Lacanian 'Pussy': Towards a Psychoanalytic Reading of Patrick McCabe's Breakfast on Pluto
Wish that there had been nothing to say...
Well if this doesn't go right along with the theme of literary criticisms being a way to give myself a migraine I don't know what does. I all honesty I think one of the most frustrating thing about this piece was once again the rampant psychobabble that filled the pages of this criticism. I do have to admit that that I really enjoyed a lot of the historical bits that were throughout the piece, but I'm a bit of a history buff. Part of the reason that I enrolled in this course was to get a more cultural grasp on Ireland and its very comforting to see something that I do know about (history and in a broader sense the political ramifications between the Irish Nationalists and Unionists) come back into play.
When it came around to the matter of "Sameness" I was actually more interested in looking up Seamus Heaney's poem "Whatever you say say nothing", (http://poetry.mirandasbeach.com/content/view/745/53/) and I just couldn't help but put most of my focus on that. This poem really is how things are, in many situations. Heaney writes quite a bit about the Troubles of Ireland and how it's affecting the everyday life of the Irish person.
Heaney comments "Yet I live here, I live here too, I sing, Expertly civil tongued with civil neighbours". In all honesty, and please don't flay me alive here, I can see similarities to what was happening in that time period to what occurred in several German occupied countries during WWII. It got to the point in Ireland where people were afraid to talk to each other, people that they had grown up next to and gone to school with were suddenly 'against' each other because they may be the wrong religion or the wrong political affiliation. For so long the " 'One side's as bad as the other,' never worse" mentality cited by Heaney caused a buildup of apathy that eventually exploded from a powder keg of political and religious bigotry that had gone unsaid for so long.
Heaney also mentions a group of people called the 'wee six' as well as Ballymurphy. The two are actually in different verses of the poem but I believe that the 'wee six' is a reference to the first six civilians killed at the Ballymurphy Massacre on August 9th of 1971. These people ranged from a catholic priest trying to help another wounded man to an Irish woman who had been standing across the street from the military base.
There are so many references to the secular behavior of Ireland made by Heaney its really impossible for me to break it all down right now... I know though that the poem was far more enlightening than the criticism.
As to my final project, I'm still tossing around a few ideas and trying to narrow down my option. I thought of doing a comic book representation of some of my favorite scenes from multiple books. I also thought about doing songs, that idea struck a chord (pun not intended) with me. I also had the idea to create a movie poster with a few tag lines for each book, or some type of movie trailer to go along with it. Like I said I'm still really tossing around ideas. Advice is more than welcome and wanted.
WS
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Literary Criticism: Rhythm and Flow
A Literary Criticism of “A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man And The Individuating Rhythm Of Modernity” by Tobias Boes
Music has long held the key to human emotions, having the knack for evoking perhaps some of the most profound thoughts or actions. However writers like Joyce took the concepts behind music and put them to paper in ways that exhibit this link perhaps a bit better than others. Tobias Boes goes to great lengths to explain the rhythmic feeling of Joyce’s “A Portrait of a Young Artist”, and how these rhythms further the concepts of epiphany and leitmotif. He also goes into a great amount of detail to explain the polyrhythmic sense of life of a colonial city and its impact on those individuals who live in its world. We also are given the concepts of the Bildungsroman, a German writing style in which the novel explains the development or the coming of age of the protagonist through a series of events that shape the characters processes of action, as well as the ideas of the modernist writer, whose emphasis is placed on a post-agrarian, post-medieval society that is progressing into the state of industrial economy. Boes poses the thought that Joyce is somewhere between the two and spends quite a bit of time offering the view points of other authors on that very subject.
In the early portion of his analysis, Boes points out the dating of the post script offered by Joyce at the end of A Portrait (“Dublin 1904 Trieste 1914”) and comments that “A more suitable ending to a novel that similarly frustrates the conventions of the well-made plot by its constant vacillation between disjunctive and conjunctive tendencies could hardly be imagined.” (Pg 767) Boes tries to make clear, although in an overly wordy manner, that although well written Joyce’s tendency to drastically change from a wholeheartedly unrelated set of experiences to an series of linear moments is a slap in the face to conventional storytelling and yet it proved to be more than appropriate for this tale. The major tie between the postscript and Boes’ statement is the lack of continuation and implications that the writing of the novel had occurred twice by the lack of hyphening between the two dates, much like the lack of unity in a large portion of the literature. This thought also goes into some of the belief of the leitmotif, a reoccurring idea, image, or theme that predominates the piece.
