front of me, and it all made sense somehow.
Me, the literature, and then everybody else and the literature working things out together and separately all at the same time. That’s what an English class, or any class for that matter, should be all about.
I’m not saying that course material in college doesn’t have this same amount of fluency or even the same degree of impact on a student. All I’m saying is that I had never actually noticed how much a specific course’s material impacted me, impacted other students in my class, tied in to discussion, or flowed together the way this blogging experience allowed me to visualize so vividly.
So, really, it was because of this whole blogging experience that I truly had the chance to take away and internalize the course content. I had a chance to see just how important self-reliance is and how it literally ties in to just about every theme in early American Literature. I get the chance to read a sentimental story about Tony’s high school experience, how he felt like a failure because he couldn’t get in to his AP English course his sophormore year or something ridiculous like that (I love you Tony). I got to laugh at pictures that made me think of The Coquette’s Major Sanford every time I saw a “House” episode (good call on that one, Bran by the way…House really is a ‘rake’ and pretty freaking dreamy I might add). The blogs were just a cultural medium to really put on display just how many things can and do relate to literature inside a classroom or outside of a classroom setting. This is why I am thankful for taking this class Suzanne. Thank you.
And as I sit back and look at all of the blogs, the stack of torn up books on my tattered bookshelf in my dorm room (books that today I found out I can’t return anymore by the way…sad story) I understand now just how much I DID take away from this course. I know that I invested both work and play to class content that I can guarantee you, I wouldn’t have invested under other circumstances or within other classroom settings. But I did, thankfully. It was rewarding, it was fun, it was educational and, most importantly, it was IMPACTING as hell because I can see based on my blog how much it pulled out of me. I don’t know if the other students in this class felt the same amount of reward but judging by the look and the feel of their blog I’m not alone. We got the JUICE Ashworth, and the juice was most certainly worth the squeeze. Cheesy? Indubitably. Is indubitably a word? You bet it is. Good luck next quarter everybody.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Do or die, The Heart of the Sea
In the Heart of the Sea is a story of suffering men dealing with the carnage of an unpredictable and unforgiving sea. And, as you probably know, the shipwreck tale has become a recurring staple in literature and finds its way in many snit bits of pop culture.
But, I had to ask myself, why is this? Are we just suckers for boats and sperm whales?
Then I started thinking about it, what themes tend to underlie a shipwreck story? And then on down the line I went…What other storylines share the similar themes? Well you have the ship wreck, the plane crash, the deserted island, the mountain climbing expedition that goes awry, these inexplicably horrifying circumstances keep finding themselves staying in the backs of weary minds, and all the while staying all the more relevant. These settings keep reinforcing universal moral conflictions over and over again, as Suzanne mentioned in class the other day “history is repeating itself….right?” Sorry Suzanne, you know I love you. While the woes of Jacobs, The Coquette, Poe’s literature, are of a social kind of struggle, and the woes of the Essex's crew are of a natural kind.
It’s this facet of the shipwreck tale, or the deserted island, that keeps our attention. While this class touches upon the idea of self-reliance, self-preservation in societal demographics narratives like Philbrick’s provide opposition to these ideals which are much more urgent, dire, and fatal. Consequently, the reveal of the ‘self’ and the ability to remain true to ones’ self in such circumstances becomes all the more vividly exposed and challenged.
While it is all but incontestable that the initial "sacrifices" of the crew of the Essex are forced upon them I mean it isn’t like they set out wreck a boat in the middle of the ocean, there's stillthe existence of choice in the narrative. Choice to preserve the self not just in the survival meaning of the word but in the moral sense of the word preservation. Even though many die of disease or dehydration, sooner or later there moral grounds become tested either eat, be eaten.
The appeal of stories like this one might exist solely on the grounds that few can know the true character of themselves based on circumstances like this one. Consequently, the reader takes the journey with the characters in the story as opposed to looking at the circumstances as an outsider.
"If necessity forced them to act like animals, they did so with the deepest regrets. ... William Bond in Hendricks's boat was the last African American left alive. ... Bond had enjoyed a far more balanced and plentiful diet than his shipmates in the forecastle. ... [N]ow that he was the only black among six whites, Bond had to wonder what the future held." -p. 173, In the Heart of the Sea
Individual and/or group attempts at boosting morale were important to the survivors of the Essex. By encouraging each other to get things done more efficiently, but at the same time making sure to keep busy, the sailors could at least have a fair chance of shifting their thoughts temporarily away from their dire and terrible situation.
"Indeed, what appears to have distinguished the men of the Essex was the great discipline and human compunction they maintained through the whole ordeal." -p. 173, In the Heart of the Sea
As for the survivors of In the Heart of the Sea, their only real "reward," apart from living with memories of their horrific pasts, is social alienation and mental anguish. "Old age was not kind to Owen Chase. His memory of his sufferings in an open boat never left him, and late in life he began hiding food in the attic of his house on Orange Street. By 1868 Chase was judged 'insane.' The headaches that had plagued him ever since the ordeal had become unbearable. Clutching an attendant's hand, he would sob, 'Oh my head, my head.' Death brought an end to Chase's suffering in 1869." - p. 228, In the Heart of the Sea
But, I had to ask myself, why is this? Are we just suckers for boats and sperm whales?
Then I started thinking about it, what themes tend to underlie a shipwreck story? And then on down the line I went…What other storylines share the similar themes? Well you have the ship wreck, the plane crash, the deserted island, the mountain climbing expedition that goes awry, these inexplicably horrifying circumstances keep finding themselves staying in the backs of weary minds, and all the while staying all the more relevant. These settings keep reinforcing universal moral conflictions over and over again, as Suzanne mentioned in class the other day “history is repeating itself….right?” Sorry Suzanne, you know I love you. While the woes of Jacobs, The Coquette, Poe’s literature, are of a social kind of struggle, and the woes of the Essex's crew are of a natural kind.
It’s this facet of the shipwreck tale, or the deserted island, that keeps our attention. While this class touches upon the idea of self-reliance, self-preservation in societal demographics narratives like Philbrick’s provide opposition to these ideals which are much more urgent, dire, and fatal. Consequently, the reveal of the ‘self’ and the ability to remain true to ones’ self in such circumstances becomes all the more vividly exposed and challenged.
While it is all but incontestable that the initial "sacrifices" of the crew of the Essex are forced upon them I mean it isn’t like they set out wreck a boat in the middle of the ocean, there's stillthe existence of choice in the narrative. Choice to preserve the self not just in the survival meaning of the word but in the moral sense of the word preservation. Even though many die of disease or dehydration, sooner or later there moral grounds become tested either eat, be eaten.
The appeal of stories like this one might exist solely on the grounds that few can know the true character of themselves based on circumstances like this one. Consequently, the reader takes the journey with the characters in the story as opposed to looking at the circumstances as an outsider.
