tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78183070245403093322024-02-07T16:08:30.927-08:00Blog One I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-59087083745435325572012-11-27T15:51:00.000-08:002012-11-27T15:51:07.646-08:00The Black and White In Johnson's Novel<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Reading
James Johnson’s novel <i>The Autobiography
of an Ex-Colored Man</i> for the first time really struck as me as being so
laid back and informal that I didn’t really expect anything dramatic to happen
like the gunshot in the “Club”; not to mention the protagonist’s ostracism when
being asked to sit and “rise with the others”—it hadn’t even occurred to me
then that the main character was black! Needless to say I had to reconstruct
everything I’d read up to that point… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIiZI_USQ22ZsUk5HF3FeSS7vACa6lI_howcdjP8r4p1S49nJJem_5TeqbrEzPrGevB2Dam6Z6C_iCv3NsuYx8u9GOct9QYg1LXQK9F6vay0cAHHSqpAJ64ZtLy6UYx1QUsHBCwVkK2rW/s1600/ex-colored+man.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIiZI_USQ22ZsUk5HF3FeSS7vACa6lI_howcdjP8r4p1S49nJJem_5TeqbrEzPrGevB2Dam6Z6C_iCv3NsuYx8u9GOct9QYg1LXQK9F6vay0cAHHSqpAJ64ZtLy6UYx1QUsHBCwVkK2rW/s400/ex-colored+man.gif" width="265" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> For
me one of the most intriguing facets of Johnson’s novel is that never once is
any character given a proper name, and while at first it can be less engaging
to read, the idea behind only giving nicknames allows for the reader to focus
on something more salient: the idea that the white man’s perspective and way of
life can be just as convoluted and pressuring as the black man’s own. Growing
up as a child the main character acts as if he is white—even though it becomes
clear this is false via the school staff separating him from the other white
children— and yet he struggles with issues of trying to pass through life as a
respectable boy: “<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">I shall never
forget the bewilderment, the pain, the heart-sickness, of that first day at
school. I seemed to be the only stranger in the place</span>” (Chp1, Johnson).
Regardless of whether you’re white black, or blue, you’re still going to have
to face the same problems that every person encounters growing up; and I think
that theme, that everyone goes through life trying to overcome the same or
similar situations, is what Johnson is trying to impress upon his readers: he
doesn’t want them to fixate on a specific character or their behavior, so he
simply cuts out their names and pastes in a quirky pet name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Having done that, the reader’s mind floats past the people in the novel
and instead focuses on the more detailed objects: such as the main character
having a smart and loving African American mother while also having a wealthy
and caring (so it seems up to this point) white American father. I think
Johnson is trying to blend, perhaps even blur, the ideas of what it means to
live life as a black or white American during the early twentieth century. Once
that’s completed, the idea that someone’s skin color being different affects
how they think/act will be seen as mute, and instead the ideology that every
human being faces the same trials will become the salient virtue whenever
someone brings up the race question. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-64306972541721263352012-11-15T18:11:00.002-08:002012-11-15T18:11:55.558-08:00Miss Bart in the Past and the Present <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> After
watching the recent adaptation of Edith Wharton’s <i>The House of Mirth</i> I’m interested in the comparison between the
two. For the most part the only difference is with the verbally intense scenes,
i.e. Selden and Gus, where Lily is kissed by the men; I think this was simply
added to make the movie more enjoyable for a twenty-first century audience, but
if that’s so it also means a sad truth: nowadays people have no desire for the
intellectual, meaningful, and much slower part of the human experience. This happens
to be a major part the psychological realm as well because as technology
increases people seem to become more and more attuned to the fastest route to
understanding and getting what they want; although, it’s said that many TV
watchers are better at multi-tasking, and even more so, that internet users are
typically better at sifting out useful information in a heap of random details.