The leitmotif and the epiphany are the two predominating factors of Joyce's work and a good portion of Boes' criticism is devoted to those subject. I believe that Boes spends far longer discussing the leitmotif, allowing the musical imagery triggered by the concept of the leitmotif to drastically predominate his work. However the Epiphany, and the attention given to it, are vastly important to the work. Boes implies that the manner in which Joyce separated his work into chapters was derived from the musical composition, with the leitmotif predominating and the epiphany used as a way to move from chapter to chapter, as if bracketing the musical work like the bars of a composition. We see this imagery replicated in Joyce's work as well when Stephen is on the train. The way that the telegraph poles bracket the movement of the train and the eventual movement of the passengers is as if there are musical bars, breaking up the progress of Stephen's own internal processes.
The idea of the Bildungsroman, the novel of development, as somehow being an opposition of novels of modernity however is not one that I cannot support. According to Gerald Delanty, a writer for the Blackwell Encyclopedia of Sociology, "Modernity is thus a particular kind of consciousness, which defines the present, in its relation to the past, which must be continuously recreated; it is not a historical epoch that can be periodized." Looking at this breakdown of Modernity, even sociologically there is absolutely no reason why a novel of development can't also be a novel of modernity. The fact that Joyce wrote A Portrait as a stream of consciousness style of novel supports the modernity aspect, however the journey that Stephen takes definitely a transitory approach in which we witness the development of his views as he grows into an adult. This follows the almost cookie cutter approach that is required of a novel to be considered part of the Bildungsroman style.
Perhaps one of the less expected parts of this criticism for me was the information offered about the concept of the polyrythmicality of a city and the influence it has on the individuals who live there. According to Henry Lefebvre, a French sociologist specializing in rhythmanalysis which is a study of the patterns of everyday life, "Polyrythmicality in this context should be understood as the simultaneous existence in close spatial proximity of life -worlds that place differing emphases on the linear and cyclical elements that constitute historical experience." This concept, in and of itself, is profound not just in the historical emphasis that many refer to it in. In the original rhythmanalysis, the cities studied were those of the Mediterranean, however this concept is not in any way exclusive to those locations. In every city throughout history there has been a differing rhythm and flow to the different 'sections' of a city. Whether you're listening to the low grumblings and rustlings of a back alley or the hustle and bustle of main street, there are different rhythms that operate a city. This is actually seen rather intently in Joyce's novel, as Stephen makes his way through life, growing accustomed to the rhythms of his locations and often seeking them out when he needs to change where he's going in his life.
Although it was placed in a rather difficult and jargon-y manner, Boes took his time explaining the leitmotif and the epiphany as musical components that helped make up the polyrhythmic nature of Joyce's version of Ireland, full of flavor and context which shaped our protagonist. He also drew attention to the points of style and contention often put forward by other writers, seeking to qualify Joyce into a single literary identity, which in itself contrasted the polyrhythmic concept behind the world of Joyce's novel. Simply put, Joyce's novel can't be qualified as simply a Bildungsroman or a novel of modernity, or many other things, because (time for an epiphany) it is all of those. That sense of being and non being, of existing on many levels at once is one of the greatest underlying leitmotifs of Joyce's work.
Works citied:
James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (London: Penguin, 1993)
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the "Individuating Rhythm" of Modernity, Tobias Boes
Lefebvre, Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life, trans. Stuart Elden and Gerald Moore (London: Continuum, 2004), 92.
Delanty, Gerard. 2007. "Modernity." Blackwell Encyclopedia of Sociology, edited by George Ritzer. 11 vols. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell Publishing
Music has long held the key to human emotions, having the knack for evoking perhaps some of the most profound thoughts or actions. However writers like Joyce took the concepts behind music and put them to paper in ways that exhibit this link perhaps a bit better than others. Tobias Boes goes to great lengths to explain the rhythmic feeling of Joyce’s “A Portrait of a Young Artist”, and how these rhythms further the concepts of epiphany and leitmotif. He also goes into a great amount of detail to explain the polyrhythmic sense of life of a colonial city and its impact on those individuals who live in its world. We also are given the concepts of the Bildungsroman, a German writing style in which the novel explains the development or the coming of age of the protagonist through a series of events that shape the characters processes of action, as well as the ideas of the modernist writer, whose emphasis is placed on a post-agrarian, post-medieval society that is progressing into the state of industrial economy. Boes poses the thought that Joyce is somewhere between the two and spends quite a bit of time offering the view points of other authors on that very subject.
