20th Century Blogging

I really enjoyed having this blog. It gave me a chance to say some things that I couldn't or didn't get the chance to say in class. It also gave me time to really shape my thoughts so that I could make a coherent point. That can sometimes be more difficult in class. When I blogged, I usually made my point and then expanded on it to an extent I could not in class. I enjoyed having the ability to say a lot without worrying about taking up too much of class time.

The blog also helped in my writing. I used the blog to test out response paper ideas a few times, and it really helped. The blog posts gave me something to work off of. It was if I had written a rough draft. I liked being able to get my ideas down, look at them, and work with them before I dove off into writing the actual paper.

However, what I didn't like about the blogging was that I sometimes found it difficult to blog. I procrastinate, and would put off the posts, because I had no idea what to write or just didn't have the time to.  This usually meant that I would write a lot just before the due date to make sure my blog was updated enough. I think to help with this problem, next year's class could use the method I used last year in Non-Fiction Writing. The class was split into two groups, one a Tuesday group, one a Thursday group. Each week, you would make one blog post on your respective day by a certain time at night. Now, we could tweak that a bit to say that there's one required blog post a week, but you can write whenever you feel like writing. I think that would help solve the problem of procrastination and rush blogging.

Names

Names hold a lot of meaning in Song of Solomon. The Dead family's names come from the Bible, so those have inherent meaning in and of themselves. Even though most of the names were chosen at random, they loom over their owners, and separate them from the fold. I mean, have you ever heard of a girl named First Corinthians? The names make the Dead family stand out more than they already do. Here is a Northern, black. well-to-do family doing whatever they can to remain respectable. Having Biblical names enhances this respectability, but it also further separates the Deads from the other blacks in the neighborhood, and especially from the lower class Southside black people. In the Southside, names may seem just as odd, but are better justified than the Biblical names. For example, Guitar is called Guitar because he wanted to play the guitar. First Corinthians wasn't called First Corinthians because she was reading First Corinthians as a baby.

In addition, names hold a lot of power over people. Think of how much the nickname Milkman affects him until no one even uses his actual name. This is why Pilate holds her name so close to her, literally in a box in her ear. No one can take her name from her, and if they ever try or attempt to give her a new name, she'll have her actual name right there for her. Losing a name is a common theme in a lot of books and movies, and so Pilate here is showing that her name can never be lost. Her name will always be known, because it will always be on her.

Now, the person whom names really affect is Milkman, or rather, Macon Dead Jr. The fact is, Milkman is trapped between these two names, and neither is particularly favorable. For one, Milkman comes from a past of shame. It's a nickname poking fun at his mother for breastfeeding him for years, and is basically calling him and his family dirty. It's a shameful name, and one most people would be glad to be rid of, but Milkman can't seem to ditch the name. It follows him, it's a part of him, and while he uses it when he's younger, as he grows older and learns what it truly means, he tries harder and harder to avoid it. Milkman then begins to start using his given name, Macon Dead. However, he is not the first Macon Dead. His father is also Macon Dead, and Milkman has been trying for a good part of the novel to not be like his father. Yet, here he is, taking his father's own name. Sure, he has moments where he's proud to be his father's son, like during his journey through the South, but most of the time Milkman doesn't want to be his father and does all he can to be the complete opposite of him. So why take his name?

I think Milkman is stuck. He doesn't want to be known by his shameful nickname, but he doesn't want to be known by his given name, his father's name either. But what can he do? These names are going to stick with him, regardless of what he does. I mean, he could change his name or get a new nickname, but I'm sure, somewhere out there, someone would call him Milkman or Macon. These names are a part of him, a defining aspect of his past, present, and future. Just like the ornament on the hood of the car, Milkman is moving forward, but stuck in the same place, with the same names.

A Response to "Christohpine's Amazing Ju-Ju Luv Magic"

Recently, I read a blog post by one of my classmates and was extremely offended. It suggested that Antoinette giving Rochester the love potion was akin to date-rape. Here is the link to the post.

http://charles20thcenturylitjournal-blog.blogspot.com/2011/11/christophines-amazing-ju-ju-luv-magic.html

Now, I will concede that there is a similarity between the love potion and a date-rape drug, and that similarity is control. However, the love potion is for control of the heart, while the date-rape drug is for control over the body. And while it is terrible to try and force someone to love you, it is even worse to take control of their body and use it without consent.

Here's where my classmate and I differ. He thinks that Antoinette used the love potion so that she could sleep with Rochester. I disagree. I don't think sex was on her mind at all. I think all she really wanted was affection. This man is her husband, and he wont even acknowledge her. He uses different names for her, is cold to her, and virtually ignores her. I think all Antoinette wanted was just a sign that Rochester cared about her, and when he never gave her that, she sought to get her for herself. The love potion was supposed to make Rochester love her. I don't think it was so that she could take control of him at all. I don't even think Antoinette really wants to control Rochester's heart. She just wants him to love her, and this is the only viable option she sees. I'm not commending her or saying she did the right thing, not at all, but I'm just pointing out where she's coming from.

