What exactly is a "coming of age"? I feel that with each story and work we have read in this class, there is a type of "coming of age" story; although it may not always be clear and apparent, it certainly is there. "Literature changes the world," someone once said. And I feel that most writers try to do so, to change the world, by pointing out the journey of man. All their stories: love stories, maturation stories, and even adventure stories all depict a journey. After all, humans are constantly evolving, always on a journey to something greater, something bigger, something...anything, else.
Jack Burden took a journey, "came of age" in All the King's Men. Blanche took a journey as well, though her journey was to destruction in A Streetcar Named Desire. Not only did the old man journey through learning truths, but so did Tandy, realizing the potential that she had, despite the fact that she is a young girl. And of course, the little, adventurous Athena in "A White Heron" journeyed.
Tandy reminds me of that small heroine, conquerer of the Great Pine Tree. Sure, Tandy did not really conquer anything in Winesburg, Ohio. She didn't rise at dawn to climb up the tallest pine in the forest, didn't brave the dangers of falling off the precarious, swaying branches, didn't see the ocean at dawn and experience the best of life. But I still feel that she was a heroine, in a sense. I really don't know why.
Tandy's journey was finding her name. Or, rather, being given her name and finding herself. In all of the "coming of age" stories we have analyzed in class, every character understands himself better after the journey. And I found that interesting, significant. Why does every "coming of age" story have to end in epiphany? Why is it that every character who embarks on a journey to find more knowledge, to cover more ground, finds what she is looking for? Life isn't fair, but the journeys certainly seem to be.
So, I wonder...if someone doesn't find the truth he is looking for, will he ever be able to become a grotesque? Sherwood Anderson describes a grotesque as being someone who has learned a truth. Someone who has embarked on a journey to find a truth, and has been successful. How ironic. In successfully finding a truth, and declaring that truth "his," so begins the half-human, half-ghost life of a grotesque, haunting those who do not know the truths, and reminiscing on the days before he knew the truths. So was the journey successful? I guess it was. He found what he was looking for, the truth. And yet, he is not really living after finding the truth. Half-dead, half-alive. Half-successful, half-failure. Can it be one or the other? I know that Tandy and the tree-climbing heroine are frozen in time, frozen in literature, but I can't help but be concerned for them. Anxious. Anticipating. They have now come of age; will they now become a grotesque? Will they ever find the truth they are searching for? I hope not...and yet, I hope so.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Monkey. Bird. In a cage.
An ugly monkey in a zoo.
After reading "Respectability" today in class, I fell in love with this story. My reading felt rushed, hurried, anxious as I scurried to finish my test, and I feel I did Anderson an injustice. After all, he dedicated his writing to his mother, who "awoke in him the hunger to see beneath the surface of lives," and what better way to look beneath the surface than to reflect on the thoughts swimming in one's head.
I guess I should start with the monkey. Ah, the monkey. Trapped in a cage in a zoo, being stared at by disapproving faces, intrigued by the hideousness and yet repulsed by the same hideousness that attracts them to the poor thing. In contemplating why Anderson chose Wash to be represented by the monkey, I can only say this: the whole metaphor is ironic. Although Wash is being characterized as the monkey, primitive and ugly, in fact, it is society that is primitive and ugly, while Wash--although not exactly refined or cultured--is the more sophisticated of the two. In trapping an innocent but ugly monkey in a cage and proceeding to stare at it for enjoyment, the people of Winesburg exhibit a hypocritical cruelty. I think that is what Anderson was trying to point out in writing "Respectability." The monkey is grotesque, and knows a truth. It is probably grotesque because it knows the truth, but the people of Winesburg simply call it off as an ugly monster. So are they indirectly saying the truth is ugly?
I can't help but feel sorry for Wash. He had given that tall blonde girl his everything, and she had given him nothing in return. What was most interesting to me was that she was tall and blonde, with yellow hair. Most of the other women portrayed in other stories are tall and dark, and are imparted with a truth. However, Wash's wife is different from the other women not only in appearance but also in action. No other wife cheats on her husband, at least not with more than one man (if you count Elizabeth's "relationship" with Dr. Reefy "cheating"). While men are shown to have lust throughout the stories, the women usually do not manifest it as defiantly, as clearly.