So the question is: are we better off interacting and constructing our view of
the world in such quickly created conjectures? It’s hard to say… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunqPE9t1yndo1s2eF7H2EBQq4XhVEj_rPwA1nd2FkdH5z_L35PEMIHTS97knqgBfixzPS_xc4LlwjRcjTZaRb10XlyWtDD3guTjPkeZ0xOmoUJbXXz3-hUto05SUp_pk0PwJtAsk4dILO/s1600/The-House-of-Mirth-286426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunqPE9t1yndo1s2eF7H2EBQq4XhVEj_rPwA1nd2FkdH5z_L35PEMIHTS97knqgBfixzPS_xc4LlwjRcjTZaRb10XlyWtDD3guTjPkeZ0xOmoUJbXXz3-hUto05SUp_pk0PwJtAsk4dILO/s400/The-House-of-Mirth-286426.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> On
the one hand a person can’t deny the kind of intimacy reading the thoughts a
joyful, hurt, discouraged, or excited protagonist offers; you don’t get the
same kind of personal interaction with a film because the information coming at
you is already processed in clearly defined images (one would hope). In doing
so the viewer is deprived of the action of having to interact with the text,
whereas a reader can compute the emotion on a much more detailed and specific
level. However, films may be an advantage to some who are more akin to visual details:
someone who has a high need for affect (an emotional person) may react much
stronger to a sad scene in movie because all of the energy typically used for
processing words and the negative emotion are ignored, and the viewer instead
is forced to take in the sad feeling with every ounce of attention. In light of
that, the question may seem farcical—that really neither is better than the
other, just different—but I should propose that that isn’t case: I believe a
textual copy is a much more valuable piece of information to obtain and process
simply because by reading a person is forced to think about what is being
presented. And this requirement of thoughtfully processing a book makes it, I
think, a much more enriching experience; not to say a film can’t be as
rewarding (there are plenty of notable aspects to a movie like beautiful music
that you don’t get in reading a book). In that case I would almost <i>prefer </i>a novel with such intrinsic value
like <i>The House of Mirth</i> not to be
transcribed into a film: or at the very least, if it must be made into film
that the movie do its source enough justice to cause the audience to go out and
read the book for themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Picture Source: </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx36dTxo9DtqExoDinqAQFnuHvWP9CbViEEDPDT29Qz4Haqs4Vd4NI-RWKOZfJP7c-f7vyE2-kddeN_LEfpq2uCFiDsuj5Xhyrt8n2oQHdIq_CCt0DYK5PZqGk57jDmdVqVLkK4DOi6qc/s1600/The-House-of-Mirth-286426.jpg</span></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-90789329566989462952012-11-08T16:04:00.000-08:002012-11-08T16:04:31.183-08:00Great Writing Equals Popularity... Right...? <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Well
we talked about novels that are either popular, classical, not popular, or a
combination of these types. Personally I am surprised that so many people
considered Arthur Conan Doyle’s <i>Sherlock
Holmes</i> to be classical and popular because in the past I haven’t met many
readers of the genre. Same goes for stuff like <i>LOTR</i> or <i>Chronicles of Narnia</i>:
I always thought people had heard of the books—or at least seen one of the
movies—but never actually taken the time to read the text; which I’ll admit I
haven’t exactly read <i>LOTR</i> because the
Hobbit is dense and it’s only a <i>children’s
</i>book. Nevertheless, perhaps when I’ve got several hours open for a month or
two I’ll commit to reading the first novel. As for work like <i>Narnia</i> or <i>Sherlock Holmes</i>, I am always surprised to learn that people are
avid readers of both books, but have never heard of an author like oh, I don’t
know, Robert Louis Stevenson (the Scottish author of <i>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i>, or perhaps the better known <i>Treasure Island</i>). It is interesting because
while the average person, in my experience, has little to no knowledge of such
works, they happen to know Doyle’s craftsmanship; who believe it or not, conveniently
is influenced by Stevenson. Now why is that? Why are two perfectly good authors
not represented equally throughout literature and other media like the film industry?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps it has
something to do with race. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicg6tpCI8KHZmoVQpvD2Y2Vvk5lnzN5fmYtH5uLRYtuIjtUi2hoReJ0FlRqyrK5iB_V_Jayiyjt9L9NxGtE9853qih0YA8VRnEIUvXljaTYCQwEa0g85QdV6BYn5Z3E_N-dj3cKkz3yrQW/s1600/Robert+Louis+Stevenson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicg6tpCI8KHZmoVQpvD2Y2Vvk5lnzN5fmYtH5uLRYtuIjtUi2hoReJ0FlRqyrK5iB_V_Jayiyjt9L9NxGtE9853qih0YA8VRnEIUvXljaTYCQwEa0g85QdV6BYn5Z3E_N-dj3cKkz3yrQW/s400/Robert+Louis+Stevenson.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Just as a quick
disclaimer: I honestly haven’t done any serious researcher into the subject,
but I do have a vague idea of why Doyle became famous and Stevenson didn’t.
