Even though we've only been through three (or so) chapters of Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison, there's almost too much to be said. We've been introduced to a host of characters, and it appears as if time has simply flown by. I mean, by the end of Chapter Four Milkman is a little over thirty years old! Despite how "fast-paced" the novel appears to be, at least in terms of coverage of time, I'm really enjoying the book so far.
One thing that I did want to focus on was the superiority complex that Milkman seems to have become completely comfortable with by the end of the third chapter of the novel. In theory, it doesn't surprise me that Milkman could have developed a completely self-centered and bolstered nature. Unlike a lot of other African-Americans during this time period, Milkman is living in luxury. Like Mr. Mitchell said during one of our discussions, he's essentially walked into fortune--he doesn't have to go through the effort of "hunting for it" like Macon II did. He has a life potentially already mapped out for him, yet he seems to be struggling with whether or not it's a life that he wants to lead.
It's evident that Milkman has made changes in terms of having a self-centered attitude as the years have gone by. I think this contrast is most evident in the scene in which Milkman has a relatively tense conversation with Guitar. There were several parts of this conversation that made me come to the conclusion that he's become increasingly self-concerned.
.First of all, he gets really defensive when he believes that he's being talked to like a "snot-nosed kid" and spoken to with a "funny tone," He implores that Guitar is keen on giving him a lecture, and he doesn't want any of that. However, I thought it was pretty evident that Guitar really was just trying to highlight some of the differences between them, Even though they've been friends for years and years and years, it doesn't change the fact that they've sort of drifted off in different directions. I was just surprised when Milkman felt as if he was being talked down to; it made me feel as if he had some sort of insecurity with being bossed around? I'm not entirely sure, but it was definitely food for though.
We see a similar thing when Guitar starts to criticize Milkman's lifestyle, and mentions how he's always hanging out at the Honoré. Guitar says that he'd hate going there, Milkman says that he used to enjoy going there--except Guitar never did enjoy going there. Because of Milkman's delusion which comes from his sense of entitlement, he never even realized that Guitar would go with him, but only because he was being dragged; Guitar never really got any enjoyment out of the experience. It's this type of thing--being so absorbed in your own lifestyle and habits, and therefore overlooking how people are actually feeling--that leads me to believe that Milkman has indeed become someone who's "feelin' himself" a little bit. (Feeling yourself: to be pleased with yourself, your sense of style, or your sense of well being. I think it applies here!)
Milkman, in general, does seem to have it all! This complex (which also probably has something to do with being an adult) is interesting to see on Milkman, when before we've seen him at somewhat cowardly periods in his life. I'm very invested in seeing how this plays out as we get further into the novel!
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Friday, November 27, 2015
Mortality--In More Ways Than One
Finishing Wide Sargasso Sea was certainly... a journey. We've experienced emotional rifts, a tumultuous marriage, and what has become an inside look of a character trapped in another book. A prevailing theme that I encountered while reading Rhys' novel was the overlying theme of mortality. Though it's the first thing that springs to mind, I'm not talking about just the physical deaths of certain people, like Antoinette's mother.
Specifically, I'd like to return to a quote that was said by that very person towards the beginning of the novel. When Antoinette inquires about Christophine to her mother, her mother's response reveals something about her outlook on the world.
'I daresay we would've died if she'd turned against us and that would have been a better fate. To die and be forgotten and at peace. Not to know that one is abandoned, lied about, helpless.'
At the time that we read this, it likely appeared incredibly pessimistic, and cast a cloud of negativity over Antoinette's mother from every scene on. However, it's important to note that we see Antoinette emulating some of these same feelings towards life when we see her become involved with Richard. Not overtly--she doesn't necessary say the exact same thing, but it's all in how she's portrayed (through Rochester's eyes) in the second part of the book.
Death doesn't only mean to cease existence and for a body to perish; death can also mean a loss of someone's sense of self and awareness, and especially an awareness of the fact that they might as well be dead. That sounds incredibly morbid, but I definitely saw similar sentiments in Antoinette. Take a small snippet of a conversation between Rochester and Antoinette as a prime example of this fascination with death and this lack of zest for life (on Antoinette's part).
"Always this talk of death. (Is she trying to tell me that is the secret of this place? That there is no other way? She knows. She knows.)
'Why did you make me want to live? Why did you do that to me?' [said Antoinette.]
'Because I wished it. Isn't that enough?'
