Universal Studios Presents: The Scrivener

Plot

In my exquisite film adaptation of "Bartleby the Scrivener," my primary change in plot would lie in the inclusion of several flashbacks of Bartleby's work in the Dead Letters Office of the Postal Service. Through his flashbacks, the audience would learn of the events that led Bartleby to appear at the narrator's law firm. We discover that Barlteby has been searching for a brother which he was separated from as a young child. He works at the Postal Service in an attempt to locate his brother. He even seeks help from his fellow workers, who help search for his brother for years. In the penultimate flashback, he is finally confronted by his boss, who rather brutally tells Bartleby that he will never find his brother and that he should simply give up his search.

Throughout the movie, the parallels between the narrator's and Bartleby's manners should be subtly evident (as it is in the story), yet over the course of the movie, the narrator should be getting more and more frustrated and hostile toward Bartleby, finally resulting in the narrator's upheaval of his law firm to escape the nuisance of Bartleby. When Bartleby dies in his prison, the narrator notices a piece of paper which has been in Bartleby's breast pocket from the beginning of his work in the law firm. The narrator takes the paper, reads it, and discovers that it is an e-mail from one of Bartleby's co-workers, stating that he has found the name and address of Bartleby's brother; the narrator then realizes that he is Bartleby's long-lost brother, making Bartleby's motives for his odd refusal to leave the law firm clear. The movie ends with a final flashback of Bartleby leaving to find his brother, confident that he will be warmly accepted, causing a poignant case of dramatic irony as the audience realizes that it was the narrator's hostility toward his own brother that resulted in Bartleby's distance.

Point of View

The point of view of the film adaptation would remain largely unchanged from the short story. The film would be told primarily from the narrator's point of view, with nearly all of the present action occurring from his perspective, as the the story is told. However, Bartleby's flashbacks will obviously occur from his own perspective. A few additional scenes, such as Bartleby's arrest and incarceration, will also occur from Bartleby's perspective. In this sense, the point of view shifts from a limited third person to an omniscient third person point of view. While this maintains a degree of mystery around Bartleby's character, it also helps the audience connect with this mysterious character. At the same time, the connection between Bartleby's search and his presence at the law firm is still unclear until the very end, so the mystery factor is still present.

Characterization

The characterization in the movie would actually be largely similar to that of the short story. The narrator's character will be almost solely developed through his interactions with Bartleby. Bartleby, however, will be developed through both his interactions with the narrator and his flashbacks. This change will provide Bartleby with more depth, causing the audience to sympathize with him more. The foil characters of Nippers and Turkey would likely be exaggerated into a bit of a comedic duo, providing comic relief. Ginger Nut would probably be developed more as a friend to the narrator, giving him a character with whom he can talk and reflect on Bartleby. This will provide a source for the narrator's reaction to Bartleby to flow from.

Setting

The setting would be decidedly modern, taking Melville's idea of a contemporary law firm and transposing it to our own contemporary era. Because of the modern twist to it, the characters' occupations are altered slightly. The narrator is a lawyer, probably the head of his firm. Ginger Nut, once just a paper boy, is now the other lawyer of the firm, given nearly equal status to the narrator. Nippers and Turkey are paralegals working under the narrator; this is also likely the profession which Bartleby will take upon his reception of a job. In keeping with Melville's subtitle of "A Story of Wall Street," the action will take place in modern New York City. Bartleby's flashbacks, however, occur in the Minneapolis area, as one of the two current Postal Service's mail recovery centers (the descendants of dead letter offices) is located there. The general setting, however, would remain largely the same in the film. The plot is meant to take place within a legal setting; the film follows this intention.

Theme

With the change in plot comes a relatively large change in theme. In Melville's original story, the theme of the story focuses on Bartleby's emotional indifference as a result of his work in the Dead Letter Office, but it also focuses on the narrator's own emotional indifference as a result of his work within the legal system. Yet the film's explanation of Bartleby's past--particularly with the revelation of the Bartleby and the narrator's kinship--elevates the theme to a different level. Bartleby's flashbacks reveal that his lonely work amid the letters of a million lives causes Bartleby to become relatively reclusive and withdrawn. Yet when he learns of his brother's location in the final flashback, he chooses to travel to meet him.

When asked by a coworker how he will introduce himself to his brother, Bartleby states that because he is still slightly socially inept and therefore afraid to initially introduce himself as his brother, he will find a way to get to know him first, and when his brother has accepted him as a friend, he will then introduce himself. The coworker raises doubt, asking, "But what if he doesn't accept you?" Bartleby then replies with the last line of the movie: "We're brothers; how could he not accept me?"

At this, the camera shows the narrator once more, looking at the email with his name on it in shock. His hand shaking, he takes out his wallet and pulls out an old photo of a young boy, then compares it to Bartleby and weeps. This final scene emphasizes a newly presented theme of the narrator's own hardheartedness as a result of his legal work. He had become so heartless and cold that he cut off his own brother, resulting in his death. While the movie maintains the story's theme of emotional emptiness, it extends it to show the consequences of such emotional depravity.

And with that, I accept my Oscar win for best screenplay. Thank you all.

Domo Arigato

Plot

The main change to the plot concerns Andrew's relationship with Portia Chancey, Little Miss' granddaughter. A romantic relationship between Andrew and any human never occurred. While Andrew sought to gain recognition as a human, it was out of his own desire of freedom. Yet in the movie, Andrew seeks recognition and to become fully human in order to marry Portia. Because the focus is on the relationship, the pace seems to be slower in the movie than in the book, where the focus is on Andrew's quests to gain rights. The screenwriters of the movie highly romanticize the plot, ignoring the story's main question of philosophy and replacing it with a shallower, yet highly emotional storyline. But more on that later...

Point of View

The point of view of the film remains largely unchanged in comparison to the short story. The film remains in third person, much like Asimov's story. However, the audience is given much more access to other characters' emotions, as opposed to Asimov's style of providing only Andrew's thoughts and feelings. In doing so, the screenwriters tell Andrew's story through the third person omniscient point of view. This occurs because the audience is able to observe other characters' reactions to situations themselves, as opposed to being limited to whatever Asimov chooses to allow them to observe. While this causes the reader to understand other characters better, it simultaneously causes him to lose some understanding of Andrew's initial inability to understand emotions.

Characterization

Overall, the styles of describing characters remains largely the same between the short story and the film. However, there do occur a few changes in actual characters. The most obvious character who is changed is Andrew, the protagonist. Andrew seems to be a much more emotional person/robot initially in the film than he is in the book. While Andrew in the story quickly grasps the ideas of freedom and human rights, he initially struggles with emotions. Yet while Andrew in the movie also deals with his own struggles with emotions, he seems to display natural emotions much earlier, such as when Andrew repairs the Victrola record player and listens to opera music within a few weeks of his "birth." Andrew's character is clearly made to seem more human from the start in order to gain the audience's sympathy. The character of Little Miss is also changed. While there is no indication of any possible romantic friction between Andrew and Little Miss in Asimov's short story, in the film, it is clear that Little Miss possesses strong romantic feelings toward Andrew, both before and even after her marriage. This is used to indicate Andrew's eventual relationship and marriage to Little Miss' granddaughter Portia.

Setting

The main difference between the settings of Asimov's story and the film lies within the specificity of each writer in dating events. Asimov is unclear on the timeline of his story; while it is obvious that the story is supposed to occur at some point in the future, Asimov is deliberate in never naming a specific time period. He does not seek to predict when such technology will become available; he only seeks to establish that such a situation could logically occur within the future. The screenwriters, however, see no problem with designating a specific time period, mainly because the audience does not particularly mind if a science fiction film is set to take place in a time period much too early for such technology to exist. For this reason, Andrew's story takes place in the early 21st century. As Andrew is dying, the Chairwoman of the Galactic Council mentions that Andrew was activated in 2005; thus, Andrew's life occurred from 2005 to 2205. Because the movie's purpose is not present some deep philosophy, the screenwriters have no problem in qualifying and dating the story's events. This ultimately leads to...

Theme

In truth, the short story and the movie have two very different focuses and, therefore, two very different themes. The theme of Asimov's story, as I discussed in my last blog post, mainly concerns the question of what makes a creature truly human. The story also discusses human rights and freedom. In the film version, however, these two themes are barely touched upon; the theme of the definition of humanity is especially neglected. Instead, the screenwriters pander to the Hollywood industry, cop out, and alter the theme to reflect on love. The movie is devoted almost solely to Andrew's attempts to discover the definition of love and to ascertain love. While this is still a very noble theme, it simply seems too hackneyed in the Hollywood scene. The screenwriters could have created a different kind of film, and important film that tackled a deep, philosophical question; instead, they backed down, dumbed down the story's theme, and changed the plot to fit the new theme. While the film is still exceptionally funny, quirky, and heartwarming, it simply is not on the same level as Asimov's original story.

An Arm and a Leg (You Can Keep the Rest)

Upon reading "Popular Mechanics" by Raymond Carver, I personally would like to know what happened to Carver as a child to cause him to think of a story such as this. All joking aside, though, this story is rather startling. In what is hopefully supposed to be a gross exaggeration of divorce, the husband and wife in the story argue so violently over custody of their baby that they literally rip their child in two. Eww. Yet this brazenly macabre story carries with it a much deeper--and less violent--meaning. The literal tug-of-war match between father and mother reflects the vicious custody battle that so often accompanies divorce settlements. The father and mother both want as much as possible, and the child is helplessly pulled around like a possession. When an agreement is finally reached--when "the issue [is] decided" (p 345)--the child often is essentially torn in two, forced to live between two separate households with separate possessions, separate parents, and separate homes.