First off, Doyle lucked out and happened to have an agent that enabled him to
make money off stories like <i>Sherlock
Holmes</i>. In contrast, Stevenson had no such support, and in addition to
that, he was of a minority group in the United Kingdom: he was Scottish. The
real irony though is that while Doyle copies a lot of Stevenson’s suspenseful
writing style, Stevenson’s stories like <i>Arabian
Nights</i> fails to garner the same kind of widespread popularity <i>even though</i> recently critics suggest
that <i>Stevenson</i> is the better writer
of the two! The reason I point this out is simple: work that becomes popular—unfortunately—seems
to rely more on the social appetite and appreciation of <i>the author </i>whose stories are being praised. And for me this poses a
significant issue because popular writing shouldn’t be a reflection of an
audience with bad taste, but should instead reflect a critical portrait of the
values that the society holds dearest. That’s what I believe makes a book stand
the test of time: if it can evoke emotions like anger, disgust, fear, sadness,
surprise, or happiness, then it will forever be labeled a classic because it elicits
the emotions we experience every day. I can only pray this seemingly decadent
and stagnant stage of writing is quickly washed away by inspiring work… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-15067576904303262342012-11-01T17:37:00.000-07:002012-11-01T17:37:01.645-07:00Lily's Desire of Discovery <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> A
common, and perhaps well-hidden, theme throughout <i>The House of Mirth</i> is that while Lily is so apt to analyze everyone
around her, deep down, as revealed by characters like Lawrence Selden, Miss
Bart wishes to be inspected and understood with the same precision and accuracy
she bestows upon the individuals under her observation: “She had never heard
him speak with such affirmation. His habitual touch was that of the eclectic
who lightly turns over and compares; and she was moved by this sudden glimpse
into the laboratory where his faiths were formed” (Wharton, 62). At this point
Lily begins to chip away at the perhaps reserved intelligence and perceptiveness
of Selden, who, in his typically lackadaisical manner, goes on to describe an
interesting philosophy of free-will and optimistic self-determinism the lawyer
calls the “republic of the spirit”, aka the bachelor’s definition of success;
as opposed to Lily’s predictable and perhaps unusually naïve explanation that
success is: “to get as much as one can out of life” (Wharton, 60). Such a
narrow-minded response seems to justify Selden’s cynicism toward Lily’s behavior
and need for affluence. At the same time though, the answer given may be more
evident of the social conditioning Miss Bart has received and less reflective
of her true nature, which Selden suspects to be wholly artificial and
self-serving; however, considering how little we truly know of Lily added with
the short allowance of time we’ve had to judge her motives and actions, I think
it would be unfair to sell her out as simply “manipulative”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5rlyicamVq4Tb4Cpj3yCI5fP8rPESQChLx3DyVZbHovS45vEzOYCf69pskoCZljTwdBmwFI-bIDm-U1o2HD8hQWSlcZc15v4spPgFFZEGwAevTTf_ikXwhGwCMmpHIABdTvRdOYOtyR2/s1600/houseofmirth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5rlyicamVq4Tb4Cpj3yCI5fP8rPESQChLx3DyVZbHovS45vEzOYCf69pskoCZljTwdBmwFI-bIDm-U1o2HD8hQWSlcZc15v4spPgFFZEGwAevTTf_ikXwhGwCMmpHIABdTvRdOYOtyR2/s320/houseofmirth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Wind
the clock backward during the duo’s conversation and a person sees a curious
moment of genuine shame felt by Miss Bart about herself that leads one to
suspect her desire for wealth is simply an enumerated value: that in fact under
the surface of her seemingly selfish visage lies a more innocent and romantic
sense of ideals. By setting off her more important priorities (or at least the
professed ones), Lily, whether or not she is aware, commits the slip of
revealing a more tender side, a side perhaps more like Selden then either
parties realize. Take for example her sudden concern at being categorized as shallow
or ignoble by her male friend: “You think me horribly sordid, don’t you? But perhaps
it’s rather that I never had any choice. There was no one, I mean, to tell me
about the republic of the spirit” (Wharton, 60). In quickly saving face for her
unwonted show of weakness by giving excuses, Lily inadvertently sentences
herself to being guilty of <i>actually </i>caring
about what Selden thinks of her; why else bother trying to justify her motive
to marry a wealthy man? The question then remains: if Selden is aware but
hiding his knowledge of Lily’s soft spot for him, how will he react later
throughout the novel? I think it won’t be long before this inquiry is answered;
honestly my hunch is that the growing intimacy between the two will become the
ultimate conflict of Edith Wharton’s book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-85131582378182691262012-10-25T16:50:00.001-07:002012-10-25T16:50:47.564-07:00Angry For Two, Please<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">In
the beginning of Frank Norris’s novel <i>McTeague</i>,
a young bachelor lives out his life quietly and contently as an uneducated
dentist. Throughout the most of the first quarter of the book a docile, and
overall mute, McTeague ends up falling in love with a woman named Trina, who
doesn’t love the monstrous man until he embraces her, and that’s when it’s
decided the couple will get married. And at first, the couple is happy: “There