In the early portion of his analysis, Boes points out the dating of the post script offered by Joyce at the end of A Portrait (“Dublin 1904 Trieste 1914”) and comments that “A more suitable ending to a novel that similarly frustrates the conventions of the well-made plot by its constant vacillation between disjunctive and conjunctive tendencies could hardly be imagined.” (Pg 767) Boes tries to make clear, although in an overly wordy manner, that although well written Joyce’s tendency to drastically change from a wholeheartedly unrelated set of experiences to an series of linear moments is a slap in the face to conventional storytelling and yet it proved to be more than appropriate for this tale. The major tie between the postscript and Boes’ statement is the lack of continuation and implications that the writing of the novel had occurred twice by the lack of hyphening between the two dates, much like the lack of unity in a large portion of the literature. This thought also goes into some of the belief of the leitmotif, a reoccurring idea, image, or theme that predominates the piece.
The leitmotif and the epiphany are the two predominating factors of Joyce's work and a good portion of Boes' criticism is devoted to those subject. I believe that Boes spends far longer discussing the leitmotif, allowing the musical imagery triggered by the concept of the leitmotif to drastically predominate his work. However the Epiphany, and the attention given to it, are vastly important to the work. Boes implies that the manner in which Joyce separated his work into chapters was derived from the musical composition, with the leitmotif predominating and the epiphany used as a way to move from chapter to chapter, as if bracketing the musical work like the bars of a composition. We see this imagery replicated in Joyce's work as well when Stephen is on the train. The way that the telegraph poles bracket the movement of the train and the eventual movement of the passengers is as if there are musical bars, breaking up the progress of Stephen's own internal processes.
The idea of the Bildungsroman, the novel of development, as somehow being an opposition of novels of modernity however is not one that I cannot support. According to Gerald Delanty, a writer for the Blackwell Encyclopedia of Sociology, "Modernity is thus a particular kind of consciousness, which defines the present, in its relation to the past, which must be continuously recreated; it is not a historical epoch that can be periodized." Looking at this breakdown of Modernity, even sociologically there is absolutely no reason why a novel of development can't also be a novel of modernity. The fact that Joyce wrote A Portrait as a stream of consciousness style of novel supports the modernity aspect, however the journey that Stephen takes definitely a transitory approach in which we witness the development of his views as he grows into an adult. This follows the almost cookie cutter approach that is required of a novel to be considered part of the Bildungsroman style.
Perhaps one of the less expected parts of this criticism for me was the information offered about the concept of the polyrythmicality of a city and the influence it has on the individuals who live there. According to Henry Lefebvre, a French sociologist specializing in rhythmanalysis which is a study of the patterns of everyday life, "Polyrythmicality in this context should be understood as the simultaneous existence in close spatial proximity of life -worlds that place differing emphases on the linear and cyclical elements that constitute historical experience." This concept, in and of itself, is profound not just in the historical emphasis that many refer to it in. In the original rhythmanalysis, the cities studied were those of the Mediterranean, however this concept is not in any way exclusive to those locations. In every city throughout history there has been a differing rhythm and flow to the different 'sections' of a city. Whether you're listening to the low grumblings and rustlings of a back alley or the hustle and bustle of main street, there are different rhythms that operate a city. This is actually seen rather intently in Joyce's novel, as Stephen makes his way through life, growing accustomed to the rhythms of his locations and often seeking them out when he needs to change where he's going in his life.
Although it was placed in a rather difficult and jargon-y manner, Boes took his time explaining the leitmotif and the epiphany as musical components that helped make up the polyrhythmic nature of Joyce's version of Ireland, full of flavor and context which shaped our protagonist. He also drew attention to the points of style and contention often put forward by other writers, seeking to qualify Joyce into a single literary identity, which in itself contrasted the polyrhythmic concept behind the world of Joyce's novel. Simply put, Joyce's novel can't be qualified as simply a Bildungsroman or a novel of modernity, or many other things, because (time for an epiphany) it is all of those. That sense of being and non being, of existing on many levels at once is one of the greatest underlying leitmotifs of Joyce's work.
Works citied:
James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (London: Penguin, 1993)
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the "Individuating Rhythm" of Modernity, Tobias Boes
Lefebvre, Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life, trans. Stuart Elden and Gerald Moore (London: Continuum, 2004), 92.