This separation of the sense of home has the deepest effect on the child, as they often feel that their love for their parents is often split in two. Divorcing spouses often are so occupied with attempting to take what they believe is rightfully theirs that they inflict great pain and trauma on their children, just as the man and woman in Carver's tale are so determined to take the baby for their own that they tear their own child into pieces. How lovely.

She's a Maniac, Maniac on the Floor...

Let me start off by saying that I honestly did not like Lorrie Moore's "You're Ugly, Too." The main cause of my distaste for the story lies in Zoe's unlikeable character. To put it simply, she is just too weird and judgmental. It seems as though unhappiness in her life from a career that "was not easy for her," coupled with an already-evident eccentric nature, has caused Zoe to careen towards the brink of insanity. She is socially awkward at best, as displayed in her failed interaction with Earl. She internally admits that the root of her failures with men lies in her tendency to plan the relationship well into the future and constantly end the relationship with what in her mind is an inevitably messy divorce. Instead of taking a chance with someone, she stubbornly remains pessimistic throughout.

As I analyzed Zoe's personality, it occurred to me that her persona is created as a result not only of her own self-image, but also by others' judgments. The narrator often includes tidbits of what can be assumed to be student evaluations of Zoe, which all share a common theme of incredulous and arrogant criticism of Zoe's eccentric teaching style and opposing viewpoints. The inclusion of these lines indicate that Zoe is greatly influenced by others' opinions of her. Yet instead of conforming to others' ideals for her, Zoe does the exact opposite. It seems that she almost tries to be completely off the wall and controversial just to irritate those around her. Yet this self-defense mechanism of attempting to rebel against society reflects her own insecurity. She is so influenced by society's opinion of her that instead of acknowledging her eccentricities and attempt to resolve them, she spitefully embraces these eccentricities and changes her character to fit the mold which society has given for her. By the end of the story, Zoe is unsure of what she even is, as she states that Earl is "trapped out on a balcony with--with what?" (p 370). Zoe's eccentricity reaches dizzying heights, and she finds herself unable to come back down to earth.

Funerals and Drunk Children; What More Could You Want?

Frank O'Connor's "The Drunkard" is aptly named, yet not in the way that the reader initially expects. In the beginning of the story, it seems obvious that the title refers to the speaker's father. As soon as the speaker mentions that "drink...was [his] Father's greatest weakness," (p 344), the audience assumes that the title refers to this weakness. Yet as the plot thickens, the audience is suddenly treated to a surprising reversal of meaning when the speaker himself becomes drunk from one glass of porter. This unexpected action causes the majority of the humor within the story to transpire, as the speaker suddenly begins to curse like a sailor and shouting at his father and a few older women. Yet perhaps the detail that causes the greatest feeling of irony and humor in this situation is that it is the father who, being sober, must escort his drunken son home. Just as his son often dealt with his drunken outbursts and tirades, so, too, must the father now handle his drunken son's antics.

In a way, O'Connor's title of "The Drunkard" refers to both father and son. Superficially, the title refers to the speaker, the actual drunkard in the story; yet the title still applies to the speaker's father, the customary drunkard and the man who, by brining his son into a bar and not paying attention to him, caused his son to become a drunkard as well.

The Beast Within, Part...3, I Think? (p 272, Question 6)

Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" paints a rather grim picture of human nature. The idea of human sacrifice immediately conjures up an image of primitivism and savagery. Coupled with the presented superstitious adage of "Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon" (p 268), the plot of such a lottery to pick a human to stone to death would be expected to occur in an ancient or primitive society. Yet this is not the case in "The Lottery;" instead, this atrocious tradition takes place within a relatively modern society, as indicated by conversation concerning "tractors and taxes" (p 264). By setting her tale in a modern village, Jackson alters the tone of her story from grim to morbidly startling. Yet in doing so, Jackson makes a candidly critical observation about human nature. The possibility of such a savage tradition occurring in a modern world emphasizes that savagery did not occur in ancient times simply because technology was primitive at the time. Instead, Jackson argues, the event emphasizes the primitive, savage human nature within us all. Despite our great advances in civilization, our own nature and society still thrives off of savagery.

Bicentennial Man--Now I Remember Why I Liked Science Fiction

Plot

In a few significant ways, the plot structure of Isaac Asimov's "Bicentennial Man" reflects that of a play. The story is broken up into 23 chapters--effectively, separate scenes from Andrew Martin's life. Through this separation, Asimov clearly establishes that the story covers Andrew's entire life, from "when he had first been--manufactured" (p 247) to his eventual death (p 290). Although the action in some chapters occur directly after the preceding chapter (e.g., Chapters 9 and 10), the separation of all action into scenes give the action a more spread out feeling, aiding Asimov in reflecting the length of Andrew's life. It is interesting to note, however, that the storyline is not entirely continuous in one straight line. The story opens in medias res, hinting at "patently a damaging operation" (p 247) which Andrew has decided to undergo. However, this operation is in fact Andrew's final operation to cause "the death of [his] body" (p 289). While this initially may confuse the reader as they attempt to place this scene within the plot line, it serves Asimov's main intent: to immediately establish Andrew's status as a robot who appears to be human. This surprise sets the stage for Andrew's struggle to be recognized as a human.

Point of View

"Bicentennial Man" is written in a rather odd subjective third person point of view. The point of view is limited in that it focuses only the thoughts and feelings of Andrew, the story's protagonist. The audience is treated with insights into Andrew's feelings, such as when Andrew bargains with Dr. Magdescu from U.S. Robots and the narrator includes that Andrew "thought with satisfaction that Paul himself could not have done it better" (p 279). Yet in describing Andrew's emotions, the narrator often uses rather passive, awkward, and impersonal modifiers. He mentions that "Andrew was fond of" Miss and Little Miss, yet immediately qualifies this claim by explaining rather stiffly that "at least, the effect they had upon his actions were those which in a human being would have been called the result of fondness" (p 248). Because Andrew is, at least at first, a full-fledged robot, his emotions are not authentically human, and so Asimov reflects this awkwardness of emotion in his writing. However, as the story progresses, the qualifiers become more and more sparse, as is evident in the passage concerning Andrew's encounter with Dr. Magdescu mentioned earlier. As Andrew becomes more human, the point of view likewise become more subjective.

Characterization

Asimov utilizes indirect characterization in his depictions of the characters of "Bicentennial Man." The characters' attitudes are never expressed forthright but instead are displayed through their dialogue and actions, as well as the dialogue of others, such as when Little Miss explains to Andrew that Sir "may not have seemed friendly to you toward the end, Andrew, but he was old, you know, and it hurt him that you should want to be free" (p 257). Instead of directly stating that Sir felt a tad betrayed by Andrew's natural desire to be officially free, Asimov explains Sir's emotions through Little Miss' direct address to Andrew. The only observations which the narrator directly makes are observations concerning characters' outward appearances, such as the superficial description of Chee Li-Hsing: "the chairman of the Science and Technology Committee was of the East Asian region and she was a woman" (p 282). I think the reason behind this solely superficial characterization lies in the fact that as a robot, superficial observations are the only ones that Andrew is able to make. He is unable to deduce humans' emotions and thoughts; therefore, the narrator does not directly state them, but instead allows the reader to make deductions that Andrew is unable to make.

Setting

Although Asimov never clearly states the time frame of "Bicentennial Man," it is clear that the story occurs sometime in the future, in a time period "when robots in households, or on the planet altogether, had been a rarity" (p 247). It is also likely that the story takes place largely in the United States, as the company which creates robots is called, not surprisingly, U.S. Robots. However, as it is mentioned, "U.S. Robots...has a worldwide monopoly" (p 273) on the robotics industry, so it is not a definite fact that the setting is the United States. However, it is not the location of the story which truly matters, but the time frame. Often, science fiction is able to reflect on deeper aspects of humanity than other fictional genres because of the highly speculative nature of the genre. Science fiction writers are able to create fictional societies that often exaggerate flaws within modern society. Because Asimov sets his story in a futuristic society, he is able to reflect on much deeper themes without creating excessive controversy. This point leads nicely into the final topic of...

Theme

At first, it seems that the primary theme of "Bicentennial Man" focuses on man's right to be free. This theme is expressly summed up in the judge's ruling in support of Andrew's freedom, stating that "there is no right to deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced enough to grasp the concept and desire of the state" (p 256). Asimov could have easily applied this theme to current global situations, such as the many dictatorial governments in the world, yet doing so would have caused readers to brush his message aside. Instead, he applies this theme to a future society, subtly influencing his readers' thoughts instead of shoving philosophy down their throats. Later in the story, however, Asimov delves into the philosophical question concerning what, in facts, defines us as human. Andrew fights a two-hundred-year-long struggle to be recognized as a human, constantly failing as members of the government and society are "unwilling to set the precedent" of dubbing an artificially-created being as "human." Andrew overhauls his physical body, taking on that of a human body, leaving only his positronic brain intact. He already experiences emotions and feelings. Yet still he is not accepted as human. It is only when he essentially chooses to die that he is finally accepted as a human. It is this realization that summarizes Asimov's thoughts on mankind's conception of humanity: "they cannot tolerate an immortal human being, since their own mortality is endurable only so long as it is universal. And for that reason they won't make me a human being" (p 288). To be human is to die. Andrew is so desperate to be accepted as a human that he chooses to let himself die as a recognized human than to live forever as a robot. This desperation to be accepted, combined with Asimov's grim definition of humanity, creates a powerfully melancholy and moving short story.

