Sept. 29: College Life: Wordsworth and Wolfe
My college experience so far at UT has been absolutely phenomenal. When reading the selections, I did notice parallels between my college experience and the experiences of both Charlotte Simmons and Wordsworth. The selections for this journal present two extremely different college experiences. Charlotte goes to college only focusing on her book studies and effectively ostracizes herself from the actual Dupont college life. Wordsworth on the other hand participates in the life of the university while also focusing on his studies. I see my college experience very much like Wordsworth’s in the sense that I will focus on studying, but I also make an effort to participate in the UT student community. I have known people to have experiences in college like Charlotte, but her situation is mostly unlike mine.
Charlotte Simmons tries to avoid all human contact while at college. When walking across the Great Yard she doesn’t want talk to a girl that is obviously trying to talk to her. “She didn’t want to descend long enough for even the most perfunctory so-long (371).” I just flat out consider this rude. If I see someone I know on campus, I usually say hello, wave or even smile – anything to acknowledge the presence of another human being. I have also encountered people like Charlotte’s friend Laurie that believe “college is like this four-year period you have when you can try anything (370).” Most of these people just scare me. Sure, college is a time to do branch out and try new things. ‘New things’ doesn’t mean anything and everything. One experience I do share with Charlotte is the anger over having loud drunken people in your hallway when you want to sleep or study on a school night. Some people, like me, don’t have the luxury of two o’clock classes everyday. Please don’t expect me to stay awake until two, three or even four in the morning when I wake up five hours earlier than you everyday. Even though I may share a couple experiences with Charlotte, our overall college experience is completely different because of our differing attitudes towards the college experience and our peers.
I find myself being more inline with Wordsworth’s college experience. Wordsworth writes extensively about his excursions into nature and how he uses nature as an inspiration. “As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained, I looked for universal things’ perused the common countenance of earth and sky (374).” I have done the same thing in Austin many times. I enjoy biking through the city to Zilker Park where the refreshing Barton Springs awaits me. I take the time on my way to classes to watch the turtles in the turtle pond, particularly the small, young ones. I see the young turtles swimming through their little pond, avoiding the older turtles and am somehow comforted by the fact that they too must be cautious. Their life is filled with more worries than most people would like to think. I also share Wordsworth’s experiences in the social arena. “Companionship, friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. We sauntered, played, or rioted; we talked unprofitable talk at morning hours (376).” I have done my best to make many new friends this year. I hope to develop a strong network of friends that will replace the one I was a part of in high school.
I think that my college experience will have aspects of both Charlotte Simmons’ and Wordsworth’s experiences. The more important idea is that I develop my own college experience, hopefully modeled after the appealing aspects of theirs.
As I read the story of Stephen Dedalus, I was amazed at how Joyce captured the actual thought process of Stephen as he jumped from subject to subject and made unconscious connections. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book that made me feel like I was inside someone else’s mind as much as this one does. Stephen’s thoughts jump around like a real person. One moment you are thinking about the scene in front of you and the next you are reminded of a thought you might have had a year ago. That thought of time long past would never come to the surface through your own conscious effort, but it does effortlessly through life’s experiences and you mind’s unconsciousness. Stephen is at his school when he thinks of a wordplay joke about another student, Tusker Boyle. This then brings to the surface the memory of Eileen because her hands were thin and cool like “like ivory” (42). He then relates a story of an experience with Eileen. Next paragraph, we are back at school. Surprisingly enough, without any transition at all, I, as a reader, can understand why Stephen thought these thoughts. This clarity of meaning in a stream of consciousness work is the mark of a skilled writer.
The story at Stephen’s school when he is punished because the prefect is upset reminds of the little time I spent and hated in a public school athletics program. The prefect in the story is upset because of older boys that did something wrong. He is now taking his anger out on everyone and punishing all the boys. In my athletics program, I remember days when we would get nothing done because we were too busy making up for the errors of two or three boys in a group of over a hundred. The coaches would line us up on one end of the football field and have us bear crawl across the whole thing, do air raids where we ran five yards then fell to our stomachs and back up again, or hundreds of pushups -- anything to make us mad at our teammates who let the team down. For a thirteen year old out of shape boy, this was torture. Now, I kind of see what the coaches were thinking. They wanted us to make sure that the program ran smoothly and everyone had their act together. They wanted us to take ownership in our program. Well, I didn’t buy into it. A team is no longer a team when one of the members doesn’t do their fair share of the work. Instead, I just wrote the coaches off as bumbling idiots and waited for the day at the end of my 8th grade year when I would never have to listen to them again. I was permanently scarred from this experience and learned to hate many of my fellow classmates because of it. It has made me the bitter person I am today. On the last day of school, my coach asked me if I was going to keep playing football in high school. I told him that I couldn’t stand another year of ‘making myself stronger, better, faster’ (football coaches at my school were revered for their eloquent diction), so I joined the marching band in high school where I would slack off and not learn a thing for four years while the other boys became men in the football program.
