The Explorer Versus the Policeman

The Explorer Versus the Policeman

After reading Douglas Kerr’s article, I tried to put his observations into perspective with my own thoughts about both novels. Kerr identifies a definite line between the law abiding Joll-like character, and the rebellious Kurtz-like character. Yet, he also acknowledges that there can be a role reversal, a fusion of the two that is unavoidable. Kerr seems to classify Marlow on this “law abiding” side of the line, yet I disagree. I believe that Marlow’s obsession and fascination with Kurtz connects him to the explorer side of the line. I do agree with Kerr that there seems to be a definite difference in being native and going native. Perhaps Marlow realizes the wrong doings against the natives, yet cannot go native as Kurtz did.

Similarly, the Magistrate seems to walk the fine line between appreciating the natives and becoming native. He is obviously greatly opposed to the work of Joll, yet he is not fully comfortable with the barbarian girl and can never seem to be satisfied b her no matter how close he gets to her. There is definitely a line between him and the natives, and I believe he wants to eliminate it, but does not truly understand the implications of that. Through his excavation work and the taking in of the girl, I believe the Magistrate is at times somewhat obsessed with becoming native.

I believe there is a parallel in Marlow’s obsession with Kurtz and the Magistrate’s obsession with “fixing” what Empire has done to the barbarians, through caring for the girl, standing up for the prisoners, and his excavations. The idea of going native is dangerous and in stark opposition to what the Magistrate and Marlow are told is right according to Empire and Europe, yet I believe these two characters are similar since they play with the dangerous idea of becoming one with the jungle.

One idea I found particularly fascinating in Kerr’s article was “[n]o profit without knowledge, no knowledge without contact, no contact without transgression” (24). I had never thought about Kurtz and the Magistrate as being necessary, only as pests to the European imperialists and Empire. It is interesting to see the two opposites as being necessary for the other to survive. Without the lawmaker there can be no explorer, and without the explorer, the lawmaker has nothing to control. Kerr again reiterates this idea, “transgression will have to find a new meaning, since you cannot step across a boundary is the boundary is no longer there” (27). Although both stand in contrast to the other, they must both exist for the continuation of the other.

The Dream: The Personification of Imperialism?

While reading the first few sections, many emerging themes became clearer as the novel progressed, yet one small question that arose in the first section never seemed to be answered. After our unnamed narrator discusses how he longs for a simple life, he has a convoluted and dark dream. In his dream he describes mass amount of snow fall lit by an "aura" of ubiquitous light. He finds himself in the same surroundings of his outpost, yet the walls, trees, and houses have "dwindled" (pg. 9). Children building snow castles topped with little red flags surround him. All the children seem to melt away as he moves past them except one hooded figure that continues building her wall. This description is so vague that I felt like it could be interpreted a number of ways, but as I read it a few times I developed my own take on our nameless narrator's bedtime thoughts.
Could these children possible be the future generation of imperialists? Is the fading of the surrounding trees and houses and foreshadowing of imperialistic doom? Truly, I am not sure, but as I read this passage, I could not help but sense an ominous tone. The haunting image of young children planting red flags into their pure white snow castles was one reason for my hunch. The figures seem to fade away as the narrator passes them, perhaps suggesting he is not like them. Throughout the novel thus far, I have noticed a great disconnect between the brutal Colonel and the compassionate narrator. Perhaps the figures' disappearance signals a disconnect between their world of imperialistic aspirations and his desire for a peaceful, quiet life. The final encounter the narrator has with the figure that does not dissappear raised a few ideas in my mind. First, this could be foreshadowing for some immovable and irreversible imperialistic force; second, as I continued to read the novel I thought this girl may represent the narrator's "barbarian" lover. This dream continues to perplex me, but that is precisely why it interests me so much.

Modernism and Vietnam

- Apocalypse Now and Heart of Darkness have many scenes that have surrealistic qualities that forcefully convey the war's/situation in Africa's incomprehensibility. The "moral darkness" (uses demonic doubles to show this) is evident through the criminal colonization, nationalism, class hatred, racism, and misogyny. Conrad and Coppola use both narration and their narrative structure to create a "textual performance" of moral implication that ultimately proves a point to the reader/viewer.

