Gatsby: Stuck in the Past

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter -- to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning --

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past" (The Great Gatsby, 180).

Thus ends The Great Gatsby . . . (in your pants).

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." What I wouldn't give to be able to write sentences like that.

The most recent AP prompt asks about the "illuminating incident" of a novel. In Gatsby, it's difficult for me to choose just one illuminating moment, because there are tons of them. You've got the fact that Gatsby is a bootlegger, the death of Myrtle Wilson, the revelation that every single freaking thing that Gatsby does is for Daisy, the moment when Gatsby decides to take the blame for Myrtle's death, and of course, the twin deaths of Gatsby and Wilson. But I'm going to choose just one, and it's going to be . . . wait for it . . .

Gatsby's death. Shocking, I know.

We can't repeat the past. I think that's the major theme of the novel, and Gatsby never gets the hang of that idea. For Gatsby, his passion -- his entire life -- is for that green light, for Daisy Buchanan. But that passion destroys his entire life. Wilson believes (with a little help from the lovely Tom Buchanan) that Gatsby both had an affair with Myrtle AND ran over her with his car. The big irony here is that Gatsby actually didn't do either of those things, but he's dead anyway. And Wilson, too. And also Myrtle.

I want to say more, but everything I say pales in comparison to what Fitzgerald says. That last chapter in which nobody showed up to Gatsby's funeral seriously got to me. Anyway, here's a creepy picture of the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg:

Gatsby: Always Watching

"'I spoke to her,' he muttered, after a long silence. 'I told her she might fool me but she couldn't fool God. I took her to the window' -- with an effort he got up and walked to the rear window and leaned with his face pressed against it -- 'and I said "God knows what you've been doing, everything you've been doing. You may fool me, but you can't fool God!"'

Standing behind him, Michaelis saw with a shock that he was looking at the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, which had just emerged, pale and enormous, from the dissolving night.

'God sees everything,' repeated Wilson" (The Great Gatsby, 159-160).

Honest to God, this part made me tear up almost as much as the last few pages of the book. In my humble opinion, Wilson is the most sympathetic character in the whole novel. Poor guy.

Back at the beginning of chapter two, I knew that the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg would be an important symbol. After I read page 23, I wrote in my notebook, "symbolic of being observed constantly?"

At this point, we know that the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg stand for God. These huge eyes witness some of the most crucial points within the story, including the death of Myrtle Wilson. These huge eyes watch the characters engage in adulterous affairs with one another. But all those eyes can do is watch -- they don't step in and interfere with the characters' free will. They're just watching -- always watching.

Reminds me of a certain character from Monsters Inc. Ah, yes:

Gatsby: A Feel-Good Story

"'Wreck!' said Tom. 'That's good. Wilson'll have a little business at last'" (The Great Gatsby, 137).

It's one of those books that gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling once you've finished. Okay, maybe not.

But there's plenty of humor! I'm into dark humor that makes me laugh and writhe around simultaneously, and this quote is an excellent example of what I like to read. Wilson's wife has just been hit by a car, but all that Tom knows is that there's a crowd of people and cars around his gas station. Here, Fitzgerald achieves dark humor through dramatic irony. The audience knows that Myrtle has died, and Tom has no idea that he has just said one of the most insensitive things that could have come out of his mouth.

But that's certainly not the only time I got the giggles! I particularly enjoy when Nick realizes, "'No . . . I just remembered that today's my birthday'" (135). At first, it seems like a juxtaposition of a celebratory event with the catastrophic events of the day. So I laughed when I read that part. But once Nick starts to follow up on his birthday comment, I start to realize that to him, turning thirty just adds to the list of catastrophic events. He has a little mid-life crisis: "Thirty -- the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair" (135). At that point, it isn't really all that funny anymore -- it just ends up being really sad.

Gatsby: New York, New York

"Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life" (The Great Gatsby, 176).

Earlier, I briefly described West Egg and East Egg as foil settings. But there's another pair of settings that I also think is noteworthy: the "West" (referring to the Midwest) and the "East" (referring to New York).

The East is a place of opportunity. Gatsby's father mentions that "'Jimmy always liked it better down East. He rose up to his position in the East'" (168). The East is also where Nick goes to learn the bond business. For the novel's main characters, the East is a destination, a place where anything can happen. One of the greatest songs ever:

The West is a place of memories (specifically for Nick, Daisy, and Gatsby). Nick recalls blissfully "the thrilling returning trains of [his] youth" (176). The West is where Daisy and Gatbsy fell in love for the first time. For the novel's main characters, the West is a place of the past.

The quote at the beginning of my post refers to a "deficiency" that Tom, Gatsby, Daisy, Jordan, and Nick have in common. I believe that deficiency is their tendency to cling to the past, a tendency that pretty much everyone in the world shares. The novel's main conflict, the love between Gatsby and Daisy, is based completely on the past. A primary theme in the novel is that everyone tends to hold on to their past, and in the novel, the West seems to stand for the past.

Gatsby: Money, Money, Money

"'She's got an indiscreet voice,' I remarked. 'It's full of --' I hesitated.

'Her voice is full of money,' he said suddenly" (The Great Gatsby, 120).

That's definitely one of my favorite lines of the novel: "her voice is full of money."

Matthew commented on one of my earlier posts to suggest that The Great Gatsby satirizes the attitudes of the wealthy. To some extent, I think that's true. The mentality and behavior of the wealthy characters in the novel are certainly . . . strange. Take the above quote. We know that Gatsby stole Daisy's heart under false pretenses -- he pretended to be someone he wasn't -- but why was Gatsby so attracted to Daisy? I don't think we can attribute their relationship entirely to money, but I can't help but think that if Daisy weren't so rich, Gatsby wouldn't have gone for her.

Gatsby places high value on wealth. "To young Gatz, resting on his oars and looking up at the railed deck, that yacht represented all the beauty and glamour in the world" (100). And Gatsby isn't alone -- Daisy, Tom, Jordan, Wolfsheim, and many other minor characters center their lives around money. Nick's tone throughout the story is occasionally sarcastic, and in general, he's critical of the rich mentality. "I disapproved of him [Gatsby] from beginning to end" (154). I agree with Matthew; to a certain extent, this novel is satirical, and the author wants to steer us away from the mentality of the wealthy.

Gatsby: Cute or Creepy?

"'They're such beautiful shirts,' she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. 'It makes me sad because I've never seen such -- such beautiful shirts before'" (The Great Gatsby, 92).

Haha, what? This whole reunification scene in chapter five is very interesting. Hmm, maybe "awkward" is a better word.

