At this point I've become acquainted with all the professors and classes that I am going to be interacting with this semester, and I'm rather pleased with what and who I'll be working with. I am taking two early American Literature classes with the same professor, one is just the standard survey course, and the other is narrowed down to 19th century American gothic literature, which will be dealing with many of the authors that I love and want to study in graduate school. The professor is Jon Hauss, who has a fabulous reputation as one of Dominguez Hills finest literature professors, and after just one day with him, I can already see why. He's insanely personable, gracious, and smart as all get out, without any off putting pretentiousness. A friend of mine at school confessed had confessed to me a couple semesters ago that she had a massive academic crush on him, and I'm amused to be discovering the aspects of his ability that warrant so much affection for him from his students. On a side note, while I was studying in the campus bar (without a drink, by the way; darn you, phase one of the South Beach Diet!), Dr. Hauss came in with another of my new professors, Dr. Sherman (more on him later), and my old dreaded American Lit professor, Giannotti. It was priceless, Dr. Giannotti wouldn't stop yammering away for forty-five minutes while the other professors patiently waited to get a word or two in. Then, during the opening comments of my class with Dr. Hauss, later that evening, he mentioned something about evil academics who get tenure and then never do anything worthwhile for the remainder of their career, but simply orchestrate their lives as if they are doing some great committee work that means anything. His teeth were wine-stained, and he was hilarious. He's also a Melville expert. I sent him my Moby-Dick paper, and I'm eager to hear what he thinks about it.
I'm taking three other classes besides the two already mentioned. One is a Medieval Lit survey with Dr. Best, who I have already described on this blog as a sweet, quirky instructor who makes things very easy. I think this class will be much less intimidating with Dr. Best at the helm; she tends to be an excellent sport. I really appreciate her patience and her dedication, which are qualities I could work on, you know. Another class I'm taking is Studies in Composition in Literature and Reading, which turns out to be a class about teaching English (I know I could have looked at the course description in the catalog, but who does that?) to secondary students. I can only describe the class as an easy A, kind of a relief what with my schedule, and while the instructor is kind of dry and geeky (in sort of a Miguel Powers kind of way), he is very cute. It doesn't hurt.
Finally, there is my senior seminar. Dr. Hernandez, DH's primary Latino/Hispanic/Chicano Studies and Literature professor, is teaching the course, which has as its primary focus transnational American literature. It seems that we will be looking at American literature as an immigrant narrative, very interesting. We read the prologue to The New Americans, by Ruben Martinez, which is a great introduction to what we will be covering in this course. Dr. Hernandez seems to have it together, and he isn't terrible to look at, either.
What with all of my instructors under the age of fifty this semester, I feel like I have stumbled upon some fresh ideas, enthusiasm, passion, and good looks. I'm eerily contented with my lot this semester. I haven't often felt satisfied at DH, but this semester shows real promise.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Wuthering Heights Chapters 11-Fin: Look at MY Baby!
As the clock ticks off the final sixteen hours until I have to sit in a classroom and most likely listen to an already weary professor read the syllabus (to English majors!) I couldn't help but notice that I never finished discussing Wuthering Heights. I don't think I will blather more about it here. Instead, I think I will start drafting a paper. It will have something to do with possession, and how the word "mine" is used in the novel. Included, of course, are thoughts about reproduction, to add to my "Look at the Baby" thesis.
I thought I would work on Moby Dick this semester, but I never got over Wuthering Heights. Reading this novel as a grown up, I find it fascinating that it ever got published. It's so odd. Bronte turns the Bildungsroman into a never ending saga. I imagine this novel and Catcher in the Rye to be at opposite ends of the coming-of-age spectrum. I have a lot of questions about this novel. Why don't we ever get to hear Heathcliff or Cathy I's side of the story? Why is Lockwood even important? No one seems to have sex in this novel, yet babies everywhere! This novel trudges through religion, sex, classism, property, racism, sexism, incest, horror, and never once does it really tell you anything. It's quite possibly the most obsessive novel I've ever read. We're so insanely focused on these half-dozen people that it's like no one else exists. Yet, everyone just mopes around, except Heathcliff, who hits women and dogs and is always out doing something very important. It's very...emo.
Well, let's hope I get something together about it.
I thought I would work on Moby Dick this semester, but I never got over Wuthering Heights. Reading this novel as a grown up, I find it fascinating that it ever got published. It's so odd. Bronte turns the Bildungsroman into a never ending saga. I imagine this novel and Catcher in the Rye to be at opposite ends of the coming-of-age spectrum. I have a lot of questions about this novel. Why don't we ever get to hear Heathcliff or Cathy I's side of the story? Why is Lockwood even important? No one seems to have sex in this novel, yet babies everywhere! This novel trudges through religion, sex, classism, property, racism, sexism, incest, horror, and never once does it really tell you anything. It's quite possibly the most obsessive novel I've ever read. We're so insanely focused on these half-dozen people that it's like no one else exists. Yet, everyone just mopes around, except Heathcliff, who hits women and dogs and is always out doing something very important. It's very...emo.
