I’m excited to be writing my very last blog this year for AP Literature. Just last week, we took the AP Lit exam. I was a little bit flustered in the beginning of the exam, because I had a hard time finding the correct testing location even with the Milton Center programmed into my GPS. I was a minute late, but our class hadn’t started testing yet. Ms. Iton was very concerned. I was glad to find myself in a seat, even if it was behind the air conditioning man, who was banging at something in the wall (The Milton Center is perhaps not the best replacement testing location for St. James, which has comfortable chairs and black Jesus, as opposed to the jailhouse chairs and sweltering heat of the Milton Center).
I began the multiple choice in a stressed state of mind and was unable to read the first passage, so I skipped to an easy prose and soon felt comfortable with the exam. I had done well on the practice multiple choices in class, getting most or all of the questions right. I don’t think I did quite as well as I usually do, despite the fact that the questions on the AP exam were easier than the practice in-class questions, but I think I performed well enough on the multiple choice section to get a 4 and hopefully a 5.
During the break, I ran to the bathroom along with everyone else and had some of a banana that I brought with me. Brain food. Then, the essay section began and I read the prompt. I liked the theme of exile, although I felt that the question had a lot of parts, and I usually struggle to fully answer questions with a lot of different facets. I chose to write about Tess of the D’Urbervilles, because I think the novel fit the theme well. I think I wrote fairly well on the essay about the poem, in which I emphasized the fact that the family’s diversity unified them. I also feel confident in my criticism of the arrogant character in the prose passage.
I’m hopeful that I scored a 4, and possibly a 5 on the AP Lit exam and I’m excited for whatever the future holds.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Because I was ill on and off, I missed much of the early part of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, and a few sections in the middle. I still need to catch up on what I know to be a very quick and thoroughly entertaining read and plan to do so tonight or tomorrow. But from our readings in class and my brief explorations of the novel, I’ve gained certain insights about the play by Stoppard that have greatly contributed to my enjoyment of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.
For one, I know that the format of a play means that there will be fewer physical or personal descriptions of the characters, but it seemed to me that Stopard deliberately refrains from characterizing either Rosencrantz or Guildenstern as individual people. This is referred to directly and humorously when the King can’t bother to tell the difference between the two. I feel that this lack of physical characterization sets up the two as representations of humanity as a whole, which makes their ponderings about life, death, and the meaning of either especially significant.
I also loved the way that the play was weaved throughout its predecessor, Hamlet. Stoppard lifts a few lines and adds his own in a manner that, had another writer attempted it, could have ended disastrously but instead fits in quite well with the rest of the play. The fact that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern spend so much time wandering in a state of confusion creates a cloudy tone and atmosphere in the play that allows for a certain degree of believability, especially in the integration of original Hamlet portions. I found their lack of clarity of mind amusing, especially when we watched the film adaptation of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, in which the actors perfectly encapsulated the humor of the play. I thought that the cloudiness of their lives, demonstrated by the scene with coin-tossing that demonstrated how random life is and also by the occasionally unintelligible speeches of some characters, was a darker indication of how random and arguably purposeless our lives are.
It then was a natural move for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to mirror Hamlet’s existential, almost nihilistic point of view and question why they even exist. They question fate, by wondering if it’s possible to throw a peg in fate’s plan (in the play Hamlet’s plan, in this case). I feel that the playwright, through his characters, brings across the point that life and the universe are chaos in which people wander blindly, searching for meaning. Some find their own meaning (and they vary in levels of delusion?) in this mess of randomness and chance and others simply balk at the abyss (just. like. GRENDEL!) and find themselves unable to function with clarity, like Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Hamlet.
I’ve enjoyed the bits of the play I’ve read to an enormous extent, and even thinking about the themes in the play make me excited about reading it more thoroughly as soon as possible. I’m eager to consider the novel’s themes more deeply and also to rent the movie adaptation through Netflix to compare the text with the film adaptation.
