Puja Parekh
January 24, 2006
Fowles 9-89
I love the Victorian era. Everything was so beautiful.
Even though the beautiful dresses and ancient courting rituals
are impractical in our times, it’s still great to be able
to enjoy them in a time where they were more accepted, if not
needed. John Fowles did a pretty good job setting the period
in this piece, even with it being narrated from a point a hundred
years later. He achieved what he set out to create, that is
a world “as real as, but other than the world that is”
(96). His characters are not perfect, but there is beauty in
the reality that these imperfections adhere to.
The French Lieutenant’s Woman reminded
me strongly of Hester Prynne, what with her being chastised
by society for falling with a man. Both were strong, silent
women with the capability to bear enormous amounts of pain.
Sarah Woodruff seems smarter though. Through her despair and
sorrow she has an amazing judgment of a person’s true
character, and I can’t help rooting for her in the story.
She seems to be of a more modern dimension than the other women
in the tale, and sometimes even seems a bit out of place in
the period. I suppose this gives her something in common with
Charles, whose scientific thoughts and theories made him a progressive.
Now that the two have realized that they have a “common
enemy” (106), it shall be interesting to see where the
story goes.
The other characters in the story are interesting as well. It’s
clear that although Fowles may not like them, he does love them
enough to allow them “the freedom to exist” (97).
Charles’s obsession for sea urchins makes him both silly
and lovable. Ernestina’s fits of jealousy are equally
amusing as they are reasonable (in her own head of course),
but quite unfounded. Charles’s assistant Sam has several
dimensions as well, as is seen by his desire to rise above the
others of his class and stature. Fowles gives even the maidservant
Mary more depth that I would expect of a minor character: we
are made privy to her inner thoughts and jealousy about Ernestina.
What I really like about John Fowles is how sly and witty he
is. I love the way he randomly interjects his own sarcastic
opinions into the narrative, reminding us not to take the book
too seriously. Mrs. Poulteney’s character is the completely
silly woman that is found in so many tales (the one that comes
to mind is Mrs. Bennett in Pride and Prejudice) and is a lot
of fun to read about as there is usually so comedy involved.
The repartee between Charles and Ernestina at their early meetings
is clever enough to be put to screen. I guess I’m enjoying
this book thoroughly at the moment; not just as an assignment
but also as a delightful tale. Now I just have to wait and see
what happens next.
Puja Parekh
January 30, 2006
Fowles 89-182
I wonder if I’m the only one that certain
aspects of Sarah irk. I understand that she suffers from the
misfortune of being between two classes. I also see that she
has “a natural respect, a love intelligence, beauty, learning”
and other desires she is not socially allowed to have (169).
But isn’t her entire approach to her situation with Varguennes
a bit melodramatic? She admits to having a choice whether or
not to take his bed, and opts to do it “so that people
should point at me, should say, there walks
the French Lieutenant’s Whore” (175). Sarah wants
to be different from the people around her, and she sees this
as one way she can. And even though I can see her motivations,
if not sympathize with them, I still think that she was very
much driven by her pride in her intellectual superiority. She
did what was possible to separate her from others given the
societal restrictions of the time.
Do not get me wrong though. I don’t think
Ernestina is any better a woman. I questioned her love for Charles
a little when I saw her reaction to his being ‘disinherited’.
With all of the money that her father was giving as her dowry,
I would think that she would not be as ruffled as she was. Even
Charles expected “a gentle sympathy, not a sharp rage”
and saw that in that moment Ernestina resembled “one who
had been worsted in a business deal” (201). Be that as
it may, I cannot judge her too harshly, as I think Charles (and
to some extent the narrator) is beginning to perceive her as
much more shallow (in comparison with Sarah) than she actually
is.
It is doubtless that the character that develops
the most in this reading is Charles. We had already caught a
glimpse of the silly scientist who liked to look for fossils
dressed in impractical gear, and now we get to see the Victorian
gentleman as well. On his trip to Winsyatt he felt “that
ineffable feeling of fortunate destiny and right order”
that came with the thought of running the family business (195).