"If necessity forced them to act like animals, they did so with the deepest regrets. ... William Bond in Hendricks's boat was the last African American left alive. ... Bond had enjoyed a far more balanced and plentiful diet than his shipmates in the forecastle. ... [N]ow that he was the only black among six whites, Bond had to wonder what the future held." -p. 173, In the Heart of the Sea
Individual and/or group attempts at boosting morale were important to the survivors of the Essex. By encouraging each other to get things done more efficiently, but at the same time making sure to keep busy, the sailors could at least have a fair chance of shifting their thoughts temporarily away from their dire and terrible situation.
"Indeed, what appears to have distinguished the men of the Essex was the great discipline and human compunction they maintained through the whole ordeal." -p. 173, In the Heart of the Sea
As for the survivors of In the Heart of the Sea, their only real "reward," apart from living with memories of their horrific pasts, is social alienation and mental anguish. "Old age was not kind to Owen Chase. His memory of his sufferings in an open boat never left him, and late in life he began hiding food in the attic of his house on Orange Street. By 1868 Chase was judged 'insane.' The headaches that had plagued him ever since the ordeal had become unbearable. Clutching an attendant's hand, he would sob, 'Oh my head, my head.' Death brought an end to Chase's suffering in 1869." - p. 228, In the Heart of the Sea
I don't know Dickinson
I don’t know Emily Dickinson, and I don’t think anyone else really does, or maybe ever did.
I want to make this clear though, I am not saying I need or even want to know an artist to understand or appreciate their work. Case and point: it’s been noted that Salvador Dali, whenever he was in public, would literally jump up and down for the sheer hope to get attention. He also kept a piece of lucky driftwood around the house, to ward off evil spirits, and was notorious for not knowing how to count money. There’s a boundless supply of trivial information, referencing the world’s most renowned, cherished artists; information more often than not that’s unknown to the general masses when weighed against to the general recognition of their work. The point is, I don’t need a million reasons to support why I think that Dali was a nutcase, to think his art was revolutionary, or validate why I think his art was revolutionary. I don’t feel a need to try to understand Dali as a man, to feel like I now have the right to interpret his material. Hell, I can’t even understand Dali’s paintings, how could I expect myself to understand Dali?
But this personal thirst to interpret an artist based on their personal information, this unwarranted hope get to know the man/woman who created the work you love or identify with is something that I’ve noticed for quite some time now. I have this friend, for the sake of public medium, let’s call him Joe. Joe could tell you Mick Jagger’s shoe size, Mick Jagger’s bubble gum of preference, Mick Jagger’s work-out ritual (that’s actually true I found out). And yet, whenever I’m around Joe, I tend to feel like my own love for Mick as well as my love for the rest of the Stones is less legitimate somehow, just because I don’t know the tuning on Kieth’s guitar when he laid down “Brown Sugar” (it might have been open G by the way). While, getting to know where an artist is drawing inspiration from when they create, attempting to understand an artist’s psyche or possible causes that shape their psyche can be a wonderful way to better appreciate the content of their work, it shouldn’t ever be a requirement. Art is, after all, ultimately interpretive and the beauty in the eye of the beholder is just as legitimate as the beauty in the eye of the supplier.
But this is where I find myself having issues with Dickinson and her work (which, unfortunately goes hand in hand according to her fans and critics). I take away from art what comes naturally and personally based on my own perceptions on the same subject matter. So, I ask this to most Dickinson fans: why do I have to know Dickinson, or try to know Dickinson, to know her work?
This side effect doesn’t lie solely on Dickinson’s readers, considering most all of her work not only instills but I’d argue it demands a conscious or subconscious decision to delve into the psyche of Dickinson in order to ‘get it.’
It’s interesting, most any artist is complex, intriguing, their ideals easy to confuse or misinterpret. Yet, there is always one shimmering consistency for most successful artists: their work relates to the experiences of others, feeds off of the reciprocation of the reader in some form so, consequently there isn’t a need to know exactly where the inspiration was coming from. However, it’s common knowledge that most of Dickenson’s poetry had no intended audiences, no underlying wish to be shared, she shoved her poems in a desk for crying out loud. This sense of privacy, personalness is drenched all over the texts.
For starters, Dickinson rarely spends time introducing her poems, she neither provides the details of a physical setting as a conventional nature poem might do nor does she explain the poem’s occasion. The poems begin suddenly often with a declaration (“Superiority to fate/ Is difficult to learn”) or a definition (“Hope is a glutton”) As our introduction points out, “Dickinson doesn’t knock before entering, so the reader may feel swept up into the character of the poet’s thought process without knowing it. Instead of a steady run of meaning, the Dickinson poem hops from one figure to another in a kind of zigzag logic that required not just our concentration but our own agility in making imaginative and grammatical leaps.” (xiii)
Don’t get me wrong, I understand the concept of putting effort into a reading, trying to follow the author of a poe but at the same time I don’t think that Dickinson would have even wanted me to understand her thoughts, her feelings. So why make the effort? I envision Emily as that girl in school that no matter how nice you were to her, no matter how much you tried to include her, she’d look at you and try to make you feel like you were an outsider. You know who I’m talking about…
Emily didn’t want to share her genius, her art, her insights, her beauty. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to read some chick’s material if she doesn’t want me to, let alone feel anything from reading it. I’d like to feel motivated to understand an artist’s point of view in accordance with how I interpret it, rather than feeling obligated to ‘get it’ or ‘get her.’
I want to make this clear though, I am not saying I need or even want to know an artist to understand or appreciate their work. Case and point: it’s been noted that Salvador Dali, whenever he was in public, would literally jump up and down for the sheer hope to get attention. He also kept a piece of lucky driftwood around the house, to ward off evil spirits, and was notorious for not knowing how to count money. There’s a boundless supply of trivial information, referencing the world’s most renowned, cherished artists; information more often than not that’s unknown to the general masses when weighed against to the general recognition of their work. The point is, I don’t need a million reasons to support why I think that Dali was a nutcase, to think his art was revolutionary, or validate why I think his art was revolutionary. I don’t feel a need to try to understand Dali as a man, to feel like I now have the right to interpret his material. Hell, I can’t even understand Dali’s paintings, how could I expect myself to understand Dali?
But this personal thirst to interpret an artist based on their personal information, this unwarranted hope get to know the man/woman who created the work you love or identify with is something that I’ve noticed for quite some time now. I have this friend, for the sake of public medium, let’s call him Joe. Joe could tell you Mick Jagger’s shoe size, Mick Jagger’s bubble gum of preference, Mick Jagger’s work-out ritual (that’s actually true I found out). And yet, whenever I’m around Joe, I tend to feel like my own love for Mick as well as my love for the rest of the Stones is less legitimate somehow, just because I don’t know the tuning on Kieth’s guitar when he laid down “Brown Sugar” (it might have been open G by the way). While, getting to know where an artist is drawing inspiration from when they create, attempting to understand an artist’s psyche or possible causes that shape their psyche can be a wonderful way to better appreciate the content of their work, it shouldn’t ever be a requirement. Art is, after all, ultimately interpretive and the beauty in the eye of the beholder is just as legitimate as the beauty in the eye of the supplier.