Modern Sophocles

Well, Nadine Gordimer's "Once upon a Time" has a rather grisly ending, doesn't it? Unfortunately, you can almost see the ending coming. The narrator sets up her theme in the initial story by reflecting that it was the stress and paranoia that actually kept her awake at night, not any real threat. She was stuck in "an epicenter of stress" that entrapped her within a constant state of fear and paranoia of danger. The frame story which then follows this reflection is therefore told with an ubiquitous sense of dread and doom. As the man and woman continue to build up their defenses and safety measures in order to keep danger out and, more importantly, their paranoia away, you start to get a feeling that something disastrous will result anyway, either in spite of these precautions or maybe even because of these precautions. The audience can do nothing but read on as the couple continues to add on more and more security measures, while the boy innocently is "fascinated by the device[s]" and uses them to "play with his small friends."

When the final paragraph starts, and the audience reads as the boy pretends "to be the Prince who braves the terrible thicket of thorns," the sense of dread escalates. Almost before the reader reads of the boy's fate, he can predict what likely will happen. It is this final paragraph depicting the boy's death (or at least near-death) which connects the frame story to the initial exterior story by revealing the situational irony in the boy's mutilation. Like the narrator in her bed, the man and woman had become so stricken with fear and paranoia that they ended up causing severe pain and suffering to themselves in attempts to avoid that same pain and suffering. Like Oedipus trying to prevent a prophecy from coming true, the man and woman's actions are what cause the thing which they dread the most.

Overcoming Adversity-Not to Be Confused with Overcoming Diversity...(p 231, Question 6)

As I am looking at Eudora Welty's "A Worn Path," I am still a tad bit fixated on the unresolved matter of whether Phoenix's grandson is alive or dead. When the nurse asks Phoenix if he is alive, she initially gives no response at all. It is this long hesitation before stating that "he not dead, he just the same" that raises suspicion that perhaps Phoenix's grandson is actually dead, and Phoenix simply refuses to accept it (a la "A Rose for Emily"). Yet regardless of the grandson's living status, the importance of Phoenix's determination to make the journey does not change. As the author indicated, the important detail is that "Phoenix is alive." The focus is not on the destination, which involves the grandson; his life does not matter in terms of the story. What matters is the journey of Phoenix and her life and strength. The title of this story concerns the path taken, not the destination achieved. The development of the plot supports this idea, as it is only at the very end of the story that we learn of Phoenix's motivation for travelling the long road from her home into town. The focus of the story is on Phoenix's determination to care for her grandson and her strength in making the journey. The story is not about the grandson; the story is about Phoenix. It is the strength and endurance in the face of adversity--whether it comes in the form of difficult terrain, a gun-happy hunter, or an impatient nurse--with which Phoenix carries herself that creates this tale.

I found a striking similarity between James Joyce's "Eveline" and William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" concerning the stories' theme that it is often extremely difficult to escape a bad situation if it is the only situation one knows. In "A Rose for Emily," Miss Emily was unable to get over the deaths of her father and her lover and unable to escape the isolation which her father had imposed upon her. She had become so used to her isolation that she feared improving her life. Joyce's Eveline possesses a similar fear. She knows that her situation is not a desirable one; she acknowledges that unlike if she remained in her home, if she escaped with Frank, "people would treat her with respect then." Yet even despite this knowledge that her life is utterly miserable, she still thinks that "now that she [is] about to leave it she [does] not find it a wholly undesirable life." This conflict finally culminates as she remains on land, refusing to escape with Frank. Eveline is so afraid of abandoning her current life and self-imposed obligations that she forsakes her chance at freedom and happiness. Like Miss Emily, Eveline entraps herself in a rut to which there is no true escape.

Stuck on the Shoulder of the Road of Life (p 186, Question 8)

Katherine Mansfield's "Miss Brill" observes the eponymous Miss Brill as she experiences a realization about her state of life. Throughout the initial majority of the story, Miss Brill relishes in her weekly Sunday afternoon ventures to simply watch people. She even goes so far as to compare her act of people-watching as "like a play. It was exactly like a play." She becomes rather excited and imaginative at this idea, imagining that the people, herself included, "were all on stage."

Yet right as she is caught up in this romantic train of thought, that train's brakes are slammed down by a young man speaking to his lover. Unbeknownst to him, Miss Brill is able to hear him as he calls her a "stupid old thing" and asks his lover, "Why does she come here at all--who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?" Though Miss Brill's initial reaction to this rather scathing insult is not given, it is made clear that she is deeply affected by it as she changes her habits, hurrying home, doing nothing "for a long time," and then suddenly and quickly removing her fur necklet and putting it away "without looking" at it. She has suddenly come to the realization that she is not simply an observer of her surroundings, but an outsider to them. She discovers that she is not, in fact, "part of the performance [of life] after all," but is instead letting life pass her by.

Man of Mystery (Part II)

I found Herman Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener" rather perplexing. I understood the plot of the tale, and I understood Bartleby's character. I was amused by Melville's dry humor by way of Turkey and Nippers, and I felt sympathy toward Bartleby throughout, especially in his death. Yet I am not sure I understand Bartleby's motivation. It is clear that something is off psychologically within Bartleby, yet I am never able to fully ascertain a cause. The only clue which the reader is given is when Melville reveals that "Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington" and reflects upon this occupation of "Dead letters! does it not sound like dead men?"

In researching the Dead Letter Office (and by "research," I of course mean "Wikipedia"), I discovered that the office concerns letters which cannot be delivered because the address is either illegible, insufficient, or nonexistent. If all other methods of discovering the proper address are exhausted, the letter is then shredded--or, in Melville's time, burned. Melville indicates that he considers working in this office would likely be a hopelessly depressing job as one would constantly be destroying heartfelt pieces of correspondence. Yet I still do not believe that that alone could justify Bartleby's queer personality. I honestly cannot give a definitive answer myself concerning Bartleby's disposition; perhaps it simply cannot be surmised correctly. Perhaps Bartleby is intended to remain an enigma.

Man of Mystery (Handout Question 6)

In Herman Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener," Bartleby, fittingly, is the protagonist. Bartleby is the one who provides the main force of action throughout the story; without Bartleby's presence, the narrator's law firm would not be forced to relocate, nor would the narrator and his employees' working habits and tendencies be changed. The entirety of the plot action revolves around Bartleby; without him, no conflict concerning his quirks would arise. Bartleby seems to be a tragic hero more than any other type. His flaw is hard to pin down, yet it seems that it is the fact that he simply cannot adjust to his new life within the law firm. His refusal to adapt creates friction among the other characters, leading to Bartleby's abandonment, arrest, and death.

Despite the fact that Bartleby is the protagonist, the meaning of the story would definitely be different if it had been Bartleby's story. Although it may have focused on Bartleby at times, the story truly was about the narrator, the head of the law firm. The mystery around the reason for Bartleby's odd behavior creates the primary feeling of suspense throughout the story. If Melville had written from the focal point of Bartleby, the story would have lost the large portion of its power that had derived from the story's emotional suspense. Yet by making the story the lawyer's, and not Bartleby's, Melville heightens suspense and mystery surrounding the enigma of Bartleby.

The Beast Within (Part II)

I just love happy endings, don't you? Unfortunately, Tobias Wolff's "Hunters in the Snow" provides an ending that is anything but happy. Wolff tells a rather peculiar story of three friends as they seem to lose part of their humanity. The setting of hunting in the woods accurately reflects the friends' individual descents into animalistic tendencies. There is Tub, the overindulgent glutton who addictively eats himself into a greedy stupor. There is Frank, the morally-loose "hippie" who indulges in pedophilia and encourages Tub's gluttony. There is Kenny, the sadistic beast who maliciously taunts his friends until his violent streak dooms him in the end. All three are not totally demented or animalistic; yet they all possess these savage desires and features which come to raging manifestation in the woods. Even when Kenny is shot, bleeding, and probably dying the freezing cold, his friends coolly stop at two taverns to keep warm and indulge themselves, reflecting a Darwinian "survival of the fittest" demeanor. The last sentence of the story provides a rather chilling conclusion to the tale. As Wolff writes, the three friends can not escape their descent into animalism; "they had taken a different turn a long way back," and now there is no escape from themselves.

Abandoned Child (Epiphany)

In Alice Walker's "Everyday Use," the narrator struggles to understand Wangero's distorted cultural pride throughout the majority of the story. In many ways, it appears that Wangero takes great pride in her culture, changing her name from Dee to Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo because she refuses to be "named after the people who oppress [her]." She claims to understand her "heritage" and claims that her mother and sister do not. Yet it is clear that Wangero chooses to supposedly embrace her culture simply as a way to be different. She has grown up in white-dominated world and has thrived in it, accepting "words, lies, other folks' habits, [and] whole lives." In all senses, she has received the best of what the white world has to offer; yet she claims to be oppressed by that same world. Considering that it was the narrator who paid for her education, it is clear why the narrator is understandably confused at this behavior.

