From Milton to Melville...

I never do get tired of our author pennames and so here is an intriguing article about Melville to keep you going as the bloggers at Thrice Booked push their way through their work.  New content is coming soon!

Keepin' the Juices Going

Never fear, Melville has not been lost at sea, but rather is mired in the belly of a far more fearful fish – swarms of essays…and they are particularly biting this year.  (Oh, I crack myself up!)

While Wollstonecraft draws her abundant energy for research and doctoral applications from her beloved Milton, I, too, have been spending the last few weeks being reinvigorated by an outpouring of creativity. 

As a teacher, sometimes it is difficult to take personal inspiration from my class discussions.  After all, while I am trained to “plumb the depths” in my studies – of literature and, often by extension, my own life – I am constantly reminded that my students are still learning the basics of analysis and cannot fully journey with me yet.  They are perfectly complacent skimming the surface of the content because that is all they have ever really done and all that has ever been expected of them.  So: how do I reverse that classic Stones song and get my satisfaction?  How do I find those moments that keep me jazzed?

I’ve talked before on “Thrice Booked” about the need to focus on the little moments in teaching and my careful scrutiny has really been rewarding this semester.  I’ve been delighted by some flashes of insights from students that I tuck away for those low moments.  My favorite so far:  a student who professed to hate reading and got off to a bit of a slow start but then discovered her passion for drama.  Who knew? 

But besides those moments, I keep hearing over and over that the best teachers are those who keep learning and stretching themselves, so I’ve been making a concerted effort this year to not shut down my own growth as I teach.

Here’s what’s kept me going (outside of the books!) this semester and kept me thinking:

-- Mondo Guerra from Season 8 of “Project Runway” – I am the first to admit that I cried when he revealed that he is living HIV+ after years of keeping his diagnosis a secret.  What astonished me was that in the midst of all his own emotional angst he kept going and created yet another beautifully quirky outfit each week.  I was continually struck by his ability to reach deep within his creative well and create something entirely different from the rest of the designers with color, pattern, and, frankly, a lot of joy.  Most importantly to me was his ability to take inspiration from the simplest, most everyday ideas but see them in an entirely fresh and playful way.  To riff off an old cliché, Mondo makes some damn fierce limoncello from a life of lemons. 

-- “Giselle” the ballet – I hadn’t been to the ballet in years and I was reminded once again of the inherent beauty of art.  I spent years studying art history but to see art in motion is another experience entirely.  When I was little, I was fascinated by ballet but I also balked at the ruthlessness of dance as it slowly breaks down one’s body (and one’s feet!)  However, this effort is even more valuable for the cost of time, energy, and effort that these dancers exert to show the fascinating possibilities of our bodies to help express ourselves.      

-- The SF Giants: Now, granted, I am a Northern California girl who has spent her share of summer afternoons sitting in the Stick eating chocolate malts and now at AT&T park gulping down some of those mouth-watering garlic fries.  In a weird way, I connect baseball with Walt Whitman’s “everyman” poetry – the joy of the time outdoors, the songs for the local teams, the thrill of a home run getting lost in the stadium lights.  The world of baseball is bigger than any ballpark because the games and the players’ stories have become the poetry of the people.  In fact, my favorite episode of my favorite show of all time involves Chris Stevens of “Northern Exposure” reciting his version of “Casey at the Bat” out in the Alaskan snow.  For Chris, appreciating literature is like that moment in the snowstorm as you play out “Casey” and you feel the drama reaching off the page.

So, like every Giants’ fan, I spent October and the start of November dying from torture but also bursting with pride as I sounded more than a few Whitman-esque yawps over the rooftops.  The Giants especially have all the makings of a legend that will only grow after this year – after all, they were a team of underdogs, rookies, and veterans who had their fair share of personal disappointments (not to mention a long Series draught for the team).  But the Gigantes’ appeal also lies in their ability not to take themselves too seriously and to just be themselves.  From the rally thong to the long hair to that ridiculously fabulous beard, they were out there to have fun and see how far they could advance as a team.  These members were not following some corporate agenda but rather they reminded us of those bygone hometown, homegrown teams -- best exalted by the simple joy for the game from their broadcasters Kruk and Kuip.  I could go on but I think nothing says it better than their unofficial theme song – “Don’t stop believing.”  Well, that, and the inevitable: Fear the Beard. 

Of course, these examples may not seem like much, but when you are looking for that indescribable flash, for joy, for the possibilities of poetry in the everyday, you can find inspiration just about anywhere you look deeply enough.  I’ve needed those moments of recharging energy to keep me and that classroom buzzing.  And these sparks of creativity and human possibility have led to some great progress in my own reading, writing, and crafting.  But more on that later…I’ve got some grading to do. 

Milton! I hath great need of thee this day...

LONDON, 1802.

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In chearful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

--Wordswoth

Whenever I am downtrodden or disappointed or stressed, this poem echoes in my mind--especially in times like these as I painfully trudge through my writing sample and meet writer’s block at every sentence (Whilst studying for our comprehensive exams, Milton! became a sort of battle cry).  Even though it is a poem by Wordsworth, I have found it inspiring because it reminds me of Milton, his profound affect on western literature and just his general greatness. I have a severe case of author worship when it comes to Milton--for which I have already been laughed at and berated by plenty. (Just yesterday, in fact, someone responded to my love of him by saying Milton would be horrified that I wanted to get a PhD and laughed at my rather lame defense of him--But, really I don’t get why people are always getting on about Milton being a sexist. It’s not as if Shakespeare was a feminist crusader!).  

The reason for my worship and awe extends beyond his ability of pen to the strength of his convictions and his work ethic. Nothing derailed him. Even after the cause which he fought for his whole life failed, leaving him hated and blind, he wrote the greatest English epic. A champion of democracy and free speech, he resonates with the American spirit of “can”. One only has to read Areopagitica (http://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/areopagitica/index.shtml) to see his beauty of the language mixed with the power of his ideas:

“For books are not absolutely dead things, but... do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous Dragon's teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other hand unless warriors be used, as good almost kill a Man a good Book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills Reason itself, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the Earth; but a good Book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.” (John Milton, Areopagitica)

Not many look at him as a source of inspiration, but whenever I feel that moment of defeat, I think about the defeat Milton must have felt when the monarchy was reinstated and the country was calling his blindness a punishment from God. I don’t just think about the intelligence and talent it took to write Paradise Lost, I think about why he wrote it and what he felt while he created his masterpiece. I am probably over-sentimentalizing the poem’s creation, but the first time I read Paradise Lost as a college Sophomore, I couldn’t help but feel more than analyze (that came with my second and third readings). My professor at the time said it was the perfect poem for the college student at a crossroads; the turmoil of change and personal confusion manifests in the poem.  Bubbling under the poem’s surface, spiritual confusion and defeat constantly threaten the poem’s thesis of justifying the ways of God to man. Although Milton is most definitely not of the devil’s party as Blake would like us to believe, I still can’t help but feel sorry for Satan when he returns to hell “victorious” but monstrously transformed listening to hisses rather than applause. Feeling like all you’ve worked so hard for has been for nothing is just so human and so real. And, that is why I have always loved Milton’s work in general--most of it is teeming with uncertainty and passion though one expects it to be a stable statement of his faith.  His work is at once inspiring but also is reminiscent of our own uncertainty; hopeful but also suspicious of hope. 

Although I have seen and discussed many readings of the sonnet he wrote on his blindness, I have always read it as the epitome of his uncertainty. He ends the poem apparently hopeful that he can still serve God, but the bitter disappointment he feels threatens his contentment. I have always read it that he is more questioning his condition than most.... 

On His Blindness

  

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

  E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,

  And that one Talent which is death to hide,

  Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

         5

  My true account, least he returning chide,

  Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,

  I fondly ask; But patience to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need

  Either man's work or his own gifts, who best

  10

  Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

  And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:

  They also serve who only stand and waite

Basically, just talking about Milton invigorates me, and I hope people can find him more approachable. It seems like many non-early modernists envision him as a grumpy old prudish white man. But I think that his writing is far from stale; it is full of anxiety and inspiration--his work illustrates and explores the complexity and hardships of the human condition still relevant to a modern audience, though it is deeply religious. I find his prose especially fitting for the current political climate. And, his life and work often remind me to not let feelings of defeat overtake me, to ignore the naysayers, and to continue working.  