At that moment, Charles is able and willing to slip back into
his societal role and lead the married life with Ernestina that
he is expected to. I must admit, I did not think it possible
for Charles to fulfill any traditional role, especially since
his thinking was so forward for his time.
In the end, I must digress to the question Thomas
raised. Who will Charles end up with? Neither Sarah nor Ernestina
are anywhere near perfect, but it seems that Charles wants nothing
to do with the ‘perfect’ woman anyway. Both girls
stand out in society, Ernestina with her wit, and Sarah with
her understanding. But will Charles risk his place in Victorian
society (that we see he very much likes) to follow his passions
and emotions? I think that Charles still has a lot of evolution
and development to go though before he can make his decision,
and until I can see how he changes, I cannot make any predictions
either.
Puja Parekh
February 7, 2006
Evolution
I haven’t really made up my mind on evolution.
I don’t know what I believe in, but I know what I don’t.
As I said in the last journal, I’ve grown up on evolution,
so it’s something that is deeply ingrained in my belief.
I would need really strong and irrefutable proof to change my
point of view. So I completely understand that people who grew
up with strong creationist views have a hard time accepting
evolution.
To analyze whether spiritualism and evolution
are compatible, one would have to take into account the various
definitions of spiritualism. I don’t think that a person
has to believe in a God to be considered spiritual. I believe
that every living thing has a soul, including the plants and
lowest of animals. And I have no trouble weaving my views on
natural life and evolution together to form a complete belief
system.
A lot of the controversy regarding theories on
human origins pertains to the teaching of these theories in
the schooling system. I completely agree with Eleanore where
she points out that if the schools in Kansas are giving intelligent
design “equal time in the classroom with evolution”
(61), other religious ideas should be given the floor as well.
It’s easy to see that if we step into this battle, the
school curriculum would be completely chaotic. As it stands
now, evolution is the only theory “with overwhelming scientific
support”, and until an alternative presents that can be
validated by “peer review, not public opinion”,
I think it’s only fair that schools hold out on bringing
religious view into the classroom (75).
I think the biggest problem regarding this situation
is that people don’t want to believe that life as we know
it is the result of “chance mutations” (61). And
I guess I can see why they feel this way. It’s a little
underwhelming to think that the world around us and all of its
beauty is the result of a mere accident. The war between scientists
and their opponents will continue to wage over the “great
leaps” in which primates “somehow evolved into…
thinking, discerning, right-from-wrong-knowing” human
beings (61). Personally, I’d like to think that those
unanswered questions are a part of the mystery of life. Should
we simply chalk up these unanswerable questions to be the work
of the supernatural, or should we not stop searching until a
scientific answer is found? I don’t know what course man
is going to take, but I do know that I will be spending all
of that time enjoying nature and the world for what it is.
Puja Parekh
February 14, 2006
Fowles 183-262
I think this section of the book was the one I
could most relate to the characters in. Charles was torn between
his duties and obligations as a fiancée and his need
to satiate his sexual desires. Ernestina too, in her guest appearance,
is much more tolerable. We find out that she was a true romantic
deep down, and was extremely vexed by her "angry, spiteful"
outburst upon hearing Charles's loss of fortune (253). I suppose
Sarah redeems herself as well, as we find out that she "did
not mean to cause... [the] trouble" that she had by disappearing
(249). Even though she's not the completely proud, I still strongly
dislike her. She was pretty obnoxious in her dealing with Mrs.
Poultney, and besides that, she has a very annoying greater-than-thou
attitude that emanates from under her mask of shame.
I really enjoyed the commentary chapter, for I
would never have guessed half the truths revealed in it. I suppose
it makes sense that even though the Victorians were sexually
repressed in public, their private lives were nothing of the
sort. I suppose I was misled by the Doctor Grogan's comment
that he had had "gravely to explain that new life is neither
begotten nor born through the navel" into thinking that
all Victorians were equally clueless (220). I admit being shocked
at the early hinting of Charles's escapades in Paris. I'm still
pretty surprised (and perhaps disturbed) that in an age when
religion was as abundant as oxygen in the air, the lower classes
practiced "premarital intercourse... [as a] rule, not...