For one, I know that the format of a play means that there will be fewer physical or personal descriptions of the characters, but it seemed to me that Stopard deliberately refrains from characterizing either Rosencrantz or Guildenstern as individual people. This is referred to directly and humorously when the King can’t bother to tell the difference between the two. I feel that this lack of physical characterization sets up the two as representations of humanity as a whole, which makes their ponderings about life, death, and the meaning of either especially significant.
I also loved the way that the play was weaved throughout its predecessor, Hamlet. Stoppard lifts a few lines and adds his own in a manner that, had another writer attempted it, could have ended disastrously but instead fits in quite well with the rest of the play. The fact that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern spend so much time wandering in a state of confusion creates a cloudy tone and atmosphere in the play that allows for a certain degree of believability, especially in the integration of original Hamlet portions. I found their lack of clarity of mind amusing, especially when we watched the film adaptation of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, in which the actors perfectly encapsulated the humor of the play. I thought that the cloudiness of their lives, demonstrated by the scene with coin-tossing that demonstrated how random life is and also by the occasionally unintelligible speeches of some characters, was a darker indication of how random and arguably purposeless our lives are.
It then was a natural move for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to mirror Hamlet’s existential, almost nihilistic point of view and question why they even exist. They question fate, by wondering if it’s possible to throw a peg in fate’s plan (in the play Hamlet’s plan, in this case). I feel that the playwright, through his characters, brings across the point that life and the universe are chaos in which people wander blindly, searching for meaning. Some find their own meaning (and they vary in levels of delusion?) in this mess of randomness and chance and others simply balk at the abyss (just. like. GRENDEL!) and find themselves unable to function with clarity, like Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Hamlet.
I’ve enjoyed the bits of the play I’ve read to an enormous extent, and even thinking about the themes in the play make me excited about reading it more thoroughly as soon as possible. I’m eager to consider the novel’s themes more deeply and also to rent the movie adaptation through Netflix to compare the text with the film adaptation.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Into the Wild
When choosing books to read for pleasure, I tend to avoid the nonfiction section of libraries; I like to think of this as my elementary school self controlling my current literary choices. But recently I was tempted by boredom to read Into the Wild, a nonfiction exploration of the life and death of Christopher McCandless by John Krakauer. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed the account, which read like an expanded newspaper article (because that’s essentially what it was- Mr. Krakauer is a news writer). I’ve always been fascinated by travel and exploration, so reading about McCandless’ extreme experience was quite interesting. The author provided maps as visual aids, newspaper accounts, countless first-hand interviews from people who met Chris on his travels, entries from Chris’ own diaries, and the author’s speculation on Chris’ motives.
The combination of all these sources of information was a book that was highly digestible; I was surprised and pleased to find that I didn’t want to put the book down. Krakaeuer doesn’t try to overcome me with emotion all at once; instead he builds my investment in Chris throughout the course of the book and leaves me at the end with a sense of touching insight into the troubled young man’s life. Krakaeuer writes how I imagine a true news writer writes. While he speculates extensively about Chris’ motivations, he never belittles the man, whose manic declarations and somewhat selfish actions lend themselves to criticism. He leaves it to me to form my own opinion of Chris. The author’s tone, which was quite sympathetic, made me feel a similar sympathy for Chris, although I felt that his decision to abandon his family without warning was thoughtlessly cruel.
Krakauer made the nonfiction novel even more personal and fascinating by including a chapter in which he details an experience he had that parallels the wilderness exploration of McCandless. He reflects back on his youth, in which he too travelled to Alaska, but instead of living in the wilderness for an extended period of time like McCandless, Krakauer finds himself determined to climb a dangerous mountain peak that had never been climbed before. After an intensely difficult and miserable experience, the author manages to reach the peak. The inclusion of this experience was absolutely vital to the novel in my opinion, because I got a first-hand glimpse into the mindset of a young man similar to McCandless; I got to hear about how nature challenges some people, how some are inexplicably drawn to the wilderness and to the danger that the wild offers.