RoundBlog: The Complicated World of YA Fiction and Incarceron

Wollstonecraft:

If you have read my post on The Hunger Games series or YA fiction, you already know in more detail my thoughts on the young adult genre and why we chose a YA book for our RoundBlog. In short, what I have found so fascinating about these series is the fact that they explore large and relevant themes, have complex characters, and treat young adults as intelligent human beings, AND that they still have creative stories that are so entertaining. Although, much of YA fiction is disappointing or just bad (just like there are many disappointing “adult” fiction books), there are many series that do not rehash different versions of the hero’s journey and many that do not feed into teen romance. In fact, with some searching, I have found many books that are incredibly imaginative and interesting, creating new and interesting worlds that can help us see our own from a different perspective. 

In The Immortals series (which admittedly does have some teen romance), one of the adult characters criticizes the moral absolutism of the young; and the books themselves think about (and make their readers think about) what it means when we divide our world into absolutes and how often this division fails to fully explain our gray reality. The main “bad guy” believes with his whole self that he is doing God’s work, and the series explores how different people can interpret events in completely different and often devastating ways.  There is also a gay teen struggling with his identity and a not so subtle theme examining people’s inclination to hate anything different and to create hierarchies of power wherever they can. Also, it deals with many themes from Paradise Lost, and the author even uses many quotes from the poem in chapter epigraphs. And, I *hope* that it is books like these that can lead teens to the harder stuff of Paradise Lost.  

And, as I read Incareron, that quote denouncing the moral absolutism of the young resonated with me. The novel occurs through two different narrative perspectives: Claudia, the girl on the outside used by her father as a pawn for power, and Finn, the boy inside Incarceron, the prison, trying to break free. Society created Incarceron as a sociological project; they thought they could create a kind of Utopia wherein they would put all the unwanted criminals, political and otherwise, and the poor or underprivileged. The prison has unknown dimensions (but is described as vast) and is ruled by a computer program and a single warden—mostly it is left to “run” on its own. The story follows both the outside world, which runs on a corrupt political system, and the prison, which has been corrupted by an all too objective and merciless computer system—as you might expect, the prison turns out to not be such a great idea (unbeknownst to the outside world). 

 What I found most fascinating was the fact that there was no clear Villain, which gives the reader freedom to judge and question the various (and often unclear) motives of the many characters involved. The boy “hero” kills (or causes an innocent to be killed) within the first chapter, and the girl hero is a cold and calculating soon-to-be royal. Neither is completely innocent and both are struggling to make sense of a world wherein they are pawns for everyone else’s games of power. Everyone is using everyone else for some end, and they struggle to find warmth and compassion in a world where compassion can get you killed. They struggle to make themselves happy while also considering the lives of others, leading to questions like, to what extent do we sacrifice our lives for another’s happiness? When does caring about our own life become selfish? Can we sacrifice the ones we love for the greater good? Why should we be responsible for others? And though many readers are not fighting for survival in a deadly prison, we daily fight (often against ourselves and our morals) for our own happiness, and these questions are ones we seek answers to everyday. Can we or should we think about our own life before the lives of others? Should we give up something important just to avoid hurting someone close to us? 

When I was teaching, many of my kids struggled with deciding to please themselves or please their parents. One student wanted to become a math teacher, but his parents were expecting him to become a doctor. At 14, is it really selfish for him to disappoint his parents? He thought it made him selfish (though I basically told him he should do what he wants). And, these choices and decisions only get harder as we get older, and our choices do not just affect our over-bearing parents, but affect our spouses and friends. Basically, I think that these books can even give adults something to think about. And seeing these moral quandaries through the eyes of teenagers, I think can bring a different perspective to our own problems.

 In the “outside world” of this novel, after a devastating war, the king has decreed that society needs to retreat into the past, “back to a simpler time” in order to avoid another disaster. The king declares he “will make a world free from the anxiety of change” and it will be “Paradise.” His decree: “We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped reflection of the other. Above all, Time is forbidden. From now on nothing will change.” Like in our world (which seems really relevant during election week), the king and the adults of this book look to blame the all abstract “change” and “time” instead of looking at the real causes of society’s unrest. Obviously, there is a backlash to the decree as the world becomes stagnant and frustrated in an unchanging world. It is not about change for change’s sake, but about finding names for those goals and seeing that progress is necessary for survival—that creating something new and changing our perspectives is just human nature. And, this is what our “heroes” struggle to do: find real solutions and name those nameless problems. And, in a court where politics is an illusion and they all act their parts, it is hard to find sincere answers and helpful solutions. Especially when the blame is placed on ideas and labels instead of where it should be:

“…or is it that man contains within himself the seeds of evil? That even if he is placed in paradise perfectly formed for him he will poison it, slowly, with his own jealousies and desires? I fear it may be that we blame the Prison for our own corruption…”

Essentially, the book also questions the abstract ideas of Utopia and Paradise, as they mean so many different things to different people. And, as the world does change, the notions of Paradise change with it.

Although I didn’t think that this book was amazing and there were parts I thought were lacking, overall, I thought the storyline interesting and unique. There were definitely “holes” in the story and there were moments where I had to ignore the logical fallacies. In a fantasy, you know you have to suspend disbelief, but on occasion, the logic of the world was hard to grasp. Because it is the first in a trilogy, I am sure that certain holes will be filled, but the prison’s abstract dimensions were just left to be believed.  The author seemed to take for granted that her young readers wouldn’t think too hard about whether something made sense...

Melville:

First of all, I have to say that I was thrilled we selected a YA book.  In the last few months, it seems the only thing I have time to read besides the books I teach are YA novels (aside from the blogs I follow religiously).  I love YA novels because with them, you have the freedom to really explore the real (and fantastic!) possibilities of life -- to imagine scenarios where worlds are inside wardrobes, boys can be wizards, and young Canadian women grow up to be famous writers.  As a younger reader, there is that sense that so long as you are willing to trust the writer, you can experience ANYTHING and that is an incredibly joyous feeling. 

With this idea in mind, I was immediately delighted with Incarceron's ability to draw me into a world completely unlike my own.  As Wollstonecraft covered so thoughtfully, I enjoyed the lack of moral absolutism and the questioning of traditional expectations of Paradise/Utopia and our understanding of how these visions shape our understanding of our own lives.  It was a clever book and one that I think that readers will appreciate even more in this increasingly complex world of ours.   The plot itself was a rollicking adventure and let me tell you, I would never want to be trapped in that prison world after going through those scenes with the Jabba-the-hut like character who sucked the life out of others to fit his whims.  

However, while I appreciated all the new reflections on how we can view the world, I was, truth be told, disappointed by the world itself.  Having grown up with a brother who is literally a rocket scientist and always demanded that my explanations be logical, factual, and involve way fewer fluffy unicorns named Marvin, I have learned to appreciate a certain amount of credibility in a story (this from someone who wrote her undergraduate thesis on Isabel Allende).  I was disturbed that my general understanding of the prison world was that the author cobbled together her explanation from the final scene of one of the most well-paid actors of my generation -- Will Smith in Men In Black.  While I like Men In Black as well as any teen of the 90s, I think there are many more inventive ways to explain the ability to jump from one world to the next and how they fit in with each other.  And when that realization set in, I started to look back at other scenes and the plot holes started to yawn open and languish on the pages of an otherwise great novel.  

I understand now that these plot contrivances (like the better-than-gold servant girl) must have significance and further depth in later books but I see that as problematic.  Too many books (and far too many films) settle nowadays for the cliff-hanger, the threads of unresolved storylines, and remain well past their prime, ingratiating themselves to an audience who has to go home and have their parents explain the jokes.  Some writers are clever enough to re-imagine some of their characters in new scenes, but I think that the focus should be on getting the first book right before cranking out more novels to help close these narrative loopholes.  Now, don't get me wrong, these assessments are not aimed solely at Incarceron, for it was a page-turner and a great first effort (I would even be curious to read the sequels), but I think these issues were probably suggested (or not corrected) by a publishing house that was thinking about short-term profits rather than long-term literary perfection.  