Well, let's hope I get something together about it.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Art of Seduction
I have, I don't know, a feeling about the south. I feel like there is a beating heart there that I owe some allegiance to. Not in a confederate-type way, but in a very quiet and demanding way, a way that I feel Tennessee Williams captures in his over-the-top characters, within their heart-stopping dialogue. I recently watched Baby Doll again, and I can't tell you how much this film impresses me.
Carroll Baker plays the hastily married off title role, still a virgin at nineteen, after a year of marriage to Archie Lee, who has made shady promises to shower his young bride in wealth, but has not delivered. Archie Lee's cotton gin is not an efficient machine, and Archie Lee doesn't seem cut out for managerial/owner positions, as his house and business is beset with poverty stricken shades of disrepair and wood rot. Yet, this man promised a rather influential man in town that we would lavish a royal existence on Baby Doll, who is caught between the life she was raised to have, and her current state of bankruptcy.
Everything changes when Archie Lee, distraught at the prospects of never consummating his marriage with Baby Doll, due to his financial failures, burns down the cotton gin of the prosperous Sicilian business man, Silva Vacarro, a "foreigner" who has beat out all the town's local cotton gin competition, including Archie Lee. After Archie Lee's wild night of arson, he ends up the only suspect, yet the good-ol'-boy aspect of the town's government won't allow Vacarro to accuse Archie Lee outright. He must set a trap for Archie Lee in which the suspect will hang himself.
Inexperienced Baby Doll is Vacarro's chance to gain a witness who will testify that Archie Lee wasn't home the night of the fire (as Archie Lee contests), but came home later smelling heavily of smoke. Baby Doll, who seems to despise her ne'er do well husband, needs some persuading to sign a statement fingering Archie Lee. This is where the seduction of Baby Doll begins, and the most enjoyable scenes of the movie take place. Vacarro is tireless as he leads naive Baby Doll through her southern hospitality traditions and manipulates her senses in order to put her in a vulnerable mental state. He seduces her with questions, baiting her with soft, silky chiding, arousing her curiosity, and her untapped sexual desire. Vacarro never appears desperate, like the constantly floundering Archie Lee, as he dances Baby into a corner, like a scared rabbit. Caroll Baker makes these scenes unforgettable; she is so beautiful, and so sexy -- she puts Lolita to shame. She is the real reason to see this movie, and her scenes with Eli Wallach are the most provocative performances I've seen from a 1950's film.
I think the messages are more socio-political than anything else. Poverty and slavery are presented as aspects of existence that lead to sexual repression and delaying of gratification. Baby Doll speaks often of her "five complete sets of furniture" which make her feel more of a lady. Baby Doll has the idea that when she has the accessories of the middle class around her things will fall into place for her and she can make the step from childhood into adulthood. She has a vague notion that her predicament has something to do with her fourth grade education, but Vacarro quickly convinces her that this is not the only way she can "grow up." He does this by seducing her, arousing her repressed sexuality with statements that affirm her worth and value as a southern woman. We watch as Baby Doll becomes a woman, through the acquisition of a man (who then becomes her possession, as seen by Vacarro's stint in the crib) who psychologically manipulates her in almost an animalistic way -- the way you would cajole and manipulate a frightened dog. Baby Doll learns to trust, but, tragically, Vacarro is not looking for a woman, he is merely looking for her signature on a piece of paper, which will probably make him owner of all of Archie Lee's property. The film leaves us with the possibility that Vacarro may return to claim Baby Doll as part of the package, but what with his ability to deceive, we are not certain that he will make good on the promises he's made to her and Aunt Rose. Yet, even Vacarro has to admit that since Baby Doll has made the transition from laying in her crib/bed to putting her love interest in the baby's bed, and that this shift has caused a change in her countenance. She now has poise, and she can control her voice and anger at Archie Lee. Perhaps this change has a leveling effect on her and Vacarro's relationship -- now she is able to say what it is she wants. She doesn't have to "stand at the chalk board...and cry...and cry..."
There is so much more to this film, but I will have to discuss it further some other time. As I look at the stack of novels I have to read this semester (thirteen at last count), I don't know if I will have time to watch films until June. I would like to see The Reader, and Revolutionary Road, and I might be able to this first light week of class. Also, I should be finding out in the next couple of weeks whether or not I made it into the Ph.D. program at USC. Maybe, in this year of hopes and dreams coming true, I'll get a little residual good fortune! We'll see.
Carroll Baker plays the hastily married off title role, still a virgin at nineteen, after a year of marriage to Archie Lee, who has made shady promises to shower his young bride in wealth, but has not delivered. Archie Lee's cotton gin is not an efficient machine, and Archie Lee doesn't seem cut out for managerial/owner positions, as his house and business is beset with poverty stricken shades of disrepair and wood rot. Yet, this man promised a rather influential man in town that we would lavish a royal existence on Baby Doll, who is caught between the life she was raised to have, and her current state of bankruptcy.