And I don't think Antoinette wanted Rochester to forget everything. She wants him to love her always, not just for one night. That's also why I think the potion is for the heart and not for sex. Antoinette wants something that will change Rochester permanently, almost in the way he's changing her. She wants him to want her. Yes, the use of the love potion is a completely selfish and one-sided act, and it's why I don't approve it. However, the topic of consent in this issue is a little tricky. You can't make somebody love you, especially if they don't want to. Forcing them, blackmailing them, using love potions on them without their consent is  a terrible thing. And the love that does arise from this love potion is probably not even a real love. It's fake. Fabricated. An illusion. But that's all the person wants. They want it to at least seem like they're being adored. But anyways, I do think Antoinette had no right to use the love potion, but I think she may have thought consent was implied. She's married to Rochester. There is supposed to be love in marriage. He has made it seem that he does love her, and she's just trying to bring back that love. I mean, when she does give him the potion, they are talking and sharing and for a moment, they're a happy couple. I think Antoinette was honestly just trying to win back Rochester's affection, but she did so in an extremely selfish way that caused more harm than good. And sex had nothing to do with it.

That's where date-rape changes. It's not about making that person love you. It's about taking control and using another person's body without their consent for one's own pleasure. Literally, taking advantage. Love isn't a factor in date-rape, lust is. The person wants what they want and they take it, forcefully, without consent of the person they're taking it from. And it's not usually a more than one time thing. That does happen, but you rarely hear of one person repeatedly date-raping the same person.

Though there is similarity with the factors of control and consent between the love potion and a date-rape drug, there's a vast difference in the motives and the execution. And I just...I am disgusted in the fact that this was brought up and written about in such an offhand manner. Date-rape is a serious issue and should be treated as such.

Rochester/Rochester

Last year, in 19th Century Novel, I read Jane Eyre. I really loved it, and I actually really liked Mr. Rochester. However, reading Wide Sargasso Sea has really changed my views. I mean, I know they're two completely different books written by two completely different people, but I'm getting a completely new perspective on Rochester that I didn't have before. Reading Wide Sargasso Sea is definitely making me rethink my views on Rochester in Jane Eyre, and not in a good way.

Though Rochester is "prideful" in Jane Eyre, I still liked him. I thought he was an interesting character, and very intriguing. I wanted to see him fall in love and marry Jane. I was devastated when she rejected him, and overjoyed when they finally were married. I felt sympathy for Rochester, I truly did. I felt bad for him that he had this mad wife that he had to keep locked away. Reading Jane Eyre, it did seem like Bertha Mason wasn't Rochester's fault at all. He truly had been tricked into marrying a mad woman for money, and there was nothing he could do about it. You know, I really felt for him. Here was a man, desperate to move on and find new, true love, and he literally can't because of his past. I'll be honest, I wanted Bertha out of the way so Rochester and Jane could be together, and I was so happy when they finally could be. I may have been one of the very few people in my class to actually feel that way.

But now, reading Wide Sargasso Sea, everything changes. I mean, what a difference a simple change in perspective makes. See, since I had only seen Bertha as mad in Jane Eyre, I could never imagine her coherent, and thus Rochester became the only source of reliable information. But in Wide Sargasso Sea, being with Antoinette as she grows up really changes the way I see her and Rochester. I have much more sympathy for Antoinette, and hardly any for Rochester now. I see Antoinette as the one who has been tricked and deceived, instead of Rochester. In Jane Eyre, it seemed like perhaps Rochester had had some sort of care or affection for Bertha. In Wide Sargasso Sea, however, I truly think Rochester never had any sorts of feelings for Antoinette. Sure, he thought she was beautiful, but he never seemed to actually care about her, he just went through the motions. Anyone can kiss, but not everyone can kiss with love and passion. I honestly think Rochester deceived Antoinette, as Christophine said, and "made love to her till she was drunk with it." And we've seen what happens when Antoinette gets drunk.

See, that's why I just can't believe that Antoinette is going insane. You have to consider her situation. I can pretty safely say that most women would go ballistic if their husband slept with another girl right next door to them. I mean, Rochester did that completely on purpose, he was rubbing it in Antoinette's face. I really lost all respect for him at that moment. Deception is one thing, but rubbing that deception in someone else's face is another thing entirely. Before, Rochester was being a jerk, but only in his head. Now, he's a complete and utter jerk.

But I digress. As I was saying, Rochester gets Antoinette drunk on him with love, and love can cause people to do crazy things. Especially since, it seems to me, that Antoinette is desperate for affection. She never felt wanted by her mother, or by the people around her. The only person Antoinette really ever got affection from was Christophine. But here's this strapping young Englishman, and he tells Antoinette he loves her, and she, never really knowing or experiencing love, believes him right off the back. She's basically an innocent impressionable child that he's manipulating. I mean, he's turning her into a proper English woman so he can bring her back as his wife. It's clear he doesn't love her, he doesn't even like who she is. He jumps at the possibility of her being insane, and uses it as an excuse to hate her and try and get out of the marriage. I mean, what an absolutely rotten guy!

I really hate Rochester in Wide Sargasso Sea, I really, really do. I don't like him at all. Not even a little tiny bit. In Jane Eyre, he was romantic, or at least I saw some romance in him. But in Wide Sargasso Sea, though you could argue that Rochester is being romantic, there is nothing underneath it. Rochester actually cared about Jane, maybe cause she was the proper English woman he was always looking for, but without any feelings towards Antoinette whatsoever, all of his charm and romantic acts on her are completely deceptive and make me sick.

The Women of "The Stranger"

The women in The Stranger are almost all seemingly minor questions. Meursault's mother is dead as the novel starts, Marie is his lover, and then Mason's wife and Raymond's mistress are never even given names. At first glance, it seems like the women are just secondary characters and don't add much to novel. I disagree. To me, the women, and especially Raymond's nameless mistress, are some of the most important characters in the novel.