But this is where I find myself having issues with Dickinson and her work (which, unfortunately goes hand in hand according to her fans and critics). I take away from art what comes naturally and personally based on my own perceptions on the same subject matter. So, I ask this to most Dickinson fans: why do I have to know Dickinson, or try to know Dickinson, to know her work?
This side effect doesn’t lie solely on Dickinson’s readers, considering most all of her work not only instills but I’d argue it demands a conscious or subconscious decision to delve into the psyche of Dickinson in order to ‘get it.’
It’s interesting, most any artist is complex, intriguing, their ideals easy to confuse or misinterpret. Yet, there is always one shimmering consistency for most successful artists: their work relates to the experiences of others, feeds off of the reciprocation of the reader in some form so, consequently there isn’t a need to know exactly where the inspiration was coming from. However, it’s common knowledge that most of Dickenson’s poetry had no intended audiences, no underlying wish to be shared, she shoved her poems in a desk for crying out loud. This sense of privacy, personalness is drenched all over the texts.
For starters, Dickinson rarely spends time introducing her poems, she neither provides the details of a physical setting as a conventional nature poem might do nor does she explain the poem’s occasion. The poems begin suddenly often with a declaration (“Superiority to fate/ Is difficult to learn”) or a definition (“Hope is a glutton”) As our introduction points out, “Dickinson doesn’t knock before entering, so the reader may feel swept up into the character of the poet’s thought process without knowing it. Instead of a steady run of meaning, the Dickinson poem hops from one figure to another in a kind of zigzag logic that required not just our concentration but our own agility in making imaginative and grammatical leaps.” (xiii)
Don’t get me wrong, I understand the concept of putting effort into a reading, trying to follow the author of a poe but at the same time I don’t think that Dickinson would have even wanted me to understand her thoughts, her feelings. So why make the effort? I envision Emily as that girl in school that no matter how nice you were to her, no matter how much you tried to include her, she’d look at you and try to make you feel like you were an outsider. You know who I’m talking about…
Emily didn’t want to share her genius, her art, her insights, her beauty. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to read some chick’s material if she doesn’t want me to, let alone feel anything from reading it. I’d like to feel motivated to understand an artist’s point of view in accordance with how I interpret it, rather than feeling obligated to ‘get it’ or ‘get her.’
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Is it bad to see yourself in a Poe narrative?
Whenever I’m reading or re-reading Poe’s work, this very familiar, very strange reaction comes over me, before I even see it coming: I find myself becoming the narrator I’m reading from.
Yeah, I know I’m a sick bastard.
And this reaction isn’t so comforting to me, especially when you look at Poe’s material (at least in the initial sense of looking at it) considering every damn plotline not so subtly sidesteps some seriously messed up acts of unprecedented viciousness, things my parents would prefer not to know I even imagined myself doing, like burying my wife alive for example, who also happens to be my cousin (creepy) then aptly ripping all of her teeth out.
But this personal investment I cherished with his texts has only lately started to harsh my mellow. Apparently, based on what I’ve heard from my classmates, I’m kind of on my own in my personal engagement to the texts. The general agreement (at least it was a few weeks ago when we first discussed these stories) was that it was Poe who was envisioned as the protagonist within his own stories. It was Jenn, or somebody else, who invited the proposal that was apparently on the tip of everybody’s tongue, “You know, when I’m reading this I envision Poe as the main character, which, is probably why I think Poe might have actually been out of his mind.”
This sent the class into a hullabaloo of responses that lasted a good ten minutes. Despite the rabble I managed to identify one consistent verdict that reigned true: “yup.” Poe’s a crazy one. Poe’s disturbed. Poe this Poe that.
Hearing all of this swirling around me, I figured it’d probably be best to just keep my big, ginger mouth shut. If I dared to share my own investment in Poe’s material (you know, the actually identifying with the text part, as opposed to being shocked by it) there was no telling where the lecture could have gone.
Yet, part of me thinks that my reaction to Poe’s texts is precisely what he had in mind when he wrote his stories. I mean, the fabric of his work is founded on such a personal landscape and within very personal perspectives of even more personal circumstances. But these personal narrations, that invoke this personal identification from the reader is just a product of the individualistic nature within each tale. In Romances like the novels of Hawthorne, conflicts occur among characters within the context of society and are resolved in accordance with society’s rules. Yet, Poe’s Gothic thrive on just the opposite, tales that present these brief flashes of chaos that flare up within lonely narrators living at the fringes of society. Before you know it, the reader is sucked in, mono y mono with his narration.
This kind of approach feels necessary to illustrate a lot of the themes Poe sought to expose: the notion thatevery mind is vulnerable, the causes and effects of the unreliable narrator, and the darker rside of self-reliance. As Meagan G.’s blog put it, “Poe tried to humanize the insane in order to counter the idea of self-reliance. How do you follow someone, or even yourself, if everyone is potentially insane? What do you trust? Do you trust your superiors? Peers? Self?” Sorry if this isn’t kosher but I just loved that so much Meagan. Essentially, the gist is that Poe’s works are about the dissolve of the human psyche and just how close to insanity we each might be my creating this very personal, isolated reading environment.
Favorite Quotes:
“In their consequences, these consequences have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but horror—to many they will seem less terrible than baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace.”
-The Black Cat p. 230
Yeah, I know I’m a sick bastard.
And this reaction isn’t so comforting to me, especially when you look at Poe’s material (at least in the initial sense of looking at it) considering every damn plotline not so subtly sidesteps some seriously messed up acts of unprecedented viciousness, things my parents would prefer not to know I even imagined myself doing, like burying my wife alive for example, who also happens to be my cousin (creepy) then aptly ripping all of her teeth out.
But this personal investment I cherished with his texts has only lately started to harsh my mellow. Apparently, based on what I’ve heard from my classmates, I’m kind of on my own in my personal engagement to the texts. The general agreement (at least it was a few weeks ago when we first discussed these stories) was that it was Poe who was envisioned as the protagonist within his own stories. It was Jenn, or somebody else, who invited the proposal that was apparently on the tip of everybody’s tongue, “You know, when I’m reading this I envision Poe as the main character, which, is probably why I think Poe might have actually been out of his mind.”
This sent the class into a hullabaloo of responses that lasted a good ten minutes. Despite the rabble I managed to identify one consistent verdict that reigned true: “yup.” Poe’s a crazy one. Poe’s disturbed. Poe this Poe that.
Hearing all of this swirling around me, I figured it’d probably be best to just keep my big, ginger mouth shut. If I dared to share my own investment in Poe’s material (you know, the actually identifying with the text part, as opposed to being shocked by it) there was no telling where the lecture could have gone.
Yet, part of me thinks that my reaction to Poe’s texts is precisely what he had in mind when he wrote his stories. I mean, the fabric of his work is founded on such a personal landscape and within very personal perspectives of even more personal circumstances. But these personal narrations, that invoke this personal identification from the reader is just a product of the individualistic nature within each tale. In Romances like the novels of Hawthorne, conflicts occur among characters within the context of society and are resolved in accordance with society’s rules. Yet, Poe’s Gothic thrive on just the opposite, tales that present these brief flashes of chaos that flare up within lonely narrators living at the fringes of society. Before you know it, the reader is sucked in, mono y mono with his narration.
