Frankenstein and the Bible

In this year’s AP Literature class, we’re always encouraged to consider allusions to past works (like the way that Thomas Foster in How to Read Literature Like a Professor insists that there exists just one story and all the works of literature created are enriching it). As the most universally known work of literature or religion, the Bible is an excellent source to look to for inspiration in analyzing literature. So it is fascinating to examine Mary Shelley’s Romantic –era novel, Frankenstein, from a biblical perspective. Motifs that I notice in particular include references to the Christian God, Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, and the fall from innocence.

Perhaps Frankenstein has maintained its status as such an iconic story for so many centuries because it has such strong ties to well-known archetypes. Dr. Frankenstein can be seen clearly as a God figure in the way that he “overreaches” nature and its laws. His experiments are not described in scientific, logical terms but in loud noises and flashes of lightning. His creation of the Monster (who is not named Frankenstein!) is characterized and magical, unnatural- evil. He’s like a foil for the Christian God, who is described as a peaceful, benevolent, father figure. The Christian God does break the laws of nature in his mythical creation of the world just as Dr. Frankenstein does, but what he does is justified by his religion- Frankenstein’s unholy creation is not.

Speaking of this “unholy creation,” I would like to consider the monster himself. He is very obviously a sentient being (especially as evidenced by his dialogues in Chapter 10), just as Adam was created by the Christian God as a fully sentient, self-aware being. Neither went through the normal stages of life that we view as inescapable: infancy, early childhood, adolescence, and maturity. Instead, they are born with their full intelligence but a lack of knowledge about the world around them they soon cure with their curiosity. Adam is purely curious and is punished for the sin of his (Eve’s) curiosity. The monster (is monster even an apt moniker for him- he’s not monstrous at this point?) begins his journey in life full of love and appreciation for the world around him. But he is abandoned by his creator and isolated by the world. These things shaped him, changed him from his peaceful initial self to a violent creature.

Adam’s knowledge (literally, because Eve eats fruit from the Tree of Knowledge) is what causes his fall from innocence. But he is not abandoned by his creator like the Monster- more like disciplined. The monster’s fall from innocence occurs not through any fault of his, but of his creator. So the story can be connected to another universal archetype- the irresponsible parent. It is essentially Dr. Frankenstein’s fault that his “son” loses his innocence in the rough world around him and it is Dr. Frankenstein’s fault that the “monster” begins to become a force of destruction. It will be interesting to read the rest of the novel and see how the situation plays out, especially in relation to the biblical allusions.

Looking Back at Anthem

Sometimes, I enjoy reflecting back on books that I was assigned to read in past English courses. One that fascinated me was Anthem, by Ayn Rand. The novel is full to the brim with quotable material. I can just flip to a page in the book in front of me and immediately be drawn to some insight that I did not fully realize the first time I read it.

When the protagonist, Prometheus, is investing himself in his work, he is far from the other members of his society. On a basic level, Prometheus does not fully understand the importance of his work. “We alone, of the thousands who walk this earth, we alone in this hour are doing a work which has no purpose save that we wish to do it.” (36). In examining this quote, one can see the brilliance of its basal meaning , that Prometheus has taken advantage of his new freedom, as well as its deeper meaning, the higher purpose of his work.

From working alone in secret to gaining an advanced understanding of the motives of people around him, Prometheus’ thoughts and actions reveal that he has taken advantage of his newfound physical and emotional freedom. He has broken away from the drudgery of his previous life and the doldrums that surround the rest of society, as he expresses when looking upon his face for the first time, “Our face was not like the faces of our brothers, for we felt no pity when looking upon it.” (80). Free from the prison surrounding his former comrades, Prometheus looks upon himself with pride and confidence. Looking back, he feels disgust for the empty and complacent life he once shared with his comrades. With breathtaking imagery, Prometheus lauds the exhilaration of discovery, “For this wire is as a part of our body, as a vein torn from us, glowing with our blood.” (61). By comparing his invention to a the system of life in his own body, he connects to his work and emphasizes its necessity to his intellectual growth. Throughout the novel, the changes in Prometheus’ behavior illustrate the freedom he has won.

