The Female Condition in Wharton

While reading Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth, one of the major themes that sticks out to me is the struggle of leisure-class women to have a sense of purpose in their lives. Discussing an evening of bridge-playing, Lily urges Judy to think of “my career” (43). The fact that Lily’s lifestyle is a representative reflection of the tasks at hand for well-to-do women of the era, this offers a bleak and limited array of prospects for women. What might Lily be talking about when she discusses her “career?” One can only assume that it entails the process of marriage for a woman. As we have already learned about Lily, she is that she “is horribly poor-- and very expensive” (8). This creates a pretty negative picture for her as a character, because it becomes clear over the course of the novel that what she considers her career is the process of marrying into money.

But IS this actually a negative perspective? While outwardly there are some distinct similarities, projecting the 20th-and-21st-century perspective of “gold-digging” is not necessarily a fair assessment of the female condition in this time period. For one thing, there were limited (from my understanding, virtually no) vocations for upper-middle and higher economic class women to be active or successful in (Edith Wharton, as we discussed in class today, could be considered a notable anomaly, as she procured substantial wealth through writing in her lifetime. Still, she was not exactly born into poverty, and it is often said that one needs to have money to make money).

While a modern reader could be quick to criticize the lifestyle, materialism, and goals of Lily as a woman, it is key to acknowledge that women have a drastically different situation and more vocational options than they once had. Also, most of us as readers have different perspectives of the value of money than turn-of-the-century aristocrats, a period which Wharton depicts as a time dominated by men with money and women who spend money. While Lily and her ideals are not necessarily the most identifiable for this era (or for debt-ridden WSU students) I think that it is key to take a step back and acknowledge Wharton’s novel as a benchmark; it is indicative of a transitional period in women’s rights. Suffrage and vocations for women were not all that far off.

A McBook Full of Despicable Characters. But...

After our discussion of naturalism on Tuesday and its continuation on Thursday, I am reaching a better understanding of the context from which McTeague arose. Looking at his character, he starts out as a bit of a simpleton, but someone who appeared more or less harmless but for his brute strength, not unlike Lennie from Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. I would go so far as to say that the McTeague we saw early in the novel was more like a Forrest Gump on steroids. We se a simple man who didn’t need much but “to eat, to smoke, to sleep, and to play upon his concertina” (5). As the story progresses, we see a shift in this character, as he descends to having more animalistic characteristics, eventually becoming utterly wretched and despicable.

The first step that McTeague takes along this decline is in Trina’s series of dental appointments. His lust-driven, animalistic urges give way to the little bit of sense that he may have floating around in his thick skull. As he finally gets his girl, the story takes more of the form of a conquest than of anything resembling “love.” Perhaps more disturbing than the fact that McTeague’s brute strength won over is the fact that Trina not only gives in, but actually somehow almost likes it. She describes this as “that strange desire of being conquered and subdued (103). The problematic thing about Trina is that her submissiveness is frustrating. Furthermore, both characters simultaneously become more and more corrupt. While McTeague becomes more of a massive, brutish animal, Trina becomes ever more like Zerkow, finally rolling in her bed of gold coins in the ultimate gratuitous display of greed and miserly materialism.

It is definitely discouraging to see so many character either start out bad (Zerkow with his over-the-top stereotypes as the greedy Jew, Maria as the kleptomaniac, etc), but the small bit of redemption is in the beautiful little courtship scene that plays out between Ms. Baker and Old Grannis. This courtship drastically contrasts with the direction that the other characters are going in their downward spiral to baseness (or deadness, which seems to be the trend of late in the middle 2/3rds of the novel). I am cautiously optimistic about one thing in this book, and that is the wishful thinking that nothing happens to tarnish the side-story of these two old people who have found each other. Sentimental? Yes!

Be Ware of Corruption

After finishing Harold Frederic’s “The Damnation of Theron Ware” (quoted rather than italicized due to my ignorance of underlining on Blogger), I have to say that I was glad to see Theron rejected by Celia, Forbes and the rest of this new and strange culture that he had come to admire. I wouldn’t have felt this way earlier in the book, but his abysmal, paranoia-fueled mistreatment of his wife, and his sudden distaste for his own life (which, of course, he has made for himself) warranted this let-down. However, assessing the overall authorial intent of this work is somewhat complex and multifaceted based on the way the novel ended. One reading is that the stagnant ways of “Primitive Methodism” and other insular communities of worship create a closed-minded, bigoted and backward thinking population, as is the case with Octavius. Contrasting this with the new and comparatively progressive, adaptive lifestyles that the Irish residents share enhances this social dissonance, highlighted by the fact that “The church is always compromising” as Forbes explains, evolving to be accommodating and inclusive, which is a stark contrast against the ideals of the local Methodists (231).

