Russell Edson

Russell Edson

Russell Edson was very, very funny. I’ve heard a rumor that one day he just decided to become a poet, and so he did. I believe this is true. He is a serious and quiet man, and many people in attendance didn’t appear to know what to make of him because he wasn’t what we expected. Silence is funny. And he began by standing in front of the room sucking on a cough drop and shuffling papers quietly. He said he didn’t want to begin because that would mean he’d have to go through with the whole thing. His poems were often funny. Some were seemingly serious, and he read them seriously, but some people laughed at these, and the ones who didn’t laugh wondered what was so funny. Other poems were very funny, like about pianos pooping, and the majority of the people laughed at them, including Russell Edson. The people who didn’t laugh at these funny poems wondered what serious aspect they had overlooked. The nicer a person was dressed, the more often he or she laughed at the wrong time; this illustrates something important about Russell Edson’s work. When the poem is funny, it’s because it is funny. Edson’s poems are very good to be read aloud because they don’t need extensive analyzation before some meaning can be extracted. If the poem is sad, it broadcasts sadness, and if the poem is wonderful, it broadcasts wonder. For those who heard the poems, the messages were clear, but for those who truly listened, there was no message – and those people laughed at the wrong times. The most pleasurable part was hearing Edson stop mid-line and declare that what he wrote was simply hideous and that he wishes he had written something else instead. Then he’d shake his head and continue.

The Tempest

The idea of isolating a group of people on an island is a popular one for authors to express their views of human nature. Perhaps the most well-known examples are Lord of the Flies, by Golding, and the opposing Island, by Huxley. Though Shakespeare’s The Tempest does not especially debate the topic of the inherent good or bad in human nature, it certainly presents the seeds of later utopic and dystopic writings. The way Shakespeare does this is through his characters’ perception of the island. Many view it as a new beginning with possibilities for the lives they dream of leading. The Lord Adrian admires the island’s natural beauty, speaking of it as “of subtle, tender and delicate temperance” (II.i.41) and continuing that the “air breathes upon us here most sweetly” (II.i.45). Antonio, during the same scene, detests what Adrian adores, calling it “tawny” (II.i.47) and “perfumed by a fen” (II.i.47). The old Gonzalo sees possibilities for change and argues that if it were under his control; it would become a place of purity, leisure, and abundance without labor. In other words, a garden of Eden. Caliban sees the island as his home, the place he has always lived and on which he would like to reside in peace (III.ii.40); and Ferdinand would like to make the island his home (IV.i.130). Finally, the butler Stephano would like to take the island over by killing Prospero and becoming king. Considering the characters’ opinions about the island and its fate, if Shakespeare had human nature in mind when he wrote this, what might be his own views?

The Things They Carried

The Things They Carried

I despised the first story in The Things They Carried. I would have had to set myself on fire had the entire book continued like the first story. I got what O’Brian was doing with, I thought it was really great at first, but the longer I thought about it, the more it didn’t seem like such a great idea in practice, and I finally decided that I just wouldn’t like it and spent the following months ranting. In an assignment we were given to write an imitation I thought I understood the story to simply be a man with a somewhat obsessive nature going on about the things they carried. My first instinct was to “go with what you know” and write about marching band – it was either that or boyscouts, and I can’t remember much of boyscouts. There was nothing to say about marching band. So I considered the story again, looked at that the author wasn’t writing about just the things they carried but again decided I merely had to obsess about something. So I made up a story about a woman who basically tells her entire life story as it relates to her hair – it’s obsessive, and it doesn’t really seem to relate to the Things They Carried, but in my original perception of the first story, it does.

The Dentist is an interesting story because it’s one of the few in the book that are somewhat shorter and lighter than the rest. They seem to exist merely as single accidental thoughts of the writer’s, just a memory that could be included. It makes the story more real. In my own writing, though I’m not fond of the style I’m currently prone to writing, I’m very interested in the idea of living life as if it was a single point in time forever, as if all time and matter was compressed into a single frame of time and just as large as ever could need to be focused on entirely by the eye. Perhaps I could just call it a photograph, but I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate. But I like to be able to place the story in the center and surround it with what’s important to the story, like a donut shape. The Dentist, in my view could easily be one of the centers here. This book isn’t like Catch-22 in that Catch is circled around one character’s death and the events around it. This book does that slightly but not enough that Lavender’s death is the key to understanding the entire book, because there are other events that equally make up the narrator – other deaths, mostly – and Lavender just gets lost in the memories among much more memorable events. The Dentist I sometimes consider filler, but other times look back at the book and decide that the author would have to reason to put such a story in as filler, especially in a book this length. It’s a much needed detail if the whole book is looked as a single point. The Dentist gives the book some definition, some grounding in a war that only exists on television to me. And for that same reason, when I write about absurdities or at least uncommon happenings, I provide grounding. Even if the story is about a genie, I give it a year, I toss in humor (which is inevitably grounding if it makes any sense at all!). Stockings is another story in the book that does this just the same. That’s why, in my own writing, it’s important to me to remember every little detail of my own life. I have a million middles of stories, with no reason, no beginning, and no end. But then, they say that’s exactly like we perceive our own lives (providing we don’t commit suicide). So I have almost twenty years behind me, most of which I haven’t any recorded proof of, and in my own writings I need to take my story middles and build around them to give my stories meaning and reason – I can’t accept that they exist for no reason. O’Brian also does this in some cases, especially in the story of Dobbins.

