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Wednesday, 01 December 2004
While reading Eastman's piece, I got the feeling that I was reading something very rare and very precious in that an incredibly important event was documented and saved for later generations to read. We often hear about the atrocities the United States government committed against the Native Americans when the Western side of the Northern American continent was being overtaken by white settlers-- of entire villages of defenseless, unarmed men, women and children slaughtered while sleeping, mercilessly hunted down while fleeing for their lives; about the treaties and documents that the U.S. government drew up and handed over to Native tribes in return for their cooperation, only to ignore and dishonor those treaties without so much as an acknowledgement that they ever existed. We have always heard these stories, but to read a first-hand eye-witness account by an educated, capable white American who also happened to have some Native blood in him and thus perhaps felt a personal tie to these people, was truly unique. Eastman's perspective and documentation of what happened is valuable because his word is trustworthy from many angles. It is unbiased, despite the fact that Eastman has Native blood; it is honest, and does not try to glamorize or romanticize or overexaggerate any kind of situation. I feel that we are lucky to have this piece as part of our available wealth of literature, because Eastman's writing tells a truth during a time when many white people simply wanted to deny the atrocities that were occurring. It was easier that way, I think, to pretend that the Natives were not suffering and were not being cheated, than it was to face the truth. What appalled me most about reading Eastman's piece was his description of the massacre. The way Eastman told it, American troops came into a reservation camp and were looking through tents for weapons, none of which any of the natives had. Then, from an unidentified location, there was a shot, and the troops promptly opened fire on the Native people-- men, women, children, old people, babies-- no one was spared, not even when they tried to hide or run for their lives-- they were hunted as far as three miles from the scene and killed. What is truly disgusting about this is that it would seem the American soliders were almost waiting for a chance to kill the Natives. Otherwise, why would they have been so quick to open fire on people that were so clearly unarmed? It is almost as if they were looking for an excuse to kill as many people as they could, and were happy to hear the unidentified shot because it meant that they could start shooting, but not be penalized for it later if the case were ever to come up in court. It was a sad and tragic piece to read, but as I mentioned earlier, extremely valuable because it tells the truth in an un-embellished, un-romanticized way. Eastman is a trustworthy writer, which is a large part of what makes his piece so valuable-- we know we can believe what we are reading. We have no choice. posted by: GLRitchie | 21:31 | comments (1) Monday, 29 November 2004 I found Theron Ware to be both an extremely irritating and fascinating character. The amazing this about Harold Frederic’s book is that it was so easy to relate to Theron’s situation, and to understand his progression from a devout, unspoiled Methodist minister to a damned, tortured character shunned by those he respects most. Theron’s degeneration was almost painful to witness, as a reader, because it was so easy to see what was happening to him while he was completely oblivious. It seemed that throughout the entire book, Frederic drops hints about what will be Theron’s ultimate end, and while it is so easy for readers to put the puzzle pieces together and predict his fate, it is not so easy for Theron himself. Every nuance, every sinister smile or comment made by Theron’s cherished “educators” (Sister Soulsby, Forbes, Ledsmar, Celia, etc.) is easily discernible to the reader, and we are able to see that they are scorning him. They are disgusted by his naiveté, bored by his traditionalism, appalled by his malicious taste for gossip. They tire of him quickly much as a young child does with a new toy; they see in him, in the beginning, “potential,” but decide rather quickly that the young minister isn’t worth it in the end, when it is already too late for Theron. He has come to rely on these new friends’ guidance; he feels that they are the only links he has to the real world, the only people who understand him because they think the same way he does, and when he loses them, when he discovers their scorn and their outright boredom, he is completely crushed. I do not think that Theron’s “damnation” is simply the result of falling in love with a woman entirely out of his league (Celia), but is more of a combination of all of those who contributed to his degeneration together. The tragedy of this story is that everyone and anyone has the ability to predict Theron’s ultimate end except himself, and it is naiveté that makes him vulnerable to people like Celia, Ledsmar and Forbes, and ultimately destroys him. posted by: GLRitchie | 20:24 | comments (1) Wednesday, 10 November 2004
