In our final class meeting, we were shown a video explaining Steampunk, which I had never before paid much attention to, but found it fascinating. It seems like an expensive culture in which to be involved but the clothing and materials used to build theoretical technology from the Victorian era are all beautiful. The video and discussion made me want to know more about the movement, and even though I would never have the courage to dress in brass buckles and space helmets, I'm interesting in admiring it from afar. Hopefully during the rest of break I can research more about it.
The readings from Caird, Dixon, Shteir, Grand and Eastwood were slightly less interesting, but provided some important concepts as far as the breakdown of traditionalism is concerned. The New Woman, the theme of our unit for the week previous to the last, encompassed a change in how women viewed themselves and subsequently were viewed by society. It seems that, despite all their advances, women were still concerned with their physical appearances and were reluctant to break with tradition. Marriage is called into question, especially in terms of the self-control women lose if they enter into such an arrangement (one of my own personal problems with the institution of marriage). Women were becoming more educated and desired intellecutal men, but were looked down upon if they boasted their knowledge in public social settings. Also, the subjects women were supposed to study did not seem like the hard sciences; for example, textbooks of botany were published specifically for women after the collective belief that women needed a delicate hobby such as gardening surfaced.
Bram Stoker's Dracula, from which we only read excerpts, evinces the ideal New Woman, Mina, who is educated and employed. She also takes it upon herself to take notes like a journalist and investigate when something in her community seems amiss. For all her efforts to raise herself above her birth status, however, Mina gets bitten by the dreaded Dracula (she reminds him of his centuries-dead wife... Creepy). This indicates that her appearance is still important to her, so like the women described by the aforementioned authors, she is truly a New Woman, though not a modern one.
In turning to science-oriented readings such as those by Barrett, Gurney, Myers, and Stead, we found that traditional science was pushed aside for more experimental procedures, particularly those having to do with psychicism, the supernatural, and the spiritual. "Thought-reading" was a popular game toward the end of the Victorian era, one in which players would attempt to impress their thoughts psychically on their companions. But the focus on the supernatural and preternatural seems to be an indication that, among the Victorian community in general, there was a doubt of certain scientific explanations for random phenomena and a desire for an escape from the real world (as if the wealthy didn't have enough of those). Because science explains the how but not the why, Victorians were inclined to discover for themselves the reasoning behind strange occurrences.
Robert Louis Stevenson's novel Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde represents a burgeoning psychological fascination and the explanations behind it. Dr. Jekyll is the sensible, responsible, boring side of one man who represents the superego, the mental connection with one's consciousness that keeps a person restrained. Mr. Hyde, the man Jekyll turns into when he drinks a mysterious potion, is irresponsible but fun and free. He is the physical manifestation of one's id, the unrestrained, uncontrolled, impulsive part of one's consciousness. Who would you rather be? I couldn't answer that while reading and I still can't now.
The final reading was "A Deal in Ostriches" by H.G. Wells. Having read Wells for my final paper, I know that he is a descriptive writer whose images are vivid but strange. This story of one ostrich out of five who swallowed a very valuable jewel makes absolutely no sense to me, but I suppose it represents the ridiculousness of consumerism. The man from whom the jewel is stolen wants it back, but so do others who assemble for an auction of four out of five of the birds. Desire for valuable, rare objects is a minor theme in Victorianism as a whole, but it still doesn't explain why this story has anything to do with science.
Regardless of my lack of understanding about Wells' incredibly written but nonsensical story, this semester was amazing, thanks to Dr. Milstein. I learned more than I did in my other classes and nearly all the readings were enjoyable. I'm quite sad to leave this semester behind with this final blog post, but I won't forget the invaluable things we learned.
-Elizabeth Vosk
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Reading #10 - Pater, Allbutt, Symons, Wilde
These readings have been some of my favorites throughout the semester (though I've certainly enjoyed almost all of the work we've studied - a rare thing, even for a literature nerd like me).
Pater asks how we might define beauty. One of the most interesting questions he asks is "What is this song or picture, this engaging personality presented in life or in a book, to me?" (1507). I think this accurately sums up the theme of his discussion. I mentioned in class that I think this question is along the same lines as asking yourself or someone else, "Well, why do you like [book, music, movie, etc.]?" There really isn't any definite answer for either question. I could say, "Oh, this song reminds me of [random event in my life]," but that doesn't mean anything to anyone else. Beauty is relative to the individual. In Pater's "'La Gioconda,'" he suggests that da Vinci's paiting of Mona Lisa is the epitome of the artist's work, and also that the feelings it evokes represent the combination of the absolute id (the basest human pleasures) and the absolute superego (the most intense form of self-control). In "Conclusion," Pater suggests that art is "the race of the midstream, a drift of momentary acts of sight and passion and thought" (1511). This is sort of how I feel about writing (or how anyone might feel about creative expressions) - they're about sight, passion, and thought. A final interesting idea that Pater expounds is that we also need to have the sciences in order to put the arts into perspective.
The excerpt we read from T. Clifford Allbutt's "Nervous Diseases and Modern Life" discusses neuroses - the breakdown of the human psyche when the observation of too much creativity overloads the senses. Neurotics, according to Allbutt, have a distinct lack of innocence and imagination, a lack of faith, and a healthy sense of cynicism. The performance of lives and the decay of abject morality leads to insanity. However, Allbutt admits that going crazy isn't a death sentence. Once overextended aesthetes get their lives in order, once things are put in perspective for them, they may recover. The article makes perfect sense; those who spend their lives putting on a performance for the sake of other people lose their own identities. If they change who they are to fit burgeoning trends every few weeks or months, these aesthetes might be likely to go crazy. It's no surprise that disorders like schizophrenia could develop.
