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.