At least in Stephen’s story he was able to achieve some redemption. He had the rector admit that the prefect was wrong and promised to talk to him. No such justice in my case. I had no one apologize and I am still bitter. I will remember that year of torture in the middle school sports program for the rest of my life and look down upon those coaches and ‘teammates’ forever.
This section of reading seemed have more relevance to me than the last one did. It seems that this is the part of the reading where Stephen really grows up. He begins to realize that the life he knew as a child was just a skewed perspective on how his life really is. While earlier in the story Stephen did acknowledge that his father was in trouble this is the first time that he sees his father in a negative manner. This is where Stephen blames his father for the situation that he and his family are in. This rebellious step is a humongous developmental stage where a child doubts the benevolence of their parents’ actions and intents. He begins to judge his father as if he were the adult. “His mind seemed older that theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and regrets like a moon upon a younger earth (95).” I think this shift in attitude could be considered an epiphany as well as the onset of his adult life.
Another change occurs within Stephen as he transitions from childhood to adulthood. When Stephen can look at his childhood as a past experience, one that he no longer contributes to but instead looks at from the view of an outsider, he realizes that he is something new and is scared by that thought. This change occurs while Stephen is with his father at one of the bars they visit. He captures this change in his own viewpoint in this manner: “The sunlight breaking suddenly on his sight turned the sky and clouds into a fantastic world of somber masses with lakelike spaces of dark rosy light (92).” I don’t think I’ve had a single moment in my life where my view has changed this drastically, but I do think the view of my own life has changed gradually over the past year. It has changed to a more objective, critical view. Stephen’s change caused him to realize what had happened in his past to cause this change. He realizes that during his youth “he had not died but had faded out like a film in the sun (93).”
Once Stephen realizes that he has changed and is no longer a child, his thoughts move on to more adult ideas and realizations like his first sexual experience and the spiritual examination while at school during the priest’s sermon. Stephen describes this occurrence as “his own soul going forth to experience, unfolding itself sin by sin, spreading abroad the balefire of its burning stars and folding back upon itself, fading slowly, quenching its own lights and fires (103).” While my thoughts are not very similar to Stephen’s, they too have changed since coming to UT. My passing thoughts seem to be filled with more grown up ideas than the youthful whims of years ago. In some cases, I wish I did not have these adult worries, but it seems the memory of my childhood is fading away as did Stephen’s.
Throughout this portion of Portrait we see Stephen making more decisions on his own, for better or more often worse. Stephen is emerging as a character that bases his decisions off of an inner will. He refuses to do something if he is not completely sure he is making a decision that he wants to follow through with. This is most evident when he asked to study to become a priest. “All through his boyhood he had mused upon that which he had so often thought to be his destiny and when the moment had come for him to obey the call he had turned aside, obeying a wayward instinct (165).” This “wayward instinct” is becoming the only reliable aspect of Stephen’s character.
Stephen changes drastically after rejecting the priesthood. Afterwards, Stephen realizes that “He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life (171).” While earlier he seemed to be uneasy with his isolationist tendency, he now enjoys being alone because it allows to be operate ‘near to the wild heart of life’. Stephen is enjoying the freedom of his new life while rejecting the ascetic requirements of being a duly repentant Roman Catholic. Once Stephen realizes that he is now free, he no longer feels obliged to do as others wish him to do in other parts of his life. When he attends the University, Stephen feels no shame in pursuing his own intellectual enrichment at the expense of a conceived social life. A classmate remarks that Stephen is “an antisocial being, wrapped up in [himself] (177).” He doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he loves this intellectual freedom. Stephen is able to become a stronger person through the complete rejection of previously held ideas because it is a decision that he makes without the influence of others.
I am not sure really what is going to happen to Stephen in the future. I can only imagine two real outcomes to his life. I think he will either continue to build upon his self reliant nature and use it to live a successful and fulfilling life or he will rapidly and totally collapse under the pressures of society when he starts to realize how he has isolated himself. Pulling on my observations of Stephen’s past behavior, I don’t see any other possibilities besides one of these two extremes. He tends to make decisions based on his own rationale that affect him greatly in either a positive or negative manner. He is not one to live life in moderation from what I’ve read so far.
I think this is the first time reading a book where I went from not enjoying the book at all to having it be one of my favorites by the end. While I think that the entire book is very well written from a rhetoric standpoint, I found the first half boring in its content. The second half of the book, on the other hand, I enjoyed as Stephen goes from a pious believer to rejecting of his faith. What I found interesting though was the nature of his rejection of his faith as revealed towards the end of this section. Even though Stephen claims to have rejected his religion, he still refuses to take communion out of fear of what will happen. He fears the “chemical action which would be set up in [his] soul by a false homage to a symbol behind which are massed twenty centuries of authority and veneration (243).” Even though he has rejected his faith, he still doesn’t completely disbelieve in it. He contends that Roman Catholicism is logical and coherent, but it just isn’t for him. When asked whether he would become a protestant, his reply was this: “What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent (244)?”
