Milkman and Guitar: Closing Thoughts

          When Song of Solomon opens, and we meet Milkman Dead, he's a passive character who is not particularly engaged with anything; not family, friends, history, work, or whatever else his small life holds. The only thing he seems at all attracted to is his best, and only real friend, Guitar. Guitar, the cool older boy who hangs out on the wrong side of town and drinks beer and is everything Milkman's father is not. Guitar and Milkman's personalities are almost opposite at this point. While Milkman is uninterested in anything, even the things that he likes to do, Guitar is passionate and excited. He gets angry when white people kill black people, and sad when he remembers killing a doe while hunting. In general, Guitar was a more affluent character who engaged the readers much more than Milkman, who was no more than his father in a transparent disguise, and was, as Guitar told him, though he didn't listen, "not a serious person". Of course, instead of stopping to evaluate the accusation Milkman was immediately on the defensive, and ended up brushing off the encounter. As the novel continued, however, Guitar was not the only person that Milkman heard from on the subject.
         
         I saw Milkman's personality changing for the first time shortly after he and Guitar were arrested for trying to steal from Pilate. I believe that Milkman and Guitar's inherent personalities swapped over the course of the novel, and that it starts on their way home from the police station. It is here that Milkman first notices that he actually has feelings for some of the people in his life. He actually thinks about what Pilate, whom he had greatly respected, did for him, and he realizes that he actually loves her. (This took him a bit though because apparently he had never felt anything like that before.) Guitar, on the other hand, sees what Pilate did--changing her appearance and entire mannerism--as sneaky and witch-like, and he stares at Pilate hatefully, which Milkman begins to resent, as he knows what it cost her to submit that way. Here I took Milkman's side against Guitar for the first time.

        When he gets home, Milkman is faced by none other than Magdalene called Lena, who he has barely spoken to since he was a little kid that she had to take care of. She just gives him a piece of her mind, about what he has done his whole life, and how he has been acting, and how he has no respect for anyone in the family except his father, who he claims to like the least but is surely turning into. Her comments, unlike Guitar's, Milkman does not just brush away. He follows her advice, and essentially closes the door on his own life to go into the past life of his family. He starts paying attention to them in the form of tracking down their exact history, and sometimes reliving it himself. Those "stories that he had only half-listened to before" are now all that he lives for: a dramatic turning of tables.

        Speaking of a turning of tables, as Milkman becomes more and more compassionate and thoughtful and reflective, Guitar becomes more and more hateful, close-minded, violent, and stubborn. His passion for justice ended up leading him down the wrong path, took him to a place of a crazed rampage on the innocent that he, through the Seven Days, has built up in his mind to be guilty. His overwhelming obsession for Milkman's death has brought him to a similar place as Hagar was earlier, only this time, Milkman is much more equipped emotionally to handle the situation in the right way. Instead of egging him on and goading him like he did Hagar, Milkman stays calm and tries to ration with Guitar. He explains that he now understands what he didn't before: instead of getting defensive about how he wasn't responsible for their actions and didn't deserve them, he understands how he provoked their reactions that that maybe they have a right to try and kill him. He shows tremendous growth as a person, while unfortunately Guitar, who was the more likable for the majority of the novel, shrivels personality-wise and becomes the lesser man. Talk about your turning tables.

Blogging in 20th Cent

At the beginning of the semester, we were assigned to each keep a running blog about the books that we were reading. It was tough, at first, to actually think of things to write about, especially when I thought that these things were supposed to be polished--after all, they were for public viewing. Well, though initially I was a bit bummed to get was I thought was just extra homework, I ended up really loving this thing. I think that there's something about getting my thoughts down in a more tangible way that really helps sort everything I'm thinking about the novel. It makes it a lot easier to contribute to discussions when I actually have opinions and things to say for myself, (usually formed the night before on the blog), as opposed to merely finding myself agreeing with my peers but with nothing to add, which seems to happen a lot when I can't sort anything in my brain out, and I get distracted by my doodles.

As far as paper versus electronic journaling goes, I've never done the paper version, with the exception of a book journal kept in Sophomore English about books we read outside of class. I enjoy the online blog format, though, mostly because my handwriting is illegible and the sound of pencils scratching irks me a lot. But, I must say, there is something else that's nice about the online way: I like having a time where I can just sit down and bang out a couple paragraphs about whatever I'm thinking about--even if they don't make sense, like this one. If I carried around a notebook, I'd probably be more prone to putting out a few sentences whenever I had a free minute, and it's be a lot less coherent. Let's keep up the blogs.