One of the things that I noticed most about the book was the amount of lying, truth-telling, and making the two undefined from each other. The fact the author does this makes the book all the more truthful. It’s very easy to tell the story how you’ve told it a million times before, where you’re the hero or the bystander or maybe even the criminal. So I write a story. I have to feel pleased about it, even if it means denying a hint of the truth. But the truth always stays overhead, and less immaculate piece has to be written where I’m less a hero or criminal or bystander – it’s like the idea that if you need a best friend, dead people are up for grabs. The author continually refines what his own truth is throughout this book, and because of that the truth is difficult to find. Perhaps it’s not as bad as he said originally for shock value, but then how beautiful can death in Vietnam be? No single story will probably be as satisfying as the impression of getting the entire truth, and this book feels like it ends multiple times. And although I don’t try and give multiple ends to a work (once I did give someone two deaths in a film), doing so would probably be the most truthful way to write, which is why O’Brian’s work is so satisfying to me.

Death of a Salesman

THE PROBLEM IN THE LOMAN FAMILY

Willy’s family background contributes to the shape of his personality and embeds in him the values and goals he works towards throughout his life. His background results in his philosophies on life, the world, and his own position in society. Willy works hard to follow not only his father, but his brother Ben as well. His father was sometimes a salesman (Bedford Introduction to Literature, 4th ed. 1687) and Ben is a businessman. Willy attempts to make his life a mesh of the two fields, not realizing that he cannot be a success as both a well-liked salesman and disliked businessman, both traits important in their respective fields. Willy wants to be like his father, selling goods in many towns and cities and being well-known and liked. The most influential character in his life, judging by the number of times Willy mentions him, is his older brother, Ben. Ben differs from Willy because of his ambitious nature and callousness, which leads to the success Willy lacks. But through the differences between the brothers, even when Ben is not present, important aspects of Willy’s character become more prominent. Ben’s character is so important that even in death he changes the life of Willy. Ben has lived the American dream, allowed his work to involve his hands (like their father) and worked hard for fortune. The American Dream is seen as living a better life than did your parents. Willy wants to also live the American Dream, and thinks that if he works hard enough and does enough of his job, American society will assure his success; however, through this paper I intend to show how this idea is a false one, as Ben attempts to prove to Willy throughout the play.

When Ben Loman was seventeen, he left home for Alaska. When he was twenty-one, he walked out of the jungle, and by God, he was rich. Ben’s original intentions were good, as he tells Willy he was “going to find Father in Alaska” (1686). After leaving home in search of his father, he later admits, “I discovered after a few days that I was heading due South, so instead of Alaska, I ended up in Africa.” (1686). More than likely, Ben would have ended up in Texas rather than Africa, a fact that makes his statements a bit unbelievable. Traveling from central United States to Africa is no short trip anyway, and if Ben actually did make it that far, it was no accident, as he implies when he says he just “ended up” (1686) there. A big question is simply: why? Why did Ben choose to continue in the wrong direction? He claims that “at that age I had a very faulty view of geography” (1686) and that was the factor that led him astray–unintentionally. The faulty view of geography could be seen in a couple lights, both negative. It may be that after leaving home he decided it was silly to go in search of his father, at which point (in Ben’s view) he would no longer have a faulty view of geography, because he saw which direction he should be heading and why (Africa–for success). Or that faulty view of geography may be one that he maintained all his life, even to the moment that he is speaking; that view may be one of pure selfishness, which is often seen as a “fault” and all decisions he has made through his life were based on what others would consider a faulty view of life.

Either way, Ben made his way to what Willy exclaims to be The Gold Coast (1686), which later became Ghana. Both countries, even in the present, have a history of being easy targets for fortune-seekers. The specifics of how Ben became wealthy don’t matter as much as the possibility (from the time period and setting) that he took advantage of the wilderness he walked into, raped the jungle, and profited off of the uneducated natives. The jungle, Africa, and Alaska are viewed as frontiers, as places filled with buried treasures of the earth just waiting to be discovered. In Ben’s case, the treasure is literal (as opposed to cures for diseases or new species); mining diamonds, and gold, or any such rare finds requires the destruction of many natural resources, not only because of the digging itself, but through its methods of pollution and wastefulness (such as the use of mercury in gold mining, which in turn poisons the water).

Willy might have followed Ben on these adventurous trips and their successes if it wasn’t for Linda, who acts in opposition to Ben. Willy never blames her for that opposition. When Ben invites him to come with him to Alaska for success and fortune, Linda chimes in that he has “Enough to be happy right here, right now” (1704). This starts Willy off on a spiel (spoken like a true salesman) about how successful he and his boys will be. The argument is between Linda and Ben, each person tossing a few words at Willy to set him into arguing against himself. He switches sides, sometimes claiming that he doesn’t need tangible wealth, “You can’t feel it in your hand like timber, but it’s there!” (1704) and other times agreeing that he does, “That’s true, Linda, there’s nothing” (1704). In the end, Linda wins the argument as displayed when Willy gives a speech to Ben about the fortune found in the big cities of America. Although he asks for Ben’s advice once more, he doesn’t follow Ben out the door (1705). The tangibility issue rises once more in the play when Ben and Willy are “discussing” Willy’s possible suicide: “twenty-thousand – that is something one can feel with the hand, it is there” (1724). Ben speaks sense to Willy, bringing up points such as the fact that the insurance company may not pay the $20,000, or that Biff may see Willy as only a coward. When Ben “goes off” to think about the proposition Willy makes, he returns certain that Willy is making the right choice. Ben’s last words are no longer stating that “I’ll be late for my train” (1688) but “The boat. We’ll be late” (1729). Willy considers himself finally making the right choice he has so long regretted not making–he’s leaving for prosperity with Ben on the vessel of death.