Let's start with Meursault's mother. Her death starts the novel, and it's through her funeral that we first get a glimpse at who Meursault is. We see him not reacting to the situation in a way that is deemed socially acceptable. It seems off to us, and makes some people say that Meursault doesn't have any emotions at all. Meursault's mother's death is not just the starting point of the novel, it is also the starting point of our understanding of Meursault as well. Her death is a window to his soul, in a way, because it's through his lack of proper emotional response at her death that we start to know who and what kind of a person Meursault is.

Meursault's mother is also very important because it's because of her that Meursault is thrown in jail and then executed. Ok, yeah, it's not super directly, but again it's his lack of proper emotional response at her death that causes him to be deemed less than human by the prosecutor. That's a crucial part of the case against Meursault. He doesn't show emotion towards his mother's death, and so he is accused of "burying his mother with crime in his heart" and that is why he is executed.

Marie is also important for a similar reason. Meursault's relationship with her is used against him in his trial, as a piece of supporting evidence to show that Meursault has no emotions and is less than human. Because Meursault and Marie went swimming, went to a comedic movie, and had sex the day after Meursault's mother's funeral, the prosecutor makes the claim that Meursault didn't care about his mother at all. Once again, he buried "his mother with crime in his heart."

It really is something that Meursault is basically on trial for who is, not for what he has done. He is basically executed because he doesn't show the proper emotional response, not because he killed a man. But let's look further into that. If Meursault hadn't killed the Arab, he wouldn't have been on trial, wouldn't have been convicted of "burying his mother with crime in his heart," and wouldn't have been executed. So what led to Meursault killing the Arab? Raymond's feud with the Arab. And what was that feud about? Raymond's (abusive?) relationship with the Arab's sister.

And that's where Raymond's mistress comes into play. She seems to me one of the most important characters in the novel, even if she doesn't seem like it. It is because of her that Raymond and Meursault become "pals" and it is because of this involvement in Raymond's relationship with his mistress that Meursault is drawn into Raymond's feud with the Arab. Would Raymond and Meursault have become buddies if Raymond had never asked him to write that letter for him, or testify for him? If there was no mistress, I don't think their "friendship" would have ever happened. And without that friendship, there'd be no trip to the beach. And even if they did go to the beach as friends, if Raymond wasn't involved with his mistress, then the Arabs wouldn't have been there, and thus Meursault couldn't have killed the woman's brother. And without that murder, there would have been no trial, and thus no execution.

It's a complicated game of "what ifs" but it's very striking that if this one seemingly minor character did not exist, then The Stranger could have turned out very differently.

A Quick Kafka Comic

Just a little something to amuse you :D

http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ld1pb5q7YJ1qax068o1_500.gif

Raymond-The Creep That Got Away With It

Raymond is such a creepy guy. Let's just face it, he's a total creep. He lives off of women, in more ways than one. He's a pimp, so his job and how he earns a living is based off of women, selling and advertising them more specifically. But the focus goes beyond his job. Raymond had a mistress, a Moorish woman, whom Raymond suspected of cheating and thus decides it's right for him to beat her and make her suffer.

Now let's pause here for a minute. There is absolutely no proof whatsoever that Raymond's mistress actually did cheat on him. All we have is his word. It could be that Raymond's mistress didn't realize she was "monogamous" or whatever with Raymond, and thought she had more sexual freedom. Or maybe she was actually one of Raymond's women from his job, so she had to be with other men to make a living. Or it could be that she didn't cheat at all, and Raymond just made the whole thing up! I can totally see that happening. Raymond doesn't strike me as a guy who has respect for women, which explains both his job and how he deals with his mistress. I mean, he has this whole plan to lure her back to him with a seductive letter, written by Meursault and not him interestingly enough, only to beat her. He's like an abusive Don Juan. You'd think that after having been hurt the first time around, his mistress wouldn't return to him. You'd think she'd know better. But she doesn't. She returns to Raymond, just as he planned, and the abuse is hard to miss.

What amazes me is how he gets away with it all. First off, Raymond has to have some sort of charisma to not only make Meursault write the letter for him but to make it convincing enough to have his mistress return. I would have to think that Raymond dictates the letter to Meursault to write, though it's not really that clear, because Meursault doesn't strike me as the seducing type, despite his swims with Marie. Then, his words must've been pretty convincing to make his mistress return to him. Then what happens? Raymond beats his mistress up in a public place, with many witnesses, and doesn't suffer for it at all! Once again, Meursault acts as Raymond's "pal" and covers for him with the police, but even the police fall under Raymond's charismatic spell. They take his story about how his mistress was cheating on him as a perfectly good and plausible explanation for the beating. That just really blows my mind. How is infidelity a good reason for abuse? It's so sexist too, because if Raymond's mistress had beaten him up for cheating on her, you can tell that she would be the one off to jail immediately. However, if Raymond says that it was his mistress who was cheating and that's why he beat her, then he gets off without a hitch, and an almost nod to his masculinity from the police. And that's just sickening. What's even more sickening is the fact that this not only happened in the 1940's, but still happens today. But that's a different subject all together.

Moving on to Raymond's finest achievement in the entire novel: getting away with murder.

Ok, ok I know what you're going to say. Raymond didn't actually murder anybody. True, yes, I will agree with you there. But he definitely had a hand in it. He got Meursault involved in his problems with the Arabs, and not just involved by Raymond telling him about the issues, oh no Raymond has Meursault armed and ready to fight the Arabs with him! Meursault doesn't really care about anything, and so Raymond is able to once again charismatically manipulate him into always coming to his rescue and taking his side of the story. Though Raymond did not shoot the Arab, Meursault shot him with Raymond's gun, and in a way was simultaneously ridding Raymond of his problem while also taking the blame for it. The Arab is dead, and Raymond is free to live a happy, womanizing life in the world with no threat of jail time. Meursault gets all the blame, and to me it seems like it's all Raymond's fault. He's an accomplice to the murder, definitely, but once again he gets away with it.