Dynamic opinions in Song of Solomon

         Throughout reading this novel, my views on various characters have changed rather drastically. When first beginning, I was totally unsure about Pilate; I thought that she would be portrayed as the slightly mad Aunt throughout the book, and that her brother's family, the Deads, would be the normal ones. Looking back, it's hard to think that I ever thought that I could characterize anyone in this novel as "normal" just because that is not a specific enough adjective. Perhaps "troubled" would be a better word, in some cases. Because everyone in this novel, like everyone else, each has their own troubles. Pilate's got a daughter who subjects herself to cruel men, and a granddaughter who is trying to steal the life of the man she loves away from his mother. The issues in the Dead family, however, are even more complicated, because there are conflicting stories from the witnesses.

         For instance, in the case of Ruth's relationship with her father, Macon's version of the story totally contradicts the take that Ruth discloses to Milkman sometime later. This was one of the most interesting dynamic within the dead family for me, because there is no way for the reader to discover the absolute truth: they have to pick one character to trust and accept that version of the situation. When first hearing Macon's version, it didn't even occur to me that his point of view might not be reliable, and, foolishly, I manipulated what I knew so far about Ruth and her relationships to fit this scenario. I thought she was a bit of a freak, but then felt kind of ashamed for being closed-minded. Upon hearing Ruth's point of view, I found that hers is much more believable, because it reduces the extremity of the situation, if that makes sense. Finding a woman naked in bed with her dead father is much more thrilling than finding her grieving over the only part of him she still recognized, and for that reason I think that while I wanted Macon's version to be the truth, as it was more exciting, I found more faith in Ruth.

         A similar situation appeared as I read Magdalene called Lena's outburst at Milkman. She accused him of "pissing on the family" by not loving them or even going through the nicety of pretending he did by helping out. I was always a little indifferent towards Milkman, (now I'm wondering if I have any individual thoughts at all or if Morrison is just shaping them all for me). Because his lack of responsibility and care of his household members was never really brought up; they never really nagged him about it, I never noticed. I realized that he didn't love them in the "normal" way, but not that he was so naive about his role in the family. Lena's rant brought everything out, and I found myself agreeing with everything she said. Milkman is an irresponsible little party-goer who is unappreciative of his family. He doesn't even see that he is the only member of the family who is not separated from their community by their wealth; he can fit in with Railroad Tommy's crowd and Guitar, as well as over at Pilate's, while Lena, Corinthians, and Ruth have no one to talk to or care about them, because of their white dresses and stockings provided by their class and the overlord, Macon II. Reading her point of view, I got just as angry at him. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if Morrison stuck in a tidbit from Milkman's POV on Lena to make me take his side.

Ideas for defending paper thesis

In my paper, I make a claim that The Metamorphosis is actually not Gregor's dream, as clearly stated by the author, but the dream of his family, the Samsas. However, a contradiction was pointed out to me: How can the story be a dream of the Samsas' when Gregor has a different view of his personality than his family? The story is from Gregor's point of view after all. Both he and his family view him as a valuable asset to the family monetarily in the beginning of the novel, and both feel that he was never needed at the end, but he at points differs from their opinion of him, because he feels under-appreciated and is therefore resentful.
I want to point out that there is no discrepancy with how the two "units" (his family and himself) view him, meaning that his family could potentially be the dreamers, because he has no thoughts of his own in this regard.
 However, his resentment for his family is his own. What I want to suggest here is that Gregor's negative feelings towards his family due to their under-appreciation of him are actually a projection of their guilt onto his character. The reader never actually gets into the head of Gregor Samsa, but rather the subconscious of his family, which could be seen as better; deeper into one subconscious (because I am presenting the family as one collective unit) is better than shallow in another.

So, if I present the family  as one collective unit, it does simplify the whole multiple dreamers issue, but how did they get there? Argue philosophy of a higher dream world in which the subconsciouses connect. They meet in the dream world. They feel the guilt "as one".
Then again, this "dream" may be only that: a "dream". Not a dream, but an enmeshment of the dream world within reality.

Small Addition to Yesterday's Class Discussion

There was one point yesterday, during our class discussion, in which there was an argument: is Antoinette insane or not? Is Rochester insane at the end of Part 2 or not? There were differences of opinion, but generally people argued that both were concretely one or the other. What I wanted to say was that you cannot define someone so absolutely. Insanity is not black and white, it is a spectrum, and both Antoinette and Rochester show signs of insanity but neither can be wholly classified as insane: that is too much of a generalization.