The Ben who helps make Willy’s big decision is not the same Ben as during the rest of the play. The last Ben is only a creation of Willy’s, not a memory of actual events in the past. This false Ben is helpful and more of the likeable and wise man Willy wants him to be. In reality, the Ben of the past is more of the sort of rough businessman expected. At one point while speaking to Willy, who is the only other man in the scene, Ben spits out, “Great inventor, Father. With one gadget he made more in a week than a man like you could make in a lifetime” (1687). Ben has stepped into Willy’s life for the first time since Willy’s early childhood, and makes cruel insults in front of Willy’s family. “A man like you” and the words surrounding it make Willy out to be worthless, and a complete failure compared to his father. In response, Willy blocks out anything negative that statement might have had, and quickly responds with “That’s just the way I’m bringing them up, Ben” (1687). Willy goes on to explain that he is bringing them up to be “rugged, well-liked, and all-around,” (1687) but it is no coincidence that Willy is bringing up his sons to be the “man like you” Ben talks about–failures. Ben doesn’t even consider Willy’s family to be relations. He tells Biff to “Never fight fair with a stranger” (1687), but what sort of stranger is brought into one’s home, showered in respect and honor, a blood-relation, and still a stranger? He would be no stranger to Willy or his family. Willy says, “You see what I’ve been talking about” (1686) to his family, and if he speaks about Ben as often before Ben’s visit as he does after, Ben is no stranger to the Loman household; they might know him just as well as Willy ever did.

If Uncle Ben is a popular subject Willy speaks of, then those around him likely notice the differences between the brothers. Willy does not entirely agree with Ben’s life philosophies, because he doesn’t follow them. After speaking to “Ben” one evening, Willy ends the conversation with “That’s just the spirit I want to imbue them with! To walk into a jungle! I was right! I was right! I was right!” (1688). Just a moment later, Linda explains that Willy had pawned the diamond watch fob Ben had given him so that Biff could take a radio correspondence course. Radio correspondence isn’t quite the jungle Ben had conquered. In other words, Willy, while still looking up to Ben, can’t bring himself or his boys to follow Ben’s footsteps. Ben is Willy’s mentor. Willy imagines that Ben’s line “When I was seventeen, I walked into the jungle. And by twenty-one, I walked out. And by God, I was rich!” is complete, without anything left out. He’s wealthy, adventurous, ruthless, and not confined or held-back by anything. If Willy had to choose someone to look up to, Charley would be a good choice, because he is the realism while Ben’s life is totally romantic. Willy can’t understand Charley’s success because it goes against the formula he believes is right for his own achievement. Ben is what drives Willy for success; Ben has been a success in the wild unknowns, Willy can’t even succeed in New England.

Before the brothers’ individual gross successes can even be determined, their pasts must be added in, as described by Ben and Willy during the play. Ben acts as a figure of strength and success that Willy spends his life trying to match. Because Ben left his family when Willy was just “Three years and eleven months” (1686) old, Willy would be about seven years old by the time Ben is twenty-one and rich. Therefore Willy would have mostly grown up in his older brother’s shadow, always trying to match Ben’s success. Ben’s successes in the jungle and later investments are due partially to Ben’s attitude, philosophies, and stern manner, but also undoubtedly to some sort of good luck. Ben’s role is as the driving force behind Willy. It’s his encouragement, whether real or fake, that pushes Willy to act as he does. Willy is convinced that one’s character is directly related to the level of success one has. Because Willy hasn’t seen much of Ben in his life, he doesn’t realize that he may be the only person who likes Ben at all. He doesn’t realize that Ben is not a kind person, that he probably isn’t well liked because of his own attitudes toward life and working toward success. Ben advocates fighting dirty and it reflects his attitude on any sort of fight as well, whether it be merely physical or business or if it be getting ahead anywhere in life. Willy looks over the fact that Ben never brought home their father, and instead went to pursue his own interests. Willy then pushes his boys in both directions: to follow Ben into the jungle, that is, away from the family, and at the same time, to help keep the family together and successful.

As the person Willy most looks up to, the problem exists that Ben’s actions directly conflict with Willy’s own. Willy’s father abandoned the family while he was still very young. His father left to strike it rich in Alaska and never came back to his family. In Willy and Ben’s eyes’, this should have been totally unacceptable and irresponsible. The effect it had on Willy is clear, as Willy does not ever abandon his family but instead fights to keep it perfect and a model throughout his entire marriage, even to his death. Ben, on the other hand, who should have been disgusted at his father’s actions, instead follows him into seeking fortune in the wilderness. The only difference between Ben and their father is that Ben is clearly successful and has returned to offer some success to Willy in the form of an employment opportunity. Ben acts as a father to Willy by acting as a role model. Willy’s father never returned, but Ben did. Ben could continue his father’s story, justify his father’s actions for leaving the family, and at the same time give a standard for Willy to work toward. The relationship between Ben and Willy is comparable to the relationship between Willy and his sons. He may also be seen as the other half of Willy’s personality, complementary of Willy. The difference between Ben and Willy is that Ben is a businessman, and Willy is a salesman. In his business, Ben is allowed to “fight dirty,” and to have power is much more important than being well liked. On the other end of the scale, it’s important for Willy to be everyone’s friend, because that’s all he can do to sell his product. Willy brings home this need to be well-liked to his family by lying to them about his own successes and in turn creating a house full of liars, each lying about their own lives and successes. Willy has persistence to live the American Dream he wants, but it is something that he cannot do.