Arthur Symons' excerpt from his article, "The Decadent Movement in Literature," reiterates Allbutt's theories that those who participate in the Decadent movement put on false airs for show. They are concerned with colors and patterns, showy and distinct outward appearance modifiers. What I wonder is if there can be a return to nature once one experiences Decadence, or if the neurotic breakdown is the fate of all who play into this lifestyle.
The example of Decadence we studied is Oscar Wilde's play, "The Importance of Being Earnest." The play, according to the small introduction, was meant to depict the "deconstruction of Victorian moral and social values," which it does perfectly and succinctly. The characters in the play reserve sentiment for art, and science for life (in other words, emotion is for creativity, and formulas are for life). Throughout the play there are many pointless interruptions - this is art for art's sake. Wilde portrays Victorian views on family, marriage, parenting, and relationships between relatives and lovers. I really enjoyed reading the play, as I never had before. I appreciated the social commentary - the Victorian era is slowly becoming one of my favorites in terms of literature.
Pater asks how we might define beauty. One of the most interesting questions he asks is "What is this song or picture, this engaging personality presented in life or in a book, to me?" (1507). I think this accurately sums up the theme of his discussion. I mentioned in class that I think this question is along the same lines as asking yourself or someone else, "Well, why do you like [book, music, movie, etc.]?" There really isn't any definite answer for either question. I could say, "Oh, this song reminds me of [random event in my life]," but that doesn't mean anything to anyone else. Beauty is relative to the individual. In Pater's "'La Gioconda,'" he suggests that da Vinci's paiting of Mona Lisa is the epitome of the artist's work, and also that the feelings it evokes represent the combination of the absolute id (the basest human pleasures) and the absolute superego (the most intense form of self-control). In "Conclusion," Pater suggests that art is "the race of the midstream, a drift of momentary acts of sight and passion and thought" (1511). This is sort of how I feel about writing (or how anyone might feel about creative expressions) - they're about sight, passion, and thought. A final interesting idea that Pater expounds is that we also need to have the sciences in order to put the arts into perspective.
The excerpt we read from T. Clifford Allbutt's "Nervous Diseases and Modern Life" discusses neuroses - the breakdown of the human psyche when the observation of too much creativity overloads the senses. Neurotics, according to Allbutt, have a distinct lack of innocence and imagination, a lack of faith, and a healthy sense of cynicism. The performance of lives and the decay of abject morality leads to insanity. However, Allbutt admits that going crazy isn't a death sentence. Once overextended aesthetes get their lives in order, once things are put in perspective for them, they may recover. The article makes perfect sense; those who spend their lives putting on a performance for the sake of other people lose their own identities. If they change who they are to fit burgeoning trends every few weeks or months, these aesthetes might be likely to go crazy. It's no surprise that disorders like schizophrenia could develop.
Arthur Symons' excerpt from his article, "The Decadent Movement in Literature," reiterates Allbutt's theories that those who participate in the Decadent movement put on false airs for show. They are concerned with colors and patterns, showy and distinct outward appearance modifiers. What I wonder is if there can be a return to nature once one experiences Decadence, or if the neurotic breakdown is the fate of all who play into this lifestyle.
The example of Decadence we studied is Oscar Wilde's play, "The Importance of Being Earnest." The play, according to the small introduction, was meant to depict the "deconstruction of Victorian moral and social values," which it does perfectly and succinctly. The characters in the play reserve sentiment for art, and science for life (in other words, emotion is for creativity, and formulas are for life). Throughout the play there are many pointless interruptions - this is art for art's sake. Wilde portrays Victorian views on family, marriage, parenting, and relationships between relatives and lovers. I really enjoyed reading the play, as I never had before. I appreciated the social commentary - the Victorian era is slowly becoming one of my favorites in terms of literature.
Reading #9 - Thomas, Bronte, Kipling, Chamberlain, Haggard, Conrad
It feels as though most of the readings from my classes this semester have involved colonialism or post/neo-colonialism. Having read many texts that discuss the causes and effects of international imperialism prepared me well for the readings for two weeks ago.
J.J. Thomas's text, an excerpt from Froudacity, was relatively short but provided an introduction that could be taken as a theme to the colonial readings found after. Thomas suggests that the most important undertaking that minority ethnicities could involve themselves in is assimilation. He writes that there is hardly any other way to survive.
Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre provides minimal actual discussion of colonialism, except in regard to Mr. Rochester. Jane, an eighteen-year-old girl who has suffered under the impression that no one, not her adoptive family, not her boarding schools, and not Rochester, wants her, discovers that the man she is in love with has been married before. Rochester's first wife is a woman from the Caribbean. He claims she is crazy and still desires to marry Jane. Rochester represents the quintessential colonial Englishman; he is educated and wealthy, and in taking multiple women to be his, he seems to parallel the imperialistic point of view. Rochester's women are to him as multiple nations are to England (and to a lesser degree, France, Spain, and the Netherlands).
Rudyard Kipling's poem "The White Man's Burden" confused me until we discussed it in class. I genuinely believed it to be a satyrical take on imperialism, but I suppose I will have to read Kipling's other work in order to put it into context. If the poem is taken as Kipling wrote it, very seriously, then he is truly a man writing for his times.
Joseph Chamberlain expands on Kipling's themes in the excerpt from The True Conception of Empire. He believes the white man must undo centuries of barbaric practices (in other words, those cultures and traditions of indigenous peoples). Those who are fortunate (i.e., white and wealthy) have a duty to help those who are less so - again, reiterating Kipling's idea that men who are endowed by God (white men) have a personal responsibility to save poor savages. I did not very much like Chamberlain's text, most likely because I took him more seriously than Kipling, initially.