Be that as it may, it was a great pick for October -- for there were plenty of ghoulish characters both internally and externally.  Well-done Wollstonecraft!

Our next pick will be The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell.

http://www.thousandautumns.com/

Because it is a relatively longer novel and November continues to get busier, we will actually be discussing this book in our December RoundBlog. The November RoundBlog will feature a poem. And, if you have any suggestions, please write them below... 

Dancing with W.W.

"I wandered lonely as a cloud"

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I’ve read this beautiful poem by Wordsworth many times before, and I’m sure when I did, I appreciated its imagery, its form, its feeling, and everything else that’s wonderful about it. For some reason, though, when I recently read “I wandered lonely as a cloud” again, it struck me so deeply. Now, I appreciate all different types of poetry, and all genres of literature, but I think part of my renewed fascination with Wordsworth’s work is that I read it in an anthology while also reading other more modern poetry. Compared to these other poems, good ol’ William’s just seemed so much better. Now that I’m writing this, I think this conclusion I’ve come to probably just stems from my personal interest. In other words, maybe Wordsworth isn’t necessarily better than Jack Ridl or Ted Kooser; maybe I just like him more. Maybe my preference for Wordsworth says more about me than it does about the other poets’ work, no? After all, I, Shelley, am Wordsworth’s peer, right? So it only makes sense that I can more closely identify with his work than with that of the others.


I think a big reason why I connected so strongly to “I wandered lonely as a cloud” is because I specifically identified with the speaker. Often times, I will experience the beauty and magnificence of nature, and consequently, I will take the same journey that the speaker of the poem takes. I will wander along, I will notice or observe something stunning about nature—hills blanketed in wildflowers, the lull and might of ocean waves, the sun’s distorted light breaking through white, soft clouds, etc.—I will reflect on the meaning of my observation (or why nature has affected me so deeply, and why it has the power to do so) and never fully grasp the meaning, and then I will joyfully remember my experience with nature after the moment has long since passed. In essence, I guess the speaker and I both wonder what it all means because, like life, nature isn’t always so peaceful and soothing as “A host, of gold daffodils.” When it is, though, such awe and splendor brings a tear to my eye. That has to count for something, right?

I also appreciate this poem because it helps clarify why I love literature so much. Like the journey of reflection upon a moment in nature, we take journeys when we read and analyze great stories: we’re wandering along before we read a great novel or an amazing poem; maybe we’re a bit lost, or maybe we’re right on track; when we start to read something, we initially observe or experience the story for the first time during a first-reading; we reflect on the work of literature, and enjoy the quest to find meaning within it, whether we are successful in doing so or not; and then, “when on my couch I lie/In vacant or in pensive mood” I remember the joy that came from first experiencing the text, “And then my heart with pleasure fills” that such literature exists for my delight. So, whether I’m wandering through the woods or through a good literary work, I am happy to be on such a thoughtful journey; I can thank Wordsworth for bringing the process of such experiences to light.

Now I wonder: what type of journey fills you with delight? Please share!

Please, please give them something other than Romeo and Juliet

“Who lives by cunning, mark it, his fate‘s cast:
When he has gulled all, then is himself the last."
A Mad World, My Masters (last lines)

I may be biased because he is the subject of my current project, but I think Thomas Middleton is awesome and everyone should read his plays.

When I set out to write a new sample for my applications, I wanted to avoid the more popular names of English Literature, ie Shakespeare and Milton. If I wanted to set myself apart from other applicants, I thought I should probably avoid the authors and texts everyone seems to have already written about. Though Middleton is a “big” name in the early modern world (and there is PLENTY written about him), I doubted many students had been exposed to his works (based on my experience: in 6 years of school I only read one of his plays as opposed to more than half of Shakespeare’s works). At first, I did not decide to research “The Ghost of Lucrece” (his narrative poem) because I liked it but because very little has been written about it (which is very exciting when your field has been around for 400 years and usually you find that the essay you were thinking about writing has already been published and is better written). In fact, the first time I read the poem was in conjunction with Shakespeare’s version of the legend, and I thought Middleton’s version…well, kind of sucked in comparison. But it’s funny how almost 2 years away from a work can change your mind. (By the way, I don't think it sucks anymore).

For the past two and half months I have become very close to Middleton and his body of work, and I have found him fascinating. He may not be as “quotable” and his universes aren’t as “neatly” constructed as Shakespeare’s, but I find his cynical reality at this moment in time so much more fascinating and very… modern. Very often when I finish his plays and the Tyrant has just molested the corpse of the woman he’s been lusting after and an entire stage of players have killed each other in such a fashion that would put Hamlet to shame, I have that moment of, “What just happened?” It’s almost absurd. (in a good way) Bear in mind that I am no expert in Jacobean plays and this era generally tends to me be more cynical than that of the Elizabethan plays, but I have read enough Jonson and Heywood to at least feel that Middleton’s work is distinctly unique and so entertaining.

Firstly, his plays have this tension between wanting to moralize his audience and yet wanting nothing more than to entertain them; between tragedy and comedy; between laughing at the world and judging them; between the most bawdy humor and dirty jokes and the most penitent characters. His is a “mad” world full of contradictions; he can be scathing in his assessment of the state of society yet so playful in his treatment of vice. I think A Mad World, My Masters epitomizes these contradictions: a whore tricks her way into a wealthy marriage, the penitent adulterer is forgiven of his sins, and the adulteress gets away with tricking her silly husband and he ends up none the wiser. Yet in the end, they are all “gulled” in their own way. His universe works “quid pro quo” but is in no way "fair" (in fact, I think his plays redefine/question what that word means or if its even possible that fairness exist). He seems to believe that the world is rotten to the core but doesn’t want to give up hope yet. And, it is this double personality that makes his work not only entertaining but so interesting as well.

And, what’s more is the kind of “equal” showing he gives to women. He is no way a “feminist”-- which is kind of a superfluous title to throw at early modern writers anyway -- but I think the way he constructs female characters again is unique. Both men and women are criticized equally throughout his plays. It is not as if he blames the world’s failings on women; in fact, he seems to lay the responsibility on men. It is their inability to control themselves properly that has caused the downfall in the court and the kingdom. The idea that they “need to control their women better” is in itself misogynistic to modern thinkers, but the men in the plays who are “too controlling” are made to be the villains: the father who wants to force his daughter into a loveless marriage, the jealous husband who hides his wife in a closet, the suspicious husband who no longer touches his wife because he is so afraid she will cheat on him, the tyrant who overthrows the king for a woman. Yes women are constructed as second to men, but they are just as desiring, just as deceitful and just as complex as their male counterparts.

Now, it is not to say that we shouldn’t be reading Shakespeare and Milton (those close to me know that my love for Milton is borderline inappropriate), but I really think we should expand our reading beyond that of names familiar to all. I know this is easier said than done as the early modern department already suffers a lack of new enthusiastic fans. Most have only heard of Shakespeare so that is the only class that can fill easily--even Milton courses are having trouble with attendance. Our departments and students seem drawn to “trendy” literature and technology gimmicks that we miss out on great literature. And, what is truly sad is that the current trend is to make people feel guilty about studying dead white men. But these are the works that our the foundation of our culture and it bothers me that it is being dismissed as too exclusive. I just have trouble seeing why we can’t embrace our dead white male authors and not be yelled at for limiting the canon. And, what’s more, is most modern authors allude to the greats more often than not, which should make them necessary (you can’t study Romantic poets without have first reading Milton). It’s not about devaluing the minority it’s only about maintaining the value of our beginning.

