Friday, March 20, 2009
The Scarlet Letter -- Chapter 2 - End
I hate to say it, but I just don't have time to get As and read for myself. My American Literature instructor seems to be an expert on all theory EXCEPT Jung, so I don't really get a chance to discuss my ideas about gender with a specialist in the concepts of male and female unity/equality, at least not the ones that I imagine are driving American Gothic in the nineteenth century. So, just to kind of generalize about the concepts I see in this novel, I think I will say that I see Hester as a sort of Mother type who gives birth to a female Messiah. I love the ambiguity of the novel, the way it second, and third, and fourth guesses itself. I'm more of a Melvillian cynic at heart, but there is a beauty in Hawthorne's criticism of idealism -- a reverence for the worst possible fear to be just as true as the best possible comfort--a dismantling of the whole idea of paradox--well. I think the Emerson is getting to me.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
A Return to the Scarlet Letter -- Ch. 1
I love this book. Not only is it a study of the strictly ordered communities in our national history, but it is also an examination of signs and signifiers, those pesky things through which we try to make sense of the universal chaos we seem unable to tolerate. What I'm noticing this read is how much Hawthorne seems to be commenting on the arbitrary nature of signs, and how close to the edge of reason he takes the reader, without letting them fall into the void.
I used to think that the opening chapter of The Scarlet Letter was to orient the reader using a man v. nature construction. I saw the prison and the cemetery as emblematic of societies' struggle to control the natural instincts of humans, which stretch even to how they order their burial -- death and decay being the last triumph of the forces of the universe. Yet, the last paragraph of the chapter "The Prison Door" causes me to wonder just how much Hawthorne is playing with our sentiments concerning signifiers. It reads
First, I am struck by Hawthorne's narrator's tone. I am almost convinced that this entire paragraph is meant to be satirical. The narrator comments that the appearance of the rosebush "has been kept alive in history." What is this "history"? Is it the historical texts of the 1600s that Hawthorne was so fond of pouring over? Is it the oral tradition, the folkloric tradition, the mythological rendition? Or does the narrator suggest that it still exists, is still alive? And what of this "old wilderness"? Is the narrator referring to the original clearing of the forest where the colony now sits? The next aside, about Anne Hutchinson, contributes heavily to the passages satirical tone. To suggest that the rosebush magically sprouted from under the feet of Anne Hutchinson is to either put a stake in, or sarcastically undermine, the feminist movement of the 1800s. Which is it? I think for Hawthorne, it has to be both.
The novel is ultimately feminist, and critical of the ways in which feminist arguments digress due to sentiment and nostalgia. If you want to argue that Anne Hutchinson is a feminist icon, a legend concerning a rose bush springing up under her feet as she marched to prison to await trial for her feminist heresy would only serve to genderize a rosebush. It's the act of using gender as a signifier that Hawthorne is ridiculing. I don't think the narrator is as neutral as he claims to be. The narrator says that "we shall not take upon us to determine," but giving the comparison between the story about a strong thriving rosebush surviving the "rape" of the wilderness by the colonists, and a fable concerning its association with Anne Hutchinson, allows the reader to focus on the significance of a rosebush in the first place. I usually like to go on about the rose as the old chivalric symbol of feminine purity, and gnostic symbolism, which uses the rose to symbolize the divine feminine. I don't think this information is lost on Hawthorne. I do think that when the narrator "plucks" a rose for us, it is not, as it says, to "serve to symbolize some sweet moral blossom." I think it is handed to us so that we can examine what we think the rose, and by extension, gender, means.
I used to think that the opening chapter of The Scarlet Letter was to orient the reader using a man v. nature construction. I saw the prison and the cemetery as emblematic of societies' struggle to control the natural instincts of humans, which stretch even to how they order their burial -- death and decay being the last triumph of the forces of the universe. Yet, the last paragraph of the chapter "The Prison Door" causes me to wonder just how much Hawthorne is playing with our sentiments concerning signifiers. It reads
The rose bush, by strange chance, has been kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it,--or whether, as there is fair authority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Anne Hutchinson, as she entered the prison-door,--we shall not take upon us to determine. Finding so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is now about the issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers and present it to the reader. It may serve, let us hope, to symbolize some sweet moral blossom, that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow.