'Yes, it is enough. But if one day you didn't wish it. What should I do then? Suppose you took this happiness away when I wasn't looking…'"
Antoinette vaguely questions the point of her existence; why would Rochester give her reason for wanting to live when it would probably be better to be dead? It's interesting that here, in this scene, she essentially gives Rochester total agency and power in controlling something as important (or, from her perspective, trivial) as her own life! It's obvious how dangerous this sentiment is, especially since Antoinette is as much of a threat to Rochester's sense of self as the environment and "secret of this place" is. Rochester basically has a direct hand not only in the fate of Antoinette's life, but also in her state of mind, as we can see later in the book.
The climax of the book, Antoinette's jumping from the balcony of the house in England, exemplifies how the original mindset of death being something that is "peace" has morphed into something that must be, if only for Antoinette's sanity. She realized during that final dream sequence that she knows what she must do.
Overall, Wide Sargasso Sea was dark. I had the movie (?) cover version of the book, in which an impassioned Antoinette is suggestively accosted by a similarly impassioned Rochester (at least I assume these were the characters portrayed on the book). In this case, it was a definitely a case of judging a book by its cover--there was almost nothing that was romantic about this book! At least not in the steamy romance drama way that was implied by the glistening wet hair and the passionate expressions on their faces. The book was overridden with subtleties that could have easily been missed, and hidden themes that definitely kept me from surface-level thinking.
Specifically, I'd like to return to a quote that was said by that very person towards the beginning of the novel. When Antoinette inquires about Christophine to her mother, her mother's response reveals something about her outlook on the world.
'I daresay we would've died if she'd turned against us and that would have been a better fate. To die and be forgotten and at peace. Not to know that one is abandoned, lied about, helpless.'
At the time that we read this, it likely appeared incredibly pessimistic, and cast a cloud of negativity over Antoinette's mother from every scene on. However, it's important to note that we see Antoinette emulating some of these same feelings towards life when we see her become involved with Richard. Not overtly--she doesn't necessary say the exact same thing, but it's all in how she's portrayed (through Rochester's eyes) in the second part of the book.
Death doesn't only mean to cease existence and for a body to perish; death can also mean a loss of someone's sense of self and awareness, and especially an awareness of the fact that they might as well be dead. That sounds incredibly morbid, but I definitely saw similar sentiments in Antoinette. Take a small snippet of a conversation between Rochester and Antoinette as a prime example of this fascination with death and this lack of zest for life (on Antoinette's part).
"Always this talk of death. (Is she trying to tell me that is the secret of this place? That there is no other way? She knows. She knows.)
'Why did you make me want to live? Why did you do that to me?' [said Antoinette.]
'Because I wished it. Isn't that enough?'
'Yes, it is enough. But if one day you didn't wish it. What should I do then? Suppose you took this happiness away when I wasn't looking…'"
Antoinette vaguely questions the point of her existence; why would Rochester give her reason for wanting to live when it would probably be better to be dead? It's interesting that here, in this scene, she essentially gives Rochester total agency and power in controlling something as important (or, from her perspective, trivial) as her own life! It's obvious how dangerous this sentiment is, especially since Antoinette is as much of a threat to Rochester's sense of self as the environment and "secret of this place" is. Rochester basically has a direct hand not only in the fate of Antoinette's life, but also in her state of mind, as we can see later in the book.
The climax of the book, Antoinette's jumping from the balcony of the house in England, exemplifies how the original mindset of death being something that is "peace" has morphed into something that must be, if only for Antoinette's sanity. She realized during that final dream sequence that she knows what she must do.
Overall, Wide Sargasso Sea was dark. I had the movie (?) cover version of the book, in which an impassioned Antoinette is suggestively accosted by a similarly impassioned Rochester (at least I assume these were the characters portrayed on the book). In this case, it was a definitely a case of judging a book by its cover--there was almost nothing that was romantic about this book! At least not in the steamy romance drama way that was implied by the glistening wet hair and the passionate expressions on their faces. The book was overridden with subtleties that could have easily been missed, and hidden themes that definitely kept me from surface-level thinking.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Friends or Foes: Dynamics of Friendship
While discussing Wide Sargasso Sea in class recently, an important discussion arose: what do we make of the friendship as illustrated by Tia and Antoinette in the very beginning of the novel. This initially comes across as something insignificant, considering that their friendship takes up all of a few pages in the novel. Though not everyone agrees, I actually do think that the argument and conflict that results between the two girls isn't all "typical" kid behavior--it's illustrative of the tension between the different racial groups in the same social situations.