In the end, it is clear that Ware is a spineless character who, in his efforts to stand for something, instead falls flat. Let’s look at the strikes against him:

1). He is unfaithful to his wife, a character he professes from the beginning to be a good wife whom he has been happy with up the point of meeting Celia.
2). He displays despicable amounts of jealousy and distrust toward his wife and her supposed infidelity, which is blatantly hypocritical in light of his own infidelity.
3). He abuses funds of his church to sneak off to New York, all the while “committing adultery in his heart” with no apparent shame in doing so.
4) He complains of his mistakes that have led him to become a clergyman, and despite this and his other numerous faults, he continues in the profession, only leaving when he has become heinously corrupt as a man of the church and as a man in general. And the list of his decline as a person continue to accumulate…

After all this, his statement that he may end up being “a full-blown senator” is especially telling; he is certainly corrupt enough to fit in well with the political world (326).

Examining where Ware started from within this novel and then contrasting it with where he ends up, I had wishfully thought that Ware would fall out of religion and become a more virtuous person because of it, but it turns out that his damnation was complete. Because of his corruption, he now has no place in the town of Octavius. On the other hand, Celia and the educated catholic community saw him as “unsophisticated and delightfully fresh and natural,” which condescends upon his inadequacies that he also perceives, and which in reality should be insulting (305). However, his corruption from this simple small-town minister to the role of a despicable adulterer leaves him absolutely nowhere to go, save for far away from the mess that he has brought himself to.

Looking at where Ware ended up, his journey parallels a fall from Paradise; here he is in a quiet little town, and the “illumination” and knowledge of new and broader ways to think end up corrupting him, and he falls from grace and is cast out of the society, or garden, if you will.

Coming of Age in "Ex-Colored Man"

After reading the first four chapters of James Weldon Johnson’s Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, I have found the unnamed protagonist to be a likeable character with tremendous potential to find real, lasting success in turn-of-the-century America. However, poor decision making has riddled the characters attempts at this so far. Specifically, the moments when the character reaches a crossroads, he seems to invariably make the wrong turns. Having both a stable job and a sudden streak of good luck in gambling, he declares, “I at last realized that making cigars for a living and gambling for a living could not both be carried on at the same time, and I resolved to give up the cigar-making” (Johnson 52). Here is a character who is so well-spoken and grounded in a seemingly rational mindset, yet he comes to some of the least rational conclusions.

Having not read ahead to establish a better understanding of the overall direction that he is headed as a character, I can only speculate. So far, I am seeing the narrator make so many poor decisions amidst the potential for such opportunity, and I come back to this thought: he is a young man. While I believe that the racially volatile dynamic of post- civil war America is a prevailing lens through which to examine the story as a whole (or half, as that is all that I have read up to this point), I still think it is key to acknowledge that this work is revolving around the young life of a boy becoming a man, and I’ll be the first one to admit that young adults make some pretty ridiculously irrational decisions from time to time. Based on these observations, I expect this narrative to adhere to the inverted slave narrative structure that we have discussed in class, but I also see this work in some ways taking the form of a coming-of-age story. In the traditional "Bildungsroman," the character's personal growth transitions the character into being more dependable, and I see this as probable for the narrator.

Complex Social/Racial Commentary in Twain

After completing train's work, I decided to provide some of my closing thoughts on the debate over whether racist leanings of Twain are exposed in the text. The short answer is that I absolutely do not believe that. The long answer...

Mark Twain is so widely known for his anti-racist commentary that I am implored to see this as one of the prevailing themes of Pudd’nhead Wilson, but the problematic conclusion complicates this reading. Finally, the white man formerly known as “Chambers” gains status as a full citizen and a white man. This produces a complicating factor for his character: in this text, we are drawn as readers to feel a sense of justice in that Tom, the real Tom, has “White” status. However, 21st-century society conditions us to acknowledge the fact that it shouldn’t matter what his status is. Isn’t a person a person?

From Chambers’ perspective, his sudden realization of white privilege becomes awkward; here is a character who is not up to speed with the cultural expectations of a white heir to a large sum of money (166). In a way, this supports the ongoing “nurture” side of the argument. Though the real Tom is certainly a better person than his changeling counterpart, his slave upbringing has denied him the social wherewithal to adapt to the environment that dictates he immediately become cultured.

Meanwhile, and perhaps most shockingly, we observe the fate of the despicable character that the real Chambers turned out to be. Is it really just that he gets sold down the river? Let’s look at his strikes against him:

1) Personality: he’s a gambling, snooty, awful person and we as readers immediately wish the worst for him, right?
2). He killed the man who he grew up believing to be his uncle.
3). He was an irrepressible burglar and conniver, not a virtuous character at all.