- The idea of winning the "hearts and minds" of the Vietnamese and "improving" the Africans vs. the cold killing of each. What were their true intentions? Both stories are trying to express the main idea of the imposition of one culture on top of another culture. Colonialism is a "movable horror" that is prone to repetition.

- The quest for adventure is not exactly what Marlow/Willard had hoped for.
" Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one. It was a real choice mission, and when it was over, I never wanted another." - Willard

- Jungle "fever" connection
Emotional and mental breakdowns - Heart of Darkness: Doctor
Apocalypse Now: Playboy Bunny scene (cowboys and Indians)
- Juxtapose British/America values to their current surroundings. The British/American ideals are absurd in Africa/Vietnam. (ex: Accountant and his ridiculously clean outfit, Kilgore's passion for surfing)
French man-of-war firing into the invisible and unresponsive jungle, the daily reconstruction of the Do Lung Bridge "Every night the bridge is rebuilt, an the Vietcong blow it up again."

- Both share main idea that colonial adventurism is "senseless brutality, waste, destructiveness of enterprises" with misguided and hypocritical goals and badly planned strategies.

The End.

215

At first I did not understand the meaning of the last pages of The Sound and the Fury, but after discussion in class it grew on me. How could a book bent on the past and the deterioration of the present and future end in any other way? The lack of an obvious climax works because the entire novel describes the constant decaying of the Compson family. A grander ending would not have been fitting. There was closure in the predictability of the scene. Benji cries and is comforted only by a return to the same. Jason takes charge and gets the carriage going the right way, slaps Luster, showcasing his short tempered nature and cynicism. There are no surprises or shocks. Yet, that is the beauty of the ending. The conclusion (if you can call it that), just illustrates exactly how everything is and how it will be. It provides some sort of closure in a novel that is uncontrollably spiraling downward. Faulkner intentionally ended the story this way and I believe it was good that there truly was no real conclusion to all of the seperate events. Dilsey's dominance and ability to keep the family together to some degree offers some hope, but Benji's inability to mature stagnates any progression in his character. I believe Faulkner is trying to prove that some people and some situations simply never change.

You Are What You Remember

582 (word count excludes passage from JSTOR)

"Its regressive principle we see, first, in the presence of the three Compson brothers, who recall Faulkner’s own family configuration, and second, in the use of memory and repetition as formal principles. Faulkner possessed the three Compson brothers, as he later put it, almost before he put pen to paper. He took a central event and several germinating images from the death of the grandmother he and his brothers called Damuddy, after whose lingering illness and funeral they were sent from home so that it could be fumigated. For Faulkner, as for Gertrude Stein, memory is always repetition, being and living never repetition. The Sound and the Fury, he was fond of remarking, was a single story several times told. But memory was never for him simple repetition. He used the remembered as he used the actual: less to denominate lived events, relationships, and configurations, with their attendant attributes and emotions, than to objectify them and so be free to analyze and pay with them. To place the past under the aspect of the preset, the present under the aspect of the past, was to start from the regressive toward the innovative."

Faulkner, Childhood, and the Making of The Sound and the Fury
David Minter
American Literature, Vol. 51, No. 3 (Nov., 1979), pp. 376-393