she was, his little woman… her adorable little chin thrust upward with that
familiar movement of innocence and confidence” (Norris, 98). Both McTeague and Trina
find themselves increasingly attached, so much so that they tell themselves it
would be hard to imagine being with anyone else. I believe Norris sets up this
romantic scene in order to detour the audience away from what is down the road
for each person. It keeps the readers immersed in the seemingly ordinary and
natural world the newly wedded couple exists in, and yet later this seemingly
impenetrable love dies away and anger, with the help of greed, fills in the gap
for both spouses that once held their eternal appreciation for one another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> After
being married for a year, Trina becomes frustrated by her rash decision to
marry McTeague. She soon rationalizes her way out the conflict by giving up
what little self-determinism is left and professes to being entirely McTeague’s: “it was only AFTER her marriage with the
dentist that she really begun to love him… She loved him because had given
herself… unreservedly; had merged her individuality into his… she belonged to
him forever” (Norris, 112). This sudden switch of mentality into a submissive demeanor,
one so salient that Trina literally “merges her individuality” and no longer
cares how McTeague acts, but instead only knows she will never abandon him I
think Norris uses this scene to demonstrate the slow but sure shift of the
couple’s relationship. Even more so, it seems to relate to what was going on
between men and women during the early twentieth century: men were, as they
frequently still are today, considered to be the “bread-winners” of the
household; women simply existed as a sort of pleasurable object that, if
well-bred and capable enough, should be able to meet any and every desire thrust
upon her by the husband. Fast forward to where McTeague loses his job as a
dentist and it’s obvious where the marriage is head: complete erosion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Zooming
near the end of chapter nineteen the audience witnesses the abrupt disappearance
and reappearance of McTeague, who, before taking a short sojourn, steals all of
Trina’s hidden savings. Her uncontrollable ire boils hotter than ever as the frail
wife finds her money stolen: “I could have forgiven him if he had only gone way
and left me my money… I could have forgiven even THIS’—she looked at the stumps…
But now… now—I’ll—never—forgive—him—as-long—as—I—live” (Norris, 214). Trina no
longer feels any love toward her brutishly stupid husband who has taken from
her what she values most, what has planted itself and grow into an indomitable
force like her affection for McTeague used to be, and vows to never help the
asinine giant ever again (not that she did very much in the first place). As the
wife’s rage solidifies into lasting bitterness, McTeague becomes savagely cruel
toward his wife, i.e. biting her fingers, pinching her incessantly, and smacking
her with a hairbrush. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Circling back to the
original wedge between the spouses, consuming greed caused the division between
Trina and McTeague that then kicked into motion the angry felt by both; Trina
hates her husband for stealing the four hundred dollars and the dentist hates
his wife for being an over-the-board miser. True to the pessimistic style of
Naturalism, the audience later on reads about the dentist’s raging behavior and
his destroying of Trina: “[McTeague] all at once sent his fist into the middle
of her face with the suddenness of a relaxed spring… his enormous fists,
clenched till the knuckles whitened, raised in the air” (Norris, 224). Finally
through dealing with his wife, the inebriated husband finds Trina’s trunk of
cash, and picking the canvas sack, goes out into the street, void of any
remorse for the death of Trina. I believe that Norris presents these cruel
details to his audience because he wants them to realized being angry will only
end in death for everyone, or perhaps worse in some aspects, people will their
lives feeling bitterness toward another person because of a disagreement or
conflict that should have been dealt with in a more healthy and productive
manner. Even near the beginning Norris seems to hint at this: Marcus Schouler
acts as a nasty caricature of what tragedies are soon to befall both Trina and
McTeague, and even though the dentist has a chance to make amends he chooses
not to which, I believe, seals the unfortunate fate of him and his wife. Needless
to say one should probably stray from sequestering negative emotions like
angry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-84995506063601886142012-10-19T00:00:00.003-07:002012-10-19T00:00:52.541-07:00Twain on Society <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwoiWl6ULrEismAPewuRnoYA_IJyiYePIbtOYEur8Ym1iKl8t-nkp4j4Vx-qRstGadASQA4HC0i86bfph7tS4zZSY_IIOG39onBwusG2SpnVbNTYZJ2RiXSBTaplRkEgtPufJPgwZakkni/s1600/Pudd'nhead+Wilson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwoiWl6ULrEismAPewuRnoYA_IJyiYePIbtOYEur8Ym1iKl8t-nkp4j4Vx-qRstGadASQA4HC0i86bfph7tS4zZSY_IIOG39onBwusG2SpnVbNTYZJ2RiXSBTaplRkEgtPufJPgwZakkni/s400/Pudd'nhead+Wilson.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Samuel
Langhorne Clemens, aka Mark Twain, remains at the height of American literature
because of his creative manner that he </span>used to criticize the culture around him in a
subtle, yet sometimes vicious manner; and of course, <i>Pudd’nhead Wilson</i> shines brightly as one of his best works. “Adam
