Waiting for the Barbarians- First Response

Waiting for the Barbarians, as far as I am able to tell thus far, is both similar to, and also quite different from any of the other works of literature that we have read and analyzed this year. I cannot presently bring to mind any measurable connection between Waiting for the Barbarians and The Sound and the Fury, though a myriad of parallels immediately spring up when comparing Waiting for the Barbarians to Conrad's Heart of Darkness. First, both narratives are accounts of men who are on the edge, the frontier of what they consider to be civilized society. In Heart of Darkness, Marlow is on an expedition into the “wilds of the Congo,” whereas in Waiting for the Barbarians, the unnamed narrator is a military personnel stationed at a fortress at the edge of an also unnamed “Empire.” In Heart of Darkness, Marlow and Britain represent civilization, as opposed to the barbarism of both the African natives and the ruling Belgians, and in Waiting for the Barbarians, the narrator and his budding sense of the humanity of the “barbarians,” represent true civilization in opposition to the barbarism of both the desert nomads and the soldiers of the Empire. Another parallel I see is that of there being romantic involvement between members of the conquering groups and members of the people who have been conquered. In Heart of Darkness, there is the hinted relationship between Kurtz and the anonymous African “princess,” and in Waiting for the Barbarians we see the clear relationship between the narrator and the barbarian woman that he has taken into his care in his home. As far as style, the writing in Waiting for the Barbarians is more reminiscent of Heart of Darkness than it is of The Sound and the Fury, simply by being coherent and comprehensible. However, there is a recognizable difference in writing style between Waiting for the Barbarians and Heart of Darkness as well. As discussed, Conrad’s status as a non-native speaker of English led him to use a great many words of Romance origin, while Waiting for the Barbarians, having been written by an English-speaking author, exhibits language that is much more colloquial than that seen in Heart of Darkness.

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I can't turn off the italics for some reason. I apologize.

Ought We Read Heart of Darkness?

So, ought we read Heart of Darkness or not?

• Each reader needs to form his or her own opinion of the novel to decide
• One can, therefore, only decide whether or not to read it after reading it himself/herself
• The wilderness is personified, though in a gender neutral way (it)
  
• The woman by the river is said to be Kurtz's "African mistress"
• Heart of Darkness can be seen as based on Biblical parables and stories
• Is Heart of Darkness an apocalyptic story?
• 'Apocalypse' means lifting the veil, in this sense, Heart of Darkness is apocalyptic
• Is it also apocalyptic in the sense of the imminent destruction of a society?
• Conrad had previously referred to the "piety of writing," is this evidence for Heart of Darkness as a religiously motivated work?
• Heart of Darkness is marked by "authoritarian, fascist concepts of universal prosperity" being brought by a particular nation or culture
• In the end, it is up to each person to decide whether or not to read Heart of Darkness, though this writer feels one certainly should
  

JSTOR Article Response

The article that I read from JSTOR is entitled “The Language of Chaos: Quentin Compson in the Sound and the Fury.” My reason behind choosing this article is that, of the sections of the novel that we have read thus far, I have found Quentin’s to be the most interesting, with potentially the greatest amount of meaning, both visible and hidden. The article reflects on the idea that all of Quentin’s actions through the course of the section are in some manner tied to his “obsessions with the past and with virginity as the equivalent of family honor” (546). The article discusses the scene with the young Italian immigrant girl whom he refers to as a “sister.” This, according to the article, is an attempt by Quentin to redeem himself as a brother by acting as the guide and protector for the immigrant girl, in all the ways that he failed as a brother to Caddy. However, just as he feels that he has failed Caddy, he fails the Italian girl in actuality when he is accused of molesting her and is resultantly arrested. Another element that is discussed by the article is the omnipresence of water in Quentin’s sections, and its possible ties in Quentin’s mind to sexuality, because many of his sexual memories are tied to water. This can also be tied to Benjy’s association with the purifying powers of water, and the power of water to purify Quentin by killing time.

Coping Mechanisms

After reading the third section, I would again like to pose a question to the group that struck me as I was reading, that is, the actions and ultimate fates of the Compson children all seem to stem from their collective inability to survive normally under the conditions in their degenerate family. Caddy reacts by lashing out through promiscuity, Quentin takes his own life out of terminal depression, and Benjy is barred from a true understanding of what is happening simply by his mental condition. In this way, all three of these children are, in effect, separated from the Compson family. Jason, however, is unique in the fact that he remains physically a part of the household, but does he too have a method of disconnecting himself. I feel that his all-absorbing greed and self-interest function as much the same kind of separator as Caddy's and Quentin's. Though Caroline continually refers to Jason as her favorite child, and presumably the only "good" child in her opinion, does he really have his interests in the maintenance of the Compson family position as she would like to think he does?