First, I am struck by Hawthorne's narrator's tone. I am almost convinced that this entire paragraph is meant to be satirical. The narrator comments that the appearance of the rosebush "has been kept alive in history." What is this "history"? Is it the historical texts of the 1600s that Hawthorne was so fond of pouring over? Is it the oral tradition, the folkloric tradition, the mythological rendition? Or does the narrator suggest that it still exists, is still alive? And what of this "old wilderness"? Is the narrator referring to the original clearing of the forest where the colony now sits? The next aside, about Anne Hutchinson, contributes heavily to the passages satirical tone. To suggest that the rosebush magically sprouted from under the feet of Anne Hutchinson is to either put a stake in, or sarcastically undermine, the feminist movement of the 1800s. Which is it? I think for Hawthorne, it has to be both.
The novel is ultimately feminist, and critical of the ways in which feminist arguments digress due to sentiment and nostalgia. If you want to argue that Anne Hutchinson is a feminist icon, a legend concerning a rose bush springing up under her feet as she marched to prison to await trial for her feminist heresy would only serve to genderize a rosebush. It's the act of using gender as a signifier that Hawthorne is ridiculing. I don't think the narrator is as neutral as he claims to be. The narrator says that "we shall not take upon us to determine," but giving the comparison between the story about a strong thriving rosebush surviving the "rape" of the wilderness by the colonists, and a fable concerning its association with Anne Hutchinson, allows the reader to focus on the significance of a rosebush in the first place. I usually like to go on about the rose as the old chivalric symbol of feminine purity, and gnostic symbolism, which uses the rose to symbolize the divine feminine. I don't think this information is lost on Hawthorne. I do think that when the narrator "plucks" a rose for us, it is not, as it says, to "serve to symbolize some sweet moral blossom." I think it is handed to us so that we can examine what we think the rose, and by extension, gender, means.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Individual and Collective Fate
If you haven't seen The Reader, I highly suggest that you do. It is a movie that I think will go down as one of the best movies, at least, of this decade. Upon the second viewing, I agreed with my friend Joe that the actor David Kross gives one of the best performances I've seen that deal with the themes of the film. Stephen Daldry is amazing. I can't recommend it enough, and recommend that you really contemplate the reasons why Michael is so deeply affected by Hanna's treatment. It's my choice for best film.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Cheerio
I know that for the last couple of years I have been using this blog to, well, complain. I've often come here to complain about things that no one in their right mind would give an ear to. I've also used this forum to discuss literature, film, and art, but, let's face it, not as often as I've come here to rant and moan. So to make it up to you, and me, dear reader, I've planned to make the next few posts about some of the better experiences I've had in the past couple of months, and as soon as I have access to the hard drive with some pictures, some images to go along with.
I promise I'm not always an ungrateful wretch. In fact, just today I thought that my life has been a boon of blessings, and I can't imagine that I've ever done anything to deserve it.
Just on an evil sidenote, today in American Gothic we discussed the fabulous Hawthorne story "Roger Malvin's Burial," and guess what, I commented, "You know, it seems like Malvin has no problem with Bourne leaving him, but he doesn't respect that Bourne wants to stay -- Bourne should have stuck with his gut feeling that he should stay." And the instructor kind of blew me off, then went on to discuss that Bourne is actually suffering from a horrible guilt that Freud says results from committing an act that everyone tells you is okay, but that you have a personal issue with. Am I the only one that sees that I was pretty much alluding to this?
Happy post next time, I promise.
I promise I'm not always an ungrateful wretch. In fact, just today I thought that my life has been a boon of blessings, and I can't imagine that I've ever done anything to deserve it.
Just on an evil sidenote, today in American Gothic we discussed the fabulous Hawthorne story "Roger Malvin's Burial," and guess what, I commented, "You know, it seems like Malvin has no problem with Bourne leaving him, but he doesn't respect that Bourne wants to stay -- Bourne should have stuck with his gut feeling that he should stay." And the instructor kind of blew me off, then went on to discuss that Bourne is actually suffering from a horrible guilt that Freud says results from committing an act that everyone tells you is okay, but that you have a personal issue with. Am I the only one that sees that I was pretty much alluding to this?