Initially Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury is difficult to follow. The constant flashbacks and convoluted train of thought in Benjy’s section begins the novel in a less traditional way, to put it mildly. Yet, as I continued reading I came to appreciate this unique stream of consciousness style. Although initially confusing and seemingly unthoughtful, the way Faulkner wrote the novel is very true to one’s true thought process. Our pasts are interpreted and deemed important by our current selves, and our past dictates how we perceive our present. Faulkner beautifully illustrates a few meaningful events in three brothers' lives and uses their recollections to reveal other characters, their own characters, and aspects of the human perception of time.
Benjy's section is very difficult to follow. Faulkner's choice to begin the novel with Benjy puzzled me. As I finished Benjy's section though and continued to Quentin's, it occurred to me: are Benjy's seemingly mindless thoughts really so far from my own moment to moment thinking? Although it may be difficult to read Benjy's section due to its random breaks in thought and flashbacks of previous events, I soon realized my own brain does the same, if not even more frequently than Benjy's. A usual daydream can often lead to memories that occurred years and years ago, and continue further and further away from the present.
So what is the importance of memory? Why does Faulkner concentrate on certain events and the various characters reaction to these happenings? I believe that Faulkner is attempting to prove that who we are able to be today is a refection of what we have lived through, yet our past is inextricably connected to the way we perceive events occurring in our present. So, in my oppinion, Faulkner is trying to explain that our past dictates our future, and more specifically that certain events have more influence than others. Quentin's narrative is marked by events demonstrating Caddy's sexual promiscuity; his thoughts appear to be almost obsessive. Benjy remembers when Caddy smelled like trees and when she didn't. He is scarred and haunted by the changes in his beloved sister. Memory serves as a way to judge the present, yet the present also effects the way one interprets the past. For Benjy, I don't think he could quite grasp the meaning of Caddy's tears in the stairway. Yet he does know there is a change in her, from the incident with the boy in the forest to her departure from the household. I am not sure how Benjy's perception of the past changes as his present progresses, but it is clear he possesses an ability to connect certain events involving Caddy together, even if he is unable to interpret them.
Quentin, on the other hand, is not able to use his present to better perceive his past because he lives in his memories. His obsession with what has happened and what was disables him from growing as a character. This inability to move on and live in the "now" is what leads to his suicide.
The recurrent memories throughout the novel for both characters is not simply a repetition of what has happened, but a flashback that each time remembered offers a new meaning, a new fear, a new obsession. The importance of memory changes since one's present is constantly changing and becoming one's past. For Benjy and Quentin, each memory brings them back to their pasts, but also sheds new light on their current thoughts as well.

Do You Wrinkle This or Did I?

Jess Ornstein
AP-1
651

Do You Wrinkle This or Did I?

Are we born the person we are today, or are we a product of our life and times? The narrator of “I Stand Here Ironing” carefully tip toes a line between attributing her daughter’s character to simply who she is and the atmosphere her mother has created. Tillie Olsen depicts a desperate mother who is struggles to place the blame upon things that are outside her control while knowing it rests upon herself. Is it the nature of Emily to have bloomed later in life, or could she only grow when her surrounding permitted such expansion? The mother eventually concludes that “[s]he is a child of her age, of depression, of war, of fear,” but I believe that the narrator knows she is the one who has done this to Emily.
The narrator describes her first- born daughter as a “beautiful baby.” Yet as she grows older she relies on her mother to repeatedly reassure her of her good looks. The narrator views her baby as a tiny miracle, yet contact with her beloved child is reduced, as her era’s economic strife requires her to work. The mother’s lovely baby becomes foreign and seems to lose her initial tenderness. As the narrator’s financial situation continues to worsen, the bond with her daughter is replaced by “parking places for children” or nursery school. When Emily is old enough to go to school, the narrator attempts to justify why she let her daughter stay home regularly. The mother claims her softness to be “all the acts of love,” yet her daughter’s absence from school only puts her at a disadvantage.
Although Emily’s nature may have been the reason she disliked school, her mother’s inability to encourage her daughter’s attendance at school puts her daughter in a weak position. She even sends Emily to a boarding school to raise her with a structure she mother cannot create. She continues to blame other factors for her daughter’s difficulties. She laments that “it was too late for Emily” and blames her daughter for not responding to her feeble efforts to help her with claims such as “as if she would let me hold and comfort her like I do the others.” Yet, behind this mask of apathy and culpability, it is evident the narrator knows she can help her daughter emerge from her deep confusion. Her guilt is subtlety revealed throughout the story as she admits, “I was a young mother, I was a distracted mother.” She continually stresses to ‘let [Emily] be,” yet I believe she knows it is this attitude that has almost destroyed her daughter.
The narrator would like to be able to believe herself when she attributes Emily’s character to her daughter’s nature and to factors outside of her control. Yet, she is covertly aware it is truly her nurturing (or lack thereof) that is responsible for Emily’s personality. Tillie Olsen may also be making a statement about the state of life during the depression; the helplessness of a mother as she tries to support her family and care for their emotional needs.
Yet, I believe that although it is true the narrator feels an internal guilt for her daughter’s situation and a desperation caused by the financial crunch facing her family, Emily’s success in comedy is Olsen’s glimmer of optimism. It may have been Emily’s mother who did not create the optimal environment in which to grow up, but it was her nature that allowed her to discover her own happiness. Perhaps her mother was too quick to label her as a troubled youth when it was her daughter’s nature to find later in her life. Her mother’s lack of action may have held her down in her childhood, yet it was Emily’s innate comedy skills that allowed her to begin to realize her potential as a young adult.

