The Only Sane One

The other day in class, someone brought up the fact that Milkman believes everyone around him is crazy. I didn't really make that observation, but after reading a couple more chapters, I realized how true it was. Milkman presents the people in his life as absurd, creepy, immoral, or altogether irrelevant. So I was confused about why I didn't feel the same way about these characters, since Milkman is the protagonist and usually the reader's perspective aligns with the main character. It took me until Lena's epic speech at the end of Part One to realize why I was not entirely on board with Milkman's perspective.

In Milkman's eyes, everyone in his life is crazy. Macon, his father, is crazy because of his efforts to uphold meaningless traditions, such as parading his family around the town in his car at 20mph, to make himself feel powerful. Guitar is crazy because he willingly gets involved with organized crime through The Seven Day. Hagar is crazy because she stalks Milkman and makes attempts on his life because of her desperate love for him. Ruth is crazy because she visits her father's grave in the middle of the night. Pilate is crazy because of her physical abnormality and the abnormal ways she supports herself and her family.

When describing these characters and reasons Milkman thinks they're crazy, he sounds right. And I believed him for a while, as each character was introduced, each one weirder than the last. But if you think everyone around you is crazy, who is the crazy one? I began to realize that there is something Milkman does not see in people, something that humanizes the people in his life that he is blind to. Our discussions in class helped me see. Macon isn't crazy, he's insecure about his status in the family and in comparison to Ruth's legendary father. Guitar isn't crazy, he is trying to search for truth in a racist and unjust society, and although his methods of doing so are immoral, he explains his beliefs quite eloquently. Hagar isn't crazy, she and Milkman had been dating for 14 years and he broke up with her through a thank-you note. Ruth isn't crazy, she has been deprived of love and purpose since the age of 16 and everyone around her doesn't recognize her isolation.

It is Milkman, who's had his life served to him on a silver platter as Lena kindly reminds him, who lacks the ability to understand those around him. He cannot relate to the socio-economic struggles of his friend, the isolation of his mother, the complicated past of his father, the value of commitment of his ex. Instead, Milkman hits Macon and asserts his ability to see and define everyone around him as he wishes. He can call anyone he wants crazy because he is the only sane one. What he doesn't realize is that if you're the only sane one, you're doing something wrong.

If Lena didn't call him out on all of this, Milkman could've gone on riding his high horse forever.
Thank god for Lena.

The Dumbledore of Wide Sargasso Sea

After reading the argument between Christophine and Antoinette regarding Rochester, I realized how much I respected Christophine as a strong character and mentor. However, I think she could've done a better job at understanding Antoinette's desires in her marriage. Here is me exploring these ideas.

Christophine is Antoinette's mentor whose best interests are in Antoinette's well-being. As soon as she senses something is wrong between Rochester and Antoinette, she encourages Antoinette to leave Rochester behind, to leave her country entirely, and never look back. This advice made me wonder, what about Antoinette's relationship worries Christophine most? Is it that Rochester is an English man who swooped in to "save the day"? This concern would make sense especially in the context of Antoinette's family history, considering her mother had the same experience and was quickly cast out of society. Or is it that Rochester conveniently took ownership Antoinette's inheritance? This would also make sense, as he could easily be seen as taking advantage of Antoinette and her inability to own property. Or could it be, that Christophine wanted more for Antoinette than marriage? Early on in the novel, we see Christophine setting Antoinette up with Tia, whose friendship gave Antoinette her childhood back (until her family history caught up with her again). Christophine teaches Antoinette songs and is a refuge when she is abused by Annette. Christophine does not seem concerned with Antoinette's future or her image in society. Rather, her concern remains Antoinette's happiness and comfort with her identity. Despite her inability to shield Antoinette from an unwelcome world, Christophine made Antoinette's childhood infinitely more bearable. Is it selfish, then, for her to discourage Antoinette from working on her marriage in order to preserve all that she has done to prevent Antoinette from succumbing to her mother's fate? Or would Antoinette really be happier in England with more control over her own life?

It seems to me that Christophine's advice is valid, considering it would free Antoinette from a potentially dysfunctional marriage. But it's essential that Antoinette's POV and past are taken into account. Her childhood was vastly devoid of love from her parents and any kind of lasting social connection from friends. Even if her connection with Rochester is artificial or purely physical, this is the first time she has felt such a closeness with another person. Antoinette is clearly desperate to make her marriage work in order to restore her connection with Rochester. And we must also consider, how badly does Antoinette want freedom? It is quite possible that she would be at a loss with what to do or where to go once she escaped her native country. Maybe freedom is something that Christophine wishes she could have more of, and so she projects those wishes onto Antoinette, when all Antoinette wants is someone to share an emotional connection with.

