I'm no Cinderella but I think I see a pattern here...

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/18/opinion/sunday/throw-out-the-rules-and-read-the-grimm-tales.html?ref=editorials

            One part book recommendation, one part reminiscence, and one part philosophic musings, Verlyn Klinkenborg’s article Throw Out the Rules! Read a Fairy Tale manages to avoid the inconsistency that would normally come with trying to do so much by being inconsistent on purpose. With jovial nods to other pieces of literature, fanciful figurative language, and a penchant for alliteration, Klinkenborg creates a light and enjoyable piece that perfectly suits the fairytales that he himself is discussing.

            Even in the opening paragraph, he comments on the seeming abilities of an enchanted prince, stating “This is not a truth universally acknowledged in our humdrum world” which is a paraphrased version of the opening line of Pride and Prejudice. In the next sentence, he’s left the Victorian era behind and is comparing the foreshadowing of the tale to that of Sophocles. Most notably, he directly contradicts himself while simultaneously referencing a contemporary author. He mentions that “It feels at times as though all these imaginative worlds will someday converge…” and in the next sentence insists that “Someday? Terry Pratchett has already done it.” Even in less specific references, Tolstoy, George R.R. Martin, Kierkegaard, and J.K. Rowling are all welcome comparisons drawn in this article. These references hop unperturbed around the literary time stream, detaching the article from any sense of severity or regulation, and giving it a whimsical sense that only a piece on fairy tales could excuse.

            Klinkenborg also uses similes to his advantage, crafting them carefully to suit the subject matter at hand. For example, rather than reading the fairy tales, he will have “absorbed them from the air around [him], where they abide like a haunting cultural mist.” The diction even within the simile is appropriate to the vague realm of fairy tales, with ‘haunting mists’ obscuring truth and setting the atmosphere. Also fitting with the fairy tale theme, some of his comparisons are far more whimsical, comparing fairy tale rules to “embroidered samplers you might find hanging in a witch’s kitchen.” Not only topical, but delightfully childish to consider. Even the feelings evoked by these expressions differ completely- one giving a sense of foreboding and one a chuckle, and again this perfectly emulates a fairy tale.

            Most notably, Klinkenborg uses heavy alliteration to keep his work playful and fresh. In discussing the prevalence of fantasy, Klinkenborg notes that “The Tolkein-tide shows no signs of subsiding, and if your taste runs to dragons, darkness and derring-do...” which alliterates Tolkien’s ‘t,’ the ‘s’ of signs, and the darting consonance of ‘dragons’ and so forth. This musical quality that he gives this phrase allows a narrative weight to settle on his own article. When discussing the original Grimm tales and the laws that govern them, he says that they “veer vertiginously,” using not only colorful alliteration but a choice of diction that perfectly encompasses both the Grimm tales and his own work- a dizzying switch between ideas and mood that still creates an enjoyable whole.

            This article shows a genuine sense of humor and a true thoughtful creativity that makes it almost as much a joy to read as the fairy tales it recommend. As a sales piece both for Phillip Pullman’s rewrite and the Grimm brothers’ original tale, it is effective and invaluable. By creatively weaving in narrative techniques usually reserved for the media he is recommending, he creates a sense of harmony in the world, along with a desire to whip out he nearest copy of Cinderella. 

My Type is Byronic, Can You Tell?

1979. Choose a complex and important character in a novel or a play of recognized literary merit who might on the basis of the character's actions alone be considered evil or immoral. In a well-organized essay, explain both how and why the full presentation of the character in the work makes us react more sympathetically than we otherwise might. Avoid plot summary.

            He lies. He coerced a young girl into becoming his bride, with a wife still living. He manipulates this girl, making her jealous by pretending to love another. He’s the only man this girl has ever known personally. He treats those that displease him with uniform scorn, he lived a life of debauchery for several years, and he has mood swings. Yet, because we see him through the eyes of a woman who loves him with all her heart, we cannot despise Mr. Rochester from Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre.

            By all rights, Rochester should be the villain of the tale. He seduces and coerces Jane into marrying him, ruining the stability of her life in the process. With that detail alone, he is a vicious debaucher. However, with Jane as a narrator, the reader gains a new perspective. Having Jane’s story from the beginning as a timid young girl, the positive changes that Mr. Rochester brings onto Jane are apparent. Even before their love is found to be mutual, Jane’s spirits heighten. She laughs more, is freer to speak, and no longer feels trapped as she was before at Lowood and Thornfield. Once they become engaged, Jane blooms. Rochester’s positive affects on Jane endear him to the audience.

            Jane is also very open with Rochester’s faults from the beginning. Even on their first meeting, when they were strangers in a lane, she noted his brusque nature. Rochester, for his part, is also frank with his faults to Jane. He tells her he has not lived as purely as he would have liked. This small honesty, despite how much it conceals, is still enough for him to earn a reader’s trust. Beyond even his admissions, though, Jane is perceptive enough to see that there is a dark secret somewhere in his past. She knows about Celine Varens, even, and yet as a narrator she only expresses the desire to delve deeper into Rochester’s past. She makes him appear desirable through her own desire. In Jane’s eyes, even his faults and foibles are mere ‘seasonings’ that make him more appealing.