[an] exception" (270). The belief that women did not have
orgasms though was and is completely ridiculous. I guess I can
see what the narrator means when he comments that today's generation
is more "Victorian" in our approach to sex since we've
eliminated the mystery and the "aura of the forbidden"
that made it so pleasurable in the past (269). Another aspect
of the Victorian culture I found interesting was that Ernestina
(and probably many others) believed that "male vanity lay
in being obeyed; female, in using obedience to have the ultimate
victory" (263). The more I thought about, the more I realized
how true it is, especially in the marriages I am personally
surrounded by.
The last thing I wanted to discuss was Charles's
handling of his sexual urges. I was extremely happy when Charles
realized (and I did too) that his attraction to Sarah was "nothing"
except his need for "a woman", his need for "intercourse"
(301). I was also glad that Charles was not able to commit the
"fatal deed" (318) and betray Ernestina by sleeping
with the prostitute, even though the only thing that prevented
him was his sudden and intense urge to "vomit into the
pillow beside her shocked, flungback head" (315). Call
me old-fashioned, but I'm glad he decided to wait for his wedding
night to slake his thirst. This self-restraint, along with his
views on materialism made Charles very real to me, and moreover,
revealed him to be someone I'd probably be friends with even
in this day and age.
Puja Parekh
February 21, 2006
Fowles 262-366
So here’s my attempt at discourse on the
last part of The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Before I start,
let me warn you that trying to fully comprehend something as
confusing as our reading in the midst of a terribly high fever
is fairly impossible. So forgive me if I do not make sense in
my observations.
The Disappearance of God is one of the central
themes of this course, and this assignment, so I would like
to focus on that first. Charles tries to predict what will happen
in the very beginning of the section, and realizes that he does
not want to take the path that has set out on. The narrator
accurately points out that our predictions “often have
very much more effect on how we actually do behave… that
we generally allow.” (Ch 45, 339). Upon envisioning himself
married to Ernestina and Sarah completely vanished from his
life, Charles realizes that it is the last thing he wants. He
does everything in his power to go against that future, and
that is what leads him to Sarah’s doorstep at the Endicott’s
Family Hotel. In his vision, Charles saw that the “certain
massive indifference in things – too hostile for Charles
to think of as “God”… had set its malevolent
inertia on the Ernestina side of the scales”, and decided
to oppose it by giving into his lust for Sarah (Ch 45, 340).
At this moment Charles feel as though there is no force that
can stop him and make him follow a course he doesn’t want
to, and is overwhelmed by “the realization that [he] is
free and the realization that being free is a situation of terror.”
(Ch 45, 341)
Further evidence for Charles’ belief in
the disappearance of God is seen after his tumble with Sarah,
when he goes into the Church to repent. As he tries to clear
his conscience he sees the image of Sarah rising “before
him, tearstained, agonized”, as if by some wicked cruelty
of a superior being (Ch 48, 358). Upon seeing Sarah’s
image upon the crucifix, Charles realizes that his prayer was
futile “and it was not heard.” We know that Charles
is a man of science and what we would call today an agnostic.
He shares with his counterparts the feeling that “there
was a profound sense of exclusion, of a gift withdrawn,”
which is why when he finally turns to Christ and is spurned,
he finds that the “reproach is stronger is to the unbeliever”
(Ch 48, 359). Charles has no option left but to weep at his
predicament and his fate and “his own inability to speak
to God” (Ch 48, 360). With God, considered by Charles
a last resort, abandoning him Charles feels as if “he
had become, while still alive, as if dead.” (Ch 48, 363)
And last but not the least, my usual commentary
on the characters themselves: Charles, I am ambivalent about.
