Extra Stuff about Song of Solomon

Here is a nice, casual discussion of Song of Solomon by the author Toni Morrison in which she talks about the language she used in her novel as well as the myths she was trying to interpret in new ways. I also found it interesting to hear the author of this novel talking about her own work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTAQHbLFi84

(this is not a real blog post, see my previous one as my submission for this grading period)

The Father Figure in The Song of Solomon

Many of the most influential and memorable characters in the first three chapters of Song of Solomon are fathers. From Macon I, who appears only in memories yet played a major role in the lives of Pilate and Macon II, to Ruth’s father, a disturbing force of imbalance in her current family life, I have been struck by the importance of the father in this novel. The third father figure, perhaps the most important, is Macon II, a polarizing figure in Milkman’s life, serving both as a role model and as a daily antagonist to Milkman.

            Early in the novel, when Milkman first meets Pilate, she tells him about his grandfather Macon I. Macon I was killed when both Pilate and Macon were still young, but he still seems to have been a positive force in their lives. It is mentioned that though he was robbed of his name (and his identity as a man?), he built up his farm from nothing, a model of a hardworking and respectable man. Entering the realm of superstition that pervades her house, Pilate tells Milkman how her father’s spirit protected her and Macon II when they were lost in the woods.

            Dr. Foster, Ruth’s father, is a far less admirable character in the novel. After Macon hits Ruth at the dinner table and Milkman retaliates against him, Macon tells Milkman a sordid tale about Ruth and her father that shocks and confuses Milkman. A figure of authority in his community, Dr. Foster seems to have had some dark secrets in his family life, particularly in his relationship with his daughter. It is clear that, despite his outward appearance of “respectability,” Dr. Foster is largely responsible for all the tension in Macon’s relationship with Ruth.

            The most developed father-son relationship in the novel is certainly that between Milkman and Macon Dead. Macon is in many ways an enemy of Milkman, full of resentment and suspicion—it is mentioned that in his adolescence Milkman did everything he could to be the opposite of his father. And later in the story, Milkman physically assaults Macon in defense of his mother. However, at the same time Milkman is certainly appreciative of his father’s work and the opportunities that have been given to him through it. He definitely enjoys his job with Macon, if only because it gives him time to see Pilate. He seems to have genuine respect for his father as a businessman and a grudging sense of his father’s worth in the community. All in all, the “coming of age” section of Song of Solomon talks a lot about the impact of fathers on their children.  It is by and large a patriarchal society in this novel, though we should also note the importance of women particularly in Pilate’s household (but that could be its own blog post!).

           

           

The Man Who Wasn't There Extra Credit Blog Post

While I didn’t make it to the movie night, I recently watched The Man Who Wasn’t There, a film that Mr. Mitchell suggested we watch due to the movie’s shared themes with The Stranger by Albert Camus. I enjoyed the movie, but when I began to draw comparisons to The Stranger, I realized that there were the many key differences between this film and the book that supposedly inspired it.

            I thought that one of the most important aspects of The Stranger was the senseless nature of Meursalt’s murder of the Arab. Meursalt shot the defenseless man on the beach with no real motive. This is not the case at all in the pivotal murder scene in The Man Who Wasn’t There. Ed Crane actually kills Dave in self defense. Even if we disregard the fact that Dave attacked Ed first, Dave was sleeping with Ed’s wife, creating another obvious motive. The cold and uncaring character of Ed is certainly inspired by the unemotional and detached Meursalt, but the situation in which the murder occurs is completely different from the book.

            The trial of Ed’s wife again diverges from the novel, since there is nothing in The Stranger to compare it with. However, I did think it was an intriguing addition to the story that provided additional moral complexity for Ed’s character to confront. The defense lawyer is a much more important character in the film than in the book, which I think was a good choice on the part of the screenwriters since I felt that character was missing in The Stranger.

            Finally, the film wrapped up with the trial of Ed, where, without a solid defense, Ed’s character was put on trial and he was sentenced to death. Disregarding the alien scene (which I considered unnecessary and silly), this part of the movie certainly included themes from Camus and was a satisfying conclusion to the film.