And, this is why I think Middleton would be fun to teach even in high school. He is slightly easier to read than Shakespeare because his language isn’t as poetic, but his ideas and struggles are as thought-provoking and interesting. And, his cynical tone I think is so relevant to teens who seem to be getting more cynical by the year. There are very few great Heroes in his work, and I think his universe so aptly fits that of our modern world and has the same contradictions we post-modern thinkers struggle with. I think highlighting “new” authors from a period that seems “dated” to most students can possibly make it more exciting. Again it isn’t about saying Shakespeare doesn’t deserve his fame, but showing that there was a literary world beyond Shakespeare. There was a market and competition, and I think it could make the period seem more real to kids who see Shakespeare as a sole god from a shiny period. So instead of reading 3 Shakespeare plays they read 2 and a Middleton…(and, dear god, give them something other than Romeo and Juliet).

So, even if you aren’t a student or a teacher, I think we should create a new readership for Middleton--that is outside of early modern scholars. I don’t think he is as daunting as Milton and Shakespeare, and, he is very funny. I suggest diving in with some of his comedies and working your way to the tragedies. Maybe if we create a new audience, I could actually find a performance of one of his plays. And, now that there is actually an edition of his collected works, hopefully it will happen.

Quote of the Day

Stumbled upon this gem earlier on today and felt like it would be good to share:

The artist is a receptacle for the emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web. - Pablo Picasso 

So, on this ordinary/extraordinary Wednesday, I ask: what inspires you? 

How beautiful the season is now...I will need to enjoy it before winter

“How beautiful the season is now--How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather--Dian skies--I never liked stubble-fields so much as now--Aye better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow, a stubble-field looks warm--in the same way that some pictures look warm. This struck me so much in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it.” John Keats


On Sunday, I went apple picking for the first time (at least that I can remember--my dad swears that he took me as a kid and that there are orchards in California). And, it was the most beautiful autumn day.

As a native Californian, I had been told by my Midwest and East Coast friends that I had never really experienced the “true” seasons. I always defended my beloved state by saying that in the Bay Area we do have our own versions of the seasons and have some variety of color and temperature (in So Cal, however, we really only have Summer and “Light Summer”). But I learned this weekend that nothing is quite like a real Autumn: clear crisp chilly air, pale blue skies smeared with bright clouds, a plethora of color in the trees that sway in a light breeze. What I think the Bay Area misses is that clear transition into another part of the year, which I think is what truly makes Autumn feel more like an event, more like a purposeful move by nature to continue on its way. Last month, the weather had been holding onto summer, and then all it once the air dropped to just above chilly and the trees turned fiery red and orange. The air even felt and smelled differently-- the balmy weather of summer left and the lighter air of autumn arrived.

And, I think that’s what people like about distinct seasons in general; it feels like a different time of year. Those who are in school usually measure time by semesters--we know summer is over when school starts. And, the constant newness is refreshing, new teachers/ students, new classes, new projects. But for those of us who have entered the ever monotonous existence out of the school system, it is good to measure time with nature. I can’t generalize these feelings to everyone, but for me at least, it’s nice to feel as if time is progressing; it’s satisfying to see change around me when my life no longer has that constant newness that I thrive on.

It isn’t to say that my life hasn’t changed in big ways; I’ve moved states and we’ve just closed on a house today--but they don’t feel like my personal accomplishments. And, moving somewhere, for me, is a very slow immersion process. It takes awhile for it to sink in and to feel as if my life has changed. Life is more than just a place; it’s a job, it’s friends and family, it’s habits, it’s favorite restaurants and mostly, it’s school. Illinois may look a little different with it’s open spaces and flatness, but it’s not as if I feel like I live in a different country. It’s not as if I feel any different now that my person is in another state. And, especially with our modern technology, Skype, Facebook, airplanes, email, I don’t think distance and place really mean that much anymore--technology has eliminated these boundaries (And, I‘ve never been one to get homesick, no matter where I‘ve been). The biggest difference I can find is that the people are much more friendly here.

The changing seasons also remind me that the year is almost over, and it inspires me to work and write and accomplish--reminds me to keep progressing forward with my goals because nothing is permanent and the year is moving on without me. It may be morbid, but the dying world serves as a reminder that I only get one life and I need to make it count--which brings me back to my beloved Keats.

“Dying” may not be the best descriptive for Autumn, though that may be what literally is happening. When I went apple picking in a small orchard in Wisconsin, I didn’t see death--I was overwhelmed by life, which is what Keats found so inspiring on his Autumn walk. The sun was bright, and the trees were weighted down with apples. The air smelled sickly sweet because of the rotting and half-eaten apples littering the ground-- it felt like I was walking through apple juice. Anyways, I finally could truly understand why he wrote a poem “To Autumn”:


SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies

Autumn here is at once teeming with life but also subtle in its beauty and calm. In the first stanza, the season brings an overabundance: everything “swells” and is “plump” and “ripe” with life. However, the season paradoxically alleviates the strain that comes with its overabundant creativity. For instance, the coolness of autumn comes as a relief from the “warm days” of summer that felt as if they would “never cease”; the harvest lightens the trees that “bend” with fruit. In the second stanza, the abundance has been harvested, and there is a lazy calm that comes with this wealth--the sense of urgency that I feel is not present in this poem yet. The hours of autumn are slow, “drowsy,” and “oozing” forward. It’s as if the earth is falling asleep into winter. At the farm, the apples were so ripe that they were falling off the trees and rotting on the ground--autumn is they very picture of life and death, which I think is what makes this season so unique. In the third stanza the music of autumn seems that of preparation for parting--Autumn is the anticlimax of the year, but a beautiful one. The poem helps us appreciate the beauty of both the plentitude of the season and the death that lies underneath the surface. Autumn IS the passing of the seasons, of time. Life is full of both creative moments and movement towards an end.

Although the poem is about the season, it is also “about” the harvesting of one’s own teeming mind (if you don't harvest, all you will have is rotting fruit?). Just like the season, this poem reminds me (us) to create (whatever it is that you create) and to appreciate all that life has to offer… before it’s winter.

Next Roundblog: Appreciating YA Fiction

For our next Roundblog choice we will be reading Incarceron by Catherine Fisher.

With all of our previous chatter about YA fiction, we thought we could broaden horizons by making a recent YA bestseller our next book choice.

Please read along with us and join our next roundblog.

Round Blog: The Whistling Season and our longing for those simpler times

Melville: I know my comments lately have relied heavily on reader response for this blog and that trend is going to continue yet again today because, frankly, I adore this book. Ivan Doig's "The Whistling Season" was a treat to read. I love any novel that not only celebrates the art of teaching but ALSO manages to allude to Yugoslavians (some of the kids in the school were Slavs -- and frankly, this is the first book I've read in about five years that actually mentions anything remotely related to my Slovenian heritage)!

With that said, Doig is a master of regional literature. He so effortlessly captures a sense of place with turn of the century Montana -- a land of homesteads, open sky, and men with big dreams. To show us this place from a child's perspective also helps make Montana seem like a wondrous adventure -- from the daring backwards horse race to the marvels of a snow day. The older voice of the narrator effectively unmasks the unhappy truth that these small towns are slowly withering away and giving in to the pressures of a globalized (and, consequently, a homogenized) world. The narrator leads us to the conclusion that we must look back and treasure our gifts from the past.

My favorite character, and I'm sure my fellow "Bookers" will agree is Morrie -- the former crooked boxing manager who turns into a master one-room schoolteacher. His scenes in the classroom motivate me to be a better teacher and to want to bring that sense of vast possibilities of life back to my (mostly) already-worldly students. Doig cleverly set the plot of this novel as the same year as Halley's Comet appearance -- 1910. Morrie himself is like the comet, a brilliant visitor who flies through and sparks new life into the community, and disappears just as quickly. After all, what student wouldn't like a teacher who so comfortably fits in among scholars and schoolyard boys? I thought it was very clever that this Latin-spouting, Spat wearing, mustacchioed Morrie was also a man who can slip on a pair of brass knuckles to fight. What a teacher!

Anyway, before I talk about how much I wish Morrie was a flesh and blood man...I better turn this conversation over to Shelley.

Your thoughts Shelley?