was but human—this explains it all. He did not want the apple for the apple’s
sake, he wanted it only because it was forbidden” (Twain, 5). A perhaps notorious
line from the main protagonist’s calendar of witty sayings humorously
demonstrates the essence in which Twain sees many Americans behaving. In doing
so he is gently prodding the reader to ponder how such a seemingly obvious
phrase alludes to in everyday life. I believe the dichotomous author is
commenting that the only reason the average person engages in unlawful or taboo
actions is simply because they are told not to. If left alone, perhaps, an
individ-ual might not venture or even notice what they have yet to interfere
with. The use of an ancient figure from a well-known source (Adam) causes many
persons to stop and ruminate also. Regardless, there is a great deal of these unwonted
quotes at the beginning of each chapter, but the next one in particular seems
to strike a note of considerable interest to what the writer thinks of race. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Something
truly vital to the composition of <i>Pudd’nhead
Wilson</i> is the idea that our environment, and ourselves as well, shapes who
and what we eventually become. “Training is everything. The peach was once a
bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education”
(Twain, 22). It’s intriguing how Clemens compares a sweet fruit to a coarse
seed and then goes on to use cabbage as a lesser form of vegetable. However, the
choice of cabbage is, I think, well plucked because it denotes a rugged sense
of poverty and uncouth manual labor. The cauliflower on the other hand is a sophisticated
and refined vegetable that few bother to understand and appreciate for its
unusual taste. That said, I believe this metaphor elucidates the unfair and
sometime cruel way that slaves, and individuals believed to black, were treated
like stupid animals just because of their skin color. Along those lines a
person should then realize that everyone is equally valuable and should be
given a chance to succeed as far his neighbor. This I believe is the
over-arching theme of Twain’s story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-60357864680719538272012-10-11T15:55:00.001-07:002012-10-11T15:55:55.636-07:00Timeless Tragedy <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"> The avoidable tragedy of Captain Ahab’s
ships is foreshadowed throughout most of Melville’s novel <i>Moby-Dick</i>. After spending several months hunting down a supposedly antagonizing
Sperm whale the Pequod stumbles upon the White Whale at last: “the whale
was now seen some mile or so ahead, at every roll of the sea revealing his high
sparkling hump, and regularly jetting his silent spout into the air” (Melville,
595). This is merely the beginning of a three day conquest across frothing
waters. I believe this scene acts a subtle omen of the tragedy to come because
it involves an exciting chase that ends with everyone but Ishmael dying. Oddly
enough, a few lines down Ahab claims that he spotted the alabaster leviathan first
and therefore gets the golden doubloon: “Not the same instant; not the same—no the
doubloon is mine, Fate reserved the doubloon for me. I only; none of ye could
have raised the White Whale first” (Melville, 595). I believe that by
purloining Tashtego of what seems to be rightly his emulates a heavy sort of
tragedy because Ahab’s delusional obsession to find Moby-Dick has whittled away
the capacity for rationality and fairness. He no longer cares about the safety
of his worn-out sailors, and as result Fate veils him along with the crew in a blanket of infinite sleep. However, Ahab isn’t the first to have been deranged
enough to sacrifice innocent kinsmen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6quYa5dgB_4dxLA8RmxhjxCYVVs920r2O1KkQczDUb6QDSK-pRNfajOr1BftmungMMXOUrTg-lJoHPFwTWkETwY6whq2_thXzYwriK_1CGGzZQ5cEpps7USK_XeOLFwROxrjfPV1jWl4/s1600/MedeaMurdersChild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6quYa5dgB_4dxLA8RmxhjxCYVVs920r2O1KkQczDUb6QDSK-pRNfajOr1BftmungMMXOUrTg-lJoHPFwTWkETwY6whq2_thXzYwriK_1CGGzZQ5cEpps7USK_XeOLFwROxrjfPV1jWl4/s400/MedeaMurdersChild.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"> In Euripides’ <i>Medea</i> a betrayed mother and wife seeks to destroy her husband and
the royal woman he wishes to wedlock. She soon devises a plan to burn the
princess of Corinth alive via poisoned clothing, but after doing so realizes
there is no place for her two boys in the country as refugees; she then decides to murder them: “They must
die and since they must I, who brought them into the world, will kill them”
(Euripides, 30). The disturbing passage reflects a character lost in her
eddying emotions, and as result has lost all sense of logical thinking. In the
end Medea butchers the children with a sword but not before she can escape
unnoticed by her husband Jason. The final dispute between them reveals just how
indifferent Medea has become, and in this way I believe Euripides and Melville
hit on a similar note. A person who loses himself or herself in rage turns into a mindless
machine capable of a tragedy that should have been prevented, and instead
creates a maniac chaos in which the innocent suffer ineffably. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;">Picture Source: </span>http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=667&tbm=isch&tbnid=_MINCmOiJc22pM:&imgrefurl=http://ancienthistory.about.com/od/euripides/tp/051910EuripidesBacchaeStudyQuestions.htm&docid=kFzMIw7VLZN-OM&imgurl=http://0.tqn.com/d/ancienthistory/1/0/n/x/2/MedeaMurdersChild.jpg&w=380&h=598&ei=PUx3UPHLEuaIiAKJyIG4Dg&zoom=1&iact=rc&dur=428&sig=116158649283764553725&page=1&tbnh=121&tbnw=77&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0,i:83&tx=23&ty=74 </div>