Happy Ending?

If you had shown me the final scene of The Metamorphosis, and just the final scene, as if it was from a movie, I probably would've awwwed and said "Aw, what a beautiful scene! Everyone looks so happy! It's all so pretty and wonderful!" However, reading the book, that last scene is far from happy. It's...dark humour in a way. I mean, it is happy that Mr. and Mrs. Samsa and Grete get to live their lives now and move on, but it's just...for one they move on way too quickly. Um, hello! Your son JUST died. You can't take off work to picnic and vacation and plan to leave immediately! True, they weren't quite so sure that Gregor was the cockroach, but if they thought that he wasn't, then where the hell did they think he was? Did they think Gregor had just deserted them? Did they think the cockroach had eaten him? The entire family speaks with Gregor at the beginning of the novel when he is a cockroach, they know he's in the room at least. So how can they just completely forget about their son, especially after all he's done for them. The family just seems ungrateful.

But I digress. Anyways, back to the final scene, there's such an underlying dark, ironic, humorous, call it what you will tone. Something just feels off. Like, you feel that the scene should be fine and happy, but it's not. Something feels wrong. And that something is the absence of caring and love. This is a family overjoyed at death. That in and of itself is just creepy. You would think they would at least show some respect to Gregor, even if they didn't know it was him. Then again, they really haven't been showing Gregor as the cockroach any respect at all. Grete tries to, but it soon becomes too much for her to deal.

I think Grete being happy at her brother's death is really one of the saddest parts of the ending of the novel. Grete really seemed to care about her brother, probably the only one in her family who did, and he cared for her back. He was going to pay to send her off to the conservatory so she could violin! And what does she do? She gives him some food for a little while, moves the furniture out, cleans up his room, but then all those little chores suddenly become too much for her? Gregor spent his life in a job he despised to provide for his family! Grete's little chores to help her brother is nothing compared to what Gregor did to support his family. I think the idea of Grete treating Gregor like a little pet is very accurate. The first couple of weeks, she really enjoys him, wants to take care of him, wants to play with him, learn everything about him, etc. But then he just becomes a pain. He always needs food, he always needs this, he always needs this, etc. It's like she got tired of taking care of him. And that's just sad.

The family's just so oblivious to everything! They can't open their eyes and see what their son has done for them! They complain about the lousy apartment Gregor chose for them, but if it weren't for him they wouldn't have been able to live in an apartment in the first place! Did the family really despise him that much?

I just can't believe that a mother and father could dislike him so. He cared for them, he truly cared for them, and he did everything he could to keep them supported. He didn't want to see his family suffer, and so he suffered for them. Why, then, can they not at least respect him for it? It seems like the parents played favorites with their children, and much preferred Grete to Gregor. There was never any talk about setting Gregor up with a woman to get married. No, it was all about work for him, and then once he was a cockroach it was "Well, what do we do with this?" With Grete, they notice how beautiful she is, how wonderful, and how she should get married.

It makes me wonder what the novel would've been like if Grete had woken up as a cockroach. She doesn't have as much duty to the family as Gregor does, but if she really is the favorite, then the family reaction would have been completely different. They would've cared for her, tried to make things better, I think, actually cope with the situation instead of just pushing it aside to a room and letting it die. I don't know. Things would've been different.

But anyways, it's just such a shame that the Samsa family can't see how much Gregor has helped them. All they can see is the trouble he's caused them, and so their celebration at his death, no matter how uplifting it may seem, is just way too off-putting and wrong. And that's what I think Kafka wants us to see. I can just see him, writing the final scene, grinning and laughing at the dark humour of it all. Gregor has always wanted to help his family however he can, and in truth, the best way to help them was to die.

What a wonderful life.

Kafka's Cockroach Communication

Once Gregor is transformed into a cockroach, he loses all sense of appearance-wise humanity. Inside, he is still the same man, just with a new perspective. Yet, he still craves love and attention from his family, and has a sense of duty towards his work. His mind hasn't stopped working, he is still thinking and desperately wants to share his thoughts with his family. If only he could communicate with them. However, with his transformation, Gregor not only loses his human appearance, but his human voice.

He tries to talk to his family, he really does, and at the beginning it seems like they at least sort of understand him.

"Gregor," someone called--it was his mother--"it's a quarter to seven. Didn't you want to catch the train?" What a soft voice! Gregor was shocked to hear his own voice answering, unmistakably unmistakably unmistakably own voice, true, but in which, as if from below, an insistent distressed chirping intruded, which left the clarity of his words intact only for a moment really, before so badly garbling them as they carried that no one could be sure if he had heard right. Gregor had wanted to answer in detail and to explain everything, but, given the circumstances, confined himself to saying, "Yes, yes, thanks, Mother, I'm just getting up." The wooden door must have prevented the change in Gregor's voice from being noticed outside, because his mother was satisfied with this explanation and shuffled off." (Kafka 5)

However, this understanding doesn't last very long.

"Did you understand a word?" the manager was asking his parents. "He isn't trying to make fools of us, is he?....that was the voice of an animal." (Kafka 10)

Still, I have to wonder, if communication really is that impossible for Gregor. It seems that if he talks really slowly, with very precise unmistakably and pronounciation, that his family can actually understand him. So why doesn't he just do that? Ok, I can understand talking like that can be a pain, and that maybe his family wouldn't stick around long enough to hear Gregor out, but there are still other ways to communicate!