In the excerpts from Haggard's She, we see nature personified as a terrifying force. The white men throughout the story cannot imagine why anyone would want to live in the conditions that are made real and live by nature, by the Queen. I have to agree quite vehemently. Putting the outbursts from nature into a personal context, I feel like we are quite lucky to experience none of the more major natural disasters (hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanos) living on the eastern seaboard. If I had to experience these violent renderings of Mother Earth regularly, I can assure you that I would not purposely seek them out simply for the goal of conquering a native people who live within these conditions and know how to handle them.
My favorite excerpt assigned to us was of course Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Although Conrad gets quite superfluous many times throughout the fictionalized account, his minutely detailed descriptions of the wilderness of Africa are incredibly passionate and intense. The madness of the wild, as portrayed to the white man who tries to conquer Africa, is depicted in one man - Mr. Kurtz. Here is a man who went almost entirely alone on an expedition to Africa with the intention of "normalizing" its natives. In the end, he goes completely mad and in his notes, he writes "Exterminate all the brutes." I think this excerpt was a perfect note to end our imperialism unit on, simply because we have studied now a trajectory of the mindset of the English in terms of their plans for conquering savage nations. We have seen how the white man believes it is his duty, personally and professionally, to travel to these foreign places and train their native peoples to become more like the English. From there the white man finally realizes (as Mr. Kurtz does) that this task is impossible, and that the only way to get out alive is to kill everyone.
J.J. Thomas's text, an excerpt from Froudacity, was relatively short but provided an introduction that could be taken as a theme to the colonial readings found after. Thomas suggests that the most important undertaking that minority ethnicities could involve themselves in is assimilation. He writes that there is hardly any other way to survive.
Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre provides minimal actual discussion of colonialism, except in regard to Mr. Rochester. Jane, an eighteen-year-old girl who has suffered under the impression that no one, not her adoptive family, not her boarding schools, and not Rochester, wants her, discovers that the man she is in love with has been married before. Rochester's first wife is a woman from the Caribbean. He claims she is crazy and still desires to marry Jane. Rochester represents the quintessential colonial Englishman; he is educated and wealthy, and in taking multiple women to be his, he seems to parallel the imperialistic point of view. Rochester's women are to him as multiple nations are to England (and to a lesser degree, France, Spain, and the Netherlands).
Rudyard Kipling's poem "The White Man's Burden" confused me until we discussed it in class. I genuinely believed it to be a satyrical take on imperialism, but I suppose I will have to read Kipling's other work in order to put it into context. If the poem is taken as Kipling wrote it, very seriously, then he is truly a man writing for his times.
Joseph Chamberlain expands on Kipling's themes in the excerpt from The True Conception of Empire. He believes the white man must undo centuries of barbaric practices (in other words, those cultures and traditions of indigenous peoples). Those who are fortunate (i.e., white and wealthy) have a duty to help those who are less so - again, reiterating Kipling's idea that men who are endowed by God (white men) have a personal responsibility to save poor savages. I did not very much like Chamberlain's text, most likely because I took him more seriously than Kipling, initially.
In the excerpts from Haggard's She, we see nature personified as a terrifying force. The white men throughout the story cannot imagine why anyone would want to live in the conditions that are made real and live by nature, by the Queen. I have to agree quite vehemently. Putting the outbursts from nature into a personal context, I feel like we are quite lucky to experience none of the more major natural disasters (hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanos) living on the eastern seaboard. If I had to experience these violent renderings of Mother Earth regularly, I can assure you that I would not purposely seek them out simply for the goal of conquering a native people who live within these conditions and know how to handle them.
My favorite excerpt assigned to us was of course Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Although Conrad gets quite superfluous many times throughout the fictionalized account, his minutely detailed descriptions of the wilderness of Africa are incredibly passionate and intense. The madness of the wild, as portrayed to the white man who tries to conquer Africa, is depicted in one man - Mr. Kurtz. Here is a man who went almost entirely alone on an expedition to Africa with the intention of "normalizing" its natives. In the end, he goes completely mad and in his notes, he writes "Exterminate all the brutes." I think this excerpt was a perfect note to end our imperialism unit on, simply because we have studied now a trajectory of the mindset of the English in terms of their plans for conquering savage nations. We have seen how the white man believes it is his duty, personally and professionally, to travel to these foreign places and train their native peoples to become more like the English. From there the white man finally realizes (as Mr. Kurtz does) that this task is impossible, and that the only way to get out alive is to kill everyone.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Reading #8 - Braddon, Eliot, Doyle
What I found most interesting about the excerpts we read for Mary Elizabeth Braddon's Lady Audley's Secret was not the suspense or elements of sensation fiction, but rather that the story is a commentary on the destruction of Victorian society. Lucy Audley is supposed to be a model woman, beautiful, innocent, eager to please the men in her life, and absolutely incapable of murder. The story has the same sort of draw that trashy reality television shows or Dateline specials on women who kill have: the idea that women who act in ways outside of the prescribed notions of femininity are completely fascinating. Lucy is the epitome of what a woman should not be. She abandons her marriage and her child, enters into a bigamous relationship, and attempts murder on her first husband's life. One can understand why this story may have been so shocking to readers in the Victorian era.
Unfortunately, although I am usually very interested in stories about people who possess extrasensory abilities, I did not find Eliot's The Lifted Veil a very captivating read. It has the potential to be a good story, but I think Eliot should have stuck with her realistic fiction instead of venturing into the world of the super- and preternatural.
But thankfully Eliot was positioned between two intriguing stories. The last, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Red-Headed League," a short Sherlock Holmes story, was of course the center of my presentation for this past week. Holmes enters into a business arrangement with Mr. Wilson, who is paying him to find out why Wilson was terminated from his work as a very important member of the Red-Headed League. In taking on this ridiculous case, Holmes discovers a con artist hard at work deceiving redheads with stolen money. The culprit is captured and Holmes is hero once again. I'm a big fan of Holmes and Doyle, but I don't pretend to know everything about the opium-addicted detective. I definitely want to look a little more closely at the 56 stories and 4 books that involve Holmes' life to see if there are other obvious elements of sensation and detective fiction (besides the ones that are already clear).