In any case, I think Christophine ultimately handled Antoinette's wishes quite well. Even though she disagrees with Antoinette's decision to stay with Rochester, she encourages her to explain her family history to Rochester. Again, Christophine always has Antoinette's best interests at heart. If Rochester realizes that madness is not inevitable and there is a possibility of a successful future with Antoinette, he will hopefully respect and protect her and their marriage, giving Antoinette what she desires. In other words, Christophine is basically a wise sage mastermind. The Dumbledore of The Wide Sargasso Sea, if you will.

Two Shades of Meursault

In The Stranger, Camus shows the reader the consequences of having society turn on you versus the benefits of being looked on favorably by society. Camus achieves this through his main character, Meursault, who, at first, is respected by his society, but loses this respect when he does not behave in a fashion that society condones.

Throughout Part One, Camus depicts Meursault as a generally cool dude. The reader sees him pick up Marie, a former acquaintance whom he met on the beach. Camus makes the reader admire the suaveness with which Meursault approaches a possible fling, and it's clear that he's well-versed in the art of flirtation. The way Camus describes the pair swimming, chatting, seeing a movie, going back to Meursault's place, is relatable, if not desirable, from the reader's point of view. The reader sees that Meursault is also tight with Céleste, who owns a restaurant. We see Céleste checking up on Meursault after his mother's death as he serves Meursault food, and it is clear that Meursault is a regular and valued customer. Then, there's Ramon, who, despite the ugly rumors about his reputation, takes a liking to the humble Meursault. Ramon invites him over for dinner, while sharing intimate details of his private life despite just meeting Meursault, and then proceeds to call Meursault his "pal." When Ramon tells Meursault about his beef with an Arab man, Meursault plays along and has his back, filling the role Ramon wants him to play.

From these interactions, plus the way Meursault is greeted by the soccer boys as part of their community, Camus establishes Meursault's place in society. He has close connections with people from around town, plus the natural ability to make them with people (usually women) who interest him. He is well-liked and perceived as normal because he does what is expected of him. In fact, Camus describes in explicit (and sometimes excruciatingly boring) detail Meursault's ordinary, day-to-day actions: going to work, the beach, smoking, having flings, eating food, sitting on the balcony. Although the reader senses something off because we have access to Meursault's apathetic/seemingly-devoid-of-all-feeling-and-opinion mind, Meursault does not physically reveal anything strange. That is, until he commits murder.

Disturbingly, it is not the fact that Meursault committed murder that primarily bothers his community. On the contrary, the victim is not mentioned ONCE in the court room (a fact I find extremely uncomfortable - but I'll save that for another blog post). Rather, it is Meursault's inability to satisfyingly play the role of "troubled murderer" that distances himself from society. And society attempts to help Meursault play the part. His lawyer, for example, continuously mentions Maman's death, in the hopes that Meursault will take the hint and use his grief as justification for a tragic mistake. But Meursault simply responds by saying he "probably did love Maman, but that didn't mean anything." This callous statement leaves the lawyer "slightly disgust[ed]." Meursault even points out that "[the lawyer] didn't understand me, and he was sort of holding it against me." This is what happens with the court as well. After shoving a crucifix under Meursault's nose, giving him every opportunity to show remorse and love for God, they deem him "Monsieur Antichrist" and decide to publicly execute him.

I will note that, thus far, the reader does not have a clear sense of how Meursault's friends think of him after his murder. The examples above could be a reflection on the justice system more than society as a whole. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for the way Meursault is regarded when he caters to the role society wants him to play versus when he reveals his disturbingly honest and true self.

Cool Girl Brett

I wrote a comment on Tina's blog and got inspired and this is the product of that.

Throughout our discussions of The Sun Also Rises, I sympathized with Brett, but not because of the hardships she went through. I sympathized with her because Hemingway's portrayal of her character was undeveloped and shallow. She was seen only through Jake's "male gaze" (as used by Tina), meaning the only aspects of her individuality that were described and valued were her physical appearance and sexuality. Brett is first described by Jake as "damned good-looking," and he proceeds to describe her appearance in great detail. The reader learns exactly how Brett's hair looks and what material her skirt is made of, but we don't know anything about her occupation, education, or interests. Contrasting Brett's introduction with Robert Cohn, the reader learns from the first line of the novel that he "was once a middleweight boxing champion of Princeton." Despite the fact that Jake hated Cohn, Jake reveals more about him from the first sentence of the novel than about Brett from the entirety of the story. Brett is what Gillian Flynn, author of Gone Girl, would call the Cool Girl. To get a sense of what that means, here is an excerpt from Flynn's novel:

"She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer...and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth...while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding."