Shifting Perspective in Wide Sargasso Sea

In Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys, the shifting narrative perspective allows the reader to view the same environment and events through a different lens.  The first part of the book is set in Antoinette’s past, with scenes from her childhood from her perspective.  Part Two alternates between the husband (Mr. Rochester) and Antoinette, focusing mostly on the husband’s perspective and inner thoughts.  Mr. Rochester finds himself in a foreign world following his marriage to Antoinette that left him thirty thousand pounds richer. He and Antoinette are to spend several weeks on an estate that belonged to Antoinette’s deceased mother. He is confounded by the customs, and also seems unable to understand his new wife whom he did not know prior to their marriage. The husband’s inability to connect with Antoinette is interesting.  Her customs are foreign to him, but because of the perspective in Part One, the reader understands that her behavior may have more to do with personality idiosyncrasies, than her native customs. From the husband’s perspective, much is unclear about Antoinette’s temperament and background.  The reader better understands the significance of some of the scenes because the reader has read the first part of the story as narrated by Antoinette. This allows us to identify better with Antoinette, even though we do not always know exactly how she is feeling at the time of the second part of the book.   When an author shifts narrative perspectives, as Rhys does so effectively in this book, it gives the reader a fuller understanding of the story and its nuances.

            Rochester is a somewhat unsympathetic character, yet because Part Two is largely from his perspective, the reader sees that he feels betrayed by his father and brother and confused by his wife’s behavior.  This is compounded by the encounters with Daniel Cosway.  Rochester would an even more unlikeable character if the second half was also told completely from Antoinette’s perspective. As it stands, we at least understand the motives for Rochester’s actions.  When the perspective shifts briefly to Antoinette’s, we are less bewildered and distressed by her husband’s lack of affection, but as readers we can empathize better with her feelings.   Rhys is a master of narrative perspective.

The Perception of the Arab in The Stranger

In The Stranger by Albert Camus, several passages reflect a racist attitude toward the native Algerians by the French colonialists. This first appears early in the novel, when Raymond beats his “Moorish” girlfriend with impunity, knowing that if someone will testify that she cheated on him he will face no charges (p.35-37). Not only does the law disregard his crime, but the white people living around him also display a similar lack of concern about the savage beating. Meursalt’s girlfriend Marie, who may even be Arab herself, is initially disturbed, but she quickly forgets about the incident.

            The most important Arab character of the novel is the victim of Meursalt’s senseless murder on the beach. Despite his extreme importance to the story, he is never even named. Similarly, Raymond’s girlfriend is not named. Their identity is solely defined by their race. This shows Meursalt’s racism, because he clearly knows the names of both characters but chooses not to use them.

            While Meursalt is arrested and convicted for the murder of an Arab man, the bulk of his trial is spent not discussing the murder itself, but Meursalt’s character. It quickly becomes clear that Meursalt had no real motive for the murder. At this point, Meursalt is no longer actually on trial for killing an Arab man, but instead for being a morally reprehensible individual whose unfeeling nature (particularly evident at his mother’s funeral) deeply offends the established French culture. The actual crime—the loss of an Arab life—quickly becomes insignificant. I sure this would not be the case had Meursalt killed a white Frenchman.

            Mr. Mitchell mentioned a recent book by Kamel Daoud, an Algerian writer, who retells The Stranger from the perspective of the brother of the murdered Arab. Go here for a great interview with the author:

http://www.npr.org/2015/06/23/416828000/algerian-writer-kamel-daoud-stands-camus-the-stranger-on-its-head

This new novel seems to be the perfect antidote to the dehumanization of the Arab in The Stranger.

           

The Metamorphosis of the Samsa Family

When Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning to find himself transformed into a verminous bug, his family members initially react with shock and horror. But as the novella progresses, Gregor’s “metamorphosis” begins to transform his family as well as they adjust to life with a giant bug. Gregor previously was responsible for providing a source of income for his family. Since he obviously cannot work as a bug, the family adapts, and in a sense I believe his absence eventually transforms each family member into a more complete human being. Meanwhile, Gregor has transformed from provider to pariah.

            I did not find Gregor’s father to be a particularly likeable character. While Gregor is a human, he is the chief provider for his family. His father takes advantage of this and does not work, sitting around the house all day. But when Gregor transforms, his father must also transform.  Faced with no other choice, he goes back to work. Gregor notices a marked change in his father soon after his transformation, as his father begins wearing a suit and in general behaving with more energy than before. But his father is cruel to Gregor, wounding him and not acknowledging that he is his son.