Portia’s Witty Technique of Defeating Shylock

The conclusion of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice must, according to a theatergoer, be one of smiles and happy sighs. What other explanation could there be for the great number of lighthearted moments throughout the play than that it must be a comedy? Yet, unlike some other Shakespeare comedies, such as A Midsummer Night’s Dream or As You Like It, Merchant presents an episode that could very easily have tragic consequences, and only narrowly avoids such tragedy. At the start of Act IV scene i, aside from a legal view, the cards are stacked against Shylock. As a seemingly bloodthirsty, Jewish moneylender in a Venice courtroom, even the judge sides with Antonio; however, to the sadness of the audience, Antonio simply hasn’t a chance against Shylock. Fortunately, the appearance of transvestites in Shakespeare’s works often indicates a happy ending and Merchant is no exception as Portia steps in and saves the day. During the extremely lengthy courtroom scene in Act IV, much action occurs. In fact, the play flips entirely over during the one scene so that happiness may be restored to the heroes of the play, namely every Christian in attendance. The action turns just as Antonio is asked to bear “his breast” (IV.i.251) so that a pound of flesh may be taken out “nearest his heart” (IV.i.253). Even at this point Portia appears to act against Antonio by supporting the law and Shylock. If the turning point of the play does not occur precisely when it does, a quick end could be made of Antonio and the play itself. As Shylock mentions the bond eight times in the scene before Portia fights him with it, what apparently sets her creativity in this direction occurs between lines 255 through 262. During these lines Portia, perhaps stalling until an idea hits her, argues with Shylock to allow a surgeon at hand to save Antonio’s life. Shylock argues that “’tis not in the bond” (IV.i.262) and therefore not allowed; this same loophole is precisely how Portia later saves Antonio’s life.

A difficult feat accomplished in this scene is taking a character, Shylock, for whom only a small amount of sympathy is allowed by the audience, and turning him into completely a villain. This task completes itself subtly through the sometimes inherent biases of Shakespeare’s audiences with the help of slight (and sometimes not so slight) hints from characters in the play. Portia asks “Are there balance here / To weigh the flesh” (IV.i.254-255) in her attempt to stall Antonio’s implied execution (implied because a pound of flesh nearest the heart would surely result in death). Aside from pure shock value, are the lines really so necessary to the plot or action? With the absurdity already taking place in the courtroom (transvestites fighting over a pound of flesh), the audience of Merchant would certainly pardon Portia if she had a faster wit and did not need stalling time. Thus, if these lines are unnecessary to the plot, then the light symbolism behind the words in these lines can be considered relevant to the play. The word “balance” evokes imagery of comparisons, and Merchant is a play of striking contrasts, “the flesh” being especially relative. Females are weighed against males in the courtroom as Portia wins a trial for Antonio, against Shylock. Christianity is weighed against Judaism as the loveable Antonio and the evil yet pathetic Shylock both act as defenders of their respective faiths. The lines continue as Shylock confesses that he has the balances ready (IV.i.56) illustrating his happy anticipation for the bloodshed that lies ahead. The “Blood Libel” that Jews use human blood to cook their matzo was no doubt fresh in the minds of Shakespeare’s audiences, as it persisted popularly long before and after Shakespeare’s own lifespan. Shylock’s eagerness only confirms what an anti-Semitic audience would already assume about him.

The idea of a “balance” returns as differences in religious ideology are cleverly used by Portia’s fight for Antonio’s life. Portia’s “stalling” continues when she asks for “some surgeon…on [Shylock’s] charge” (IV.i.57) to save Antonio from bleeding to death (IV.i.58). In this line, Portia expresses her fears that the worst possible scenario may take place, particularly, a pound of flesh being carved from Antonio. Having a surgeon nearby would be in Antonio and Portia’s best interests. At the same time, she mentions that the surgeon would be paid for by Shylock, a detail of which she knows only Shylock should take note. Shylock asks “Is it so nominated in the bond” which can be looked at from two equally anti-Jewish angles. From one perspective, Shylock is avoiding the surgeon because he’d have pay for it himself, which both affirms a stereotype of Jews and continues a trend in Shylock’s typical interests throughout the play. From the second perspective, Shylock doesn’t want a surgeon there because he wants Antonio’s death. Likely, both these perspectives are meant for consideration. Shylock doesn’t want the surgeon because of financial reasons while everyone else thinks he just wants Antonio’s death; this is a brilliant setup by Portia as she uses Shylock’s inherent weakness to destroy his image of humaneness.

Another interesting addition by Shakespeare is the use of “charity” by Portia. This too is used to evoke one response from the Christians and another from Shylock. The Oxford English Dictionary places great emphasis on the New Testament and Christianity’s relationship with “charity,” as one such definition is “Christian love” and another is “Christian benignity of disposition expressing itself in Christ-like conduct.” In comparison, in Judaism “charity” is best translated into the Hebrew word tzedakah; however, one of tzedakah’s best English translations is “justice.” As tzedakah is a well-known and important concept in Judaism, it is extremely probable that Shylock knows of it. Assuming this to be the case, when Portia comments that “’Twere good you do so much for charity” (IV.i.61) and Shylock replies “I cannot find it, ‘tis not in the bond.” (IV.i.62), it is quite likely that the two characters had a misunderstanding over definition, in Portia’s favor. The Christian view is that Portia asks Shylock to save Antonio’s life mercifully and that Shylock acts coldheartedly and un-Christian by his refusal to do so. From the Jewish perspective Shylock is being asked to be just. By his referring to the bond on line 62, he is following justice by adhering to the legal document in his possession; for abiding by the law he is therefore righteous and fair. At this point Portia needs only a few more steps taken before she controls the trial’s entire outcome and ousts the advantage from Shylock.

 

  1. “charity” Oxford English Dictionary. Ed. J. A. Simpson

and E. S. C. Weiner. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989. OED

Online. Oxford University Press. 28 Oct. 2002.

http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/00036949

 

  1. “tzedaka(h)” Oxford English Dictionary. Ed. J. A. Simpson

and E. S. C. Weiner. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989. OED

Online. Oxford University Press. 28 Oct. 2002.