First of all, Gatsby acts like a teenager when he has Jordan and Nick set him up with Daisy without actually talking to her. Then, after Nick says he will arrange a meeting between Gatsby and Daisy, Gatsby responds by offering Nick a job. Then, the day of the meeting, Gatsby gets stage fright, and when Nick walks into his house bringing Daisy, Gatsby had fled the living room. And then he decides to make it even more awkward by knowing offhand that they hadn't seen each other for "five years next November" (87). Poor Nick has to give him a pep talk!

Then, after about half an hour, Nick returns to the living room to see Daisy's face "smeared in tears" and Gatsby "glowing" with joy (89). "After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence" (91-2). They get absorbed in each other's materialism when Daisy cries over his nice shirts and then adores his yacht. Perhaps the most entertaining part is when Nick becomes their chaperon. "I tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone" (94).

As I finish the first half of the novel, I'm not quite sure where this relationship is going to head. It has weird foundations in mutual wealth and materialism, and they remember each other fondly from a brief meeting five years ago. I mean, in my mind, there's no way this is going to turn out well for either one of them.

Speaking of Gatsby's deepest secrets, here's an xkcd picture I like. I think I used it for Never Let Me Go, but it really fits the wealthy characters in this novel, too. Behind Gatsby's countenance is his crazy longing for Daisy Buchanan. I like him -- he seems more modest and casual than the other wealthy characters, but his obsession with Daisy is a little creepy, and there's no doubt that he's materialistic, as well.

Gatsby: Some Help from Google

". . . I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.

'Beauty and the Best . . . Loneliness . . . Old Grocery Horse . . . Brook'n Bridge . . .'" (The Great Gatsby, 38).

Fitzgerald adds quite a few allusions that gracefully place this novel in the Jazz Age. There are references to powerful figures like Morgan and Rockefeller. In Tom's apartment, copies of Town Tattle are on the table at a time when tabloids were becoming very popular (29). The orchestra at Gatsby's mansion plays a song called Jazz History of the World (49). My "things I learned in APUSH" label is slowly but surely climbing up my list of labels.

But what the crap is this at the end of chapter two? Is it even an allusion? I realize that at this point, Nick is completely wasted.  He says that this was the second and final time he ever got drunk, which I think just makes his character more sympathetic (29). But I'd still like to know what he's talking about here. Ready? I'm going to google this quote and see what comes up; hopefully, I can find enough information to do my blog justice.

Oh, I see -- most people seem to think that Nick put Mr. McKee to bed, and the "great portfolio" has pictures in it. Likely, the titles of the pictures are "Beauty and the Beast," "Loneliness," "Old Grocery Horse," and "Brook'n Bridge." That's not very exciting, and if they're allusions, I don't get them. "Brook'n Bridge" kind of sounds like "broken bridge," which could refer to Myrtle's nose.

Gatsby: The Green Light

"Involuntarily I glanced seaward -- and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far way, that might have been the end of a dock" (The Great Gatsby, 21).

After Nick's comically horrible dinner party in East Egg, he sees Mr. Gatsby alone outside of his mansion stretching his arms out toward the water and trembling. All that Nick sees is a green light across the water, which I decided must be a symbol for something! For Gatsby, the green light represented something for which he was hoping, searching, and yearning. Or, you know, someone.

Chapter four presents Jordan Baker's little frame story that unites all of Nick's previous anecdotes. Jordan tells Nick, "Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first time in years" (77). That was back in the dinner party from chapter one when Jordan brought up the name Gatsby, someone she knew from West Egg. Jordan also tells Nick, "Then he [Gatsby] began asking people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found" (79). That was back in chapter three when Gatsby secretly spoke to Jordan, leaving Nick alone to observe Gatsby's inebriated guests.

Jay Gatsby and Daisy Fay shared a brief special connection in the past but then went their separate ways. When they reunite in chapter five, Mr. Gatsby tells Daisy, "'You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock'" (92). Nick eloquently notes, "His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one" (93). Even though years passed, Gatsby has maintained his (slightly creepy) wonder and appreciation for Daisy Buchanan.

I think this is an important theme in the novel about the obsession of the determined heart of man. "No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart" (96).

Gatsby: Introducing the Rich People

"I lived at West Egg, the -- well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them" (The Great Gatsby, 5).

The two dueling settings in The Great Gatsby are East Egg and West Egg. From how Nick describes the two locations, I've decided that East Egg is more fashionable, condescending, lazy, and rich. Let's talk about the Tom and Daisy Buchanan, whom Nick visits in East Egg.

Tom Buchanan is "enormous," "supercilious," "wealthy," and a college football player (5-7). Nick hilariously calls him "one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anticlimax" (6). Oh, and he's having an affair with some materialistic married girl named Myrtle.

If I had to choose one word to describe Daisy Buchanan, it would be "insecure." When her daughter was born, Daisy said, "'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool'" (17). That insecurity of hers is clarified quite a bit in chapter four when Jordan tells Nick about the night before Daisy's wedding: "'Tell 'em all Daisy's change' her mine. Say: "Daisy's change' her mine!"'" (76). Her relationship with Tom is very weak, but she really hits it off with Mr. Gatsby.

I've got to finish off with a few more ironies I enjoyed. Tom says, "'Don't believe everything you hear, Nick'" shortly before his wife says, "'We heard it from three people, so it must be true'" (19). I also liked Tom's racist comment that "'we've produced all the things that go to make civilization'" as he lazily enjoys a luxurious meal in a lavish house in a fashionable area, none of which he actually worked for himself (13).

Gatsby: Introducing Nick Carraway

"'Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,' he [my father] told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had'" (The Great Gatsby, 1).

I haven't quite decided whether I should endow Nick Carraway or Mr. Jay Gatsby with the title of "protagonist" quite yet, but Nick is certainly the narrator. This quote from his father -- the idea that "a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth" -- is central to Nick's character. Although the vastly wealthy people around Nick don't behave very respectably, our narrator reserves judgment, which opens him up to the deep secrets of other characters like Mr. Gatsby.

I really like Nick's character, partly due to his modesty. Around his wealthy acquaintances, Nick admits, "'You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy.'" Calling himself uncivilized among a house full of extremely hypocritical, racist, materialistic, and impulsive characters (more on that in my next post) is modest, in addition to being ironic. I'm very fond of Nick's voice; his sarcasm is very witty and thoughtful, and it goes way over the heads of the Buchanans. "'Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?' 'That's why I came over to-night'" (13).