Prometheus’ work holds a far higher purpose than a mere hobby. A part of its importance is that through working, he begins to understand the value of his work, as evidenced by the illuminating comparisons he makes, “We wish nothing, save to be alone and learn, and to feel as if with each day our sight were growing sharper than the hawk’s and clearer than rock crystal.” (36). The reader can feel the excitement coursing through Prometheus’ entire being as he makes discoveries and innovations. Prometheus learns what it is to lose himself in the passion of an important work. As the Committee feared and Prometheus began to understand, his endeavor was the sort that fuels discoveries and revolutions. As the young pioneer came to understand, “The power of the sky can be made to do men’s bidding. There are no limits to its secrets and its might, and it can be made to grant us anything if we but choose to ask.” (60). This quote embodies the intensity of the force that Prometheus has harnessed, the force that the Committee fears and hates; the force of knowledge. As the Committee is all-too aware of, education is the key to revolution and therefore the primary enemy of the controlling government. Through his work, Prometheus abandons his assigned purpose and comes to choose his own: to learn, and consequently to help free others from oppression.

Prometheus eloquently expresses the essence of knowledge and discovery with his early thought, “We alone, of the thousands who walk this earth, we alone in this hour are doing a work which has no purpose save that we wish to do it.” (36). During Prometheus’ hours spent working in solitude, he attains a clarity about his work and about his purpose in life. He understands that his purpose can be assigned to him by no man but himself, and that his work in gaining knowledge gives him the purest joy he has ever felt. He feels this joy for no man but himself, and makes this work his purpose.

Grendel and Nihilism

While I enjoyed being mystified at the events of Chapter 5, in which Grendel descends (it doesn’t say anything about descending, that’s just how it feels- like the archetype of passing through hell) into the dragon’s lair and comes up again, I so far have been most interested in Chapter Six, which in my opinion is about Grendel’s resurgence into his own world as a changed creature. He’s taken the “hero’s journey” into “hell” and has had a rebirth. I enjoyed realizing the connections that this archetype has to Greek myth lore and pondering about how it relates to Grendel.

Before Grendel has his perspective altered by the mind-bending conversation with the Dragon, he’s sort of unsure about himself, the world around him, and his place in it. I couldn’t define any sort of social philosophy he adheres to, despite the fact that he is a very sentient and pensive creature. He acts and appears to feel just like an angry child on the brink of adolescence, alternating periods of hopelessness and longing with those of blind destructive anger. But after he is put in the position of student to the dragon’s professor, Grendel has a change- both physical and emotional. He’s told by the dragon that he is insignificant, that life existed long before him and will go on long without him until nothingness and that once his existence is over, the world won’t have been much changed. Now this is something rather upsetting for anyone to hear, let alone a sad angsty monster (albeit an adorable one, judging by the cover of Gardner’s novel), so it’s understandable that Grendel is rather shaken by this encounter.

Aside from the emotional effects that the wise (is he wise? Can you be a figure of evil and wise? Is he evil?) old dragon has on Grendel, the physical effect that he brings to Grendel after their Socratic learning seminar is incredibly significant- Grendel finds that he is completely invulverable now to the weapons and techniques of the men who are trying to kill him. So their whole dynamic changes as a result. Grendel, now invulnerable like a true monster and a little bit less like the people, becomes further isolated from society as a result. This is only spurred on by the opinions taught to him by the dragon- nihilism. Grendel has been told that his one purpose is to be the monster for society, give them something to fight and ultimately succeed against. Far from questioning this (as he once would have), Grendel (out of nihilistic bloodlust?) runs with his new worldview. He destroys like a mindless monster (like his mother). This makes me wonder about one of the questions that our class will be discussing over the coming days- Is Grendel a depressing or optimistic novel? I’m not one to find nihilism depressing, but I feel that this chapter’s take on it certainly does not bode well for Grendel’s feeling of belonging in the world.

Grendel and the Wild Things

After reading the first few chapters of Grendel by John Gardner and then looking into the art on the novel’s cover, I was distinctly reminded of some lost part of my childhood that had recently been re-imprinted on my mind- Where The Wild Things Are. The creatures from the short children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are are ferocious and fearsome. They’re given multiple, more adult dimensions in the recent film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are. Fluffy, surreal monsters are rife with human insecurities (difficultly with emotional expression and low confidence among other eccentricities) that are revealed as Max, the little boy who wants to be a monster invades their midst and crowns himself their king (and it is interesting to note that the monsters put up very little argument). Max, juxtaposed against Grendel, the monster who pities his own lot as an outcast from human society, provides an interesting contrast and makes me question if it is possible to truly “fit in” where one is supposed to.