Everything changes when Archie Lee, distraught at the prospects of never consummating his marriage with Baby Doll, due to his financial failures, burns down the cotton gin of the prosperous Sicilian business man, Silva Vacarro, a "foreigner" who has beat out all the town's local cotton gin competition, including Archie Lee. After Archie Lee's wild night of arson, he ends up the only suspect, yet the good-ol'-boy aspect of the town's government won't allow Vacarro to accuse Archie Lee outright. He must set a trap for Archie Lee in which the suspect will hang himself.
Inexperienced Baby Doll is Vacarro's chance to gain a witness who will testify that Archie Lee wasn't home the night of the fire (as Archie Lee contests), but came home later smelling heavily of smoke. Baby Doll, who seems to despise her ne'er do well husband, needs some persuading to sign a statement fingering Archie Lee. This is where the seduction of Baby Doll begins, and the most enjoyable scenes of the movie take place. Vacarro is tireless as he leads naive Baby Doll through her southern hospitality traditions and manipulates her senses in order to put her in a vulnerable mental state. He seduces her with questions, baiting her with soft, silky chiding, arousing her curiosity, and her untapped sexual desire. Vacarro never appears desperate, like the constantly floundering Archie Lee, as he dances Baby into a corner, like a scared rabbit. Caroll Baker makes these scenes unforgettable; she is so beautiful, and so sexy -- she puts Lolita to shame. She is the real reason to see this movie, and her scenes with Eli Wallach are the most provocative performances I've seen from a 1950's film.
I think the messages are more socio-political than anything else. Poverty and slavery are presented as aspects of existence that lead to sexual repression and delaying of gratification. Baby Doll speaks often of her "five complete sets of furniture" which make her feel more of a lady. Baby Doll has the idea that when she has the accessories of the middle class around her things will fall into place for her and she can make the step from childhood into adulthood. She has a vague notion that her predicament has something to do with her fourth grade education, but Vacarro quickly convinces her that this is not the only way she can "grow up." He does this by seducing her, arousing her repressed sexuality with statements that affirm her worth and value as a southern woman. We watch as Baby Doll becomes a woman, through the acquisition of a man (who then becomes her possession, as seen by Vacarro's stint in the crib) who psychologically manipulates her in almost an animalistic way -- the way you would cajole and manipulate a frightened dog. Baby Doll learns to trust, but, tragically, Vacarro is not looking for a woman, he is merely looking for her signature on a piece of paper, which will probably make him owner of all of Archie Lee's property. The film leaves us with the possibility that Vacarro may return to claim Baby Doll as part of the package, but what with his ability to deceive, we are not certain that he will make good on the promises he's made to her and Aunt Rose. Yet, even Vacarro has to admit that since Baby Doll has made the transition from laying in her crib/bed to putting her love interest in the baby's bed, and that this shift has caused a change in her countenance. She now has poise, and she can control her voice and anger at Archie Lee. Perhaps this change has a leveling effect on her and Vacarro's relationship -- now she is able to say what it is she wants. She doesn't have to "stand at the chalk board...and cry...and cry..."
There is so much more to this film, but I will have to discuss it further some other time. As I look at the stack of novels I have to read this semester (thirteen at last count), I don't know if I will have time to watch films until June. I would like to see The Reader, and Revolutionary Road, and I might be able to this first light week of class. Also, I should be finding out in the next couple of weeks whether or not I made it into the Ph.D. program at USC. Maybe, in this year of hopes and dreams coming true, I'll get a little residual good fortune! We'll see.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Easily Disturbed
I just viewed The Dark Knight. I attempted to see it in theaters, in IMAX, actually, but the movie shut off about thirty minutes into it due to a power surge that shut down the projector. I know this isn't a popular response, but my experience of the film was dreadful. I thought the performances by Bale, Ledger, Oldman (did I ever tell you about the time Todd met Gary Oldman?), and Eckhart were really good, but I thought the movie was simply too hopeless. I thought it ended badly, and wondered if maybe they redid the ending so that we wouldn't have to see Ledger's character die.
There were some things that the movie got right, especially about the Joker. He was horrifying, yet all you wanted was for him to give up and be the sort of anti-hero that doesn't really like to cut people to death, so that he could be more entertaining and less frightening. Yet, for the entire film Batman is trying to give up being Batman. I think the film tried way to hard to push the whole there is no good without evil concept, constantly spelling it out for us instead of letting us see it for ourselves. I thought there were some beautiful scenes, like when Batman is riding the motorcycle and the cape is flowing behind him, or even when the Joker visits Dent in the hospital and is in the nurse uniform -- there is something really great about the color and the framing of those shots that made the movie very provocative. I thought the film was dreadful because I was filled with dread watching it. I am getting to be very sensitive to violence on screen, and there is just something about the city scenes in this film that felt way too close to home. I experience films, and some novels, very viscerally, and I may have to just quit seeing action-type films altogether.