Delanty, Gerard. 2007. "Modernity." Blackwell Encyclopedia of Sociology, edited by George Ritzer. 11 vols. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell Publishing
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Well now, thank you Mr. Alley for corroborating some of my statements from last week, specifically "Personally I believe that Wilde was making a rather drastic set of statements on the tendencies of the English 'upper crust' to live a drastically duplicitous life. Where the idea of Victorian society was the important part no matter what vulgar or distasteful life they lived on their own." Part of this is pointed out when Alley brought forward the point that homosexual references were okay in Victorian society, so long as they were 'historical' or at least seemed that way. It was only when individuals like Wilde brought those ideas to a very forward and current standpoint, in Alley's opinion, did they become scandalous to the rest of society. Wilde saw this hypocrisy and choose to point it out with Basil's reactions to Dorian as the story went on. Alley quotes Phillip K. Cohen from The Moral Vision of Oscar Wilde, "Hallward is brought to "the verge of a terrible crisis in my life" (11) because Antinous has stepped out of ancient Rome and come into the immediacy of the painter's own studio. In this sense, the bedroom is not far off," among a great many other rather interesting statements breaking down the historical significance of the relationship between Basil and Dorian. It's also nice to see that Cohen and Alley also weigh heavily on the influences that Shakespeare placed on Wilde's writing, using Shakespeare's own works as glasses through which to view Wilde's story, almost as if one is a footnote to the other in literary significance.
In all honesty I wasn't a huge fan of this article, at least not all of it, but that doesn't really matter because it redeems itself, in my opinion, in the last two paragraphs. I think Alley really put a lot of his own emotions into that small bit of writing and we see that Wilde's son is just as eloquent as he was. Vyvyan Holland refers to the tragedy of his father as a "great historical tragedy" whose basis comes from the actions of "pompous and self important people." I can only assume here that Holland is referencing the members of English society who persecuted and condemned his father, because his statements about Wilde in his second quote just don't lend themselves towards Wilde being pompous or self important.
Alley makes two amazing statements about those who now exist in society without Oscar Wilde, almost pleading with the reader to not let Wilde's actions and persecution just sit idly by without any type of recourse. He's not asking for an uprising, instead he pleads for the continuation of Wilde's actions. He makes Wilde out to be an 'icon' for the gay rights movement, even before such a movement can say it existed in truth. "The catharsis of the enormous pity and fear elicited by
Wilde's extraordinary life and genius must be left to the biographers, who, like Hallward, must
celebrate once again the power of the initially beautiful painting and finish the formation of the icon." In the end there is also that plea, even though Wilde's life ended so painfully, to not allow that to be the thing that holds people back from embracing what could be a beautiful way to love, to allow those who have different feelings to strip away a duplicitous life and let people live as they truly desire.
The last note from Alley, and one of perhaps his most poignant arguments, just needs to be here to be seen.
"From the novel Women in Love through to the film Leaving Metropolis and the epic play Angels in America, the struggle for manifesting the affirming gay icon continues: it is the embrace of Hallward's "harmony and soul" that is still hungered for in those of us sympathetic to Wilde, tragedian and painter of innermost lives."
RIP
Oscar Wilde
1854 -1900
In all honesty I wasn't a huge fan of this article, at least not all of it, but that doesn't really matter because it redeems itself, in my opinion, in the last two paragraphs. I think Alley really put a lot of his own emotions into that small bit of writing and we see that Wilde's son is just as eloquent as he was. Vyvyan Holland refers to the tragedy of his father as a "great historical tragedy" whose basis comes from the actions of "pompous and self important people." I can only assume here that Holland is referencing the members of English society who persecuted and condemned his father, because his statements about Wilde in his second quote just don't lend themselves towards Wilde being pompous or self important.
Alley makes two amazing statements about those who now exist in society without Oscar Wilde, almost pleading with the reader to not let Wilde's actions and persecution just sit idly by without any type of recourse. He's not asking for an uprising, instead he pleads for the continuation of Wilde's actions. He makes Wilde out to be an 'icon' for the gay rights movement, even before such a movement can say it existed in truth. "The catharsis of the enormous pity and fear elicited by
Wilde's extraordinary life and genius must be left to the biographers, who, like Hallward, must
celebrate once again the power of the initially beautiful painting and finish the formation of the icon." In the end there is also that plea, even though Wilde's life ended so painfully, to not allow that to be the thing that holds people back from embracing what could be a beautiful way to love, to allow those who have different feelings to strip away a duplicitous life and let people live as they truly desire.