Happy post next time, I promise.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
New Template
Time for a change. I also thought I would share this poem I came across in one of my notebooks. I don't know when I wrote it, but it's nestled between note on Gwendolyn Brooks' "The Mother":
I would not really
want to
rip your clothes from
your work-weary body
and climb aboard
like so many
disillusioned tourists
I would want to take
your tireless hands
and hold them to my lips
I would want to lay you down
on a divan with seven veils
I would want to
explore the map of your face
and understand the reasons
for obscurities
I would want to
feel your pulse
like the ancient auyervedics
procure the herbal physic
to ease the injury
that is why
it cannot be
you would end up
needing me
I would not really
want to
rip your clothes from
your work-weary body
and climb aboard
like so many
disillusioned tourists
I would want to take
your tireless hands
and hold them to my lips
I would want to lay you down
on a divan with seven veils
I would want to
explore the map of your face
and understand the reasons
for obscurities
I would want to
feel your pulse
like the ancient auyervedics
procure the herbal physic
to ease the injury
that is why
it cannot be
you would end up
needing me
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Audiences
I went to see Revolutionary Road last week. I found the movie fascinating, everything I thought it would be, and more. I want to see it again, simply for its complexity and beauty, but I also want to see it again at the theater, for the audience I watched it with was so appalling that I want to rid myself of their memory. Talking, rustling popcorn and candy, this audience wouldn't quit making noise for the entirety of this dialogue-focused film. To make matters worse, they laughed at the most inappropriate moments. When John, the supposedly mentally ill neighbor, fantastically played by Michael Shannon, is consistently violent and vengeful towards his mother, this audience laughs. When April Wheeler tells her husband that if he comes any closer to her she will scream, and then does scream, the audience laughs. When John says one of the most satisfying lines in the film, regarding his gratitude that he's not April's unborn child, the audience expresses it's horror at this statement, recoiling with astonishment that anyone could be so cruel.
I felt like I was watching this film with an audience of Helen Givings (John's mother), individuals who cannot bring themselves to deviate from social norms (violence toward mother good, violence toward fetus bad). I felt connected to my friend Joe, who has been irritated by the viewing population for some time now.
My annoyance doesn't stop there. I have oft complained about my classmates at Dominguez Hills, and an incident yesterday in my Studies in Composition class rekindled some of my old grievances.
This class is basically taught from the point of view of the high school instructor, offering ways to look at teaching secondary English. The class is mostly English majors, with perhaps a few liberal studies/philosophy majors thrown in. Right know we are studying the notion of using visual art, such as works of art on postcards, to teach composition. We are engaging in the process ourselves, as well as trying to understand why this approach may work well in the classroom, engaging students to think at deeper analytical levels, as well as inspire them to learn English syntax,as well as literary terms and concepts. Doing group work yesterday, we were asked to pull a couple of quotes from the assigned reading, and relate them to our personal experience. I offered one, which had to do with "seeing" as an activity requiring creative effort, and my group-mate offered a quote in which the author of the article related that the group of students she was teaching were adolescents who were already living with what we conceive as adult issues, like drug addiction and pregnancy, and that this activity seems to open them up to express themselves through writing. Determined to learn from group work, and not simply obey, I asked her what she thought the visual aspect of the exercised contributed to the students participation. She got incredibly defensive, and said that it makes them think deeper. I again asked her what it was about visual stimulation that appeals to students more than language alone, because it seems like you could assign a topic, like "write about an issue you are dealing with at home," and not get the same results. I knew there were a myriad ways to answer this question, and I was genuinely interested in her thoughts on the matter. Yet, somehow she didn't understand what I was saying, because she told me, point blank, "I disagree with you completely." At this point the instructor interrupted us and asked the class to share. Her hand went up immediately, and she proceeded to claim, "Well, we are having an argument in my group, because I liked this quote [she then went on to read the quote about the issues students are facing and how this exercise opened them up, which, incidentally, is in the second introductory paragraph of the eight-page article], because I want to teach inner-city kids and I think this project would help them, but one person in my group disagrees with this." I mutter that I didn't disagree with it, but really to no avail. Our instructor, then asked if we found anything else, and I went on to discuss the quote about seeing being a creative effort, and how my experience forced me to experience the art I examined, and search my experience for ideas that I had created as a reaction to it.