I really enjoyed reading about McCandless, who may or may not have been crazy, but was certainly a fascinating person. I was overwhelmed by reading of his life and death, not so much with grief but with an understanding and empathy for what McCandless felt about his life and the natural world around him. After being so engrossed in the novel, I’m eager to rent the movie adaptation from Netflix and see if it lives up to my expectations!
The combination of all these sources of information was a book that was highly digestible; I was surprised and pleased to find that I didn’t want to put the book down. Krakaeuer doesn’t try to overcome me with emotion all at once; instead he builds my investment in Chris throughout the course of the book and leaves me at the end with a sense of touching insight into the troubled young man’s life. Krakaeuer writes how I imagine a true news writer writes. While he speculates extensively about Chris’ motivations, he never belittles the man, whose manic declarations and somewhat selfish actions lend themselves to criticism. He leaves it to me to form my own opinion of Chris. The author’s tone, which was quite sympathetic, made me feel a similar sympathy for Chris, although I felt that his decision to abandon his family without warning was thoughtlessly cruel.
Krakauer made the nonfiction novel even more personal and fascinating by including a chapter in which he details an experience he had that parallels the wilderness exploration of McCandless. He reflects back on his youth, in which he too travelled to Alaska, but instead of living in the wilderness for an extended period of time like McCandless, Krakauer finds himself determined to climb a dangerous mountain peak that had never been climbed before. After an intensely difficult and miserable experience, the author manages to reach the peak. The inclusion of this experience was absolutely vital to the novel in my opinion, because I got a first-hand glimpse into the mindset of a young man similar to McCandless; I got to hear about how nature challenges some people, how some are inexplicably drawn to the wilderness and to the danger that the wild offers.
I really enjoyed reading about McCandless, who may or may not have been crazy, but was certainly a fascinating person. I was overwhelmed by reading of his life and death, not so much with grief but with an understanding and empathy for what McCandless felt about his life and the natural world around him. After being so engrossed in the novel, I’m eager to rent the movie adaptation from Netflix and see if it lives up to my expectations!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Adam and Eve Allusions
The story of Adam and Eve is one that almost everyone hears about in childhood, regardless of religion or culture. It is one of the most basic stories in the bible and also, of course, one of the most prevalent allusions in literature. In pretty much any work of literature that our AP Literature class has read this year, from Winesburg, Ohio to Frankenstein to Hamlet to Invisible Man, the “original” man and woman have surfaced to make our class question meaning of the work in relation to this biblical story.
As we have learned from various allusion presentations, the story is told in Genesis, beginning with the creation of Adam, the first man, from the dust (which if anyone is interested, is very visually fascinating in a claymation version of Mark Twain’s life- I can’t remember the name of the movie but it is really really interesting) and giving him life. Adam is all lonely and none of the animals can satisfy his … “needs” (???!!), so God makes a woman person out of Adam’s rib (I find it interesting that the order is man, animals, woman). The two are allowed to eat anything they could ever want in the garden EXCEPT for the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (also, I think it’s funny that they’re forbidden from consuming knowledge- implies that tenets involve blindness). So of course Eve is tempted by a snake to eat the fruit and then Adam eats it as well. God curses them to live in hardship (and have to go through menstruation and horribly painful childbirth). So they’ve been kicked out of the garden. I have been informed that some other things happen later, like children or something, but this is the part of the story that I’m interested in tonight.
Since I seem to be on a role in finding allusions in Frankenstein, one of my favorite works of literature we’ve been required to read this year (not because the read itself was the most enjoyable but because it’s so ripe for blog posts), I’ll explore this allusion in Shelley’s novel. On page 94, Frankenstein’s monster cries, “Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.” He places a burden of guilt on the doctor, who as a nearly divine creator ought to have been somewhat responsible for his monster, but instead abandoned it. Considering the biblical story though, I must question: If Frankenstein had loved his monster like God loved Adam, would the tragedy have been avoided? After all, Adam screwed up too. Perhaps in this light, the tragedy is less a tale of creator abandonment than a testament to the sad truth that everyone and everything is fallible. How cheerful.