One of Nick's iffy spots would probably be his incredulity. "He [Gatsby] looked at me sideways -- and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he was lying" (65). At one point, he was so disbelieving that he had to restrain laughter at Gatsby's story. But everything becomes true to Nick when he sees physical proof: Gatsby's war medal and picture from Oxford. In my opinion, even his skepticism is likable -- in Nick's defense, he's around a bunch of secretive wealthy people, so being suspicious is no crime.

Fun fact: this Christmas, while Leonardo DiCaprio will be portraying Mr. Gatsby, Tobey Maguire will be taking the role Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby! Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

Sympathy and Fire

"Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man's death is needed to consummate the series of my being, and accomplish that which must be done; but it requires my own" (Frankenstein, 165-66).

Even though the creature brings about quite a few deaths, I still feel sympathy for him ("No sympathy may I ever find," he says on page 164). He wants "pardon" from Frankenstein who is, of course, dead because of his own creation, and he points out that "[his] agony was superior to [Victor's]" (166). I think it's fair to say that the creature is a sympathetic character torn apart by mankind, "wrenched by misery to vice and hatred" (164). I just wanted to present my case for the creature as a sympathetic character. He definitely seems hypocritical when he comes back for pardon; however, I really think that a quarter of the novel was dedicated to the creature's story so that we could see his thought process and realize that he's not intrinsically evil.

Speaking of the creature's thought process, I'm going to revive chapter eleven where the creature begins to explain his learning curve:

"One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain" (72).

This scene was brought to mind as I read about the creature's plan to kill himself -- to "consume to ashes this miserable frame," to set himself on fire (166). The creature says that his sorrow only increases with knowledge. It makes complete sense to me, then, that the creature's last action should contradict one of the first pieces of knowledge he acquires. Once the creature ignores the knowledge he has required by subjecting himself to fire, his sorrow will dissipate, and he will finally find rest.

I Can't Believe it's Not Butter

"I like to use 'I Can't Believe it's Not Butter' on my toast in the morning, because sometimes when I eat breakfast, I like to be incredulous" (Demitri Martin).

Wait, does my quote have to be from the novel?

"He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given to a tale of spirits and supernatural events" (Frankenstein, 148).

This moment in the novel is significant because it's the first time Victor relates his story to anyone. He intended to tell Elizabeth, but that didn't really work out for him, so this is when we get to see what people actually think of his story.

Back during Justine's trial, Victor worried that he would "proclaim [himself] a madman" if he related his story (60). The magistrate actually doesn't take Victor to be crazy -- and if he does, he understates the matter, because he just calls Victor "mistaken" (148). The magistrate listens to the story as if it's half true and half fictional, and almost like it's a fairy tale. Victor responds in a very manly ways by calling the magistrate "ignorant" and running away angrily (149).

I think this interchange puts a whole new meaning on cleaning -- I mean, a whole new meaning on isolation. Both Victor and the creature experience extreme loneliness and rejection over the course of the novel. Here, Victor expresses his story to a magistrate who has the power to search for the creature, but the magistrate decides not to put his whole force behind Victor because he can't believe it's not butter. In other words, the magistrate doesn't really believe Victor, so Victor feels even more isolated, and the only person he really has left is Ernest, and he's, like, not even a real character.

Double Facepalm

"In the mean time I took every precaution to defend my person, in case the fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger constantly about me, and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice; and by these means gained a greater degree of tranquility" (Frankenstein, 142).

But that tranquility was short lived, wasn't it?

Victor reflects upon the creature's haunting words, "I shall be with you on your wedding-night." And now that I see the quote right in front of my face, I realize I could have included it with my foreshadowing examples, but this example doesn't take much analysis to discover.

He believes that the creature will kill him, which he is surprisingly okay with -- "the prospect did not move me to fear" (123). Maybe it's not all that surprising if we consider Victor's wretched life. But he really worries about how Elizabeth would react, so he takes some precautions to make sure she'll be physically and emotionally safe. On Victor's wedding night, "I earnestly intreated her to retire," and he looked around for the creature. He wasn't anywhere to be found until the "shrill and dreadful scream" (144).

My small group decided today that this was an instance of situational irony. Victor expects the creature to murder him, and he expects that telling Elizabeth to leave him will help her, but in reality, the creature ends up going straight for Elizabeth. The creature doesn't want to injure or kill Victor; he wants to wound him emotionally, because that's where Victor is most vulnerable. (I predicted this last week, right? It might have been obvious, but I'm still going to glorify myself for that one!)

Can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is?

"Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart, overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates" (Frankenstein, 114).

Monday night, I read about how Clerval's presence in England affects Victor. Perhaps Frankenstein would rather be alone in England, but Henry could act as a shield "between [Victor] and the intrusion of [his] foe," which is always handy (111). Also, compared to Victor's gloominess, Henry is always "joyful," and Victor appreciates his "devoted and wondrous friendship" (113). So when I first read the quote above, I was confused why Victor felt sorrowful and didn't realize until later that it was foreshadowing!

Sure enough, Victor finds Clerval "strangled" by the creature, just like William was strangled (128).

Wait, I have one more! "Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling of happiness," says Victor right after his wedding (142). Since the audience know that Victor survives and ends up on Walton's ship, we know that he can't be referring to his future death; the one that would make the most sense would be Elizabeth's death. And looking ahead two pages, "She was there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down, and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair" (144).

These instances of foreshadowing in the novel build suspense, and they help the reader realize that even though what happened to Victor in the past was horrible, he's still got a ton of crap to go through later on.

Nature vs. Nurture

"Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property" (Frankenstein, 85).

Thematic blog!

I already mentioned last week that the creature believes he is good by nature and evil by nurture. Chapters thirteen and fifteen deal with a lot of that nurture, and I think the creature makes a convincing argument.

The quote above is vital to understanding the creature's characterization. His countenance is nothing to brag about, but he reveals more here about what's going on internally. From everything Felix teaches Safie, the creature learns that men value "high and unsullied descent united with riches" (85), and that assessment doesn't make me proud to be a man. The creature has nothing that humans value -- no good looks, no powerful family, no vast wealth, and accordingly, no friends. Later, the creature attributes his behavior to his rejection and isolation, and unlike some of my classmates (Maximilian Browning), I feel sorry for him.

Later, the creature learns about "death and suicide" from Sorrows of Werter, "ancient republics" from Lives, and "Adam" and "Satan" from Paradise Lost (91-92). He notes that "sorrows only increased with knowledge" (85), which seems like an important theme of the novel. Also increasing with knowledge was the creature's nefariousness; William and Justine become his first victims, and he blames his actions on what he learned from mankind (103).