Like, Gregor could've established some sort of communication with his sister at least. Since he can think, he could potentially maneuver his food around so that it forms messages, or come up with some other kind of system or code. It just strikes me that after he finds out his family doesn't understand him, he just gives up on communicating with them. Lots of issues could've been solved if he had just managed to reach them. I really think he should've spelled out something with his food, or written something on the wall or ceiling. Something! 

Just because you're a giant cockroach doesn't mean you have to stop talking to people.

Drunks and Diction

As Hemingway said himself, "The Sun Also Rises" is a book "about a few drunks." Obviously, there's a lot more to these characters than just their drinking, but I'd like to take a minute and focus on that aspect of them. First off, they're a lot more than just drunks. They are super-drunks. I mean, seriously! What is their alcohol tolerance level? Do they permanently have a constant blood alcohol level? It's absolutely insane how much all these characters drink! Like, drinking light for them is a bottle of wine, two beers, and an imitation absinthe. How can they handle that much? Are their bodies really that accustomed to that much alcohol? It blows my mind.

You have to also wonder how the hell anyone of them survive. How come none of them have died from alcohol poisoning? Even simpler than that, how come none of them ever seem to wake up with a hangover? We get snippets of them passing out, Robert Cohn especially, but very rarely do the characters seem to complain of a headache, or show any regret for their actions from the previous night. Instead, they just seem to wake up, go out, and drink some more! It's insane!

Also, what I find really insane, and also really funny, is how whenever anybody talks in the book, they talk perfectly fine. Nobody slurs! Never! Not once! No slurring! Nothing! It blows my mind, really it does. I mean, Hemingway probably didn't write them as slurring because then the entire book would be unintelligible, but still! If it had had the occasional slur...even by Robert Cohn! I mean, it's just so funny! It seems like all the characters have such a high alcohol tolerance level, that even when they're so drunk they're about to pass out, they can still have a coherent and intelligent conversation. I'd like to see "The Sun Also Rises" written with slurred words. I think it would be more accurate, and insanely hilarious.

Voice of Our Generation?

When we were first starting "The Sun Also Rises" a question was asked that I've been thinking about and meaning to write about for a while. What is the voice of our generation? We were discussing what exactly is meant by the "lost generation" to which Ernest Hemingway as well as many of his characters belonged to, with ideas ranging from all the people who died in the war to a more specific "lost generation" referring to Jake's war wound.

But anyways, what is our generation? We're not lost, we're not the baby boomers, no one's really identified us as anything specific quite yet. I mean, we're the technological generation I guess. The iPod generation, the Internet generation, the Facebook generation. There's been so much technological growth during my generation, and it doesn't show any signs of stopping yet. Almost every teenager my age has a cellphone, has a Facebook, has a laptop of their own. 20 years ago, this never would've happened, hell even 5 years ago it would've been a rarity. Does this mean that we're the technological generation and Steve Jobs is our voice?

But technology is only one aspect of it. What about politics? A lot of people have classified us as the 9/11 generation, since we were all alive for the tragedy and experienced the repercussions of it. I visited New York before 9/11, and I remember treasuring my little souvenir of the Big Apple with tiny figurines of the Twin Towers after the disaster. I in fact returned to New York very recently, and my hotel was right next to the 9/11 memorial. It was a bit of an eerie thing to see reflective pools where once the Twin Towers had stood, and to know that I had seen both before and after. I remember how airport security used to be, and now I experience the hassle of travel constantly. My life, and definitely the majority of other lives of teenagers my age has been changed by 9/11, so does that mean we're the 9/11 generation? If so, who would our voice be? George Bush?

Ugh, I would not like it if George Bush was considered the voice of our generation. I'd rather it be Obama. And it very well could be! My generation is also the Obama generation. We were all very involved in his election, and I remember sitting in the library crowding around a TV to watch his inauguration. I, and many other teenagers my age, will be able to vote in the 2012 election, and we will have such an impact, having been so involved in the 2008 election, even though we couldn't vote. So, is Obama our voice?

But what about entertainment! I would love it if Lady Gaga was the voice of our generation, and it makes sense considering the impact she's had on teens all over the world. But then again, could we be the "Glee" generation? The Disney Channel and Nickelodeon generation? The "16 and Pregnant" generation? The "Jersey Shore" generation? The list goes on and on.

I guess it's not very clear what sort of a generation we are. I'm just throwing out all sorts of ideas here. Maybe it's possible to be more than one type of generation. I don't know. I guess I'll just have to wait and see 50 years from now what historians label us as.

The Hours

"The Hours." I must say, I was not expecting the movie to be that good. It really surprised me how invested I got in the story and with the characters. I was on the edge of my seat for the entire movie, wondering whether Laura was going to commit suicide or not, and cried when Richard jumped out of the window. Something I noticed, however, was how prevalent depression was in the movie. Practically all of the main characters had some sort of depression, and watching each of them deal with it was really interesting.

Virginia Woolf, as we all know, committed suicide. That was her way of dealing with her depression. It won, in a way. It was played out in the movie excellently, though. You could really see the signs of depression, the endless fatigue that caused Virginia to be in bed all day, the sudden dislike of things she had previously enjoyed, thoughts of suicide, etc. I have to compliment Nicole Kidman for her acting, because the way she played Woolf made it very clear that this was a woman with so much going on. Even if Woolf was standing still, Kidman stood in such a way as to show what Woolf was feeling, such as being in a slouch. And her eyes were always very, very intense. You could almost see right into Virginia's troubled mind. I felt like I could really see "Mrs. Dalloway" forming in her mind, the flash of insight as new ideas came to mind. It was marvelous.