<http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/00261223&gt;

 

Everything That Rises Must Converge

In Flannery O’Connor’s “Everything That Rises Must Converge” Julian’s mother, in denial of a changing South’s existence, escapes back to her childhood once she might be convinced of the modern world. The first of her realizations comes in the form of understanding her son, if only for seconds before her death. One of the clearest outright observations of the story is that Julian’s mother lives a great deal for her son. Within the first paragraph she mentions that he might go out of his way to help her a little bit, “considering all she did for him” (p485 Collected Works). The text shows that “all she did for him” has turned out to be quite a lot as best illustrated by the fact that “her teeth had gone unfilled so that his could be straightened” (491). She, raising Julian “without the Chestny goods” (491) has also managed to send him to college. Furthermore, with limited means she is “‘supporting him still, until he [gets] on his feet’” (485) despite the fact that he has been “out of school a year” (486). Although living for Julian, at the same time Julian’s mother also merely does so to maintain the family reputation and her own worth. Her fifty or more years of life of, as the reader knows it, consist of nothing besides childhood and middle age. Were it not for Julian’s existence in the story as progeny, there would be no sign that she had ever married. I intend to prove here that in the end, Julian’s mother’s resistance to accept the world’s change and her eventual awakening to its existence is what kills her.

Julian’s mother’s resistance to change causes an instability in her actual self worth, which she fails to see, though the reader can recognize through the story. Her own perception of her full self worth requires her recognition of her family’s history as well as her success in raising Julian, two accomplishments which ultimately clash with one another in her son’s view. The principal reason for this clash is because what appears to Julian’s mother as merely nostalgia (her ancestral home and family history) appears to Julian as bigotry toward blacks. At the same time, the son’s looking beyond his mother’s values is justified by the fact that her family history and name are virtually meaningless in their present day. Julian’s mother is a child of “aristocratic birth” who now lives in comparative poverty (486) while still holding on to her own past for support. Readers can somewhat understand Julian’s feelings concerning this point because it is clear that his mother has not grown in the years since her childhood. Her visions of the past’s coda may be illustrated by her grandfather’s mansion’s grandiose double staircases, which eventually rotted and were torn down before Julian even graduated boyhood (488). Remaining the granddaughter of a governor (Godhigh), Julian’s mother’s family name of Chestny, as well as the name of her late husband, is lost; aside from being known only as Julian’s mother, she becomes a nameless character. Judging by her speech and assumed expectations for Julian to carry on the greatness of her family, it is questionable how important Julian’s father’s role in the family history is. Julian’s mother is still very much a Chestny/Godhigh as exemplified by her statement that “‘you remain what you are…your great-grandfather had a plantation and two hundred slaves’” (487). That statement also contains another root of the clash between mother and son. Julian’s mother believes that authentic culture is “‘in the heart…and in how you do things and how you do things is because of who you are’” (489) while Julian takes an opposite stance, arguing that true culture is in the mind and thus rejecting his surname and the past his mother so adores.

Julian’s opposite stance returns me to the topic of bigotry. Julian’s mother comments that the “world is in a mess everywhere” as her summing-up of the story’s present day (490). What comes between the mother and son is that while she speaks in reminiscence of the good old days, he is willingly ignorant of any such days; his willingness is shown by the fact that he still envisions her grandfather’s mansion as it was in his mother’s youth instead of how it looked when he actually saw it (488); Julian openly only concerns himself with political ideology. Her memories are fashioned around the romantic image of order and stability of a hierarchic South; for this same reason and her inability to accept change, she still views herself in a position of superiority. Her nostalgia accounts for her condescending comments, such as “[blacks] were better off when they were [slaves]” (487) and “the bottom rail is on the top” (487). In the imaginary world of the past she lives in, just as she believes her ugly neighborhood (486) to still be fashionable after forty years, the progress of blacks in America does not agree with her vision of an unchanging world. She wants to count in this new world but feels excluded now, as she comments that blacks “should rise, yes, but on their own side of the fence” (488). Also for these reasons she believes herself able to handle change due to the fact that she “most certainly know[s] who [she is]” (487), while the truth of the matter is that her knowing herself thereby enables her resistance to the changing of the world.

The realization of the world’s change is what possesses Julian’s mother during her dying moments. In her dying, Julian’s mother spiritually returns to her childhood, showing that she has essentially never changed or grown up. First, she lucidly hears Julian’s insulting words for the first time and instead of calmly pushing them aside as she does previously, she instead rejects Julian entirely, continuing “to go on as if she had not heard him” (500). Perhaps she realizes that her son isn’t the son she meant for him to become; the futility of all she gave him is apparent when he shows no signs of love for the family or a prosperous future in both actions and speech. Second, after the black woman who has “risen” strikes her, Julian’s mother becomes a child calling for her old black nurse, Caroline; Caroline, who Julian’s mother had a “great respect” (488) for is an example of how high a black person might rise in the old South and acts in contrast to the woman who has just hit her. By striking her, the black woman off the bus breaks down these barriers through the assault, quite the opposite of Caroline’s nursing. Julian’s mother’s hair comes undone and her pocketbook drops, but she shows no care as  she loses her years of antebellum dignity (499). She calls for her Grandpa and nurse Caroline to come get her, speaking like the child she was long ago. She cries out for “home” (500); Julian attempts to persuade her back to a bus thinking she means to go to her apartment, but the reader understands that the home she speaks of is the home of her youth, half a century and more previous to the present, and the reader also understands that she means to return there.