Mr. Rochester

The way that Rochester sees Antoinette is very different from the impression that I got from her. I saw her as basically an average little girl leading a difficult life, or at least that was what I took from her narration. But, as soon as Rochester took over and I saw Antoinette from his point of view,  I saw her as  slightly crazed and psychologically a bit messed up. She obviously needs to feel safe, and needs Rochester's love and attention to feel happy. She is drawn by these needs to act in ways that do not become her usual personality, such as slapping Amelie, who loses respect for her, and then poisoning Rochester. He witnesses each of these, and ends up liking her even less. He acknowledges her beauty, but now he also recognizes that she, while doing her best not to, has developed a similar mental illness as her mother.

I think that this recognition is what drove him to sleep with Amelie, because she is just as beautiful as Antoinette, but in a very different way, and this attracts Rochester. Not only did they sleep together, but Antoinette heard, and neither of them seemed to regret it. I get the feeling that she is only going to commit similar acts as she did before, probably even worse, and be slowly driven to insanity. Rochester acts very selfishly here, and I must say, my opinion of him did not improve when i read this.

When I first met Rochester, I thought he was an agreeable person, and, like Antoinette, in an unfortunate situation because he is being used by his family to increase their wealth. It was plain to the readers that he did not love Antoinette, but he played her, in the sense that he made her agree to marry him when he knew he didn't love her, and pretended to love her until she loved him back. I don't understand why he felt the need to suddenly stop talking to her or pay her any attention at all. Perhaps if he had kept up his little charade she never would have felt the need to ask Christophine for a love potion and end up unintentionally poisoning him, which was the top of the downward spiral of their marriage. I also feel that when he realized that he had been poisoned (I have no idea how) he overreacted a lot. A chain of events led to this: first, when he got to Jamaica he knew that something was being kept from him, which made him paranoid. Thus, when Daniel Boyd's letter arrived, he thought that he had figured out what the great mystery was. Because he was under the impression that Antoinette was going mad just like her mother, her slipping him drugs seemed like the beginning. Therefore, I suppose he immediately jumped to conclusions, assuming that she was trying to make him sick, without even stopping to consider the possibility that she only wanted him to love her, as Christophine said.

Towards the end of Part II, it seemed to me that it was Rochester who was veering towards madness rather than Antoinette. He was acting like a raving paranoid, no longer narrating the events that occurred, but rather his own train of thought. He comments passionately that he "hates this place" and Antoinette alike, because she is the "mad girl" with "blank lovely eyes". Just his voice gives off an air of insanity, that Antoinette's never did until Part III.

I can understand why Rochester did what he did, but I don't relate to it at all. Perhaps the readers are biased towards Antoinette because we know her back story, but anyway I found Rochester to be a selfish coward who locked his wife up because he was unable to take care of her. I have no respect for him.

Annette and Antoinette

Annette seems to play a critical role in Antoinette life. But, I really don't think that this role is altogether positive. Antoinette knows that her mother prefers Pierre to Antoinette, because she makes it painfully obvious, and I think that this knowledge is only hurting her self-worth. This feeling of rejection from her mother just completes her feeling that she doesn't really belong anywhere. She does not seem to be too bothered by this initially, but she realizes that she is not English, because that life is so alien to her, and she identifies with Christophine, whose group she cannot belong to because of their differences of skin color. Christophine is a black woman from Martinique- an automatic outsider, while Antoinette is her white charge, but she's not fully white because she has black relatives, and while she may be a born white colonist in the Caribbean: by definition a Creole, and yet while she identifies with the Creoles ("none of them understand us [the Creoles]", she never is a place where she can be associated with any of them. She spends her time with Tia, who is black. Her mother, who is also a Creole, almost ostracizes her, hardly ever paying her a lick of attention, except to ask why she id wearing Tia's dress, not that she remembers who Tia is. She never learns to be a part of a specific group until she is sent to the convent by Mr. Mason.

The feeling that her mother did not love her that way she should have, or that she belonged nowhere, could have led to the mental problems she is now encountering later in life. She has mood swings, and ends up slapping Amelie, the hired girl, after she made an insignificant but rude comment. We the readers don't know how she met her husband, but my take on it is that she was essentially sold off, because it was hinted that this was an arranged marriage, and this would, if anything, only increase her feelings of worthlessness. She knows that her husband does not love her. He does not treat he in the loving easy that he should, and she is getting sick of it. Part of what contributed was the absentness of her mother when she was a child. 