Max is a little human boy who, try as he might, cannot really feel comfortable with the people and society surrounding him. He clearly suffers from some psychological disorders, as evidenced by his raving, flailing, and other destructive tendencies. When I examine these characteristics of Max and compare them to Grendel’s personality, the similarities are striking. Neither creature fits in with society. Max believes that he doesn’t want to fit in among people and Grendel just longs for an end to his loneliness, whether by death or acceptance. After comparing the two, I get the feeling that Gardner’s Grendel can be described as a characterization of mental disease- the chaotic thoughts, emotional turmoil, and separateness from society that identify such disorders are all basic parts of Grendel’s being.

Max leaves the humans and is embraced (mostly) by monsters (“We’ll eat you up we love you so”) who, funnily, in the book Where the Wild Things Are express the same sort of simple animalistic feelings that Grendel’s mother shows to Grendel through her wailing and scratching. Grendel doesn’t fit in amongst man or beast: “There was nothing, or, rather, there was everything but my mother.” Both characters are raised by single mothers (in the movie version of Where the Wild Things Are, that is) and I get the feeling that this concept of a broken family is significant in the way that Grendel’s and Max’s personalities were shaped. The fact that Max’s own loving mother was unable to get through to him, to find the boy beneath the monster, makes it sadder that Grendel’s mother is incapable of even attempting the same for her son- Max has a future, he has hope for improvement and integration into society, as his reconciliation with his mother at the end of his story suggests. Grendel, on the other hand, has no one to possibly form a meaningful bond with. His angry existence is doomed to continue like before until he meets his sudden and violent death.

A Doll's House

The play by Henrik Ibsen is definitely important in the scheme of the universal dialogue on gender roles. Written in 1879, it was one of the early works of literature to plainly exhibit a questioning of society’s strict gender roles. I can understand why, as Ms. Clinch said, audiences in European theaters during the time that the play was first performed saw it as unforgivably scandalous. After all, a wife suddenly leaves her husband and children. Even in today’s “immoral” times, this abandonment is almost always seen as unacceptable. Sure, Nora is unhappy with her life. She realizes that every aspect of her existence had been a sham. So is it her duty to herself to leave in order to discover who she is? Does she have no responsibility for her children because she left their upbringing up to a nanny?

I feel that it was a refreshing thing to witness Nora breaking free of the societal and self-imposed shackles that had kept her a macaroon-munching squirrel. But in the context of her life- the responsibilities she has to her children and to Torvald- I thought that her decision to leave suddenly without goodbyes was selfish and impractical. So it was depressing to consider that, even when she isn’t under the thumb of Torvald, Nora, the “liberated” woman has her interests closest to heart. It is therefore understandable that the point was raised- was Ibsen a sexist? I think that by modern standards Ibsen would be a sexist for implying that women are selfish and flighty but that he was practically a liberal radical by the standards of the late-1800s

Germans even went so far as to change the ending of the play, which in my opinion completely altered the meaning of the work and bastardized Ibsen’s original intent. Instead of stealing away silently without more drama and weepy goodbyes, they changed the play for their audiences, having Torvald force Nora to go and see the children she was going to abandon (which in real life is the responsible thing to do but for some reason in the play just was depressing- like the shackles she had just thrown off were being clamped back on). Nora breaks down upon seeing her children and collapses, no longer with the intent to leave. If what Nora does in the original version is strength of self character, her failure to carry out her plan of abandonment in this altered version is perhaps a return to normal in terms of gender roles, but ultimately makes that version of the play into a statement on the weakness of women- since Nora returns to her family, she has made no growth as a character and is in nearly the exact same position she was in at the beginning of the play.

So while I don’t agree with the notion of abandoning family in favor of self-fulfillment, I do prefer Ibsen’s intended ending to the play. While Nora in my opinion is not exactly the epitome of female progress and intellect, she progresses in Ibsen’s play, just as the modern day woman evolved from her more restricted counterpart from centuries ago.