In class the other day, I called Jack London's writing style in his short story "To Build a Fire" "simplistic" when I meant "simple" and, once I stood corrected, it got me thinking about the real difference between the two words. To the average readers who are used to reading complex, heavy, dense works like Whitman, Dickinson, etc. and who are used to beating their brains out trying to decipher the cryptic meanings behind these works, the writing style of authors like London, Stephen Crane and Ernest Hemingway might indeed strike them as ridiculously simplistic. In "To Build a Fire," for example, the word choice is uncomplicated, sentences are short, and concepts and ideas are articulated clearly with an almost childlike simplicity. There is a kind of subtle and slow repetition integrated into the piece, as if to help solidify concepts in our minds by repeating them over and over. However, herein lies the beauty of Jack London's story. I can't say, exactly, why London's writing style works for him so particularly well in this story while, if most other authors tried it, it would be a grave mistake-- but somehow it does. After reading London's story, readers are not left feeling as if they just read ten pages of remedial writing. Although the writing style is very simple, it works for London, and helps to translate a bigger concept, as well as a more clear understanding of his characters' situations. I would even go so far as to say that reading the story was indeed enjoyable, even though London's powerful descriptions of the cold made me uncomfortable. I think what struck me the most about London's story was his ability to translate to us the severity of the cold. Obviously, his main character underestimates the cold as well as the severity of his situation from the beginning, and this is his downfall, ultimately. London has the uncanny ability within the pages of this story to help us understand the gravity of his main character's situation, as well as to tell us just how cold it is-- 75 degrees below zero in the Alaskan Yukon. I felt, as I was reading the story, that I was right there with London's character, freezing to death slowly. I felt the character's panic-- understood and was right there with his thought processes as they unfolded, and I knew that if I had been in that situation I would have reacted, behaved and thought in exactly the same way. First, a struggle to stay calm against impending hysteria-- and slowly, as that calm waned and hysteria took its place, a kind of surrender to madness, as one scans their brain for all kinds of possibilities to stay alive, even if these ideas are completely unrealistic or barbaric, as was the man's idea to kill the dog and warm his hands inside the carcass. Even though London's story was simple, it was not simplistic. There is a difference. I say this because no "simplistic" author would have the ability to make you feel as if you were right there with his main character, freezing to death in the Alaskan wilderness. posted by: GLRitchie | 06:14 | comments (1) Friday, 05 November 2004 Even though Chesnutt's "The Wife of His Youth" was somewhat predictable, I really enjoyed the story because it was very different from everything else that we have read. Also, it told a heart-warming story and seemed to have a happy ending, a rare occurrence in the majority of literature. However, while reading Chesnutt's piece, I had to wonder about the ending-- if it was, in fact, truly a happy one, or if it just seemed that way on the surface. In the story Mr. Ryder chooses to "claim" his old wife who found him after 25 years, despite the fact that that very evening he was planning to ask another, younger, lighter-skinned woman to be his wife. In the story Mr. Ryder claims his old wife and acknowledges the fact that they were married, but the story completely ends there and readers are left wondering what will happen next. We can assume that Mr. Ryder would ask his wife of his youth to move in with him and restart their life together as a married couple would, but nowhere in the story do we have assurance that this will actually happen. It is a distinct possibility that Mr. Ryder could simply acknowledge his former wife, but continue on with his life much as he would have had she not come into the picture at all. We are left wondering if, in fact, Mr. Ryder acknowledged her merely out of guilt and obligation, or if he did it because he truly loved her and was moved by her loyalty to him as well. But for all intents and purposes we are led to believe that Mr. Ryder doesn't really love his old wife anymore and that what he really wants is to continue on with his new life apart from her. After all, if he truly desired the presence of his old wife in his life, wouldn't he have continued searching for her much as she did for him? And when she found him, wouldn't he have acknowledged her right away and been incredibly excited to see her again, instead of at first playing a charade and pretending to be someone entirely different from who he actually was? And we must also wonder what will happen to the two once they resume their former life together: they are two completely different people now, having lived 25 years apart from one another, and might have very little left in common at this point, whereas when they were younger their mutual struggles and hardships through slavery bound them together. Mr. Ryder's former wife now finds him an extremely prominent and distinguished gentleman who is obviously ashamed of being black and does everything he can to rise above his status. How is Mr. Ryder's former wife supposed to live with him knowing that he is ashamed of her and, furthermore, doesn't really want to be with her as much as he does with someone else? While it seemed the story ended well, if the reader takes more than a moment to make conjectures about how that marriage would continue on after the story's end, it would be difficult to assume that it would go smoothly or that either party could live happily with each other. posted by: GLRitchie | 21:04 | comments (1) Monday, 01 November 2004 Overall, I am really enjoying reading "Conjure Tales" because it something so entirely different. The stories are incredibly simplistic while surprisingly complex at the same time. So far the tale that I have found most