Just to throw another one in there, on page 127, the monster again accuses Dr. Frankenstein “…no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine?” The last part of this quote is similar to what I explored in the previous paragraph, but he does throw in a reference to Eve, which is in my opinion an insistence that a responsible creator should create companionship for his child, or at least make it possible for the child to make its own companionship. Anyway, I definitely have a clearer handle on the Adam and Eve biblical story after revisiting it in my allusions and delving a little into Frankenstein.
As we have learned from various allusion presentations, the story is told in Genesis, beginning with the creation of Adam, the first man, from the dust (which if anyone is interested, is very visually fascinating in a claymation version of Mark Twain’s life- I can’t remember the name of the movie but it is really really interesting) and giving him life. Adam is all lonely and none of the animals can satisfy his … “needs” (???!!), so God makes a woman person out of Adam’s rib (I find it interesting that the order is man, animals, woman). The two are allowed to eat anything they could ever want in the garden EXCEPT for the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (also, I think it’s funny that they’re forbidden from consuming knowledge- implies that tenets involve blindness). So of course Eve is tempted by a snake to eat the fruit and then Adam eats it as well. God curses them to live in hardship (and have to go through menstruation and horribly painful childbirth). So they’ve been kicked out of the garden. I have been informed that some other things happen later, like children or something, but this is the part of the story that I’m interested in tonight.
Since I seem to be on a role in finding allusions in Frankenstein, one of my favorite works of literature we’ve been required to read this year (not because the read itself was the most enjoyable but because it’s so ripe for blog posts), I’ll explore this allusion in Shelley’s novel. On page 94, Frankenstein’s monster cries, “Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.” He places a burden of guilt on the doctor, who as a nearly divine creator ought to have been somewhat responsible for his monster, but instead abandoned it. Considering the biblical story though, I must question: If Frankenstein had loved his monster like God loved Adam, would the tragedy have been avoided? After all, Adam screwed up too. Perhaps in this light, the tragedy is less a tale of creator abandonment than a testament to the sad truth that everyone and everything is fallible. How cheerful.
Just to throw another one in there, on page 127, the monster again accuses Dr. Frankenstein “…no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine?” The last part of this quote is similar to what I explored in the previous paragraph, but he does throw in a reference to Eve, which is in my opinion an insistence that a responsible creator should create companionship for his child, or at least make it possible for the child to make its own companionship. Anyway, I definitely have a clearer handle on the Adam and Eve biblical story after revisiting it in my allusions and delving a little into Frankenstein.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Job Allusions in Literature
After spending a semester and a half listening to various allusion presentations in my second period AP English Literature class, I’ve become significantly more interested in the origins of allusions and their uses in works of literature. Most all of the allusions interest me (especially the scandalous ones!), but one that strikes my particular fancy tonight is the story of Job. I think the concept of exhaustion is one that many of us seniors with AP classes can relate to lately.
I looked through some old print-outs and more internet sources to refresh myself on the story of Job. The man was incredibly devoted to his Christian religion- he prayed all the time and followed the law of the Bible. As to the rest of his life, he was very rich and had ten children. This was a lot of potential sins being created by his legacy (who knows what sins his sons could commit without his control!?!?), so considering this he often burnt various sacrifices to atone in advance (which to me seems somewhat excessive, but… moving on). So the Christian God notices this Extremely Religious man and asks Satan his opinion, who feels that Job only maintains his devotions because he is so wealthy. To prove this, Satan takes away *everything* from Job and leaves his family in shambles (a witch even kills his children). Job’s faith isn’t shaken- instead he becomes sort of like a Buddha and wanders around naked and bald, like a sad religious hobo. So Satan gives him an STD or something and his wife wants him to die and *still*, his piousness is unshaken. God rewards him by restoring his wealth and health and replaces his massacred children with shiny new sons (which to me seems a little bit horrifying). And then it ends. I understand that patience and faith are virtues, but I just can’t appreciate much of this story now that I have closely examined it. Regardless, I appreciate the potential of Job’s story to enrich works of literature and movies and I definitely enjoy the place that this biblical story has.