The Sun Also Rises

Compared to nearly every other novel that I have been assigned to read over the past four years in high school, The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway, strikes a sharp contrast in terms of diction and syntax. I have enjoyed nearly all the great works of literature I have been assigned to read, with the exception perhaps of Beowulf, but now upon exposure to the direct and engrossing nature of The Sun Also Rises, I feel that my highly exciting literary horizons have been broadened further, as if with every drink Jake takes I am reaching for the stars of success. Hemingway’s succinct use of dialogue that manages to capture the essence and eccentricity of his characters amazes me and convinces me that he is one of my favorite writers.
I don’t understand how, but Hemingway in his portrayal of Jake’s love for Lady Brett shatters my heart into a million pieces. Despite the impossibility of a lasting relationship between the two (due to Brett’s promiscuity and Jake’s genital injury among other issues), neither character is quite able to get over the other. Their conversations are often blithe and nonchalant, but rippling beneath the current with desperation. ‘“What did you say?” I was lying with my face away from her. I did not want to see her. “Sent him for champagne. He loves to go for champagne.” Then later: “Do you feel better, darling? Is the head any better?” “It’s better.” “Lie quiet. He’s gone to the other side of town.” “Couldn’t we live together, Brett? Couldn’t we just live together?” “I don’t think so. I’d just tromper you with everybody. You couldn’t stand it.” “I stand it now.” (62)
Hemingway has no flowery declarations of affection. I see no descriptions of scenery and nature in relationship to the characters. I feel like I would entirely miss the connection (and one that feels electric) between Jake and Brett if I wasn’t paying close attention to the dialogue. Throughout the novel, Brett calls nearly everyone “darling” (and this carelessly intimate idiosyncrasy is indicative of her promiscuous nature), but I get the unshakable feeling that, when she calls Jake “darling,” it’s entirely different. Hemingway doesn’t outright describe a change in her tone, but includes miniscule differences in her conversations- with Jake, she seems slightly more tender, more vulnerable. She dismisses other people when she is with him as though they are extras in a movie about just the two of them. Brett is less careless with Jake. She tortures him like she does to everyone else, but I get the feeling that either she doesn’t mean to or she doesn’t want to.
From the start, Hemingway makes it crystal clear that the relationship between Jake and Brett is doomed. He is unable to be what she needs in a man because of his war injury (the war’s consequences pervade the novel) and she seems to be incapable of lasting commitment- her two divorces and countless dalliances with a variety of men indicate a flakiness and insecurity. But their passion is so palpable in their dialogues that I just don’t care.

Devices in The Crucible

After so much discussion of the summer reading novels from 2009, I felt that it was time to return to books that I have read and enjoyed in the past. Arthur Miller, the author of The Crucible, utilizes his literary work as a statement about the nature of humankind and the faithfully unyielding manner in which it reasserts itself throughout history. This statement made about the unchanging nature of humankind is exemplified in Miller’s comparison of the hysterics during the Salem Witch Trials to the suspicion-riddled climate of 1950s America. Miller’s story is rich with rhetorical devices which not only add to a compelling reading experience but contribute heavily to his expression of theme. Arthur Miller in The Crucible employs the devices of metaphor, kenning, dramatic irony, and personification to suggest that people will always seek to fulfill their selfish desires through manipulation of the people and atmosphere surrounding them.

As a means to set the tone of the story and establish the far reaches of corruption in Salem, Miller uses metaphors that appeal to the reader’s pathos and fully immerse him or her in the story’s action. As no doubt several of the villagers are aware and none will admit, the motive behind much of the corruption and accusation is greed for land or power. When expressing what she believes are the layers of corruption in the village, Mrs. Ann Putnam insists, ““There are wheels within wheels in this village, and fires within fires!” Here, she is alluding to wrongdoing, witchcraft; while supporting herself as an innocent. Both wheels and fire can be interpreted as being connected to the sinister practice of witchcraft, as wheels and other circular figures are powerful symbols in pagan lifestyles and fire is more stereotypically associated with evil. Mrs. Putnam uses these images to imply that witches inhabit the village of Salem. The wheels “within wheels” and fires “within fires,” as layers, symbolize the layers of complication of this issue such as the internal struggles for power among the villagers. Mrs. Putnam’s metaphoric declaration reveals her bitterly deep-seated desire to expose as a “witch” the woman she blames for the loss of her unborn children and her capability as an imperfect human to incite paranoia.

Arthur Miller also uses the device of kenning to arouse feelings of fear and illustrate Abigail’s determination to bring her revenge upon Elizabeth Proctor. Abigail craftily manipulates her friends into serving her purposes. Her power over them is first revealed in examining her harried whisper, “Let either of you breathe a word, or the edge of a word, about the other things, and I will come to you in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you. And you know I can do it; I saw Indians smash my dear parents' heads on the pillow next to mine, and I have seen some reddish work done at night, and I can make you wish you had never seen the sun go down!” Colors in this quote serve as kennings; black represents the dark of night and reddish work is a kenning for violence. The crudity of these kennings compared to the words which they represent creates a more violent and terrifying tone when spoken by Abigail. The girl’s exploitive nature is manifested and one can easily draw comparisons between her self-serving behavior and that of other women in the village (Ann Putnam for example) or of politicians from the 1950s.

