April blog: dialect/syntax in the stranger, the color purple, and modern society

Something that I noticed while reading The Stranger is how diction and syntax can influence how an individual percieves and forms opinions of a work or person. We so often think that anyone or anything with flowery, fanciful, and scholarly vocabulary and complex, correct grammar must be someone or something of power, intelligence, importance, and wisdom. On the other hand, if one speaks with slang and broken or short sentences and a generally straightforward, blunt nature, they must be brutish, uneducated, uncaring, or in general not worth listening to.

We often see this, but do not want to admit it, in our every day lives. Different groups (cultures, ethnicities, minorities, locations, age groups, etc.) all have different ways of speaking and expressing themselves. I do not think that we like to admit these differences, because in doing so we worry that we will raise offense because of these apparantly unpleasant differences between dialects. We look at books like the Color Purple and we say yes, that is a good book, but when we see people speak like that now, even if it's just in the short sentances and blunt nature of the writing and this natural speech of anecdotes and thoughts running together, the opinion is otherwise.

I noticed this to a small extent in the Stranger as well. While the Stranger is a nice book, it is very plainly written, in a sort of child or novice writers "first I did this. Then I did that. I like this. I don't like that. He said I said she said." It is not riddled with figurative language and commas and long senstances and elaborate thoughts, it is this, that, this, and the other. It's plain. There's nothing to it.

What's notable about this, and how it links back to how we percieve other dictions and literature, is that what I first thought was the fault of translators, which is a funny thought in and of itself, that we reflect plain language with the fault between translations, I now believe was entirely intentional. Taken outside of the Stranger, no doubt would it's plain speech and simple statements be seen as unimaginative, lacking in talent, boring, or even annoying. But looking at Mersault's person and the reason of the book, with its emphasis on absurdity and lack of reason, his seemingly uncaring and animalistic needs are further supported by the novel's intentionally coarse form and diction.

So saying, I think it's a good thing, when authors use HOW they say their story to their advantage, and after reading the Stranger it made me realize a little more how important it is to not judge people and books by their dialect and structure...I noticed this even more when we read that little passage of The Color Purple during one of the AP practice packets. The little passage about Shug and Celie. I felt horrible after reading it, because my first thought was how difficult it was to read, and how poorly written. I regreted that right after, because the more I thought about the straightforwardness of the Stranger and the roughness of the Color Purple and real life....the more I realized how important dialect is, and how wrong we are to jump to such quick conclusions based upon it. Sure, this used to be more of a problem, I think, when segregation and rifts like that were more prevelant, but honestly it's not just about minorities or anything like that, it's age (teenagers for example), location (one city or place vs another), culture, the whole lot, and it's still an issue, and one we don't realize as readily. I'm not sure how much sense all this makes, but that's my conclusion, and I think more people could
do with understanding it.

Just because someone talks differently, even if they speak the same language, that doesn't mean they are one thing or another, and somehow reading the Stranger made me realize that.

March monthly blog, a bit late

Of the many stories we read this year, I think Dr. Faustus surprised me the most.
While it is not my favorite piece, I think the reason I like it as much as I do is because of it's unique depiction of traditionally evil beings, particularly in the character of Mephistopheles, but even Dr. Faustus himself. So, for this monthly blog I will briefly analyze their characters and why they are notable to me.

First, Dr. Faustus. My initial impression/guess of his character was "pretty awful guy sells soul to Satan because of some greed-driven purpose" and that's it. Instead I actually liked how he was represented in the play...certainly not the most moral or perfect individual, and quite dramatic in his initial reasoning, but I think I prefer jumping on the Black Magic bandwagon over uninteresting selling-soul-for-billion-dollars any day. Still, humor aside, I think looking back I understand why Faustus did what he did, initially. He felt unsatisfied with his knowledge and what he had accomplished, as great as it was in the scope of mortal deeds, and he saw necromancy as the solution...getting a step up on the divine ladder, using almost infinite knowledge to be a little closer to godliness...there is something kind of sympathetic, or at least understandable, about that. My only significant quarrel with him is his indecisiveness regarding redemption or no...he had MANY chances to repent, let's be honest here, and he completely deserves damnation for not taking those chances until it was literally a few minutes too late...but the more I think about it, the more I understand why he did what he did. On one hand, Faustus is a pretty impressionable man. He's easy to sway to a life of sin, and honestly, as mortal beings, I kind of understand that. We are not as invincible as we think, and I believe that Faustus represents that human weakness, in part. Coupled with the fact that he is being swayed by SATAN HIMSELF I think most of us would probably be a bit too afraid of repercussions to do much.