Though I can’t find instances where Frankenstein directly alludes to the story of Job, I definitely think that a connection to this biblical story is implied. After all, Shelley and Frankenstein are constantly questioning their creators, and the themes of undeserved suffering, advice, anger towards a creator pervade throughout the entire novel. It makes me think that perhaps Shelley might toy with the idea that the Christian God is malicious. I think she might agree with me that Job’s suffering was pointless. Testing one’s faith for the hell of it to me smacks of burning ants with a magnifying class for the hell of it- both are pointless destruction. Anyway, I’m definitely going to keep an eye out for both direct and indirect allusions to that and other biblical and mythological stories that we’ve learned about this year in our allusion presentation. I can better see now how works of literature connect to essential human emotions and shared experiences by viewing allusions in the context of society and history, and it makes the reading experience that much more interesting.
I looked through some old print-outs and more internet sources to refresh myself on the story of Job. The man was incredibly devoted to his Christian religion- he prayed all the time and followed the law of the Bible. As to the rest of his life, he was very rich and had ten children. This was a lot of potential sins being created by his legacy (who knows what sins his sons could commit without his control!?!?), so considering this he often burnt various sacrifices to atone in advance (which to me seems somewhat excessive, but… moving on). So the Christian God notices this Extremely Religious man and asks Satan his opinion, who feels that Job only maintains his devotions because he is so wealthy. To prove this, Satan takes away *everything* from Job and leaves his family in shambles (a witch even kills his children). Job’s faith isn’t shaken- instead he becomes sort of like a Buddha and wanders around naked and bald, like a sad religious hobo. So Satan gives him an STD or something and his wife wants him to die and *still*, his piousness is unshaken. God rewards him by restoring his wealth and health and replaces his massacred children with shiny new sons (which to me seems a little bit horrifying). And then it ends. I understand that patience and faith are virtues, but I just can’t appreciate much of this story now that I have closely examined it. Regardless, I appreciate the potential of Job’s story to enrich works of literature and movies and I definitely enjoy the place that this biblical story has.
Though I can’t find instances where Frankenstein directly alludes to the story of Job, I definitely think that a connection to this biblical story is implied. After all, Shelley and Frankenstein are constantly questioning their creators, and the themes of undeserved suffering, advice, anger towards a creator pervade throughout the entire novel. It makes me think that perhaps Shelley might toy with the idea that the Christian God is malicious. I think she might agree with me that Job’s suffering was pointless. Testing one’s faith for the hell of it to me smacks of burning ants with a magnifying class for the hell of it- both are pointless destruction. Anyway, I’m definitely going to keep an eye out for both direct and indirect allusions to that and other biblical and mythological stories that we’ve learned about this year in our allusion presentation. I can better see now how works of literature connect to essential human emotions and shared experiences by viewing allusions in the context of society and history, and it makes the reading experience that much more interesting.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Fight Club: Book vs. Movie
In this week’s literature circle discussion, the first of three about Chuck Palahniuk’s novel Fight Club, I was interested in the points that my fellow group members brought up. Nicole’s critical article raised the possibility that the narrator and Tyler Durden could be the same person, which I think I remember from the movie and also I felt was subtly implied in the first nine chapters that I’ve read thus far. I know that, having seen the movie version of Palahniuk’s novel, my view of the book will be somewhat affected by what I’ve watched but hopefully, since it’s been a few years since I saw the movie I’ll be able to enjoy the book, relatively unaffected by knowledge of the plot development.