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Works Cited: <span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px; text-indent: -48px;">Euripides, and C. A. E. </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; text-indent: -48px;">Medea</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px; text-indent: -48px;">. N.p.: n.p., 431 BC. Print.</span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-66839147977852667492012-10-04T16:30:00.002-07:002012-10-04T16:30:51.082-07:00Rage's Immolation of Sanity <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrdFm3TWDk4kVCn2pC7S5pgdUzK7JQxAEDpEqyHvHfvTfT8i72SsG85N45J3xT-iVpBNbtdOiXOViFSTQrqDKDwc-Wt9AZVDEAPDaJ7NvKVl19_ewSgUhMaWHzUGDFjNx8N41d9xO87cc/s1600/Moby-Dick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrdFm3TWDk4kVCn2pC7S5pgdUzK7JQxAEDpEqyHvHfvTfT8i72SsG85N45J3xT-iVpBNbtdOiXOViFSTQrqDKDwc-Wt9AZVDEAPDaJ7NvKVl19_ewSgUhMaWHzUGDFjNx8N41d9xO87cc/s400/Moby-Dick.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Again
and again in Melville’s densely arranged novel readers encounter the idea that
uncontrollable rage not only consumes the soul but eventually the physical host
as well. “They think me mad… but I’m demonic, I am madness maddened! That wild
madness that’s only calm to comprehend itself!” (Melville, 183). Here Captain
Ahab expounds upon his ineffable anger toward a white whale in the form of a portent
soliloquy. In one way he is delivering a fatal sentence on himself by declaring
the only thing crazier than insanity is him. This idea of rapacious rage </span> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">elevating someone to a level higher than the average contour of such a deadly
emotion is not as unwonted as it may seem. How often have you, or if you prefer
someone </span><span style="line-height: 20px;">you've</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> seen, thrown a puerile fuss because of unfavorable circumstances
or interactions with other people? I’d vouchsafe a claim that most if not
everyone has at least witnessed this particular behavior, and so the idea of
Melville’s batty sea traveler living his doomed life through an ire-plated mask
is nothing uncanny.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Moving along, another
seemingly fortuitous occasion plays itself out in the figure of a zealous
diatribe. “Aye, aye! and I’ll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn,
and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him
up” (Melville, 177). Regardless of the tremulous
crew’s growing fear, Captain Ahab refuses to step down from his calloused
pedestal of insanity as he informs the sailor of an indomitable mission. This is
the point at where Melville’s reader began to understand the intensity of Ahab’s
rage, so much so that it’s plausible to theorize that most of his sanity has already
been devoured. I believe the author uses this key scene to unveil the manner in
which some individuals of his time were pursuing their goals. For example,
many “Christians” of the nineteenth century continued to stalk the streets at
night looking for prostitutes and other possible “heathens”. I’m sure everyone
can instantly picture a judgmental person ready to prey on the less for-tune or
the out group people. By portraying Captain Ahab as an impious and conceited
man, I believe Melville brings to life the idea that we all must be wary of
falling into the trap of arrogance; more than once have I unfairly categorized a
human being based on how they act, but as time passes thankfully I’ve gotten
better. And this re-deeming quality is something else I like to think Melville
encrypted within the words of his idealist tome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Picture Source: </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">http://new.assets.thequietus.com/images/articles/9574/moby_1343990249_crop_550x480.jpg</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-74392026732675512322012-09-27T16:16:00.001-07:002012-09-27T16:16:53.689-07:00Whiteness And Novelty <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Firstly,
a brief explanation of the connection between the words <i>whiteness</i> and <i>novelty </i>should
be stated before I endeavor to dissect the bowels of an immortal creature. In
this case the term <i>whiteness</i> refers
to a sometimes subtle, or in other cases blindly obvious, trait like absence of
clarity; what is white until it has been contrasted? In my belief, it builds to
nothing. Now as for the word <i>novelty</i>,
all I mean is something original and inspiring, so it appears possessing a <i>novel</i> or new idealism is inherently
married to the subjective ambiguity of whiteness. Allow me to entertain this
notion in greater scope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Skimming through most
of Melville’s Moby-Dick one gets the feeling that all of his details are unnecessarily
burdensome. “To grope down into the bottom of the sea after [whales]… this is a
fearful thing. What am I that I should essay to hook the nose if this
leviathan!” (Melville, 147). Here the isolated author is describing a vain
attempt to decipher and contour a palpable portrait of something like the Sperm
whale. Yet what seems to make his craftsmanship such a fathomless and unjustifiably
lengthy work of art is because of its obvious tangents of seemingly random catalogu-ing.