There were other, more political aspects of this conversation that I have left out, but it is very clear to me that asking questions, attempting to make people think, can be understood as an attack, or a disagreement. Maybe that is why the audience during Revolutionary Road tried so hard to make light of the more uncomfortable aspects of the film -- people often try hard to not have to think. One of the greatest moments in that film was when April begs Frank to leave her alone, so that she can think, she needs to think! I'd like to see it again soon, so that I can think, too.
As far as schoolmates go, if I can just stifle my ego and my sense of justice for a few moments, maybe I can make some real good out of the situation. For instance, if I really work on being clear, and perhaps less intimidating, I can actually accomplish my objective, which is to learn from other people's ideas. I still think rustling wrapper and chomping on popcorn is rude.
I felt like I was watching this film with an audience of Helen Givings (John's mother), individuals who cannot bring themselves to deviate from social norms (violence toward mother good, violence toward fetus bad). I felt connected to my friend Joe, who has been irritated by the viewing population for some time now.
My annoyance doesn't stop there. I have oft complained about my classmates at Dominguez Hills, and an incident yesterday in my Studies in Composition class rekindled some of my old grievances.
This class is basically taught from the point of view of the high school instructor, offering ways to look at teaching secondary English. The class is mostly English majors, with perhaps a few liberal studies/philosophy majors thrown in. Right know we are studying the notion of using visual art, such as works of art on postcards, to teach composition. We are engaging in the process ourselves, as well as trying to understand why this approach may work well in the classroom, engaging students to think at deeper analytical levels, as well as inspire them to learn English syntax,as well as literary terms and concepts. Doing group work yesterday, we were asked to pull a couple of quotes from the assigned reading, and relate them to our personal experience. I offered one, which had to do with "seeing" as an activity requiring creative effort, and my group-mate offered a quote in which the author of the article related that the group of students she was teaching were adolescents who were already living with what we conceive as adult issues, like drug addiction and pregnancy, and that this activity seems to open them up to express themselves through writing. Determined to learn from group work, and not simply obey, I asked her what she thought the visual aspect of the exercised contributed to the students participation. She got incredibly defensive, and said that it makes them think deeper. I again asked her what it was about visual stimulation that appeals to students more than language alone, because it seems like you could assign a topic, like "write about an issue you are dealing with at home," and not get the same results. I knew there were a myriad ways to answer this question, and I was genuinely interested in her thoughts on the matter. Yet, somehow she didn't understand what I was saying, because she told me, point blank, "I disagree with you completely." At this point the instructor interrupted us and asked the class to share. Her hand went up immediately, and she proceeded to claim, "Well, we are having an argument in my group, because I liked this quote [she then went on to read the quote about the issues students are facing and how this exercise opened them up, which, incidentally, is in the second introductory paragraph of the eight-page article], because I want to teach inner-city kids and I think this project would help them, but one person in my group disagrees with this." I mutter that I didn't disagree with it, but really to no avail. Our instructor, then asked if we found anything else, and I went on to discuss the quote about seeing being a creative effort, and how my experience forced me to experience the art I examined, and search my experience for ideas that I had created as a reaction to it.
There were other, more political aspects of this conversation that I have left out, but it is very clear to me that asking questions, attempting to make people think, can be understood as an attack, or a disagreement. Maybe that is why the audience during Revolutionary Road tried so hard to make light of the more uncomfortable aspects of the film -- people often try hard to not have to think. One of the greatest moments in that film was when April begs Frank to leave her alone, so that she can think, she needs to think! I'd like to see it again soon, so that I can think, too.
As far as schoolmates go, if I can just stifle my ego and my sense of justice for a few moments, maybe I can make some real good out of the situation. For instance, if I really work on being clear, and perhaps less intimidating, I can actually accomplish my objective, which is to learn from other people's ideas. I still think rustling wrapper and chomping on popcorn is rude.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
My Final Weeks as an Undergarduate (With Cute Instructors!)
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.
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.
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