It definitely could be argued that the argument over the coins could be perceived as typical kid behavior. As Mr. Mitchell noted in class, both perceived themselves to be "right" in the situation: Antoinette did her somersault underwater, despite the poor form and the fact that she was left gasping for breath at the end; Tia acknowledged that some sort of turning occurred underwater, but it was a really bad somersault, if it could be called such. The problems begin to arise not only when Tia grabbed the coins despite Antoinette's obvious disagreement, when Antoinette brings her race into play.
Some things are always true: kids don't always know what the heck they're saying, especially when they're making comments based on a racially-charged community. However, Tia seems to have some understanding of what status and class mean based on race, despite not actually caring about this fact. She likens Antoinette and her family to "beggars," in an effort to say, "hey, yeah, I know you just implied that I should be below you, but here are reasons x, y, and z why you're irrelevant." There's a sense of Tia just saying things that she's picked up from people in her surroundings, but she knows that they're applicable in this situation, and Antoinette responds negatively--this leads me to believe that they both have some understanding of how race relates to who they are and their "status."
The ending scene, where Antoinette and Tia last see each other, is basically the culmination of the tensions between the two. Antoinette actually runs towards Tia, but instead of being met with the acceptance and comfort that she desires, she's faced with the harsh reality of what can and cannot be: the two aren't supposed to get along because of their race. Tia understands this, and she's crying--it would be one thing is Antoinette was only met with hostility and anger, but it's clearly a painful experience for both of them.
Antoinette mentions that looking at Tia is like looking in a mirror: they're both feeling the same hurt and pain, but society tells them that really their friendship shouldn't exist. This sort of situation inclines me to believe that they don't just have a "typical" friendship between each other, at least not past the point that there was conflict.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Is Human Life Meaningless?
Over the course of "The Stranger," there's one thing that Mersault comes to realize (which also reflects an opinion that Camus holds): human life is essentially meaningless. Mersault did grapple with some of these ideas throughout the book, and we can see this in some of the comments that he makes. Think back to when his love interest, Marie, had asked him if they could get married, and if Mersault thought that he loved her. The responses are ambivalent, and he notes that it doesn't really matter either way whether or not they get married, suggesting that there's not really a point to either of things--though he'll get married if that's what she wants.
I wouldn't say that we can extrapolate from this example that Mersault is aligned with the belief that nothing matters at all (including human life), but we do see that these sorts of ideas are manifested in smaller ways. This is only towards the beginning of the novel, and the end is what leads. Mersault to come to the conclusion that human life is meaningless all around. I think the most important scene to illustrate this is the conflict between Mersault and the chaplain. The conversation, steeped with pity for Mersault on the part of the chaplain, starts out only mildly uncomfortable for Mersault. The chaplain insists that Mersault come to god, but Mersault notes that he "has very little time left, and [he] wasn't going to waste it on God." After the chaplain insists that Mersault should have called him "father," and that he was on his side, Mersault snaps, and makes his important realization.
Everyone is going to die at some point. "All alike would be condemned to die one day; his turn, too, would come like the others'. And what different could it make if, after being charged with murder, he were executed because he didn't weep at his mother's funeral, since it all came to the same thing in the end?" (Also, bear with me; I have the British translation of the text!) Mersault is making the point that whether or not he cried at his mother's funeral inevitably means nothing; her end was coming, and why would it make a difference if tears were shed? He could also be saying that the fact that he wasn't outwardly emotional wouldn't have saved him, as he was going to be condemned either way, which ties back into the fact that human life has a meaninglessness to it.
"It was as if that great rush of anger has washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe." Right before this quote, Mersault comes to an understanding about why his mother continued to live life despite the end being so near; the universe didn't care about anyone or their existence, so why should people care about what's going to happen after their death? This is why Mersault expresses that he wants to continue to live life.
The Stranger, through a story of a man caught up in murder, really grapples with some interesting points about philosophy and existentialism. This is probably why the chaplain feels so uncomfortable; what's the point of living by the ideals of religion if you're nothing more than a speck to the universe?
I wouldn't say that we can extrapolate from this example that Mersault is aligned with the belief that nothing matters at all (including human life), but we do see that these sorts of ideas are manifested in smaller ways. This is only towards the beginning of the novel, and the end is what leads. Mersault to come to the conclusion that human life is meaningless all around. I think the most important scene to illustrate this is the conflict between Mersault and the chaplain. The conversation, steeped with pity for Mersault on the part of the chaplain, starts out only mildly uncomfortable for Mersault. The chaplain insists that Mersault come to god, but Mersault notes that he "has very little time left, and [he] wasn't going to waste it on God." After the chaplain insists that Mersault should have called him "father," and that he was on his side, Mersault snaps, and makes his important realization.