Shelley: Great comparison of Morrie to the comet, which, until you so beautifully pointed out, I hadn't really put together. I also think the comet bears some significance in relation to Doig's perspective about memory, which is obviously inextricably bound with the past. Like the comet, the older Paul describes memory as being "magical" and "faithful," and exuding "radiance": "The Rembrandt light of memory, finicky and magical and faithful at the same time, as the cheaper tint of nostalgia never is. Much of the work of my life has been to sort instruction from illusion, and, in the endless picture gallery behind the eye, I have learned to rely on a certain radiance of a detail to bring back the exactitude of a moment" (152). Although viewing the comet (which I remember doing as a wee kindergartner) is vivid and impressionable, it does happen quickly and sparsely (like every 75 years). Such an experience is a memory in itself, but it also mimics the general experience we have while remembering a moment--certain parts are vivid and detailed, while most of the occurrence surrounding the details we remember are not (similar to the many dreams/nightmares Paul has growing up); at the same time, despite the more "illusive" parts of it, aspects of the experience and soon-to-be memory--essentially, our past--hugely influence the rest of our lives.

And this brings me to one of the most significant themes of The Whistling Season: the experience of our past as children growing up--and more particularly, the memory of that experience (the feelings and emotions associated with it)--greatly shape who we are for the rest of our lives, during the time in which we are "being introduced to ourselves" (5). This may seem like an obvious statement, but, as Melville mentions, Doig is a beautiful regional writer; as such, he emphasizes the importance of place--specifically, the schoolhouse--in the significance of our experience, the memory of that experience, and then the ultimate construction of who we are and how we contribute to society as adults because of that experience and memory. The happenings of the country school is not only central to the novel, but it is central to all of the students' lives: because they live so far apart on their homesteads and such, the school is not only where they learn their subjects, but it is also where they learn to socially interact, and become educated about the morals enveloped within such interaction. Take Eddie, for instance: without the aid of his experience at school, there would be no doubt he'd end up with the same destructive and selfish tendencies of his dangerous father; it would be difficult for him to know differently. Although his circumstances might not prevent Eddie from following in his father's footsteps, Doig stresses the beneficial effect the schoolhouse has had on this apparent bully: he sways his father to not beat up (kill?) Morrie because doing so would be unfair and illogical. In this way, Doig not only celebrates the actual place of the schoolhouse, but the leader within it (a leader who affects Eddie in such a way): "All points of the plains: without my ever having said a word to him about it, Morrie was conjuring paths beneath the paths that had arrived to my eyes back there at the schoolhouse pump" (127). Like Paul, the reader's eyes, or perspective, are led to the importance of the schoolhouse and the teacher within it. Consequently, Doig honors the significance of being educated at a school, as well as the monumental power and impact teachers hold; but, as older Paul's title as school inspector implies, Doig is concerned about how society is progressing, perhaps about the loss of memory in relation to a time long since past, or the loss of a simplified life and place which could shape individuals so beautifully. What do other readers of this text think? Paul is obviously remembering his education and how his beliefs were shaped, but is he worried about the future of education, progression, or a loss of place (as emphasized by the older Paul's point of view)?

Like Paul, I remember moments of my childhood schooling in extreme detail, and can see how it has contributed to my present self. Like Paul and Doig, I also remember the beautiful region that is Montana: "the pesky...whistling" (1) wind that would wake me in the summer mornings, a "homestead etiquette" (97) that most citizens abide by, the ever-present dust following fields of wildflowers and green meadows, and the starriest, clearest skies I've ever seen. Now, as someone experiencing and greatly enjoying Montana summers throughout her entire life, these memories might be more nostalgic in nature, however true they really are. One thing is for certain: Doig captures how beautiful simple homestead (family) life can be and was in the American West, with all of the Millirons' sorrows, struggles, and complications. They are intelligent, honest, mature, and caring natives of the country, not slow hillbillies or backcountry neanderthrals. Like the land they inhibit, and like the pace of the novel, the Millirons nurture and embrace their simple, faithful, magical, and radiant lives.

Your thoughts, Wollstonecraft?

Wollstonecraft: I mostly agree with my fellow bookers. My favorite character was Morrie and I found his character inspiring. Today, because we all experience so much media and so much of the world through the internet and television, it is hard to feel that wonder he created in his students for the comet. I think most teachers can agree that it seems harder and harder to get students amazed by anything because they have seen so much already. Even though the lights of the city block out the stars, they can go online and see pictures of the Milky Way. They can watch Gladiator and gain a version of history more exciting than the one I can tell them. Our visual media and wealth of information take away from our ability to give students something they’ve never seen before. And, I think this can be applied to adults as well; we all live in such a “seen it” age, it is harder to find that sense of wonder in our everyday lives. And, in this sense the book made me nostalgic for a piece of that “simple” past.

However, once I realized I like my right to vote, I like that more kids have a chance at education, and I like running water, I no longer feel nostalgic for the past.

Though, for the most part, I did enjoy reading the book, I felt torn about Doig’s longing for this era. The book champions these one-room school houses as a piece of not just the character’s past but that of America, and a piece that we need to remember. However, the problems of this nostalgia that bubble under the surface are left unexplored. Although Morrie was ultimately able to diffuse Eddie’s violence, the fact that it existed points to a problem with this kind of simple past: the lack of access to a quality education and knowledge. Before Morrie, the students were not getting that great of an education and many of the students will just be recycled through the small town. And, the lack of education produces the ignorance and violence of Eddie’s father. With the simple life of the past also come the problems of the past: ignorance, racism, inequality, etc. The only female character in the novel was the “perfect” Rose: charming, sweet, pretty, but oh so stupid. I may be taking the book too seriously, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed that part of her charm that captured all the men in the novel was that she was a little bit stupid.

Doig also seems to vacillate between advocating the simple life of the “honest laborer” and supporting a life of the mind, or the intellectual. And, I do not think the book decides if there is a “better” way; perhaps he seems to say we need to appreciate both. (The book felt like it was written by an intellectual who wanted to find “real” life in the hard-working small town citizen.)

That said, I liked how the book criticized the education system today. Our schools are in no way perfect, and the current obsession with standards and statistics is diverting attention away from the real problems in our system (as Doig demonstrates in the novel). The book begins and ends as we enter this era of standardized testing, which comes with a different set of issues. We label all changes as "progress" without really understanding if this progression is any more effective. I also think it is interesting how he criticizes the unfortunate relationship between politics and education; the narrator is superintendent during the cold war where “science will be king, elected by panic.” And, the loss of the schoolhouse the narrator feels is all the more poignant with such a terrible setting as the McCarthy era.

However, education is only a small piece in the complex experience of Paul, our narrator. He is coming of age, and the book shows how seemingly small moments impact us and our characters forever, as Shelley has already discussed. More than anything this book is about childhood, the confusion inherent in growing up, the wonder at new adventures, the realization that adults aren’t always what they seem, the feeling that this moment will change the rest of your life—everything that comes with discovering where you fit in, which transcends the place and time of the novel. In a sense, even though times have changed, “childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul.”

Lastly, looking back through my notes, I wonder how nostalgic the book is meant to be about the past. I am always skeptical of hoping for the “good old days” (unless I was a white rich male), and there are moments in the text that show perhaps Doig is too. It is always dangerous to wish for previous moments in times of nostalgia because we gloss over too many of the problems and only see the good. We tend to romanticize these moments, which skews the reality of it.

Overall, I thought it was prettily written, though I wish he further explored some of his themes. For me, it is hard to long for the days Doig writes about, though I see the value of them as a piece of our history. I am too much of the information, blogging and Facebook age to really wish to live in the time and place he writes about.

Where have all happy endings gone?

“And so they lived happily ever after.”

While that’s a common enough ending for the younger readers, I can’t think of a single modern novel off the top of my head that ends completely happily for all/most of the characters (with the notable exception of genres like chick lit/romance where the inevitable Shakespeare comedy plot plays out or those stories that turn abruptly at the end to give an almost false sense of hope). Why is that? After all, if some critics believe that novels are meant to mirror real life, where are the stories documenting loving marriages, healthy children being born, or even just successful careers coming to a happy end? Granted, there is quite a bit of tragedy in the world – both large and small – but some of the greatest stories ever told are all about good triumphing over evil. So where is that other “happy” percentage of the population being represented with quality lit. and the small joys of their lives? Is happy lit. too boring or too close to life?

