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.