From a slightly more critical perspective, I don't think this film should win Best Picture. I saw that Slumdog Millionaire won the Golden Globe for best picture, and I hope it does just as well with the Academy. I can't wait to see Revolutionary Road.
There were some things that the movie got right, especially about the Joker. He was horrifying, yet all you wanted was for him to give up and be the sort of anti-hero that doesn't really like to cut people to death, so that he could be more entertaining and less frightening. Yet, for the entire film Batman is trying to give up being Batman. I think the film tried way to hard to push the whole there is no good without evil concept, constantly spelling it out for us instead of letting us see it for ourselves. I thought there were some beautiful scenes, like when Batman is riding the motorcycle and the cape is flowing behind him, or even when the Joker visits Dent in the hospital and is in the nurse uniform -- there is something really great about the color and the framing of those shots that made the movie very provocative. I thought the film was dreadful because I was filled with dread watching it. I am getting to be very sensitive to violence on screen, and there is just something about the city scenes in this film that felt way too close to home. I experience films, and some novels, very viscerally, and I may have to just quit seeing action-type films altogether.
From a slightly more critical perspective, I don't think this film should win Best Picture. I saw that Slumdog Millionaire won the Golden Globe for best picture, and I hope it does just as well with the Academy. I can't wait to see Revolutionary Road.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Wuthering Heights Chapters 3-11
I know eight chapters seems like I'm going a little fast, but everything was going along rather blandly, until I got to chapter 11, when things became very complicated and interesting. First of all, there are several narrators in this novel. There is Lockwood, the tenant at the Grange, Nelly, the Earnshaw's nanny/housekeeper/soulkeeper, and Catherine I, who speaks from her notebooks (there may be more, I'm not sure yet). They tell the tale in an out of order fashion -- I believe only Nelly tells the story chronologically. Before Nelly starts telling the family history to Lockwood, we hear Catherine tell a version of the story from her journal, in chapter three. This is a very curious chapter. We have heard what Joseph, the groundskeeper, sounds like from his dealings with Lockwood. His charater is written in a sort of English country vernacular, which never changes, whether Lockwood is hearing him speak in the moment, or Cathy is writing in a journal, or Nelly is relating an account of him to Lockwood; Joseph is always written in the same nearly indecipherable vernacular, full of outrageously old (maybe olde) fashioned words and pronunciations that I can scarcely make out. It seems a little strange to me that Bronte always chose to represent Joseph using this vernacular, no matter who is speaking. I mean, would ten year-old Cathy really record Joseph's language in the vernacular form? Nelly, although also a servant, is not recorded in this way, so are we to assume that she doesn't sound abnormal? Heathcliff couldn't speak English before he came to Wuthering Heights and his language doesn't differ from the other normalized characters who do not speak in a dialect. Yet, he and Cathy do speak in a sort of argot, don't they? We never really get to hear their private conversations, and they are always being interrupted. Also, did you notice that quite early, we think of the Earnshaws and Lintons as ORPHANS? I'm getting ahead of myself.
Much like in Moby-Dick we come upon a chapel and sermon scene. Although Bronte's is in a dream sequence, and the experience of Lockwood in Jabes Branderham's congregation is much more personal, and dangerous. There are some ideas in this dream-sermon that I don't really understand, but whether that is because I don't have a critical edition which would tell me if I'm simply not recognizing Anglican jargon, or if in fact this is deliberately confusing dream talk, I'm not sure. After listening an excruciatingly long time to a seemingly endless sermon, Lockwood says he "was moved to rise and denounce Jabes Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon." Now what in the world is this referring to? An unpardonable sin? Or a sin that simply doesn't warrant pardon? I don't clearly understand. Next the chapter describes Lockwood as telling the reverend that the "sin" he has committed is carrying on too long -- but the catch is that he tells his fellow listeners, "have at him! Drag him down and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!" I think Lockwood is trying to say that he doesn't have to forgive the Reverend his overlong sermon -- they call it the "first of the seventy-first" which I'm taking to be a reference to the limits of forgiveness -- the first of the seventy first is the final straw upon which afterward it is righteous to carry out retribution against another. It is as if Lockwood, who is kind of a smart aleck, gets exasperated and then gives this clever good-day to the reverend, who then eerily replies that "Thou art the Man!" (who has burned through his chances for forgiveness, and is now up for judgement), and sets the whole assembly on him, saying that "all His saints" have the honour of executing judgement on those who's chances for salvation have run out. Yet I'm left wondering, what is the crime? I think that is a question that the novel consistently asks -- what are these crimes that we are so guilty of that our inmost moral fiber is compromised and we end up deserving of annihilation?
I interpret Father Mapple's sermon to be a sort of warning against trying to live a life on the run, which even Father Mapple has to realize he is doing, in his impregnable pulpit. All of the characters in Wuthering Heights seem to exist on the premise that another person is their undoing. They are on the run from some judgement of their predicament -- Cathy with her two husbands, Heathcliff with his thunderbolts of retribution, Hindely plagued by the loss of his father's favor, Linton, who cannot command respect or enact the violence that would supposedly make him the king of Catherine's heart, and Nelly, who seems to feel that she is a part of everyone's sufferings, and somehow must struggle to control it all.