To that end, I was chatting with some Russian friends a few weeks ago and they said one of their major issues with Russian literature is that it is ALL political and depressing. Their lives were bad enough at times in Russia, “why read more about tragedy, poverty, and suffering when we already know all about it from history?” they asked.

I really didn’t have a good answer for them as I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. While I am all for realistic fiction and love dark, tragically beautiful novels as much as any bibliophile, I’m surprised by how imbalanced the current publication market seems to be – with the most graphic, devastating books reaping in all the praise while anything that seems to be positive about life gets relegated to that “inspirational” / “book club” / “beach read” pile that doom it to huge success with the general public but largely ignored by the literary elite.

On the other hand, many of the nonfiction memoirs that are popular now are all about the “happy path” – most notably, the recent film adaptation of Eat Pray Love. It certainly does not surprise me to find out that many women have tried to follow Gilbert’s same itinerary to a more peaceful, blissful existence. These followers rationalize that it worked for one, it can work for them. And, after all, books like Gilbert’s are almost an extension of that bookstore staple – the advice/lifestyle section. When I worked at a major retail bookstore the latest celebrity fad diet/exercise/lifestyle book would fly off the shelf (on the other hand, those clever, dreary fiction books may only be sold one every few hours).

So what happened to those classics of literature that managed to combine both in a brilliant and beautiful way? Why don’t we want advice or keys to a happy life in our fiction anymore? Why can’t we model our lives on fictional characters who have the space, opportunities, and ability to find a better life?

I wonder if partially we have so many other avenues for these “happy” stories (from “feel-good” TV comedies to fuzzy newscasts that “salute” the good people in our communities every week to the heartfelt and real outpourings of love and support after the many major tragedies that have rocked our nation along with the world in these last few decades) that fiction is perhaps one of the last places where people can freely explore these corners of darkness and call it art. “Let’s be realistic in our fiction!” was the clarion call for the 20th Century American writer (and many of the world writers) and certainly their outpouring about their lives has lived up to that cry – focusing on war, atrocities, and the seedy underbelly of our urban centers.

So, in a way, my questions boil down to these incredibly open-ended questions: are today’s fiction writers just so unhappy that no realistic fiction can end well or only with a small sliver of hope? Or, are these would-be happy writers moving their stories to another genre where it can be taken more seriously as advice is coming from honest-to-God experience and not a fantasy world of what could potentially work out for someone?

Or perhaps I’m missing the point entirely. Perhaps I should be focusing on the changing readership that reflects the common morality and perspective of their times which helps define what constitutes a “good story.”

However, it’s certainly something to think about before I get to answer that question from yet another student asking me why most of their reading lists are full of “super depressing people who just super depress me.” I wish I had a better answer. Or, at least, a happy one…

Banned Books Week

Welcome to Banned Books Week!

I've been sharing links from the official ALA site to my students and I enjoyed the discussion so much I'm sharing it with you...

Here's a list of the Top 100 Banned Books from 2000-2009

Take a look at that number 1 book!

I'll be posting my regular post tomorrow.

Why Did Jo Get Married? Realism and Fairytale in Alcott's Little Women

(Melville and I decided to switch days this week; she'll give us a fabulous post on Wednesday! --Shelley)

There are many things to love about Louisa May Alcott’s children’s novel Little Women: its endearing characters, who naturally make mistakes, indulging their selfishness and certain temptations, but who, more often than not, are remorseful for their wrongdoing, and strive to be better, to be “good”; its joys and gratitude in the simplicities of life, particularly family life, despite the burdens of poverty; constantly turning negative situations/attributes into positive ones: “Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity, is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world”; the blessings and payoffs that come as the result of personal determination and concentrated work (especially for the disadvantaged 19th century female); its depiction of respectful, powerful, intelligent, hardworking, and amiable women; and a genuine celebration of all things American, including its faults: “[Amy’s] old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign polish.”

These aspects of the novel, including many others, reflect the novel’s strength: its sense of realism. We can identify with the characters on many levels: they are flawed individuals who are constantly learning as they mature and gain more experience; they have hopes and dreams that involve careers and romance; they have a deep love and connection with family and friends; most importantly, they must constantly overcome roadblocks and struggles as they proceed through life, which sometimes means making a serious life-change. Such changes and adjustments make these characters complex, and as the world and its inhabitants are complex, the text exudes reality in many forms.

And yet, I am ultimately reminded that this is a children’s novel (especially the first half) because, with all of the realism, the text also greatly succeeds because of the nostalgia Alcott creates. She makes stitching and mending by the fireside, sharing and writing stories, putting on plays, befriending neighbors, housework and domestic life, raising children, teaching, and battling poverty sound pretty enjoyable, despite the difficulties inherent within such activities. It seems as if Alcott celebrates joys and hardships alike, creating a paradoxical fairytale-like aspect to the story while it is at the same time entrenched in realism. I mostly get this sense from the fact that every conflict eventually works itself out **SPOILER ALERT**: Mr. March recovers from pneumonia and makes it home from the war safely; Beth recovers from her scarlet fever, and even when she suffers an early death, she willingly accepts her hard fate with hope and grace; all the girls find happiness in a marriage of their choosing; Meg and Brooke’s early marital woes are pretty normal and are easily overcome (their marriage eventually thrives with the addition of vivacious twins); Laurie and Mr. Laurence’s relationship persists stronger than ever after several instances where Laurie’s “manliness” is threatened; Laurie graduates from college with honors after many distractions jeopardize his earning a diploma at all; Amy’s early selfishness and vanity blossom into social tact and grace (she is the traditional belle of the ball in all aspects); after Laurie’s devastating rejection from Jo, he and Amy are neatly paired together in a most romantic coupling; and the March family ultimately stays together despite three marriages because they all live close to each other, and regularly interact. Most importantly, Jo—the seeming outcast who identifies more as a boy than a girl, who has much trouble holding her tongue and controlling her temper, who basically feels unlucky and out of place—finds a suitable partner in the Professor (quenching her fear of loneliness), and even more, is able to live her dream of helping and schooling young lads. In the end, everything just seems to work itself out; it seems too perfect in spite of all the difficulties the March family faces.

So, how real is Little Women? After Amy and Laurie’s marriage and return from Europe, Bhaer magically appears to save Jo from the horrid loneliness and boredom she envisions for her future: “She opened it with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had come to surprise her,—for there stood a stout, bearded gentleman, beaming on her from the darkness like a midnight sun.” The professor is imagined as a “ghost” and a “midnight sun,” two very magical, abstract qualifications. And then Jo, who all her life swore off marriage, and with immense restraint repeatedly rejected her best friend’s marriage proposals, ends up becoming Bhaer’s wife, all the result of her own desires. Is Alcott’s decision to marry Jo off a reflection of reality—a reflection of the compromise many 19th century women made in order live less lonely and financially depraved lives, or maybe a reflection of Jo’s “tender, womanly half of” her nature that has finally blossomed in adulthood—or is Jo’s fate unrealistic and more mythical, compared to her independent actions and tendencies throughout the lengthy text? In other words, is her fate more magical because it’s a happily constructed Victorian ending for a female character who, throughout the whole of the text, would rather not be married? Can Jo—the persona of Alcott and the main protagonist of the story—still be considered the heroine of the text for contradicting herself, and being married in the end?