Onto Mephistopheles. I think the reason I like Mephistopheles so much is because his character is relatively simple, but much more complex than I initially considered. I'm very fond of traditional fairy tales/folk tales/legends myself, and my favorite ones are probably the ones related to Death, Satan, or imps/demons/fairies. The best ones show them as complex individuals mostly driven by their own fairly understandable morals or conditions, and are typically driven by curiosity or mischievousness (imps/fairies) and are often helpful (most of them) but come with ONE VERY SPECIFIC CLAUSE that, when broken, leads to the hero/characters downfall...which honestly makes sense, as they don't like being taken advantage of, as nobody does. Back to Mephistopheles, much of his character reminded me of these traditional demons/spooks. I like how, like them, he is not completely evil, but is driven primarily by his own desires and feelings even though he serves the devil, and is relatively helpful and complex. I really enjoy his little speeches and interesting commentary on the nature of Heaven and Hell, and his little warnings to Faustus, as if he actually cares. Which he might! But true to his demon nature I like how he still has his "evil" and "sinful" desires and actions, which is good, in a way...it shows very well how he is not completely evil, but also not a completely good natured person hidden in a spooky demon body.

All in all...it is these two characters who made the play so interesting, and actually enjoyable. I think it's very good to see characters based around UNDERSTANDABLE human flaws and interests, but I also like how they aren't all good or all evil and most of all I'm glad the "evil" characters don't hide their evil deeds entirely, if that makes sense. The nature of good and evil is so complex and muddled, and it's just refreshing to see two characters in such an old play be as surprisingly complex and sympathetic as these two.

(late) February monthly blog: Regarding Horror

I always seem to struggle with finding a specific issue to write about in these blogs. For last month I debated about discussing the historical stigma that surrounds mental illness and how it's still a modern issue...which was made VERY evident in the last Socratic seminar...but I find the topic too dreary to discuss right now.
Instead I will touch upon one of my favorite sub-genres of literature that I noticed in one of our readings but did not go into too much detail about in class.

The Yellow Wallpaper is one of my favorite short stories to date, I think, and historical context and importance aside it's just a great story and an amazing example of psychological horror.
Surprisingly (or not surprisingly?) horror and psychological horror are probably my favorite genres when it comes to comics, movies, and literature...I mean I still love comedies and heart felt films and cheery cartoons as much as the next person but a good spooky and thought provoking horror is truly the bee's knees. It is worth noting, however, that psychological horror and traditional horror are two different things. One elicits images of spooky ghosts and monsters and literal sources of fear...typically physical manefeostatations and problems revolving around "oh wow I will literally die and lose my life in this very scary situation because I am being chased by an evil goblin man with an eye patch and chainsaws for hands". Psychological horror, on the other hand, is more subtle, sometimes uncertain (think Shudder Island or something like that...lots of uncertainty and probably a massive plot twist by the end of it. The Yellow Wallpaper fills this one to a T) but the journey is often subtly spooky (relies more on atmosphere, tone, and creepy elements as opposed to "jump scares", gore, bloodshed, terror, etc.) and the end result leaves the observer to question things...themselves, the media they just read/watched, the universe, etc....but the end result should make sense based on hints and symbolism throughout the piece.
Psychological horror, I think, requires a bit more finesse and cleverness than traditional horror, and that and the complexity that often goes with it are what draws me to the genre. Now, going back to the Yellow Wallpaper, I feel that as a short story it fits this genre perfectly. It is thoroughly creepy and off-putting, growing more distressed and broken as the poor protagonists descends into madness but leaves off with most of the hints and loose ends being tied up and everything making sense while still leaving the reader thoroughly spooked, and most importantly, it leaves the reader with a sense of questioning ambiguous or seemingly insignificant portions of the literature (who is the woman in the wallpaper? was it the protagonist from the start or did she BECOME the woman later on...?) which is the tell tale sign of good psychological horror. It should leave the observer to question, think, and truly wonder about their own existence or some other important idea.
And here is where the genre holds its true power.
What I mean is that psychological horror, done right, is a powerful tool and a very important one. Besides being an interesting and spooky vessel for some very good stories, this genre is special in that it taps into our most primitive fears while also bringing up important issues in society or humanity. The Yellow Wallpaper, for example, discusses the horrible affects of sexist and primitive medical procedures upon women which turned normal, healthy people into broken shells of their former selves. If the author attempted to discuss such a topic in any other format, I do not believe it would have been nearly as affective as the gradual descent into chaos and madness that the Yellow Wallpaper produced, nor would it have captured the same sense of dark atmosphere and disgusting, creepy tone. The author's approach to her story and the genre also reminds me very eerily of a couple of my favorite modern artists/authors: Emily Carroll and Abby Howard.
Both of these women are very good artists with a knack for horror-based comics. While Abby Howard also dabbles in comedy, she has a particularly good sense of dark humor and horror in both senses of the genre (traditional and psychological) and currently manages two very good webcomics: The Last Halloween and Junior Scientist Power Hour. This year she also started a side website called Terror Town which currently has two very spooky stories illustrate by her but written by others. One of my favorite comics by her is a collaboration on Terror Town called "The Portrait of Sal Portman", a horrifying and very thought-provoking story that is reminiscent of The Portrait of Dorian Gray...it follows an artist's plight when he creates what everyone else thinks is the best painting ever made when all he sees is a horrifying monster THAT IS ACTUALLY REAL (GASP!!) and takes over his life. It's very very well written and illustrated and is a perfect example of the genre...it uses a spooky story to hint at the inner demons of humanity and the individual, as well as commentate on how we see ourselves and each other.
Emily Carroll is more experienced when it comes to shorter comics and periodically posts various degrees of horror comics on her website, emcarroll.com, with works like His Hands All Red and Out of Skin. She has also published one book titled Through the Woods which has some stories not on her website that are also very well done. The best example for this blog, though, would be her most recent short comic titled Some Other Animals Meat. This little comic is not the most horrifying one I've read, but it's very notable as it takes full advantage of it's creepy tones (and some body horror, be warned, it does get a bit gross) to discuss issues with cosmetics and body image in women. It's worth a read, and Carroll does a fantastic job of making it a very thought provoking and memorable comic.
One of the best qualities of good psychological horror, I feel, is if it sticks in your mind and makes you wonder and ponder and think about it for a while...like a nagging insect...but in some way, that is a good thing. All of these authors and artists, then and now, use horror as a vessel for their stances on issues regarding societal problems or human nature or what have you, and that is a very good thing.