I don't necessarily believe that the creature can justify his actions -- I don't care how "nurtured" he was. No amount of ugliness and loneliness can justify murdering a handful of people. However, I do believe that the creature makes an interesting comment on the history of mankind. If we really value goodness and benevolence, our history certainly does a horrible job of living up to those values.

Predictions: The Second Half of Frankenstein (in your pants)

"'If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends'" (Frankenstein, 68).

No amount of humor or eloquence can abolish my opinion that this creature is evil. I'm not blaming it on him, but you can't expect to say the phrase "satiated with the blood of your remaining friends" and evoke any pity.

Traditionally*, I make predictions at the halfway point of a novel and then see how did after I finish the entire story. There's analysis to back up most of these predictions! I'm basing these mostly on the fact that I think the creature has very human qualities (sympathy, humor, eloquence, etc.) but somehow definitely winds up evil. Let's go!

• The creature murdered William; somehow, he acquired the knowledge that some of Victor's friends are dead, and he was totally at the crime scene a few weeks later.
• Victor will not be open to the creature's story; there's this natural revulsion that Victor feels toward the creature, and I don't think anything will sway him to feel bad for the creature.
• The creature will kill Elizabeth; my only real support for this prediction is that if Elizabeth dies, Victor will be twenty times the hot mess he is now, and that would make for a great plot twist.
• The creature's intelligence will surpass that of Frankenstein (if it hasn't already); we need some sort of explanation for why the creature ends up being pulled by dogs to the North Pole, and his working vocabulary is already massive.

*Traditionally: I did it for Brave New World (in your pants) and Never Let Me Go (from your pants).

I ought to be thy Adam!

"My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed -- 'Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in  your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the joys of life.'

As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance, advancing towards me with superhuman speed" (Frankenstein, 67-8).

The timing here is just hysterical.

This quote goes along with the idea of destiny throughout the story. No matter how much Victor tries to escape, fate has a monopoly on his life. I noticed this earlier when Victor temporarily abandons his scientific studies -- he says, "Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction" (23). Now, in chapter ten, Frankenstein might as well say, "Fates, if you really hate me this much, take away my happiness right . . . now!" So they did.

Victor believes that his only destiny is to be unhappy, which makes perfect sense considering the hell he's been through. He puts down the science books for a while, he returns to his family in Geneva, and he takes a little trip through the mountains after Justine's death, but his only happiness is ever temporary. We discussed in class how "nature vs. nurture" applies to the creature, that Victor believes the creature is evil by nature but the creature believes he is evil by nurture. I think we can apply the same idea to Victor. His natural qualities of curiosity and work ethic help elicit his "remorse" and "guilt" by this point in the story (61). Frankenstein presents a theme that I don't necessarily agree with, that destiny is unavoidable.

By the by, I haven't quite decided if the creature's eloquent rhetoric is a reversal of expectations or not. Perhaps there's no situational irony. Before Victor agrees to hear the creature's story, he calls him "vile insect," "abhorred monster," and "wretched devil" (68), but he has yet to say something like, "Hast thou seriously acquired thine mastery of language from the likes of three destitute neighbors? And as thou knowest all by means of observation, whence did you learn how to pee?" (Thanks to Louise for that thought-provoking notion.)

Remorse, Horror, Despair, and Serial Commas

"'I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my misfortune; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin'" (Frankenstein, 59).

As if I'm not already queasy at the notion of the deaths of two innocent characters, this quote hits me right in the groin. Metaphorically. Also, it's an example of dramatic irony.

In her letter to Victor, Elizabeth describes Justine's character as "clever" and "gentle" (42). In her testimony during the trial, Elizabeth describes her further as "amiable and benevolent" (56). Justine is so good natured and innocent that her ironic quote above kindles ghastly anguish in Victor.

Victor feels partly -- scratch that, entirely -- responsible for the deaths of William and Justine. He knows that "the filthy daemon to whom [he] had given life," not Justine, is William's murderer (50). Only he and the audience have this information; Justine merely knows that she is innocent and will never know that Victor's creature is guilty.

Therefore, when she expresses her gratitude toward Victor (who believes wholeheartedly in Justine's innocence), from her perspective, it's just another example of her benevolence. However, Victor and the audience know that the only reason he knows of Justine's innocence is that Victor knows his own creation murdered William. The discrepancy between Justine's perception and Victor's reality invigorates the "remorse, horror, and despair" he feels. (See how Victor uses the serial comma? Good man.)

Also, William and Justine are "the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts" (60)? "Good God," indeed.

Miscontextualizing Quotes

"Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose -- a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye" (Frankenstein, 2).

Bear with me in this post! Ideally, I'm making a good point.

I feel that this is the kind of quote that can get someone into trouble. Lots of people like to yank a quote out of a book and put it on their refrigerators and Tweet it and whatnot, even when the quote is at odds with the real thematic message of the novel -- here's an example of what I mean:

"The line is, 'What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?' Which I'll admit I did write in this book, but as anyone who's read it knows, I was kidding. That's something Colin Singleton, the main character in the book who's kind of a child prodigy, says at the beginning of the book, and he must spend the entire book learning it's bull" (John Green on people Tweeting and miscontextualizing a quote from his novel An Abundance of Katherines). Full video:

(By the way, if anyone wants to find and buy Holden Caulfield's hat for me, I wouldn't mind at all.)

Back to Frankenstein. Initially, I read that quote about having a "steady purpose" at the beginning of the novel, proceeded to salivate, and wrote it down on my note-taking guide because I thought it was a great quote. Don't get me wrong -- I still think it's a great quote if we understand what Shelley means by a "steady purpose" -- but taken out of context, it's a horrible reflection of the novel. This is what Victor says later on:

"A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquility. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule" (34).

Victor sheds a completely new light on the theme of tranquility through his anecdotal account of reanimating a corpse. Walton says that purpose tranquilizes the mind, but Victor expands on that idea by saying that too heavy a passion can actually disturb one's tranquility.

If you want to Tweet Walton's quote about having a steady purpose, by all means, go ahead. But don't blame me if you wake up to a giant creature grinning at you and reaching out to you in your bedroom.

Thus!

"I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathize with me; whose eyes would reply to mine" (Frankenstein, 4).

Aww.