Anyways, back to the depressing stuff. Laura Brown seems to have overcome the depression, for now. I don't know what she was like before her marriage, but based on her husband's descriptions, I believe that Laura was clinically depressed since at least adolescence. How quiet she was, how shy, yet how her eyes had that same look that Woolf's did; an insane void of thought. From the moment Laura appeared on the screen, I knew something was wrong. She was just...off. She would do things, normal things, say meaningless conversation, and there was always just something else behind it: the depression. We watched Laura struggle with it, and I was so caught up in her storyline as she almost committed suicide. But she didn't let it win. Laura got out of that hotel, and then got of her home. I wonder, though, if she still is depressed. When she comes back to Clarissa after Richard's death, I still see the same look in her eyes and face. It makes me wonder what exactly she did up in Canada. It's like, she overcame her suicidal thoughts, and maybe some of the depression, but I think she's still affected by the illness, even more so now that she's the last living member of the family.

And Richard. Richie Richard. I feel like he might have been like his mother; clinically depressed before he even got sick. But I'm not quite sure. He's not as off as his mother is, it's more subtle. But I can see how his childhood could've led him into a slight depression, especially since his mother had it it makes him more genetically inclined to the illness, and then how the AIDS could really make him depressed. Richard's had a hard life. Artists usually do. And yet, I don't quite know what to make of his suicide. In a way, it's an escape, just like Septimus' suicide. Richard was already dying, he was only staying alive for Clarissa. It was obvious he was in pain, both physical and emotional, and the only time he truly seemed happy to me in that entire movie was when he was sitting on that window sill. It's like he saved himself from pain. He didn't want to succumb to the disease. I think Richard wanted control of his own life. I mean, when your own body betrays you then you can really feel like you have no control over anything. Yes, he was keeping himself alive, but barely. Killing himself, in a way, was him defeating the disease by taking control of his life and deciding his own fate. And he's happy! He's written his book, he's said his last loving words to Clarissa, life has meaning to him now that it's back under his control. It's terribly upsetting to us and to Clarissa when he jumps, but somehow I believe Richard was truly at peace and finally happy.

Oh, Clarissa. Mrs. Dalloway, Mrs. Vaughn, Clarissa. She's depressed as well, but in a completely different way from everybody else. I think she's manic-depressive. Clarissa has these moments of such euphoria, like when she's walking through town to buy flowers and declares "It's a beautiful morning!" I thought it was a rather ugly morning myself, but ok. And yet, though she seems to be loving life, Clarissa has moments where she just breaks down and questions everything about her life. She's under the impression, due to Richard, that her life is trivial. She almost seems to ignore Sally, or take her for granted, and sometimes she just sits and stares and thinks. Again, I have to wonder if this depression was with her her entire life or if it's only recent. I think with Clarissa it's actually recent. Maybe like a mid-life crisis due to Richard? She's feeling old, feeling her life is worthless, that she hasn't done anything? I don't know. Clarissa is the one I'm most unsure of, though I am sure that she is depressed. I think, though, that at the end of the movie she is heading towards a better place. The way she acts towards Sally, the way she kisses her, makes it seem like Clarissa is finally understanding her life and her feelings. She does love Sally, and she realizes she needs to show it more. I think her vitality is coming back, and that may be due to Richard committing suicide and allowing Clarissa to come face to face with Laura Brown and understand the whole spectrum of it all.

Love Polygons: Mrs. Dalloway and Wuthering Heights

I've noticed that the love triangles, squares, quadrilaterals, and just polygons in general in "Mrs. Dalloway" seem to mirror the ones in "Wuthering Heights." Well, really, one in particular. The relationships between Clarissa, Peter, and Richard seem an awful lot like the relationships between Cathy, Heathcliff, and Edgar. See, let me simplify it basically. Girl 1 is awfully in love with Guy 1, and he loves her just as passionately. However, this deep, rough passion is too much for Girl 1 and Guy 1, which makes them bad for each other, often resulting in loads of arguments, harsh statements, and hurt feelings. Girl 1 then falls in love with Guy 2, and vice versa, and they have a calm, stable relationship. Both parties are happy, and while the love may not be as passionate, at least it is a peaceful one. And even if old feelings for Guy 1 resurface. Girl 1 stays with Guy 2, and maintains the happy, calm relationship. Simply put, Clarissa and Cathy are Girl 1, obviously since they're the only girls in these love polygons, Peter and Heathcliff are Guy 1, and Richard and Edgar are Guy 2.

Clarissa and Peter have such a past, as do Cathy and Heathcliff. Both parties shared a childhood, and were very close. However, with close relationships come troubles. Cathy and Heathcliff run into class issues, and also conflict over both of their powerful personalities, and their love is constantly tested with anger and arguments. The passion is too much in a situation that just isn't right for it, and thus the relationship fails. Peter knows exactly what to say to Clarissa to upset her, "perfect hostess" for example, and when they are together, or even when they are apart and just thinking of each other, there is anger and pain laced in with the the thoughts and words of love. Think of when Peter grabs Clarissa's arm and demands to know if she is happy.  It doesn't seem healthy, not at all. Though there was no doubt passion, back in Bourton, between Clarissa and Peter, it is too strong of a passion that causes an unhealthy relationship. There's too much anger thrown in with the relationship, caused by two strong personalities that are virtually in constant conflict. It's why I don't think Clarissa should have ended up with Peter, because even if they had started out happy, eventually they would end up butting heads for as long as their marriage would've lasted.