The Incest Issue

For my blog post this week, I would like to pose a question that I am fairly certain is on everyone's minds, that is, why does the issue of incest feature so prominently in this section? We are led to believe through the words of Quentin that he has committed incest when he states outright "Father, I have committed incest." We are also led to believe that it was Caddy with whom he has committed it. However, for all of the people who seemed to agree that somebody must have committed incest, there were others in the class discussion who seemed to feel that neither Caddy nor Quentin actually committed such an act. If this is true, however, that neither did, in fact, commit incest, then why is Quentin so insistent that he did? The only answer I could give, and even it is a stretch, is that Quentin, though never actually taking it to the point of consummation, does, in fact, love Caddy in a romantic way. This would also explain his reaction toward Caddy's various lovers, which could be explained as one of burning jealousy.

So, what do you think?

The Undead + Citrus Fruit = ???

I was immediately drawn to a story that I found in The Best American Short Stories 2008 called "Vampires in the Lemon Grove." The title itself was enough to draw me in, but I was further attracted to the story when I saw that, though the story was written by an American author, Karen Russell, the story is set in a lemon grove on the Italian Adriatic coast, which is a place that I have always wanted to visit. I was also attracted to the fact that the protagonist of the story describes himself as wearing a periwinkle shirt, and shades of purple are my favorite colors. The combined forces of periwinkle, Italy and lemons united to form a force from which I could not pull myself away. I selected this story over two other short stories that I read. One was a Jhumpa Lahiri story from Unaccostomed Earth and another was a story called “Missionaries,” which was about two Mormon missionaries of somewhat questionable loyalty to the Mormon code. Neither held my interest like “Vampires in the Lemon Grove” did though. I have not yet finished the story, but I anticipate that, from what I have read so far, there will be quite an interesting conclusion. In short, I am reasonably excited for this paper.

For this week’s post I would like to reflect on the similarities between Shiloh by Bobby Ann Mason and Teenage Wasteland, which we read two weeks ago. For another post, I had reflected on the clear and believable reality that Teenage Wasteland depicted. I feel the same way when I read Shiloh. For both stories, what really pulled me in was the way in which I could relate to the characters depicted in each one. In Teenage Wasteland I felt a deep compassion and connection for and to Daisy, because, the more that I pondered over the topic, (which I did quite a lot) the more I felt that I, in the same kind of situation, would be feeling exactly the same as Daisy is. I knew that I would have reacted the same way that she did and would have probably acted in the same way to attempt to fix the problem with Donny, only to wind up with him running away to never be seen again. It was almost frightening to me how much I could relate to her. In fact, it made me feel as if the story were a prediction and a warning to me about what would happen if I should ever have a child. I have never wanted children, as I do not understand or relate to them very well at all, and this story only made me that much more certain that I am correct in my decision to avoid having them. Teenage Wasteland, though fictional, is a perfectly feasible story. Everything that happened to Daisy and Donny could easily happen to anyone in reality as well. I felt a similar kind of eerie connection when I read Shiloh. Though the subject matter is clearly very different from that of Teenage Wasteland, I could see myself in Shiloh almost more so than I could in Teenage Wasteland. In Shiloh, I felt myself connected to Leroy Moffitt, the protagonist and the main character of the story. My connection to him, however, was deeper than mine to Daisy as, though I could see myself becoming Daisy years down the road, the story of Leroy Moffitt brought back memories of my own past that I had tried long to forget. The shocking paradox of Leroy’s being home and attempting to become closer with his wife, whom he appears quite fond of, by vowing to build her a house, only to have her inexplicably walk out on him, brings my mind to a breakup of my own about four years ago. The ending scene of Shiloh is nearly a photograph of my own breakup. We had gone to a local park on a date in the late afternoon, and the person I was dating, declared that she wanted to split. There had been little indication beforehand, and we had been nearly best friend for about six years prior. I sat on the ground, a carbon-copy of Leroy silently for a while, feeling completely blank, before walking back home. I still have yet to figure out what exactly happened, and I still feel the haze over the whole situation that also marks Leroy’s perception of his relationship with Norman Jean.