For a person who is afraid of taking a sacrilegious communion, Stephen seems to be eerily comfortable with the idea of eternal damnation. Stephen says, “I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too (247).” Stephen’s contradictory thoughts show his naiveté. By rejecting his family, his religion, his life, he sees himself as freeing himself from the “nets flung at [him] to hold [him] back from flight (203).” He thinks that his new life is an adult life. Instead, it is just a continuation of his adolescence. I think that Joyce also recognizes this in Stephen. He seems to approach Stephen in an ironic manner. The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is the story of a writer looking back at his past with uncertainty of what to think. He acknowledges what he was thinking at the time and justifies his actions by explanation of his thoughts. At the same time, Joyce points out the inconsistencies and problems in his thoughts and the error in his ways.
I have to wonder why Joyce wrote this book. He is explaining and acknowledging his past errors but to what purpose? Joyce is certainly not apologetic. Maybe several years from now I will look back and realize the absurdity of my thoughts and ideas. Was this his purpose? I don’t think he wanted to showcase his life as an example of intellectual growth. Maybe this is just a product of his own soul – something he had to write for his own satisfaction.
Nov. 1 College Idealism: Jude the Obscure part 1
I enjoyed the light hearted writing of Thomas Hardy as a breath of fresh air after reading Joyce (which I liked too). His comical and care free approach to situations play well to the character of Jude, who is a country boy that after every new experience thinks he has grown up dramatically without realizing that he will forever be the naïve boy from the country if he remains in Marygreen. Jude “suddenly grew older (19)” after merely learning of the possibilities at Christminster. The description of Christminster from a country man who has never been their himself leads Jude to believe that Christminster “would just suit me (20)” while I at the same time laugh at Jude’s naïve thought and feel sorry for him, knowing that he is only bound to be disappointed. Similar feelings are aroused when Jude recognizes the “shabby trick played him by the dead languages (26).” Hardy continues this theme of Jude ‘growing up’ while the reader realizes that nothing has actually changed throughout this section. We are constantly reminded of his boyish attitude: “Yes, Christminster shall be my Alma Mater, and I’ll be her beloved son, in whom she shall be well pleased (32).”
Jude does start to genuinely grow up through experience with his marriage to Arabella. This is the first time he becomes aware of and acknowledges his lack of anything. “Jude felt dissatisfied with himself as a man at what he had done, though aware of his lack of common sense (60)” after killing the pig incorrectly. He starts to realize that there are two sources of learning: books and experience. I think that he will continue to be split over these different sources of learning throughout the rest of the book. Before his marriage to Arabella, he only recognized learning through the use of books. His negative experience with the marriage leads him to feel put off by experiential learning, reinforcing the idealism he has towards his scholarly studies and attending Christminster. Hardy is setting Jude up for a disastrous disenchantment as described in the chapter from Oxford in English Literature in our course reader.
Jude is caught between the two sources of learning that we have discussed many times in this class before. The writing in the course reader alludes to the fact that Jude does reconcile these two sources. “He began to see that the town life was a book of humanity infinitely more palpitating, varied, and compendious, than the gown life (429).” This is similar to our course goal of “know that which is greater than the ego.” We are to use semiotics to know the world beyond ourselves. Becoming better aware of our surroundings will, according to Professor Bump’s course goals, make us better writers by “tap[ping] resources far greater than those of an isolated self (25).”
Even after reading the section from Oxford in English Literature that explains what happens later in the book, it is hard for me to tell what Hardy’s thoughts are on experiential versus scholarly learning. Arabella, who learns wholly through experience, is cast in a negative manner. Sue, his other wife, who learns as a scholar, is “overly cerebral and lacking in physical warmth (426)” while Jude, who learns through experience and scholarly methods, dies a tragic death at a young age. The only solution I can see is that Hardy is depicting Jude’s use of both scholarly and experiential methods as correct while condemning his idealism as disastrous. Even though this seems the most correct to me, I still feel it is very wrong. Hardy seems to outright condemn idealism without conceding that it can serve a useful purpose.
Nov. 8 : Outsiders Jude Part II; Zuleika
This section of Jude the Obscure presents us with Jude’s struggle to become an ‘insider’ at Christminster. He finally makes his way to Christminster after ten years of idolatry, reading and learning “almost all that could be read and learnt by one in his position of the worthies who had spent their youth within these revered walls, and whose souls had haunted them in their maturer age (73).” His time spent reading these books prepared him to be an ‘insider’ at the Christminster of years past. Today’s Christminster breeds an entirely different intellectual tradition. It was one mostly based on the Enlightenment ideas of reason and logic in practical matters of human existence, not the lofty ideas of scholarly study and religion that Jude had hoped for. Unfortunately for Jude, he failed to perceive these discrepancies that would force him to never be an ‘insider’ at Christminster. “The deadly animosity of contemporary logic and vision towards so much of what he held in reverence was not yet revealed to him (79).”