I find Jo’s situation at the end the most fascinating aspect of the text because it sparks so many questions about the purpose and meaning of the text, and subsequently provides many reasonable possibilities as answers. On one level, one could argue that Jo makes a powerful and artful decision to marry Bhaer: he will help her “bear” two boys in addition to serving as the instructor for her all-boys school, thereby allowing her to fulfill her dream to always live and be surrounded by young lads, whom Jo claims to more closely identify with. By marrying the Professor, then, Jo uses her husband as the means to her true happiness and career goal. And yet, I feel like Jo’s desire to be with Bhaer is more of an emotional one, as Alcott intends: “Was it all self-pity, loneliness, low spirits? Or was it the waking up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer? Who shall say.” The narrator purposefully puts doubt into the reader’s mind as to Jo’s desire for Bhaer’s partnership, but it’s clear that her desire is spun from emotion. For example, when the Professor does not show up for three days after spending two straight weeks with Jo, she “become[s] pensive, at first, and then,—alas for romance,—very cross.” Her reaction to Bhaer’s absence seems to be a romantic one, not a deceitfully constructed one. Jo’s emotions strongly reveal themselves again when she tears up after finding out that Bhaer will move across the country, and possibly crush her wish to be with him. Evidence from the text, then, more strongly suggests that Jo really loves Bhaer, and does not want to just use him for her own personal gain (business-wise).

Still, this ending seems too perfect for Jo, as it does for the rest of the family who care about her, making Little Women somewhat mythical. Is Alcott’s perspective just a positive one? Why did Jo have to be married? Her decision and desire to marry leaves me a bit unsettled because it seemingly contradicts her previous depiction as an independent woman dead-set on not being married. Obviously, people can change as they grow older, as Jo very well might have, but from a narrative standpoint, why does Alcott marry Jo off? Is it enough for Alcott that Jo does not give in to Laurie’s advances, and end up as Mrs. Laurence? After all, Bhaer is an unconventional match for a Victorian heroine, regardless of Jo’s unconventionality herself. Was upsetting Victorian’s readers’ desire for Jo and Laurie’s marriage enough to satisfy Alcott’s will to make Jo the independent heroine that she seems to be? I’m not sure, mostly because she seems to satisfy the rest of the story with Amy’s marriage to Laurie (pretty romantic in itself) and Jo’s ultimate marriage to Bhaer. So, I ask you this: why is Jo married off in the end? Is Alcott merely looking out for herself financially, trying to sell a successful novel that pleases the Victorian public’s appetite for a conclusion marked by three happy marriages? Or does she really think all sorts of women, even independent women like Jo, will find true happiness in marriage, if that marriage is decided freely by both man and woman? Or is she merely illustrating—realistically—that people are complicated beings who, through life experience, alter their attitude and beliefs toward certain subjects and ideas? Would Little Women be as successful and celebrated as it is if Jo stayed unmarried and possibly lonely for the rest of her life, even if she was independent? Is Alcott claiming that too much independence breeds loneliness and unhappiness, or maybe that one’s true happiness is through their relationship with others, especially with a spouse and children? What do you think? I would love to know!!


**Please note: our September book of the month is Ivan Doig's The Whistling Season, which we'll be discussing in a couple of weeks. Try and read it if you can! http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/02/books/review/02birkets.html

Taking the fear down a notch...

Oh my dear Melville, let me try and cheer you up.

I too often ride the waves of this same disappointment, especially after seeing the bestseller list at Borders (Sarah Palin? Stephanie Meyers??) or after teaching a class of apathetic teenagers. But two things usually make me feel better: 1) Perspective 2) My own intellectual journey.

[I do not have exact statistics for the following assumptions, so if you have more exact facts, please feel free to correct me.]

I think every intellectual (or reader or avid learner) in every generation feels like his/her society is decaying intellectually and that pop culture and contemporary fiction are getting stupider. Also, the thinkers always seem to feel like there is only a small percentage of those who care about intellectual pursuits…and they are probably right. But does this truly mark a decaying of society or is it just natural that the “intellectual” group is always smaller? And, is our society really losing readers and thinkers in comparison to other generations and societies?

When we look back 450 years ago, only a very small percentage was literate; only the wealthy or a specific class of people (as those in the church) could learn to read. Reading was a luxury many couldn’t afford or just weren’t allowed to do. Then, Luther, Calvin, and others preached that every one should be able to learn and the reading population expanded (this is an oversimplification of a small part of the reformation). However, it’s not as if every single person began reading and studying; more people were allowed to do it, but it’s not as if every person jumped at the chance (I imagine the pay was still as low for professors as it is today).

And, it’s not as if everything published was Literature. The pop culture “trashy” lit has existed since the expansion of the reading population. We’ve had romances since the medieval period, had crime pamphlets in the early modern, and had “dimers” that came out of the American West. Shakespeare wasn’t the only one writing in the Renaissance, like so many of my students think. And, not everything that was published was as good as Shakespeare.

Readers and writers have had to defend the importance of literature for a long time as well. Over these hundreds of years as each new literary movement came about, there were literary articles about defending the importance of literature and defending the newest art form or literary movement. Since there has been literature, there always seems a defense to accompany it. And, like I said each generation has the “intellectual” decrying the ignorance of their society: Milton, Swift, Alexander Pope, Sidney, Wordsworth, Wilde, Joyce (I’m not so good with the Americans), etc etc etc. So, are we really any different? Is it just us? Maybe the general population has always been that illiterate…[Part of today’s issue is that with the internet we are far more inundated with the opinions of the ignoramus, so they have just appeared to multiply]

I think the problem we as educators have has to do with the fact that today (mostly) everyone does have access to education. What’s frustrating is that SO many seem to take this access for granted. Teachers who have been in teaching for years say there does seem to be a shift in today's students. But are today’s kids really dumber or is just a change in their attitude and priorities? And, isn’t shifting attitudes inevitable in a changing world? Again, is it really a sign of intellectual decay or just the decay of manners and maturity?

Whenever I start to harp on these teenagers I have to ask myself: what was I like when I was their age? And, I have a confession to make: I didn’t always read the assigned books nor did I give a crap about Shakespeare. First, I had really awful English teachers who didn’t even seem to take us or our opinions seriously. They were jaded and didn’t seem to think Shakespeare was all that relevant to the world. And, neither did my parents. My mom read to me, which I think developed my love of reading in general. However, it’s not as if I was ever asked to consider the importance of literature to my life; reading was a hobby or fun activity, nothing more. I always liked reading and had an interesting imagination, but I did not spend my high school days seeing Marxist implications in The Great Gatsby. In fact, I really did not see the importance of literature until I was a senior in High School and I was assigned to read 1984. I had meant only to scan the book when I found myself sucked into the story, and for the first time really wondering what it all meant. It did not just entertain me, but for the first time it made me think. It was frightening and it made me confront many of my beliefs, crushing that moral absolutism that so often comes in the young and opening a door in my mind.

Yet I did not enter college as an English major; I actually started as a criminal justice major. (I had grown up watching too many crime shows and wanted desperately to be a spy). My first criminal justice class was taught by a rather large woman who used to work as a parole officer, and the first day she said to us that if we thought real life was like CSI than we should go home now because we were going to be severely disappointed. Devastated that my romantic vision of spy life was not to be, I asked a friend back home for some advice. She asked me what I liked to do most, and when I realized it was reading, I decided to sign up for some English courses (not without some sniggers and comments like “what will you do with THAT degree”).

My first English class was a British Literature course; we started with Beowulf and ended with Paradise Lost. I remember reading Beowulf in an evening thinking it was the most fascinating and beautiful piece I had ever read. I didn’t understand half of it nor could I articulate all it made me feel and think about. But it did make me realize that literature was important to my life and that even though I read a lot, I was far from being well-read. By the time we got to Paradise Lost, I had recognized why books and stories and language were fascinating and important, through the help of a really amazing teacher, of course.

I tell you all of this not to bore you with the mundane details of my life, but to show that maybe students aren’t as apathetic and ignorant as we think they are. Maybe they just haven’t found that book that is, as Emerson calls it, their paradise. There were many other factors that kept me from thinking and reading beyond my comfort zone as a kid and it took awhile to break those. I did not become a really good student until I was a junior in college, when I decided I wanted to get my PhD.