In terms of the style and mood of the Palahniuk’s novel, I feel that the movie adaptation got things perfect. The sinister, grungy, dingy tone of the movie feel slike an exact translation from the original novel and the characters in my mind also translate perfectly from one medium to the next. Even the narrator, who is *never* described, seems a perfect fit in Edward Norton, whose sad, tired, eyes are like a mirror to the narrator’s disillusionment (and invisibility!) with society and with his life. Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden is an almost-perfect actor for the character- he’s definitely a leader and the sort of person who Edward Norton’s character would seem to gravitate to. But for me, the mysterious and threatening undertones of Tyler Durden’s character in the novel aren’t much reflected in Pitt’s machismo performance- one that appealed to hordes of fight-club wanna be teenage boys but perhaps didn’t do complete justice to the novel.
The best character translation between the book and movie, especially in terms of appearance, was Marla Singer. Her skin is described as pale, pale white and rather pasty. She has dark, large “anime” eyes, ratty hair, and pouty big lips. She *is* Helena Bonham Carter. And with an American accent, I really couldn’t imagine a more perfect Marla Singer. Granted, her character is not as explored (thus far in the novel anyway) as the narrator or Tyler Durden, but to me she encapsulates Marla’s cynicism, her perverse satisfaction in watching suffering (almost sadistic?), her desire to die and her need for love, particularly physical, from the right person who walks her way.
As far as the rest of the novel goes, I’m going to do my best to forget that I have ever even seen the movie version of Fight Club. This approach, I feel, will be most helpful in analyzing the progression of the novel and its characters in the next two sections of the novel. I’m not sorry that I’ve seen the movie, because right now I’m reading with a visual image of the characters in mind, a faint understanding of the novel’s themes (but not so clear that I can’t form my own opinions from the text), and an eagerness to continue following the narrator through the next part of his life.
In terms of the style and mood of the Palahniuk’s novel, I feel that the movie adaptation got things perfect. The sinister, grungy, dingy tone of the movie feel slike an exact translation from the original novel and the characters in my mind also translate perfectly from one medium to the next. Even the narrator, who is *never* described, seems a perfect fit in Edward Norton, whose sad, tired, eyes are like a mirror to the narrator’s disillusionment (and invisibility!) with society and with his life. Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden is an almost-perfect actor for the character- he’s definitely a leader and the sort of person who Edward Norton’s character would seem to gravitate to. But for me, the mysterious and threatening undertones of Tyler Durden’s character in the novel aren’t much reflected in Pitt’s machismo performance- one that appealed to hordes of fight-club wanna be teenage boys but perhaps didn’t do complete justice to the novel.
The best character translation between the book and movie, especially in terms of appearance, was Marla Singer. Her skin is described as pale, pale white and rather pasty. She has dark, large “anime” eyes, ratty hair, and pouty big lips. She *is* Helena Bonham Carter. And with an American accent, I really couldn’t imagine a more perfect Marla Singer. Granted, her character is not as explored (thus far in the novel anyway) as the narrator or Tyler Durden, but to me she encapsulates Marla’s cynicism, her perverse satisfaction in watching suffering (almost sadistic?), her desire to die and her need for love, particularly physical, from the right person who walks her way.
As far as the rest of the novel goes, I’m going to do my best to forget that I have ever even seen the movie version of Fight Club. This approach, I feel, will be most helpful in analyzing the progression of the novel and its characters in the next two sections of the novel. I’m not sorry that I’ve seen the movie, because right now I’m reading with a visual image of the characters in mind, a faint understanding of the novel’s themes (but not so clear that I can’t form my own opinions from the text), and an eagerness to continue following the narrator through the next part of his life.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Apples in Invisible Man
After finishing most of Invisible Man this weekend, I realized that I had gained a lot of insight about the novel from the index I kept of certain themes and motifs. A lot of subjects came up on nearly every page- notably, black versus white, darkness and light, and knowledge and ignorance. I made a genuine effort to catalogue the most crucial of those instances, but what really interests me in my index is the terms that surfaced only a few times throughout the novel. I saw apples a few times and also direct references to sex a few more and both seemed to be pertinent and related to one another in my examination of the novel.