As the tragic romance develops over the next few chapters, some interesting ideas surfaced about what I've heretofore mentioned as the gaze, especially the returned gaze and feminity. Maybe it was Sedgewick that had a triangle theory? Anyway, as chapter ten winds down, I observed a rather startling line:
Nelly, it seems, sees all, or wants to see all, judge all, control all. She is this unwanted, undesirable, awkward thing. She is not permitted to be one of the children, who desires and is respected and looks out for herself. What does she desire? Who does she gaze at? The answer, according to chapter 11 seems to be Hindley. She actually admits her "angelic" moments of conscience are her own repressed desires finding a suitable outlet, appropriate for one who is not allowed to desire:
I just about went berserk after reading this! The summer sun shines on a sign that leads her to Hindley, who she regards as her master. She bends down to examine a hole in the stone where she and Hindley used to store things like snail shells and pebbles and perishable things, and then sees her master's son, who she claims as "my Hareton." Now, Hareton's birth mother is dead, and Nelly has been the child's nurse and nanny. But upon reading this passage it appears that Nelly imagines herself a consumater (legitimizing her and Hindley's relationship the same way Heathcliff and Cathy do, outside of the limits of Wuthering Heights and the Grange, in a liminal area like the moor; this spot -- the very line between all known worlds -- is even more provacative), a womb (the hole in the rock), and fertilization (images of nature and hard vs. soft/wet things, chambers, growth, engorgement, slime), and viola!, Nelly sees a child -- Hareton (and claims him as her own). This child, SO much like Pearl from The Scarlet Letter, does not recognize her or the kind of authority that she must think she represents, and he HURLS A ROCK AT HER. His baby features were "distorted...into a shocking expression of malignity." Everything is backwards here: the (presumably) virgin nurse goes through the figurative stages of fertilization and childbirth -- but the baby's expression is not childlike, and it's only real protector is Heathcliff, who is not exactly the mother-type. Nelly get's to remain virginal, and her sexual desire remains unsatisfied, hence by the end of the chapter she has meddled in matters that do not concern her; she is a busybody precisely because she never gets busy.
I have other ideas about this chapter that would be better served with a little more gender theory. I think Heathcliff represents a lot of physical release - he is rather violent. Nelly's physicality is seen in her housework, and she is never to imagine that she is of the same class as the Earnshaws, Lintons, or Heathcliff. She is a servant, and presumably celibate. But what a repressed sexuality! She is passionately loyal to her masters, and even rather in love with Cathy. The possibility that she can express that passion sexually is severely limited, and that energy tends to send her meddling in everyone's affairs. She describes her involvement in the drama as "put[ting] in my tongue," "I commenced a soothing speech," "it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard," "'Judas! Traitor!' I ejaculated," and when she betrays Cathy's trust to Linton, she relates how livid Cathy looks, and then says, "I made up my mind for broken bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant."
She expects a physical altercation -- I almost want to say that this whole chapter is about Nelly's sexual repression, and the ways in which she finds gratification through the violent acts of others (the whole divine retribution thing applies here). Yet, I cannot get over the imagery of the hole in the rock and the baby. It's just smacks of Melville and Hawthorne all over.
Much like in Moby-Dick we come upon a chapel and sermon scene. Although Bronte's is in a dream sequence, and the experience of Lockwood in Jabes Branderham's congregation is much more personal, and dangerous. There are some ideas in this dream-sermon that I don't really understand, but whether that is because I don't have a critical edition which would tell me if I'm simply not recognizing Anglican jargon, or if in fact this is deliberately confusing dream talk, I'm not sure. After listening an excruciatingly long time to a seemingly endless sermon, Lockwood says he "was moved to rise and denounce Jabes Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon." Now what in the world is this referring to? An unpardonable sin? Or a sin that simply doesn't warrant pardon? I don't clearly understand. Next the chapter describes Lockwood as telling the reverend that the "sin" he has committed is carrying on too long -- but the catch is that he tells his fellow listeners, "have at him! Drag him down and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!" I think Lockwood is trying to say that he doesn't have to forgive the Reverend his overlong sermon -- they call it the "first of the seventy-first" which I'm taking to be a reference to the limits of forgiveness -- the first of the seventy first is the final straw upon which afterward it is righteous to carry out retribution against another. It is as if Lockwood, who is kind of a smart aleck, gets exasperated and then gives this clever good-day to the reverend, who then eerily replies that "Thou art the Man!" (who has burned through his chances for forgiveness, and is now up for judgement), and sets the whole assembly on him, saying that "all His saints" have the honour of executing judgement on those who's chances for salvation have run out. Yet I'm left wondering, what is the crime? I think that is a question that the novel consistently asks -- what are these crimes that we are so guilty of that our inmost moral fiber is compromised and we end up deserving of annihilation?