(and here are some links if you want to read the comics I mentioned...just the short ones though, but if you only read one or two DEFINITELY read The Portrait of Sal Portman and Some Other Animals Meat, they're some of the best ones I think.
Abby Howard's Terror Town: http://www.terror-town.com
Emily Carroll's website: http://www.emcarroll.com )

(late) January monthly blog

The more I read and the more we have socratic seminars the more I notice the issue of compassion that humanity feels to other human beings.
If I remember correctly, back in January we were in the process of reading A Thousand Splendid Suns. I thoroughly enjoyed this book but made the poor decision of not doing the monthly blog when I should have, so my memory of it is a bit foggy. I do recall, however, that the author of the novel accomplished the very impressive feat of having absolutely terrible things happen to nearly every character in the novel without it becoming tedious, and included a few notable pleasantries that would have been nothing short of cliche and dry in any other novel.
Thinking back, it is interesting to think that that is an issue at all. Having so many horrible things happen that one grows bored and uncaring of the unreal human lives portrayed before them, and to feel something akin to guilt when admitting extreme happiness for Tariq not being dead at all or the reveal that Jahlil is not the massive total tool he was described as being in the first half of the novel. To elaborate, genuinely sit back and consider how terrible it is that human beings, when observing the happenings of characters on a movie screen of behind the pages of a book, can grow bored and indifferent to the characters' misfortunes because too many bad things have happened to them. It's tricky to think of a specific example, but I find that a good generalized cliche of this would be something like the damsel in distress trope. Oh wow...beautiful character with zero redeeming qualities is in danger, and just so happens go be the love interest of the protagonist...I guess they're going to go and save them or something and oh no whoops someone died along the way or something, wow what a surprise. Such sacrifice, such bravery and terrible happenings.
Even though one would probably feel sympathy and sadness and despair over such an event...as a probably innocent character is placed in danger which is obviously very bad...the reader or observer is left in tears not from sadness, but sheer boredom. While I agree with this specific scenario in most cases...it is interesting to think about how weird it is that people can become so easily uninterested when horrible things happen without actual significance/consequence, or when they happen too often.
So by that reasoning, a book like A Thousand Splendid Suns should be a real snooze-fest as it's riddled with every terrible act or event imaginable. War, violence, verbal/physical/sexual abuse, miscarriage(s), terrorism, murder, poverty, the loss of nearly every loved one the protagonists hold dear...any horrible thing imaginable can probably be found in those pages. Yet very few, if any, people in our class found this novel boring or awful or unbearable or anything of the sort. We still hesitate to admit admiration for certain cliche happy events, as said, but in such a sad novel any shred of hope is cherished.
So saying, it's interesting and almost unexplainable as to why this one novel breaks the mold and the human nature of lacking compassion for characters when too many bad things happen to them. I wouldn't call it a major flaw in human design, of course, but what I mean by all of this is it's sad that people lose compassion when they grow tolerant and over exposed to cruelty and terribleness...but it is interesting to notice the exceptions to that phenomenon, as in A Thousand Splendid Suns.