The last note from Alley, and one of perhaps his most poignant arguments, just needs to be here to be seen.
"From the novel Women in Love through to the film Leaving Metropolis and the epic play Angels in America, the struggle for manifesting the affirming gay icon continues: it is the embrace of Hallward's "harmony and soul" that is still hungered for in those of us sympathetic to Wilde, tragedian and painter of innermost lives."
RIP
Oscar Wilde
1854 -1900
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Picture Picture on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?
So The Picture of Dorian Gray... *sigh* I really do love this story even if the writing seems a bit muddy to me at times. However Oscar Wilde is famous for his elegant , if lengthy descriptions of the human soul and its reaction to acts of love. We often see in Dorian Gray, not just the statements of how love affects a person but of how the duplicity of the human soul can affect the very idea of love, or more often than not affection. Wilde's character, Lord Henry, stated "Those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love; it is the faithless who knows loves tragedies." (pg 14) I think that Wilde was making another statement about the human soul here, not that promiscuity was the way to go, as some of the contempories of his time believed, but a statement about loves naivety and how truly tragic love can be.
Now I love the idea's presented in pieces like Marlowe's Doctor Faustus and I can't help but see several similarities between classic Faust and Dorian Gray, and I believe that was something of a point made by Wilde. This Faustian tendency in literature of the time period was whole heartedly moralistic however I believe that Wilde had more than just simple morals on the mind when he wrote Dorian Gray. Personally I believe that Wilde was making a rather drastic set of statements on the tendencies of the English 'upper crust' to live a drastically duplicitous life. Where the idea of Victorian society was the important part no matter what vulgar or distasteful life they lived on their own. Which is only more amusing to me considering the later part of Wilde's life where he was persecuted for the life that he led but decided not to make as horribly blunt as everyone expected. Seriously though it's amazing to see Wilde's commentary on English society used against him in such a blatant fashion seeing as they even used passages from Dorian Gray in Wilde's trial in 1885. And I personally think that Wilde's defending quote from his own trial is one of the best breakdowns of the relationship between Dorian and Basil Hallward began as, "'The love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as "the love that dare not speak its name."
In the end though everything breaks down. Every lie comes to truth, every act is examined for ulterior motives, and the duplicitous nature of nobility (according to Wilde) ends up being its own killer. It's funny sometimes the way that life and art are just different sides of the mirror, and you can never be sure exactly which side you're on.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
To sleep perchance to dream.... of vampires!?
Well for the first time I read a piece of the after book analysis and I wasn't horribly disappointed by the over wordy nature of the piece, then again maybe that was just by some perceive witty remarks that I thought I found in there. Either way Michael Davis gave us a lot to think about. However since talking about everything that he went over would be not only longer than necessary, it would also most likely be duller than a doorknob. So on to the meat and potatoes.
One of my favorite bits in Davis' piece (including witty commentary) comes very near the end of page 232 and the top of page 233. Davis points out "Indeed Carmilla and her enigmatic messages, together with the anagrammatical lability of her ‘name’, are like the chimeras sold by the hunchback, ‘compounded of parts of monkeys, parrots, squirrels, fish, and hedgehogs, dried and stitched together with great neatness and startling effect’ (265); part of nature and yet beyond conventional meaning. (And is it too fanciful to suggest that ‘Carmilla’ and ‘chimera’ sound quite similar?) Thus, through the allegorising selfreflexivity of Le Fanu’s text we can see that Carmilla and the Gothic are chimerical hybrids, a stitching together of heterogeneous and thus profoundly enigmatic signifying materials." Personally I think that this is one of the most inherent things behind a truly Gothic piece of literature, being something horribly innocuous and yet totally terrifying. I decided to go and see what Wikipedia had to say about Gothic Literature, and sure enough they had a nice big list of the Prominent features of Gothic Fiction and, needless to say, the overwhelming majority of the list took place right here in Carmilla.
Now I'll jump around a little here, but that because I haven't taken enough psychology classes to make much sense some of the way that things worked out here, so I'll just stick to what I know for now. I'm not a big fan of Freud, but I know of a lot of his work. I am a big fan of Shakespeare, and I know a lot of his work as well. So when Davis stared explaining the Oedipal situation of Carmilla my mind started recognizing what he was talking about (right after it made a short leap to Oedipus Rex). Now I'll admit I was a little surprised to see the Oedipus references in this analysis, but that's mostly because I didn't see that type of relationship between Laura and her father. I saw and understood the slightly maternal interactions and relationship between Carmilla and Laura but I hadn't made the leap to Oedipal for her father, and it I missed something that he makes seem fairly obvious, I wonder where I missed it exactly.