An Argument for the Existence and Evolution of Anti-Semitism

The existence of anti-Semitism still remains widely questioned and debated, for it strikes some as not differing from other forms of discrimination, while others see it as something unique and particular to the Jewish people. Both sides of the argument have points of merit and perhaps through their discrepancies a clearer view of anti-Semitism can be found. In either case, a phenomenon which cannot be denied is the widespread and long-lasting hatred of Jews, the being of which persists continually through history, almost since the birth of Judaism and continuing to the present day. The fact that anti-Semitism has cropped up with such great frequency throughout the world gives reason to seek out likeness amongst the occurrences – likenesses concerning the conditions that give rise to and patterns which precede anti-Semitism. Another aspect worth consideration is the notable change in anti-Semitism after the advent of Christianity. Through a brief examination of some facets of Jew-hatred, an understanding can be formed that could later shed light on anti-Semitism’s evolution over several thousand years.

The term anti-Semitism seems clear and precise at first glance because of some oft-inborn human assumption that equates it with any aspect of Jew-hatred. Now it seems there are two terms (anti-Semitism, Jew-hatred) which both make perfect sense, yet both still contain something vague about them. Taking the idea of Jew-hatred, it seems clear enough: just as a person who hates something possesses hatred, a person who hates Jews possesses Jew-hatred. Is this always an accurate assumption? Inarguably, a person who possesses Jew-hatred hates Jews, but a person who hates Jews doesn’t necessarily have to possess Jew-hatred; possession of Jew-hatred implies the hatred of all Jews for no reason other than their Jewish-ness. Someone who hates Jews doesn’t necessarily hate all Jews, nor do they necessarily hate Jews for their Jewish-ness but possibly for other non-religious reasons. That such a term as Jew-hatred has the possibility of being so misleading can only mean that a term much more perplexing, as anti-Semitism, can only be that much more difficult to understand. A concise definition of anti-Semitism can be found in the Oxford English Dictionary, stating it as a “theory, action, or practice directed against the Jews.” By the inclusion of the word “the,” anti-Semitism is intrinsically directed against the Jewish people as a whole, not individuals; however, anti-Semitism still exists in the modern world and attacking the entire Jewish people is virtually impossible, if not simply slanderous. By this definition it would seem as if anti-Semitism disappeared thousands of years ago. Taking it one step further, and arguing the opposite, it could be said that any act of discrimination against a Jew for his or her Jewish-ness makes a single step against the entire Jewish people which, if continued, could potentially (however unrealistically) wipe out the entire Jewish population. Another way the definition could be looked at presents the idea that there are three degrees of anti-Semitism, still categorized under the same main title. There is theory, of which thought qualifies; theory could also include any plans that have not been tested for results yet. Action and practice create the second and third higher degrees. Placing the two in comparison, action would signify any action taken, whether once or repeatedly. The difference between action and practice is difficult to define clearly. Practice creates an image of continuous action as a sort of profession or habit. Of course, most of the previous descriptions, with small changes, could be applied to the discrimination of any group of people. What difference makes prejudice against the Jewish people worthy of such close inspection and such a title as anti-Semitism? The difference lies in its ability to survive as a worldwide, intergenerational trend; anti-Semitism can boast a history millennia older than any other categorized discrimination against a group of people.

Believers and their religion come first, persecution of those believers comes second, and studies on what leads to the persecution comes third. So too went the history of Judaism, and those three events came in quick succession, still not having ended. The birth of anti-Semitism comes from the Jews’ inability to blend in as a people. The impossible-to-win situation occurs like this: if the Jews are beneath yokes, then there is a reason they are being punished and further oppression won’t be considered inhuman. If the Jews are rising above the majority politically, economically, or even socially, then they must be oppressing others to reach those positions and something needs doing to knock down their status. History proves that the Jews are excellent at fluctuating between the two extremes, rarely settling in the middle, with, statistically, the majority; however, even these ideas jump far ahead of the basics.

At the foundation of religious differences are moral beliefs. Laws of Judaism were often based on different beliefs of ethical living, examples ranging from dietary and sexual restrictions to the belief in a single, abstract god. This new monotheism inherently did not tolerate polytheism and its practices; as long as its laws forbade the customs and rituals of other religions, Judaism’s followers decidedly became outsiders in the polytheistic world. From the view of a gentile, Jewish communities looked strongly antisocial, hateful towards paganism, and conceited about themselves and their religion (Marcus 4). The actions of the Jews were, if seen through their eyes, more defensive methods of survival than anything else. Stereotyping could be done easily against the Jewish minorities and once highly respected authors “confirmed” the stereotypes in their writings, the stereotypes could be passed down through generations as truth. The historian Tacitus took it upon himself to relay a new history of Judaism to the world. He describes it as a colorless religion, built on hatred by the gods, plagues, and finally its birth a mere result of the prophet Moses’ greed for power (Tacitus 46-7). This story provides an explanation for the differences between Jews and pagans of the time; however, though he describes a few facts about the religion, even Tacitus cannot conceive of the single or abstract god as he continually makes references to supposed images, planets, and animals that the Jews honor. The words that sum of his view of the religion are extremely harsh. He claims that the Jews “profane all we hold sacred,” and later calls them the “worst rascals among people,” their practices “base and abominable” (47). Accusations such as these, as well as ones of self-mutilation and comparisons to other non-respected peoples more than fueled the fire against Judaism.