Unfortunately, although I am usually very interested in stories about people who possess extrasensory abilities, I did not find Eliot's The Lifted Veil a very captivating read. It has the potential to be a good story, but I think Eliot should have stuck with her realistic fiction instead of venturing into the world of the super- and preternatural.
But thankfully Eliot was positioned between two intriguing stories. The last, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Red-Headed League," a short Sherlock Holmes story, was of course the center of my presentation for this past week. Holmes enters into a business arrangement with Mr. Wilson, who is paying him to find out why Wilson was terminated from his work as a very important member of the Red-Headed League. In taking on this ridiculous case, Holmes discovers a con artist hard at work deceiving redheads with stolen money. The culprit is captured and Holmes is hero once again. I'm a big fan of Holmes and Doyle, but I don't pretend to know everything about the opium-addicted detective. I definitely want to look a little more closely at the 56 stories and 4 books that involve Holmes' life to see if there are other obvious elements of sensation and detective fiction (besides the ones that are already clear).
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Reading #7 - Gaskell, Collins, Dickens
In the collection of stories The Haunted House, readers are exposed to many elements of sensation fiction, including misdirected letters, drugs, potions, and poisons, characters who adopt disguises, trained coincidences, and heightened suspense detail. Each story reveals the details of an alleged haunting, but none are truly about ghosts. Three stories by Gaskell, Collins, and Dickens explicate the experiences of different narrators who are haunted most prominently by their own minds.
"The Ghost in the Cupboard Room," written by Collins, contains the elements of sensation fiction that include trained coincidences and heightened suspense detail. The narrator explains that he was once a young man who worked on a ship, and ever since then has been terrified of a candle that he claims is haunting him. On the ship, a mutiny occurred and the young man was tied up and left for dead. All the while a candle continued to burn, and supposedly when it was nearly burnt out it would have ignited the ship's cargo (gunpowder) and killed him. However, the candle conveniently did not burn out. Instead of being a true haunting, the narrator is most likely affected by post-traumatic stress disorder.
In "The Ghost in the Garden Room," written by Gaskell, the narrator is haunted by a judge, who may or may not be the dead Benjamin, the son of poor farmer parents who cheated them out of all their money. Benjamin is an aristocratic villian (another element of sensation fiction), and also causes the heightened suspense detail toward the end of the tale. Readers cannot be sure if he is truly dead, especially because a letter sent to his parents may have been misdirected. If Benjamin is dead, then a haunting in the garden room may be very possible, but it is highly unlikely.
Dickens authored "The Ghost in Master B.'s Room," which is, in my opinion, the most interesting of the three tales. It tells of a true psychological haunting; the man who owns the haunted house is staying in the master bedroom which once belonged to a man whose full name is unknown. He only goes by the initial "B." In a particularly late-Victorian/early Modern style of writing, Dickens' narrator explicates his stream of consciousness, a literary element rarely seen before this time. The anonymity surrounding the former occupant of the room drives the narrator to an obsession about who the man may have been. The narrator claims he is haunted by the ghosts of his childhood; perhaps it is truly only regret or a mid-life crisis he is having. This story contains what may be considered the only true haunting - it is completely psychologically-based, and the narrator acknowledges this.
Overall I was expecting something more along the lines of a true ghost story, but the hauntings based on psychological conditions is interesting as well.
"The Ghost in the Cupboard Room," written by Collins, contains the elements of sensation fiction that include trained coincidences and heightened suspense detail. The narrator explains that he was once a young man who worked on a ship, and ever since then has been terrified of a candle that he claims is haunting him. On the ship, a mutiny occurred and the young man was tied up and left for dead. All the while a candle continued to burn, and supposedly when it was nearly burnt out it would have ignited the ship's cargo (gunpowder) and killed him. However, the candle conveniently did not burn out. Instead of being a true haunting, the narrator is most likely affected by post-traumatic stress disorder.
In "The Ghost in the Garden Room," written by Gaskell, the narrator is haunted by a judge, who may or may not be the dead Benjamin, the son of poor farmer parents who cheated them out of all their money. Benjamin is an aristocratic villian (another element of sensation fiction), and also causes the heightened suspense detail toward the end of the tale. Readers cannot be sure if he is truly dead, especially because a letter sent to his parents may have been misdirected. If Benjamin is dead, then a haunting in the garden room may be very possible, but it is highly unlikely.
Dickens authored "The Ghost in Master B.'s Room," which is, in my opinion, the most interesting of the three tales. It tells of a true psychological haunting; the man who owns the haunted house is staying in the master bedroom which once belonged to a man whose full name is unknown. He only goes by the initial "B." In a particularly late-Victorian/early Modern style of writing, Dickens' narrator explicates his stream of consciousness, a literary element rarely seen before this time. The anonymity surrounding the former occupant of the room drives the narrator to an obsession about who the man may have been. The narrator claims he is haunted by the ghosts of his childhood; perhaps it is truly only regret or a mid-life crisis he is having. This story contains what may be considered the only true haunting - it is completely psychologically-based, and the narrator acknowledges this.
Overall I was expecting something more along the lines of a true ghost story, but the hauntings based on psychological conditions is interesting as well.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Reading #6 - Dickens, Booth, Mayhew, Besant
In Sketches by Boz, Charles Dickens seems to focus on the underground of London life. But despite the fact that his focus is on those who live an alternative lifestyle (i.e., those who turn to alcohol, drugs, and prostitution for their entertainment or escape), he also seems to glorify the upper class and almost exploits the poor destitute lower class at the expense of widening the gap between the two castes.