Despite the differences between Christminster and Jude intellectually, Jude continues to idolize in an increasingly unhealthy fashion that blinds him from the truth. What is remarkable in the case of Jude is that he idolizes Sue in a similar manner as that of his idolization of Christminster. Towards both subjects, he only observes them from a superficial level. He notices Sue for her “pretty shoulders, her easy, curiously nonchalant, risings, and sittings, and her perfunctory genuflexions (91)” without seriously considering her inner person as evident by their field trip with Mr. Phillotson to see the mock up of Jerusalem. Jude claims to “know [her] meaning…although he did not (101).” Similarly, Jude believes he knows exactly what Christminster is about while it is giving off obvious signs, like Sue, that he does not know the workings of it. We, as readers, are left painfully aware of Jude’s misperceptions and become exceedingly convinced that he will fail in his struggle to become an ‘insider’ at Christminster. Our suspicions are confirmed time and time again as exemplified by Jude’s recititation of the Nicene Creed at the local bar. He recites it in Latin as Christminster undergraduates cheer him on, though they “had not the slightest conception of a single word (115)”.
As we become aware that Jude will forever be an ‘outsider’ at Christminster, we have to ask ourselves if there exists a place that Jude can call himself an ‘insider’. Instinctually, Jude returns to the home that he denied with every hour spent studying. While I hesitate to call this place his home, it is where he lived for most of his life. Despite this, he realizes that remains an ‘outsider’ even at his home. “He thought of the previous abyss into which he had fallen before leaving this part of the country; the deepest deep he had supposed it then; but it was not so deep as this (118).” By denying his inheritance in a fit of idealism, Jude leaves himself with no place where he can be happy. This is the scourge of all fallen idealists. He sums up his position in life quite nicely: “Well, here I am, just come home; a fellow gone to the bad; though I had the best intentions in the world at one time. Now I am melancholy mad, what with drinking and one thing and another (118-119).” His lament would make a fitting epitaph to the life of any modern idealist.
I hope that Jude can recover from his idealism some time in the future. He is not at the point of killing himself over an ideal, yet, like the men in Beerbohm’s book. His idealism isn’t spreading either. We must not “Put all Oxford on its guard against this woman who can love no lover (Beerbohm 137).” No, thankfully, Jude’s idealism is contained and not apt to spread. He is after all, Jude, the Obscure.
Nov. 15: Jude Part 6 :College Life and Ritual
This chapter certainly took a morbid turn that I was not expecting and even slightly shocked to read. The image in my mind of three young children hanging from coat hooks in a room is not exactly pleasant. What I found interesting about the children’s suicide was that the oldest child seemed to be more adult in his reasoning than Sue and Jude, the two intellectual rationalists. Sue thinks it would be a good idea to explain to “little Jude (323)” their situation in a rational manner. The kid ironically sees the irrationality in their position and the decisions made to bring them there when Sue does not. Sue decides to be “honest and candid with one who entered into her difficulties like an aged friend (323).” I don’t think this was the right course of action to take with a young boy who had already come to the conclusion of, “I ought not to be born (321).” The result is the boy making the rational decision of killing himself and their other children in order to correct the mistakes of their parents. Even though I think this was a horrible choice, it was the rational choice for the kid to make because he possessed the “coming universal wish not to live (326).”
The rest of the book continues with the self inflicted downfall of the rationalists, Sue and Jude. Sue applies her intellectual rationalism to spirituality and decides she should return to the old man whom she doesn’t love. This kind of ‘rational’ thinking is nothing more than idiotic. It is like an economist sitting in his grey-walled cubical at work applying marginal analysis to whether he will pick up the phone and ask the girl he met at the bar last weekend out on a date or not. Rationality just doesn’t apply! It leads to horrible decisions when emotions are involved.
I actually had to stop reading for a moment, have a good laugh and think of my friends, their relationships and some of my own when I came to this quote from Sue: “We’ll be dear friends just the same, Jude, won’t we? And we’ll see each other sometimes – Yes! – and forget all this, and try to be as we were long ago (343)?” At this point, I knew they had absolutely no hope of ever salvaging their relationship. How does Sue expect her relationship to be similar to as it was long ago after their (well, kind of their) three kids hung themselves? Yes, Sue has lost all real rationality at this point. Sue and Jude fail to see how the rationality of an intellectual being doesn’t really apply to human relationships, which are inherently irrational. Sue insists on “doing a penance (382)” after she kisses Jude in order to “make [her] conscious right (382)”. She just can’t let go.