Robert Walton, the author of the four letters, directly characterizes himself. He describes himself as "cool, preserving, and prudent," not humbly but rather candidly (7). That makes sense, as he's writing to his sister Margaret Saville, with whom he evidently has a healthy and trusting relationship. However, Walton's problem is that beyond his sister in London, he has no true friends; in the above quote, he directly characterizes himself as lonely by saying he desires "the company of a man" (4). He is also passionate and strong in will; "success shall crown my endeavors" (7).

What do you know? This exhausted European guy (almost reluctantly) comes aboard Walton's ship and reveals he has the same loneliness and the same passion as Walton. Actually, their characters coalesce perfectly. Walton calls the stranger -- let's call him, say, Victor -- "the brother of my heart" (11). He finds a friend, signalling that no matter how isolated someone may feel, he should never abandon the idea that his loneliness may be solved via a complete stranger who comes aboard his ship and feel just as isolated as he does. Metaphorically, of course.

Then, at the end of the fourth letter, Walton commences the frame story structure of the novel. Walton resolves to record "what he has related during the day," so the story shifts from Walton's point of view to Victor's point of view. We can infer that Victor's tale will be one of caution: "I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale; one that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking, and console you in case of failure" (13).

Death of a Salesman In Your Pants (gross)

"First time in thirty-five years we were just about free and clear. He only needed a little salary. He was even finished with the dentist" (Death of a Salesman, 1629).

I didn't know you could use the word "requiem" in this kind of context. It makes me think of that "Pie Jesu" song that everybody sings everywhere all the time if you're Catholic. I think of a "requiem" as a song for the dead, so it's a cool way to title the little epilogue.

The principle irony I found in the Requiem was that Laura paid off the house right around the same time that Willy died. Had he not committed suicide, their monthly payments would have decreased, and he would not have needed to provide as much money as before. Seriously -- way to choose an optimal time to die, Willy.

And then we have Biff and Happy still arguing over their father's grave. Biff says, "[Willy] had all the wrong dreams," while Happy argues, "He had a good dream. It's the only dream you can have -- to come out number-one man. He fought it out here and this is where I'm gonna win it for him" (1629-30). Biff's attitude is pretty harsh -- especially when they're talking in front of Willy's tombstone. However, Biff seems to have a better understanding of Willy's unrealistic ideals than Happy does. This indicates to me that Biff is a more dynamic character than Happy -- Biff catches on to the idea that perhaps the Lomans are not meant to be salesman after all.

The Volume of a Region Rotated About an Axis

"Tell you a secret, boys. Don't breathe it to a soul. Someday I'll have my own business, and I'll never have to leave home any more" (Death of a Salesman, 1559).

Coughdramaticironycough.

Do I think that Willy is a tragic hero?  My first thought is that no, I don't think that Willy exemplifies any of the characteristics of dramatic heroes.  In fact, his flaws are so easy to point out that it makes me feel really sorry for him -- so I'll start there.

In our small group discussion, some people said that Willy's tragic flaw was his idealism, and others said it was his pride.  I say, why can't it be a combination?  My quote for this blog post is a good example of his extreme idealism -- idealism that never actually pulls through in the end.  But it comes right after an interesting conversation Willy was having with young Biff -- "If somebody else took that ball there'd be an uproar," says Willy (1558).  Later he says, "You take me, for instance.  I never have to wait in line to see a buyer" (1561).  Aside from the fact that that's probably a complete lie, Willy is extremely cocky.  So prideful and idealistic that he ends up nowhere -- a sense of realism and humility (like that of Charley's*) would have brought him a better life, arguably.

As I said, it's easy to find Willy's flaws -- he cheats on Laura, encourages Biff's stealing, and has a horrible sales record.  Perhaps the reason that I feel sorry for him is an indication that he may have some heroic qualities after all.  His stuck-in-the-past-ness that he shares with Amanda in The Glass Menagerie is certainly a sympathetic character trait.  Though he's not realistic or truthful, Willy cares about his family and wants to see Biff and Happy become successful adults.  That's a major factor that pushes him to commit suicide at the end of the play.  Laura, Biff, and Happy acquired insurance money to pay off bills and start business.  The suicide was extremely unfortunate, of course, but we can't say that it lacked nobility.

*Side note: One of the primary things (that's right, I said "things") I got from this play was from the childhood clash between Biff and Bernard.  I think Death of a Salesman is a cautionary tale for those people who don't take math seriously.

And it turns out that I accidentally slept with a prostitute last night.

"Gee, on the way home tonight I'd like to buy some seeds" (Death of a Salesman, 1585).

Throughout Willy's life, he tries to find his place and leave his mark, but his promises are typically empty.  Willy told Biff and Happy that he would "have [his] own business" and would "show [them] all the towns" at some point, but that never actually happened (1559).  Willy always thought that the key to success was to be liked -- "be liked and you will never want" (1561). However, whatever idealism Willy displays, his neighbor Charlie outperforms him.  Charley encourages his son Bernard to study in school, talks less, sells more, and is somehow better liked than Willy (1563).  In a way, the two families are foils; we've got Willy versus Charlie and Biff versus Bernard.  Willy's optimism is nothing, for he has found no success in being a salesman.

Once Willy has his mind set on committing suicide, his mind returns instantly to the promise he made Laura (quoted at the top of the page).  He tells his waiter Stanley, "Oh, I'd better hurry. I've got to get some seeds" (1619).  Then, on the night of his death, he plants a garden and has hallucinations about discussing his suicide with his brother Ben.

Before I continue to analyze the significance of the garden, I'd like to point out that this is really sad.  Willy found so little success in his life that all he feels he can contribute is a hastily organized garden that most likely won't even last.  Simultaneously, his own sons abandoned him to hook up with call girls, and the only person he can talk to as he plants is his brother Ben, who is dead.  And it's not even like they slept with the prostitutes on accident (I'm looking at you, Sam Seaborn).  That's sad.

I would say that the garden is an important motif in Miller's play.  The garden represents the Willy's failure to meet any of his goals in life -- his sons have hazy futures, he was fired from his position, and despite his most idealistic dreams, he is not well liked among his customers.

Another Important Theme

"Gosh! Everybody excels in some one thing. Some in many! . . . All you've got to do is discover in what!" (The Glass Menagerie, 1280).

Maybe it's a little cliche, but it's worth noting.

Arguably, the themes we discussed at the beginning of this unit -- realism, family relationships, and memory -- are the most important within the play. However, I really latched on to this little speech that Jim gave Laura about her inferiority complex. Literally, Laura didn't say a word in the entire play after she gave Jim the broken glass unicorn, so I can't be absolutely certain that she received his message; nonetheless, it's a valid and relevant one.