"Respectability"

Last week for the Winesburg, Ohio test I read a new chapter of the book that I hadn’t seen before. “Respectability” was a story that deeply resonated with me. The tale of Wash Williams, beginning with Anderson’s eerie description of the grotesque monkey to the finish of Wash’s account was haunting. To me, Anderson draws a parallel between Wash and the gorilla in his initial description. The gorilla is horribly ugly, brooding in a cage and isolated from the city - dwellers outside. It reminds the women who pass by of men - or a man. From this description arises a theme, one of gender differences and perception- the women are reminded of grotesque men they know and later Wash despises all women because of his wife’s actions. People often judge one another based one just one individual representative of a group, and this is very evident in the relationships between men and women in “Sophistication.”

He sees women only as zombies for lack of a better word, describing them as dead inside, soulless. They exist only to feed on the life forces of men as Wash’s wife cheated on him. I can see the connection between Wash and a terrible animal; it seemed significant to me that the monkey sat noiselessly in its cage as Wash festers silently in his hatred and isolation. He never expresses his feelings to his wife about her cheating, only holds it until he explodes - like a ferocious monkey let out of its cage. And they’re not cute. They’re dangerous. Pet monkeys mangle their owners all the time. They’re like the silent killer. I’m willing to bet a large sum of money that more people die each year in monkey attacks than in shark attacks.

In addition to this animalistic connection, “Respectability” is inundated with irony. Most prominent is the main character’s name: Wash. Anderson takes care to encrust Wash’s character with grime, both figurative and literal. Even the whites of his eyes are dirty according to the author (another white reference in Winesburg, like the white dress soiled by blood in “Paper Pills.” ) The grime of his appearance seems to suggest the crusty nature of his soul - like countless layers of filth, Wash surrounds himself constantly with feelings of ineffectuality, resentment, and then hatred.

The main character’s name, Wash, signifies cleansing. It hints at a renewal of life, of spring, of freshness. It also signifies baptism and purity of spirit. Wash’s character epitomizes the opposite: he builds up sin instead of washing it away. He is the very personification of moral and physical decay, of fetidness, and of an unclean spirit. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I am drawn to him, interested. I feel that this betrayal of my expectations is what makes Wash’s character so interesting. He’s like a ticking time bomb that I’m watching with bated breath. In these respects, “Respectability” for me was without a doubt one of the most fascinating short stories in Winesburg, Ohio.

Cunegonde as a Secondary Character

Cunegonde is one of Candide’s many companions throughout his adventure. She is the daughter of the baroness and is of very royal blood. Like many of Voltaire’s novel’s characters, Cunegonde in my opinion does not at first or even second glance have much depth. She begins like Candide – young, carefree, and lusty, secure in her youth, beauty, and wealth. Like Candide, she is exposed to the teachings of the bumbling Dr. Pangloss and becomes convinced of his worldview, that this is the best of all worlds- in other words, radical optimism. Candide shares these views at the beginning of the novel and throughout his miseries; in my opinion, he has not changed much by the end (thus, the quest he undertook seems ironic and pointless). Though he does assert more rationally, “We must cultivate our garden,” make our own luck in other words, Voltaire gives no other indication that his views on optimism have changed, other than some sparse and cautious questions he asks. During the worst times, he retains his sunny hope for the future. In having such a static character, Voltaire ridicules this philosophy.

So what does he mean to say to me with Cunegonde as a character? Taking up where we left off, Cunegonde endures seeing her lover booted from the castle. She witnesses her father and brother butchered and her mother torn apart. She his raped and tortured repeatedly, made to work as a slave, witnesses countless brutal events, and is brutalized herself beyond imagination.

So when we meet up with her again after all this, has her life perspective been altered as we would expect a normal person’s to? Voltaire does not go particularly in depth into this- is he saying that she doesn’t really count because she’s a woman? I don’t think so. I don’t really understand the story, to be honest, because I have trouble relating to novels with little internal voice and emotion. I did notice that Voltaire depicts short scenes in which Cunegonde briefly questions the things that have happened to her, the justness of her situation. To me, this indicates that Voltaire intends to characterize her as a person of low intelligence and of little consequence except in her relationship to the novel’s title character.