            All of the hinting and secrets lead up to the large reveal of Bertha mason at Jane’s would-be wedding, and Rochester tells Jane his story, from his marriage to his meeting of her. By then, the reader has felt Jane’s grieving, and is emotionally connected to her, so Jane’s pain for Rochester’s past also carries over. Jane doesn’t blame or fault him so neither does the audience. Rather than anger at a treacherous man, Jane creates a picture of desolation – two people with the world against them, which invites sympathy for both rather than ire for one.

            The most obvious reason for this is, of course, that Rochester is Jane’s soul mate, and a romance doesn’t work if one half of the couple is despicable. However, the sympathetic portrayal given to Rochester also represents the shedding of traditional dealings with those who do wrong. If Jane, with her ethics carved into her heart, can forgive this sinning deceitful man, can still love him entirely, then why should anyone else not be able to? Jane Eyre is a character with the ability to love the sinner and hate the sin, the same doctrine that Helen Burns gave her so long ago. Being put in her shoes invites sympathy for sinners as a whole. Rochester isn’t inherently evil to Jane, he is a man that circumstances have worked against. Jane Eyre casts sinners as victims, which challenges the entire morality of the time period.

            Of course, Jane Eyre is first and foremost a love story, but it is also a cry for acceptance, change, and for people to remember what true goodness really is. Jane herself is the perfect example, loving Rochester for all his flaws. Bronte begs for a more forgiving society in her novel, and redefines love to allow for it.

            

Response to Course Materials 3- The Reckoning

Going by the state of my notes, a lot of these past couple of weeks has been a lot of talking.

I have to say, though, the in-class discussions we had over The American Dream were some of the best I've had in my entire life. Nothing is worse than a discussion that is more awkward silence than it is talking, and nothing is better than one where everyone chips in a bit. I always find that it's easier to figure out what the heck an author is talking about if you can bounce ideas off of people, and it's nice to have so many people to bounce ideas off of. Truthfully, we came to some mind blowing conclusions (The leaking johnny is their dead kid! Mommy's hitting on her adopted son! Daddy doesn't realize Mrs. Barker exists! &c). I'm still reeling. I'm still not sure, though, that I would call The American Dream a comedy, though. It might have comic elements, but they're not trying to make anyone laugh.

Then we did a lot with the "objective" half of the AP test, as opposed to the essaying half. I can't say that they're any easier for me than an essay will be. Sure, the essay prompts might be completely impenetrable and layered with triple meanings, but subjective tone questions and pick definitions, it seems, will always come back to bite me in the butt. Looking at how the test is scored, however, was a bit of a relief. Regardless of the few questions I consistently get wrong, with a good enough essay grade, I can still safely get a 4 or a 5. Writing our own questions was a bit of an experience--as hard as it is to answer someone else's bizarrely crafted question, trying to come up with one yourself that still has a clear answer about a poem that (while it was incredibly good) you aren't entirely clear on, is just as hard, if not worse. I can't even blame the other group for getting questions wrong, because our group didn't even agree on the answer that we should make correct.

I still disagree with the sheer existence of an objective literary test, but at least now I can sympathize a little with the poor jerks who have to write the questions for it.

Death of a Salesman came next, and then I went to Stratford, and then I stayed home a day, and then I saw the end. It made discussion on Wednesday just a little bit difficult. Somehow, I ended up with the impression that Willy had sold his soul to Ben, and died to give his family what he thought they needed. I watched the movie on Thursday, and, to tell the truth, I really disliked it. I've read Arthur Miller before, and I've seen two different versions of The Crucible. I love The Crucible. I love John Proctor and I love Abigail and Mary and I love the story and I love how angry it makes me. I don't understand how the same man could write such diametrically different sets of characters. What makes The Crucible for me are the characters, and how real they feel. Death of a Salesman is totally lacking in that. I don't like anyone in it, and I don't think they have any redeeming qualities. There are a few things in them that pull out bits of sympathy, but I also think that most of the suffering they all go through was brought about by their own hands, so I can't feel anything but disdain and a vague pity. To be fair, this is my opinion before we discuss it in class. Maybe I'll discover hidden depths to Biff or to Willy or to someone that will make me appreciate their character, but as-is, no one in the play has redeemed themselves.

Interestingly enough, this play is going to be harder to analyze, I think, than The American Dream. While none of the dialogue of American Dream makes sense in and of itself, it's much easier to sense narrative patterns when one doesn't have to consider what the playwright is doing to make their characters believable. Absurdism might look difficult from afar, but really what it does is strip down a piece to its basic components, without believability getting in the way. Death of a Salesman, on the other hand, is not only trying to prove points and be literary, but to create a family and characters and a world that audience members feel is real and genuine. Now, personally, I don't think it does a terribly good job of it, but it's still trying, which adds a whole new layer to any given analysis.