Now one last note. I mentioned in my piece last week that I hadn't seen much of the interaction with Ireland in the stories or the characters, nor did I see an overt amount of Ireland in the stories that we had been reading. This isn't to say that I didn't see some of the political ramifications, nor the persecution of the relationship between the British, I just thought it wasn't the forefront of the pieces sometimes. I also made the point that, perhaps I wasn't seeing it because I wasn't part of the originally intended audience, and that's something that we often miss when reading over these pieces. We have the luxury of looking back on history and seeing what was going on at that time, but we weren't living it. We weren't living the subtleties of the daily interaction with the writers culture, as much as I wish I could have sometimes. So who knows, we all may be way off base with our analyses, and somewhere the authors are having a good ole giggle at us in the afterlife, or maybe we're dead on the money. Just things to contemplate as the nights wane by.
WS
One of my favorite bits in Davis' piece (including witty commentary) comes very near the end of page 232 and the top of page 233. Davis points out "Indeed Carmilla and her enigmatic messages, together with the anagrammatical lability of her ‘name’, are like the chimeras sold by the hunchback, ‘compounded of parts of monkeys, parrots, squirrels, fish, and hedgehogs, dried and stitched together with great neatness and startling effect’ (265); part of nature and yet beyond conventional meaning. (And is it too fanciful to suggest that ‘Carmilla’ and ‘chimera’ sound quite similar?) Thus, through the allegorising selfreflexivity of Le Fanu’s text we can see that Carmilla and the Gothic are chimerical hybrids, a stitching together of heterogeneous and thus profoundly enigmatic signifying materials." Personally I think that this is one of the most inherent things behind a truly Gothic piece of literature, being something horribly innocuous and yet totally terrifying. I decided to go and see what Wikipedia had to say about Gothic Literature, and sure enough they had a nice big list of the Prominent features of Gothic Fiction and, needless to say, the overwhelming majority of the list took place right here in Carmilla.
Now I'll jump around a little here, but that because I haven't taken enough psychology classes to make much sense some of the way that things worked out here, so I'll just stick to what I know for now. I'm not a big fan of Freud, but I know of a lot of his work. I am a big fan of Shakespeare, and I know a lot of his work as well. So when Davis stared explaining the Oedipal situation of Carmilla my mind started recognizing what he was talking about (right after it made a short leap to Oedipus Rex). Now I'll admit I was a little surprised to see the Oedipus references in this analysis, but that's mostly because I didn't see that type of relationship between Laura and her father. I saw and understood the slightly maternal interactions and relationship between Carmilla and Laura but I hadn't made the leap to Oedipal for her father, and it I missed something that he makes seem fairly obvious, I wonder where I missed it exactly.
Now one last note. I mentioned in my piece last week that I hadn't seen much of the interaction with Ireland in the stories or the characters, nor did I see an overt amount of Ireland in the stories that we had been reading. This isn't to say that I didn't see some of the political ramifications, nor the persecution of the relationship between the British, I just thought it wasn't the forefront of the pieces sometimes. I also made the point that, perhaps I wasn't seeing it because I wasn't part of the originally intended audience, and that's something that we often miss when reading over these pieces. We have the luxury of looking back on history and seeing what was going on at that time, but we weren't living it. We weren't living the subtleties of the daily interaction with the writers culture, as much as I wish I could have sometimes. So who knows, we all may be way off base with our analyses, and somewhere the authors are having a good ole giggle at us in the afterlife, or maybe we're dead on the money. Just things to contemplate as the nights wane by.
WS
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Something wicked this way comes?
Now here is certainly a piece that I could sink my teeth into... okay bad pun I'll admit it. However it is completely appropriate considering that such an innocuously named piece was written about a vampire. Usually when you think vampire what comes to mind? Creepy castle? Check. Run down village? Check. Superstitious and vengeful family members of the victim(s)? Check and check several times over. It's nice to see some of what has become stereotypical of the vampire novel here before us, quite a bit before they were total stereotypes, and I will gleefully admit, those stereotypes were played out without hurting my brain.