Actually, though, at the beginning of both "Mrs. Dalloway" and "Wuthering Heights" I was rooting for Girl 1 and Guy 1. I wanted Clarissa with Peter, I wanted Cathy with Heathcliff, and this was usually before I met Guy 2. I thought their passion would be able to withstand the anger, but as the novels progressed and I continued to see how wrong Girl 1 and Guy 1 were for each other, no matter how deep their passion, my feelings changed. I didn't like Edgar when I first met him, and I especially didn't like his marriage with Cathy, mainly because she admitted that she did not love him. But she grew to. And there was a happy healthy relationship between she and Edgar. They did love each other, they supported one another, they fit will together. Sure, maybe it wasn't the same kind of love, the same burst of passion that Cathy had for Heathcliff, but it was something that was good for her, and that made me happy. It's the same with Clarissa and Richard. I really grew to like Richard. That scene with him and Clarissa, where he wanted so badly to say "I love you" but just couldn't bring himself to say it, in so many words of course, is just too freaking adorable. I could feel the love radiating off the page, even though no words of love were actually being  shared. With Peter and Clarissa, I felt passion laced with bitterness and anger; something strong overshadowed with even more strong feelings. But with Richard and Clarissa, the feelings are calmer, more stabilized. As with Cathy and Edgar, Richard and Clarissa just fit well together. They can communicate so much while saying very little, which works so well for them, whereas with Peter and Clarissa, a lot is said but so much more is kept hidden. Richard and Clarissa are happy together, at least that's what I think, and I see absolutely no reason for them to be any other way.

Clarissa vs. Septimus: Thoughts

Though the title of the book is "Mrs. Dalloway" I feel like it actually should be "Mrs. Dalloway and Mr. Smith" because Septimus is such a powerful, important part to this novel, and in some ways is Clarissa's counterpart. She revels in life, he defies it in death. But what really strikes me is the difference between Clarissa's and Septimus' thoughts. It's such completely different narration, and it gives both characters a sense of depth and reality that I have to applaud Woolf for.

Clarissa's thoughts sound like a regular internal monologue, except that she's not performing for anybody. It's like we're peering into her head, seeing the road her mind takes, hearing her thoughts and the connections she makes. We don't necessarily understand everything (what the hell happened in Constantinople) but it feels like a real person's thoughts. I mean, the way that Clarissa will get sidetracked and go back and repeat certain phrases or words, or how her thoughts will get interrupted, or how she'll even completely lose her train of thought is just so normal and it's almost kind of funny to see real thoughts put on a page like that. I don't think mine would be quite as interesting, but it would be cool to see what people thought of my stream of consciousness thoughts. I wonder if they would understand what I was thinking about or not.

Anyways, Clarissa's thoughts are normal and what you would expect to hear if you could actually tune in to other people's thoughts. Septimus, on the other hand, has this unbelievably vivid mind, you would think he was either an artistic genius, a prophet of some sort, or just on drugs. While his thoughts, like, Clarissa's, are coming straight from the mind to the page with the same instances of repetition, interruption, and loss of train of thought, his thoughts are way more vivid. It's like Clarissa's thoughts are words on a wall, and Septimus' are flashes of words and ideas and colors and images on a canvas. I feel Septimus' thoughts when he says them, the emotions come across clearly. I see the images he paints, and I can see them in his mind's eye. I get so caught up in Septimus' thoughts, I almost feel like I'm him. With Clarissa, I feel like I'm like her, I can relate to the way her mind works, but Septimus just draws me in until I think that I'm thinking his thoughts. It's intense, and I don't think I've quite had a reading experience like it before.

I think Septimus' thoughts are so vivid and seem so real and inviting is because Woolf had had very similar, if not the same, thoughts. It doesn't feel like someone is writing Septimus as a crazy character, having these wildly absurd thoughts. No, Septimus feels just as real as any other character, and his thoughts do as well, if not more! The mental illness feels real. That sounds weird to say, but it's true. Sometimes, the problems characters have in other books doesn't feel as real, and I think it's because of the author's lack of firsthand experience with said problem. Woolf having suffered from mental illness and thoughts similar to Septimus' makes her writing seem perfectly accurate.

Now, that isn't to say that Clarissa doesn't seem accurate. No, she's very relatable, and that's just it. I don't think there's very many people in the world who can say that they haven't had a normal thought similar to the kinds Clarissa has throughout the novel. Not as many people can say they've experienced what Septimus has and can relate to his thoughts. It really is something else for Woolf to take an experience and a voice so foreign to most of the public and to make it something tangible and real.

Clarissa is believable. Septimus is believable. But Clarissa just lives, and Septimus, to me, thrives.

What Made Sally Seton Change?

This is something that has been nagging me as we've been reading "Mrs. Dalloway." We got a view of Sally Seton as this unique individual back at Bourton, this opinionated, passionate, free-spirited, rebellious, artistic girl. And I loved her. I loved this crazy character that came almost out of nowhere, and gave us a completely new look to Clarissa. I was smiling ear to ear as I read the passages about Clarissa and Sally, and not just because gay couples are the cutest couples, but because it made Clarissa seem real. It gives her depth, this teenage romance that goes beyond Peter or Richard, because we see a part of Clarissa that is most often hidden. Very few people will admit to having such a romance in their younger years, despite the fact that such romances occur quite frequently. The fact that Virginia Woolf brought this fact to light in "Mrs. Dalloway", and especially in a time such as the 20's, really makes me happy.