Wangero reveals her hypocrisy later by searching through the narrator's belongings in search of handmade tools and furniture. She seems to adore them for their beauty and homeliness, for the fact that they were handcrafted. Yet she admits that she only seeks to use these tools as art, whether it be "a centerpiece for the alcove table" or "something artistic." She claims to love these "heritage" pieces for their cultural value, yet she completely ignores the significance and function that these pieces actually served. Wangero is not truly proud of her heritage; she acts more as a tourist than as a member of her culture.

The narrator finally confronts Wangero over the handmade quilts which were promised to Maggie. After having to deal with Wangero's condescension toward Maggie for years, the narrator finally has an epiphany. She realizes that it is not actually Wangero who has embraced her heritage, but herself and Maggie who have respected their culture by living it. In refusing to give Wangero the quilts, the narrator makes it clear that Wangero is an outsider to her own culture, while she and Maggie are still members of that culture. In that moment of truth, the narrator detaches herself from her posing daughter.

Somein' Tells Me Yer Not from 'Round These Here Parts...

Another interesting tidbit about William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" concerns the deliberate choice of the early twentieth-century South as the story's setting. This setting is initially established by the narrator's mention of the "graves of Union and Confederate soldiers." Combined with the emphasis on "tradition," this mention indicates a Deep Southern sentiment to the narration. This Southern perspective impacts the plot of the story tremendously. Through the narrator's descriptions, it is clear that the city of Jefferson operates largely on the basis of reputation and social hierarchy. Instead of sympathizing with Miss Emily in her period of grief after her father's death, the community only indicates their relief that "at last they could pity" her because "she had become humanized."

It was this entrenched belief in social order, and the accompanying derision for the members of the city's aristocracy, that likely influenced Miss Emily's actions. Miss Emily was unable to truly connect with anyone within her community due to her elevated status. That is why Homer—a Northerner and, therefore, not a member of the dysfunctional Southern community—is accepted and even loved by Miss Emily. I think Miss Emily murdered Homer not out of anger or revenge—if that had been the case, she would not have slept next to his skeletal corpse—but out of misguided desperation. After living a life of detachment from her community, Miss Emily had become so desperate to keep Homer with her that she poisoned him in order to keep him with her dead or alive. While this is admittedly a rather macabre idea, it simply is a tragic, if not exaggerated, result of the Southern mindset.

This Is Heavy, Doc

Well, William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" is a bit odd, no? While this story was certainly the most dramatically interesting, it also was most definitely the most bizarre. Faulkner establishes this quirkiness by writing with an extremely convoluted chronology. The story opens with the present time of Emily Grierson's death and funeral. The narrator then recounts an altercation between Miss Emily and the Board of Alderman over taxes which occurred several years beforehand. Immediately afterward, the narrator employs flashback even further by taking the plot thirty years earlier. This scene, which describes how the city dealt with a "smell" about Miss Emily's house, creates a bit of confusion and suspense as the reader is unsure and curious of the source of the smell. Upon completion of this tale, however, the narrator goes back two years further to Miss Emily's father's death and the subsequent arrival of Homer. We then learn of Miss Emily's purchase of arsenic, followed by a seemingly abrupt topic shift to Homer's departure and ensuing return to the house.

After that, the narrator fast-forwards back to the present. It is here, in the present, that the jumbled events of the past are finally explained as the narrator and the other men discover Homer's skeleton where he had poisoned with the purchased arsenic. Instead of simply starting from the chronological beginning, Faulkner employed a series of flashbacks in order to increase the level of suspense of the story. By slowly feeding the reader individual clues, Faulkner leads the reader to finally discover the truth of Miss Emily's past in a more dramatic and exciting fashion.

Self-Absorbed (Stream of Consciousness)

Much of Jhumpa Lahiri's "Interpreter of Maladies" consists of Mr. Kapasi's stream of consciousness. Initially, the narrative concerns Kapasi's observations of the Das family. This portion of the story is mostly impersonal, yet even in his observations, Kapasi inserts his own opinions of the Das family, stating his disbelief that the parents "were regularly responsible for anything other than themselves." Approximately midway through the tale, however, the story transitions almost entirely to a stream of consciousness as Mr. Kapasi dreams of a romantic relationship with Mrs. Das. The progression of the plot at this point turns almost entirely inward, with the narrator focusing almost entirely on Kapasi's thoughts rather than on the external action of the cab ride and the tour of the temple.

This occurs because truthfully, the conflict of Lahiri's story has nothing to do with the Das' trip. The conflict is caused by Kapasi's vain attempts to envision a better life than the one he has with his wife and children. While Mrs. Das may trigger his conscious attempts, she did not actually cause them; Kapasi's discontentment is evident from the outset. Lahiri writes not of a man's struggle with unrequited romance, but of a man's struggle with his own life.

Jerk (p 146, Question 4)

While reading Alice Munro's "How I Met My Husband," one of the aspects of the story that struck me the most was Edie's rather vicious tone. As "the hired girl," one would expect Edie to have had more of a sense of respectful detachment from the Peebles. Instead, she speaks with a tone of condescension, describing the Peebles as "not knowing any better" about farm life. Her self-righteousness is made even more evident by her disgusted description of Loretta Bird as "swollen up with pleasure at being in on this scene" of Edie's humiliation. Edie even goes on to state that she "could have slapped her." Edie truly is anything but sympathetic, and her status as "the hired girl" simply exacerbates this already unfavorable portrayal of her. As she states repeatedly, Edie does not really fit in among the Peebles or among Loretta. Her unsympathetic, condescending attitude simply reinforces the perception that Edie seems disgusted with those around her.

Gibbs Free Energy (Aha! A Chemistry Reference!)

The neatly chaotic form of Robert Herrick's "Delight in Disorder" reflects the speaker's admiration for "wild civility." In this poem, the speaker reveals his attraction to "a sweet disorder," which often creates "a fine distraction" that "more bewitch[es] [him] than when art/ Is too precise in every part." While this belief seems to be paradoxical, the speaker defends the validity of this belief by describing that same disorder in a loving fashion. Instead of speaking of disorder, particularly of a woman's clothing, with disgust, the speaker implies that disorder actually attracts and stimulates him, describing that disorder as "sweet," "tempestuous," and fine" and admitting that it "kindles in clothes a wantonness," "enthralls the crimson stomacher," and bewitches him more than art which "is too precise." Instead of finding fault with chaos, the speaker relishes in and adores it.

That same chaotic beauty is reflected in Herrick's writing style. Herrick writes in continuous form, giving no apparent rhyme or reason in separating sentences into distinct lines. Yet each line follows an iambic meter, giving a pleasing sense of rhythm to the poem. In addition, the poem is divided into couplets, providing an even deeper sense of beauty. However, even in this rhyme scheme, chaos is implied; the rhymes seldom are perfect, instead forming slant rhymes in most instances. This supports the speaker's admiration of chaotic beauty on a subconscious level. In a rather unexpected way, the speaker's initial paradox of chaotic beauty is validated thoroughly.

Sneaky Simplicity (Question 11)

In his "Elegy for My Father, Who Is Not Dead," Andrew Hudgins writes extremely simply yet effectively. Throughout the poem, the speaker discusses his and his father's views of death in extremely simple sentences, summing up their differing views on death in five words: "He's ready. I am not." Yet the fact that Hudgins' writing style is simple and sparse does not mean that it lacks literary skill. The speaker's simple descriptions are reflected in his use of an extended metaphor which compares the journey from death to a possible afterlife with a boat trip. Note that Hudgins makes this comparison with an implied metaphor, the simplest form of analogy; it does not require extra words of comparison, as a simile does, but instead simply implies the two are similar. Hudgins takes this simplicity a step further. He does not focus on this comparison, but instead focuses on his and his father's opposing stances and simply uses the metaphor as backup support for his main point. This simplicity of approach reflects the simple clearheadedness of the speaker's argument. Although Hudgins' writing may seem overly simple, it is anything but.

Murder, She Wrote

I admit, I rather enjoyed "Edward." The two speakers--Edward and his mother--use repetition of each other's names and of their initial comments. This repetition serves two purposes. Superficially, the repetition emphasizes each individual question or responses, forcing the reader to read each comment twice in order to feel its power more strongly. On a deeper level, though, this repetition increases suspense as Edward's mother constantly pressures Edward to reveal his troubles. This buildup of pressure and suspense occurs twice within the poem. Each time, Edward finally reveals what is troubling him, and each time, the answer is slightly shocking. In the first climactic moment, the reader learns that Edward has killed his father. This murder is revealed as the reason for his guilt and for his decision to leave the land he knows.

Yet the second climax is even more surprising. After building up the emotion of the poem by asking her son what will happen to those he will leave behind, Edward's mother finally asks him what he will leave for her. Yet instead of a heartfelt token of his lover for her, Edward replies with a rather unexpectedly bitter "curse of hell" for her. At first, the reader is shocked at Edward's reply, yet in the very last line of the poem, Edward finally reveals the reason for his loathing: his mother gave him "such counsels" to kill his father. Despite his guilt, Edward's hatred for his mother is stronger, for though he committed the crime, she devised it in the first place. A rather interesting--and by interesting, I of course mean grossly dysfunctional--mother-and-son relationship, don't you think?