She appears to serve, for the most part, as a Holy Grail figure, an object of Candide’s seemingly never-ending quest. Cunegonde has all the qualities of a quest’s reward- she is beautiful, virtuous (at least in the beginning), and in love with the hero. He goes to all the corners of the world to find her. So what does it mean when they are finally reunited for the last time and she has become terribly ugly- fat and sunburned according to Candide? Does it mean that she never was that beautiful, that Candide simply built her up in his mind as a figure of unlimited beauty? And that after his trials, his prize has become meaningless? To me, this is yet another way that Candide’s quest can be seen as ironic.

But what if Cunegonde really did lose her beauty? Does she deserve it? How does it really affect her besides decreasing the likelihood of her being raped? Sure, Candide doesn’t really like her anymore but he is still determined to marry her. And that- is it really out of honor or is he simply unable to let go of the holy grail that he has put so much effort into finding, despite the fact that he doesn’t really want her anymore? Though Cunegonde herself doesn’t have much depth, her relationship to Candide makes her a significant figure in the novel.

Isolation in Winesburg, Ohio

I’ve always had some trouble “getting into” short stories or collections of short stories because I felt that I didn’t have time to become connected to the characters and really care about them. To me, Winesburg, Ohio has felt like a stepping stone between the novel and the short story that I truly enjoyed. Maybe “enjoyed” is an overstatement. It’s not an overstatement actually, just not the right word. I “connected with” many of the chapters in the sort of emotional literary way that I generally think of as good. But they were depressing. The theme of isolation that, I felt, pervaded the novel was made particularly striking to me through Anderson’s strong use of characterization.

Wing Biddlebaum, one of the first figures characterized by Anderson, it one of the most sad and isolated characters. He is separated from the rest of society, not by some defect of personality but by a physical ailment, his hands. They scare away other people, to the point that he seems to view them as their own entity out of his control. The second character, Doctor Reefy, also seems to live a very lonely life, only able to be expressive when he is alone, with his scraps of paper. This is very sad. Yes. Yes it is sad. It is sad that many people cannot seem to communicate outside the means they’re comfortable with, even if heavily intoxicated- not to say that Doctor Reefy is intoxicated. It’s just hypothetical. But he would probably still just resort to his pieces of paper.

One of the most touching stories to me was that of Tom, Elizabeth, and George Williard. Whenever Tom’s character was mentioned, I was reminded heavily of Willie Stark in demeanor; Tom is a brutish figure who is eager to make his way in politics, whose wife gradually becomes a diminished figure in their relationship and even their home. He has big dreams for his son, just as Willie has dreams for his son, Tom. Tom of Winesburg, Ohio heavily pushes a successful career for his son George. The story kept drawing my attention to Elizabeth’s lost life, the spark that she used to have but no longer possesses and suggests that she is trying to regain the spark vicariously through George. It was like a breath of relief to me when she didn’t kill her family, although the ending to their vignette wasn’t quite cheerful.

Alice Hindman’s story in “Adventure” was another fascinating but extremely depressing tale. The idea of her waiting for years and years for a man that I know will never return to her is almost inexpressibly sad and also sort of universal, as all of us at some time have been in a similar situation, unwilling to face the truth or desperate for some kind of closure. When she breaks down and acts out, I felt like I was looking into a mirror (except without the nudity). The isolation that permeates many of Anderson’s tales is a feeling that feels very relate able to me and likely many of his other readers.

Foster Connections

When I first picked up How to Read Literature Like A Professor, I was really skeptical about how much the book would enrich my reading. I have my own methods and ways of thinking, just like everyone else, and it was almost blasphemous to me to think that I would be told how to read by Thomas Foster. However, after a few initial adjustments, I grew to enjoy Foster’s book and appreciate the literary connections that were previously invisible to me (in addition to wanting to read nearly all the books he recommended in his reading list). With the Books on File project, I revisited Foster’s literary connections in relation to Candide by Voltaire and Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.