interesting is the story of "Dave's Neckliss." The story is, oddly enough, almost flippantly tragic. It tells the story of an obedient young male slave, in love and happy, who is wrongly accused of theft and cruelly punished to the point that it drives him crazy. Our narrator, Julius, tells the tale somewhat nonchalantly (despite his tears) and readers really must take the time to contemplate the particulars of the tragedy that Julius describes. In reality, it is really quite ugly. As we discussed in class on Friday, I, too, was really surprised that Dave believed that he had turned into a ham after wearing the ham for only a month. While reading the tale, I was led to believe that he had worn the ham for much longer, due to the severity of his mental illness. Yet, after merely a month of wearing the ham, Dave admits to Julius that he thinks he is, in fact, becoming the dreadful object that hung around his neck for so long, and eventually Julius finds Dave in the smokehouse after he hung himself, as if he intended to cure himself just as one would a side of ham. The story really is quite tragic and ironic-- Dave's master as well as all of the other slaves finally realize that Dave was innocent all along, but by the time they find this out, they are too late-- Dave is already dead, having lost the respect of his master, overseer and fellow slaves never getting the chance to be redeemed in life. I thought that the concept of slave manipulation in the novel was really interesting. I did not think that there could be any other reason for Dave telling his master what he learned from the Bible beyond wanting to be allowed to continue reading from it as well as preaching to the other slaves. I think that part of what was so fascinating about Dave's character was how seemingly innocent and naive he was-- but in reality, I think there was a lot more to his character than meets the eye. posted by: GLRitchie | 06:15 | comments I posted twice on Jewett's "Country of the Pointed Firs" because for some reason I thought that my first post was never published, so I started from scratch. Oh well! posted by: GLRitchie | 05:57 | comments I found Sarah Orne Jewett's "The Country of the Pointed Firs" largely disappointing for a number of reasons, but namely because I had difficulty identifying a defining message or main point in the novel. I understand that many critics identify Jewett's novel as a "local color" piece whose sole aim is to glorify, romanticize and describe the beauty of coastal Maine, where the story is set, as well as to exemplify the daily life of the area's inhabitants. I had difficulty accepting that this was all there was to the novel, however-- I thought that there surely must be more to it than Jewett's simple and romantic descriptions, vignettes and tableaus. However, as far as I could see, there really was not. Most novels begin and end somewhat predictably in that they have a similar plot structure-- they begin with a somewhat flat plot, then that plot builds into some kind of climax or turning point, and then there is falling action into either a resolution or a problem/situation left unresolved. Usually that climax or turning point culminates into some sort of main point or message about the novel-- the reader walks away understanding exactly what it was the author was trying to get across by writing their piece. I did not see this kind of plot structure in Jewett's novel at all, however. What I found were a series of seemingly pointless stories about various local inhabitants and their life experiences, none of which struck me as particularly ground-breaking or earth-shattering. We never learn who the narrator is-- she (we assume it is a she) seems to serve merely as a vessel for these other local natives to share their stories through. These "stories" are indeed shared, and then-- it seems-- nothing comes of them after that. The stories are told and then the book moves on to the tale of another inhabitant or another experience. Readers are not sure what, exactly, they are to take from these tales. Is there a moral lesson? Is there a point to any of them? Or are they simply "good stories," local Maine natives living their lives and having a good time? We never really know. I understand that some critics speculate that there is more to the novel than meets the eye. Some critics have made the case that the novel contains reference to racism, incest and adultery. While veiled and subtle, these references may very well exist in the novel-- after all, who really knows what the author was thinking when she wrote it besides the author herself? However, I personally did not note those references while reading the novel, and am more inclined to think that it is just wishful thinking on many critics' parts that there is more to this novel than meets the eye. In my opinion, the sad reality it that there really is not. The novel is what it is, however disappointing it may be to some. posted by: GLRitchie | 05:52 | comments (1) Friday, 29 October 2004 Sarah Orne Jewett's "The Country of the Pointed Firs" struck me, when I first read it, as little more than a simple, enjoyable, quick read which Jewett wrote merely in an attempt to glorify the New England landscape and way of life during the era in which she lived. I found the novel to be quite slow-going-- slow going in that it never seemed to quite get to any kind of main point or moral or climax. Most stories and novels are written in the typical pyramid style, where a story begins slowly, and builds to a climax or a turning point, then falls from there where an issue is either resolved or left unfinished. Perhaps the reason I was most frustrated with Jewett's novel was that the action and plot of the story remained fairly stable-- there never really was any dramatic