The Stranger Trial

The whole time when I was reading the novel, up to this point that is, I really dislike Meursault. I thought he was a crazy psychopath that didn't care one little bit about anyone. And then, I read the chapters on his trial. All of a sudden, it was like Camus was just completely manipulating my emotions. I wanted to defend the killer! The prosecutor had it all wrong! Meursault was not a conniving mastermind, just a guy who made some bad choices and was susceptible to heatstroke! But wait, hold on. In my mind I knew he was guilty, and that he deserved to be punished. That he had killed an innocent man for no reason at all. And yet, I was suddenly on his side. How scary is it, that the words of this author can suddenly make you pity a murderer? Can make you want him to get off? Is that normal? It certainly freaked me out. I much prefer having a fixed opinion and knowing exactly where people's personalities fit into my picture of them. But this just through me for a loop. It was not only Camus manipulating the trial to make Meursault appear as the victim, but it was like he really was the victim. Everyone was ganging up on the poor little man who had an accident, and judging him for it--life or death. One mistake, and he has to die because that's the way the justice system worked. Of course, it didn't help at all that he had no idea that he could lie or manipulate the events to make himself seem more innocent, in fact it never even crossed his mind (at least as far as the he as the narrator tells.) In this sense, he does give himself a bit of dignity. That may not be the way he saw it though, as he never made a conscious choice to do the honest thing. However, this contradicts my next point.

After Meursault kills the Arab man, he essentially gets a blast of humanity. It takes a while for him to come to realize it, but he is gradually getting more of an idea of what "normal" people feel. He feels sad that he ruined his day immediately, but doesn't yet feel guilty. However, after he fired the first shot the first active voice comes into play. "I shot him," he says. Later, in his trial, though he does not feel the human fear from the threat of death, or any human sense of self-preservation, he feels the need to cry because he realizes that everyone in the court room, even the defense lawyer, hates his guts. He feels real anger when he tries to throttle the chaplain, real fear when he shivers uncontrollably because he realizes he can't know when his appeal is, and real resignation from his impending death. (Five Stages of Grief seems appropriate here: denial, fear, anger, something else, acceptance, right? That, at least, if nothing else, is human!) He comes to realize that he actually enjoys life. Killing someone because of a temporary meltdown was the most human thing he did in the entire novel.

One could almost argue that in the trial, the fact that Meursault is able to conquer his innate self-preservation instincts and ultimately do the right thing by telling the truth does make him almost like a superior human in kind of a sick way. He gets away from his animal instincts. Though, of course, "more evolved" does not necessarily make him superior. I am just trying to present a case for him in which his neutral seemingly cold personality makes improves him. I guess Camus succeeded in his experiment to find out whether or not readers could feel sorry for murderers if he worded it in the right way. I want to try and get out of his little trap though, and not agree with this argument, because
no matter how the situation is abruptly turned around, Meursault did murder a man.

Coping or Psychotic?

When first perusing The Stranger by Albert Camus, my most immediate observation was that Monsieur Meursault did not comment or react to anything that he noticed in an emotional way. Does he not feel or are his feelings just not recorded in the text? Not only are any emotions absent, but even his comments to the other characters other slightly sadistic. He doesn't seem to feel anything at all. There has been not one mention of him laughing, and he seems to be almost rejoicing after his mother's funeral. At first I agreed with some of the people who in our class discussion thought that this was a coping mechanism for dealing with his mother's death. However, after looking at all the other examples I started to think that he really is incapable of feeling anything else. He flat out told Marie that he didn't love her when she asked, and implied that he didn't even think it mattered or cared about love. He didn't seem bothered by either the beating of Raymond's female acquaintance or Salamano's spaniel. However, in the same way that Jake attracted people to him, so does Meursault. People seem drawn to him, such as Marie and Raymond, even though he never engages with anyone, even a passing soccer team.  He seems not able to have an emotional connection with anyone, in a very psychopathic way.

The weird thing is, in light of recent events, his entire persona changed. He becomes angry for the first time, and was practically unprovoked. Was it just the heat? I know this whole time he has been complaining about the heat, and it seems to be the one thing that he actually has a strong opinion of. I'm going to be really interested to see how he cope with this, because this killing someone would seem more traumatizing than the death of his mother. He is going to have to actually face emotions fro the first time in the novel, (I presume, anyway, because eh can[t just say "hey whatever I don't care" when trying to cover up a murder or go to jail). it's going to be interesting got find out.

Grete and the Roach

      When Grete first was able to overcome the fear that her parent couldn't and actually accept Gregor for his new self: a giant cockroach, I had a lot of respect for her. Of course after reading only a few more lines this respect dwindled significantly. She acted remarkably immature, and treated her brother more like a scary pet than a part of the family. Once she stopped being fascinated with him, though, she really pulled herself together as a person: she went to school, got a job, started learning French: but at a cost, because Gregor was suffering for it. If I had to make a thesis for this blog entry, this would be it: Even when Gregor is completely dependent on his family as a cockroach, he is still the martyr. He has to suffer as a starving, claustrophobic injured cockroach, and as a result his family picks themselves up onto their feet and starts functioning again. This must be so frustrating for him, because the whole I'm going to subconsciously turn myself into an insect to break free of the hold my family has on me bit ended up with him still sacrificing his life and freedom for the well-being of his family, even if he didn't purposefully do it. This is just so ironic to me, and at the same time really heart-breaking, because he really can't stop being the sweet eager guy that gives up everything.