Charles Booth focuses only on the poor and middle class, dividing them into eight sections. The very poor are the most lazy, shiftless, worthless, degenerate people who are not of high intelligence and are not important enough to be counted to exact numbers of the population. The middle class have to work to get by but have significantly more leisure time than the lower class. Depending on the stratification, they also may not be intelligent. I find it interesting that Booth considers lower class citizens to represent those who are more primitive automatically. It's as if none of the writers of this time take into consideration the fact that there is a significant lack of opportunity for educational opportunities for the lower class.
Henry Mayhew gives his audience a first-person perspective through a primary text of what life as a nomadic member of the lower class was like. He has internalized the dichotomy between what London is romanticized as and what the city is truly like, particularly at night. It's almost as if Mayhew is one of the characters straight out of Dickens' Sketches by Boz. However, Mayhew also gives us a slightly glorified version of life as a street rat. He tells us he has never been sick in seven years, which is entirely possible but highly unlikely in the lower eschelon of society where contagious diseases, both sexual and non-sexual, ran rampant through human bodies.
Annie Besant is not a member of the lower class, and her expose on "white slavery" (young women and children working in factories nearby) would likely not resonate as soundly with the upper class. She writes from a third-person perspective and explicates how depressing and dangerous conditions in one particular matchstick factory are, but she herself has never experienced it. How are we as readers supposed to connect with authors who have little to no knowledge other than answers to interview questions about what life is like for the lower and middle classes struggling to make ends meet during the Industrial Revolution? I wonder what other causes Besant tried to rally support for (having read in her brief biography that she left the church to become a social activist).
Charles Booth focuses only on the poor and middle class, dividing them into eight sections. The very poor are the most lazy, shiftless, worthless, degenerate people who are not of high intelligence and are not important enough to be counted to exact numbers of the population. The middle class have to work to get by but have significantly more leisure time than the lower class. Depending on the stratification, they also may not be intelligent. I find it interesting that Booth considers lower class citizens to represent those who are more primitive automatically. It's as if none of the writers of this time take into consideration the fact that there is a significant lack of opportunity for educational opportunities for the lower class.
Henry Mayhew gives his audience a first-person perspective through a primary text of what life as a nomadic member of the lower class was like. He has internalized the dichotomy between what London is romanticized as and what the city is truly like, particularly at night. It's almost as if Mayhew is one of the characters straight out of Dickens' Sketches by Boz. However, Mayhew also gives us a slightly glorified version of life as a street rat. He tells us he has never been sick in seven years, which is entirely possible but highly unlikely in the lower eschelon of society where contagious diseases, both sexual and non-sexual, ran rampant through human bodies.
Annie Besant is not a member of the lower class, and her expose on "white slavery" (young women and children working in factories nearby) would likely not resonate as soundly with the upper class. She writes from a third-person perspective and explicates how depressing and dangerous conditions in one particular matchstick factory are, but she herself has never experienced it. How are we as readers supposed to connect with authors who have little to no knowledge other than answers to interview questions about what life is like for the lower and middle classes struggling to make ends meet during the Industrial Revolution? I wonder what other causes Besant tried to rally support for (having read in her brief biography that she left the church to become a social activist).
Reading #5 - Huxley, Tylor, Galton, Darwin
In T.H. Huxley's article, "On the Physical Basis of Life," the science he discusses is quite black and white. He writes that not only have "matter and law ... devoured spirit and spontaneity," but that it is impossible to prove by "human logic" that "any act is really spontaneous" (223). The discussion exposes the science behind materialism, which is an important topic to Victorian writers because the Industrial Revolution pushes Progress and consumerism, something that scientists and literary writers alike loathe and perhaps fear. Huxley seems to lean toward to school of thought that materialism, which is driven by matter, force, and necessity (as far as scientific theory goes), will lead to human destruction (224). In about 140 years it hasn't happened so far, but I think there is some truth to Huxley's theories. For example, he writes that "the order of nature is ascertainable by our faculties to an extent which is practically unlimited," and that "our volition counts for something as a condition of the course of events" (225). Here he is saying that to an extent, we can control nature as long as we assess and properly use our resources, and also that what we want to happen might come true if we manipulate the circumstances of nature properly. In other words, we should utilize the resources we are given, but not to excess.
Edward Tylor's "The Science of Culture" may seem racist to those who are not reading with a critically Victorian mindset. First, Tylor defines cultue as "the complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society" (317). Of course one from the twenty-first century reading this article is going to find Tylor's text racist. Racism as a new concept has not come into the lexicon of the Victorian era, and, particularly when it comes to science, racism is not a mindset in which Victorian writers would indulge. That said, Tylor and his colleagues are not going to write in a politically correct manner; instead Tylor does not consider that "lower races from Kamchatka to Tierra del Fuego, and from Dahome to Hawaii" have their own cultures (319). To white scientific writers, "white" is the only culture.
To be honest, neither Spencer nor Darwin interested me very much. Both scientific writers focus more on the qualifications of humans, Spencer on those men considered to be primitive (i.e., shorter with larger craniums) and Darwin on men who should survive and those who should not. I would much rather read about how the man who is primitive or weak interacts with his surroundings than read a theoretical report on why the primitive or weak man should not exist.
One of my favorite quotes from Galton comes from the article we read for last week's class: "The goodness or badness of character is not absolute, but relative to the current form of civilisation" (329). It reminds me of Harry Potter (because I'm a nerd and know the books and movies by heart); in the movie version of Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, tells him, "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters [the most evil wizards]." But Galton does not discuss the character of people for the majority of his article. Instead he expounds the benefits of eugenics: "The race as a whole would be less foolish, less frivolous, less excitable and politically more provident than now" (330). I don't know if he was right in thinking so, but I do believe that there are some benefits to weeding out weaker, less intelligent people (not, as I said last week to avoid a fight in class, whole races of people).