Questions for Discussion

1) What statement does Tillie Olsen make about the generation that lived through the Depression?

2) Do you think that the narrator sees the true Emily? Or do you think she does not understand the depth of her daughter?

3)What is the significance of the last line, "Only to help her know--help make it so there is cause for her to know--that she is more than this dress on the ironing board, helpless before the iron." Is this hypocritical of the mother to say?

4) Why could the narrator care for Emily's siblings better than she could for Emily?

The Power of Perspective: Who Is the Bad Guy?

520

Am I going crazy, or is everyone around me losing it? Perspective is a vital element in any story; a reliable or unreliable narrator can change a story's meaning. In Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "Yellow Wallpaper," the narrator is obviously driving herself into an endless hole of insanity, yet her honesty can at times make the reader sympathetic to her condition and possibly even wanting to believe her. I felt that the narrator's husband, John, seems manipulative as he takes advantage of her submission. He leaves no room for anything but complete acceptance of his medical "knowledge." Yet, as I continued reading Gilman's electrifying story, I could not help but feel that the narrators insanity was not partially induced by her husband's treatment. She is constantly reaffirming her submission to his advice: "John says it is good for me." Yet, just as I felt weary of John's regiment of sleep and extreme relaxation, the narrator also expresses her conflicting feeling of "getting a little afraid of John." Is John driving his wife into insanity or is this an inevitable outcome due to a mental illness? As I continued reading the short story I wanted to understand why John acted the way he did.

While reading the short story I could not help but find the narrator's descriptions intriguing rather than irrational. Although she was obviously having vivid hallucinations, is it impossible that a woman with a vivid imagination cooped up in a room with strange wallpaper can record a wild account in some sort of journal? I believe Gilman's story is unique because unlike a description of a mentally disturbed individual, at times this narrator seems believable and relatable. To see the inner workings of her mind, both seemingly insane but at times also quite normal, offers us the ability to connect with a clinically insane woman.

I could not help but feeling frustrated by John's blindness to his wife's condition and, often, his role as a catalyst for the insanity. At many points in the story I could not decipher whether John was purposefully manipulating his wife, or if he truly intended to better his wife's mental health. At one point in the story, I actually thought John was cheating on his wife when she noted that "John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious." My opinion on what exactly his motives were, swayed between both possibilities throughout the story. I have finally concluded that John did want to help his wife, but was also somewhat afraid of her condition and therefore ignored it. At this time in history so little was known about mental illness, its causes, and its treatment that it is possible a husband's love for his wife could lead to a reclusive apathy. John may not have known how to "fix" his wife and therefore he was too afraid to become too attached to his ailing companion who now seems foreign. The narrator's blind obedience to her husband's mandates may simply be an excuse for the distance that has come between them. Even a crazy woman can recognize her husband's love for her. Although Gilman may have been trying to promote a more feminist message, I interpreted John’s involvement or lack thereof to be a lost husband in need of an answer for himself.