In many of our discussions in AP Literature this year, we’ve come across the subject of apples and sexuality. Apples in literature often represent knowledge- perhaps of spirituality or even of sex. They are symbolic of temptation, corruption, or enlightenment- sometimes all three at once. The word “apple” appears in Invisible Man exactly six times. First, on page 11, the woman in the narrator’s dream says in reference to her white master, “I loved him and give him the poison and be withered away like a frost-bit apple. Them boys woulda tore him to pieces…” It is significant that the woman, an uneducated slave, should describe her master and sexual companion in terms of a withering apple upon his death- when he dies, hope for being freed (or obtaining knowledge of freedom and the outside world!) shrivels as well.
When the narrator and Mr. Norton come across Jim Trueblood, they also stumble across apple imagery in page 53, when they find a “hard red apple stamped out of tin” near the man’s porch. The fact that Trueblood has a bright shining symbol of knowledge left like garbage out on his front lawn speaks volumes about the man’s character. He’s ignorant of the fact that he should take responsibility for his disgusting lack of morals and of the white leaders’ motivations for financing him.
One of the last significant mentions of the apple in Invisible Man that can perhaps be most directly linked to sexuality occurs after the narrator is released from the Liberty Paint hospital. The narrator sees a young platinum blond nibbling at a Red Delicious apple on page 250. The event is extremely significant in the novel- for starters, the instance is one of few where the narrator expresses an interest in sex – especially interesting that he’s interested in a white woman when society forbids him to act out such an interest. The woman nibbling on an apple, on knowledge, is like a portent to the narrator that the times are changing and that everyone’s preconceived notions about race and sexuality are about to change- the “platinum” of her hair supports this modernism.
After searching through the book and finding significant mentions of apples where I wouldn’t expect them, I’m definitely going to keep an eye out from now on when reading other works of literature for mentions of apples, because they are almost always significant in some way or another.
In many of our discussions in AP Literature this year, we’ve come across the subject of apples and sexuality. Apples in literature often represent knowledge- perhaps of spirituality or even of sex. They are symbolic of temptation, corruption, or enlightenment- sometimes all three at once. The word “apple” appears in Invisible Man exactly six times. First, on page 11, the woman in the narrator’s dream says in reference to her white master, “I loved him and give him the poison and be withered away like a frost-bit apple. Them boys woulda tore him to pieces…” It is significant that the woman, an uneducated slave, should describe her master and sexual companion in terms of a withering apple upon his death- when he dies, hope for being freed (or obtaining knowledge of freedom and the outside world!) shrivels as well.
When the narrator and Mr. Norton come across Jim Trueblood, they also stumble across apple imagery in page 53, when they find a “hard red apple stamped out of tin” near the man’s porch. The fact that Trueblood has a bright shining symbol of knowledge left like garbage out on his front lawn speaks volumes about the man’s character. He’s ignorant of the fact that he should take responsibility for his disgusting lack of morals and of the white leaders’ motivations for financing him.
One of the last significant mentions of the apple in Invisible Man that can perhaps be most directly linked to sexuality occurs after the narrator is released from the Liberty Paint hospital. The narrator sees a young platinum blond nibbling at a Red Delicious apple on page 250. The event is extremely significant in the novel- for starters, the instance is one of few where the narrator expresses an interest in sex – especially interesting that he’s interested in a white woman when society forbids him to act out such an interest. The woman nibbling on an apple, on knowledge, is like a portent to the narrator that the times are changing and that everyone’s preconceived notions about race and sexuality are about to change- the “platinum” of her hair supports this modernism.
After searching through the book and finding significant mentions of apples where I wouldn’t expect them, I’m definitely going to keep an eye out from now on when reading other works of literature for mentions of apples, because they are almost always significant in some way or another.
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