But I digress. Though this whole passage and discussion about love and women and Bourton is wonderful, it later leaves me questioning: What made Sally Seton change? We hear later, from Peter Walsh, that Sally, that rebellious young spirit against all things respectable, such as the admirable Hugh, has married a rich man and is living in a house near Manchester! No! It can't be! Not Sally Seton! It's such a jarring fact. How could Sally have gone from despising men like Hugh to marrying one similar to him?

Well. That's not completely true. We don't actually know anything about Sally's husband, except that he's rich. Still, there's a class and social air that comes along with that wealthy man and house, and that is definitely not a society that Sally at Bourton would've wanted to have been a part of. So what made her change? Did she fall in love with this rich man and change herself for him? Did she grow out of her rebellious spirit? Did she come to a realization that the life she was living wasn't truly the life for her? What was it that made Sally Seton change?!

This question drives me nuts. I mean, as much as I would've loved to have seen Clarissa and Sally skip off into the sunset hand-in-hand, that relationship was never going to happen. Clarissa was too set in her social class by Bourton, was raised in such a way that running off with a woman and shirking her heterosexual housewife duties was never a thought that crossed her mind. I mean, can you imagine Clarissa planning a dinner party with Sally? It just doesn't seem like Clarissa could last in Sally's world, even if she tried. I think the freedom and ease and rebellion would be too much for her.

Yet, how can Sally do the opposite, leave her world for Clarissa's? How?! Clarissa wouldn't make it in Sally's world, but there Sally could live! She was living! She has the most spirit and character out of anyone in this book, though Septimus is a close second, and to me it seems such a waste that she throws away her flower arranging for a wealthy man and house in Manchester. I just wish I knew what made her change.

More Mezzanine Musings

Since reading "The Mezzanine" I've found myself being more observant. I'm looking at things more closely, trying to understand them, how they work, why, who thought of them, my feelings toward them, or think of them in a new way. Channeling Howie, in a way I guess. Except, I'm not really Howie. Not at all. I don't think I could ever think like Howie.

Howie has this mind that just automatically analyzes everything he comes across. His mind is always working, always busy, always finding new and amazing things to think about. Howie doesn't take anything for granted, and because of that he doesn't overlook anything. That's my problem. I don't know if it's because I've been raised in an era of technology and technological advancement and so some things are not as fascinating to me as they might be to someone who, for example, didn't grow up with an iPod or cellphone or even a family computer, or if it's because I just don't have Howie's mind, but I overlook things. I see a glass of water, and I see a glass of water. That's it. I don't think about the specific design of this glass, the way it slightly curves and indents around the circumference, or how odd it is that the top is a circle, but the bottom is in the shape of a square and who would have such an idea for a design of a glass. My mind doesn't drift off into memories of how when I was a kid, I only used the plastic cups and dreamed of the days when I would be old enough to use the tall, clear, smooth glasses kept in the cupboard that was too high to reach, so that I would have to crawl up on the counter, and balance myself as I opened the cupboard door, and carefully, slowly, grabbed a glass and put it on the counter as I closed the door and lowered myself back onto the ground. No. Not at all.

I mean, these thoughts may cross my mind, but only for a brief second. I don't pursue them. I ignore them. It's a passing thought, nothing more. And yet, to Howie, every thought is important and has meaning. There's no such thing as a "passing thought."He would probably be appalled at the fact that I'm letting these thoughts slide, and would probably go off ranting in a footnote about how each thought is a grain of sand in the beach of your mind, or something like that.

Ah. There's the reason I can never think or write like Howie. I don't like footnotes.

Mezzanine Musings

"Observe, in short, how transient and trivial is all mortal life: yesterday a drop of semen, tomorrow a handful of spice and ashes."

It's a simple enough phrase. I mean, to me it doesn't really strike a chord other than, "Huh. That's an interesting way to put it." But to Howie, it drives him crazy. He starts screaming, "Wrong, wrong, wrong!" and I can just see him throwing the book down into the ground. In his head, that is.

I think I know why this quotation makes Howie so upset. It's because to Howie, nothing is trivial. I mean, the guy goes on for pages about the wonders of shoelaces and straws and earplugs and all sorts of things that people kind of take for granted. Everything is something amazing to Howie. He can find childlike joy in the most inane and mundane things, and seems to hold everything up to a higher standard, like it's on a pedestal. Perforation, anyone?

I don't think he wants to acknowledge the fact that his life, and all aspects of it, really are trivial. It's like, he's trying to raise awareness about all the little things in life, but most people don't really want to hear it. And even if they do stop and listen, it impacts them for a moment but it doesn't really change their views. I kinda fit into this middle area. Howie's insight into the little, often overlooked things in life is really interesting, and makes me stop and think for a while. I've noticed myself observing more than usual, bust just not to the extent that Howie does, and definitely not with as much enthusiasm. I could really care less whether or not shoelaces wear out at the same time. Really, these sorts of questions don't strike the general public. Paper towels vs. hand dryers aren't such a big deal to most people as it is to Howie. I bet most of the world could go on living their life without knowing who exactly invented perforation, but not Howie. These are the things that make his life important, make it have meaning, and if he can't find joy in all the every day things in life, then his life has no joy at all. I think that's why the Aurelius quotation upsets him so much: it makes his life seem to have no meaning.