What You Hear Isn't Always What You Get

In Flannery O'Connor's "Revelation," the main character, Mrs. Turpin displays a behavior that is unfortunately not an uncommon one to human nature. This bible-thumping church member makes it clear that "[t]o help anybody out that needed it was her philosophy of life," however, Mrs. Turpin's thoughts reveal that her good actions are only a façade. Hiding behind this curtain of kind deeds is a hateful, close-minded cow who places herself above everyone. Mrs. Turpin does not understand that the foundation for social service is a true desire to do good.

Mrs. Turpin cannot seem to overcome people's color, dress, or vernacular to open her heart and truly be kind to them. She may perform praiseworthy acts, but the true test of her character is in the way she views those around her on an everyday basis. She may bring her black servants water, but does Mrs. Turpin complete this task to truly care for her workers or to appear better in the eyes of God? Mrs. Turpin hides her hideous thoughts behind her "kind" actions which seem to be simply going through the motions. Does Mrs. Turpin not understand that her petty actions are a small exchange for the thoughts inside her twisted mind.

It surprised me that Mrs. Turpin was so divinely touched by Mary Grace's words. This seemed to be a departure from the more stubborn and out of touch Mrs. Turpin we had met thus far in the story. The author successfully foreshadows some sort of vengeful act upon the noisy and bossy Mrs. Turpin, and Mary Grace appears to be the ideal character to carry it out. Yet, it is not clear whether Mrs. Turpin has the capacity to interpret this act in a way that will lead to a change or evolution in Turpin's character. It was not particularly clear to me if Mrs. Turpin was forever different because of Mary Grace's "warthog" comment, but it did seem that the words were burned into her mind. As a reader it was almost comforting to hear Mary Grace's words, although harsh, to galvanize some sort of change in Mrs. Turpin. Although I wanted to see some sort of transformation in Mrs. Turpin, is was satisfactory that she heard words that expressed the emotions I had become to feel for her.

Mrs. Turpin as a character does not have the depth to understand that her actions do not make up for her lack of goodness in her mind and heart. Turpin lacks any sort of sincerity that would make her belief in Jesus and God seem legitimate. Although she may think she is doing what God would like her to do, she cannot understand that her true thoughts prevail over her good deeds. While reading "Revelation" it is obvious that Mrs. Turpin cannot forever hide behind her actions, her inner thoughts will eventually be revealed. Mary Grace may be an ugly, broken out college student, yet she possesses an understanding none of the other more "superior" characters do. Mary Grace is able to recognize Mrs. Turpin's inner ugliness and act upon her observations. For this, I believe that Mary Grace, although maybe less active in the community service circles, is the only character who truly benefits those around her.

Out On My Own?

Alice Walker's "Everyday Use" explored a new aspect of leaving home, one that had never occured to me before. Going out into the world and becoming an independent woman is a vision many young girls fantasize about as they battle the oppression of school and parental control. Yet, Walker illustrates a darker side of the separation that occurs between mother, daughter, and sister, as a young woman seeks a better life many miles from her drab childhood.

Dee (Wangero) appears to crave a lifestyle that reflects only the decades of her heritage which she finds trendy and socially accepted. As she forces her way into the "real" world, Dee (Wangero) deserts her reality. She is too embarrassed to see the bravery of her mother as she tries to let her daughter live a life she never could, and the sincerity and loyalty of her kind sister. Dee (Wangero) deserts the label that ties her to her less favorable heritage and chooses a name that relates to her deeper African roots. Although it may seem laudable to the reader that this young woman has emerged from her humble upbringing to redefine herself, Walker shows how Dee (Wangero) is actually an embarrassment to the hard work and goodness of her family. In her quest to discover her heritage, she looks foolish. Dee (Wangero)'s attempt to get in touch with her roots only results in a showcase of her greed and ignorance.

