Of Wanderings & Such

The Yellow Wallpaper

How lonely is an individual's life if she has to repeatedly turn to inanimate objects to find company? And how far can you push people before they fall over the brink of insanity? Apparently, there's no concrete answer to these questions. However, there is a hint to our protagonist's depravity. Incidentally, is it me or does she remain nameless throughout the story? If that's the case, then the omission of a name equates to reaffirming her non-entity status. She literally has no identity of her own.

The overall voice of the narrator seems filled with resignation and reads like a foregone conclusion to the end of the story. Or I could just call it foreshadowing.

"But what is one to do?" she asks repeatedly. Feminist literary critics would have a field day with this one. Marxist feminists would be bouncing off the walls. Even though the narrator is female, there's a strong element of feminine subjectivity. The Marxist reading comes from the power struggle, literally, especially at the end when John is trying to get her to come out of the room. Throughout the story, the balance of power is inordinately tipped towards one side, and as soon as that changes, there's chaos everywhere.

The angle to note is that her only one indulgence is heavily supressed by her husband.

"There comes John's sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful of me! I must not let her see me writing."

I wonder why...

....by the way,

....for anyone having trouble with the blogging portfolio, here are a couple of entries of mine from the past.

The Portfolio Package

The Venerable Portfolio

If you need help, let me know. I'd be more than happy to oblige.

To Leave or Not to Leave?

Boy, talk about confusing stories and non-traditional narratives. I love it when conflict is the first element introduced in stories and novels, because the reader stays gripped at the edge of the chair (bed in my case). But there's no resolution here...whatsoever. Not for me anyhow. I'm not saying I feel shortchanged by the ending, but there wasn't enough information given about the character who was supposedly the protagonist. Did he propel the story forward? If he did, then he was just a foil character. Did he make change happen as soon as he was introduced? In that case, he was the catalyst. All said and done, we can't change the ending (you know, copy right issues n' all), so lets move on from the irresolute discussion.

I like this story, mainly because I think that it falls into one of my favorite fiction genres, i.e., satire. I'm the sort of person who'll pick up a protest sign at the drop of a hat, so stories that allude to problems in the society always appeal to me. The object of satire is just that -- to highlight complications in the world we live in under a humorous light.

"I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with a profound conviction that the easiest way of life is best." That's the first introduction from Melville that suggests the tone of the story to follow. Incidentally, if anyone's ever read Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad, you'll find that Melville and Twain share the same depth of wit.

I think that there's a subtle hint towards the class conflict being made by Melville in this story, especially by the ironic reversal of roles. Does the man with the money always get to call the shots? I don't think so. Talk about social injustice. The notion of hapless dread setting in with the loss of power is very pronounced in the story. There's a sense of loss of control, which is synonymous with a loss of power, which is unacceptable, especially for capitalists.

For instance: "And as the idea came upon me of his possibly turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and denying my authority; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing my professional reputation."

Loss of control, loss of power and loss of social standing. Refuting social customs is a favorite hobby of satirists, by the way. I can actually picture Mr. Lawyer wiping the beads of perspiration off his forehead.

I suppose that my only question is, why is Bartleby's death left unjustified? If a case be made for him, then we could say that he was left starving for compassion because he had to rely on the kindness of strangers (I'm sorry Dr. Jerz. I couldn't resist). But any justification for Bartleby is pure conjecture, so I don't know if it's safe to go there. Just how dark was his life? I think Melville actually tells us.

"...- he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died desparing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities..."

There's a socialist moral at play here, but I'm definitely not going to spell it out even further.

The Custom-House

When I took Literary Criticism with Dr. A last year, we learned how to challenge widespread concepts and attitudes about literature before moving on to serious literary theory. Part of the discussion involved trying to understand the "writerly" concept, i.e., evaluating how much of the writer is actually present in the text. What are the influences acting upon writers that push them over the edge into producing mammoth works of art? Is it their life? The people they meet? The circumstances they come across, and sometimes get buried under? In more romantic terms, was it the leaf lying just so, skimming the surface of a pond under moonlight that evoked overwhelming emotions? Or in other words, is every piece of literature a personal revelation, and in some ways, confession?

Turned out, it really didn't matter, as long as the work was getting done. Yet, the question never really left me. As a (semi) writer, I often bounce back and forth between revealing too many of my experiences or avoiding them altogether. And then came Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter and The Custom-House, in that order.

When I first started reading this part of the novel, I had a feeling that I was being set up for a dramatic revelation of the events that led up to the publication of The Scarlet Letter, and boy was I right. Hawthorne writes: "...the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him, better than most of his schoolmates and lifemates" (1).

In the very beginning, he tries to establish a relationship with his readers by making them feel as though they're being initiated into a very intimate and a very elite circle of friends. Incidently, I think that the best way to read Hawthorne is while sitting in a grotesquely overstuffed leather chair with a goblet of wine on one side and a bowl of chocolate on the other. Oh, and the feet need to be propped up on an ottoman because the candles will light up by themselves (how 'bout them enchanted castles, eh?). But that's just me.