Edward Tylor's "The Science of Culture" may seem racist to those who are not reading with a critically Victorian mindset. First, Tylor defines cultue as "the complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society" (317). Of course one from the twenty-first century reading this article is going to find Tylor's text racist. Racism as a new concept has not come into the lexicon of the Victorian era, and, particularly when it comes to science, racism is not a mindset in which Victorian writers would indulge. That said, Tylor and his colleagues are not going to write in a politically correct manner; instead Tylor does not consider that "lower races from Kamchatka to Tierra del Fuego, and from Dahome to Hawaii" have their own cultures (319). To white scientific writers, "white" is the only culture.
To be honest, neither Spencer nor Darwin interested me very much. Both scientific writers focus more on the qualifications of humans, Spencer on those men considered to be primitive (i.e., shorter with larger craniums) and Darwin on men who should survive and those who should not. I would much rather read about how the man who is primitive or weak interacts with his surroundings than read a theoretical report on why the primitive or weak man should not exist.
One of my favorite quotes from Galton comes from the article we read for last week's class: "The goodness or badness of character is not absolute, but relative to the current form of civilisation" (329). It reminds me of Harry Potter (because I'm a nerd and know the books and movies by heart); in the movie version of Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, tells him, "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters [the most evil wizards]." But Galton does not discuss the character of people for the majority of his article. Instead he expounds the benefits of eugenics: "The race as a whole would be less foolish, less frivolous, less excitable and politically more provident than now" (330). I don't know if he was right in thinking so, but I do believe that there are some benefits to weeding out weaker, less intelligent people (not, as I said last week to avoid a fight in class, whole races of people).
Queen Victoria
Since Professor Milstein mentioned Queen Victoria briefly in class this last week, I thought I'd look up a bit about her. I'm endlessly fascinated by royal families, particularly that of England, and I found this a short but succint summary of her life.
Also, she wasn't a very pretty woman - not like we expect our royalty to be like today. Maybe there's something to be said for the juxtaposition of beauty and wealth? I'll probably end up doing more research on that during the rest of the semester.
Brief Biography of Queen Victoria
(Posts for the week 5 and 6 readings coming soon...)
Also, she wasn't a very pretty woman - not like we expect our royalty to be like today. Maybe there's something to be said for the juxtaposition of beauty and wealth? I'll probably end up doing more research on that during the rest of the semester.
Brief Biography of Queen Victoria
(Posts for the week 5 and 6 readings coming soon...)
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Reading #4 - Browning, Rossetti, Shelley
(Sorry this is late.)
This past week's readings have been some of my favorites. I've read quite a bit of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but never "Aurora Leigh." I enjoyed the lengthy description of Aurora's aunt. The point of view of the poem was one idea I teased out in my head while I was reading; it seems as though Aurora knows her aunt has a certain personality, but she only knows it looking back. I would like to read the rest of the book-length poem, but I consider the poem to have been written in retrospect. Another interesting plot point in the poem was that of the relationship between the aunt and Aurora's mother. At first Aunt Leigh is quite interested in this strange woman from another culture, but eventually grows to loathe her, and Aunt Leigh's curiosity and idealism evolves into hate.
"Goblin Market" has become one of my absolute favorite poems. I'd never heard of Christina Rossetti until this semester, and her writing is flawless. The descriptions of subtle details, like the six lines describing Laura's white neck, almost made me shiver with anticipation of how the plot would progress further into the poem. Some of the things I wondered throughout the reading of this poem were: are the goblins truly goblins? In the deceptively simple poem, yes, they really are these horrible, repulsive creatures, but the whole poem has a certain magical element about it that made me question whether or not everything was as it seems. Of course the goblins are symbolic of free market participants or rapists or devils, but I can appreciate this poem for the message it sends to both children and adults.
Before this week I'd read bits and pieces of Frankenstein and I know the basic story from having heard many, many retellings, but I especially appreciated chapters 11 through 16 for their relation to the poems we had to read by Browning and Rossetti. Not only was Mary Shelley a brilliant writer (both for her era and her gender - not that women couldn't be brilliant authors, just that they didn't have as much opportunity to be), but the way in which she wrote the story is fascinating. Even though Frankenstein was originally written as a challenge to see which among three friends could write the most interesting, most terrifying tale, it remains one of the most beloved books in Western culture. Both Frankenstein and The Mortal Immortal allude to the dangers of the imagination if used in improper manners, which, I think, is an important lesson for those who are handling matters they should not tamper with (creationism, love, etc.).
This past week's readings have been some of my favorites. I've read quite a bit of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but never "Aurora Leigh." I enjoyed the lengthy description of Aurora's aunt. The point of view of the poem was one idea I teased out in my head while I was reading; it seems as though Aurora knows her aunt has a certain personality, but she only knows it looking back. I would like to read the rest of the book-length poem, but I consider the poem to have been written in retrospect. Another interesting plot point in the poem was that of the relationship between the aunt and Aurora's mother. At first Aunt Leigh is quite interested in this strange woman from another culture, but eventually grows to loathe her, and Aunt Leigh's curiosity and idealism evolves into hate.
"Goblin Market" has become one of my absolute favorite poems. I'd never heard of Christina Rossetti until this semester, and her writing is flawless. The descriptions of subtle details, like the six lines describing Laura's white neck, almost made me shiver with anticipation of how the plot would progress further into the poem. Some of the things I wondered throughout the reading of this poem were: are the goblins truly goblins? In the deceptively simple poem, yes, they really are these horrible, repulsive creatures, but the whole poem has a certain magical element about it that made me question whether or not everything was as it seems. Of course the goblins are symbolic of free market participants or rapists or devils, but I can appreciate this poem for the message it sends to both children and adults.