"Personals" Ads Are Kinda Creepy...(Question 17)

"Lonely Hearts" by Wendy Cope is written in the form of a villanelle. This form is especially fitting in the speaker's imitation of a "Personals" ad in a newspaper. The repetition of the two lines which end alternating stanzas reflect the desperate hope of those who fill out personal advertisements. Each person, no matter how different they may be or from what walks of life they may come, simply seeks "someone [to] make [their] simple wish come true". By utilizing the villanelle, which allows her to repeat her two central lines, Cope is able to reflect (through the speaker) on plights for love in today's modern world. Despite our modern world, which prides itself on connecting others, people still struggle to find love. By writing as each advertiser, Cope attempts to bring to light this struggle to find the one who will answer affirmatively to that question of "Is it you?" Cope effectively employs the form of the villanelle to repeatedly emphasize the search for love in today's technological world.

Love's Labour's Lost

I always find the more modern poems to be especially interesting to analyze. It is simply expected that students will have to interpret poems with older diction and more sophisticated style; it is less expected by the students, however, to have to analyze the literary merits of a poem that uses modern diction and topic matter. In Cleopatra Mathis' "Getting Out," the speaker reflects upon the very real and very modern occurrence of a marriage gone wrong. The speaker hints that the couple's marriage simply fell apart; there is no bitterness in her tone, nor is there much of an explanation as to what caused the decline of the relationship. The only clue lies in the first stanza, where the speaker describes "another refusal, the silent work/ of tightening the heart./ Exhausted we gave up". The speaker indicates that some connection was broken between the couple, though the cause is never clearly stated.

The rest of the poem, however, does not focus on the cause of the fallout, but only focuses on the sorrow and grief that results from the fallout. According to the speaker, the fallout is mutual. Even as the couple is separated for good, the speaker and their spouse is described as "Taking hands/ [walking] apart, until [their] arms stretched/ between [them]. [They] held on tight, and let go." This mutual act is reluctant and sad, yet agreed upon as necessary. The speaker's intent of this poem, therefore, is not to express regret or bitterness toward her failed relationship, but rather to express sorrow that the relationship failed in the first place.

I'm on a Boat

I am impressed by Alfred, Lord Tennyson's attitude toward death in "Crossing the Bar". The speaker of the poem describes death as an extremely peaceful and serene event, akin to a boat being "put out to sea". The speaker seeks "no moaning" and "no sadness of farewell when [he] embark[s]" in death. In the speaker's opinion, death is not a depressing occasion, but rather is a gentle, pleasant event. The speaker's reason for his happy acceptance of death is explained near the end of the poem: when the speaker dies, he "hope[s] to see [his] Pilot"--i.e., God--"face to face". This unwavering belief in life after death is rather astounding. It is quite easy to simply say that one believes in life after death; it is quite another to believe in it so firmly as to write an entire poem--complete with extended metaphor--about life after death. More than anything, Tennyson's faith struck me the most in this poem; his faith is an excellent example to those, including myself, who struggle at times to accept those ideas which are difficult to logically believe.

My Black-Wired Love (Question 8)

I think Shakespeare's "My mistress' eyes" is my favorite poem in this unit. Shakespeare's tone seems rather harsh and critical at first, yet it progresses into a tone of realistic yet loving sincerity. At first glance, however, this tone is not evident. After all, the first twelve lines contain several comparisons of the speaker's mistress' traits with things of beauty with the intent of stating that his lover's traits are inferior. Her eyes "are nothing like the sun", her hair is described as "black wires", and she is clearly described as not "a goddess". These statements and others directly oppose those statements usually used by poets to describe lovers or beauty. By doing this, the speaker points out the naiveté of making such exaggerated comparisons. At the end of the poem, the speaker's tone becomes less skeptical and more loving toward his mistress. Upon admitting his lover's humanity, the speaker affirms that his love for her is "as rare/ As any she belied with false compare." Instead of heaping false compliments upon his mistress, the speaker admits her imperfections and chooses to simply state that is love is as strong as any other love that requires such false compliments to survive. In comparison to the falsity of the others' love, the speaker's loving sincerity carries far more power because of its honesty.

Carpe Diem (Question 6)

Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress" is a rather odd and aggressive poem. In it, the speaker is urging his lover to abandon her "long-preserved virginity" and give in to her carnal desires. Yet the central purpose of the poem is not, in fact, to encourage sexual freedom. The speaker's logic applies not only to sexual activity, but life activity in general. The speaker urges his lover to act in the present, "while the youthful hue/ Sits on thy skin like morning dew,/ And while thy willing soul transpires/ At every pore with instant fires". The focus of the poem is not on the act of sexual intercourse, but on the fact that life is short, with "[t]ime's winged chariot hurrying near". By focusing on the lack of time that humans have in life, the poet indicates that his point is not a statement on morality, as the context of the poem indicates. Instead, the point makes his point that life is too short to live timidly. According to the poet, one must live life as fully as one can at every moment, for one never knows how long their life will last.

Identity Crisis

I think M. Carl Holman's "Mr. Z" is a rather powerful reflection of most African-Americans' struggle to maintain an identity that they can take pride in, especially those who lived during the Civil Rights Era. It is clear that the man in the poem--presumably, Mr. Z--is African-American: his mother's skin (color) is described as "the sign of error" (1), and he works hard to become completely "Anglo-Saxonized" (8). Mr. Z appears to have been an extremely successful man in life, with "not one false note...struck" (23). Yet along the way, Mr. Z lost an extremely important part of him: his cultural identity. He "disclaimed kinship with jazz and spirituals" (4), two types of music distinctly identified with African-American culture. He "firmly seized/ Whatever ground was Anglo-Saxonized" (7-8), deliberately rejecting any opinion that could be indicative of African-Americans. He even refuses to acknowledge the African-American struggle for equality, instead "choosing the the right addresses...[and] shunn[ing] those places where [he] might be barred" (17-18). Even mingling with those of his race seems to be too much of a social risk for Mr. Z.

In the end, however, the speaker leaves the audience with an ironic closing comment. After Mr. Z dies, his widow is perceived as savagely wrathful toward those who wrote his obituary (as line 24 indicates, she "could have flayed" them). Why? It is because they described Mr. Z as "'One of the most distinguished members of his race'" (26). Now, there are two possible interpretations of the widow's reaction and of its implications that I see. It is possible that the irony lies in the fact that Mr. Z is attributed to the African-American race, when in all actuality, he did everything in his power to avoid connection to that race. More likely, though, the widow's angry reaction simply emphasizes the intent of the last line of the poem. This intent is to state that no matter how hard one attempts to hide an aspect of one's identity, that aspect does not fade. Mr. Z attempted all of his life to avoid being labeled African-American, yet in the end, he is immediately classified as of that race. I think his widow's angry reaction simply stresses the foolishness of such endeavors. Most people would consider being named one of the most distinguished people of one's race as an unimaginably incredible honor. Yet Mr. Z's widow only sees the qualifier "of his race" (26) instead of seeing the honor. Like so many of us, instead of focusing on his talents and embracing his identity, Mr. Z attempted to hide a significant part of him. Yet as is always the case, he could not hide who he was. He simply either could have accepted his identity, embrace it, and use it as a tool to bring about both personal and social success, or he could have futilely tried to kick it under the rug. Obviously, Mr. Z foolishly chose the latter.

Yet could you choose the former and truly and wholeheartedly accept who you are?

I doubt it.

You and What Empire? (Question 13)

Percy Bysshe Shelley's "Ozymandias" is an excellently witty example of situational irony. The main source of this irony occurs in the juxtaposition of the image of Ozymandias' powerful proclamation of power and of the image of the of a ruined building or civilization. The irony is initially unclear, as the speaker begins by giving a description of the location of the ruins, which consist only of "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone/ Stand[ing] in the desert" (2-3) and "a shattered visage" (4) of stone. We then start to learn of what kind of man Ozymandias really was, as his sculptor carved him with a "frown,/ and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command" (4-5). This image continues to form with the arrogant proclamation by Ozymandias that he is the "'king of kings;/ Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'" (10-11). These lines make it clear that Ozymandias was extremely arrogant, self-inclined, and obsessed with luxury.

Yet immediately after this, the speaker describes not a wonderful civilization, or even the remnants of a wonderful civilization, but the ruins of a civilization of "decay" where "nothing beside remains" (12). Instead of a grand and luxurious empire, all that remains are two pillars and a sculpted head. Ozymandias' selfish arrogance, like any man's arrogance, was all for naught. This irony proves that luxury and materials, like life, is fleeting.

A Distorted Mirror (Question 8)

Marge Piercy's "Barbie Doll" bears a rather bitterly harsh tone. Each stanza of this poem serves to express this mood in parallel manners. In the first and second stanzas, the general pattern progress from positive to negative points. At first, the girl in the poem experiences happiness, with "dolls that did pee-pee" (2), "miniature GE stoves and irons" (3), and "lipsticks of the color of cherry candy" (4), all items which convey an image of girlish joy. But then that joy is cut short: "A classmate said:/ You have a great big nose and fat legs" (5-6). In that instant, the tone sours. The second stanza also follows this pattern. The speaker presents several wonderful characteristics of the "healthy, tested intelligent" (7) girl. Yet at the end, the speaker again brushes these qualities aside: "Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs" (11). The third stanza offers a brief change in pattern from the other three stanzas, but this stanza contains solely a bitter-sounding description of the society's pressure on the girl to change herself, culminating in "her good nature" (15) wearing out.