Jude and Sue disappointed me even more than I thought was possible in this last section of the book. They stick to their rationality and refuse to accept the chaos that their lives really are. The result is that they both revert to a position where they are dependent on another person to take care of them. If they were to accept chaos, maybe they would have been able to cope with their situation and deal with it together.Nov. 22: Distractions of College Life, Zuleika pp. 268-313
My first reaction to the Zuleika reading is that it is quite absurd to think about hundreds of men committing suicide to prove their love for one woman. Then I realized that the strength in the writing lies in its absurdity. By showing the outright absurdity of Zuleika, Beerbohm is saying that all temptations are at their heart, absurd. The Oxford English Dictionary defines temptation as “putting to the test.” In this sense, Zuleika, as a temptation, was putting to the test the devotion that the undergraduates at Oxford had to love. Beerbohm describes the mass suicide as “Abominable, yes, to them who discerned there death only; but sacramental and sweet enough to the men who were dying there for love (291).” The undergraduates were even happy to do this. The onlookers said that “any face that rose was smiling (291).” After reading about the mass suicide, I would have to say that Zulekia served as a very effective distraction to college life. I think, though, that the effectiveness of this distraction lies in part due to the temperament of the undergraduates at Oxford. They lived in a society steeped in ancient honor and the sanctity of ideals like courtly love. “Oxford is full of privileged young men of the knightly class who resemble their medieval counterparts (466A).” In most other societies, where there is no sense of medieval honor, this mass suicide wouldn’t have taken place.
While Zuleika as a distraction depends on the ideas of medieval honor, the temptations that we face at an American university are more dependent on the ideas of an individual’s relation to a group. We don’t become tempted or distracted as a result of idealistic notions of courtly love. No, our distractions are rooted in a sense to be a part of a community of our peers. While I think this hold true for the majority of college aged students, I do recognize that there are many other sources of distraction. The conclusion that our distractions are a result of a desire to be a part of a group (no matter how hard we say we aren’t affected by ‘peer pressure’) applies mainly to the three distractions that Professor Bump listed for us in class the other day: Sex, Liquor and something else that is slipping my mind at the moment.
The distractions that an American college student faces are closer to the ideas presented in the “Lotos Eaters” than in Beerbohm’s book. This student succumbs to distractions in order to escape from the weariness of daily human life: “Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar, / Weary the wandering fields of barren foam (853).” Students succumb to distractions (purposely, no matter how it is argued – consciously or subconsciously), in order to “live and lie reclined / On the hills like Gods together, careless of manking (856).” This idea of an escapist cause, like the ‘peer pressure’ factor, is wholly different from the distractions that the Oxford undergraduates faced in Zuleika Dobson. I think it is incorrect to compare the situations because of the different societal temperaments and reasons for succumbing to distraction.
Jan. 23: French Lieutenant’s Woman part I
After reading this first section, I have to say that the most enjoyable part for me was the chapter on the description and characterization of Charles that dealt with his past and why he is who he is. While it was primarily biographical for Charles, it seemed like this was the chapter where the author threw in everything he ever wanted to say about writers, thinkers, scientists, or young bachelors.
In this section, Fowles discusses the issue of time itself. He says that, “the supposed great misery of our century is the lack of time,” but that the problem for Charles is rather “spinning out what one did to occupy the vast colonnades of leisure available (12).” I found this interesting because it isn’t really something I’ve put much thought into, even though recently I feel like I should. As Rachel said, we must realize “that the only thing running out in a hurry is [us]”. I had a lot of leisure time over Christmas break, and it was absolutely wonderful. But now that I’m back at school, it feels like I am busy from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. The funny thing about this is that it is almost as enjoyable as excessive leisure time was over the break. Professor Bump might just say that this is because I’m still in the rat race. I haven’t looked through the hedge and found the center, the place of leisure and relaxation. I tend to disagree. I know where the center is. I’ve been there. While I’m young though, I want to run while I still can. I enjoy the feeling. Even though “one of the commonest symptoms wealth today is destructive neurosis (12)”, I think I can avoid it by being aware of it.
The other thing I found very interesting about this section of the book was how Fowles uses the Victorian backdrop to show why Darwin’s Evolution and the Scientific Revolution gained so much momentum during this time. So far, he has done this primarily through the use of the Mrs. Poulteney character. The entire reason why Mrs. Poulteney takes Sarah in is such a farce. It shows the attitudes of some religious Victorians as close minded and not understanding their own religion (I concede that this statement is entirely subjective to the viewpoint of the person making it). The vicar, a man of God, compromises himself “for in his brave attempt to save Mrs. Poulteney’s soul, he decided to endanger his own (32).” Mrs. Poulteney’s approach to salvation as a mathematical problem of “whether the Lord calculated charity by what one had given or by what one could have afforded to give (21)” further shows this narrow minded Victorian atmosphere.
It is no wonder that so many people were able to throw off contemporary religious teachings and rather subscribe to Darwin’s scientific view and the evolution of species. Darwin just made sense.