I think one of my favorite moments in the piece was the story of the General's niece and her new friend. Yes of course we all knew what was happening and knew who was involved long before they got to the end of the story but it still made me snicker at the simplicity of disguise used in the entire piece. Masks at a Masquerade, a simple rearranging of letters, and then returning to her own hidden grave. I almost felt like I was playing hide and seek with the characters at times. Even more amusing I knew who the vampire was in one of the far earlier parts of the book, for even if I had questioned it Le Fanu threw the implications right into our faces in Chapter Three. "There was a sombre piece of tapestry opposite the foot of the bed, representing Cleopatra with the asps to her bosom;" clearly pointed us in the direction of everything that was going to happen, with our main character (aka Cleopatra) clutching a prized and favored being (aka the Asp), in this case Carmilla, to her chest without the consideration of its inherently deadly nature.
Now I'm not certain if Le Fanu was attempting to offer such a thin veil for his dramatic conclusions or if he really didn't believe that people would noticed the allusions to where and how Carmilla came about together. It was in chapter one that we were informed of the lay of the land including the nearest village. "because there is, only three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General Spielsdorf’s schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church, now roofless, in the aisle of which are the mouldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of the town." And in Chapter Four, Carmilla discloses the only three facts about herself that she can: her name, her family's ancient and noble heritage, and the direction in which her home is. Add that to the discovery of the Mircalla's (read Carmilla's) painting. Three simple things put together to tell you that something isn't right here! Don't forget of course about the hunchback in Chapter Four as well who informed us about the strange situation of Carmilla's teeth.
Now considering that I'm a fan of vampire novels I'll once again say that this was, in my opinion, a good one. I can't say great considering that the original intended audience for this piece was nothing like myself, so I'm missing several of the nuisances of the piece I'm certain. I did however notice something rather interesting from the start of the novella, although written by an Irish novelist the main character had little if anything to do with Ireland itself, and neither did the story. It's a trend I've been noticing in the pieces, although this is an Irish novel there is almost no connection to Ireland itself, except perhaps in certain mannerisms of the vampires and the way that the peasants celebrated the death of their girls. Then again... those are just the things that pop into my mind while writing.
WS
I think one of my favorite moments in the piece was the story of the General's niece and her new friend. Yes of course we all knew what was happening and knew who was involved long before they got to the end of the story but it still made me snicker at the simplicity of disguise used in the entire piece. Masks at a Masquerade, a simple rearranging of letters, and then returning to her own hidden grave. I almost felt like I was playing hide and seek with the characters at times. Even more amusing I knew who the vampire was in one of the far earlier parts of the book, for even if I had questioned it Le Fanu threw the implications right into our faces in Chapter Three. "There was a sombre piece of tapestry opposite the foot of the bed, representing Cleopatra with the asps to her bosom;" clearly pointed us in the direction of everything that was going to happen, with our main character (aka Cleopatra) clutching a prized and favored being (aka the Asp), in this case Carmilla, to her chest without the consideration of its inherently deadly nature.
Now I'm not certain if Le Fanu was attempting to offer such a thin veil for his dramatic conclusions or if he really didn't believe that people would noticed the allusions to where and how Carmilla came about together. It was in chapter one that we were informed of the lay of the land including the nearest village. "because there is, only three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General Spielsdorf’s schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church, now roofless, in the aisle of which are the mouldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of the town." And in Chapter Four, Carmilla discloses the only three facts about herself that she can: her name, her family's ancient and noble heritage, and the direction in which her home is. Add that to the discovery of the Mircalla's (read Carmilla's) painting. Three simple things put together to tell you that something isn't right here! Don't forget of course about the hunchback in Chapter Four as well who informed us about the strange situation of Carmilla's teeth.
Now considering that I'm a fan of vampire novels I'll once again say that this was, in my opinion, a good one. I can't say great considering that the original intended audience for this piece was nothing like myself, so I'm missing several of the nuisances of the piece I'm certain. I did however notice something rather interesting from the start of the novella, although written by an Irish novelist the main character had little if anything to do with Ireland itself, and neither did the story. It's a trend I've been noticing in the pieces, although this is an Irish novel there is almost no connection to Ireland itself, except perhaps in certain mannerisms of the vampires and the way that the peasants celebrated the death of their girls. Then again... those are just the things that pop into my mind while writing.
WS
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Thank You Word of the Day Calendar!
Oh how I loathe thee, over verbose tacticians of written monotony. Seriously! Who has discussions like these? Why do they think anyone besides a college professor (no offense Teach) or other literary critics would appreciate this type of writing. Then again... maybe I'm just being cantankerous. (Yes I used that word in a sentence, correctly even.)