December Blog: Waiting for Godot and the Existential Crisis

Of most of the books we have read thusfar, it's ironic that the one I understand the most is the weirdest book we read all year. (Well, one of the weirdest, next to "A Modest Proposal")

Waiting for Godot is a bizarre drama that is less of a play and more of a mish-mash of thoughts and ramblings. Most people play it off as the ravings of crazy people or an unheard of author trying to be cool by writing like a 5 year old...but I think it makes sense. The entire play is two men waiting around for a person they're not sure they really know, but they both stay and wait because that's what they've decided to do with their lives. What this really reflects is the Existential Crisis. Who am I, what am I doing here, why am I here, what am I waiting for? These are the questions we as human beings ask ourselves at some point in time or another, and I feel that Waiting for Godot explains them perfectly. The entire play is a jumbled stream of consciousness, resembling life in the sense that nothing has as defined structure as these two men wait for an indeterminable length of time for something they’re not quite sure about…not unlike real life.

This is significant as this is something most people think about at some point or another...what do I want to do with my life, is it worth it, why should I bother? This is especially prominent in this stage of high school when many students are looking into colleges and majors, wondering what it is that they want to do with themselves. For most, this is a tricky time in their lives as they struggle to find out who they are and if it’s worth doing much at all. I think this is a normal event but that doesn’t make it any less strange or scary. I think the reason is because no one truly knows what will happen in the future, and that uncertainty makes us question everything. If everything was laid out before us clear as day humanity would have had all the answers from the start, but it’s for the best. At the same time perhaps it is a good thing to have some sort of a purpose, even if it isn’t laid out in the stars. Perhaps it’s best to sort out one’s own path and go with it, even if it means waiting for years and years…well, maybe not, but the point still stands.

Grendel and the Dragon: How Monsters Are Important and What They Say About Us

The portrayal of monsters, specifically dragons, in literature has always fascinated me. I find that it is their detachment from humanity that makes them so human, and therefore so wonderful.

What I mean by this is you can tell a lot about a time, and its people, by their monsters and dragons. In the classic case of the gold-hoarding Western-style dragon, these creatures personify humanity's greed, vanity, arrogance, and pride. They embody these ideas and feelings much stronger than one person can, with a lack of morals and kindness and other such frivolous ideas getting in the way, and as such are more human than we make them out to be. They exist for solely selfish reasons and only to sustain themselves--and as such represent mankind's own greed and desires, for better or for worse. A prime example of all this is the dragon in John Gardner's Grendel.

Gardner's dragon is a relatively minor character in the novel, yet I find his character to be one of the most interesting. He is an omniscient character, possessing a deep understanding and bitter outlook on life and anything that isn’t gold or himself. After being driven off by the Danes, Grendel goes to the dragon for advice and their interaction is one of my favorite parts of the novel. I find his interactions with Grendel very fascinating, as they both mirror and oppose each other. On one hand there is the dragon, who is already explained to be a fairly cut-and-dry character driven by his own desires and his belief in the predetermined and inevitable events of time. Grendel on the other hand is a more malleable creature, confused by the rest of the world's lack of understanding and still uncertain of his role in the grand scheme of things. While each monster is far from human, I find that in this interaction it is clear they possess very human-like qualities that many can relate to. The dragon expresses desire, selfishness, and the acceptance of fate, and Grendel representing feelings of being outcast from society, and of confusion, and unwantedness. Both characters also share mutual experiences with loneliness. Grendel is sympathetic, to an extent, for his frustration with having no one understand his feelings or words, in the animal or human world. Much of his inner struggles stem from having no one to relate, and the dragon, too, is infuriated with Grendel (and by extent everyone) for not understanding his advanced philosophies and ideas. They both feel alienated in that respect, even if they don't realize it in their communication barriers. 

 What this all boils down to is sometimes it takes a couple of inhuman monsters to express very human feelings. These two characters, while not physically human in the slightest, represent and embody very simple, human ideas. It's somewhat funny to think about, that sometimes, to understand our inner selves, we need to look at the very monsters we create.

Test

Let there be dinosaurs