The fire might have never been lit had the Jews appeared homogenous with the general population, but they didn’t often, and attempts to do so sometimes resulted in unpredictable results. In the case of the Jews in Elephantine, ruled by Persia during fifth century BCE, their partial assimilation was a cause of the violent action taken against them. The violence was not merely the result of religious differences, but also because the Jews represented agents of foreign rule and oppression, and were favored by Persia as well. Situations similar to this, in which the Jews find favor in the sight of the ruler but not the general population, appear many more times in the course of history (Marcus 4-5). It has been proven that many rulers in the past granted the Jews privileges of things such as a separate court system and exemption from military service. Naturally, natives to those countries felt resentment towards the Jews, not for religious reasons but simply for the special treatment the Jews received. Rulers of empires often viewed the Jews as loyal citizens and economically beneficial to the empire, hence the reason for their special privileges and treatment. The opposite of anti-Semitism driven popularly is that of political anti-Semitism. In these situations, the rulers are against the Jews for their own reasons. Even in the case of Ptolemy VII Physcon, whose hostility towards the Jews has led him to be described as “the first representative of political anti-Semitism” (Marcus 8), the hostility was entirely politically motivated, because many Jews sided with an opponent of his.

Clearly, not one single element caused anti-Semitism during these times. Rather, it was a combination of many factors. Jews, driven from their homeland , move onto the land. The banishment from a homeland indicates defeat and perhaps a sign that they have been forsaken by the gods. Already then, the natives feel distrust in the new minority. Adding to the problems, the Jews appear to be terribly antisocial, only interested in themselves, and they are known to perform strange rites and customs. In some cases, the Jews begin to mix with the natives, attempting to become less recognized as Jews and partake in the joys of the natives, intermarrying in the meanwhile. Perhaps the natives feel flattered by these attempts, but the argument has been made that the Jews are only embarrassed by their own history and heritage and have become traitors to themselves. For this the Jews are harassed or chased away from the native community. And as the final straw, the government adores the Jews, for apparently they have become successful and reliable, and the Jews are now granted a degree of autonomy. With such a large amount of resentment built up, there’s no doubt why the Jews were discriminated against.

A change in the trend of anti-Semitism from mostly social/political to mostly religious came about because of Christianity’s rise. The creation of a religion, of course, requires its creators and followers to reject other religions or else they haven’t a convincing religion to sell (Simon). Christianity at one point was no different. Thus, early discrimination against Jews by Christians came as a result of a struggle for converts and a decision for whose religion possessed the truth. In time, Christianity, something of an evolved sect of Judaism, became an entirely gentile group. The religious writings written and chosen for their bible often had anti-Semitic slants, acting as Christian propaganda (Grayzel 32.) Christians were seen as more of a threat than Jews to the Roman empire, and so the Jews were treated with more sympathy by the Romans because of the common bond. Finally, to the pagans Judaism appeared more appealing than Christianity, and the accusations Christianity made about replacing Judaism were not quickly accepted.

Once Christianity was accepted as the dominant faith of the Roman Empire, those same accusations were taken more seriously and the gentiles listened closer. It appeared as if their leaders and their bible preached against the Jews. From this point on, the Jews were tolerated to different degrees. At times, there was a full-scale war against them, with death or conversion the consequences to a Jew. At other times, the Jews were recognized as economically beneficial and were treated with more respect. The church maintained its religious views against the Jews, but the governments’ feelings varied from ruler to ruler. When Jews were beneficial to the country they resided in, the amount of toleration was great as the state paid less attention to the church on these matters. When they were not beneficial, the state sided with the church against the Jews, for in their eyes the Jews had no use further (Grayzel 42-3). Throughout time this same scenario was played out, the variables only slightly different from event to event. Religion remained a prominent reason behind anti-Semitism, but political motivations can certainly not be disregarded as causes either. In the year 830 CE, King Louis the Pious protected the Jews for political reasons, just as in Nazi Germany Hitler attempted to eliminate the Jews for political reasons. And long before either of these occurrences, Caesar gave special care to the Jews after almost being defeated by them in Egypt.

The evolution of anti-Semitism can only be seen as natural under the circumstances. Just as a vine grows according to stimuli, so did anti-Semitism, wrapping around historical events as necessary. In the negative examples described here, some form of the definition of anti-Semitism is played out simply because the Jews are marked as a distinct group of people and treated a certain way because of their Jewish-ness. Even amidst support from the rulers before the Common Era, some aspect of Judaism turned the populations to revolt time and again. Antisemitism definitely existed as a continuous stream from its inception to the present. The reasons behind Jew-hatred have changed, as has Judaism itself, and the world around it – and all the while the anti-Semitic legacy swiftly travels to keep up with another generation.

Romeo and Juliet

Friar Lawrence’s Final Discussion With Juliet

The worst-case-scenario of Friar Lawrence’s plan realizes itself during the final tragic act of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” The imperative lines, perhaps the ones with the final twist in the play occur in V.iii.148-60. The section begins as Juliet rises from her forty-two hours of “unnatural sleep” (V.iii.152). By this point in the drama, the audience should be entirely wrapped up in the impending heartbreak of Juliet, how she will respond, and how the Friar will explain his mistakes. Juliet rises, sees Friar Lawrence and exclaims his name, and asks for her husband, Romeo. In calling the Friar, she uses the word “comfortable,” (V.iii.148) which might mean “reassuring” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Juliet finds the Friar reassuring at the moment, but the audience knows that he can only assure her of one thing: the suicide of Romeo.

Friar Lawrence’s lines in response to Juliet’s question have potential to be spoken in a few different tones of voice. Frantic is a word that comes to mind quickly, especially with the knowledge that the reason behind Romeo’s death is this same Friar fleeing from fear just moments previously. Hearing noise again, the Friar beckons Juliet to follow him from the tomb, claiming that “A greater power than we can contradict / Hath thwarted out intents” (V.iii.153-4). The idea of this greater power acting as puppet master complies with the role fate plays in Romeo and Juliet, time and again. In the light of fate, Romeo and Juliet could never happily be together. So while the Friar makes his mistake of leaving the tomb at precisely the wrong moment he unknowingly hastens the finale which has no choice but to occur—because destiny wills it.