So… it is just that he be sentenced to prison, so is it also just that he be sold down the river? This gets to the heart of the trickier elements of Twain’s craft; while we may wish the worst for this character, if we support the end that he came to, we also implicitly support slavery in a way. While I believe that Twain had this in mind in writing this complex social commentary, these points definitely lead me to understand how so much controversy and debate simultaneously enshroud and enshrine the work.

Ahab a Monster?

Approaching the end of Moby-Dick, I had little question that the novel would end in a showdown between Ahab and the whale, since Ahab has focused so much energy and internal turmoil on his desire to kill the whale. Clearly, vengeance was at the forefront for him, but I was still surprised with Ahab’s statements in the chapter, “The Pequod Meets the Rachel.” Upon discovering that this ship had encountered the white whale, he exclaims, “where is he?-- Not killed!-- Not killed!” (396). This outburst demonstrates that Ahab is not so much concerned with the death of the whale as he is with actually contributing himself to the whale’s death. While this is a classic characteristic of vengeance, I was still surprised at his refusal to believe that anyone else might take credit for the whale’s killing.

Ahab’s obsession became even more twisted as the plot continued, but his construction of the harpoon using his crew members’ blood marks an even more heightened level of anguish for Ahab, but it was also the point at which I had no question that he, not the whale, was the monster (403).

However, in a manner typical of Melville’s style as I have observed it up to this point, he throws in an immediate complication that leads me to challenge my perspective on Ahab. In chapter 132, “The Symphony,” Ahab delivers to Starbuck a heart-wrenching account of his four decades of struggles at sea and the wife he has left behind. Ahab goes so far as to swear by land and the prospect of home, exclaiming, “by the green land; by the bright hearth stone” (406). Suddenly exposing his longing for home, why can’t he bring himself to heed so many others’ warnings, turn around, and return home, if he still has one? The internal anguish we’ve seen throughout the book suddenly adds another side to the coin here, but why couldn’t Melville add this substantial depth to Ahab’s character earlier in the story?

White Whale

Here are some interesting bits about a white Humpback whale that has received quite a lot of media attention lately:

http://www.care2.com/greenliving/albino-whale-spotted-near-australia.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KkqzKQ9oD0

Old-Testament Allusions: Yahwhale

As I continue deeper into this text, and become continually more disappointed with the behavior and character of the humans in Moby Dick, I become more impressed with Melville’s treatment of the whales. As a narrator, Ishmael exposes us to the humanlike qualities of the whales, but I was most struck by a deeper allusion: “the Sperm Whale only breathes about one seventh or Sunday of his time” compared to the breathing patterns of humans (291). I found this to be a particularly meaningful transformation in the portrayal of whales in the text up to this point.

We have heard accounts of monstrous, notorious whales with a Leviathan quality to them, but this quote turned the perception of its head, instead implicitly comparing the whale to another Old-Testament character. Ishmael notes that the whale breathes with one seventh the frequency that is habitual for humans. This follows a description of how with man, “breathing is incessantly going on” (291), suggesting that whales have an elevated or superior quality to them, only having to breathe one seventh as often. This is an understandable statement in itself, but Ishmael throws in the added descriptor of “Sunday.” the analogy of the whale’s time of rest therefore draws a clear parallel to the Judeo-Christian perspective that Yahweh worked for a week, resting on the seventh day.

This biblical allusion transforms the monstrous perspective of the whale into that of something to be revered, and makes me seek out further instances that elaborate on a deification of the whale. Further along, Ishmael refers to the whale as “my Lord Whale” (306). Looking at the potential parallels, the dangers of whaling at this time contributed to a great deal of death and danger, as Melville depicts; bearing this in mind, it also occurs to me that the whale has a godlike quality in dictating the life and death of a sailor. Though these attributes seem at odds with one another, it directly parallels the idea that the Old Testament god should be simultaneously revered for his greatness and feared for his destructive capacity.

The Queequeg Quommentary Quontinues

When reading this week’s assignments for Melville’s novel, I couldn’t help but continue noticing the further development of discussion of the social and cultural circumstances of many of the characters.

Although there is an abundance of social criticism in Moby-Dick as pertains to the treatment of people from other cultures, Melville forced us to look at a piece of racial commentary with a shocking bit of imagery that I found particularly provocative. This is the scene in Chapter 72, The Monkey-Rope, where Queequeg is suspended into the water from a rope. Ishmael narrates the account of Queequeg removing blubber from the dead whale while tied to a leash, explaining that it is reminiscent of organ-grinders “holding a dancing-ape by a long cord” (255). Although this is staged as an important task of the whaling industry and is likely to be a credible representation of the occupation, I cannot help but notice that it is Queequeg who has been delegated for this work.