He followed his heart despite what he knew the repercussions
would be. I cannot say that I agree with his choice, but I know
that I can respect him for sticking to his convictions. I was
happy when “he saw his own superiority to [Sarah]…
an ability to give that was an inability to compromise”
(Ch 61, 465). He saw that he had been manipulated from the beginning
and was strong enough to walk out on Sarah, even if meant living
the rest of his life alone. And in the face of his imminent
solitude Charles finds “an atom of faith in himself, a
true uniqueness, on which to build” (Ch 61, 467). I end
the book feeling fairly content with Charles’ future.
Ernestina, I simply felt sorry for. Despite being dumped practically
at the altar, she found within herself the ability to refrain
from ruining Charles’ life completely, and for that I
give her props as well. As for Sarah, I still don’t like
her. So she found herself and asserted herself as an independent
woman. Whopeedeedoo. She was still horrible in the way she manipulated
Charles. And if she really loved him, as she claimed to, then
she would have certainly known that he would break of his engagement
to Ernestina. In either case, she was willing to let Charles
hang forever, and this would have certainly been the case had
Sam not felt obligated by his guilt to let his former master
know of her whereabouts. In the end, I can safely say that I
think Fowles is amazing and love The French Lieutenant’s
Woman to pieces, but I do not care two bits for its namesake.
Puja Parekh
March 21, 2006
Gawain and the Green Knight
Although Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense is
translated as “Evil be to him who evil thinks” in
the notes of the book (154), it literally translates as shame
on him who thinks this evil. I think the second translation
makes more sense in the context of the book, especially since
it is the motto of the Order of the Garters, and Arthur has
just declared that “each member of the brotherhood, should
wear such a belt/ A baldric of bright green crosswise on the
body” (141). The green belt became a reminder of what
could happen when one takes “pride” in their “knightly
valor” (137). Gawain’s pride and selfish desire
to survive with the help of magical belt is what caused the
Lord to hurt him in the first place. As Sharon said, Gawain
thinks that trying to save his own skin through whatever means
necessary is contrary to everything a knight is supposed to
do. The Green Knight simply wanted to teach Gawain a lesson,
so he hurt him in a way that would not cause any permanent damage.
I don’t believe that the Lord would have struck Gawain
at all had he not taken the belt, since it didn’t seem
as though physically hurting Gawain was the point.
I really enjoyed this reading for a couple of
reasons, the first being that the old English was so much fun
to read. I may not have understood any of it, but it still looked
and sounded amazing when read aloud. I also loved the story
for its medieval values of bravery and chivalry. These very
qualities of Arthurian tales are the reason I am focusing on
medieval England for my History major. The last reason I loved
the tale was because it was so visual. I could see the scenes
between Gawain and the Lady so vividly that it was as if I were
seeing them on the television screen. The descriptions of the
bedroom Lord Bertilak gave Gawain with its “curtains of
pure silk with shining gold bordered/ And elaborate coverlets
with splendid facing”, although a bit long-winded, were
picturesque enough to transport me into a foreign world that
was probably created to go beyond the common medieval man’s
wildest dreams (49).
I think that this book reinforces our class goal
to “know that which is greater than the ego” (25)
because Gawain was struck by the Green Knight for focusing too
much on himself. St. Augustine also discusses how wonderful
it would be if the “mind cease[d] thinking… the
fantasies that appear in dreams and imaginations” stopped
and went beyond the self “to attain a flash of that eternal
wisdom which abides above all things” (247). One moment
of this sudden realization would be enough to last us a lifetime.
This illumination is the way into realization both of the self
and the means to “enter… into the joy of the Lord”
as dictated in medieval scriptures. I think this message goes
beyond our class into the real world, which is why the green
knight is found in Winchester, York and Oxford.
Puja Parekh
March 23, 2006
Jane Eyre: Ch 1-23
Jane Eyre is a strange piece of work. I have been
telling my friends that I have to read it ever since it was
assigned, and the responses have varied from 'ooh that's a great
book' to 'wow. I am really sorry.' As a result, I really didn't
know what to expect going into it, and didn't know what exactly
to think about it.
Most of our reading focuses on Jane's life as
a pre-teen. She had a pretty shoddy life, and I don't blame
her one bit for trying to get out of there as soon as possible.