Jan. 29: French Lieutenant’s Woman Part 2
I have come to enjoy this book much more than I ever thought I would when I first saw it on this semester’s reading list. I find Charles to be a very interesting character. While the title character has been very important in the book, I am more drawn in by the evolution of conscious awareness in Charles. It is as if Fowles is mimicking Darwin’s macro-evolution from The Origin of Species as Charles progresses from a disinterested fiancé to a troubled man as he adapts to his changing environment.
Charles is seemingly content with his life and his impending marriage to Ernestina until he meets Sarah. Fowles earlier explained Charles’ attraction to Ernestina when she “showed a gently acid little determination not to take him very seriously (79).” She was different from the other girls that only wanted to flatter him because she knew “the mistake of her rivals: that no wife thrown at Charles’ head would ever touch his heart (80).” Charles enjoyed this independent spirit that Ernestina exhibited. Similarly, when he encounters Sarah, he realizes “she was more intelligent and independent than she seemed (120).” Even though he failed to recognize it at the time, the seeds of attraction had planted themselves firmly in Charles’ head. Once there, they had not choice but to grow and exhibit a greater influence on Charles – a psychological incarnation of the “survival of the fittest.” Even when Charles becomes aware of his attraction to Sarah, he dismisses it as not an attraction to Sarah, “but some emotion, some possibility she symbolized. She made him aware of a deprivation (130).” This deprivation is what I find the most interesting. What is the nature of the line that one crosses when trying to fulfill this noticeable deprivation? Is it delineated by a physical action or emotional involvement? And is this yearning to fill a deprivation wrong? One could argue that it only strengthens a relationship because it removes a barrier to closeness between the two lovers…
At this point in the book, I have to ask the question: who will Charles eventually end up marrying? While the last several chapters of this book have made it nearly impossible for Charles to end up with Sarah, I still think it is likely because of Charles scientific background. I believe that his scientific background and his supreme faith in Darwinism – enough to be comforted when the Doctor “laid his hand, as if swearing on a Bible, on The Origin of Species (222)” – will push him more towards Sarah than Ernestina because Sarah is the more highly qualified mate. Charles’ gentlemanly side must also be taken into consideration because that will inevitably push him to make the dutiful choice and marry Ernestina.
This discussion board entry has been designed as more of a starting off point for debate than a collection of coherent conclusions. I welcome any comments and will happily reply with more of my own.
Feb. 12: French Lieutenant Part 3
I am really not sure what to make of this section. When reading it, I felt like I actually lost something (no, not my virginity). This feeling of loss is a little harder to pin down.
In the previous sections, complex relationships are formed and explored between the characters. We are with the characters as they listen, gossip, love, hate and fight. We are drawn into this little English town of Lyme and almost begin to feel as if we had lived there ourselves. We read and think about the developing love life of Charles with two woman and question what his choice will be, where his duties lie and if there is a possible moral solution to his predicament.
Then this world begins to fall apart, similarly to how it does in the book. Ernestina is exposed to be a trite woman whose only concern is if there will be enough rooms to decorate in whatever house they may end up in. She may write in journal that she loves Charles and will dutifully obey him, but the next day, she returns to her superficial perception of life indicated through her “certain failure to maintain in daylight the tone of her nocturnal self-adjurations (ch 34).” The delicate love between Charles and Ernestina is doubted once again when the concern falls on the importance of Charles’ title, or lack thereof.
The reader’s perception of Sarah in this section goes through several turns. First, we are led to believe that Sarah is a performer by the doctor. Emotions swell. How could she do such a wicked thing? Then a peculiar thing happens when Charles meets Sarah at the barn; doubt is washed away from our mind as we try to believe that she is being sincere and not ruining Charles’ impending marriage (not that he is faultless in this aspect). This continues for some time as we revert back to thinking of her as “that poor girl.” Then, another twist – we come to doubt her innocence only through her squandering of Charles’ gift purse that “had contained ten sovereigns, and this alone – never mind what else may have been involved – was enough to transform Sarah’s approach to the external world (ch 36).”
And finally, the third woman, Mary. While earlier she was pictured as an innocent girl from the country, we no longer believe that lie. The ‘innocent girl from the country’ rather comes from a world where “’tasting before you buy’ was the rule, not the exception (ch 35).”
What I want to examine in these three instances is not an issue of morality, because morality is in itself irrelevant at this point. I just have to ask the question, why? Where is Fowles leading us? He has taken every image, every possibility of the literary ideal of a loving, faithful relationship and made it an impossible outcome. This is what I lost during this section. I lost the possibility of the ‘happy ending,’ and instead, am left with nothing. There is more to say and to discuss in this vain, but I’d rather wait until class.
Note (against misogyny): I used the examples of the three women for sake of ease. I could have easily pointed to the loss of innocence/moral righteousness in many of the male characters as well.