All three Wingfields are somehow trapped. Amanda is stuck in the past, Laura is restricted by her extraordinary shyness, and Tom lacks the adventure he desires. As an audience, we know that Tom moved on when he left St. Louis. Amanda probably didn't move on -- she couldn't get over the fact that Jim was engaged. Laura may or may not have received the message.

The message is this: if we fail to determine and dedicate ourselves to the areas in which we excel, we become trapped and, if you will, fragile, like glass. Jim delivered this speech with a special focus on Laura who he says has an "inferiority complex" (and that seems like a reasonable judgment). If Laura doesn't gain some confidence and offer herself to the world, she'll continue to be trapped at home with her glass menagerie. But the message, as I said before, applies to all three trapped Wingfields. My eloquence is waning and doesn't compare to Jim's, so I'm going to stop now.

Let's talk about Tom!

"But I'm not patient. I don't want to wait till then. I'm tired of the movies and I am about to move!" (The Glass Menagerie, 1268).

No, not that Tom.

Surprisingly, not that Tom, either. However, this may be a good opportunity to expose this secret thought of mine that I've had for the past two years -- am I the only one who thinks that Thomas Jefferson looks like Mrs. Bohn? Either I'm crazy or she should seriously look at her ancestry.

One of the questions in the book asks, "What qualities possessed by Tom, and by him alone, make him the proper narrator of the play?"

Tom seems to be the most round character in the play -- temperamental, poetic, friendly, trapped -- so I think he has the most interesting perspective. Only he could have delivered the final few lines of the play because he was the one who felt bounded by St. Louis and needed to find adventure.

An obvious answer the question is that Tom is a poet. He barely focuses on his day job and instead writes poetry; Jim calls him "Shakespeare." The ideal narrator of a play should have the poetic eloquence that Tom has.

Finally, the character list says that Tom is "not remorseless, but to escape from a trap he has to act without pity" (1234567 -- sorry, I got carried away -- 1234). Perhaps Williams wanted to have a narrator who connects with the others characters the least, and Tom fits that description well. That way, we see the characters from a relatively impartial lens instead of, say, Amanda's lens that would be very protective of Laura and critical of Tom.

Realism, Family Relationships, and Memory

"The scene is memory and is therefore nonrealistic. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart" (The Glass Menagerie, 1235).

In my first blog entry for this play, I'll comment on realism versus nonrealism, complex family relationships, and memories -- I came up with these three themes on my own, of course.

The quote above explicitly declares that this play -- or at least the first scene -- is memory, so it's also nonrealistic. I agree that there are many nonrealistic aspects of the play that derive from the fact that the audience is essentially viewing Tom's memory as if it's a video camera.

I noticed quite a few cues for music during the play, which is nonrealistic and very effective. "The Glass Menagerie" plays first when Laura doubts she will receive gentlemen callers, again when Tom hurls his coat at Laura's glass collection, and yet again when Tom and Amanda discuss Laura's future. It becomes a sort of theme song for Laura that connects events that revolve around her and the problems she faces as an extremely shy girl. Also, "Ave Maria" plays when Amanda is giving Tom the silent treatment, which is weird. Maybe it's supposed to parallel Tom's belated apology to her, but the fact remains that Williams didn't specify which "Ave Maria" he wanted to be played. If I were in charge, I would obviously pick Schubert's "Ave Maria."

Moving right along, I would say that this play is actually mostly realistic. A lot of the realism derives from human conditions, including complex family relationships. Amanda and Tom quarrel after Amanda interrupts his "creative labor" (1246). Tom goes to the movies because his own life lacks "adventure" (1252). Tom acts like his father throughout the play, to his mother's dismay -- genetics is realism, right? This kind of stuff occurs in normal, day-to-day life.

Concluding As You Like It . . . in your pants

"JAQ. Rosalind is your love's name?
ORL. Yes, just.
JAQ. I do not like her name.
ORL. There was no thought of pleasing your when she was christened" (As You Like It, III.ii.42).

I finished reading this play on Valentine's Day. Appropriate, no?

I'm trying to find an excuse to blog about this one part where Jaques and Orlando have a conversation with each other. So, I'll say this very astutely -- I think there are some important thematic ideas in Act III, Scene ii.

First of all, I would like to have a Jaques or an Orlando in my life, please. They were so quick and sarcastic when they were arguing about love -- so it's funny and serious simultaneously. I was hoping that they would fall in love by the end of the play, but unfortunately, Orlando ended up with the cross-dresser.

Jaques disapproves of Orlando's love -- he even says that it's Orlando's "worst fault." Orlando defends himself, "'T is a fault I will not change for your best virtue." Who's right, here: Monsiuer Melancholy or Signior Love? I would say that this scene highlights the complexity of love; to some, it's a horrible fault, and to others, it's a great virtue. That's a theme, right? Love is complex -- some believe that love is a fault while other believe that love is a virtue.

Jaques is probably so melancholy because HIS love (Orlando) is feverishly searching for a girl who cross-dresses. This analysis is all rooted in the text, by the way.

On a practical level, what's up with the cross-dressing?

"I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me" (As You Like It, III.ii.45).

Let's talk about dramatic suspense.

At first, suspense occurs as the audience worries about the fate of Orlando with a crazy Duke and Oliver coming after him, but I'm not going to talk about that. Once we get past that, we find suspense as Rosalind forms this weird plan in her mind to . . . I'm not really sure I understood her methods throughout the play. I mean, she got what she wanted in the end, but I feel like there must have been an easier way to do it than cross-dressing.

My point is that Rosalind knows how she's going to end up with Orlando and even how she's going to get three other couples to get married by the play's end. We, as the audience, don't know what exactly is going to happen because while we get a lot of information from Rosalind, we can't read her mind like we can in some literature. There's a discrepancy between what Rosalind knows about her plan and what the audience knows about her plan, and since the audience increasingly learns more and more details of Rosalind's scheme, suspense is created.

Let me point out one more suspenseful thing, here. "Let your wedding be tomorrow" (V.ii.69). "To-morrow meet me all together" (V.ii.71). "To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married" (V.iii.72). With the repetition of the word "tomorrow" (with or without a hyphen), I got pretty excited about tomorrow. And I think that tomorrow lived up to all the hype -- the ending was very happy. A little too happy for me, maybe. The real question is . . . did Avatar live up to the hype? Man, I'm full of Parks and Rec references tonight.

Look for my new CD next month: Memories . . . of Now

"Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he" (As You Like It, I.i.5).