I interpret Father Mapple's sermon to be a sort of warning against trying to live a life on the run, which even Father Mapple has to realize he is doing, in his impregnable pulpit. All of the characters in Wuthering Heights seem to exist on the premise that another person is their undoing. They are on the run from some judgement of their predicament -- Cathy with her two husbands, Heathcliff with his thunderbolts of retribution, Hindely plagued by the loss of his father's favor, Linton, who cannot command respect or enact the violence that would supposedly make him the king of Catherine's heart, and Nelly, who seems to feel that she is a part of everyone's sufferings, and somehow must struggle to control it all.
As the tragic romance develops over the next few chapters, some interesting ideas surfaced about what I've heretofore mentioned as the gaze, especially the returned gaze and feminity. Maybe it was Sedgewick that had a triangle theory? Anyway, as chapter ten winds down, I observed a rather startling line:
I determined to watch his movements.
Nelly, it seems, sees all, or wants to see all, judge all, control all. She is this unwanted, undesirable, awkward thing. She is not permitted to be one of the children, who desires and is respected and looks out for herself. What does she desire? Who does she gaze at? The answer, according to chapter 11 seems to be Hindley. She actually admits her "angelic" moments of conscience are her own repressed desires finding a suitable outlet, appropriate for one who is not allowed to desire:
I've persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people talked regarding his ways...I came to a stone...it serves as a guidepost to...the Heights. The sun shone yellow on it's grey head, reminding me of summer, and I cannot say why, but all at once, a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favorite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weather-worn block, and stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail shells and pebbles, which we were very fond of storing there..."Poor Hindley!" I exclaimed, involuntarily...this must be Hareton, my Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten months since.
I just about went berserk after reading this! The summer sun shines on a sign that leads her to Hindley, who she regards as her master. She bends down to examine a hole in the stone where she and Hindley used to store things like snail shells and pebbles and perishable things, and then sees her master's son, who she claims as "my Hareton." Now, Hareton's birth mother is dead, and Nelly has been the child's nurse and nanny. But upon reading this passage it appears that Nelly imagines herself a consumater (legitimizing her and Hindley's relationship the same way Heathcliff and Cathy do, outside of the limits of Wuthering Heights and the Grange, in a liminal area like the moor; this spot -- the very line between all known worlds -- is even more provacative), a womb (the hole in the rock), and fertilization (images of nature and hard vs. soft/wet things, chambers, growth, engorgement, slime), and viola!, Nelly sees a child -- Hareton (and claims him as her own). This child, SO much like Pearl from The Scarlet Letter, does not recognize her or the kind of authority that she must think she represents, and he HURLS A ROCK AT HER. His baby features were "distorted...into a shocking expression of malignity." Everything is backwards here: the (presumably) virgin nurse goes through the figurative stages of fertilization and childbirth -- but the baby's expression is not childlike, and it's only real protector is Heathcliff, who is not exactly the mother-type. Nelly get's to remain virginal, and her sexual desire remains unsatisfied, hence by the end of the chapter she has meddled in matters that do not concern her; she is a busybody precisely because she never gets busy.
I have other ideas about this chapter that would be better served with a little more gender theory. I think Heathcliff represents a lot of physical release - he is rather violent. Nelly's physicality is seen in her housework, and she is never to imagine that she is of the same class as the Earnshaws, Lintons, or Heathcliff. She is a servant, and presumably celibate. But what a repressed sexuality! She is passionately loyal to her masters, and even rather in love with Cathy. The possibility that she can express that passion sexually is severely limited, and that energy tends to send her meddling in everyone's affairs. She describes her involvement in the drama as "put[ting] in my tongue," "I commenced a soothing speech," "it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard," "'Judas! Traitor!' I ejaculated," and when she betrays Cathy's trust to Linton, she relates how livid Cathy looks, and then says, "I made up my mind for broken bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant."
She expects a physical altercation -- I almost want to say that this whole chapter is about Nelly's sexual repression, and the ways in which she finds gratification through the violent acts of others (the whole divine retribution thing applies here). Yet, I cannot get over the imagery of the hole in the rock and the baby. It's just smacks of Melville and Hawthorne all over.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wuthering Heights Chapters 1 and 2
I know the title of this post didn't suggest this at all, but I wanted to write about how disappointed I was by The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. You know, Brad Pitt is a movie idol, a really, really, ridiculously good-looking actor who is a joy to watch. So, just getting to see him do his thing is nice (I think I have an old blog about just watching Brad Pitt). But this movie dragged on so long, and took so many left turns, that by the time it was over, I had no idea what I was expected to walk away with. I was unnerved by the fairy-tale aspect of Benjamin's miraculous reverse aging process juxtaposed with the hyper-realism induced by including hurricane Katrina. I actually think I didn't like it, and that it really wasn't a good movie. The only thing that saves it is Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett are so attractive. I guess what I'm left with is that old age is ugly and it sucks to lose your mind. This was like the antithesis to The Notebook. I read the story to my niece the other day, the original story by Fitzgerald, and Benjamin was never meant to be this benevolent, ageless creature full of wonder and sagacity. Giving the character so little personality caused me to constantly remember that I was watching Brad Pitt. It's a shame, really, to get these A list actors together so beautifully, and get so little out of it.