Throughout the entirety of Candide, the title character is on one quest or another, whether to find his love Cunegonde or reclaim massive amounts of money. At the end of the novel, Candide wises up somewhat and insists that “we must cultivate our garden.” He has gained some perspective on his place in the world, finally giving up after multiple retries at gaining wealth and success. However, Voltaire includes no other indications that the blissfully ignorant man has changed his philosophy (which is not really his own philosophy, as it is taken directly from Pangloss’ own views due to Candide’s trusting nature). Therefore, it is my opinion that the quest symbolism in Candide is ironic because quests in novels exist on a base level to evolve the characters who undertake them, according to Foster (P 235). Because Candide undertook such a massive journey, beginning as a blissfully optimistic figure, I expected him to change significantly as a character. That he doesn’t is ironic and perhaps indicative of Voltaire’s views towards mankind, that it is ignorant, naive, and unwilling to change. When I reached the end of the book and thought, “what did that mean,” the book felt empty to me unless I considered Voltaire’s irony in having Candide undertake this quest.

In the project, I also drew connections with Tess of the D’Urbervilles. The link that stands out to me most between Hardy’s novel and How to Read Literature Like A Professor was Foster’s chapter on vampires and other literary monsters. In my opinion, Alec D’Urberville is a classic example of this. He’s dark, mysterious, lecherous of virginal young women, and satisfies his urges by using Tess, just as a vampire uses its victims. In the rape scene, Tess’ skin was “traced such a coarse pattern as it was doomed to receive (119)” – almost like a symbolic vampire bite. Vampires leave just the bodies of their victims behind- this seems to indicate that Alec has taken Tess’ spirit and what he leaves is an empty shell of a person, which raises new questions and layers of meaning for her subsequent actions. The connection of D’Urberville to a vampire, in my opinion, adds a richness and mysticism to Tess of the D’Urbervilles that would otherwise not have been present, so I appreciate the fact that Foster’s novel was so effective in illuminating literary connections that I will be able to use in all of my future reading.

Reaction to Candide

Although I did not enjoy Candide as I did the other summer reading novels, I admired and appreciated Voltaire’s masterful utilization of irony to convey his views on life, science, and philosophy. I particularly agree with his view that the universe is random and uninvolved. His mockery of the idea of an omniscient, caring universe that is the “best of worlds,” that works to secure happiness for each individual residing within it utilizes the character of Candide (optimism!) effectively in my opinion. It is entertaining that, throughout all his violent misfortunes and those of others that he witnesses, he continues to brightly insist that “all is well.” In mocking Candide and his opinions (that were fed to him by Dr. Pangloss), Voltaire mocks this view of determined optimism.

The elements of the novel that I enjoy most are his snide, sneaky insults to rival philosophers whose views he sees as preposterous and as intending to take intellectual advantage of the uneducated. One of his more amusing insults is his use of Dr. Pangloss’ diction- nonsense words are used by the good doctor to explain his philosophy for Candide and his other disciples, to great comic effect. I feel like a modern connection to this that I can relate to is the vocabulary of Scientology, which includes words most people dismiss as nonsense, decreasing its credibility (unintentional by the creator), as Voltaire beats down the credibility of his rivals by exaggerating the ridiculous words they create.

The flow and style of Candide did not appeal to me, possibly because it was a form of writing that I have, on the whole, not been exposed to in my past reading of literature. In my opinion, Candide reads more like a play (though it is not in the play format) than a novel, with great amounts of dialogue and action description, but little to no internal voice - which I feel that I need to become fully engrossed in the novel and form a bond with the story’s narrator. The repetition (for example, the repeated violent miseries such as hangings, burnings, rapes, and floggings that were exacted upon characters throughout almost the entire novel) of similar actions and lack of a noticeable narrative presence that I can relate to left me wanting a rich fantasy novel like the Lord of the Rings trilogy or the Harry Potter series. It was interesting for me to note that I can lose patience with such a short fiction novel, but I feel that this was just a matter of personal taste, as I acknowledge and admire Voltaire’s talented and quick – witted utilization of irony.

The ultimate message of Candide, that “we must cultivate our garden,” is one with which I agree completely. The idea that comfortable and humble success, gained over a long period of time through hard work, sits well with me, compared to Candide’s initial idea that wealth would simply come to him because he is deserving of it. The message is an important one, especially for our era when economic success is far from secure.

Adam and Eve Allusions

The story of Adam and Eve is one that has pervaded the history and legends of mankind since its origins. The story is so universal, so widely known, that its utilization in literature enriches any story. In terms of imagery, elements of the Adam and Eve biblical story are in nearly every work of literature, if one looks closely enough. The nakedness of the man and woman in their innocence, the rich, wild beauty of the garden, the formation of the woman, the ominous presence of the evil, talking serpent, the holiness of the tree of knowledge (or the tree of life, from some perspectives) - every one of these images serves as a powerful metaphorical tool for whatever purpose the author may intend to use it. Allusions to the Adam and Eve story can illustrate man’s destructive and greedy nature (as Mr. Warren expresses masterfully in All The King’s Men), emphasize the innocence of a character, or fulfill nearly any other purpose that the author can think of.