This kind of approach feels necessary to illustrate a lot of the themes Poe sought to expose: the notion thatevery mind is vulnerable, the causes and effects of the unreliable narrator, and the darker rside of self-reliance. As Meagan G.’s blog put it, “Poe tried to humanize the insane in order to counter the idea of self-reliance. How do you follow someone, or even yourself, if everyone is potentially insane? What do you trust? Do you trust your superiors? Peers? Self?” Sorry if this isn’t kosher but I just loved that so much Meagan. Essentially, the gist is that Poe’s works are about the dissolve of the human psyche and just how close to insanity we each might be my creating this very personal, isolated reading environment.
Favorite Quotes:
“In their consequences, these consequences have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but horror—to many they will seem less terrible than baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace.”
-The Black Cat p. 230
Monday, February 22, 2010
Week...wait what week is this? The one about slave narratives
Frederick Douglass was truly a unique oddity of his time. Well educated, profoundly intellectual, and black in the heart of an era when slavery was truly the fulcrum of our nation’s economic and moral prosperity. Douglas had found the avenue to better his circumstances through knowledge and inward reflection, but in the footsteps of his own, uncommon individual liberties followed a stampede of unrelenting oppression and scrutiny. He was one of only a few black men employed by white society, and the society’s most privileged would often condescendingly insist that Douglass merely relate the “facts” of his experience, and leave the philosophy, rhetoric, and persuasive argument to others. Yet Douglass’s 1845 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, can be seen as a response to both of these types of resistance. It is made all tooo clear that Douglass is The Narrative’s sole author, containing two prefaces from William Lloyd Garrison and another abolitionist, Wendell Phillips, who confirm this detail. Douglass’s use of the true names of people and places further silenced his detractors who questioned the truthfulness of his story and status as a former slave. Additionally, the Narrative proved to not only provide personal description of his own slave narrative, but recounted the emotional baggage that followed the experiences’ end trails. Douglass demonstrated his ability to be not only the teller of his story, but its interpreter as well. He took advantage of the popularity of slave narratives while expanding the possibilities of those narratives. In its somewhat unique depiction of slavery as an assault on selfhood and in its attention to the tensions of becoming an individual, Douglass’s Narrative can be read as a contribution to the literary tradition of American Romantic individualism. It celebrates the essence of what it means to live with the same self-hood echoed in the works found outside the “confines” of the coined: slave-narrative genre in literature.
Comparatively speaking, when exploring Douglass and Jacobs’ narratives we see a divergence of many of the rhetorical styles we’ve encountered in this class. We see the narrative depiction of slavery, or more generally speaking the concept of “confinement” (which we saw in Women’s Indian Captivity Narratives, and The Conquest of Spain) while also shedding some light on a philosophical reflection/argument to such circumstances, and such narrations (as we see in Emerson and Thorough, and even a little bit in The Coquette). This ultimately leads us to a first-hand re-telling of an off-hand, collective human experience. The story really vibes on its historical accuracy (that kinda exists in Witch Trial narratives we covered week 2…but not really) but, within this historical narrative lies the human investment in what is being clarified to his audience.
One passage that really stands out in my mind can be seen in the second chapter of the book….
“I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear.”
This passage is part of Douglass’s long discussion at the end of Chapter II about the songs that slaves sing. As he often does in the Narrative, Douglass takes his personal experience of hearing slaves sing on their way to the Great House Farm and analyzes this as a common experience among all slaves. He uses his conclusions about slave behavior to correct white readers’ misconceptions. In this instance, Douglass explains that many Northerners mistakenly believe that the singing of slaves is evidence of their happiness, yet Douglass explains that the songs are actually evidence, on an almost subconscious emotional level, of the slaves’ deep unhappiness.
Douglass makes a distinction between the literal and the “deep” meaning of the songs. Douglass explains that the songs were difficult to understand—“apparently incoherent” to outsiders—but that the slaves themselves understood the literal meaning of the words they were singing. However, the “deep” meaning of the songs is not apparent to Douglass until he becomes an outsider to the group. Douglass implies that the “deep” meaning becomes clear only with distance and after applying tools of analysis. This distance explains Douglass’s particular position of authority in the Narrative. Douglass not only experiences life under slavery, but he now also has the tools and the distance with which to interpret the practices of slavery for outside audiences.
The quotation further provides an example of the tension inherent in the Narrative. Douglass must abandon his former slave self in order to become a narrator capable of interpreting the experiences of that former self. Implicit in this quotation is the idea that a culture remains invisible to those who are raised within it; while, our everyday practices may seem normal—they have little meaning and therefore cannot be interpreted. As such, Douglass does not understand the symbolic meaning of the slave songs when he is one of the singers. Douglass suggests that only after moving away from his culture can he gain interpretive distance from it.
Building on this idea, can you think of anything that found meaning to you only from a distance?
Personally, while I am a full time student here at Otterbein, I’ve also been trying to maintain a steady profession as a working musician. Although college makes it rather difficult at times, playing gigs, making music, and trying to leave myself a chance to do it for a living one day is a major priority in my life. And songwriting, might just be the absolute perfect depiction of saying/feeling something without fully understanding it: or “the deeper meaning” that I mentioned earlier. I find new meaning in old song lyrics that I wrote pretty much every time I play a show. And while I may have a set goal, or, conscious intention, or premeditated image that I try to share and express to myself or an audience, I can never predict the emotional/physical responses, or interpretations a song or a lyric will deliver on an individual or collective basis. But I accept this, knowing that as long as I write with honesty, my material will have genuine interpretations and meanings. I feel that Frederick Douglass is speaking about this same degree of recognition.
Comparatively speaking, when exploring Douglass and Jacobs’ narratives we see a divergence of many of the rhetorical styles we’ve encountered in this class. We see the narrative depiction of slavery, or more generally speaking the concept of “confinement” (which we saw in Women’s Indian Captivity Narratives, and The Conquest of Spain) while also shedding some light on a philosophical reflection/argument to such circumstances, and such narrations (as we see in Emerson and Thorough, and even a little bit in The Coquette). This ultimately leads us to a first-hand re-telling of an off-hand, collective human experience. The story really vibes on its historical accuracy (that kinda exists in Witch Trial narratives we covered week 2…but not really) but, within this historical narrative lies the human investment in what is being clarified to his audience.
One passage that really stands out in my mind can be seen in the second chapter of the book….
“I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear.”
This passage is part of Douglass’s long discussion at the end of Chapter II about the songs that slaves sing. As he often does in the Narrative, Douglass takes his personal experience of hearing slaves sing on their way to the Great House Farm and analyzes this as a common experience among all slaves. He uses his conclusions about slave behavior to correct white readers’ misconceptions. In this instance, Douglass explains that many Northerners mistakenly believe that the singing of slaves is evidence of their happiness, yet Douglass explains that the songs are actually evidence, on an almost subconscious emotional level, of the slaves’ deep unhappiness.