turning point, nor was there a climax or even some kind of moral main point. Jewett, more than anything, seemed to be imparting to us the importance of the comfort of a home life, as well as the importance of building bonds with and listening to the stories and experiences of those around us, and in turn valuing those experiences. Overall, I felt Jewett's novel to be very flat. I know there is some major criticism out there right now that the novel makes veiled references to incest, sexual immorality and even racism, but when I was reading the novel, personally, that is not the impression that I got. The novel seemed too innocent and unaffected for that. I am not saying that the inclusion of these references is impossible-- who really knows what the author was thinking when she wrote the book, besides the author herself? However, I do not personally believe that Jewett meant to allude to any of these shocking subjects in her novel. I saw it as a commentary and a description of the lovely New England countryside and the natives' way of life...and little more. Perhaps this is why, as a whole, I found the novel to be so disappointing. posted by: GLRitchie | 05:14 | comments (1) Friday, 15 October 2004
I genuinely enjoyed reading Maria Cristina Mena's "The Vine-Leaf" as well as Sui Sin Far's "Mrs. Spring Fragrance" more than any of the other pieces we have studied so far in this course. Of the two, Mena's piece was probably my favorite. It was eclectic, original and had enough of her native flavor sprinkled liberally throughout the story (the setting--Mexico--, character names--Malsufrido, etc.--, and the occasional Spanish word/phrase--"penitente," "Valgame Dios!" ) to add flavor and originality to the piece. I also enjoyed the Vine-Leaf because it was somewhat of a suspense/cliffhanger mystery-- unlike a lot of the literature we have read so far, I was really interested in continuing on with the story because I was genuinely interested in finding out what was going to happen next and how the story would end. The story had such an air of mystery and thrill that even though Mena's story was not-so-believable, I was more than willing to suspend my knowledge of reality for awhile and try to believe the story that Mena was telling. We forget sometimes, reading bland, run-of-the-mill literature, what a fresh perspective non-native American authors bring to their storytelling. For this reason, I also enjoyed "Mrs. Spring Fragrance." I thought the tale was an excellent example of cross-cultural differences, and the difficulty some cultures sometimes have assimilating to American customs and traditions and understandings. For example, in this tale, it was very difficult for Mr. Spring Fragrance and his neighbors to understand the American custom of marrying for love, when in most Asian cultures of the time, marriage came first and love was secondary. For some reason Mrs. Spring Fragrance is able to understand and assimilate quite easily, but her husband has a much more difficult time, which causes some problems later on down the road. Perhaps one of the things which I found most interesting about "Mrs. Spring Fragrance" was the letter that Jade wrote to her husband. Her blatant reference to American racism is so obvious that it seems impossible to think that her references to her husband's one-dollar shave as opposed to the white man's fifteen cents, or the jailed cousin, were not sarcastic references. It does not seem likely that she could refer to those so knowledgeably and knowingly and not have some sort of negative opinion on the matter. The way she chooses to address the issues, however, is intriguing-- it interests me that she does not express her discontent in a more roundabout way. To be honest, when I first read the piece I thought that what turned out to be Jade's sarcasm was, in fact, a genuine comment! Perhaps her sarcasm and irony is more effective in this situation, however. posted by: GLRitchie | 07:10 | comments (2) Sunday, 10 October 2004 I have been thinking a lot lately about what defines "good" literature. I'm not sure where the idea came from that in order to be considered "quality literature" it has to be difficult to understand, but I get the feeling sometimes that a lot of people think that (I am the first to admit that we, as English majors, can kind of be literary snobs). Well, OK, so the definition of "good" literature is open to interpretation. I got the feeling when we were reading "Under the Lion's Paw" that the class did not hold this particular work is as high regard as, say, Dickinson or Whitman, because the story was very straightforward, written in a simple style that told the story easily and in a completely unaffected, uncomplicated style. For me, reading this piece was like a breath of fresh air-- not because it didn't require me to think, but because the author made his points crystal clear. We did not have to go searching for a meaning and in the end still feel unsure as to whether our interpretations were correct; we had the assurance of knowing that we understood the piece correctly. However, just because the piece told a simple, uncomplicated story does not make it invaluable (obviously the instructor never would have assigned it if she thought this were so). I think the piece clearly demonstrated a literary style that we are learning about right now (realism) and helped us to get a better understanding of the harsh aspects of life in an unsettled West through the telling of the Haskin family's experiences. I believe there is a lot of value in pieces even if they don't require heavy analysis; everyone writes their pieces for a reason and tells a story because they think it is worth telling. posted by: GLRitchie | 07:19 | comments (1) |
thanks to squidfingers for the background