Before this week I'd read bits and pieces of Frankenstein and I know the basic story from having heard many, many retellings, but I especially appreciated chapters 11 through 16 for their relation to the poems we had to read by Browning and Rossetti. Not only was Mary Shelley a brilliant writer (both for her era and her gender - not that women couldn't be brilliant authors, just that they didn't have as much opportunity to be), but the way in which she wrote the story is fascinating. Even though Frankenstein was originally written as a challenge to see which among three friends could write the most interesting, most terrifying tale, it remains one of the most beloved books in Western culture. Both Frankenstein and The Mortal Immortal allude to the dangers of the imagination if used in improper manners, which, I think, is an important lesson for those who are handling matters they should not tamper with (creationism, love, etc.).
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Reading #3 - Tennyson, Browning, Arnold
Although I missed class this past Wednesday (which I'm very upset about; Robert Browning is one of my favorite poets), I hope I can discuss Tennyson, Browning, and Arnold without sounding foolish.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem "The Lady of Shalott" reminded me of Poe's "The Raven." The two poems are stylistically similar in cadence, if not in subject matter. Tennyson makes many references to nature in his work, including in his images of nature fields, plains, islands, flowers, and animals. The poem is also a bit fantastical and includes many references to the fictional kingdom of Camelot. The Lady seems to be an allusion to Queen Guinevere, with whom Sir Lancelot, one of the Knights of the Round Table in King Arthur's court, fell in love. Lancelot, with whom the queen is very close even before their torrid love affair occurs, says of her, "'She has a lovely face; God in his mery lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott'" (1958). Tennyson provides an interesting, if not entirely refreshing, viewpoint on the legends of Camelot (one wonders if he plagiarized or if he truly had not read Malory's Morte Darthur).
Tennyson's other poem "Ulysses" is another retelling of the hero of Homer's epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey. This piece sounds much less like a child's nursery rhyme when read aloud. However, since being presented with these two poems, I wonder if Tennyson specialized in retellings of famous stories, or if his original poetry was well-received also.
Robert Browning, as mentioned previously, is one of my favorite poets. I have a collection of poetry that he and his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, wrote in relation to each other and about their marriage. It's quite beautiful. And I was very excited to reread two of my favorite poems, "Porphyria's Lover" and "My Last Duchess." The first is written in sort of odd sets of five lines per stanza, with the rhyme scheme ababb. The images throughout the poem are also of nature and a beautiful woman, as Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott" is, but instead of being told in third-person point of view, "Porphyria's Lover" is narrated by the lover himself. The poem ends quite brutally; Porphyria is strangled with "one long yellow string" (her hair) wrapped "three times her little throat around" (2055). She is murdered for cheating on him; sometimes she cannot control her passions and though he knows she loves him, he has grown weary of having the knowledge that, earlier in the evening, she lay in another's arms. Now that her lover has murdered her, he has her with him forever.
"My Last Duchess" is written in a similar way. The quatrains feature end rhymes, the rhyme scheme being aabb. The narrator is showing off a painting of his last duchess, a piece painted masterfully by an imaginary expert artist. He explains how his former wife smiled for others as she smiled for him, or how she thanked other men with a little too much gratitude. The hint of murder in "My Last Duchess" is not nearly as obvious as it is in "Porphyria's Lover," but the narrator explains that he "gave commands;/Then all smiles stopped together" (2058, 2059). He most likely instructed someone to kill her so that her blood would not stain his hands; that, or he wanted to give her the last satisfaction she would feel by having another man at her beck and call, even though that last man, not her husband, would be the one to murder her.
I'd never heard of Matthew Arnold before reading his poem "Dover Beach," and I'm not sure how I feel about him as a writer yet. I'll have to read more of his poetry to be able to decide whether I appreciate his style of writing or not. But in this poem, he too makes use of allusion with his references to Sophocles and the Aegean Sea. Allusions to ancient Greek culture seems to be somewhat of a theme in Romantic and early Victorian writing.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem "The Lady of Shalott" reminded me of Poe's "The Raven." The two poems are stylistically similar in cadence, if not in subject matter. Tennyson makes many references to nature in his work, including in his images of nature fields, plains, islands, flowers, and animals. The poem is also a bit fantastical and includes many references to the fictional kingdom of Camelot. The Lady seems to be an allusion to Queen Guinevere, with whom Sir Lancelot, one of the Knights of the Round Table in King Arthur's court, fell in love. Lancelot, with whom the queen is very close even before their torrid love affair occurs, says of her, "'She has a lovely face; God in his mery lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott'" (1958). Tennyson provides an interesting, if not entirely refreshing, viewpoint on the legends of Camelot (one wonders if he plagiarized or if he truly had not read Malory's Morte Darthur).
Tennyson's other poem "Ulysses" is another retelling of the hero of Homer's epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey. This piece sounds much less like a child's nursery rhyme when read aloud. However, since being presented with these two poems, I wonder if Tennyson specialized in retellings of famous stories, or if his original poetry was well-received also.
Robert Browning, as mentioned previously, is one of my favorite poets. I have a collection of poetry that he and his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, wrote in relation to each other and about their marriage. It's quite beautiful. And I was very excited to reread two of my favorite poems, "Porphyria's Lover" and "My Last Duchess." The first is written in sort of odd sets of five lines per stanza, with the rhyme scheme ababb. The images throughout the poem are also of nature and a beautiful woman, as Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott" is, but instead of being told in third-person point of view, "Porphyria's Lover" is narrated by the lover himself. The poem ends quite brutally; Porphyria is strangled with "one long yellow string" (her hair) wrapped "three times her little throat around" (2055). She is murdered for cheating on him; sometimes she cannot control her passions and though he knows she loves him, he has grown weary of having the knowledge that, earlier in the evening, she lay in another's arms. Now that her lover has murdered her, he has her with him forever.