Although I plowed my way through, what I once again saw as unnecessary vocal drivel, I can't say that I was particularly enlightened by what was there. Seeing Edgeworth's writing characterized as little more than a vaudevillian tactic to drum up amusement and support was a bit disappointing. Seriously when Egenolf quoted Kenneth Lynn saying that "Edgeworth thus becomes a minstrel character, performing what Kenneth Lynn refers to as “a white imitation of a black imitation of a contented slave," I was slightly bothered. I've heard some people refer to the Irish as the blacks of Europe, but I can't imagine that a statement like this is being used without a slap in the face attitude. Then again I can only get so upset by it considering how much of America's own entertainment history shares such a common thread.
I think perhaps the most persuasive pieces in this article are those linking dialect and clothing to a subversive culture and attitude. I think one of the most amusing things presented for us is the story of Mary Leadbeater's friend "a loyalist officer, was able to safely travel by post in the midst of the revolution, “disguised in a round hat and great-coat over his regimentals." In my mind it just evokes series of amusing scenes from movies where the 'good guys' steal the 'bad guys' uniforms and sneak into places that they shouldn't be. To think that this tactic worked because someone at some point decided that a particular style of jacket was going to be considered quintessentially 'Irish' is absurd to me. Then again I wasn't living at that period of time so much of what I look back upon will seem rather foolish.
A lot of this article draws back onto my feelings that the level of English persecution and mockery truly harmed the culture of Ireland more than people give it credit. There seems to be a lot of poking fun or commenting on the ineffectual nature of the Irish rebellion of 1798, which to me, seems quite unnecessary. They seriously seems to trivialize the hundreds of reasons that the Irish had for rebelling with the although we get a glimpse that, indeed, some people did get it with James Alexander's “A Curious Letter, Supposed to Be Written by a Penitent Rebel" from Some Account of the First Apparent Symptoms of the Late Rebellion in the County of Kildare (1800). "Alexander offers a fairly scathing critique of the burning of Irish houses by the government and the practice’s certainty of creating more rebels," one which I had the pleasure of having on hand to point out the truth behind one of the largest unaddressed matters.
Then again these are just the random ramblings of a crazy college student, please discuss.
WS
Although I plowed my way through, what I once again saw as unnecessary vocal drivel, I can't say that I was particularly enlightened by what was there. Seeing Edgeworth's writing characterized as little more than a vaudevillian tactic to drum up amusement and support was a bit disappointing. Seriously when Egenolf quoted Kenneth Lynn saying that "Edgeworth thus becomes a minstrel character, performing what Kenneth Lynn refers to as “a white imitation of a black imitation of a contented slave," I was slightly bothered. I've heard some people refer to the Irish as the blacks of Europe, but I can't imagine that a statement like this is being used without a slap in the face attitude. Then again I can only get so upset by it considering how much of America's own entertainment history shares such a common thread.
I think perhaps the most persuasive pieces in this article are those linking dialect and clothing to a subversive culture and attitude. I think one of the most amusing things presented for us is the story of Mary Leadbeater's friend "a loyalist officer, was able to safely travel by post in the midst of the revolution, “disguised in a round hat and great-coat over his regimentals." In my mind it just evokes series of amusing scenes from movies where the 'good guys' steal the 'bad guys' uniforms and sneak into places that they shouldn't be. To think that this tactic worked because someone at some point decided that a particular style of jacket was going to be considered quintessentially 'Irish' is absurd to me. Then again I wasn't living at that period of time so much of what I look back upon will seem rather foolish.
A lot of this article draws back onto my feelings that the level of English persecution and mockery truly harmed the culture of Ireland more than people give it credit. There seems to be a lot of poking fun or commenting on the ineffectual nature of the Irish rebellion of 1798, which to me, seems quite unnecessary. They seriously seems to trivialize the hundreds of reasons that the Irish had for rebelling with the although we get a glimpse that, indeed, some people did get it with James Alexander's “A Curious Letter, Supposed to Be Written by a Penitent Rebel" from Some Account of the First Apparent Symptoms of the Late Rebellion in the County of Kildare (1800). "Alexander offers a fairly scathing critique of the burning of Irish houses by the government and the practice’s certainty of creating more rebels," one which I had the pleasure of having on hand to point out the truth behind one of the largest unaddressed matters.
Then again these are just the random ramblings of a crazy college student, please discuss.
WS
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