I felt quite a few murderous emotions towards Mrs. Reed, especially
when she told Mr. Brocklehurst (I don't know if Vanessa noticed,
but there's actually a Mandy Brocklehurst in Harry Potter) that
Jane was a liar. John Reed was obnoxious, and as Vanessa pointed
out, very much reminiscent of Dudley Dursley. Bessie was a sweetheart.
I could tell that she didn't like treating Jane poorly, but
had been led to believe (by Mrs. Reed and Miss Abbot) that Jane
deserved no better. Jane was once told that she was "less
than a servant," something that could not have possibly
been good for her self-esteem (9). That is why I definitely
let out a whoop when Jane finally stood up to Mrs. Reed and
voiced her indignation having been treated "with miserable
cruelty." (30)
One interesting thing I found about Jane was the
fact that she chose to withdraw into the world of "fairy
tales", with the "elves," "monster cats,"
and "tower-like men and women." (17) This manner of
hers reminds me a lot of myself when I was a pre-teen, when
I chose to escape the confinements of first Saudi Arabia and
then my traditional household using my imagination and my books.
The sadness and helplessness within Jane really affected me,
especially when she talked about her beloved doll, and how "in
the dearth of worthier objects of affection, [she] contrived
to find pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image,
shabby as a miniature scarecrow." (23) I find terribly
upsetting that even today there are children who grow up like
Jane, longing for some sort of affection. Another reason why
I enjoy having Jane as a heroine is that she's "not pretty
or handsome", and that is one of the chief reasons why
"she is not loved." (Bump 389). I learnt earlier this
semester in my interpersonal communications class that better
looking children get better grades in school because teachers
are subconsciously treating them better, and Jane proves this
fact. I loved Jane's relationship with Miss Temple and Helen
Burns, and found it incredibly sweet that Helen passed peacefully
in Jane's arms. I was shocked that Jane asked Helen "where
is God? What is God?", as I wasn't aware questions of this
sort were normal in Victorian fiction (69).
All in all, I'm rather please with the way the
book is going. I'm curious to see how Jane's relationship with
Mr. Rochester develops, and what else can possibly go wrong
(since we all know that something will) in her life. One problem
I have had with the writing is the fact that Jane takes herself
so seriously. I mean, what normal ten year old girl is melodramatic
enough to say things like "she might as well have said
to the fire, 'don't burn!' but how could she divine the morbid
suffereing to which I was prey?" (18) If Charlotte wants
me to really enjoy this book without scoffing at it, she is
really going to have to lighten up.
Puja Parekh
April 18, 2006
Jane Eyre: Ch 14-27
If my title did not give it away, beware my friends,
for I shall act quite affronted. Personal offense has been taken
to this section of the reading, so get ready for my miniature
soapbox.
As everyone before me noticed, Jane has changed
a lot through this part. She has been put in horrendously uncomfortable
situations and come out on top, and for that I give her a pat
on the back. She even managed to 'get the guy' so to speak,
so she definitely has something going for her. Whether or not
said guy is worth getting, however, is an entirely different
story. I believe this is where I start my tirade.
I hate, no, I absolutely ABHORR the way Rochester
treats Jane. Yes, I know he fawns and flatters her like every
fiancé should, but what bothers me is that he doesn't
stop even when she plainly states that she "loves [him]
most dearly: far too dearly to flatter [him]" and that
he should not flatter her either (221). The little feminist
voice at the back of my head is very displeased by this, and
since this journal entry is all about it, I will allow it to
voice its opinions. It detests the way Rochester (and to a degree
all men, but let's save that for another day) feels as though
he needs to doll Jane up despite her protests. He 'knows' that
regardless of her misgivings, the only thing she really wants
is to having pretty dresses and jewels like all other women.
It's extremely demeaning, and even objectifying. Is it not Jane
herself that states that she would not be herself, "but
an ape in a harlequin's jacket" in all of the finery he
wanted her to don (221)? The only thing that I can be glad for
is that Jane has the spine enough to tell him that she wanted
to be left the way she was, without the finery, and that she'd
"rather be a thing than an angel" (223).