The final stanza offers an interesting change: this time, the negative is expressed first, followed by the positive. The speaker utilizes overstatement to emphasize the girl's change within and without. The speaker even goes so far as to imply that the girl's old self died, replaced with a girl "with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,/ a turned-up putty nose,/ dressed in a pink and white nightie" (20-22). The event described as horribly depressing. Instead of describing it as depressing however, the speaker recounts the reaction of society: not a reaction of horror, but one of elation at the woman's "happy ending" (25). The tone is powerfully underscored in the final line of the poem: "To every woman a happy ending" (25). This bitterly ironic statement reflects on the supposed happiness that society makes people believe they feel when they kowtow to everyone's perception. With that final sentence, the speaker seems to be expressing the sentiment that the effect of societal pressure is terrible, but it is also unstoppable.

Going Bonkers...

Perrine clearly likes Emily Dickinson's poetry, as he has included three of her poems within the last sixty pages. Luckily, I also enjoy her poetry. For me, "Much Madness is divinest Sense" was the most difficult to immediately understand. However, that seems to be Dickinson's intention: she wishes us to feel confusion because the truth which she is telling is, in fact, a jumbled and nonsensical one. Her repetition of "Madness" and "Sense" (1, 3) in reverse syntax at first perplex the audience. How can madness be sense, and sense be madness?

Line 4, however, reveals the reason for this paradox. "'Tis the majority/ In this," (4-5) the speaker explains, that creates this discombobulation. The following lines continue by reflecting on society's stubborn tendency to accept one ideology and path to success and happiness and to shun all those who move against the grain. What is viewed as madness to society--to question or doubt the accepted in order to think for oneself--is, according to the speaker, common sense, and what makes sense to society--to blindly and mindlessly agree with society--is true madness. This seems especially prevalent in today's world, where people are often so stubborn-minded and blindly obedient that they are unable to actually think for themselves. Though Dickinson likely was finding objection in her 19th-century world, there is no doubt she would think the same of this 21st-century society in which we live.

This Is a Weird One, Alright...

Margaret Atwood's "February" definitely takes a dive off the deep end in terms of her subject matter. Atwood definitely seems to bear a rather pessimistic view of life, or at least of February, the "time to eat fat/ and watch hockey" (1-2). She states her belief that some people "should snip a few [of their own] testicles" (16). She then follows with her belief that the only thing stopping from mankind from doing the "sensible" (17) act of population control is the "love that does us in" (19). Whereas most people view love as a positive and wholesome emotion, Atwood views love as a roadblock, and obstacle to mankind.

At first, the reader feels rather confused by Atwood's pessimism, particularly her dislike of love. Yet we soon discover the true reason for Atwood's pessimism: it is Valentine's Day, and Atwood is alone: "February, month of despair,/ with a skewered heart in the centre./ I think dire thoughts" (25-27). Atwood's poem actually consists of her rather wandering stream of consciousness as she wallows in self-pity and defiance against the world. At the end, however, Atwood changes her tune. In an apostrophe to her cat which doubles as a self-address, Atwood tells herself to "Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring" (34). By the end, Atwood's self-pity and moping is gone. She has finally decided to move on with her life.

Considering her thoughts when she does not move on, I think her decision is most definitely for the better.

Figuratively Speaking (Question 11)

Hughes' "Dream Deferred" is almost entirely a series of consecutive analogies. After asking the rhetorical question, "What happens to a dream deferred?" (1), Hughes then proceeds to list the possible consequences of putting off a dream in the form of four similes and a metaphor. In each simile, Hughes opens with an active verb--"dry" (2), "fester" (4), "stink" (6), "crust and sugar" (8), and "sags" (10). He then follows with the analogical portion of the simile, comparing the deferred dream to "a raisin in the sun" (3), "a sore" (5), "rotten meat" (7), "a syrupy sweet" (9), and "a heavy load" (11), respectively. At the end, however, Hughes employs an implicit metaphor: "Or does it explode?" (11). In most cases, metaphors tend to carry more power than similes due to the subtler comparison; because the analogy is less obvious, the comparison is cleverer and therefore more effective. An implied metaphor bears even more power: not only is the word of analogy (such as like) absent; the object to which the dream is being compared is also absent, making the metaphor even subtler and more powerful. By ending with a sophisticated implied metaphor after a series of simple similes, Hughes indicates that the last result of a deferred dream is the result which Hughes believes will happen. Instead of coming out and stating his belief, Hughes subtly makes it known.

Oh, the Irony (Question 13)

Elizabeth Bishop's "Pink Dog" is a rather strange poem (if "February" wasn't in this unit, I would have called it the strangest in this unit). At the outset, it appears that the speaker is addressing a hairless dog which lives in the street. The audience feels some sympathy because "the passersby draw back and stare" (6) at the dog, yet they are also rather repulsed by the dog's "naked and pink" (5) appearance. By line 11 or 12, though, it becomes evident that the subject is, in fact, a female beggar: "poor bitch,/ while you go begging, living by your wits?/ Didn't you know? It's been in all the papers,/ to solve this problem, how they deal with beggars?" (11-14) It is at this point that the poem starts to fill with verbal irony. Bishop continues to describe the beggars as "sick, four-legged dogs" (21) and provides a "practical [and] sensible/ solution" (27-28) to the beggars' current state: society should simply cover the beggars' poverty and ignore their plight. After all, "Tonight [the beggars] simply can't afford to be a-/n eyesore" (29-30). The speaker then orders the beggars to "Dress up! Dress up and dance at Carnival" (39). After describing the terrible plight of the beggars and expressing sympathy for them, however, it is clear that Bishop does not actually believe the solution which she proposes is a wise one. Yet by using verbal irony to make her point instead of simply expressing her opinion, Bishop takes a Swiftian approach and shocks readers into accepting her opinion. Instead of browbeating the audience with her opinion, Bishop subtly and effectively proves her belief.

Drunk on the Earth

Once again, Dickinson's poem is my favorite. I find Dickinson's volte-face from "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain" to "I taste a liquor never brewed" particularly interesting. The emotional tones of the two poems are startlingly different. Whereas "Funeral" is gravely serious and rather morbid, "Liquor" is nearly the exact opposite, stating her joy and euphoric reaction to the beauty of nature. I think the aspect of Dickinson's writing which I enjoy the most is its uniqueness. In "Funeral," the unique aspects were the use of solely auditory imagery and the unique perspective of the speaker. In "Liquor," Dickinson creates a rather unique analogy between the effects of the beauty of nature and of alcohol. The speaker describes herself as "Inebriate of Air" (5) and "Debauchee of Dew" (6). Bees are drunken, and Butterflies give up the alcohol of nature, while the speaker says the she "shall but drink the more" (12). This unique description of the speaker's love of nature is a rather fresh change from the gentle imagery of other nature poems. The speaker does not simply appreciate nature; she wants to lose herself within its beauty.

"Form"al Poetry (Question 17)

Before I begin to delve into the form of Keats' "Bright Star," I should state that I discovered most of the information from a site by Nelson Miller of the Cayuse Press Writers Exchange Board.

Anyway, Keats' poem is a rather typical example of an English (or Shakespearean) sonnet. All sonnets consist of fourteen lines, divided into an octet which presents one idea and a sestet which presents a different, often contrasting, idea. Really, the aspect of the Keats' poem which identifies it as English is its rhyme pattern. Keats' poem follows the English pattern of a b a b c d c d e f e f g g, meaning it can be subdivided into three quatrains with alternating lines rhyming and a final couplet. In Keats' poem, the first quatrain serves the purpose of describing the "bright star" (1) and its position and purpose in the sky. He describes the star as "steadfast" (1) in the sky, alone in "splendor" (2), simply "watching" (3). The second quatrain describes what the star observes, which also indicates the star's loneliness and distance from the beauty far below. Together, this octet depicts the aspects of the star which Keats does not desire to have: he does not want to be alone and unattached. In the sestet following the octet, Keats performs a turn and describes the aspect of the star which he does desire: Keats wishes to "feel forever [the] soft fall and swell" (11) of his lover, to stay "steadfast" with his love. Keats closes his statement of desire with a final couplet that states he wants to either "live ever" with his lover or else die at the peak of his love-to "swoon to death" (14). Overall, the division of the sonnet into the octet and sestet serves as a well-established boundary between what Keats desires and what he does not.

Off to London

I view William Blake's "London" as a pretty powerful political criticism of the British government of his time. Without actually stating his intent, or even mention the government, Blake seriously criticizes his government and reflects on the fear and misery that it has caused. In the first two lines, the speaker describes the streets and river which he walks by as "chartered" (1, 2), which the side note explains as being "defined by law". By simply stating the fact that the streets and Thames are defined by law, Blake immediately triggers in the reader and image of a tyrannical government that feels that it must control all within its domain, even the river. He then continues on and describes "in every face [he] meet[s]/ Marks of weakness, marks of woe" (3-4). By progressing from the government's control immediately to the people's misery, Blake draws a connection between the two existences.

He then expands his description of the people's misery, explaining that every citizen suffers from "The mind-forged manacles" (8) he wears as a result of the government's actions. Blake continues on in the last two stanzas to describe the losses and suffering of the workers and subjects of both the "black'ning Church" (10) and the "Palace" (12), or monarchy, and then describes the effect on morality that the Church and State's actions have had: "How the youthful Harlot's curse/ Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,/ And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse" (14-16). Blake saves his most powerful verbs for the final stanza, revealing his thought that the government's actions have caused the people to become not only dispirited but also dehumanized. Although he does not state it aloud, Blake's message is clear: his government is no more nor less than a tyranny.