      Were Gregor to accept that his family didn't really need him this whole time he had been working for him, the might have been able to move on, but he insistently recalls moments when he was most proud of himself, the glory days, in an almost Clarissa Dalloway-like fashion. He loves to think about how he was going to send Grete to the conservatory, and how his parents were so appreciative (not really) of his hard work. But really, while this was going on he was always wishing it would stop. He didn't like his job and had plans for quitting in the future. Or, was this just what he portrayed to the reader? Was he really savoring every minute of being a slave to his parents' debt? I think this is sort of ambiguous, and I'm having a hard time deciding for myself what I think he's thinking. Because he ended up in the same parents-dependent-on-his-situation position that he was in before but now unable to communicate or be human at all, I think he really is longing for the days of his bad job and parents who sit around the house.

Gregor's Guilt

You know, personally, if I had woken up and found myself turned into a monstrous vermin, I really doubt I would share Gregor's feelings on the subject. If it were me, a lot of screaming would ensue, followed by a desperate attempt to wake myself up from the nightmare. (Not that I know exactly what I'd do, this never having happened-just to clarify this is only a prediction.) But this guy must be the least self-absorbed character I have ever read about. He feels guilty. And for not just one, but two reasons. First of all he feels bad for causing Halloween to come to life in his house and scaring his poor family nearly to death. Second, he's worried about what they'll do without the money that he brings in from that lovely fabric-salesman job that he so loves (not). He doesn't want them to have to move because they can't pay the rent, or his fat father or asthmatic mother or seventeen year old sister to have to start working. He also doesn't want his sister who has lovingly been taking care of him while trying not to throw up to have to give her spot at the Conservatory and have to stop playing violin and wearing pretty dresses. This is rather a lot for one guy to have on his plate sue to a transformation that, as far as we know, was in no way his fault. But that doesn't stop him from wishing that he could still work his horrific job and work off a debt that isn't his for the people he loves.

So this guy is obviously sweet, but at the same time sort of pathetic in my eyes. There is just something about his eagerness to work (in an almost loyal Golden Retriever sort of way) that just makes him seem like this overexcited little boy. He just wants to work! Please mister manager, just let him work for you! Then, if you add on top of that his endearing stunt while trying to open the door, and then getting beaten by his father while innocently trying to maneuver his cumbersome abdomen, he becomes the guy you root for. A little pathetic, but lovable even though he's a giant cockroach. Go figure.

The confusing End and the characters involved

        I found the end to The Sun Also Rises very frustrating. After reading some 250 pages, it would have been nice to actually get somewhere. But no. Jake and Brett have come full circle in their relationship. Actually, it is amazing that they managed to succeed in even that, considering the dynamical path that each Brett and Jake follow. Throughout the novel, it seemed to me like they were always on the edge of falling into a passionate relationship. And, over and over again, they were thwarted. I think that the underlying cause for their separation is not the impossibility of a physical connection, but more edging towards Jake's insecurity about his injury. He says himself that he doesn't think he would be able to please her (it's like he needs to know he's making her happy to be happy himself), and both agree that a relationship would not be possible; they've tried, it failed. They are continually thrown together, though, and rely on each other for emotional support which they are unable to do with any other character (this is about Brett especially, because there is one point where Jake is able to tell Bill about his feelings for Brett). The deep friendship that they have is closer to the emotional relationship of people in love than mere friends, but they are always tottering on the edge.They need to walk away. Neither is ready to commit, and the half-hearted relationship they have now is only hurting them both. Jake is constantly on the edge of his seat, ready to go and rescue "his lady love" (as he scoffingly and hypocritically accuses Cohn of doing--hmm...I spot some personal reflection issues...). He gives up his peaceful vacation at a telegram from Brett, sounding like an emergency but really she could have been happy in that situation for at least another week. Nor fair to him. She, meanwhile, is off having this and that affair with various men, all the while being married, engaged, and in love (each with different men). She feels the need to compensate for his lack of physical commitment and her need to be loved and told that she is beautiful. Not fair to either of them. I just wanted to shake Brett and tell her to wake up and smell the bourbon (not that she doesn't already). She knows shes beautiful, because she is told so often, and she knows that she has a man in her reach that loves her. If she doesn't think it'll ever work between them, she needs to let go of Jake for his sake.