So while preserving the heart of fiction that is a novel, Melville also manages
to synthesize his book in which several essays are composed like non-fiction;
and this unwonted facet is something I find rather interesting. It’s been taught
that the infantile genre known as <i>creative
non-fiction</i> has only recently emerged from a coldly object-tive chrysalis
of rhetoric like research reports, journalism, and traveling catalogues. But apparently this isn’t so, for even just
the slightest dip of an eclectic spirit can easily impute a vast array of flowery
facts suffused across Melville’s descriptions of whaling, and in this way I
believe the writer gives the novel genre a sort of intrigue or <i>novelty</i>. That literary achievement is
notable isolated, but I believe there lays another deeper, more pervasive idea
that expands its roots throughout every aspect of life and throughout that
Shakespearean sea-voyage: whiteness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">That color, or rather
shade, is a noun, adjective, and even sometimes a verb in which the human
culture has used to describe the indescribable or lack of existence. Confusing?
I agree. In any case it seems as though there are few ways to pin down and
flesh out the true definition of such an ineffable topic, but this is where I
think Melville shines without comparison. “Is it by its indefiniteness it
shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus
stabs us from behind… when beholding the white depths of the milky way?”
(Melville, 212). And there you have it, by creating something out of nothing
one finds that they themselves are manu-facturing a terror out of nothing. Or
is it possible that the terror already existed and we simply discovered it
haphazardly? Honestly I prefer neither choice considering I acknowledge that
while bliss may require ignorance, I at least am vouchsafed the opportunity to <i>choose</i> which areas to apply my
lack-of-knowledge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-34042480489432875332012-09-13T17:33:00.001-07:002012-09-13T17:33:37.261-07:00The Leviathan's Portent and Cannibalism <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Throughout history the whale has meant
several things to a multifarious sundry of cultures and societies. To some it
was the mystic, picturesque beauty of the unknown and gave the seemingly
infinite universe a graspable contour. To
others it represented the ineffably wanton incarnate of the devil himself. “there
was another thought, or rather vague, nameless horror concerning him which at
times by its intensity completely overpowered all the rest; and yet so mystical
and well nigh ineffable was it, that I almost despair of putting it in a
comprehensible form” (Melville 204). Ahab’s decrepit rumination reveals the
once again sublime ambiguity that lies in the back of his deranged psyche. Yet
as all-consuming and inherently unwonted his monomania may appear, one might
stumble upon the realization that the idea of such a rampant fear lurking about
people’s minds is exactly what Melville is trying to evince with a seemingly soporific
syntax. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> The
inclusion of a sperm whale, albeit characteristically alabaster, defines the continually
evolving notion of the man’s fear against the unknown because it treads between the haunting realism of killer, and the romantic </span><span style="line-height: 20px;">caricature</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> of a monstrous idea [Note: for a more detailed
explanation of ambiguity refer to a previous prompt titled </span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Melville’s Writing</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">]. More than once has humankind struggled to
chart out the endlessly recondite depths of life, whether it be the
soul-sucking sea, carnivorous cannibals, or the rapacious ruthlessness of religion.