We talked about Brett being somewhat androgynous in class, but I would argue that her masculine qualities stem from this Cool Girl persona. Obviously video games were not as popular in the 20th century, but there are glaring similarities between the Cool Girl and Brett's character. She is considered "one of the guys" because her drinking habits match or exceed theirs. But even when she is drunk, Brett maintains a level of flirtiness and composure that Mike, for example, does not have. In fact, most of the male characters in the novel get rowdy, rude, or sloppy at some point while under the influence. But Brett remains witty and carefree, with "curves like the hull of a racing yacht," as Jake reminds us. 

The problem is, Cool Girl does not actually exist; she is a figment of male imagination. Hemingway attempted to bring this Cool Girl to "life" in the form of Brett. But because Cool Girl is not real, this personification does not work because you cannot develop her into a 3-Dimensional character. Her existence depends on there being males in her life. When she is distressed, it is about her boy troubles, when she is happy, it is because she is falling in love. I sympathize with Brett because she had the potential to be a powerful character, with the same personality development we see in the male principle characters. In other words, she deserved an author who recognized the importance of developed female characters and that Cool Girl does not count as one.

Labelless Love

Our class had an interesting discussion today comparing one of the first scenes in The Sun Also Rises to its final couple paragraphs. The story seems to come full circle, Brett and Jake again experiencing their tragic love for each other in a taxi cab, but in truth, there are some key differences between the two scenes that demonstrate the growth and change between these characters and their relationship.

In the first taxi scene, the reader gets a first glimpse at Jake and Brett alone together. There is something electric about the pair, and we quickly learn from their behavior that they share a passionate intimacy. We see them kissing, and Brett tells Jake not to touch her because she "can't stand it." Jake pleads with Brett, saying, "I have to see you." In this encounter, Jake appears almost pathetic in his desperation for Brett. Jake wants Brett badly, and he is holding out hope for her, despite her saying "I don't want to go through that hell again."

In contrast, in the final taxi scene, Brett and Jake do not kiss. They sit "close against each other...comfortably." "Comfortably" implies a relaxed ease, nothing like the passionate tension of the first taxi scene. Brett and Jake's positioning in the taxi is more supportive than intimate, and there is no desperation in their conversation. One could argue that their roles have been reversed, as seen in the last two lines of dialogue. When Brett tries to bring up what could've been between them, Jake responds with, "Isn't it pretty to think so?" Although his last line could be interpreted in varying ways, I think it is clear that Jake has accepted his relationship with Brett for what it is, and no longer longs for more than what they have. His use of the word "pretty" is especially intriguing. As usual, the adjectives he uses severely undermine the intensity of the situation he has been through (think: "I felt bad" after his depressing episode). Jake uses the word "pretty" to describe the fantasy of a proper relationship with Brett that has played through his head since he met her. This fantasy has caused Jake to "lay awake thinking" and cry. It's as if what could've been was already far away in Jake's mind, and the best he could come up with to describe what was once his fantasy was "pretty."

And then the book ends.

Although the reader never sees Jake and Brett have a proper relationship (although Brett references that they've tried), I felt as if I had. As we mentioned in class, Brett's ever-changing suitors almost acted as "avatars" for Jake. This would explain his discomfort with her relationships with people who Jake deemed beneath him. But look at how the relationships Brett consummated (in contrast to her relationship with Jake) ended. Romero, for example, tries to change Brett to fit more "womanly" standards, which she despises and runs away from. Cohn becomes whiney and desperate on a severely pathetic level. But even Jake admits that he would be just as bad as Cohn if he were "in the game," as Mr. Mitchell says. It's as if the reader has journeyed through Jake's fantasies, playing out every scenario regarding his relationship with Brett, and all the ways it could go wrong. From seeing Brett's failed relationships with Cohn, Romero, Ashley, Mike (and more), I was satisfied with the implication from the final taxi scene that they would not try to live out Jake's fantasies. It gave me the feeling that Brett and Jake work because they don't. That is, they don't conform to a normal heterosexual monogamous relationship.

I don't know how I would label what Brett and Jake have. But Hemingway does an excellent job illustrating the reality of relationships and love, which is that they are complicated and imperfect.

Clarissa's Multifaceted Identity

On Monday, we had a panel presentation that discussed the fluidity of identity in Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway" characters. The idea of polygamy was brought up, regarding Clarissa and her three major relationships (Peter, Richard, Sally). Instead of focusing on literal polygamy and fluidity of Clarissa's sexuality, I would like to delve into the "polygamy" of Clarissa's identity in terms of these three relationships.

First, Sally Seton. Clarissa met her when she was eighteen, a coming of age time period when Clarissa was "discovering" herself. Clarissa's exploration of her identity was embodied by the relationship she had with Sally. For example, Sally's acts of defiance against 20th century British societal standards inspired Clarissa to develop a proto-feminist side. She became eager to educate herself by reading Plato, Shelley, and Morris. She developed a revolutionary streak, and wanted to "reform the world" by establishing a "society to abolish private property." Let's ignore the fact that she and Sally were subtle communists, and instead recognize that Sally Seton inspired a rebellious, adventurous side in Clarissa. 