Quickly, as if she might miss his saying so, the Friar says that both Romeo and Paris are dead. He then quickly adds that he will “dispose of thee / Among a sisterhood of holy nuns” (V.iii.156-7). It isn’t difficult to recall Theseus actually threatening Hermia with almost the same thing in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” (I.i.70); Juliet’s options appear quite finite. At this point the Friar’s fears grip him again and he rushes out, leaving Juliet and the dead alone. Indeed the Friar beckons Juliet to follow as he departs, but Shakespeare’s decision of when the Friar’s exit occurs is crucial to understanding the Friar’s mindset: he leaves the tomb before Juliet can even respond. A reader may wonder whether Juliet had even the time to stand up. In any case, Juliet would hardly be blamed for any action she takes at this point in the play; she might burst into tears or faint but does neither and thus demonstrates her maturity. She merely states “Go get thee hence, for I will not away” (V.iii.160). This is another line that could be read in any number of ways. She could scream it after the Friar, or calmly say it as if in conversation, or even whisper it mournfully to herself. What follows, of course, is Juliet’s tragic end, which viewers foresaw from the start.

1. Gibaldi, Joseph, Walter S. Achtert. MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers 3rd ed. New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 1988.
2. “comfortable, adj.1a” Oxford English Dictionary. Ed. J. A. Simpson and E. S. C. Weiner. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989. OED Online. Oxford University Press. 24 Sept. 2002. <http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/00044728&gt;

Sylvia Plath – The Hanging Man

Using various techniques of sound creation in “The Hanging Man,” Sylvia Plath easily can set the reader on edge. Alliteration occurs in the first line with the words “god” and “got,” both words sounding jabbing and cruel from the hard G’s and final T of “got.” These contrast with the fluid-sounding words “my” and “me,” also in the same line. Line two is most prominently saturated in consonance. Sizzled, blue, volts, and like, all pull the line together. Although the L sound is calming in most cases, here it serves to aid in the disgusting imagery. The first stanza contains much assonance also: By and my, and god and got, in line 1. Sizzled, in, his, and desert, prophet, in line 2.

The second stanza makes use of alliteration with the words snapped and sight, in line 1, and shadeless, socket, in line 2. Also in line two are the more soothing words: world, white. Consonance is used again here with the letter D in snapped, lizard’s, eyelid, world, bald, days, shadeless. L is in like, lizard’s, eyelid, world, bald, shadeless. And assonance is used with nights, sight, like, eyelid, white. Most striking here are the number of hard consonants used: snapped, out, sight, like, eyelid, world, bald, white, days, and socket, are words that continually punch back and forth, keeping the reader’s eyes open.

In the third stanza, what jumps out first is the assonance: pinned, in, this, if, did. The alliteration found in the last line is interesting because it lowers the reader down slowly away from the hard consonants used previously so often. Were, would, and what are the words used in this line. Consonance also makes an appearance, but not as greatly as in the other stanzas. Boredom, pinned, would, do, and did are words used in this way. The letter D is hard, but not as harsh sounding as other letters she uses frequently earlier in the poem.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman: Herland (1915)

How ironic that a story making a statement affecting all men and women should almost miss half its target audience. Airplanes? Young, brave men? An undiscovered land? A jungle? A society full of women? Within a few pages one should be under the assumption that this is going to be the greatest novel for men ever written, a cross between Indiana Jones, Deep Throat, and Star Trek. Alas, it’s far from such a novel, and the men who this might have been written for would have certainly closed the pages before they got the point. The women, on the other hand, they’d probably make it straight through quickly and dream about it nightly for the next decade. Published in 1915 serially in her own magazine, Charlotte Perkins Gilman composed this piece of literature and this Herland utopia to attempt to express the actual value of women, a value that was ignored until years later. It’s more than that though: the book separates a group of people out and tries to show what an ideal world would be like for all.

The three characters whose adventures we follow through Herland are Van, Jeff, and Terry. Almost immediately the three take on a different personality, each representing a male view of society and women. Terry is the classic macho womanizer. He loves women, but sees them as little more than objects of external beauty and sexual slaves, who must be submissive to the rule of man. In a world without men, he’s the least able to conform and after failing to change his opinions or views is eventually is banished from the country because of this. Jeff is the exact opposite of Terry, placing women on a pedestal and seeing them as gifts, as treasures, as delicate and fragile flowers. Because of his views he learns to accept the philosophies, rules, and ideas of the women in Herland and treats them respectfully and as more than equals. Instead of leaving the land, he ends up marrying a woman there and staying behind. Van lies in the center of the scale; he neither looks down on all women or worships them. Instead, he looks at things from a very impartial point of view, accepting things for how they are in reality and making careful judgments based on the knowledge he gains through his learning. The woman he eventually marries is the one who had become his best friend. Clearly, these three men represent all the men in the world and leave little room for exception even in the modern world where the only addition may be a fourth man, named Mary. Otherwise, these three characters cover all bases very well.

Herland is a wonderful and beautiful place, but it’s a Utopia and can’t exist. While other Utopia’s could seemingly work under the right circumstances, such as Huxley’s Pala, based on religion and drugs and a spiritually healthy life, and Delany’s Heavenly Breakfast, based on all the skewed hippie philosophy of the 1960’s. Herland’s existence rests solely upon a miracle of virgin birth, and without it the place would cease to exist. We therefore cannot strive to be more like these people because they lack the diversity and history of which we have so much. The world of Herland is comprised of rational decisions, a thinking through of everything and the assurance that there will not be negative effects from a decision. The women there make decisions based on the knowledge that their children will have to live in the world next, and because of their awesome love for the children, they make decisions which benefit everyone, now, and in the long run. It’s a way of life we strive to have now, but such ideas are foiled by an overpowering worldwide selfishness.