OR: Puberty is like Bazaar-o childhood
This has definitely been the hardest blog assignment so far. 1) I am not good at the "free for alls". They make me feel like a rudderless kite (does that make sense? It does to me somehow). B) Dubliners is so incredibly dense it was difficult for me to decide where to start. iii) We didn't discuss these in class so I didn't know what people would be interested in.
So when in doubt, I do a close read and pick something that interests me. I love how Joyce captures attitudes and moments from different stages of life, so I decided to do a close read of the first part of Araby to show how he is able to exhibit male adolescence so beautifully. Almost as well as Judy Blume.
First of all, I had read Dubliners before and was pretty disappointed that we weren't going to read "Counterparts". That story is my favorite (and one of my top 10 favorite short stories by any author) and I encourage all of you to read it. Especially if you hate your boss. Or your kids. (Joking about the kids. I'm not a terrible person, really.) But "Araby" is really good too.
Joyce does a remarkable job of describing adolescence and the disconnect between the mind and the body during this time. Joyce's narrator has trouble rationalizing his feelings and owes it to his "confused adoration" (251). His infatuation with Mangan's sister is all the more powerful because the narrator has never had these feelings before. A first crush is more intense than a tenth crush, and sprinkle in a little Irish Catholicism and the reader understands why this poor kid feels like his body is betraying him. "Her name often sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers....My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom" (250-1). The narrator feels "her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood" (250) because she is riling up these feelings that he doesn't understand and can rationalize. All he knows is that he likes her movement "[h]er dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side" (250) and the way the light hits "the white curve of her neck" (251). He has no idea why.
Joyce sums up the tension and sensation of puberty with one incredible analogy: "my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running up the wires" (251). The tightness of a harp's wires evoke the tension in the narrator's body, and the vibrations caused by Mangan's sister show the disruption caused to a young man's psyche by feelings he doesn't understand. While many people find the ending of Araby leaves much to be desired (why doesn't he buy her anything?) we can easily see how it fits into the narrative. Joyce's story captures the complex emotions of adolescence in 5 pages; it took Judy Blume 164.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
A Series of Dreary Theories on Lahiri
OR: Please respond with Queries
I would like to start by saying that all of the blog posts I read were very thought-provoking. Well played, Nightside Crowd.
One of the posts in particular, however, spurred me to post in response because it made a point about the stories that I didn’t quite catch. Alex’s post made a number of really cool points about the interconnectivity of Lahiri’s stories through the idea of marriage, and the cultural differences between Indian and American concepts of matrimony. Alex brought up the fact that in each of the four stories we read, marriage was a central issue, and that each story looked at different issues about marriage and from different perspectives. I think this is an excellent way of looking at this group of four stories in particular.
Alex’s conclusion that the marriages in Lahiri’s stories are “a necessary aspect of life, something needed in order to live happily and feel fulfilled” shocked me because in reading the stories, I saw a lot of negativity surrounding the marriages in IoM. There was a miscarriage that led to two people falling out of love, a secret infidelity that spawned a child, an implied incestuous+adulterous rape that spawned another child, and an arranged wedding between two strangers that turned out to be the healthiest marriage in the book. My opinion on reading the stories was that marriage was the cause of a lot of emotional strain and conflict, and in many cases can ruin people’s lives.
So I went back and re-read some of the parts of the stories that Alex pointed out to see if I was just jaded and completely missed the point. I wanted to try to read the marriages as positive, and see if the stories could end happily ever after. And I found out that, yes, you could read the stories and think “these characters had their problems, but they are going to work through them and be better off in the long run. I guess love conquers all.” There is enough left up to the reader in Lahiri’s stories to draw conclusions as different as “marriage is hell” and “marriage is bliss.” Personally, I think I will stick with my view that marriage is ugly, stressful, complicated, painful, and licenses should only be given to people who go through a screening process as rigorous as the FBI’s. Maybe (okay, likely) ((okay definitely)) it stems from my experience writing settlement demands for a divorce lawyer, but I firmly believe people like this should be forbidden to marry:
I would like to start by saying that all of the blog posts I read were very thought-provoking. Well played, Nightside Crowd.
One of the posts in particular, however, spurred me to post in response because it made a point about the stories that I didn’t quite catch. Alex’s post made a number of really cool points about the interconnectivity of Lahiri’s stories through the idea of marriage, and the cultural differences between Indian and American concepts of matrimony. Alex brought up the fact that in each of the four stories we read, marriage was a central issue, and that each story looked at different issues about marriage and from different perspectives. I think this is an excellent way of looking at this group of four stories in particular.
Alex’s conclusion that the marriages in Lahiri’s stories are “a necessary aspect of life, something needed in order to live happily and feel fulfilled” shocked me because in reading the stories, I saw a lot of negativity surrounding the marriages in IoM. There was a miscarriage that led to two people falling out of love, a secret infidelity that spawned a child, an implied incestuous+adulterous rape that spawned another child, and an arranged wedding between two strangers that turned out to be the healthiest marriage in the book. My opinion on reading the stories was that marriage was the cause of a lot of emotional strain and conflict, and in many cases can ruin people’s lives.
So I went back and re-read some of the parts of the stories that Alex pointed out to see if I was just jaded and completely missed the point. I wanted to try to read the marriages as positive, and see if the stories could end happily ever after. And I found out that, yes, you could read the stories and think “these characters had their problems, but they are going to work through them and be better off in the long run. I guess love conquers all.” There is enough left up to the reader in Lahiri’s stories to draw conclusions as different as “marriage is hell” and “marriage is bliss.” Personally, I think I will stick with my view that marriage is ugly, stressful, complicated, painful, and licenses should only be given to people who go through a screening process as rigorous as the FBI’s. Maybe (okay, likely) ((okay definitely)) it stems from my experience writing settlement demands for a divorce lawyer, but I firmly believe people like this should be forbidden to marry:
I guess the point I’m trying to fit into this rambling anti-marriage tirade is that Lahiri’s stories are so simple and yet so deep, that sentimentalists like Alex and cynics like me can both enjoy them. The beauty of Lahiri’s stories lies in their interpretation.
…of maladies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