What intrigues me is why Wash feels sorry for men while hating women. His hatred for women is understandable, as a woman put out the fire ablaze in his soul. But his sympathy for men is curious. I wonder if he really does believe that women control men into doing certain actions or he feels sorry for men because he too is one and knows the pain of woman.
In ways, Wash is like Wing. And yet, he is also the exact opposite. While Wing is nervous, fluttery, like a bird, scared of the rest of society, like a hurt animal who is afraid to trust, Wash is defiant, angry, spiteful, like a hurt animal who lashes out at whoever comes near. They are both animals. And yet, they are so different. Wing is gazed upon. Wash is laughed at. Yet they both know a truth. And they both use their hands. I didn't understand what the seeds that Wash planted symbolized. His love for his wife? The sorrows and anguish that would spring up later that she handed him and he willingly and happily planted? As with all of Anderson's stories, something remains a mystery. Will the monkey and bird ever escape the cage?
I wonder...
After reading "Respectability" today in class, I fell in love with this story. My reading felt rushed, hurried, anxious as I scurried to finish my test, and I feel I did Anderson an injustice. After all, he dedicated his writing to his mother, who "awoke in him the hunger to see beneath the surface of lives," and what better way to look beneath the surface than to reflect on the thoughts swimming in one's head.
I guess I should start with the monkey. Ah, the monkey. Trapped in a cage in a zoo, being stared at by disapproving faces, intrigued by the hideousness and yet repulsed by the same hideousness that attracts them to the poor thing. In contemplating why Anderson chose Wash to be represented by the monkey, I can only say this: the whole metaphor is ironic. Although Wash is being characterized as the monkey, primitive and ugly, in fact, it is society that is primitive and ugly, while Wash--although not exactly refined or cultured--is the more sophisticated of the two. In trapping an innocent but ugly monkey in a cage and proceeding to stare at it for enjoyment, the people of Winesburg exhibit a hypocritical cruelty. I think that is what Anderson was trying to point out in writing "Respectability." The monkey is grotesque, and knows a truth. It is probably grotesque because it knows the truth, but the people of Winesburg simply call it off as an ugly monster. So are they indirectly saying the truth is ugly?
I can't help but feel sorry for Wash. He had given that tall blonde girl his everything, and she had given him nothing in return. What was most interesting to me was that she was tall and blonde, with yellow hair. Most of the other women portrayed in other stories are tall and dark, and are imparted with a truth. However, Wash's wife is different from the other women not only in appearance but also in action. No other wife cheats on her husband, at least not with more than one man (if you count Elizabeth's "relationship" with Dr. Reefy "cheating"). While men are shown to have lust throughout the stories, the women usually do not manifest it as defiantly, as clearly.
What intrigues me is why Wash feels sorry for men while hating women. His hatred for women is understandable, as a woman put out the fire ablaze in his soul. But his sympathy for men is curious. I wonder if he really does believe that women control men into doing certain actions or he feels sorry for men because he too is one and knows the pain of woman.
In ways, Wash is like Wing. And yet, he is also the exact opposite. While Wing is nervous, fluttery, like a bird, scared of the rest of society, like a hurt animal who is afraid to trust, Wash is defiant, angry, spiteful, like a hurt animal who lashes out at whoever comes near. They are both animals. And yet, they are so different. Wing is gazed upon. Wash is laughed at. Yet they both know a truth. And they both use their hands. I didn't understand what the seeds that Wash planted symbolized. His love for his wife? The sorrows and anguish that would spring up later that she handed him and he willingly and happily planted? As with all of Anderson's stories, something remains a mystery. Will the monkey and bird ever escape the cage?
I wonder...
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Paper balls...pills?
I find it funny that whenever I reread a story of Winesburg, Ohio, I have this fluttering in my heart as I discover a deeper meaning. Another layer. As I reread "Paper Pills" today, in the midst of a bustling urgent care hospital, with babies crying, parents shouting, and Madagascarplaying on the TV in the background, I strangely felt a certain peace. I know, it's weird.