Dee (Wangero) is an example of the overzealous young woman who will stop at nothing to severe the strings that attach her to her unavoidable truth. She cannot escape her bloodline by being called an exotic name or dating a radical man. Dee (Wangero) can never truly be her own woman until she accepts that her past has made her what she is, and that her future will always be affected by the events which have created her character thus far. Although letting go seems to be easy for Dee, it is obvious that she has not let go of the embarrassment of her mother and sister, or the disdain for their way of life. She arrogantly states to Maggie that "[i]t's really a new day for us. But from the way you and Mama still live you'd never know it," which only reveals an immaturity and lack of understanding on Dee's part. Dee (Wangero) may choose to live her life in a different, more modern way, but she can never grow up until she can accept that where she came from is integral to who she is. It is evident this lack of understanding leads to Dee (Wangero)'s rudeness and disrespect she displays toward her sister and her mother. To truly grow up would require Dee (Wangero) to appreciate her mother and sister, even if she does not agree with their lifestyle.

Dee (Wangero) is a stranger in her own home, a wannabe who wants acceptance but cannot embrace her own family. Dee (Wangero) does not understand that sometimes the bravest women of all are those who sacrifice any aspirations they might possess to care for their family. Dee (Wangero) defines a successful woman as one who is independent with the privilege of controlling her future, yet could it be that her mother's ability to raise a woman with these opportunities is not the greatest success of all?


558

The Lovely Bones

This summer I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson, The Case Against Obama, by David Freddoso, The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold, and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Shortly after I began reading The Lovely Bones, I went to bed fearful of what my mind would subconsciously fabricate during my dreaming that night. Although a main issue addressed in the novel is death, my nightmares involved themes closer to home. While reading about the death and afterlife of Susie Salmon, I began to relate to a character whose life differed so much from my own. I have not been murdered, I did not grow up in suburban America in the 1970’s, and I do not have closeness to my parents as she had. Yet, I could not help but feel intense sadness for Susie and also understand a yearning that Alice Sebold beautifully sprinkles throughout Susie’s inner thoughts. Susie’s longing to relive certain moments, to feel someone’s lips against hers again, or simply just to smell the scent of something lost is a familiar sentiment to me. The Lovely Bones addresses the difficult issues of family connection, loss and recovery in a direct and honest manner.
The theme of family impacted me the most. Susie helplessly watches her family fall apart as her mother deserts their household after an extramarital affair, her father is seen as a lunatic by society, and her sister’s confusion and resentment of her death continues to plague her every time she peers into a mirror. As Susie watches this hell up in heaven she sees the ugly aftermath of her death in the people who were closest to her. My family struggled through a period of difficulty last year. Just as Susie’s mother, Abigail, had escaped, I often wished I could drive to the beach and never come home. Susie longs to kiss her first crush and pet her old dog; just as I reminisced about the exuberant father I remembered who was now upset, stressed, and unfamiliar. I felt that I watched my parents fight from a helpless heaven and could not ease my own pain or the pain of my mom and dad; I observed my perfect family almost disintegrate without any ability to stop my worst nightmare. I found solace in developing a connection to Susie. I shared her confusion and disbelief as her life seemed to crumble beneath her. Although Susie’s situation may have been depressing, Sebold uses aesthetic language and her gifts as a writer to captivate her readers.
Alice Sebold uses simple yet searing language to create an innocent Susie who is wise beyond her years. Although only fourteen when she was brutally murdered and disembodied, Susie has an eloquence and adultness of an older soul. Sebold creates a character with the impatience and shortsightedness of a child, yet also the ability to understand and recover with a remarkable maturity. This complexity of character fascinated me. As Susie watched her family carry on with their lives she felt inner anguish and depression, yet she was eventually able to accept her fate.
What truly touched me was the conclusion of the novel. Although the ending was uplifting, I believe Sebold purposefully left her characters imperfect and scarred by Susie’s death. The sense of closure, yet without forgetting the horrific event of the fourteen-year-old’s death made The Lovely Bones feel real. Sebold stresses that recovery is an everlasting process and although Susie describes that she “began to see things in a way that let [her] hold the world without [herself] in it,” I could not help but feel that she still felt anguish and sadness, yet had been able to bury these feelings deep enough to have somewhat of a rebirth. The Lovely Bones argues that endings are not always perfect, yet with time and growth there can be an end to my nightmares.