Douglass makes a distinction between the literal and the “deep” meaning of the songs. Douglass explains that the songs were difficult to understand—“apparently incoherent” to outsiders—but that the slaves themselves understood the literal meaning of the words they were singing. However, the “deep” meaning of the songs is not apparent to Douglass until he becomes an outsider to the group. Douglass implies that the “deep” meaning becomes clear only with distance and after applying tools of analysis. This distance explains Douglass’s particular position of authority in the Narrative. Douglass not only experiences life under slavery, but he now also has the tools and the distance with which to interpret the practices of slavery for outside audiences.
The quotation further provides an example of the tension inherent in the Narrative. Douglass must abandon his former slave self in order to become a narrator capable of interpreting the experiences of that former self. Implicit in this quotation is the idea that a culture remains invisible to those who are raised within it; while, our everyday practices may seem normal—they have little meaning and therefore cannot be interpreted. As such, Douglass does not understand the symbolic meaning of the slave songs when he is one of the singers. Douglass suggests that only after moving away from his culture can he gain interpretive distance from it.
Building on this idea, can you think of anything that found meaning to you only from a distance?
Personally, while I am a full time student here at Otterbein, I’ve also been trying to maintain a steady profession as a working musician. Although college makes it rather difficult at times, playing gigs, making music, and trying to leave myself a chance to do it for a living one day is a major priority in my life. And songwriting, might just be the absolute perfect depiction of saying/feeling something without fully understanding it: or “the deeper meaning” that I mentioned earlier. I find new meaning in old song lyrics that I wrote pretty much every time I play a show. And while I may have a set goal, or, conscious intention, or premeditated image that I try to share and express to myself or an audience, I can never predict the emotional/physical responses, or interpretations a song or a lyric will deliver on an individual or collective basis. But I accept this, knowing that as long as I write with honesty, my material will have genuine interpretations and meanings. I feel that Frederick Douglass is speaking about this same degree of recognition.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Baaaa
I usually take it as a compliment when my father tells me I’m thinking too much. Every time my mother gives her patented, almost practiced to perfection, ‘follow your heart speech’, I’d be lying to you if I said I was convinced more than a fraction, even a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the time.
I guess that makes me stubborn, or a pretty lousy son at any rate. But that’s just it, I wasn’t always like this.
When I was in the eighth grade, like essentially every American adolescent conceived sometime after 1989, my parents got a divorce. Granted, to say that I wasn’t exactly dumbfounded by this gaping development in my life would be an understatement; but it wasn’t like it just happened overnight. All the same, the aftermath of their split left quite the imprint on my middle-childhood development. Before the split, like most children growing up in central Ohio (where there’s really nothing better for accomplished adults in their 30’s to do but raise a happy family) my parents were actively involved in my life and in my judgments. I knew that every dumb mistake I made and every gold star I got would be taken in and sized in the hands and supervision of my parents. They were like my social barometer, my life-management supervisors. As late as my early teens, I could always count on my decision supervision database that was “mom and dad” to reinforce my own values, that I guess were yet to be identified.
Then, all of the sudden, I had this unforeseen culture shock. My parents, my crutches, were suddenly separated from my limp stature. I was forced to not only recognize that I had never truly learned how to stand on my own two feet, but more, to actually learn how to be “self-reliant”. All of the sudden, it became very clear to me just how much of a sheep I was. From one day to the next I could face hellish scrutiny or delighted appraisal for the same act, thought, opinion, state of mind, sense of humor, everything was suddenly under review but in a different light than before. I was suddenly thrusted into an odd circumstance; I had to stop being a bystander in the midst of my decision making. It was either that, or face inevitable hesitancy that would haunt me for the rest of my days. By the time I was a sophomore in High School, I had finally made the transition to a self-governing, independent, man-boy taking almost every opinion with a grain of salt and a hint of reserve. I’m not saying I had it all figured out at 16, I’m saying I had finally learned that I was the one who needed to figure everything out for myself.
And while I still possess the same amount of confliction, indecision, and hesitation as the next clueless, 20 year old caffeine addict, I know that the end trails of my life would support the makings of Emerson and Thorough. Yet I admit, the line between independence and self-righteousness remains thin, and this observation can compromise the general reception of this concept of self-government. It’s no secret that the appeal of nonconformity holds within it the baggage of certain impulses, impulses that resist and even deprecate the interpretation of our neighbors.
Oh by the way....this is my feeble attempt at a youtube post. So not looking cool but it is applicable to the topic at hand. The other is hilarious.
I guess that makes me stubborn, or a pretty lousy son at any rate. But that’s just it, I wasn’t always like this.
When I was in the eighth grade, like essentially every American adolescent conceived sometime after 1989, my parents got a divorce. Granted, to say that I wasn’t exactly dumbfounded by this gaping development in my life would be an understatement; but it wasn’t like it just happened overnight. All the same, the aftermath of their split left quite the imprint on my middle-childhood development. Before the split, like most children growing up in central Ohio (where there’s really nothing better for accomplished adults in their 30’s to do but raise a happy family) my parents were actively involved in my life and in my judgments. I knew that every dumb mistake I made and every gold star I got would be taken in and sized in the hands and supervision of my parents. They were like my social barometer, my life-management supervisors. As late as my early teens, I could always count on my decision supervision database that was “mom and dad” to reinforce my own values, that I guess were yet to be identified.
Then, all of the sudden, I had this unforeseen culture shock. My parents, my crutches, were suddenly separated from my limp stature. I was forced to not only recognize that I had never truly learned how to stand on my own two feet, but more, to actually learn how to be “self-reliant”. All of the sudden, it became very clear to me just how much of a sheep I was. From one day to the next I could face hellish scrutiny or delighted appraisal for the same act, thought, opinion, state of mind, sense of humor, everything was suddenly under review but in a different light than before. I was suddenly thrusted into an odd circumstance; I had to stop being a bystander in the midst of my decision making. It was either that, or face inevitable hesitancy that would haunt me for the rest of my days. By the time I was a sophomore in High School, I had finally made the transition to a self-governing, independent, man-boy taking almost every opinion with a grain of salt and a hint of reserve. I’m not saying I had it all figured out at 16, I’m saying I had finally learned that I was the one who needed to figure everything out for myself.
And while I still possess the same amount of confliction, indecision, and hesitation as the next clueless, 20 year old caffeine addict, I know that the end trails of my life would support the makings of Emerson and Thorough. Yet I admit, the line between independence and self-righteousness remains thin, and this observation can compromise the general reception of this concept of self-government. It’s no secret that the appeal of nonconformity holds within it the baggage of certain impulses, impulses that resist and even deprecate the interpretation of our neighbors.
