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).
Thursday, October 21, 2010
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.
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