I still can't exactly decide what Sherwood Anderson means by "paper pills." I find it interesting that Anderson never once used the phrase in the story; rather, he constantly referred to the "paper balls" that Dr. Reefy crumpled up and placed in his pockets. I have so many questions. Why his pockets? Why did they become such a great storing place for these pills? What do these pills represent? A faction of the truth? What truth? Is Dr. Reefy a grotesque? Mr. Anderson, I demand an explanation.
But since he is not here to interpret these questions I have, I must attempt to do so myself. Albeit hesitantly.
Seasons. This story seems to be driven by the four seasons of the year; a complex story driven by a seemingly simple thing as the weather. Dr. Reefy and the tall, dark girl begin their relationship in summer, when passion is rampant and she comes to him because of some mysterious illness. Their relationship grows in the fall, and winter represents the height of their relationship. She dies in the spring. I found her spring death ironic. Spring, a time when flowers bloom and the dead return to life, became the time of death for the doctor's wife.
Apples. They are everywhere in this story, from being specifically referenced to being alluded to. Apples always remind me of Snow White. Naive and delicious on the outside but containing some toxic poison on the inside, unbeknownst to the taster. However, Dr. Reefy's apples are the exact opposite. Although they are "twisted" and "gnarled," shunned by the apple pickers and exuding evil qualities, they are actually sweet on the inside. A complete oxymoron.
I wonder why the tall, dark girl remains unnamed. And why she is linked so much to blood. She dreams of blood. Or, rather, a vampire-like figure sucking her blood. And when Dr. Reefy pulls the teeth of the woman (who, interestingly, also remains unnamed) the blood "[runs] down on the woman's white dress." I find it important that the dress is white (like Dr. Reefy's beard), and the blood runs down the dress, as if it is dripping down the mouth of someone who has just sucked blood. I wonder if the blood imagery has something to do with her illness and premature death.
After re-reading this story, I found so much more depth. The nuances Anderson includes that allude to apples. "seeds of something very fine" "tree nursery" The hypocrisy of the vampire-like man, who talks of virginity (vampires were once thought to feed on virgins) constantly. And yet, I need more. I still don't understand everything. Maybe I should follow what Dr. Reefy does. Write down my ideas and make them into paper balls. Or pills, if you will.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Moths.
Blance DuBois is a moth. At least, that is what Tennessee Williams implies when he comments that "there is something about her uncertain manner, as well as her white clothes, that suggests a moth" in A Streetcar Named Desire. When I first read that specific line in the play, I passed over it. Yes, I passed over such strong, profound symbolism in my hurry to get to the actual "action" of the play. But in retrospect, the beauty of Streetcar is not in the actual plot of the play, but in the symbolism that it contains. No, I'm not criticizing the play's plot line in any way, but I just find the fact that white is referenced multiple times throughout the language of the play to represent innocence, that music swells and fades at the appropriate times, and that Blanche DuBois, prim and naive (on the outside, at least) is compared to a moth.
Moths are interesting creatures. Constantly attracted to light, they never seem to be satisfied with their place. After having found a spot near the light, they often spontaneously fly to another spot. Only to do the same spot-hopping once more. All night. And yet, while being attracted to light, they can never seem to stand being in the bright light for more than a few moments at a time before flying off to find another spot, another light. Moths do not usually have a positive connotation either. Unlike their more beautiful, elegant counterparts, butterflies, moths do not fly beautifully around flowers. No, they reveal themselves at night, and become a nuisance to late-night backyard chats as they zigzag around any and all light sources. Moths are pests. They can destroy large expanses of fruit orchards, can eat away at beautiful flowers.