For Whom the Bells Toll (Wait, Wrong Literature...)

I must admit, Dickinson's "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain" was my favorite poem of the eight selections for this week. I personally find her auditory imagery far more powerful than most visual imagery. Several poets will describe events with colors, or personify nature to give it more life, or create other visual images that evoke either wonderful or terrible feelings. However, it seems that a startling majority of poets rely solely on visual imagery. After a time, this repetition often causes visual imagery to lose its potential power. Using virtually exclusively auditory imagery, however, Dickinson creates a powerful, booming cascade of images that are so unique and startlingly original that they not only attract the reader's attention, but demand it. A poet simply cannot write a description of "a Drum--/Kept beating--beating--till I thought/ My Mind was going numb--" (5-7) and not intend that it carry a substantial amount of power. Dickinson takes these concepts and images that are usually visual, such as space and heavens, and creates a completely original association with them as describing them as beginning to "toll" (12) and as being a "Bell" (13), respectively. To me, that is where Dickinson's true power in her poetry lies: in her ability to take a known and accepted idea or image and convolute it into a startling and powerful creation.

Mad World (Question 10)

In "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain," Emily Dickinson utilizes powerfully vivid and unique imagery. In describing the funeral, Dickinson almost exclusively appeals to the sense of hearing. The speaker hears the service as "like a Drum--/Kept beating--beating" (5-6). She hears "them lift a Box" (9)--that is, her casket--rather than feeling it being lifted, and she hears the pallbearers "creak across [her] Soul" (10). Space "tolls" (12), "the Heavens were a Bell" (13), and she is simply "but an Ear" (14), with "Silence" as "some strange Race" (15). These strong, thunderous sounds and descriptions evoke a sense of entrapment and despair. The lack of sensations other than hearing also reflect the speaker's feeling of mental and/or emotional death, extending the image of the funeral in her brain. In the dark of night, it is not only the lack of vision that frightens many; it is the enhanced sense of hearing that truly spooks. By relying nearly solely on this sense, Dickinson writes into her poem a sense of fear, despair, and utter hopelessness.

This Poem Is Sad (Question 8)

William Carlos Williams' "The Widow's Lament in Springtime" carries a tone of, well, lament (surprise, surprise). Throughout the poem, the speaker's descriptions reflect a deep feeling of regret and sorrow. The poem even begins with the line "Sorrow is my own yard" (1): the place that is closest to her is filled with sorrow, and she goes on to describe a "cold fire/ that closes round me this year" (5-6). It is then that we learn that her husband's death is the source of the widow's grief. It is interesting to notice her style in describing two different aspects of her yard: the grass that contains the "cold fire" (5), and the tree that is described as filled with color. Yet even when the speaker does describe the colors of the tree, the description is rather vague: instead of specifics, she simply states that the flowers "color some bushes/ yellow and some red" (13-14). She does not go into great detail, as she did in describing the flaming grass, but chooses to describe the symbol of happiness in the yard as vague and murky, giving the reason that "the grief in [her] heart/ is stronger than they/ for though they were [her] joy/ formerly, today [she] notice[s] them/ and turned away forgetting" (15-19). She is filled with such grief and sorrow that she forces herself to try to forget the memories of her past with her husband, as she cannot move on while remembering. Overall, the speaker seems bogged down with sorrow and mourning for the death of her husband, and this tone is vividly reflected in the speaker's diction.

Lovely Letters (Question 15)

Gerard Manley Hopkins' "Spring" is rather rife with alliteration. He describes "weeds, in wheels" that "shoot long and lovely and lush" (2). He depicts eggs that "look little low heavens" (3) and "thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring" (4) and strikes "like lightnings" (5). The "descending blue" of the sky is described as "in a rush/ With richness" (7-8), and clouds that "have fair their fling" (8). He describes spring as "juice" and "joy" (9), and he prays that God does not let childhood "sour with sinning" (12) because innocent children are "worthy the winning" (14). Clearly, Hopkins is a big fan of alliteration. Yet this alliteration serves a purpose. Alliteration carries significance because it rolls off the tongue with ease. Alliteration conveys a sense of ease and tranquility, especially with softer consonants, such as l, r, w, and f, all of which Hopkins uses. This sense of ease and peace suits Hopkins' description of the tranquility and beauty of spring. By using alliteration, Hopkins creates a poem that carries the same sentiment as the subject of his poem.

Perrine's Poetry? Preposterous!

To be honest, I have never been a big fan of poetry. While they are usually short reads, their brevity often deceptively conceals their depth. The frustrating part of studying poetry is it seems too often that my friends and I will have about five different interpretations of the poems, and after arguing and debating amongst each other, we will then be told by the teacher that they are all, in fact, valid. I am alright with several valid interpretations existing. What exacerbates, though, is the fact that there commonly seems to be no end to the number of different valid interpretations of a poem. Often in English classes of the past, if you could argue your interpretation, and it sounded at least half-good, then the teacher decided it was not worth arguing and would deem it a satisfactory interpretation. In other cases, the opposite was true: any interpretation that was not an exact replica of the teacher's, no matter how well-supported, was struck down. Because of this, I found myself agreeing with Perrine's discussion of "correct" interpretations of poetry and his approach. Perrine's approach of logically analyzing an analysis was a much-appreciated guideline for interpreting poetry. At last, we have a method that makes sense!

Of course, now that I have a legitimate guideline for interpreting poetry, I have realized just how poor my interpreting skills are. Among the three poems (or sets of poems) that we read, I correctly interpreted "The Rose and the Worm." That was it. My interpretations of the other two were grossly off the mark. In both of my analyses, I took a far too literal approach. In Dickinson's poem, I used the little knowledge I had of Dickinson and her reclusive lifestyle and assumed that the poem had a melancholy feel. Because of this, I think I twisted the poem to fit my idea that the poem must be a reflection of the futility of materialistic wealth (the "ships of purple," which was the color of royalty, the "seas of daffodil," the color of gold, and the "fantastic sailors" that all disappear when "the wharf is still"). Perrine's explanation, however, made a great deal more sense. While his analysis of Dickinson's poem was not too surprising, his analysis of Melville's poem, on the other hand, threw me. When I studied the differences between Melville's and Whitman's poems, I primarily focused on their descriptions of the armies, and, therefore, their idea of war. It did not even occur to me that Melville's poem was not, in fact, about an army. I was so occupied with an analysis of diction that I failed to realize what that diction actually meant.

Basically, I found Perrine's approach comforting in that I now have a method to utilize, but disconcerting in that I have a long way to go.

The End (At Last!)

“‘Oh, Jake,’ Brett said, ‘we could have had such a damned good time together.’

Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it pretty to think so?’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 251

I think this is a rather fitting end to The Sun Also Rises. As far as endings go, it was not a particularly exciting ending. It was not overly poetic, nor was it completely pointless. Yet that basically sums up the entire novel. The novel was not overly exciting or poetic; to be honest, I did not like the novel at all. If all of Hemingway’s books are similar to this one, I fail to grasp the reason why Hemingway is considered so great of a writer.

Yet despite this, The Sun Also Rises did have its merits. The struggle between Cohn and Brett was well developed, even if all of the development occurred within a fifty-page section. The setting and depiction of France and Spain were well-detailed and quite accurate. Overall, it seemed that Hemingway was writing a story that quite possibly could have been based on events of his own life. His own life just was not very interesting. Because of the lack of interesting material, the story as a whole suffered immensely.

Where Do They Go from Here?

“The three of us sat at the table, and it seemed as though about six people were missing.”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 228

This sentence sums up the general mood of the denouement. Cohn has left Spain, his spirit shattered. Brett has also left the city with Pedro Romero, though considering her past, it is anyone’s guess as to how long the relationship will actually last. Now only the three comrades remain: Mike, saddened and lonely now that his fiancée has left him; Bill, always happy and cheerful, now sobered slightly by the events of the past few days; and Jake, the man who has stood by and helped allow these events to happen.

The fiesta’s closing reflects the end of the conflict concerning Cohn and Brett. Just as the people of the city must now try and revert back to the way things were before the fiesta, so must these three try and return to the lives that they lived before the fiesta. This sentence is rather melancholy and bitter in nature, yet it accurately reflects the problem that these three men will now have to face. How will they move on after such an explosive fallout? Unfortunately, considering only twenty-three pages remain, I am not sure the reader will find out.

Stubborn as a Jewish Bull (Symbol)

“It was the bull that had sprinted out and killed the man in the morning running….When he had finished his work with the muleta and was ready to kill, the crowd made him go on. They did not want the bull killed yet, they did not want it to be over. Romero went on….The bull watched him. Romero spoke to the bull and tapped one of his feet. The bull charged and Romero waited for the charge, the muleta held low, sighting along the blade, his feet firm…The bull tried to go forward, his legs commenced to settle, he swung from side to side, hesitated, then went down on his knees…”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 223-224

I am starting this blog entry by stating that this may be seen as a bit of a stretch, but this is an observation that I made as I was reading this passage the first time. As I was reading the description of the final bullfight, I could not help but think that the bullfight was rather symbolic of Cohn’s struggles. Cohn seems to parallel the bull in several ways. Just as Brett constantly leads Cohn on, so does Romero lead the bull to his death. Yet even though the bull likely realizes to some extent the danger of his charge, it stubbornly plows on in its attempt to get its way. Similarly, Cohn has had several encounters with Mike and others that warn him of the foolishness of his obsession with Brett. Yet Cohn blindly ignores these warnings, charging on.