“In the distance, a great white mass lazily rose, and rising higher and higher,
and disentangling itself from the azure, at last gleamed before our prow like a
snow-slid” (Melville 300). Here it’s descried that another seemingly
unfathomable creature is eddying about the ocean’s temerarious waves. Yet soon
the crew finds out the monster is a hellishly prodigious cephalopod proposed by
some to be the whirlpool-generating Kraken. What specifically this might
present for the forlorn future of Ishmael and his fellow mates is hard to
pin-point, but one could proffer that it is a rather deleterious portent
considering its violent associations with the Sperm whale. Then again, it would seem more likely that the </span><span style="line-height: 20px;">Shakespearean</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> author is
attempting to uncover a much more subtle point; for example the viciousness of
life itself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Employing
several similes that include cannibalism, the eclectic writer has painted a portrait
in which the average person can relate to; although, it seems the use of
cannibalism is more metaphorical than literal. For example, the Quakers in
<i>Moby-Dick</i> appear ready to preach love and charity, yet when the time comes for
such amiable actions they instead turn on their listeners by attempting to cheat men like Ishmael out of a fair lay. In the same way savage islanders may enjoy the palatable dish they've cooked up, supposedly "Christian men" will anxiously turn to and fro waiting for the chance to stab and extort an innocent loggerhead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-40516604684545534762012-09-06T16:37:00.001-07:002012-09-06T16:37:48.433-07:00Melville's Writing <br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">One thing that always interests me about nineteenth
century writers is the ways in which they tend to over-indulge how many words
they use whenever explaining something. Whether it’s Hawthorne commenting on
the irony of life or Melville subtly portraying a harsh hypocrisy that tainted
every living soul during his time, I’ve noticed that few authors chose to be
blunt; although Alcott was a good exception to this generalized critique. “But
what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass
of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim,
perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast” (Melville 13). These details are
hardly random but instead are meant to insight awe toward the obscurity and
terror consummating such picturesque objects. The sublime feeling galvanizing
this single work of art demonstrates how innate the emotion of fear and power
hidden within our subconscious psyche continues to eddy boundlessly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Perhaps Hawthorne’s dear friend is merely foreshadowing an
ineffably frightening and ambiguous event, which if be the case, a great white
humped whale should suffice. Then again it may be something more prodigious like
the unsolicited and surreptitiously constructed ideologies that prevailed
during the beginning of our nation; an invisible propriety that remains ubiquitous
even in the twenty-first century. “But, alas! the practices of whalemen soon
convinced him that even Christians could be both miserable and wicked… Queequeg
gave it up for lost. Thought he, it’s a wicked world in all meridians; I’ll die
a pagan” (Melville 62). In Victorian times people tried hard to stay irksomely pious,
and they vehemently believed that anyone who strayed from the norms and codes
of conduct were condemned to a life of eternal misery. Yet this didn’t stop
Melville from charting a course to unveil the convoluted mask of a sinful
society. He knew every “Christian” individual at one point or another was
capable of lying or hypocrisy; better still, he knew people typically <i>enjoyed</i> part-taking in such squalid behavior.
The employment of constant cynicism throughout <i>Moby-Dick </i>is greater than simply a tool to chisel out the mien of
Ishmael. It was a vigorous, but light-hearted way to engage the readers to stop
and contrast their own opinions about the world with Melville’s rugged
character. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> In any case I thought it was rather interesting how
Melville chose to enumerate several ideas without explicitly condemning them.
That isn’t to say that Ishmael doesn’t outright denounce certain facets of his
fleshly world, but that sometimes it is so entrenched with humorous harangue
that one fails to take the observations seriously. Personally I <i>prefer</i> a blunter chastising of American
society, but at least Melville’s sailor story involves no otiose scriveners
(thank goodness). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818307024540309332.post-10426962367120794052012-08-30T19:47:00.001-07:002012-08-30T19:47:13.071-07:00Hawthorne's Writing <br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">One thing that always seems
to intrigue me about nineteenth century author Nathaniel Hawthorne is the
way in which he sets up descriptions of characters, and the manner in which he
drags on metaphors; much like passages from Homer's epic<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Iliad</i>. "I knew that
pale, elderly face, with the red-tipt nose, and the patch over one eye... only
revealing enough of himself to make me recognize him as
an acquaintance" (Hawthorne 6). The portrait painted only goes to
show how concise, yet perfectly enthralling every detail is. This is something
that I really enjoy about Hawthorne, he uses each word in a meaningful sense
instead of just throwing in actions words. I also enjoy the unreliable narrator
aspect because it gives the novel greater depth, and lets the reader spend
countless hours ruminating over the meaning of each finely chiseled
adjective or metaphor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Having such a
recondite style of writing is something I feel like not a lot of authors have
nowadays. Granted we have a more fast-paced societal structure so not many
enjoy reading multi-layered text, but I believe people's taste for fine
literature still lurks in their minds, rapaciously waiting for a palatable
paradigm of syntax and vocabulary. That said I think there's several points or
"morals" to be learned from Hawthorne's<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Blithedale Romance</i>, but one
that really stuck out to me was Coverdale's seemingly unusual and perhaps
even blatantly sordid habit. Yet in a way we are all too close
in resemblance to the caricature Hawthorne has pieced
together for us; maybe that's why it doesn't grab attention the first read
around. Hiding up in his sylvan fortress it would appear as if Miles is nothing
more than a forlorn observer of the private. After closing in on such behavior
though, the line between a young poet's unsettling past-times and our own
mundane hobbies begin to blur and mesh together forming a torpid
and surreptitious reality where the majority of civilization
resides. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Nevertheless,
Hawthorne's ineffably powerful plot twist simply fleshes out the obvious: in
past and present times mankind has been stuck in a wanton and utterly
pompous hierarchy controlled by greed for control and its pernicious relatives.
It's a wonder that our puerile way of life has flourished thus far. The need
for an army of veritable writers and inspirational storytellers has never been
greater, and I fear with the decline, perhaps the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>extinction</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>of excellent writers endows us with an
indomitable portent; one that may in fact erode the mien of an entire
nation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I.T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02509327578227914206noreply@blogger.com0