          Continuing on off of the vastly ranging opinions we got in class today, I think I fall somewhere in the middle. I certainly don't consider the ending of this novel an "aww" moment, because they never got anywhere in terms of deciding whether to be with each other or not. I also do not hate Brett and Jake as some others do. I think that Brett is generally fun to have around and she would liven up a party, but I do not respect her at all. I think that Brett must have been an only child, because Brett is pretty much all about Brett. She lives in her own little world, as "fun" people often do, and situates her actions to best fit her needs. For example, when she calls upon Jake to come and save her she never even gives him a "thank you" or acknowledges that it might have been an imposition for him. She expects him to come and would have been put out if he hadn't. This makes me mad at her on his behalf, and also because I know a few people like this who are fun to be around sometimes except when they feel that they are in need, and expect you to be there no matter what. It just makes me mad. Especially when they get humored. Jake, however, stand-up guy that he is, (ironically because he never stands up himself,) I don't respect either. Like her nefarious behavior he too makes actions that hurt them both. She needs to learn that he can't always come, particularly if they are not involved with one another, and he should realize that it's not good for either of them.

      Now I just feel like a big nag repeating myself over and over again, but it's not like they got the message at the end of the novel anyway. Frustrating.

Is Bill a likeable guy?

        When the character of Bill Gorton is first introduced to the plot in Hemingways' novel The Sun Also Rises, you might not be sure what of make of him. He's brash, unapologetic, and often says things that can scratch someone's ego. What others call racism, he defines as irony, he he isn't afraid of flaunting his ironic talents no matter where he may be. For example, he uses the n word on a regular basis. However, unlike Jake, who uses it in a very negative way to depict people of African descent with whom he has quibbles, Bill is jovial in his use of the word, describing a boxer as "a very noble-looking n--". The use of the word alone is enough to strike a nerve with some people, but personally I think that it just emphasizes aspects of his character: being an ironic but playful and frankly hilarious jerk. He contradicts himself, by using a slanderous term and a compliment to describe the same person, and in a way it takes some of the punch away from the potency of the word. Ultimately I think you have to be a bit forgiving considering not only the time period in which the novel takes place, but also the personality of the character speaking.

       Bill can really have his moments. There was a scene in Spain, in which he was ragging on Cohn for insulting the bullfighting. Robert Cohn had proclaimed that he was afraid of being bored at the bullfights. After they had all gotten back from a thrilling show, he insisted on continuously nagging Cohn. "You weren't bored   were you?" "I hope that wasn't too boring for you, was it Robert?" That sort of thing. In this scene I felt myself subconsciously rooting for Bill. Cohn seems to be the guy that everyone loves to-(not hate, but closer to be-annoyed-by-frequently). There's something about him that irks people and makes him easy to tease. Bill, of course, takes full advantage of this and not only teases him about his comment, but about getting sick when one of the bulls spears a horse with its horn. No one does anything to stand up for Cohn, because they seem to see him as towards the pathetic end of the spectrum. Bill seems to dislike Cohn more than others though, and blames it on Cohn's being Jewish. His anti-Semitic feelings lead him to make some nasty comments about Cohn that are undeserved.

        Bill makes other border-line offensive comments throughout the book, such as making a joke about the Ku Klux Klan in front of a Catholic priest he just met. These are usually made just in the nature of good fun, but it's sometimes hard to see them this way. However, these get balanced out (at least in my book) by his hilarity. When Bill drinks, he becomes this lively, energetic, and witty character who can really make the scene. His spiel about taxidermy, for example. Bill, being a taxidermist, of course notices a store window displaying stuffed dogs, and mentions over and over how much Jake would enjoy the company of "a nice stuffed dog". A few lines later he considers stuffing the cab-horses, and then debates giving an engaged couple a couple of nice stuffed race-horses as a wedding present. The absurdity of what he's saying and the way Hemingway writes the dialogue just makes you appreciate Bill's humor and disregard some things he has said in the past.

        I suppose that every reader of The Sun Also Rises will have to determine their opinion of Bill individually, but I find that I enjoy his presence in this novel.

parallel characters in The Hours

After finishing The Hours, a lot of things that I was previously confused about started to make sense, helped by the discussion in class. The three stories in the movie and the book are all parallel stories that connect with each other. For example, I noticed how similar Virginia Woolf and the Richard Brown in the movie were. Both had natural curiosity that they satisfied, or at least tried to satisfy,  by asking the people in their lives to describe the most minute details of their days, nailing down subjects that they could later put into a novel. They even had similar writing styles, both being able to spend time and paper on things that seem inconsequential in every day life, such as buying nail polish or flowers. Others have compared the suicide of Richard Brown with that of Septimus Smith, but I agree with those who say it more closely resembles that of Virginia Woolf herself, because it was more personal and heartfelt in a way. They spoke their last words (actually the same words) to people they loved, and it was less of a spontaneous thing than Septimus' suicide.