Feb. 19: French Lieutenant’s Woman part 4
We are brought again to deal with the disappearance of God. This time, it is expressed in a unique way because it is felt by Charles. Charles, who considers himself an agnostic, still feels a sense of loss in the world due to the disappearance of God. I feel certain, though, that he would describe it as something else. He would say that this loss was just a loss of control over his own life. Where most Victorians would describe Charles’ loss as a direct result of his sinful nature that caused God’s gracing influence to disappear from his life, he would insist that it was his own fault. His misjudgment, his failure to make the right moves, caused his life to fall apart. No matter the explanation, the same conclusion is drawn: “We mortal millions live alone (ch 58).”
More specifically, Charles’ “god” is love. He was in a loving relationship with Ernestina. He did love her at one point. Gradually, then, this love faded as a new woman came into his life. Sarah was different, refreshing. When Sarah didn’t work out, Charles was officially left alone with no to be loved by and his “god” gone.
This is the point where the same problems that we discussed with the disappearance of God last semester appear. The love between Charles and Sarah could be there if they would both decide to love each other at the same time. It is all a matter of perception. Love has not really left the world as Charles concludes. It has just not been affirmed with a response from Sarah. Similarly, we said that the disappearance of God is a matter of perception. For some people God is still present, livelier than ever in their world. For others, God is gone and always will be.
What we must look at here is not which perception is more ‘correct,’ but just the fact the discrepancies in perception exist at all. Why is it that Sarah and Charles can not love each other at the same time? “To her he might be no more than a grain of sand among countless millions (ch 60).” Why must two people who love each other be destined to never mutually enjoy that love? These are the questions that Charles struggles with when he realizes that “love had left the world (ch 58).”
When we discussed the disappearance of God last semester we never really came up with a solution. Instead, we just discussed the occurrence and whether it was true or not. Thankfully, Charles has an answer though it may be dissatisfying. Life “is not a symbol, is not one riddle and one failure to guess it, is not to inhabit one face alone or to be given up after one losing throw of the dice; but is to be, however inadequately, emptily, hopelessly into the city’s iron heart, endured (ch 61).”
March 19: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
When I first read the epithet, “Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense (141),” and then translated it to “evil be to him who evil thinks,” I was not sure exactly how this fit into the story. I realize that its purpose is to guide our opinion of Sir Gawain, but I wasn’t sure in exactly what matter.
After carefully considering Gawain’s actions, I am still having problems deciding whether I should applaud Gawain and the round table for wearing “A baldric of bright green crosswise on the body / Similar to Sir Gawain’s and worn for his sake (141)” or criticize Gawain, as Tolkien might, for suffering from ofermod (overmastering pride that leads to foolhardiness). I think that Gawain’s decision to wear the belt for ever as a “token of the dishonesty [he] was caught committing (141)” is too much since he was already completely absolved by Bertilak: “The wrong you did me I consider wiped out (135).”
Whether we are to agree with Gawain’s end decision to perpetuate his shame or not, it is important to recognize why Gawain was so deeply affected by this situation. This poem is at its heart an examination of morals. Like many medieval knights, Gawain (and presumably the author as well) is forced to choose between earthly duty with its chivalric courtesies and the morality of a higher, eternal law. If the lady of the house asks for a kiss, or more, the knight finds himself in a questionable position. It would be completely impolite for him to refuse the lady and at the same time morally unacceptable for him to comply with any adulterous actions. Gawain’s only defense is to talk himself out of the situation. “Thus that lady made trial of him, tempting him many times / To have led him into mischief, whatever her purpose; / But he defended himself so skillfully that no fault appeared ( 87).”
This situation is compounded by the fact that Gawain is “One of the most perfect men who ever walked on the earth (133).” If Gawain, the perfect knight, is unable to escape this conundrum free of any sin, what hope is there for the rest of us? This, I think, is how the epithet “Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense (141)” fits into this story. No one should ever think badly of Gawain because he performed his task to the best of his ability. By wearing this epithet on a bright green baldric, we are all reminded of the inescapable nature of sin and disobedience. Even though I may criticize Gawain for wearing the belt when he need not display it, I recognize that this was the only outcome he could consider. Gawain had to somehow reconcile his actions with both his code of chivalry and the morality of an eternal law.
While the Sir Gawain story may be seen as a reconciliation of the medieval system, it is more than just that. It is a commentary on the human experience – the idea that we may try our hardest and still fail to fulfill all of our duties, meet all expectations and abide by all moral guidelines.
‘Do you know where the wicked go after death?’
‘They go to hell,’ was my ready and orthodox answer.
‘And what is hell? Can you tell me that?’
‘A pit full of fire.’
‘And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What must you do to avoid it?’
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: ‘I must keep in good health and not die (pp. 26-27 Ch. IV).’
Who would think that a ten year old girl would be capable of such a remark? Well, maybe today it could happen, but what about in the Victorian era? Would a Victorian girl make this comment? Probably not.
When I first read through this section, I highlighted this quote, because I thought it was funny, not because it revealed a psychological incite into the character of Jane Eyre. In fact, when I finished reading the first thirteen chapters of this book, I was very displeased. It just seemed uninteresting to me. I couldn’t understand why this was considered a good book.