Oh by the way....this is my feeble attempt at a youtube post. So not looking cool but it is applicable to the topic at hand. The other is hilarious.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccenFp_3kq8
“I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. A great man is coming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him: I wish that he should wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true.” (p. 1169)
“I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. A great man is coming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him: I wish that he should wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true.” (p. 1169)
But let’s be honest with ourselves, one of the main influences for our impulse to either conform, or resist conformity, is a direct side-effect of our struggle to formulate lasting opinions, and stable value systems. Trying to hold on to my thoughts from one minute to the next is a lot like catching fire flies in the dark. Notions: they’ll shimmer for a second and then fade away; but it’s never just one thought, it’s several of them and they all flicker at different points in time.
Emerson acknowledges this struggle to remain consistent and how it plays into conformist and nonconformist ideologies. Not only does he acknowledge this struggle, he completely dismantles it as a necessity for finding self-satisfaction, “With consistency, a great should has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall.” (p. 1174).
This lack of concern for formulating consistent ideas, dependable interpretations for the conflicts life bestows on us, brings us to some of the discussions we shared in class regarding intuition, what it is, and how often we depend on it as a guide. It seems that because our notions are so variable and under revision, emotional response to life’s circumstances seem to be the most dependable- at least from my own personal experience- given that there is nothing for us to compare an impulse to. The only component that can damage an intuition is a thought. A feeling is a feeling in its truest form, yet it seems that thoughts can vary.
Ultimately, Self Reliance is a work that questions the struggle to find that common ground between intuition and presumption, impulse and preparation. But I would argue that as long as we acknowledge that this struggle and this balance exists we’ll never veer too far from ourselves and our promise for ultimate autonomy.
Emerson acknowledges this struggle to remain consistent and how it plays into conformist and nonconformist ideologies. Not only does he acknowledge this struggle, he completely dismantles it as a necessity for finding self-satisfaction, “With consistency, a great should has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall.” (p. 1174).
This lack of concern for formulating consistent ideas, dependable interpretations for the conflicts life bestows on us, brings us to some of the discussions we shared in class regarding intuition, what it is, and how often we depend on it as a guide. It seems that because our notions are so variable and under revision, emotional response to life’s circumstances seem to be the most dependable- at least from my own personal experience- given that there is nothing for us to compare an impulse to. The only component that can damage an intuition is a thought. A feeling is a feeling in its truest form, yet it seems that thoughts can vary.
Ultimately, Self Reliance is a work that questions the struggle to find that common ground between intuition and presumption, impulse and preparation. But I would argue that as long as we acknowledge that this struggle and this balance exists we’ll never veer too far from ourselves and our promise for ultimate autonomy.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Week 5: The Coquette
I feel like much of the framework of our readings tie in to a very common human familiarity; one that reveals a widespread theme of moral complexity, but more, complexity that is only nourished by simplicity and confinement. Each reading, in its own way, has a very “captivating” aspect that gives it its certain je ne sais quoi. Maybe this “appeal” derives simply through this ongoing imprint of complication within each narrative and, as a result, within each reader.
In The Coquette, we examine a ‘fictionally true’ take on the defining story of a woman; a woman who became a victim of example and a main protagonist of a culturally definitive cautionary tale. Subsequently, Hannah W. Foster’s sole purpose of publishing this story was to embellish the complications that lead to these celebrated, simple, and dismissing conclusions of society at large.
All the while, the handling of this character, Eliza Wharton, and this narrative, is rather isolated comparatively with other, similar narratives that confront these comparable, contextual hardships. I mean let’s face it, the themes of finding love, the ongoing struggle of the feminist protagonist, overcoming social confinement, the individual vs. society, individuality in the face of conformity….I think you get my point. These are recurring themes in literature, especially in pre-twentieth century literature, common concepts that most any reader has encountered at one time or another. But this is an interesting case. While these comparable themes and morally similar characters like Jane Eyre, or Sinclair Lewis’ flighty Carol in Main Street (even Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman for Christ’s sake) are encouraged by the reader or defended by the author, the landscape behind The Coquette supplies a story that’s less committed and outspoken to direct appraisal of this archetypal circumstance and protagonist. And it is precisely this absence of moral guidance, or appraisal (in regards to any character, any decision, and any judgment of any decision) that leaves the reader with that all too familiar burden: forming our own judgment.
This leaves our mind in a state of wandering, a wandering that seems comparable to the knotty, back and forth nature of Eliza herself. As Eliza put it, we feel compelled even further to search for other questions and deeper meanings, “The mind, after being at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad inquest of new treasures, and the body may as well accompany it, for ought I can see.” (p. 15) Is there anything wrong with this? Where does ambiguity start and assertion end?
Probably somewhere between a nasty note from your best friend and dying in alone in a pub....
Ultimately, this leaves readers a state of confusion, but I think this is a good thing. This guy, Alfred Korzybski said it best, "There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking." And all over the place we see this repetition in the use of the mind and its role in the story. Over and over again we hear Eliza in this state of either succumbing or resisting the "wandering impulses of [her] mind..." (p.67) Yet this thought, and her mind seem more associated with the negative or weary concepts that so vividly conflict with the value system and structure of the society in which she is so unwillingly judged by.
But is it not thought that provokes judgement? Riddle me that 18th century society. Hell, I'm fresh out of ideas...
In The Coquette, we examine a ‘fictionally true’ take on the defining story of a woman; a woman who became a victim of example and a main protagonist of a culturally definitive cautionary tale. Subsequently, Hannah W. Foster’s sole purpose of publishing this story was to embellish the complications that lead to these celebrated, simple, and dismissing conclusions of society at large.
All the while, the handling of this character, Eliza Wharton, and this narrative, is rather isolated comparatively with other, similar narratives that confront these comparable, contextual hardships. I mean let’s face it, the themes of finding love, the ongoing struggle of the feminist protagonist, overcoming social confinement, the individual vs. society, individuality in the face of conformity….I think you get my point. These are recurring themes in literature, especially in pre-twentieth century literature, common concepts that most any reader has encountered at one time or another. But this is an interesting case. While these comparable themes and morally similar characters like Jane Eyre, or Sinclair Lewis’ flighty Carol in Main Street (even Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman for Christ’s sake) are encouraged by the reader or defended by the author, the landscape behind The Coquette supplies a story that’s less committed and outspoken to direct appraisal of this archetypal circumstance and protagonist. And it is precisely this absence of moral guidance, or appraisal (in regards to any character, any decision, and any judgment of any decision) that leaves the reader with that all too familiar burden: forming our own judgment.
This leaves our mind in a state of wandering, a wandering that seems comparable to the knotty, back and forth nature of Eliza herself. As Eliza put it, we feel compelled even further to search for other questions and deeper meanings, “The mind, after being at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad inquest of new treasures, and the body may as well accompany it, for ought I can see.” (p. 15) Is there anything wrong with this? Where does ambiguity start and assertion end?
Probably somewhere between a nasty note from your best friend and dying in alone in a pub....