Everyone is going to die at some point. "All alike would be condemned to die one day; his turn, too, would come like the others'. And what different could it make if, after being charged with murder, he were executed because he didn't weep at his mother's funeral, since it all came to the same thing in the end?" (Also, bear with me; I have the British translation of the text!) Mersault is making the point that whether or not he cried at his mother's funeral inevitably means nothing; her end was coming, and why would it make a difference if tears were shed? He could also be saying that the fact that he wasn't outwardly emotional wouldn't have saved him, as he was going to be condemned either way, which ties back into the fact that human life has a meaninglessness to it.
"It was as if that great rush of anger has washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe." Right before this quote, Mersault comes to an understanding about why his mother continued to live life despite the end being so near; the universe didn't care about anyone or their existence, so why should people care about what's going to happen after their death? This is why Mersault expresses that he wants to continue to live life.
The Stranger, through a story of a man caught up in murder, really grapples with some interesting points about philosophy and existentialism. This is probably why the chaplain feels so uncomfortable; what's the point of living by the ideals of religion if you're nothing more than a speck to the universe?
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
How do we feel about Gregor?
When you first begin to read The Metamorphosis, we seemed to be dropped in media res. Gregor Samsa just is a giant bug--we don't get any lead up to a potential transformation or hints of witchcraft, but just a comment on how Gregor's night sleep was troubling. This interesting decision on where to begin the story is important, as we really learn a lot more about Gregor based on how he's reacting to the situation. Essentially, he knows no more than the readers do about what's happened to him; it's also interesting that we'll be picking up more background as Gregor does about his bug condition.
Gregor's initial reaction is not what I would have expected. He describes his errant limbs and toughened body very matter-of-factly, and doesn't seem to panic. Instead, he focuses on the plight of his job and how he's missed the five-o'clock train, which therefore puts him in a position of being late. Honestly, I highly doubt that anyone that was even remotely on the same page with the gravity of such a transformation wouldn't focus on something so trivial. Oh, wait--but I'm considering it trivial. Clearly being late and not showing up to work at all is something that weighs on Gregor's mind, which lets the readers know where his priorities lie.
Relating to this, an interesting viewpoint/observation was brought up in the discussion of yesterday's class. If not missing work has a bigger impact on Gregor's thought process than his being transformed into a giant insect, what does that tell us? Someone said that he clearly had a lot to sustain; he's paying back his parents debts (the fact of which is, uh, awkwardly juxtaposed with how lavish the father's meals are, but I digress). We also get a glimpse of Gregor getting angry as how his boss seems to use all of the subordinates as pawns, and made a someone pathetic comment about gettin' the ol' boss back in five years or so... And from this, the best positive attitude I can use is "diligent." He's already been working for so long, and he's fully prepared and dedicated to finishing what he needs to do. So that's good?
Another interesting comment that was made was that Gregor was basically a suck-up. Even in his present (horrifying) state, he still makes an extreme effort to explain himself to the chief and assure him that his claims were unjustly made. What stood out to me most in this vein was how it was implied that he was even happy when his father didn't keep swinging the walking-stick at him as he was attempting to turn around. I found that very, very unsettling how out-of-place Gregor's mindset seemed to be with how people were perceiving the situation. There's nothing that actually indicates to the others that this massive organism was Gregor, and he knew that his voice didn't sound right to them. The way he was responding during that little back and forth was definitely baffling.
It's amazing how much was actually revealed or alluded to about Gregor just from the first few scenes we've read thus far. He's a little mind-boggling, not inherently interesting, and aloof. I'm excited to see where his characterization goes as we continue!
Gregor's initial reaction is not what I would have expected. He describes his errant limbs and toughened body very matter-of-factly, and doesn't seem to panic. Instead, he focuses on the plight of his job and how he's missed the five-o'clock train, which therefore puts him in a position of being late. Honestly, I highly doubt that anyone that was even remotely on the same page with the gravity of such a transformation wouldn't focus on something so trivial. Oh, wait--but I'm considering it trivial. Clearly being late and not showing up to work at all is something that weighs on Gregor's mind, which lets the readers know where his priorities lie.
Relating to this, an interesting viewpoint/observation was brought up in the discussion of yesterday's class. If not missing work has a bigger impact on Gregor's thought process than his being transformed into a giant insect, what does that tell us? Someone said that he clearly had a lot to sustain; he's paying back his parents debts (the fact of which is, uh, awkwardly juxtaposed with how lavish the father's meals are, but I digress). We also get a glimpse of Gregor getting angry as how his boss seems to use all of the subordinates as pawns, and made a someone pathetic comment about gettin' the ol' boss back in five years or so... And from this, the best positive attitude I can use is "diligent." He's already been working for so long, and he's fully prepared and dedicated to finishing what he needs to do. So that's good?