Sometimes in literature, we have a Harry and a Voldemort, a Luke Skywalker and an Emperor, or an Othello and an Iago. However, in As You Like It (in your pants), identifying a protagonist and antagonist is difficult and perhaps [dramatic pause] impossible. I'm going to try and see what happens.

Let's start with potential antagonists. We first have Oliver who says that quote up there about how he hates his brother Orlando for no good reason. Then, we have Duke Frederick, who unlawfully banished his brother Duke Senior and then later Duke Senior's daughter just because she is her "father's daughter" (I.iii.13). It seems to me that Duke Frederick is a tad more evil than Oliver -- he commands Oliver to bring Orlando to him "dead of living" and then threatens him with seizure of his "lands and all things" (III.i.34). The problem here is that Oliver has a quick change of heart and falls in love with Aliena/Celia, AND Duke Frederick was converted by some "old religious man" at the conclusion (V.iv.77). If I had to pinpoint an antagonist, I would say that it's Duke Frederick, although he's not a typical antagonist when he changes his ways in Act V.

I don't think I can identify a single protagonist because most of the characters are just so . . . nice and good. Forgive the four-year-old vocabulary, but it's true. Touchstone is kind of vulgar and perverted, I guess. The most central character in the play is Rosalind, perhaps, so if I have to pick someone, I guess I'll pick her. Sense my enthusiasm here.

If I, at any point, refer to Duke Senior as "Duke Silver," please forgive me. This is the fault of Parks and Rec.

Long Live Othello!

Intentionally or not, everyone forms instantaneous judgments of others based on their appearances and backgrounds.  William Shakespeare’s tragedy Othello illustrates the theme that preconceived notions such as racism may effect and advance unwarranted disdain for other individuals.  Because Shakespeare’s theme recurs in works such as J. K. Rowling’s novel Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Aaron Sorkin’s television series The West Wing, Othello is timeless and universal.

In Othello, Iago hates the general Othello from the very first scene.  The general has selected Cassio as his lieutenant whose experience on the battlefield cannot compare with that of Iago.  Additionally, Iago references a rumor that Othello has had an affair with Emilia, Iago’s wife; whether or not that rumor holds true, the antagonist intends to “do as if for surety” (I.iii.369).  Although these two central issues motivate Iago to hatch a plot against Othello, his blatant racism further invigorates his contempt for Othello.  While informing Brabantio that his daughter Desdemona has married Othello, Iago shouts, “Even now, now, very now, an old black ram / Is tupping your white ewe” (I.i.88-89).  The mischievous villain compares Othello to an animal more than once, and he casually refers to his general as “the Moor” with an insulting tone.  Of all the characters in the play, Iago displays the most potent racism.  Later, the antagonist plants a single rumor that entangles Othello and his companions: “Look to your wife.  Observe her well with Cassio” (III.iii.198).  Though not the primary reason for his hatred of Othello, Iago’s racism supplements and advances his contempt for the Moor.

As the second installment of perhaps the modern world’s most popular book series, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets tackles Shakespeare’s theme of disdain based on prejudice.  Harry’s classmate and adversary Draco Malfoy despises Gryffindor house, to which Harry, Ron, and Hermione belong.  In this novel, Malfoy flaunts Slytherin’s new broomsticks to the Gryffindor team – “‘Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team’” – and after Hermione observes the inferiority of the Slytherins’ wealth to the Gryffindors’ talent, Malfoy insults her by saying, “‘No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood’” (Rowling, 112).  Ron later clarifies, “‘Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents’” (Rowling, 115).  Malfoy enjoys a wealth of reasons to hate Hermione; she is intelligent belongs to a rival house.  His prejudice against Muggle-born wizards and witches further intensifies his contempt for her, and accordingly, Malfoy’s relationship with Hermione and her friends remains sour throughout the entire series.  Like Iago, Malfoy prematurely judges based on lineage, and his rapport with other characters suffers.

In addition to the Harry Potter series, the television drama The West Wing shares themes of racism and derision with Othello.  Partway through the first season, President Bartlet informs his daughter Zoey of derogatory letters she has received due to her relationship with Charlie Young.  Charlie is both the personal aid to the president and a young black man.  After hearing about the dangerous letters, Zoey cancels her date with Charlie at a club near which white supremacists are holding a rally (Sorkin, “The While House Pro-Am”).  Here, Charlie’s enemies find ways to manipulate his dating life with no motives beyond pure racism.  The second season follows a shooting during which President Bartlet and Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman are wounded, and the Secret Service discovers that the criminals are white supremacist teenagers.  Charlie expresses confusion as to why the teenagers would have targeted the president; Agent Butterfield responds, “The president wasn’t the target” (Sorkin, “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part II).  Young racist teenagers despise the president’s personal aid solely because of the color of his skin, and they nearly assassinate the president of the United States out of their contempt.  Shakespeare writes of the same racism that energizes Iago’s hatred of the Moor.

Othello’s theme of the consequences of prejudice applies not only to Shakespeare’s setting but also to modern cultures.  Unfortunately, discrimination like racism, a constant component of most societies, shows no signs of termination.  Other common forms of prejudice – judging someone’s clothes, hair, or speech – are even more prevalent and take place in the minds of nearly every individual on the planet.  Though everyone is subject to these snap judgments, how one responds to his immediate assessments of others defines his true character.

Works Cited

Perrine, Laurence. “Othello.” Perrine’s Literature: Structure, Sound, and Sense. Fort Worth. Harcourt College. 2002. 1361-462. Print.

Rowling, J. K. “Chapter Seven: Mudbloods and Murmurs.” Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. New York: Scholastic, 1999. Print.

Sorkin, Aaron. “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part II.” The West Wing. Dir. Thomas Schlamme. NBC. 4 Oct. 2000. Television.

Sorkin, Aaron, Lawrence O'Donnell Jr., and Paul Redford. “The White House Pro-Am.” The West Wing. Dir. Ken Olin. NBC. 22 Mar. 2000. Television.

I Hold Your Hand in Mine

"I'm sorry now I killed you, / For our love was something fine. / Until they come to get me, / I shall hold your hand in mine ("I Hold Your Hand in Mine," 13-16).

I would like to dedicate this next song, "I Hold Your Hand in Mine," to the lovely couple of the evening, Othello and Desdemona. Unfortunately, neither of them could make it tonight as they are both dead.

Who's that handsome genius? His name is Tom Lehrer, retired Harvard mathematician and satirical musician, and among his vast collection of approximately fifty songs (half of which I am more than willing to perform for anybody), he wrote a few love songs, one of which is entitled, "I Hold Your Hand in Mine."