Blanche DuBois is compared to a moth. And I can totally see it. Like a moth, she is attracted to light. Fervently. Whenever she sees any relation to light, she quickly latches onto it and attempts to showcase herself in the light. She relates light to white, to innocence. And Blanche desperately desires to be innocent. Or, at least perceived as innocent. She wears white frequently to "symbolize" her innocence. She explicitly states that her astrological sign is Virgo: the virgin. And while her attempts at being perceived as innocent seem blatantly obvious to me, she seems to be utterly unaware of her obvious attempts.
Blanche ultimately fails at being perceived as innocent. Once Stanley finds out about her past, her cover is blown, and his intuitions about her are confirmed. Mitch realizes that he has never seen her in the light and removes the paper lantern from the light. Blanche the moth is revealed. Although I cannot say that Blanche is corrupt or completely delusional, I must say that she is not innocent. She does have problems with reality and fantasy, as evidenced by her actions and thoughts, it may be because of her moth-like qualities. She may be blinded by reality. Or fantasy. Or both.
Moths are interesting creatures. Constantly attracted to light, they never seem to be satisfied with their place. After having found a spot near the light, they often spontaneously fly to another spot. Only to do the same spot-hopping once more. All night. And yet, while being attracted to light, they can never seem to stand being in the bright light for more than a few moments at a time before flying off to find another spot, another light. Moths do not usually have a positive connotation either. Unlike their more beautiful, elegant counterparts, butterflies, moths do not fly beautifully around flowers. No, they reveal themselves at night, and become a nuisance to late-night backyard chats as they zigzag around any and all light sources. Moths are pests. They can destroy large expanses of fruit orchards, can eat away at beautiful flowers.
Blanche DuBois is compared to a moth. And I can totally see it. Like a moth, she is attracted to light. Fervently. Whenever she sees any relation to light, she quickly latches onto it and attempts to showcase herself in the light. She relates light to white, to innocence. And Blanche desperately desires to be innocent. Or, at least perceived as innocent. She wears white frequently to "symbolize" her innocence. She explicitly states that her astrological sign is Virgo: the virgin. And while her attempts at being perceived as innocent seem blatantly obvious to me, she seems to be utterly unaware of her obvious attempts.
Blanche ultimately fails at being perceived as innocent. Once Stanley finds out about her past, her cover is blown, and his intuitions about her are confirmed. Mitch realizes that he has never seen her in the light and removes the paper lantern from the light. Blanche the moth is revealed. Although I cannot say that Blanche is corrupt or completely delusional, I must say that she is not innocent. She does have problems with reality and fantasy, as evidenced by her actions and thoughts, it may be because of her moth-like qualities. She may be blinded by reality. Or fantasy. Or both.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Seeing Things in Color
Are Willie and Jack good or bad?
I see the world in color. No, this isn't a post about colorblindness or rainbows. It's just that discussing religion and God just naturally leads me to think of those moral books that were read to me every Sunday in Bible study.
Is it right for Sally to tease Bob? Should Katie tell the teacher that she saw Michele eating someone else's lollipop?
These morals have been drilled into my head, and I doubt that I will ever forget them. Ever.
But having learned these morals, to me, seems to defeat the purpose of having morals. Don't get me wrong, it's not as if I condone theft and applaud bullying (I am adamantly against both those behaviors, actually). But whenever someone's morals are discussed, the definition of that word, moral, always seems to be an ethic or truth that is self-derived, but not always tangible or even visible. I have heard one too many stories of seemingly "good" people who committed heinous crimes. This doesn't mean that they had no morals or even lost them and became "bad." On the other hand, they could have had innate badness in them and have suppressed it long enough to commit the crime.
In my view, there is no black and white. Only color.
As today is Sunday, I made my weekly visit to church, where my preacher discussed God's plan. Quoting various Bible passages, he emphatically stated that God has a plan for each and every one of us; that every action we take, every person we meet, every scene that we experience all has a certain profound meaning that will someday materialize into a part of God's plan for our lives. Thinking of All the King's Men, I couldn't agree more.
For some reason I keep going back to that spiderweb metaphor. Thinking about it. Referring to it. Thinking some more. It just resonates with me,and thinking about God's plan made me, unsurprisingly, think of the spiderweb. Just like God's plan, everything that happens to the spiderweb also has a consequence, a greater meaning. A nudge to the spiderweb will make it tremble, but not necessarily break it. Morning dew accumulating on the web will allow it to sparkle in the sun. A human crashing through it will break the beautiful masterpiece.