All The King’s Men, as a rich novel set in the 1930s, is saturated with imagery, much of which can be tied back to biblical times- specifically, Adam and Eve. The character of Adam can be connected to the Adam of biblical myth, and indeed, his story can be said to parallel the tale of Adam. He begins the story (chronologically, at least) as an innocent teenager (paralleling the innocence of Adam, as he is born a naked man in the Garden of Eden) and maintains his pristine morality as a doctor (held in great public esteem as well as respected and resented deeply by Jack) - that is, until he “bites” from the “fruit of knowledge.” In this case, the apple bitten by Eve is the knowledge of Willie’s scandal and seedy morals that Adam obtains, and this drives him, as Adam of biblical lore is driven out of the garden, to shoot Willie (committing a moral sin, as Adam did to get kicked out of the garden). To me, it seems like one could easily dismiss this parallel and the other parallels that Warren includes in All The King’s Men as unnecessary and not useful to the story- extra padding. But as I’ve often felt, and as I read about in more depth in How To Read Literature Like A Professor by Thomas C. Foster, the phenomena of intertextuality in literature adds a layer of richness, like the scorched brown sugar glasslike coating on a small cup of crème brulee.

All biblical allusions in literature, from the character of Adam in All the King’s Men to the apple image in the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer add a layer of richness and comprehension by tying these works back to a place in history that to us in the present seems timeless, unending. Adam and Eve allusions create a quality of timelessness in the works that they appear in. Now that I understand the connections between allusions and literature, the process of discovering them has become monumentally more enjoyable and rewarding.

Angel

The character of Angel in Tess of the D’Urbervilles interested me and later frustrated me with his complexity and hypocrisy. I enjoyed the way the figurative language used to characterize the man evolved over the course of the novel, along with Tess’ situation. One small example of this occurs during the almost-return to innocence of Tess during her time at the dairy farm- her love interest is named Angel and is viewed in a beautiful garden, playing a harp. This would seem to imply that he is to be something of a savior for Tess and raises expectations for his character that he winds up falling very short of fulfilling. Shortly after their marriage and his departure, Hardy refers to his character less and less by his first name and more by Clare, his last name. To me, this new formality and distance between Angel and the readers parallels the way that Angel has distanced himself from Tess and can no longer be seen as her “angel.” The night that Angel finds out about Tess’ past misfortune with Alec D’Urberville, the imagery used to describe him shifts from tenderness and awe to dark and disapproving- the two unhappy lovers on their marriage night are juxtaposed- she as a delicate, light grey figure and he beside her, dark, “sinister, and forbidding.” This imagery foreshadows that he will bring misery to her or at the very least will darken the light that shines inside of her.

During the darker stage of their relationship, the awe with which Hardy surrounds Angel’s character- emphasis of his intelligence, culture, sensitivity, his rejection of convention- is slowly stripped away, perhaps as a means of foreshadowing Tess’ disillusionment with her husband after months of abandonment. Words used to describe him become disapproving, like “vague,” “abruptly,” “shame,” “misery, and “stern.” Angel is even described shortly after the essential dissolution of their marriage as a ghostly figure descending the hill to his home- almost as if he were a fallen angel, having exhausted his light and his potential as a satisfactory partner for Tess. In regards to the literal characterization of Angel, he reveals himself (or Hardy reveals him) to be shallow, a poser pretending to be above the conventions of his family (his brothers in particular). The perfect exemplification of this change is his immature attempt at expressing his desires, “My position- is this,’ he said abruptly. ‘I thought – any man would have thought – that by giving up all ambition to win a wife with social standing, with fortune, with knowledge of the world, I should secure rustic innocence as surely as I should secure pink cheeks; but – However, I am no man to reproach you, and I will not.” Tess feels his contradiction with that last statement and his curt and confused ramblings decrease the reader’s trust in his character. He proves himself to be in love with the idea of a country girl (wanting ruddy cheeks, the whole package) and not the actuality of the individual to whom he has pledged his love. By the end, any angelic qualities Angel might have appeared to have are gone- he is a weak, confused young man, no better than anyone else.