The task creates racially-flavored imagery in that based upon the organ-grinding symbolism at work here, the “savage” is the character who is on the subordinate end of the rope, and the white man is the one holding the rope. Although Queequeg is a free sailor, this representation of him as a trained ape suggests a criticism of the fact that there is problematic treatment toward people of different ethnicities.

This is becomes more complex and problematic when looking back on the closing statement that Queequeg makes in chapter 66, The Shark Massacre: “wedder Fejee god or Nantucket God… de god what made shark must be one dam Ingin.” Considering that Queequeg himself is often referred to as “savage,” it is peculiar that he would ostracize another already marginalized people. The footnote to this page comments that he has learned this behavior and is “echoing an extreme white attitude” (243). With these examples, I am reaching a deeper understanding of what is happening here, and I realize that the same criticism of the mistreatment of the “other” may have been going on for nearly as long as the mistreatment itself. The hypocrisy that Melville deliberately instills in Queequeg echoes Caliban in Shakespeare’s Tempest, in which Caliban claims of white men, “you taught me language, and my profit on’t is I know how to curse!” (I.ii.366-67). The While Queequeg is by no means the demoniacal character that Caliban is, his socially exclusive behavior is a Eurocentric learned behavior. These observations, coupled with classroom discussion, have made me more aware that this account of a whaling expedition actually delves deep into social and racial commentary.

Queequeg: A Savage?

Upon first becoming acquainted with Melville’s work, Moby Dick, the character Queequeg immediately sticks out as a compelling character who Melville establishes as somewhat of a social and cultural commentary, as even before the characters set sail. The first mention of Queequeg occurs when the innkeeper explains that he trades preserved human heads (31). This abhorrent livelihood immediately set me up to expect a lowly, despicable character, a depiction of the “other” as a lesser being.

At odds with my initial perspective on the character, no matter how savage and outwardly disturbing Queequeg’s behavior may be, there is a sophistication and eloquence in what he stands for; by and large, Queewueg is a symbol of cross-cultural perspective. For example, we initially see the character as a crude being and a perpetrator of despicable indecencies (i.e., selling human heads), but the result is, in disguise, more a criticism of western culture than a condemnation of indigenous or “savage” habits. When the innkeeper explains that Queequeg is out selling heads, he quips that “to-morrow’s Sunday, and it would not do to be sellin’ human heads about the streets when folks is goin’ to churches” (32). This statement becomes humorous in the implication that, from the innkeeper’s perspective, there may also be a right time to sell human heads on the street, so long as it doesn’t interfere with church services.

As disturbing as Queequeg’s behavior may seem, so too is the innkeeper’s own crudeness in this respect. The major difference here is that while trafficking of body parts may be part of Queequeg’s culture, it is certainly not a part of the New England culture of the mid-1800s, and the innkeeper does not acknowledge this. Later, Queequeg shows in fact more respectability when he risks his own life to save the man the who had been cruel to him (63). This selflessness is an indication of the point that “savagery” is a cultural construct. In terms of how he treats people, Queequeg is in this case much more culturally sophisticated than many of the New Englanders in this text.

Disillusionment and Manipulation in Blithedale

Among the themes and motifs present in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Blithedale Romance, among the more resonant include the theme of manipulation and the resultant disillusionment that characters face. Coverdale’s observation that “human character was but soft wax in his hands” concisely indicates the sort of person that Hollingsworth is; Hollingsworth, has a tremendous skill and places a great deal of value on manipulating people to suit his own desires (Hawthorne 198).

On another level, there may be no truly likeable character in this work, which compounds the disillusionment embedded within the story. Even Coverdale, with his invasive voyeuristic tendencies, is a bizarre and problematic character, and since Hawthorne places him in the position of narrator, this defaults the reader into siding with Coverdale. Viewing the plot from a hiding place in the brush, or on several instances, through the windows into houses or hotel rooms, placed me as a reader in an uncomfortable position, even forcing me to become disillusioned with the notion, conditioned and reinforced in so many novels of the time period, that the narrator can be trustworthy. The work feels as though Coverdale produces the discomforting camera angles from which this drama unfolds, while Hollingsworth’s manipulative qualities cast him as the director of the entire thing.

Futhermore, Coverdale disillusions the reader with his closing confession of enduring love for Priscilla, which is at odds with the fact that we as readers have already observed his perverse shallowness. For the time that was becoming acquainted with Zenobia, she attempted to engage him in a discussion of his poetry, while Coverdale instead spent much of that occasion fantasizing about her and, in the voyeuristic manner that characterizes him, he instead focuses on “one glimpse of a white shoulder (15). This demonstrates that all of these characters have their own agendas, and it is little wonder that the characters’ half-hearted attempts at achieving a utopia fail; a perfect society cannot exist if people subscribe to it with their own interests and agendas at heart.

-Lukas Johnson 9/1/11