Another interesting comment that was made was that Gregor was basically a suck-up. Even in his present (horrifying) state, he still makes an extreme effort to explain himself to the chief and assure him that his claims were unjustly made. What stood out to me most in this vein was how it was implied that he was even happy when his father didn't keep swinging the walking-stick at him as he was attempting to turn around. I found that very, very unsettling how out-of-place Gregor's mindset seemed to be with how people were perceiving the situation. There's nothing that actually indicates to the others that this massive organism was Gregor, and he knew that his voice didn't sound right to them. The way he was responding during that little back and forth was definitely baffling.
It's amazing how much was actually revealed or alluded to about Gregor just from the first few scenes we've read thus far. He's a little mind-boggling, not inherently interesting, and aloof. I'm excited to see where his characterization goes as we continue!
Saturday, September 26, 2015
"The Sun Also Rises" and the fishing scene
During our in-class discussion yesterday we talked about the fishing scene in Spain, which included Jake, Bill, and the good outdoors. There were two main points of interest brought up that I thought were interesting; what this trip did for Jake, and the 'bromance' (if you will) between Jake and Bill.
First of all, I think a very important thing to note is that fact that Cohn is not present during this particular point in the Spain trip. It's been clear throughout the entire duration of the book that Cohn has been a particularly grating part of Jake's days--it seems like any time they're involved in a situation together (the scene with Jake and Cohn plus Cohn's wife; the scene where Cohn decides to exercise his masculinity and demand that Jake revoke his "going to hell" sentiment; I'm sure there will be more the more we read), I wonder more and more why Jake is around him. Jake himself noted that he was Cohn's tennis friend, while Cohn considered Jake to be one of his besties--there's some incongruity there. With that in mind, the absence of Cohn provides Jake some relief, and a space in which I think he can authentically be himself. I think that Jake spends a lot of time putting up a facade, and with the advent of the whole Cohn-Brett situation (which, to him, shouldn't even be a situation to begin with) things have just been tense.
I was surprised when Bill brought up Brett. I'm 100% sure that an exchange like the one that occurred between Bill and Jake wouldn't have happened if Cohn had ended up coming along, after all. I also think their back-and-forth on the topic is illustrative of the relationship that the two men have.
Up until this point, Jake hadn't really been discussing "Brett business" much with anyone else but, well, Brett. I think it's really telling that Jake didn't tell him to shove off immediately, and that Bill felt inclined that he could ask such a question. Mr. Mitchell brought up the point of whether or not their friendship could be extended and called "brotherly love," but I think that's slightly more complicated. It's hard to really know what platonic love would look like for Jake, especially considering that he's a rather withdrawn person and doesn't share his feelings very often. However, I do think that there is something to be said for the fact that Jake and Bill can joke so freely with each other and even briefly bring up such topics as women.
First of all, I think a very important thing to note is that fact that Cohn is not present during this particular point in the Spain trip. It's been clear throughout the entire duration of the book that Cohn has been a particularly grating part of Jake's days--it seems like any time they're involved in a situation together (the scene with Jake and Cohn plus Cohn's wife; the scene where Cohn decides to exercise his masculinity and demand that Jake revoke his "going to hell" sentiment; I'm sure there will be more the more we read), I wonder more and more why Jake is around him. Jake himself noted that he was Cohn's tennis friend, while Cohn considered Jake to be one of his besties--there's some incongruity there. With that in mind, the absence of Cohn provides Jake some relief, and a space in which I think he can authentically be himself. I think that Jake spends a lot of time putting up a facade, and with the advent of the whole Cohn-Brett situation (which, to him, shouldn't even be a situation to begin with) things have just been tense.
I was surprised when Bill brought up Brett. I'm 100% sure that an exchange like the one that occurred between Bill and Jake wouldn't have happened if Cohn had ended up coming along, after all. I also think their back-and-forth on the topic is illustrative of the relationship that the two men have.
Up until this point, Jake hadn't really been discussing "Brett business" much with anyone else but, well, Brett. I think it's really telling that Jake didn't tell him to shove off immediately, and that Bill felt inclined that he could ask such a question. Mr. Mitchell brought up the point of whether or not their friendship could be extended and called "brotherly love," but I think that's slightly more complicated. It's hard to really know what platonic love would look like for Jake, especially considering that he's a rather withdrawn person and doesn't share his feelings very often. However, I do think that there is something to be said for the fact that Jake and Bill can joke so freely with each other and even briefly bring up such topics as women.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Reaction to "The Hours"
I had no idea what I was expecting from The Hours, but I held out the hope that it wouldn't be as imminently depressing as Mrs. Dalloway. The movie forced me to look at some very real and very intense themes regarding the nature of the human experience.