Next, Richard Dalloway, Clarissa's husband. Richard is a traditional British 20th century male. He works in Parliament, has trouble expressing his feelings ("he could not bring himself to say he loved her"), and is ignorantly blissful in his marriage ("he held her hand. Happiness is this"). He gives Clarissa freedom to pursue her interests, although his conformity to British society pressures her to behave in a similar fashion. To use Peter's description of Clarissa when she was around Richard, "There was...a sort of ease in her manner to him something maternal; something gentle." These traits Peter described are often associated with passivity that "proper ladies" who conform to their gender roles should possess. Additionally, Clarissa throws parties, not for her own enjoyment, but as an "offering," in order to maintain her status as a well-respected British woman. She sews, goes to the store, and gets "an hour's complete rest after luncheon," as reminded by Richard. Richard's presence in Clarissa's life represents her attempt to uphold her femininity, as dictated by British society.

Finally, Peter Walsh, with whom Clarissa has always shared "exquisite intimacy." He is a man of many lives, "always in love the wrong woman," a world traveler, who never quite let go of his youth in Bourton. He inspires impulsivity in Clarissa ("Take me with you, Clarissa thought impulsively, as if he were starting directly upon some great voyage"), as well as doubt and uncertainty about whether she is satisfied with her life. With Peter, Clarissa questions her choice in partner, often asking herself "why did I make up  my mind - not to marry him?". They judge each other incessantly, criticizing each other's habits and guessing the other is doing so. This habit they have reflects how Clarissa often judges her own physical appearance and the decisions she has made to bring her to present day. Furthermore, the way Peter "barges" into Clarissa's life every once in a while embodies the tendency of Clarissa's musings over how her life could've been different after growing up in Bourton to flit in and out of her daily inner monologue. 

Peter and Clarissa: a Complex Duo

I am fascinated by the conversation Clarissa and Peter have after Peter returns from India. Prior to this conversation, I was unsure about Peter's relationship to Clarissa. It was clear that he played a significant role in Clarissa's life because she thought about him often. However, he seemed like a brother or bully, seeing as most of her memories of him were negative. Reading this conversation allowed me to delve into their complicated past, and it changed my perception completely.

Quickly, I realized how well Clarissa and Peter knew each other. She practically predicts when Peter would take out his pocket knife, and he correctly notices the insecurity in the way Clarissa introduces her daughter ("Here is my Elizabeth"). But there was something else, a "pressure of an emotion" shared between them. It was likely that this was the first time in a long time that the two had discussed their past in Bourton. But what made this conversation so emotional for the characters and enlightening for the reader?

Intimacy was definitely part of it. The reader learns Peter's motives behind his tactless "the perfect hostess" line: jealousy. He was in love with Clarissa and "would have done anything to hurt her after seeing her with Dalloway." Similarly, Clarissa asks herself, "why did I make up my mind - not to marry him?" When Peter breaks the news that he is in love with a woman he met in India, a "curious ironical sweetness" arises as Peter "placed [the woman] in this ridiculous way before Clarissa." As if this newfound love interest could never compare to the intimacy that Clarissa and Peter had shared. Nevertheless, something changes between the pair after this declaration. As Clarissa states it, "as if he had set light to...the brisk sea-salted air of their intimacy." The grasp on their idyllic relationship was fading, and neither seemed too happy to see it go.

But it wasn't just each other that they longed for. They were nostalgic for Bourton, and everything that went along with it. Youth, for example. "For he was not old," Peter thought, "his life was not over." The realization that the past they discussed seemed so far away was clearly daunting for the pair. This was also quite literally a life-changing time period for Clarissa. She had two suitors, Peter and Richard, not to mention the woman with whom she experienced the "most exquisite moment of her whole life," Sally Seton. Questions undoubtedly crossed Clarissa's mind regarding her life at eighteen ("What if I had chosen differently? Who would I be today?"). 

Clarissa and Peter share a history. More importantly, they share nostalgia for that history. Now that they have revealed this nostalgia to each other, I am most curious as to how this will affect the rest of the novel. Will they think of Bourton differently after this interaction? Could seeing each other again after such a long time serve as closure, or provoke more memories to flood their everyday existences?

The conversation ends abruptly, just as Peter attempted to ask Clarissa, "Are you happy?" What a clever way to end this enlightening scene, but so frustrating! Is Clarissa Dalloway happy? Is Peter? Were they happier in Bourton? Would they be happier together?

Only time will tell, I suppose.