Finally, just as Romero kills the bull in its final charge, it is in Cohn’s final violent attempt to win Brett that his spirit is ultimately broken. Whether Hemingway intended the final bullfight to be symbolic or not, he draws a strong connection between the bull killed for pure enjoyment and the man whose spirit is broken because his friends enjoy his suffering.

The Reason behind It All (Motivation)

“‘Ashley, chap she got the title from, was a sailor, you know. Ninth baronet. When he came home he wouldn’t sleep in a bed. Always made Brett sleep on the floor. Finally, when he got really bad, he used to tell her he’d kill her. Always slept with a loaded service revolver. Brett used to take the shells out when he’d gone to sleep. She hasn’t had an absolutely happy life, Brett. Damned shame, too. She enjoys things so.’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 207

In this passage, we finally learn Brett’s motivation. Before this paragraph, we had to just assume that Brett’s flirting and romantic escapades were simply a result of her flapper personality. Without a background story, we had to guess that Brett acted the way she did because of a 1920s culture that included new freedom for women. Upon reading this passage, though, we can see that this is not the case. Before her engagement to Mike, Brett was involved in an abusive marriage. Perhaps the abuse was not physical, but being told by one’s spouse that he is going to kill you definitely constitutes as abuse. I think Brett’s previous marriage has caused her to become emotionally and romantically unstable. Similarly to Cohn, she falls in love with any man who treats her with respect because she was not given any respect in her previous marriage.

Hemingway finally includes this explanation of Brett’s motivation not only as a commentary on abusive relationships, but also as a twist in our perception of Brett and—because we can now better see the similarity between her and Cohn—of Robert Cohn as well.

Breaking Point ("I Do Not Like Robert Cohn," La Quinta Parte) (External Conflict)

“‘I’ll make you tell me’—he stepped forward—‘you damned pimp.’

I swung at him and he ducked. I saw his face duck sideways in the light. He hit me and I sat down on the pavement. As I started to get on my feet he hit me twice. I went down backward under a table. I tried to get up and felt I did not have any legs. I felt I must get on my feet and try and hit him. Mike helped me up. Some one [sic] poured a carafe of water on my head. Mike had an arm around me, and I found I was sitting on a chair. Mike was pulling at my ears.

‘I say, you were cold.’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 194-195

Finally, we see some action! This fight between Cohn, Jake, and Mike is at last tangible proof of the external conflict of The Sun Also Rises. Cohn’s struggle with his obsession with Brett has caused him to conflict with Brett and, by extension, Mike, Bill, and Jake as well. Throughout the novel, Cohn’s “Jewish stubbornness” has isolated him from the other friends. Instead of enjoying the company of his friends, he follows Brett to the point of stalking. He refuses to accept the fact that Brett does not love him; he is blinded by his own foolish and naïve belief that he is truly in love with her. This belief, coupled with his short-temperedness, constantly drives Cohn to be at odds with the rest of the party. In this passage, it is clear that Cohn has finally snapped. What worries me is what he will do next.

"Love"

“‘I’m a goner. I’m mad about the Romero boy. I’m in love with him, I think.’

‘I wouldn’t be if I were you.’

‘I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to help anything.’

‘You ought to stop it.’

‘How can I stop it? I can’t stop things.’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 187

Reading this passage, it occurred to me that romantically, Cohn and Brett are actually remarkably similar. Both display a sort of romantic naïveté; upon meeting a person once or twice, they both believe they are in love. Cohn fell in love with his first wife because she was nice to him, then fell in love with Frances because she stayed with him. Now he is in love with Brett because of their vacation in San Sebastian.

Brett is not much better than Cohn; in many ways, actually, she is worse. First she is in love with Jake, and still claims to love him; yet she is also in love with Mike, despite her clear annoyance with him. Now she is in love with Pedro because he’s dangerous and graceful. Without knowing really anything about Pedro, other than the fact that he’s a bullfighter, Brett claims that she is “in love with him.” To me, it almost seems a bit unfair that only Cohn is being criticized for his romantic endeavors; Lady Brett has been doing the same thing for years.

The Price of Money

“‘Look,’ said Montoya. ‘People take a boy like that. They don’t know what he’s worth. They don’t know what he means. Any foreigner can flatter him. They start this Grand Hotel business, and in one year they’re through...He’s such a fine boy,’ said Montoya. ‘He out to stay with his own people. He shouldn’t mix in that stuff.’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 176

This passage seems to be a slightly subtle commentary on commercialism. Montoya fears that if Pedro Romero becomes involved with foreigners who want to make him a star, then his talent will in fact drop. If Pedro has financial backers, it is likely that he would have to change his bullfighting style. Jake and Montoya have discussed that Pedro is one of the old-fashioned bullfighters who work dangerously close to the bull. I doubt that the men with the money would want one of their prize fighters to risk his life every time he fights.

Montoya’s description reminds me of the commercialism rampant in the music industry today. In this age of music where every song within a genre often sounds strikingly similar to countless others, it seems that the quality of music decreases as the amount of profit earned increases (I also discussed this in my blog this past spring). Sadly, the commercialism that Hemingway describes only gets worse through the years.

Fiesta! Olé! (Mood)

“The dancers did not want me to go out. Three of them were sitting on the high wine-cask beside Brett, teaching her to drink out of the wine-skins. They had hung a wreath of garlics around her neck. Some one [sic] insisted on giving her a glass. Somebody was teaching Bill a song. Singing it into his ear. Beating time on Bill’s back.”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 160

The Spanish know how to party, eh? Hemingway’s description of the fiesta is quite a crazy one. I noticed that Hemingway’s sentences are now all relatively short and choppy. Instead of lengthy descriptions of the events within the fiesta, he writes several quick, fast descriptions that jump from one happening to the next at a rapid pace. The sentence fragments particularly encourage a sense of overwhelmed senses. By describing events at allegro tempo, Hemingway creates a mood of carefree, unrestrained frivolity. This mood is continued for quite some time, indicating the length of the fiesta. After 150 pages or so of slow, laidback writing, Hemingway turns up the heat and, in doing so, turns up the mood as well.

I Do Not Particularly Like Mike Campbell, Either ("I Do Not Like Robert Cohn," La Cuarta Parte) (Protagonist/Antagonist)

“‘Oh, don’t stand up and act as though you were going to hit me. That won’t make any difference to me. Tell me, Robert. Why do you follow Brett around like a poor bloody steer? Don’t you know you’re not wanted? I know when I’m not wanted. Why don’t you know when you’re not wanted? You came down to San Sebastian where you weren’t wanted, and followed Brett around like a bloody steer. Do you think that’s right?’”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 146

Another reason that I do not like Robert Cohn (though this isn’t really his fault) is that it is unclear whether or not he is the protagonist. In this passage, it appears that Cohn is in fact the protagonist, and Mike is the antagonist. In truth, however, I could see either Brett or Cohn dubbed the protagonist in The Sun Also Rises. On one hand, one could say that since Cohn’s obsession with Brett has thus far caused any action or plot progression that has taken. On the other hand, however, one could also say that if Brett had not gone on vacation with Cohn, and if she did not flirt with men other than her fiancé as much, then the plot would never have progressed.

The dynamic between Brett and Cohn clearly is an interesting one. If Cohn is viewed as the protagonist, then it appears that Mike—and, truthfully, all of the friends, considering no one wishes to stop Mike’s belittling of Cohn—is the antagonist. If Brett is viewed as the protagonist, however, the tables are turned; Cohn is seen as the likely antagonist. Brett repeatedly attempts to find love and peace of mind within her life, but Cohn’s obsession with her causes him to constantly get in the way of Brett’s pursuits. So…is Brett or Cohn the protagonist? You decide!

Le Francais et l'Espagnol? O la Vache! (Vernacular)

“‘Oh, yes. They’ve never seen a desencajonada.’

… ‘Your friend, is he aficionado, too? …Yes?’ Montoya politely disbelieved. ‘But he’s not aficionado like you.’

…Aficion means passion. An aficionado is one who is passionate about the bull-fights.”

-The Sun Also Rises, p 136

One observation which I made earlier in the novel and forgot to mention before was the use of vernacular throughout the book. When Jake & Co. were in Paris, Hemingway made sure to include several French words and phrases to give authenticity to his writing. Now that the characters are in Spain, Hemingway does the same with Spanish words. Hemingway includes the vernacular for a few reasons. Throughout the novel, the characters actually speak very little English; while in France, they spend the majority of the time speaking French, and while in Spain, those who know Spanish use it almost constantly.

Obviously, if Hemingway had opted to write the dialogue in the actual language which he intended his characters to be speaking, his novel would not have appealed to American readers nearly as much as it did. However, by including bits of the vernacular within his writing, Hemingway reminds the reader of his original intent to write his characters as culturally suave. Yet the vernacular also loans an authenticity to the story, indicating that the author is not simply taking an American tale and placing it in Europe, but is actually writing a Europeanized story.