More Real than Real Life

For my blog post this week I have decided to reflect on a particularly striking aspect of one of the short stories that we read this week. The story that had the most lasting effect on me, by far, was “Teenage Wasteland,” by Anne Tyler. The element of this story that stuck with me was the amazing reality and believability of the story. While some authors and writers feel the need to give their readers a kind of all-knowing omniscience, in this story, the reader is only allowed to know as much as the characters themselves do. In this way, Tyler depicts for the reader a situation that he or she could easily have experienced in his or her daily life. In reading the story, I was immediately struck particularly by Daisy’s situation with her son Donny. Though I am not especially fond of children and do not intend on ever having any, I could clearly see myself as feeling the same kind of confusion and bewilderment as to how to properly deal with Donny’s problems as Daisy feels. In real life, such situations where no clear path to resolution is visible are quite commonplace. Many children who run away are never found or heard from again, just as occurs with Donny in the story. When the story turned toward the relationships regarding Cal, I could clearly see in my mind the existence of exactly such a person as Cal. His character is so real that one can envision him perfectly. Another method by which Tyler makes her story real is her precise and vivid imagery. In another parallel to reality, when she introduces Donny as a character, he is first described by what is, according to Daisy, his most notable and distinguishing feature, his hair. With human beings being such visually oriented creatures, this description-before-introduction style is much the same as the way one actually comes to know someone. One first sees, then speaks, and only after this is a name supplied for the person. Tyler also does this, introducing Donny by name only after he has been described. Ultimately, the very plot of the tale is realistic. There are certainly millions of cases, nearly exactly like Donny’s, of schoolchildren the world over who are discontented with their scholastic experiences. I am certain that many mothers can comprehend Daisy, alongside many teenagers who might relate to her feelings of insecurity and inadequacy just as much as they would to Donny’s angst and hatred of school. These are all elements that Tyler has used in order to bring her story to life in a way that many writers are not able to do. The crystal-clear realism of the story makes one wonder whether the story may be told from a personal experience on Tyler’s part, as one would need an amazing level of personal understanding in order to depict the events of “Teenage Wasteland” so accurately.

History Alive?

Zach McVay
A.P. English
Mr. Coon
7 September 2009
Word Count: 769
History Alive?
An appreciation and respect for one’s history and heritage is a very valuable quality. Without such an appreciation, objects, events and people worthy of remembrance might easily be forgotten, and thereby denied to future generations. This respect for one’s heritage, at least in the modern world, often appears in the form of monuments and museums filled with mementos from important individuals and events of the past. Ask just about anyone, and he or she will agree that such displaying of artifacts is the best way of preserving history and heritage. However, a conflict of understanding ensues when those of the modern era, who wish to preserve what they believe to be “the past,” come into contact with those who are still living the lives and practices that the former wish to preserve. Exactly this kind of conflict develops in Walker’s “Everyday Use.” Dee, or Wangero Leewanika Kamanjo, is the historian/museum curator who wants to memorialize her heritage, while her mother and younger sister Maggie, both of them still living the very lifestyle that Dee (Wangero) wants to put on display, find her semi-archaeological expedition through their house to be quite bizarre. They are, in fact, representatives of the past feeling threatened by the forces of change.
The first instance of conflict emerging between Dee (Wangero) and her mother can be seen in the conversation between the two when Dee comes to her mother’s house for a visit and introduces herself under the name Wangero Leewanika Kamanjo. Her mother, confused at the new and unusual name, questions her as to what happened to her old name. The new Wangero responds that Dee “is dead. I couldn’t bear it any longer, being named after the people who oppress me” (446). This exchange is particularly significant in that, in addition to demonstrating the conflict between Wangero and her mother, it also reflects a historical shift in the African American community from a passive acceptance of their oppression to the cultural pride and nationalism that were present in stages of the African American civil rights movement. In this scene, Dee/Wangero, with her loud, colorful clothing, distinct style, and self-adopted African name, represents the members of the Civil Rights movement, while her mother represents the quiet, mind-one’s-own-business, passivity of the Reconstruction generation.
After her mother’s confusion regarding her new name, Dee/Wangero continues into the house and requests the dasher and handle from an old butter churn which we find out that an Uncle Buddy whittled out of a tree that once stood on their property. Once she has claimed the churn, Dee/Wangero, notably without asking permission from her mother at all, goes into the bedroom and digs through a trunk to pull out two old quilts. Acting as the narrator, Dee/Wangero’s mother describes the rich history of these quilts, one of them having a patch “from Great Grandpa Ezra’s Civil War uniform” (448). It is when she asks to take these as well that the conflict between them becomes evident. To Dee/Wangero, the quilts are symbols from a bygone era that need to be preserved, displayed and otherwise treated as priceless artifacts, but to her mother they are but simple bed quilts that are meant for Everyday Use. Dee/Wangero’s mother knows that they are special quilts, but would rather give them to Maggie years down the road to use for their actual purpose, than give them to Dee/Wangero who will “hang them up.” Her mother cannot understand why Dee/Wangero should be so attached to having those particular quilts, because, to her, they are just quilts, and should be used as such. She does not see Dee/Wangero’s desire to preserve relics of this heritage of hers while it is still very much alive, with her and Maggie living their heritage every day.
This conflict is a unique one that only occurs in the kind of situation that is present in “Everyday Use.” It is growing ever more rare as the heritage we wish to preserve gradually does disappear from the living world. This conflict only appears when those being “preserved” are still living and do not see themselves as representatives of a dying or endangered heritage or way of life, but only as people going about their business. In “Everyday Use,” Dee/Wangero’s mother sees herself and Maggie as being treated like a museum exhibit, or animals in a zoo, all on display to the outside world. She is confused in the same way that the wild animal in the zoo is confused. The zoologist confuses the wild animal; Dee/Wangero confuses her mother.