I also found that Laura Brown and her son in the movie were similar, because both had that same feeling of hopelessness and both contemplated suicide, though only Richard followed through. However, the depression of Laura was actually paralleled with Mrs. Dalloway, because they both experience that feeling of having everything they could ever want in life and yet still feel trapped in their lives. Richard and Septimus, like Laura and Mrs. Dalloway, feel trapped in their own bodies, but in both of their cases they have had significant trauma I think this is an important distinction between the two types of cases, because Laura and Mrs. Dalloway seemed unsure of what they wanted, almost like they were just starting to explore in the world of depression and had to figure out how they felt about being depressed add what to do to fix it. Both, unlike Virginia, Richard, and Septimus found ways to lead their lives without taking their own lives, just by making changes. Mrs. Dalloway began to think more about what she had and less about the past life she used to have, while the more drastic changes made by Laura (abandoning her family) gave her true freedom, as she put it.

I actually found Laura not sympathetic. Even though it looked like she was having a tough time of it emotionally, she was everything in her life that many people have to work very hard for, and she threw it away because she didn't think that was the right life for her. She mostly made me mad, especially by the way that she left the so that loved her very much and depended on her, and left her poor husband as a single working dad of a newborn baby and a little kid. Maybe what she did was best for her, but to me it seemed very selfish and not thought through. It made me think of her as weak, which is a bit ironic because everyone already thought of her as a fragile person, which was part of the reason I think she hated herself and had to get away from her life. Was it her life that she hated and had to get away from? Or was it her own personality and inner self? News flash: changing your surroundings doesn't often change your soul.

The Hours??

The movie The Hours that we have almost finished watching had managed to confuse me to no end. I understand the plot and what's happening to the characters, but I don't understand why some of them  depressed in the first place. For instance, Richie's mother Laura. She almost kills herself before reconsidering, thankfully for her son. But, similarly to the way Mrs. Dalloway is almost made to commit suicide by Woolf, she has nothing to traumatize her. She doesn't even dwell on her past in the same way that Mrs. Dalloway does. I suppose that she could be feeling depressed because she is unable to satisfy or let herself experience her feelings for other women, especially her friend Kitty. But, she has family that loves her and I think she is just feeling confused.

Clarissa Vaughan is also a complicated character. She is experiencing a slow mental breakdown similar to that of both Septimus and Rezia, because her past is catching up to her mentally like Septimus, but she is also in the position of Rezia because she has to watch someone that she loves suffer and eventually take their own life.

I think that if both of these characters were able to sort out their thought and emotions regarding their respective pasts and presents, they would be able to lead much happier lives and hopefully not continually  influencing the lives of those they love in a negative way (especially Laura).

Meaning of Life?

    A few days ago in class we talked about the effect that certain life events can have on one's outlook on life. We talked about how Septimus could see how life really has no meaning for him anymore, and how Clarissa, who sees joy in small things in life, sees her life as meaningful and having a definite purpose. What I don't understand is why an event such as 9-11 or WW1 would imply that life has no meaning. Veterans, feel free to correct me, but I feel like living through such a catastrophe would confirm that my life has meaning. Actually, I don't know quite what I would feel, this is just an estimate. I just can't seem to understand the thought process that goes from disaster to life has no meaning.
    
Coming to this conclusion, however, has a huge impact on the life of Septimus Smith, who seems to feel like he'd enjoy being dead rather than alive, while also feeling guilty about not feeling guilty for the death of his close friend (lover?) Evans. This seems to be more common for people who have gone through traumatic events. However, even Clarissa, who enjoys summer breezes and looking back at her past, seem intrigued by the idea of this man throwing himself out of his window. She has experienced the death of her sister, so she too wonders about whether or not anything in this life h as meaning. I just don't understand why.