On to the original intent of this post -- Emily Bronte's tale of the hearth.
Chapter one of Wuthering Heights introduces a rather odd, rather Ishmael-like narrator, Mr. Lockwood. I have a lot of thoughts about this narrator. One concerns his view of what I'll simply call "the gaze." I'm trying very hard to remember the theory I've read about the gaze. I think Butler discusses the importance of the gaze in the subject/object relationship. The subject gazes at the object of desire. In Mr. Lockwood's case, he doesn't particularly care for the gaze to be returned -- especially by a woman. When Lockwood first meets Heathcliff, he gets a little crush on him, he says, because he "felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself." The first woman to meet Lockwood's gaze is the mother dog that jumps on top of him and dominates him. This is the beginning of what seems to be a pattern with Lockwood: out of fear of female dominance, he avoids the returned gaze. He seems to better tolerate Heathcliff's person, and he gives us a little insight into why this is: "I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him." Lockwood likes to look at what he can see himself in, and I don't believe that women can do that for him, but Heathcliff, with his masculine power, wealth, and frustrated heterosexual desire is something that can receive his gaze, precisely because he won't return it. When Lockwood speaks of a failed romance, he confesses that he was interested in a lovely girl, "as long as she took no notice of me." When this girl does look at him (he even insists there was no telling of love, only looks), "at every glance [I} retired colder and farther."
Now, I think for the purpose of the novel, we are to compare Lockwood and Heathcliff, and find the latter far more exciting and masculine. However, aside from Lockwood's inexperience in the country, how are we to distinguish between his frustrated sex life and Heathcliff's? I think it has to do with the gaze, and with power. Lockwood is secure until the object of his desire returns the gaze; Heathcliff is secure until Cathy turns her gaze to something else besides him. Lockwood would have liked it if his aforementioned object of affection had kept her gaze elsewhere. Heathcliff admires an empowered woman, and Lockwood is afraid of one, even if only in the form of a dog. This fear in Lockwood is so off-putting. I feel somewhat sympathetic for him, having stumbled into this mess unknowingly, but when he begins to worm his way into things, I find it don't like him. When he wants to free himself from the Cathy's ghostly arm, he rubs it bloody against the broken window pane. Something about him, his fear and his weak character, make him the great counterpoint to Heathcliff.
I find that he is very much like Ishmael, and Heathcliff is very much like Ahab.
On to the original intent of this post -- Emily Bronte's tale of the hearth.
Chapter one of Wuthering Heights introduces a rather odd, rather Ishmael-like narrator, Mr. Lockwood. I have a lot of thoughts about this narrator. One concerns his view of what I'll simply call "the gaze." I'm trying very hard to remember the theory I've read about the gaze. I think Butler discusses the importance of the gaze in the subject/object relationship. The subject gazes at the object of desire. In Mr. Lockwood's case, he doesn't particularly care for the gaze to be returned -- especially by a woman. When Lockwood first meets Heathcliff, he gets a little crush on him, he says, because he "felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself." The first woman to meet Lockwood's gaze is the mother dog that jumps on top of him and dominates him. This is the beginning of what seems to be a pattern with Lockwood: out of fear of female dominance, he avoids the returned gaze. He seems to better tolerate Heathcliff's person, and he gives us a little insight into why this is: "I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him." Lockwood likes to look at what he can see himself in, and I don't believe that women can do that for him, but Heathcliff, with his masculine power, wealth, and frustrated heterosexual desire is something that can receive his gaze, precisely because he won't return it. When Lockwood speaks of a failed romance, he confesses that he was interested in a lovely girl, "as long as she took no notice of me." When this girl does look at him (he even insists there was no telling of love, only looks), "at every glance [I} retired colder and farther."
Now, I think for the purpose of the novel, we are to compare Lockwood and Heathcliff, and find the latter far more exciting and masculine. However, aside from Lockwood's inexperience in the country, how are we to distinguish between his frustrated sex life and Heathcliff's? I think it has to do with the gaze, and with power. Lockwood is secure until the object of his desire returns the gaze; Heathcliff is secure until Cathy turns her gaze to something else besides him. Lockwood would have liked it if his aforementioned object of affection had kept her gaze elsewhere. Heathcliff admires an empowered woman, and Lockwood is afraid of one, even if only in the form of a dog. This fear in Lockwood is so off-putting. I feel somewhat sympathetic for him, having stumbled into this mess unknowingly, but when he begins to worm his way into things, I find it don't like him. When he wants to free himself from the Cathy's ghostly arm, he rubs it bloody against the broken window pane. Something about him, his fear and his weak character, make him the great counterpoint to Heathcliff.