Zach's Awesome Post #2

The Dhammapada, Lord Buddha; my core religious text

A Separate Peace, John Knowles; I really felt a connection to the story

Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Agatha Christie; my second favorite of Christie's works

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald; I just loved it.

Buddha, Deepak Chopra; it was a totally different take on the life of Lord Buddha

And Then There Were None, Agatha Christie; my favorite mystery

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway; I really enjoyed the natural-ness of the plotline

The Secret, Rhonda Byrne; it totally changed my view of my life and of success

Tantra, Lama Yeshe; another significant religious work

Gathering Blue, Lois Lowry; I love speculative fiction, anything post-apocalyptic is good by me

Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard, Kiran Desai; THIS IS THE GREATEST BOOK OF ALL TIME!!!

Forgotten Fire, Adam Bagdasarian; I read it for a school project and loved it

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, Mark Haddon; I read it over the summer, and loved the concept of the narrator as an autistic individual

Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven . . .

For starters, here is a list of the books that I read over the course of the summer:

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon
And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
Buddha by Deepak Chopra
The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff

The assignment requests that we respond to the novel that had the greatest or most lingering effect on us after reading. For me, one who had always been enthralled (albeit occasionally creeped-out) by a good murder mystery, this classic by the queen of murder mystery, the internationally renowned Lady Agatha Christie, held the greatest interest for me. In the past, I have read two others of her works (Murder on the Orient Express, and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd) and have loved both of them. However, And Then There Were None is usually regarded as her definitive work and was certainly the one that I have enjoyed the most. One significant reason for my choosing this as my favorite thus far, is the unique setting for the novel. Defying the traditional dark, smoky, oak-paneled mansion setting of many murder mysteries, And Then There Were None is set on a small island of the coast of Devon, England, in a large house that is described as being both very modern in construction and layout, and also full of large windows which allowed in a substantial amount of light. Another unique feature is the character of the killer him/herself. One is led to believe that the killer, as usual, is a party outside of the main characters (victims). However, one discovers midway through And Then There Were None that, after multiple searches of both the house and the small rocky island by the waiting victims, that the killer is, without a doubt, one of them. I also found very creative Christie’s use of the traditional children’s rhyme “Ten Little Soldier Boys” as a guide by which all ten people on the island, including the killer him/herself, ultimately meet their ends. In fact, the book’s title comes from the final line of the rhyme “ . . . and then there were none.” The use of a children’s rhyme as a guide for murder, in addition to the novel’s statement that a copy of this rhyme is posted on the wall of each of the guests’ rooms, gives the whole novel a feeling of coldness and inevitability. The book starts with ten guests on the island, and one by one, themselves ultimately realizing the connection between the rhyme and their plight, each one of the guests is killed in accordance with a stanza of the rhyme. So cold and icy, Christie certainly knew how to weave a good mystery.

Ten Little Soldier Boys

Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.

Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there was Eight.

Eight little soldier boys travelling to Devon;
One said he stayed there and then there were Seven.

Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.

Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.

Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were Four.

Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.

Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.

Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.

One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself

And then there were None.