            Gregor’s mother is less defined and therefore her transformation is less distinct, but I would argue that the shock of Gregor’s transformation causes an emotional shutdown for his mother that begins after her collapse and subsequent terror upon seeing him for the first time on that fateful morning (p. 74 and 77).  We know that Gregor loved his mother (“that gentle voice,” p.68) and he looks at her several times in the course of the novel, only to see her fatigued or even, in the last look before his death, asleep. She tries to clean his room once, but this only causes Grete to scold her.  She frets about the lodgers and worries about Grete and her husband, but she has ceased to react emotionally to her son.  After a while, it is as if he is already dead to her and she is in mourning and depressed.

            Gregor’s sister, Grete, is the kindest to Gregor at the beginning of the story. Early in the book, Gregor talks about his love for Grete and how he has been secretly saving for her to attend the conservatory.  Grete shows her love, too by taking care of him, bringing food and water, cleaning the room, etc.  But after she gets a job, she grows tired of it.  As she becomes more independent, she resents Gregor’s presence more and as the novel progresses, Grete’s disgust for Gregor grows. By the end of the novel, Grete advocates “getting rid of” Gregor (page 104).

            At the end of the novel, Gregor dies and there is closure and relief for all of them. The family instantly feels as if a great weight has been lifted from them.  But they have changed.  They are all more fully aware of who they are and what they can (and must) do in the world.  They take the day off and go out on a family excursion, and their future seems limitless.  Are they unfeeling?  Have they forgotten Gregor?  No, but each of them has become something they were not while Gregor lived—either as son and provider or as bug in the bedroom.  They have been transformed and life will go on, perhaps better than before Gregor’s transformation. 

           

The "Modern" Woman of the 1920s

Lady Brett Ashley from The Sun Also Rises and Daisy Buchanan from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby are both tragic and flawed women of the 1920s. The Great Gatsby was published in 1925, and The Sun Also Rises was published shortly after in 1926. I do not think that Fitzgerald influenced Hemingway, but that both authors were depicting a lifestyle they  saw among wealthy women living at the time in the new “flapper” culture.  Daisy and Brett also seem to be examples of a new expression of feminism in the 1920s.

            Both Brett and Daisy are unable to love in a genuine fashion. This has an effect on the men they are involved with—Robert Cohn describes Brett as “Circe, because she turns men to swine.” Brett moves from lover to lover, never having any meaningful connection. Throughout the novel, she also maintains a tragic love relationship with Jake, who sometimes seems to serve as an enabler for her behavior. Jake is impotent in more ways than one, unable to give Brett physical love or the loving stability of friendship.  He is impassive when Cohn goes off with her and even seems to set her up with Romero the bullfighter. Daisy Buchanan displays similarly problematic traits, flirting with her cousin Nick, in love with Jay Gatsby, and eventually settling for Tom.  Throughout The Great Gatsby, Daisy shows a lack of commitment as her affections go back and forth between Gatsby and Tom.

            When I began to read The Sun Also Rises,  my first impressions of Brett as uncaring and aloof reminded me strongly of Daisy.  Both Daisy and Brett live with a carefree attitude, disregarding the implications of their actions. Brett’s alcoholism adds another level to this self-destructive and seemingly hedonistic lifestyle. Both Daisy and Brett’s aloof worldviews seem to be at least partially to blame for their inability to love. The only thing Daisy truly seems to love is material possessions, as seen in the famous scene where Gatsby’s shirts drive Daisy to tears: “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such beautiful shirts before.”

            Both women are beautiful and socially charming, but when we see them with their confidents (and our narrators) Nick and Jake, the truth comes to the surface. Daisy confides, “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”  While Brett tells Jake, “Oh, darling, I’ve been so miserable” at the beginning of the book and “Darling, I’ve had a hell of a time” at the end.  They are both deeply unhappy people, who try to appear carefree. Their unconventional behavior, which is frivolous or even wild, only masks tragedy.

            It is interesting that both Fitzgerald and Hemingway conceived very unsentimental female characters. Are they reacting in some way to the “flapper” movement or to early stirrings of feminism? Though Daisy and Brett are flawed, neither author is overtly critical of their lifestyles. Fitzgerald and Hemingway are keen observers of a new type of female character they have introduced into fiction.