It's interesting that so much of Hawthorne's initial discourse reflects the changing time of the era. "Such occasions might remind the elderly citizen of that period, before the last war with England, when Salem was a port by itself; not scorned, as she is now, by her own merchants and ship-owners, who permit her wharves to crumble to ruin..." (3). Even before the novel begins, we're warned of the economic and in some ways, moral, disintegration of Puritan life. So, by conjecture, the "so-called" classics that make it into that category are more or less semi-historical documents. Read: Gone With the Wind & To Kill a Mockingbird.

I have to admit that I've really enjoyed reading The Scarlet Letter, but the first time my knees melted was when Hawthorne talked about food. "A tenderloin of beef, a hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey..." (12). Okay, so aside from the implications of sky-rocketing cholestrol levels, I was in heaven. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love food...my secret plan (well, not so much anymore) is to escape from the clutches of academia, run away to culinary school and set up my own Bed & Breakfast after retirement. Hah. Retirement. That's a whine for another day.

But really....I honestly believe that nothing brings people together like food. There's nothing like a table full of family and friends talking and laughing around mounds and mounda of food. Needless to say, I kinda jumped with joy to see Hawthorne agreeing with me.

If y'all haven't read The Custom-House section yet, I won't ruin it for you. But I promise there's a serious connection between the beginning of my post and the revelation at the end. My closing reaction? For a man who was ostensibly suffering from a writer's block, he sure could go on and on.

Swan Song

Not mine, but definitely the novel's. It's shocking to me that I've taken over two weeks to get through The Scarlet Letter, but there it is and there you go. Not to say that it's been a bad journey, but journeys tend to get wearisome. And there's always a moral around travels and great fables and such...wandering feet tell tall tales, no?

But getting on with the reading...The moral is, if you're reading literature and you want to get to the shuddering cold depths of the "intended" meaning, then character analysis ain't it. Stories, by and large, and especially the ones that fall into Literature with a capital "L," very rarely mean to stay by the characters depicted in them. There are issues that lay at the very core of written texts...social injustices, revolutions, change in perspective, treatment of women, apartheid, cultural imperialism...the list is endless. Characters are more or less conduits to get the point across. Not to say that character development, description and analyses are worthless points of discussion. There are extremely close observances being made all over the blog, but lets move on people!

To go back to basics, let's think about the point that Hawthorne is trying to make. Is he talking about how society treats women? Sure he is. He's pretty forward in his thinking that gets relayed across the pages more than once. Hester is very seldom chastised by her creator, i.e., Hawthorne.

For example: "Had there been a Papist among the crowd of Puritans, he might have seen in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her attire and mien, and with the infant at her bosom, an object to remind him of the image of Divine Maternity," (39 - my text). That's not exactly a finger being pointed at her at this juncture. Hawthorne is definitely trying to control the reader's reaction.

Which is closely connected to the fact that the author is god in his/her universe. Every character, every description, every turn of events is an extremely conscious choice and is very carefully manipulated to lead to the desired end. Think "puppeteer." Is it just a coincidence that Hester happened to be in the "New World" when she committed a sin of passion? Hardly. But the ultimate focus is not so much on her adultery as it is on her being ostracized out of the only community she has possibly ever known. So naturally, the focus shifts from her emotional torture to the society being depicted as the cruel, heartless and unforgiving beast, if you will, for lack of a better word.

Lets consider the concept of Divine Retribution for a moment. Dimmesdale, as we all know by the end, has forever been consumed with guilt for not admitting to his mistake. Is Chillingworth's acquaintance with Dimmesdale Hawthorne's way of giving him his just desserts? Does that mean that the reader is supposed to believe in Providence, regardless of the fruits that one's labors bear? Maybe the book isn't about society at all. Maybe it's about reaffirming one's faith and belief in Divine justice. It's a small world, and what goes around comes around. But ya can't clap with just one hand people. Just some food for thought.

And then there's a whole other notion of human fallibility. Perhaps the message of the book is to make people see each other in a fair and just light. People don't come standardized because they're not cut out from the same mould. How high of a pedestal should we really place people on? How fair is it really for people to put anyone on a pedestal? In the same paragraph that I've cited above, Hawthorne makes this fallibility wholly clear.

"Here, there was the taint of deepest sin in the most sacred quality of human life, working such effect, that the world was only the darker for this woman's beauty, and the more lost for the infant she had borne," (39).

Should they accept her or abandon her? Do people really have a right to judge other human beings without understanding that they might be wearing the exact same shoes some day? These might sound like rhetorical questions, but they've definitely been presented in the book with some clarity.

The story might drag on, the language might be archaic, the literary devices might be over-dramatised, but The Scarlet Letter is a book with many, many layers to it. It's a book that reveals a completely new issue in a completely different light every time its read, which makes it fall under Literature (with a capital L), which in turn means that there's more to the book than the characters. Shouldn't it deserve deeper thought?

Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter (Ch 1-7) -- American Literature, 1800-1915 (EL 266)

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Dumbledore Love

For the terminally incurable(is that a word? I don't know anymore), like myself, who refuse to believe any version of the truth except their own. Thanks to Johanna Dreyfuss, friend and solace in distress. I'm still not convinced he's dead.

Did Hester Sin Alone?

My first instinct is to say "no," and make it an extremely emphatic one. However, the book is definitely a work of art if it can elicit such a strong response from the reader and still manage to raise important issues present in the culture of the times. It's no wonder that women have had such a difficult time trying to find their own ground. The belief system that stands against them has roots in civilizations that cropped up thousands of years ago. And it looks like absolutely nothing had changed at the time the book was written. Although, it does seem that Hawthorne was slightly ahead of his time when he writes "...for the accumulating days, and added years, would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame. Throughout them all, giving up her individuality, she would become the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point..." (54). There's almost a touch of sympathy for Hester as the author and the reader both realize that her coming life will be filled with dread.

On a completely different note, it is slightly difficult to read the book because the writing is so dense. Talk about your run on sentences....especially when Hawthorne describes Hester's talent with sewing and needlepoint. For the length of two pages, he talks about nothing except for an inch of lace. Okay, so I exaggerate a little, but still. The only saving grace is that the language used is artistic, archaic as it may be for our time. For instance, "He wore a dark feather in his hat, a border of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath; a gentleman advanced in years, and with a hard experience written in his wrinkles" (44). Despcriptive without being flowery.

There's a joy hidden in reading a language that was set aside for art once upon ago, e.g. the Elizabethan age. Now that I think about it, the language hasn't changed much from then to the time period of the novel. Neither has the technique. The first three pages of the book are taken up with nothing except the description of the setting. While I'm at it, I have to say its nice to read a book written in first person narrative after a long long time.

All in all, its a refreshing change. I'm trying very hard to not evaluate the book based on my emotional reactions, especially where Hester's torture and subsequent treatment is concerned. No, she definitely did not sin alone....her husband, her lover and the society she lived in were a huge part of the collective sin taking place. I wonder who stepped in and told the Puritans that it wasn't up to them to judge morality, especially when they never took a look at their own. It'll be interesting to project the theme of this book into contemporary society.

Birthdays and Such

This post has come rather late in the day because somehow my assignments took over my time today. (Can you imagine that? Golly) But to make amends, I'd like the SHU blogging community to know that today is our very own Valerie Masciarelli's birthday! A special wish for a special gal who deserves to be treated well for the wonderful person she us. So hover over to her blog, if you would, and leave a birthday message for her. Hug her, wish her, sing to her or just plain annoy her...either ways, it's up to us to make her happy.

Young Goodman Brown

There's something in the title of this story that pulls together the cause and consequence relationship that Hawthorne's built for the reader. At the very least, it raises a few questions about Brown's senility, or lack thereof. For instance, how young was Goodman Brown if his mind had been influenced so easily by what he had seen, or thought he had seen? I wonder if age played in as an influencing factor. I remember reading this story a few years ago in Introduction to Literature, but it didn't seem so vivid then as it does now. Possibly because now I've learned a lot more about Christianity and the early settlers.

I mention Christianity because Hawthorne alludes to Christianity at several instances in the story, even before his protagonist comes across the wild ritual. If the dark imagery and foreshadowing in the beginning weren't enough, he likens the staff of the man in the woodsn to a serpent.

"But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought, that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent" (311).

It seems to me that this story was written to place the fear of God in the hearts of the readers. The characters come across as Puritans, and a little research shows that Puritans were extremely cynical when it came to saving the people from themselves and from the wrath of God. Considering my non-Christian background, this is news to me. The little overview of Puritanism that I've linked to above certainly helps explain the concepts brought to light in the story.

For instance, the derogatory status conferred upon the natives living on the land.

"'There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,' said Goodman Brown to himself..." (310).

Clearly, there's a definite distinction between the "us" and "them" here, which also helps the reader to understand the social conditions prevalent at the turn of the 18th century.

And then there's the constant struggle between good and evil, righteousness and temptation, and also a sense of the abandonment of the faith professed so ardently.

"'My Faith is gone!' cried he, after one stupefied moment. 'There is no good on earth, and sin is but a name. Come, devil! for to thee the world is given'" (314).

The word "faith" is personified in more ways than one, but there's a certain cynicism regarding the state of the world. What could have possibly happened to make a man doubt his existence and his belief in God to such an extent? I'm not sure of the answer, but the consequences are clearly visible. Shame, guilt, and remorse become the only resolution for living with broken faith. Perhaps because the heathen ritual was a little more than Brown could fathom. It's interesting to see how far people can push themselves in the name of religion.

For those interested, here's a little something on the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.