Ultimately, this leaves readers a state of confusion, but I think this is a good thing. This guy, Alfred Korzybski said it best, "There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking." And all over the place we see this repetition in the use of the mind and its role in the story. Over and over again we hear Eliza in this state of either succumbing or resisting the "wandering impulses of [her] mind..." (p.67) Yet this thought, and her mind seem more associated with the negative or weary concepts that so vividly conflict with the value system and structure of the society in which she is so unwillingly judged by.
But is it not thought that provokes judgement? Riddle me that 18th century society. Hell, I'm fresh out of ideas...
Friday, January 22, 2010
Impressions of Depictions and their Relationship to One Another
As we have discussed in class, this form of contemporary literature found instant success among the literati of its time. Narrations like Mary Rowlandson’s, were perhaps among the first illustrations of the collective American struggle, and this depiction of struggle was well supported by both a visible oppressor and sufferer; Or, to a certain extent, an intention to depict a clear, and unambiguous protagonist and antagonist with an eventual goal of demonstrating evidence that proves Puritan and American society (and all that it stands for) can in fact prevail. Furthermore, the two were neither biblical nor metaphorical depictions for their respective sides in this effort. Attributable to these dynamics in the story, it’s easy to identify with the rationale of our ancestors, and to hypothesize what aspects made these Native American captive stories so enthralling and successful.
This “fundamental fiction,” as it was referred to during class discussion on Thursday, is presented with equally fundamental literary devices -- each of which dealing with the proper narrative experience, and how this narrative experience/transformation/perseveration can underline the current human experience it stands for and relates to. In Mary’s narration, we have many subtle but active ingredients at work, within the fiber of her experience.
It is important to note that the two forces that collide in this narration are, at least superficially, viewed to be direct opposites of each other in what they stand for. Mary, the Puritan, wealthy housewife is a beacon of truth and complete innocence. She is completely vulnerable to her Native American counterparts who at this time demonstrate the most potent, human threat to everything that Puritan society stands for. But as we have mentioned in class discussion, opposition is an extremely necessary evil in establishing Puritan allegiance; opposition is important and resistance is vital. Keeping this incentive in mind, here we have a narration that is in fact fueled by oppression, ultimately comprising a story that preaches endurance and preservation in the company of the most unflinching of illustrations. It is this visible depiction that exists in the first hand narration, that made this account, and what it stands for, so well received.
However, there are certainly holes in these intended depictions of undeniable good and bad. As we mentioned in class, we have several shades of gray in this proposed black and white picture. Between Mary’s eating of raw bear meat or smoking tobacco and the noticeably humanitarian moments of her “oppressors” savagery and humanism remains unbiased to either party every so often. Nevertheless, I argue that it isn’t necessarily what’s on paper or what these two parties may be in actuality that concerned Puritan ideals, what seemed more captivating (ha puns…) is what the two were anticipated to encompass and also, what had the most lasting effect.
This “fundamental fiction,” as it was referred to during class discussion on Thursday, is presented with equally fundamental literary devices -- each of which dealing with the proper narrative experience, and how this narrative experience/transformation/perseveration can underline the current human experience it stands for and relates to. In Mary’s narration, we have many subtle but active ingredients at work, within the fiber of her experience.
It is important to note that the two forces that collide in this narration are, at least superficially, viewed to be direct opposites of each other in what they stand for. Mary, the Puritan, wealthy housewife is a beacon of truth and complete innocence. She is completely vulnerable to her Native American counterparts who at this time demonstrate the most potent, human threat to everything that Puritan society stands for. But as we have mentioned in class discussion, opposition is an extremely necessary evil in establishing Puritan allegiance; opposition is important and resistance is vital. Keeping this incentive in mind, here we have a narration that is in fact fueled by oppression, ultimately comprising a story that preaches endurance and preservation in the company of the most unflinching of illustrations. It is this visible depiction that exists in the first hand narration, that made this account, and what it stands for, so well received.
However, there are certainly holes in these intended depictions of undeniable good and bad. As we mentioned in class, we have several shades of gray in this proposed black and white picture. Between Mary’s eating of raw bear meat or smoking tobacco and the noticeably humanitarian moments of her “oppressors” savagery and humanism remains unbiased to either party every so often. Nevertheless, I argue that it isn’t necessarily what’s on paper or what these two parties may be in actuality that concerned Puritan ideals, what seemed more captivating (ha puns…) is what the two were anticipated to encompass and also, what had the most lasting effect.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Young Goodman Brown
The weary everyman, trapped by of his own allegiance to wrongdoing, for reasons we can’t, or he can’t fully understand. This is Young Goodman Brown’s dilemma. His story is a think piece, but it’s more than just the cautionary tale that it may initially be presumed to be, denouncing those who choose to stroll on Satan’s path and whatnot. The greatest defeat was not Goodman’s loss to evil, it was his loss of himself that lead to the loss of his faith and of his right to prosperity. It’s precisely this concept is what proves to be the largest setback with much of the Puritan thought, while instinctively and in quintessence these were a people of the absolute greatest of intentions, their focus was always triumph over evil. Their enemy, and their scapegoat, was and always must be the devil and his wicked manipulation of the downtrodden. From the get-go it was, in Brown’s eyes a challenge, “With Heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!” (p. 70) Well I’ve got news for you, if you want to take the devil head on, that’s your funeral and it’s as effective as punching under water. It does no good to swing at a target that you can’t see, instead (oh…boxing metaphors) just take the hits your given and endure for later rounds…that was crap. And notice throughout this entire aggressive endeavor, the longer he treads to defy the devil, the farther from faith he ultimately strays. To truly seek redemption, the path to righteousness or whatever your own, personal intentions are, the focus should be more introspective, accepting the presence of evil in the world and our necessity to endure despite our temptations or frailties. This was Goodman Brown’s largest mistake, but not mine.
Friday, January 8, 2010
On Witchcraft
When reading the excerpts selected in Cotton Mather’s On Witchcraft, it becomes truly apparent just how many dimensions of New England-Puritan society Mather wishes to expose. Rather than dismissing his “transgressing” constituents further into the pits of hell or thrusting the more dedicated servants of God upon some type of pedestal of morality, he seems to try to shed light upon all citizens involved in his society’s struggle amid Christian ethics and susceptible vulnerability in addition to the effect that evil, or more specifically, Satan has on this vulnerability. He approaches not simply the inconclusively erroneous outcome that follows the subjection to Satan and his way but he sympathizes with the state of his manipulated comrades likewise, admitting that the work of Satan is truly an art-form. “Things by Diabolick Aids which they procure by the use of those wicked Forms and Arts, that the Devil imparted unto his Confederates.” (p. 19) His bewitchment is “Interwoven” and sewn into the subconscious, “Enchanting”, blinding the insensible, “Magical Tricks”, deceiving those who seek production of the work of some form of morality. The effort of the devil is more or less admirable is this sense; while his consequence on Mather’s community is imposing, infectious, and intrusive, how he managed to transmit his prey proves to be noteworthy. Ultimately, by deconstructing and exposing the methods of the Devil, through this subtle acknowledgement of why some of his neighbors indulge in his ways, Mather addresses his opposition with open eyes and an open heart which proves to strengthen his arguments.