I find that he is very much like Ishmael, and Heathcliff is very much like Ahab.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Final Thoughts on Fall 2008
Grades are in! I did even better than I anticipated:
African American Poetry and Drama: A-
Women's Studies: A
Natural Disasters: A- (!)
Shakespeare: A
British Lit 1842 - Current: B+
I couldn't believe it when I found out I got the A- in Natural Disasters (the last general ed/science class of my BA)! I know there are some of you out there who don't expect any less, or who perhaps think I could be getting these grades even if I were sleep walking through class, but I have to say I am pretty darned pleased with myself. Yet, that B+ irks me, for I earned an A- in that class (see the blog on the midterm mishap). I wish I could say that I am rid of that rigid instructor forever, but she is the contact for the masters program. What incentive for transferring to CSU Long Beach! Well, I guess I could just try to pay more attention to directions. It's apparently pretty important, seeing how I got the only other B+ at DH, in syntax, because I failed to notice that homework was 40% of the grade, and didn't turn in the first assignment.
The instructor I had for Shakespeare, Dr. Lois Feuer, was a very intimidating Shakespeare expert. Imagine my delight as she took me aside after I turned in my final and told me she had considered inviting me to audit (?) her graduate course on gender and sexuality in Shakespeare next semester. She told me she was surprised and disappointed that I was a junior -- well, I'm only a junior because I'm compressing my schedule to graduate a semester early -- and that I was already enrolled in five classes for the Spring semester. She has one of the toughest reputations in the department, and she was simply wonderful to me. It more than made up for the rigamarole I went through in British Lit. It's amazing how far personality goes. I'm convinced that I erred in syntax and British Lit mostly because I didn't care for the instructors. Even though I know I'm not telling Dr. Feuer anything she doesn't already know about Shakespeare, I am convinced that she appreciates a good discussion about literature. I felt that Dr. White was more concerned with weighing and measuring, holding us up to the light to check for flaws, than she was with excellent discussion. Yet, I learn from all of it. I learn what kind of teacher I want to be, and what kind I desperately want to avoid being like.
In other news, I got the results for the GRE subject test back. I scored in the 78th percentile. Not my finest hour -- but not bad, especially since I didn't get to study for it, and had to rush through at least 20 questions. I still consider myself pretty great, because I scored with about the top 20 percent of my fellow test takers, which puts me with some pretty good people.
I'm very pleased with all that I got accomplished this semester. I feel like I've returned to the real world, for at least a few weeks. Are you freezing? 'Cause it's FREEZING. I hope this blubber I've been developing lasts through the winter.
African American Poetry and Drama: A-
Women's Studies: A
Natural Disasters: A- (!)
Shakespeare: A
British Lit 1842 - Current: B+
I couldn't believe it when I found out I got the A- in Natural Disasters (the last general ed/science class of my BA)! I know there are some of you out there who don't expect any less, or who perhaps think I could be getting these grades even if I were sleep walking through class, but I have to say I am pretty darned pleased with myself. Yet, that B+ irks me, for I earned an A- in that class (see the blog on the midterm mishap). I wish I could say that I am rid of that rigid instructor forever, but she is the contact for the masters program. What incentive for transferring to CSU Long Beach! Well, I guess I could just try to pay more attention to directions. It's apparently pretty important, seeing how I got the only other B+ at DH, in syntax, because I failed to notice that homework was 40% of the grade, and didn't turn in the first assignment.
The instructor I had for Shakespeare, Dr. Lois Feuer, was a very intimidating Shakespeare expert. Imagine my delight as she took me aside after I turned in my final and told me she had considered inviting me to audit (?) her graduate course on gender and sexuality in Shakespeare next semester. She told me she was surprised and disappointed that I was a junior -- well, I'm only a junior because I'm compressing my schedule to graduate a semester early -- and that I was already enrolled in five classes for the Spring semester. She has one of the toughest reputations in the department, and she was simply wonderful to me. It more than made up for the rigamarole I went through in British Lit. It's amazing how far personality goes. I'm convinced that I erred in syntax and British Lit mostly because I didn't care for the instructors. Even though I know I'm not telling Dr. Feuer anything she doesn't already know about Shakespeare, I am convinced that she appreciates a good discussion about literature. I felt that Dr. White was more concerned with weighing and measuring, holding us up to the light to check for flaws, than she was with excellent discussion. Yet, I learn from all of it. I learn what kind of teacher I want to be, and what kind I desperately want to avoid being like.
In other news, I got the results for the GRE subject test back. I scored in the 78th percentile. Not my finest hour -- but not bad, especially since I didn't get to study for it, and had to rush through at least 20 questions. I still consider myself pretty great, because I scored with about the top 20 percent of my fellow test takers, which puts me with some pretty good people.
I'm very pleased with all that I got accomplished this semester. I feel like I've returned to the real world, for at least a few weeks. Are you freezing? 'Cause it's FREEZING. I hope this blubber I've been developing lasts through the winter.
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