The film follows the lives of three women, all in different time periods: Clarissa Vaughn, Laura Brown, and Virginia Woolf. Clarissa, who resides in modern-day New York, wants to throw a celebratory party for her friend Richard, who is afflicted with AIDs. Laura is an unhappy, pregnant housewife in the 1950s, who struggles with the will to live and conformity. The movie covers Virginia Woolf as she wrestles with her mental illness while also trying to write her novel.
The first thing I noticed were the parallels between movie Clarissa and book Clarissa. Both of them are attempting to throw a party. Even though their reasons for doing so are different, I saw that both of them were still attempting to distract each other from their current lives. In the book, Clarissa says that she's throwing parties as an "offering" of sorts, and iterates that without her parties she doesn't really have much. (She doesn't know anything about those "equators.") In The Hours, Clarissa isn't officially romantically involved with Richard (who is a completely different character, and is most closely compared to Septimus), but is with Sally Lester ("Seton"). Despite already having a partner, she shares a tense and passionate kiss with Richard. When Richard continually refers to her as "Mrs. Dalloway," she feels snubbed; he's just pointing out the fact that Clarissa is using him as an escape and distraction from her own life.
There were three scenes that are I thought exemplified amazing cinematography. The first two were the beginning and ending scenes, where the opening and finishing lines of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter are read and Woolf slowly lets herself become engulfed by river rapids. Out of context, the scenes are still good, but I couldn't help but be completely struck by ending line, having actually watched the rest of the movie: "Always the years between us. Always the years. Always the love. Always the hours." It's a telling quote, presumably referring to how all of the women are connected through the years, and how love (or the lack thereof) was an important component to the women's plights.
The third scene that overwhelmed me was about Laura. She had dropped her son (a tiny, adorable Richard!) off, and had gone to a hotel to read Mrs. Dalloway and contemplate whether or not she would take her own life. She's lying on her bed, gazing at the bottle of pills next to her, when water rises up (sidenote: I was totally convinced for a second that it was CGI) from the sides of the bed and overwhelms her. She gasps awake after this, indicating that she didn't actually pass away by mysterious natural circumstances, but the relation to the book is interesting. Woolf often mentions "diving" and "plunging" in Mrs. Dalloway, and the imagery of water seems to suggest a lack of control and boundaries... but the opposite is true in the movie. Both women, Laura and Woolf herself, are portrayed as calmly succumbing to their fates; Woolf with the river, and Laura in the hotel. They both appear completely in control, despite the inner turmoil they're actually experiencing.
If someone has read Mrs. Dalloway, the film can give the reader food for thought to build on what they are already familiar with. Overall, The Hours is infinitely grim, yet satisfying.
The film follows the lives of three women, all in different time periods: Clarissa Vaughn, Laura Brown, and Virginia Woolf. Clarissa, who resides in modern-day New York, wants to throw a celebratory party for her friend Richard, who is afflicted with AIDs. Laura is an unhappy, pregnant housewife in the 1950s, who struggles with the will to live and conformity. The movie covers Virginia Woolf as she wrestles with her mental illness while also trying to write her novel.
The first thing I noticed were the parallels between movie Clarissa and book Clarissa. Both of them are attempting to throw a party. Even though their reasons for doing so are different, I saw that both of them were still attempting to distract each other from their current lives. In the book, Clarissa says that she's throwing parties as an "offering" of sorts, and iterates that without her parties she doesn't really have much. (She doesn't know anything about those "equators.") In The Hours, Clarissa isn't officially romantically involved with Richard (who is a completely different character, and is most closely compared to Septimus), but is with Sally Lester ("Seton"). Despite already having a partner, she shares a tense and passionate kiss with Richard. When Richard continually refers to her as "Mrs. Dalloway," she feels snubbed; he's just pointing out the fact that Clarissa is using him as an escape and distraction from her own life.
There were three scenes that are I thought exemplified amazing cinematography. The first two were the beginning and ending scenes, where the opening and finishing lines of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter are read and Woolf slowly lets herself become engulfed by river rapids. Out of context, the scenes are still good, but I couldn't help but be completely struck by ending line, having actually watched the rest of the movie: "Always the years between us. Always the years. Always the love. Always the hours." It's a telling quote, presumably referring to how all of the women are connected through the years, and how love (or the lack thereof) was an important component to the women's plights.