In class the other day, we mentioned both Adam and Willie attempting to be God. To think like Him. To act like Him. But I don't think that either character could have ever attempted to be a God-like figure in any way. First of all, I think neither had a set plan. Both Jack and Willie lived their lives on the road--both literally and figuratively. Although it seems as if Willie knew where he wanted to be and what he wanted to do, he actually didn't. He got distracted easily. In my opinion, he ultimately failed. He had no plan. Jack seemed to meander through his life, not really making any choices for himself.
In the end, both characters reveal that life is in color. There is no black and white. Willie was neither good nor bad. He outwardly exuded goodness in the beginning of his career, when he was perceived as naive, but by the time he had obtained his success, he was unable to keep his innocence. Jack, by blaming Willie for his deeds, tried to lift the blame off of himself, but in my opinion, incriminated himself more by doing so. He reconciles with his actions in the end, but he knows that he cannot change the past. No one can. I see things in color. There is no right, no wrong, just as Jack and Willie are both good and bad. As Willie said, you make the goodness out of the badness.
I see the world in color. No, this isn't a post about colorblindness or rainbows. It's just that discussing religion and God just naturally leads me to think of those moral books that were read to me every Sunday in Bible study.
Is it right for Sally to tease Bob? Should Katie tell the teacher that she saw Michele eating someone else's lollipop?
These morals have been drilled into my head, and I doubt that I will ever forget them. Ever.
But having learned these morals, to me, seems to defeat the purpose of having morals. Don't get me wrong, it's not as if I condone theft and applaud bullying (I am adamantly against both those behaviors, actually). But whenever someone's morals are discussed, the definition of that word, moral, always seems to be an ethic or truth that is self-derived, but not always tangible or even visible. I have heard one too many stories of seemingly "good" people who committed heinous crimes. This doesn't mean that they had no morals or even lost them and became "bad." On the other hand, they could have had innate badness in them and have suppressed it long enough to commit the crime.
In my view, there is no black and white. Only color.
As today is Sunday, I made my weekly visit to church, where my preacher discussed God's plan. Quoting various Bible passages, he emphatically stated that God has a plan for each and every one of us; that every action we take, every person we meet, every scene that we experience all has a certain profound meaning that will someday materialize into a part of God's plan for our lives. Thinking of All the King's Men, I couldn't agree more.
For some reason I keep going back to that spiderweb metaphor. Thinking about it. Referring to it. Thinking some more. It just resonates with me,and thinking about God's plan made me, unsurprisingly, think of the spiderweb. Just like God's plan, everything that happens to the spiderweb also has a consequence, a greater meaning. A nudge to the spiderweb will make it tremble, but not necessarily break it. Morning dew accumulating on the web will allow it to sparkle in the sun. A human crashing through it will break the beautiful masterpiece.
In class the other day, we mentioned both Adam and Willie attempting to be God. To think like Him. To act like Him. But I don't think that either character could have ever attempted to be a God-like figure in any way. First of all, I think neither had a set plan. Both Jack and Willie lived their lives on the road--both literally and figuratively. Although it seems as if Willie knew where he wanted to be and what he wanted to do, he actually didn't. He got distracted easily. In my opinion, he ultimately failed. He had no plan. Jack seemed to meander through his life, not really making any choices for himself.
In the end, both characters reveal that life is in color. There is no black and white. Willie was neither good nor bad. He outwardly exuded goodness in the beginning of his career, when he was perceived as naive, but by the time he had obtained his success, he was unable to keep his innocence. Jack, by blaming Willie for his deeds, tried to lift the blame off of himself, but in my opinion, incriminated himself more by doing so. He reconciles with his actions in the end, but he knows that he cannot change the past. No one can. I see things in color. There is no right, no wrong, just as Jack and Willie are both good and bad. As Willie said, you make the goodness out of the badness.
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