Then I read Professor Bump’s article. I had fallen prey to the trap: “Unless a teacher makes the point very clear, students may fail to recognize how pioneering this novel was for its day (Course Reader, 392).” That one statement forced me to rethink what I had just read. Was it really revolutionary? Why is this class reading this novel?
I then remembered what Professor Tulis had to say at the Plan II director search question and answer session when faced with this question: Why do we read good books? I did not anticipate his reply, because it was a question I failed to seriously consider myself. I was one of those kids in high school that hated every book their English teachers ever assigned them, but nevertheless, loved to read, and did in abundance. Professor Tulis said (well, slightly paraphrased - it was several weeks ago), “We don’t read good books in order to just preserve old information, to study a static past. No, we read great books because they were so revolutionary for their time that they changed the world. We read the books that caused humanity to change direction, to critically reconsider itself, in the hope that we may one day do the same.”
Upon remembering this, I reexamined what I had just read: who is this Jane Eyre character, and why is she a feminine hero? The answer might be found in my original quote. When this was first published in 1847, the reader would probably be deeply affected when they read this section. They wouldn’t just glaze over it, like we do when reading this and doing many other things today. No, they would be affected, maybe disturbed, think to themselves: who does this Charlotte Bronte think she is? That would be the importance of this book to a Victorian.
Today, we may use this book for other purposes. Like Professor Bump suggests, we may use this to “develop [our] emotional literacy and awareness of roles [we] unconsciously adopted in [our] families of origin (388).” The idea that we play roles in our families is a funny one. I can’t really identify the role I played. I am the youngest of three children – two older sisters. The three of us always got along for the most part, nothing too serious. I have never really had any major fights with my parents. Most of my friends from high school were amazed by this – while I listened to them talk about how much they hated their parents, how their parents hate each other (cheated on each other in several instances), how they can’t wait to leave. I disagree with my parents on many occasions, but it never got in the way of my relationship with them. I have lived in the suburbs of Dallas my entire life. The only time my family has moved when I was alive was into a bigger house in a different neighborhood half a mile away. Does this define me? I don’t know.
“Contemporary American fiction, for example, like Victorian fiction, seems obsessed with the dynamics of dysfunctional families (388).” I have seen dysfunctional families through my friends while mine was fairly functional. I remember a friend telling me once, “Thomas, you have the perfect family. Your parents still love each other. They go on dates. They were high school sweethearts. You get along with your parents. How did that happen to you?” When I heard this, I was kind of shocked. I never looked at it that way. For me, my family was normal. The thing I remember most, though, is the first emotion felt when my friend said this to me. It wasn’t happiness, a sense of gratitude for having a loving family. No, it was anger, enmity – towards what, I still don’t understand to this day. Maybe it was a form of guilt because I somehow felt unworthy of my loving family while my friend had a very dysfunctional family. Maybe it’s because my family isn’t as perfect as some of my friends would like to think. I don’t know.
After reading this last section I have to doubt Rochester’s credibility and his honesty in his relationship with Jane. Rochester just seems to give up at the wedding way too easily. “Enough – all shall bolt out at once, like a bullet from the barrel. – Wood, close your book, and take off your surplice; John Green (to the clerk) leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day (248).” He never shows any real protest to the circumstances. He asks the lawyer to provide evidence and upon seeing Mr. Mason, immediately caves in. Maybe this is just a reflection of Rochester’s standing as a gentleman: knowing when to quite. I tend to think, though, that he quit at this moment because he knew he could still win Jane back if careful actions were taken.
In the last chapter, Jane and Rochester have a nice long talk and profess their love for each other. Rochester relates the story of how he was immediately interested in Jane and had loved her for a long time. From the first evening where he was “at once content and stimulated with what [he] saw (268),” he was supposedly attracted to Jane. I fail to see how this is so when we look back earlier in the book and see how he treated her.
Earlier he said that “you puzzled me the first evening I invited you down here (113).” I believe that that is all Jane ever will be to Rochester – a puzzle, a new toy, something (as Puja pointed out) to dress up and buy things for. At one point Rochester says that Jane never felt jealousy because she “never felt love (121).” I think that it is Rochester who has never felt love and never will. Rochester details the extents to which he roamed around Europe, trying to find the one girl that piqued his interest. I don’t think Rochester will ever be able to truly settle down and marry anyone. He would soon become bored of Jane if they were ever to marry. I don’t think Jane even realized this. Jane leaves Rochester solely because of the fact that he still has a wife that is alive. She loves him and probably will continue to for along time.
As someone alluded to earlier, Jane would just become another Bertha in a marriage to Rochester. While the signs would not be outward madness, they would be reflected in the inward captivity. Jane was right in leaving Rochester. Rochester was probably wrong in ever ‘loving’ Jane, though I doubt that he ever really did. He was just looking for the next thing of interest to himself.