The third scene that overwhelmed me was about Laura. She had dropped her son (a tiny, adorable Richard!) off, and had gone to a hotel to read Mrs. Dalloway and contemplate whether or not she would take her own life. She's lying on her bed, gazing at the bottle of pills next to her, when water rises up (sidenote: I was totally convinced for a second that it was CGI) from the sides of the bed and overwhelms her. She gasps awake after this, indicating that she didn't actually pass away by mysterious natural circumstances, but the relation to the book is interesting. Woolf often mentions "diving" and "plunging" in Mrs. Dalloway, and the imagery of water seems to suggest a lack of control and boundaries... but the opposite is true in the movie. Both women, Laura and Woolf herself, are portrayed as calmly succumbing to their fates; Woolf with the river, and Laura in the hotel. They both appear completely in control, despite the inner turmoil they're actually experiencing.
If someone has read Mrs. Dalloway, the film can give the reader food for thought to build on what they are already familiar with. Overall, The Hours is infinitely grim, yet satisfying.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Isolation in "Mrs. Dalloway"
There are plenty of themes that are brought to the table in Mrs. Dalloway. The novel makes commentary on both social class and relationships--but what about isolation itself? Even though Woolf makes a point of trying to understand characters through their interconnected interactions, there is a definite sense of isolation that many in Mrs. Dalloway experience.
It's very clear from the beginning of the novel that Septimus feels very disconnected from the world around him; he's cut off from his own emotions (he felt nothing at the news that his good friend had died), he struggles to understand and relate to Rezia, and he feels as if he has been cornered by humanity. In the case of the advertising airplane, which originally come across to me as an experience that was unifying for the citizens, Septimus is stricken with an entirely different feeling; he feels as if the words are trying to communicate something to him specifically, and feels enlightened. He's not connected to the people that are surrounding him, especially Rezia, who, upon seeing the word made by the plane, becomes depressed with Septimus' condition. It only serves to further isolate Septimus from the one person who would understand him best.
An obvious example of Septimus' isolation is the entire scene that leads up to Septimus ending his life. It starts out with paranoia rising up in Septimus Holmes was coming upstairs. Holmes would burst open the door. Holmes would say, ‘In a funk, eh?’ Holmes would get him. But no; not Holmes; not Bradshaw.") and continues with Septimus hurriedly trying to find ways to escape. Escape is key. Despite the fact that Septimus is surrounded by people that want to help him, such as Rezia and Bradshaw (supposedly) and Holmes (also supposedly), these forces are what eventually cause Septimus to permanently recede in on himself.
This is what I think makes Mrs. Dalloway incredibly ironic. Despite the focus on relationships, the characters seem to feel very, very alone, or unable to connect in a way that is "normal."
Richard. Richard ponders ways that he could say I love you to Clarissa, and the prospect unnerves him; it's something that he feel should be so easy and simple to do, but in the end, can't find the ability to muster the words. Instead, he relies on the bouquet of flowers to hopefully get this point across to Clarissa. Though their relationship seems to "work" without much error, and the gesture seems to be well-received by Clarissa, it's still something that should be questioned. Is Mrs. Dalloway really focusing on how minute interactions between people make a significant impact and show character, or is the novel just a conglomeration of isolated individuals desperately trying (and failing) to connect with each other?
Clarissa's parties would seem to indicate the latter. The goal of parties is to ultimately bring people together, but think of what sorts of people have been brought together: individuals that feel isolated. Clarissa isn't having a great time at her own party, and neither is Peter. She takes the time to make her rounds to all of the disjointed couples and people that have turned up, but no one really seems to be enjoying themselves.
It's funny--in the end, Clarissa ended up feeling the most sincere connection with Septimus (who she didn't know!) and an old woman she had seen through a window. Mrs. Dalloway is just a cycle of isolation, and the bigger the facade the characters seem to put on, the more lonely they end up being.
It's very clear from the beginning of the novel that Septimus feels very disconnected from the world around him; he's cut off from his own emotions (he felt nothing at the news that his good friend had died), he struggles to understand and relate to Rezia, and he feels as if he has been cornered by humanity. In the case of the advertising airplane, which originally come across to me as an experience that was unifying for the citizens, Septimus is stricken with an entirely different feeling; he feels as if the words are trying to communicate something to him specifically, and feels enlightened. He's not connected to the people that are surrounding him, especially Rezia, who, upon seeing the word made by the plane, becomes depressed with Septimus' condition. It only serves to further isolate Septimus from the one person who would understand him best.