I’ve become very cynical in the last few years, and it has as much do with the petty infighting inherent in today’s academia as it does with the illiteracy of my students. I have recently decided I am taking myself (and the world) to seriously, which I think explains my current reading trend (I have read 7 young adult books in the past 2 weeks). It is not to say that I do not think Literature is important anymore, but I needed to be reminded why I wanted to work so hard to get a degree in the first place: I love to read because it’s fun. When we are faced with same feeling of “literary doom” as Melville so aptly calls it, I think we need to have a little perspective and hope. Not every student will find their way out of the Twilight storm, but some will as they always have. The literary apocalypse is not around the corner, as John Stewart told us yesterday, we need to “take it down a notch.”

Thought of the Day

Readers, a Category 1 maelstrom of literary doom and gloom has snuck up on me this week. Normally I can keep myself on an even keel about the prognosticators offering a dire view of our future, but currently I feel as if I have morphed into a Grinch with an academic heart two sizes too small.

Why?

Exhibit A: At the mall over the weekend I overheard a girl comment to her friends that she gets confused between The Grapes of Wrath and Fruit of the Loom underwear brand. Her friend commented the underwear was probably better than the book. And waaay hotter. The first girl agreed.

If my soul hadn't already sunk through my shoes, then this did it in.

Exhibit B: I read this article today. That's right, not only can the largest corporate bookstore in America not maintain a strong presence in a literary city in NYC, but the charm of the used bookstore is rapidly losing its appeal.

What happened to heady intellectualism? A culture of consciousness? Simply put: where my nerds at?

I wonder sometimes if I am pining for a lost art, a passion that is only shared by those who are just as obsolete or old-fashioned as my friends and I have apparently become. Is this the case? Our blog's motto, while conceived in some flippancy, also seems a little more accurate tonight -- "being literate in an increasingly illiterate world".

Now, lest you think I spend my time sitting alone in a dark room and silently writhing my hands in distress, I am cheered by the recognition that my fellow bibliophiles will not go gently into that good night as they have fought before for a rebirth of reading. A new twist on an old tale, if you will.

I also just stumbled upon this quote from Emerson to a friend about the power of reading which has helped:

"It happens to us once or twice in a lifetime to be drunk with some book which probably has some extraordinary relative power to intoxicate us and none other; and having exhausted that cup of enchantment we go groping in libraries all our years afterwards in the hope of being in Paradise again."

Perhaps Paradise is slowly becoming a little less crowded, but that doesn't make it any less precious... Does it?

A short post on some small thoughts...

I was intrigued by Melville’s previous post and I wanted to respond at length because I think it sparks a longer topic: What does our reading say about who we are?

I think Melville’s steadfast loyalty to a few books speaks volumes about who she is. (Loyalty is one of her best qualities—I hope she doesn’t mind me saying this about her).

If I could describe the type of reader I was it would be passionate and devoted yet inconstant. When I read a book, as previously mentioned, I will be completely rapt; I will devote all my time to a book I love and come up very little for food and company. When I am with a good book, I need nothing. Then, when the book is over, I despair because I miss whatever I found in that book. However, I can never reread a book. I have tried, but I find all the magic is gone. I know this part of the story, and I do not want the same story; I want a different one. I like the newness of a story, the discovery of characters and then watching them grow. I like to unfold it and see the plot for the first time. (I have reread books for school—and I will say it is helpful analytically, it’s just not as fun).

And, I find that I do not feel the same way about it over time. I hated Jane Eyre when I was in high school and loved it in my twenties. When I was a kid, all I read was mysteries, but now I do not find them as spectacular as I once did. I can be completely enraptured by a book and then in a few years I will wonder what I loved so much about it. Just as our palates, I think our taste in books develops and changes over time, which I guess why it would be interesting to reread a book with different eyes.

I also find that an attachment to a certain book at a certain time reflects a part of my life—and I think that it does for others also. I can remember reading Paradise Lost for the first time and having it absolutely shake my life. It shifted my future and I think its turmoil and confusion spoke to me. Although, Paradise Lost is different to me for that reason; it is my soul mate text, and the only book I am and always will be loyal too.

Any thoughts on the type of reader you are and why?

Are You a Good Neighbor? Is Anyone These Days? Little Women and Neighborly Affection

I don't know if it's a California thing, or maybe it's just me, but in terms of being neighborly, things have changed since I was a young girl (roughly 20-25 years ago). I remember playing in front yards and in the street with all of the kids on our block, whether it was during an intense game of snake-in-the grass, or during an exciting version of hide-and-go-seek on roller skates. Those days, those memories, seem like they belong to a world long since past: to a world where being kidnapped by a creep in a car was a distant threat, or where video games, cell phones, and the Internet didn't steal our sole attention. Obviously, there were dangers back then, and my parents took preventative measures; we weren't able to just roam all over the place with random people. But now, with as much as we know, it seems so unsafe to be neighborly! Or at the very least, it seems much more formal. Of course there are introductions, hellos, how are yous, etc., but I haven't been friends with my neighbors since I was younger, and I don't think it's just a kid thing. My parents became really close friends with their neighbors over 20 years ago, but aren't close with their current ones. They're courteous or whatever, like most of us, but not true friends. What's behind this? Is this a California thing, where there are just so many people around, we don't really need to be close with our neighbors because they won't necessarily consist of our only human interaction of the day? Maybe we don't need to rely on our neighbors as much as we used to since we now have access to so much aid, entertainment, etc. Or is it a technological thing, where we're more enveloped with worldly information and news than with what's going on right in our front yard? Please note: I'm clearly generalizing here, and writing about my personal experience, and what I've witnessed in terms of my family and friends. I'm sure this neighborly distance and mistrust isn't occurring across the country; I'd like to think that in smaller towns and communities, it's not. But anyways! How does this relate to literature?

Well, I'm finally reading Louisa M. Alcott's Little Women, which takes place during the Civil War in Concord, Massachusetts. I'm only a third of the way through, but I can't help but be won over by the March family, in spite of the overt sentimentality taking place. I'll have much more to reflect upon once I finish the novel, but for this week, one of the major realities that the text explores is the generosity, kindness, and graciousness that results from the hands of neighbors--from the hands of one's community. Indeed, one's "blessings" seem to be supplied by merely interacting with one's neighbors, but importantly, by doing so in a respectful way. The March family seems to be blessed emotionally, socially, and even materialistically for their manners and unselfish tendencies while interacting with others (including with other members of their own family), particularly with Laurie and Mr. Laurence, the wealthy teenager and his grandfather who live next door. By sharing company with each other, both families benefit from their neighbor's gender, which would have remained absent in their own home if their neighborly friendship/courtesy did not exist (Mr. March is away at war, while Laurie's parents are no longer living). Up to this point in the novel, it seems as if individuals in the text gain the most by acting as such--by being consciously aware of what it means to be a good neighbor. For example, Jo and the rest of her family gladly provide personal items and goods for Laurie in order to comfort him when he is sick, thereby establishing a strong friendship and bond with the young gentleman. Giving such things is actually a sacrifice for the family since they are struggling financially. The men in this text play their part, as well: Mr. Laurence goes out of his way to ensure Beth's happiness by allowing her to enter his home unattended in order to play on his piano; he eventually gives her--this young girl he's not related to--a piano once belonging to his beloved granddaughter, who has since passed away. Doing so is obviously not required, but Mr. Laurence recognizes the girl's modest dreams to play on a piano, and does what he can in order to please her because he sees her humility as an unassuming "little woman." Thus far, then, the characters in Little Women are super cool neighbors, and through this display of friendly affection, I think Alcott emphasizes that such thoughtful and selfless behavior creates the most happiness and joy in one's life. Luckily, I am able to share in such a way with my friends and family, even though they do not happen to be my physical neighbors. In addition to my neighbors, I always try to be nice to strangers and coworkers, but not AS NICE as the Marches and Laurences are with each other. I don't know; maybe if I lived in Massachusetts 150 years ago, I would experience life differently. Well, I know I would because only 25 years ago I did experience life differently in California, in terms of my association with neighbors. So now we're back: what's changed since Alcott's time and locale? What's changed over the past 25 years just in California? Must we experience such displays of respect, courtesy, and friendliness only in books written years ago? Please share your thoughts!