Mather draws a fine distinction in this piece, clarifying who the true enemy is in this predicament: not simply Satan himself but the inability to defy the wiles of the Satanist effect. In an attempt to salvage some shred of morality in a civilization torn between the almost blind allegiance to either God or Satan, Mather proves to be devoted to acknowledging the inevitability of the human influence on each of these allegiances. “The Witches have not only imitated, but some of them acknowledge that they have plotted the Representations of innocent persons, to cover and shelter themselves in their Witchcrafts. Now, although our good God has hithero generally preserved us from the abuse therein designed by the Devils’ for us, yet who of us can exactly state How far our God for our Chastisement permit the Devil to proceed in such Abuse?” (p. 18) It is how his society responds to the pitfalls of evil, Satan, or what-have-you that proves to be most problematic. Not just with the sinners, but with how those who stand unwavering with their Puritan background respond to these sinners.
Given the stakes, it seems imperative in times of such blatant wrongdoing to seek the source of such actions, such ideologies. It seems to be of the utmost importance to recognize why the opposition of “evil” was trounced by action that, when taken in retrospect, proved to be no less than barbaric.
In one historical account referenced in a work by Marion L. Starkey promptly entitled "The Devil Massachusetts" he illustrates first hand accounts of the life and death of one Giles Cory. Cory was one of few who refused to stand trial and face false accusations of witchcraft. The penalty for refusing to stand for trial was death by pressing under heavy stones. It was a punishment never before seen--or ever again inflicted--in the colony of Massachusetts. On Monday, September 19, Corey was stripped naked, a board placed upon his chest, and then--while his neighbors watched--heavy stones and rocks were piled on the board. Corey pleaded to have more weight added, so that his death might come quickly.
Samuel Sewall reported Corey's death: "About noon, at Salem, Giles Corey was press'd to death for standing mute.” (Starkey, 223) Robert Calef, in his report of the event, added a gruesome detail: Giles's "tongue being prest out of his mouth, the Sheriff with his cane forced it in again, when he was dying." (Starkey, 232) Judge Jonathan Corwin ordered Corey buried in an unmarked grave on Gallows Hill.
Corey is often seen as a martyr who "gave back fortitude and courage ratherthan spite and bewilderment." His very public death played a role in building public opposition to the witchcraft trials.
If we address such dilemmas at its root, we can then truly begin to see signs of progress as we try to weed them out so to speak. Even as Mather recognizes its “deep Root” and hot it “fill(ed) the land”, it appears to be crucial that the mindset needed to alleviate these evils is one that is both focused on fixing the problem, while also admitting to why, perhaps, such evil can be provoked in the first place. On Witchcraft is a work devoted to the problems that faced his society, but more how these problems seemed to fit within the answer to each or these problems methodically. “The Devil has made us like a Troubled Sea, and the Mire and Mud begins now also to heave up apace. Even Good and Wise Men suffer themselves to fall into their Paroxysms; and the Shake which the Devil is now giving us, fetches up the Dirt which before lay still at the Bottom of our sinful Hearts.” (p. 21) But as he elaborates on this concept, he reflects that, yes, grime, infectiousness, wrongdoing, temptation, filth etc lies right in the middle of our faces daily, and that these are burdens we must face regularly. Yet, ultimately, we should have to face them daily, for these burdens are precisely what reinforce our ability to look beyond the filth, in our definitive pursuit of peace and happiness. It is only when we address these burdens with fear or with resistance when we truly fail to overcome.
Mather draws a fine distinction in this piece, clarifying who the true enemy is in this predicament: not simply Satan himself but the inability to defy the wiles of the Satanist effect. In an attempt to salvage some shred of morality in a civilization torn between the almost blind allegiance to either God or Satan, Mather proves to be devoted to acknowledging the inevitability of the human influence on each of these allegiances. “The Witches have not only imitated, but some of them acknowledge that they have plotted the Representations of innocent persons, to cover and shelter themselves in their Witchcrafts. Now, although our good God has hithero generally preserved us from the abuse therein designed by the Devils’ for us, yet who of us can exactly state How far our God for our Chastisement permit the Devil to proceed in such Abuse?” (p. 18) It is how his society responds to the pitfalls of evil, Satan, or what-have-you that proves to be most problematic. Not just with the sinners, but with how those who stand unwavering with their Puritan background respond to these sinners.
Given the stakes, it seems imperative in times of such blatant wrongdoing to seek the source of such actions, such ideologies. It seems to be of the utmost importance to recognize why the opposition of “evil” was trounced by action that, when taken in retrospect, proved to be no less than barbaric.
In one historical account referenced in a work by Marion L. Starkey promptly entitled "The Devil Massachusetts" he illustrates first hand accounts of the life and death of one Giles Cory. Cory was one of few who refused to stand trial and face false accusations of witchcraft. The penalty for refusing to stand for trial was death by pressing under heavy stones. It was a punishment never before seen--or ever again inflicted--in the colony of Massachusetts. On Monday, September 19, Corey was stripped naked, a board placed upon his chest, and then--while his neighbors watched--heavy stones and rocks were piled on the board. Corey pleaded to have more weight added, so that his death might come quickly.
Samuel Sewall reported Corey's death: "About noon, at Salem, Giles Corey was press'd to death for standing mute.” (Starkey, 223) Robert Calef, in his report of the event, added a gruesome detail: Giles's "tongue being prest out of his mouth, the Sheriff with his cane forced it in again, when he was dying." (Starkey, 232) Judge Jonathan Corwin ordered Corey buried in an unmarked grave on Gallows Hill.
Corey is often seen as a martyr who "gave back fortitude and courage ratherthan spite and bewilderment." His very public death played a role in building public opposition to the witchcraft trials.
If we address such dilemmas at its root, we can then truly begin to see signs of progress as we try to weed them out so to speak. Even as Mather recognizes its “deep Root” and hot it “fill(ed) the land”, it appears to be crucial that the mindset needed to alleviate these evils is one that is both focused on fixing the problem, while also admitting to why, perhaps, such evil can be provoked in the first place. On Witchcraft is a work devoted to the problems that faced his society, but more how these problems seemed to fit within the answer to each or these problems methodically. “The Devil has made us like a Troubled Sea, and the Mire and Mud begins now also to heave up apace. Even Good and Wise Men suffer themselves to fall into their Paroxysms; and the Shake which the Devil is now giving us, fetches up the Dirt which before lay still at the Bottom of our sinful Hearts.” (p. 21) But as he elaborates on this concept, he reflects that, yes, grime, infectiousness, wrongdoing, temptation, filth etc lies right in the middle of our faces daily, and that these are burdens we must face regularly. Yet, ultimately, we should have to face them daily, for these burdens are precisely what reinforce our ability to look beyond the filth, in our definitive pursuit of peace and happiness. It is only when we address these burdens with fear or with resistance when we truly fail to overcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