An obvious example of Septimus' isolation is the entire scene that leads up to Septimus ending his life. It starts out with paranoia rising up in Septimus Holmes was coming upstairs. Holmes would burst open the door. Holmes would say, ‘In a funk, eh?’ Holmes would get him. But no; not Holmes; not Bradshaw.") and continues with Septimus hurriedly trying to find ways to escape. Escape is key. Despite the fact that Septimus is surrounded by people that want to help him, such as Rezia and Bradshaw (supposedly) and Holmes (also supposedly), these forces are what eventually cause Septimus to permanently recede in on himself.
This is what I think makes Mrs. Dalloway incredibly ironic. Despite the focus on relationships, the characters seem to feel very, very alone, or unable to connect in a way that is "normal."
Richard. Richard ponders ways that he could say I love you to Clarissa, and the prospect unnerves him; it's something that he feel should be so easy and simple to do, but in the end, can't find the ability to muster the words. Instead, he relies on the bouquet of flowers to hopefully get this point across to Clarissa. Though their relationship seems to "work" without much error, and the gesture seems to be well-received by Clarissa, it's still something that should be questioned. Is Mrs. Dalloway really focusing on how minute interactions between people make a significant impact and show character, or is the novel just a conglomeration of isolated individuals desperately trying (and failing) to connect with each other?
Clarissa's parties would seem to indicate the latter. The goal of parties is to ultimately bring people together, but think of what sorts of people have been brought together: individuals that feel isolated. Clarissa isn't having a great time at her own party, and neither is Peter. She takes the time to make her rounds to all of the disjointed couples and people that have turned up, but no one really seems to be enjoying themselves.
It's funny--in the end, Clarissa ended up feeling the most sincere connection with Septimus (who she didn't know!) and an old woman she had seen through a window. Mrs. Dalloway is just a cycle of isolation, and the bigger the facade the characters seem to put on, the more lonely they end up being.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
My Impression of "Mrs. Dalloway"
Transitioning from The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker to Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf was significantly challenging for me.
Howie, the "protagonist," if you will, was extremely straightforward in his explanations and presentation of the world. He had a lot to say about, well, everything! He filled the reader in non-linearly on background and context of what was happening with surface reactions. For example, in his conversations with his coworkers, he carefully pulls apart the societal concerns, wondering whether or not things would be proper improper or awkward. I liked how things were narrated; even though there were long and winding sentences, they were straightforward and easily graspable.
However, Mrs. Dalloway was a completely different novel in terms of narration. Woolf enjoys long, winding sentences, connected with a long series of semicolons. In terms of narration... there isn't really a definitive narrator. The phrase mentioned in class was "free indirect discourse," which Woolf uses to delve into the personal lives and thoughts of several characters, as opposed to just one as we see in commonly with first/third person speech.
We discussed Woolf's goal of being able to capture the human essence, and to really explore what characters were like, and her use of free indirect discourse captures this well. At first, it was really hard to adjust to the fact that I was getting a look at not only Clarissa's point of view (which I had expected), but characters like Peter Walsh and Sally Seton. It's integral to the plot to be able to see how characters other than Clarissa move about their day; we wouldn't be able to fully understand just how caught up Peter was with Clarissa, or background information on other characters.
Seeing Clarissa from another perspective is integral. We already know what Clarissa and her motives appear to be just based on what she's thinking about her parties, but knowing Peter's perspective is invaluable. We see Clarissa notice Peter, who is sulking and watching her at her party. However, we also see Peter scoff and curse Clarissa as she travels between her guests, being the "perfect hostess." It causes the reader to notice how unaligned the characters are; not only in their own thoughts, but in how they think other characters might be thinking about them.
This back-and-forth narration could definitely be confusing, but overall, I think it's what the novel needed to get Woolf's point across: all characters are somehow interconnected, and this connection is important to understanding people themselves. From Clarissa's housemaid and her fascination with Elizabeth to Septimus and his case against humanity, all characters are related. With many other novels it would be impossible to see this link between characters when we're mostly only presented with their surface actions and the thoughts of only a single person or two.
This back-and-forth narration could definitely be confusing, but overall, I think it's what the novel needed to get Woolf's point across: all characters are somehow interconnected, and this connection is important to understanding people themselves. From Clarissa's housemaid and her fascination with Elizabeth to Septimus and his case against humanity, all characters are related. With many other novels it would be impossible to see this link between characters when we're mostly only presented with their surface actions and the thoughts of only a single person or two.
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