Drama

        As we were having our class discussion today, it struck me that one of the aspects I consider part of Woolf's aesthetic is the way she presents key plot elements. While in other, perhaps less mature novels is a way to describe them, even the smallest things are shoved in your nose, its easy to miss events that completely change the plot in Mrs. Dalloway. For example, I was reading the homework and all of a sudden I realized they were talking about hospitals and I had to flip back to discover that somehow I had completely missed that Septimus had jumped out of a window and killed himself. Not entirely sure how that happened, but there it is. The event simply wasn't dramatized. There was no dramatic pause or chapter break right before some sort of cheesy statement like ".., and then...he fell." or anything like that. The entire thing took place in less than a page, and if I hadn't gone back I would have missed it altogether.
        In a way this ties back to what I was saying before about  subtlety, but instead of leaving you wondering about the ambiguity of a character's opinions, now even important plot elements are being minimized. I think that this goes back to the way that Woolf views the world as we think she does: just a big web of consciences reacting in variation of ways to events that they have in common, but the events themselves are not particularly important. Woolf seems to be much more interested in writing about the way that Holmes and Rezia react to his suicide than the actual event.

the woolf is sneaky

In her novel, Mrs. Dalloway,  Virginia Woolf never really comes right out and says what she means. It seems to me that when composing a pastiche imitating her style, one of the main components would have to be complete subtlety. It's like her ideas are hiding in the bushes, always ready to be exposed and plucked out by the reader, but nevertheless hidden away, never smacking you in the face like those of some other novelists we have read in which a common theme and plot can be easily determined. For instance, when speaking of Clarissa's friendship and encounters with one Sally Seton, she never really states what Clarissa's feelings for Sally really are. Romantic, or otherwise. This is pretty much left to the determination of the reader. A similar situation evolves when Lady Bruton, a local aristocrat, fails to invite Clarissa along with her husband to a lunch party. Is the tone there outraged? confused? or merely disappointed? The reader seems to be privy to Clarissa's innermost thoughts, some of which she might not even be aware of herself and yet is often left to decide for themselves what her emotions towards a particular situation or person might be.

Really this is one of my favorite parts about this book. It leaves you thinking. It is very difficult to just put this book down and go about your normal life without trying at all to imagine yourself as Clarissa, or alter your thinking somehow, or just trying to figure out what the heck she is trying to say, if anything at all. Sometimes I find myself wondering (now this may be a bit paranoid) if anyone is listening to my random thoughts and judging me over my subconscious, and then writing a book about it for everyone to read. Poor Clarissa. However, not only does Woolf's subtlety make the book much more interesting to read, but also it makes for some great discussions with people who are reading along with you. Almost every aspect of the book down to each individual sentence is up for interpretation, and everyone's interpretation comes out just a little bit different.

Just Like Howie

Howie, narrator of The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker, is essentially just a kid playing dress-up in a grown-up's life. Not only does everything excite him, just like it did for all of us when we were little, but he's incredibly observant. When reading this book I was struck time and again at how much I had in common with Howie, and I don't think I'm the only one to experience this weird sensation of reading about what seem to be your own thoughts in someone else's words.

Was anyone else ever fascinated by that conveyor belt at grocery stores that kind of forms a bridge over your groceries and makes the job of scanning the items so amazing awesome by sending them down that black rubber river to fall off at the end neatly into a waiting bag? Howie mentions this phenomenon in one of his extensive rambles (what I liked when I was little, on page 35) and it just completely struck me. I LOVED those belts when I was little. Still do. That seems to be what Howie is talking about in this passage. It is totally hypocritical to say "I loved that when I was a little kid" when you still love it and are in fact simply trying to make yourself seem more mature than you actually are. But then again, why should maturity mean that you are never excited by simple things like blue ice cream and moving grocer's belts?

Nicholson Baker's opinion of the value of life

On page 120 of Nicholson Baker's The Mezzanine he mentions a quotation that Howie is reading out of a work by Marcus Aurelius:

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

If you ask me, Howie is not at all subtle in relaying his opinions of this passage. He practically has a mental temper-tantrum in outrage. Of what I have read, he appreciates every minute of his life. Never did we hear about a complaint of an egregious task or a complaint of daily life. He notices things that spark his interest like the beauty of baggage belts in airports and describes things in a way that will spark everyone else's interest (such as describing the amount of force needed to push a button on a cigarette vending machine as being akin to the force necessary in a Foosball game). Everything is fascinating and worth the time to notice it, analyze it, metaphorize it (new word!) Take your time! Enjoy your time! What are you talking about, Aurelius?! Trivial??! Howie's whole persona seems to contradict what Aurelius says here. How can life be trivial, he seems to be saying, when so much is happening around you and to you or even just in your mind every day?

These seem to be the extremes in terms of the views of the value that our lives hold. It seems to me that most people fall somewhere in between: we aren't so amazed by quite everything that Howie is but at the same time don't seem to think, "Oh, well, it doesn't matter what I do today, I'll be dead in a few decades tops anyway. Who cares?" I don't anyway. I think more people should slow down, and I'd like to take a leaf out of Howie's book and try and appreciate the beauty that even the most everyday objects can hold.