"My Last Duchess" is written in a similar way. The quatrains feature end rhymes, the rhyme scheme being aabb. The narrator is showing off a painting of his last duchess, a piece painted masterfully by an imaginary expert artist. He explains how his former wife smiled for others as she smiled for him, or how she thanked other men with a little too much gratitude. The hint of murder in "My Last Duchess" is not nearly as obvious as it is in "Porphyria's Lover," but the narrator explains that he "gave commands;/Then all smiles stopped together" (2058, 2059). He most likely instructed someone to kill her so that her blood would not stain his hands; that, or he wanted to give her the last satisfaction she would feel by having another man at her beck and call, even though that last man, not her husband, would be the one to murder her.
I'd never heard of Matthew Arnold before reading his poem "Dover Beach," and I'm not sure how I feel about him as a writer yet. I'll have to read more of his poetry to be able to decide whether I appreciate his style of writing or not. But in this poem, he too makes use of allusion with his references to Sophocles and the Aegean Sea. Allusions to ancient Greek culture seems to be somewhat of a theme in Romantic and early Victorian writing.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Reading # 2 - Baillie, Wordsworth, Coleridge
I'm not a huge fan of poetry to begin with, and especially not that of the late eighteenth/early nineteenth century. Before coming to class, I had thought that Coleridge was a moody, temperamental, drugged-out worshiper of Wordsworth, that Wordsworth had had nothing of value to say except how pretty the trees looked on his daily walk - and I had never even heard of Baillie. Well, I was right about Coleridge, except that our in-depth analysis of his poem "The Lime-Tree Bower My Prison" offered a bit more insight into his moodiness. I had never read this particular piece of his before, but having read the footnote that his wife had dropped boiling milk on his foot and this was what led to his sulking and imprisonment allowed me to see that it was his great desire to be out in nature instead of stuck at home - and I know I've often felt the same way when it's raining and I'm sick of looking at the same four walls at home. Both Coleridge and Wordsworth are fairly straightforward writers; neither uses lofty language or complicated metaphor to make his point. Even if the subjects of the poems are not to my taste, I can appreciate their simplicity. I think many people (even some within our own class) shy away from poetry because they think it is too difficult to understand. I myself am guilty of this, but I'm very glad for the discussion we had. It helped me to see that even though I may not particularly be fond of a certain author, I can analyze and understand his or her meaning.
As far as Baillie goes, since I haven't studied much of her work, I don't know what to make of her. Her "Hymn" and "Song" that we discussed in class were also straightforward; she used simple language and concepts to make her point, not dragging on with flowery language or extended allegories. It also helped that her poems utilized end-rhyme. Who doesn't like nursery rhymes and lullabies? That's sort of what Baillie's two pieces reminded me of.
What I most appreciated was the list of terms Prof. Milstein gave us. The definitions really helped me understand what the differences, however minor, are in poetry. So thank you very much for that, Professor.
As far as Baillie goes, since I haven't studied much of her work, I don't know what to make of her. Her "Hymn" and "Song" that we discussed in class were also straightforward; she used simple language and concepts to make her point, not dragging on with flowery language or extended allegories. It also helped that her poems utilized end-rhyme. Who doesn't like nursery rhymes and lullabies? That's sort of what Baillie's two pieces reminded me of.
What I most appreciated was the list of terms Prof. Milstein gave us. The definitions really helped me understand what the differences, however minor, are in poetry. So thank you very much for that, Professor.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Reading #1 - Blake, Wollstonecraft, Barbauld
I have always liked William Blake's poetry, but I have never examined it from a scholarly standpoint. The "Songs of Innocence/Songs of Experience" collection that I have been reading since childhood has never provided me with much insight - only feelings of joy and sadness when reading the parallel poems. Having studied several of them in great detail in class on Wednesday, however, I found myself able to understand them much better. Knowing a bit about Blake's life helped, too. Looking at the poetic devices and imagery within the poems gave me a better insight into just what Blake meant by "innocence" and "experience."
Moving on to discuss the parallels and disparities between Wollstonecraft and Barbauld proved very interesting. I had no trouble understanding either text, but I found that I liked Barbauld's poem "The Rights of Women" as a response to Wollstonecraft's "A Vindication of the Rights of Women" better. Barbauld's narrator in the poem reminds me of the goddess Artemis, intelligent and strong-willed, needing no man to complete her, and very willing to put on her armor and hunt down the men who are trying to control her. Wollstonecraft's essay, as far as the fourth chapter goes, was easy enough to digest, but I found it lacking in provacative phrases. While I understand that Wollstonecraft wants women to remain women, and not to turn into men, I do not think that we as a sex should have to conform to gender stereotypes and stay at home knitting, even though we are allowed to learn. Perhaps that is just my twenty-first century viewpoint, but I preferred Barbauld's Amazonian call for revolution over Wollstonecraft's passive plea for men to allow us an education.
Moving on to discuss the parallels and disparities between Wollstonecraft and Barbauld proved very interesting. I had no trouble understanding either text, but I found that I liked Barbauld's poem "The Rights of Women" as a response to Wollstonecraft's "A Vindication of the Rights of Women" better. Barbauld's narrator in the poem reminds me of the goddess Artemis, intelligent and strong-willed, needing no man to complete her, and very willing to put on her armor and hunt down the men who are trying to control her. Wollstonecraft's essay, as far as the fourth chapter goes, was easy enough to digest, but I found it lacking in provacative phrases. While I understand that Wollstonecraft wants women to remain women, and not to turn into men, I do not think that we as a sex should have to conform to gender stereotypes and stay at home knitting, even though we are allowed to learn. Perhaps that is just my twenty-first century viewpoint, but I preferred Barbauld's Amazonian call for revolution over Wollstonecraft's passive plea for men to allow us an education.
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