Those were my reservations about the entire 'dressing
Jane up' affair. Rochester himself, is another story. Was anyone
else disgusted by the fact that he was deadset on being married
to Jane for an entire year before revealing anything about his
family or Bertha? Whatever the pro-Rochester people say, that
is just NOT RIGHT. He knew that once married to him, Jane would
be very much under his control and unable to do anything about
the fact that she shared her husband with another woman. Just
thinking about it infuriates me. But I still have more to say.
When Jane decides to ignore her heart and leave
Thornfield, I definitely gave her a mental 'you go girl!' Leaving
the man you love is never an easy task, and the fact that the
until now weak Jane Eyre dug up the mental and emotional courage
to take such a step astounds me. I admit that I thought Jane
was sort of meek and cowardly, but I can no longer think that
at this point. I applaud for Jane Eyre; for the fact that even
at her lowest low she was able to remind herself that all she
had was herself and that "the more solitary, the more friendless,
the more unsustained [she is], the more [she] will respect [herself]"
(270). Jane has a weak moment while leaving, when all she wanted
was to go back to Rochester, but such a thing is expected. What
really makes all the feminists like the one in the corner of
my brain proud is the fact that she would not let herself turn
back. Atleast yet. Whether or not things will stay this way,
only Charlotte Bronte will tell.
Puja Parekh
April 25, 2006
Jane Eyre: Ch 28-38
No I'm kidding, I'm not going to make this completely
about Jainism. Jainism may be a vital part of my life, but being
a female trumps it. So first the girl gets the stage, then the
Jain.
I felt as though St. John had only one purpose
in the book, to drive Jane back to Rochester. I must say, the
man gave me chills. His "ever-watchful blue eye" may
have disconcerted Jane, but me it creeped out (338). Even when
he kissed her, she felt she was on the receiving end of what
would be a "marble" or "ice" kiss (339).
How can one man be so in control, to the point that he seems
to be completely devoid, of his emotions? The fact that he had
the gall to tell Jane that "it is not personal, but mental
endowments they have given [her]" and that she "is
formed for labour, not for love" while expecting her to
marry him is simply preposterous (343). Jane, of course, had
refused to marry a man she loved, so refusing a man she didn't
was significantly easier.
As many have stated before me, this section of
the book is mostly about Jane finding herself and knowing what
she wants. If she had married Rochester, the relationship would
have been passionate, but she would have essentially been a
mistress. Marrying St. John would mean a legitimate relationship,
but one completely lacking passion. As Jane said, "to have
yielded [to Rochester] would have been an error of principle;
to have yielded [to St. John] would have been an error of judgment"
(356). Her subconscience told her the same as she was just about
to give in to St. John's persuasion, by making her hear Rochester
call out for her. When Jane finally did return to Rochester,
she had found both her family and some money, so she no longer
felt that he was above her station. The fact that he was blind
and would depend on her as much as she did on him was a definite
plus.
Most of you have read Dr. Bump's post on Ahimsa,
so I'm going to use that to connect Jainism to Jane Eyre. Ahimsa
is non-violence in all aspects of life. Not only are you not
supposed to harm other living beings physically, but you shouldn't
do so mentally either. Thinking bad thoughts about another,
or verbally abusing someone is just as violent as squashing
the life force out of something. Even in India, Jainism is one
of the most peaceful religions; you will find no religious riots
or massacres amongst them. The difference between the Jains
and the imperialists is that they do not think that believers
of other faiths are savages that need rescuing. In fact, I remember
being taught that there are many paths to salvation, and Jainism
is simply one of them. St. John may have somewhat achieved the
Jain goal or mastering his emotions (outwardly), but the fact
that he still tried to manipulate and mentally control Jane
shows that he is far from ideal. Had St. John's actions towards
Jane been dictated by Ahimsa and love (for fellow man; not romanctic)
he would not have made Jane feel as though "an iron shroud
contracted round [her]" everytime he spoke to her about
religion (344).