After Othello smothered his loyal wife with a pillow because he thought she was doing the dance with no pants with Cassio, Emilia belatedly informed Othello that everything Iago told Othello about Desdemona and Cassio was a huge lie. Out of love for his deceased wife, Othello stabbed himself in the chest, lay next to Desdemona, kissed her, and breathed his last. Lehrer's love song amazingly parallels the events and themes within the final scene of Othello, although his version is marginally more morbid:

In this number, Tom Lehrer presents his cynical view that what we call "love" may be on the cusp of insanity (or well beyond that point). As the speaker within "I Hold Your Hand in Mine" kissed his dead lover's hand after he killed her, so too did Othello kiss Desdemona after he killed her. Shakespeare teaches that the human defects of jealousy and assumptions can get in the way of true love, and Lehrer teaches that other human defects -- mental instability, for instance -- are obstacles to true love.

A final important similarity is that even after the deaths of their lovers, both Othello and the speaker in "I Hold Your Hand in Mine" still love their partners (or at least claim that they do).

These Women

"DESDEMONA. I have heard it said so. Oh, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think -- tell me, Emilia --
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?
EMILIA. There be some such, no question.
DESDEMONA. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
EMILIA. Why, would you not?
DESDEMONA. No, by this heavenly light!
EMILIA. Nor I neither by this heavenly light.
I might do 't as well i' the dark" (Othello, IV.iii.58-65).

Let's talk about the relationship between these two characters.  They've definitely developed a close friendship that they can be as open to each other with this, but they also illustrate themselves as foil characters.   I know this because Mr. Costello said so on the last test we took.  I think the handkerchief incident reflects this well.  Desdemona accidentally dropped the handkerchief when she was helping Othello out of loyalty to him -- Emilia stole the handkerchief out of loyalty to Iago, not to Othello.

It took me a few rereads to realize that Emilia is essentially admitting in Act IV, Scene iii that she's (at the very least) open to the idea of cheating on Iago.  While it seems unlikely that she would do so with Othello -- a gullible but honorable man -- it doesn't seem like there would be anything holding her back from doing so.  Maybe Iago has some grounds when he is suspicious of Emilia; whether or not he has grounds to hate Othello to the extent that he does is debatable.

However, Emilia makes a good point later on: "I do think it is their husbands' faults / If wives do fall" (IV.iii.82-3).  Maybe that's not always the case, but I'm going to put myself in Emilia's shoes.  I'll be the first to admit that I love Iago's character, but if I were married to him, the idea of cheating on him would seem appealing.

So, getting back to the topic of foil characters, this dialogue between Emilia and Desdemona reveals another crucial difference in their characters.  Desdemona would never be disloyal to Othello, but Emilia would "venture Purgatory" to abuse her relationship with Iago.

Also, "these men, these men!" reminded me of an episode of The West Wing called "The Crackpots and These Women": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTuXSdFjQSg

"I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

"I pray you, in your letters, / When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, / Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate, / Nor set down aught in malice" (Othello, V.ii.339-42).

In Othello's final speech, he reestablishes his greatness and illustrates himself as a classic Shakespearean tragic hero.  First, as quoted above, he requests of his audience that they talk about him as he is -- nothing more, nothing less.

Then, Othello continues to say that he was "perplexed in the extreme" (V.ii.345).  When Othello killed his wife, he acted out of jealousy, but he argues that this jealousy was not entirely his fault.  Instead, he admitted that we was duped by the genius, witty, and attractive Iago.  (I'm taking some liberties in paraphrasing the text, here.)  I would argue that Othello's tragic flaw isn't his jealousy but his innate gullibility -- as Othello said in his speech, he is not naturally jealous but was hoodwinked into jealousy by the intelligent and beautiful Iago.  (Again, taking some liberties.)

Finally, Othello makes a little analogy.  One lovely morning*, Othello witnessed a Turk beating a Venetian, and Othello "took by the throat the circumcised dog / And smote him, thus" (V.ii.354-5).  Othello compared himself to Venice's enemy and explained through this analogy that he did not deserve to live due to his disservice to his people.  What a guy.

*lovely morning: setting not actually specified in the text

Suspense!

"Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated" (Othello, IV.i.191-2).

One of the questions in the book asks how Shakespeare creates dramatic suspense -- in other words, what makes the reader ask, "What's going to happen next?"  The quote above is an instance of dramatic irony PLUS an example of where the reader awaits the fates of characters, two main factors in the suspense of this play.

Dramatic irony is a driving force behind the suspense in Othello.  The Moor of Venice endows Iago with the epithet "honest" because he believes Iago that Cassio and Desdemona are having an affair.  This explicitly conflicts with what the audience knows: that Desdemona is honest, and Iago is the disloyal character to Othello.  While that's the main irony in the play, other examples appear -- "Oh, no," speaks Iago of Othello to Roderigo, "he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident, wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio" (IV.ii.217-9).  This is a false statement, but Roderigo does not know that -- Iago successfully manipulates him to kill (or at least pathetically try) to kill Cassio.  The question from the reader then becomes, "When and how will these clueless characters* figure out what's actually going on here?"

Another creation of suspense is the audience's awaiting the fates of the characters.  Obviously, since this is the Tragedy of Othello, Othello is going to die somehow -- but how?  The quote above builds suspense because it lays out the plan for Desdemona's death.  Will Othello be successful in this scheme?  If so, how will that affect Othello, her husband, and Emilia, her friend?  More importantly, while killing Desdemona, will he go with a pillow or just use his hands?  I'm just asking a bunch of questions to which I already know the answers, but those were the questions I was asking myself as suspense built.

*clueless characters: everyone but Iago

Any other Iago fans?

"IAGO. She was a wight, if ever such wight were --

DESDEMONA. To do what?

IAGO. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer" (Othello, II.i.157-159).

I mean, if anything, I'm a feminist -- go, Abigail Adams and Margaret Sanger! (apparently, I need more pictures of American women in this blog) -- but this part was really funny, and not because I agree with Iago. I think I find humor in the fact that since Shakespeare's time, we haven't really made much progress in sexist jokes.

Let's identify the protagonist and antagonist. I previously mentioned that Iago is the antagonist, and I believe Othello would be considered the protagonist. And if the hero really always dies in Shakespearean tragedies -- well, sorry about your luck, Othello.

Now, let's talk about why I like Iago, which is potentially controversial.

1. Iago is an extremely round character; I mean, his character is a perfect circle. He's wicked smart and clever, he has experience serving his state, and he wants to see justice in action (at least when he's faced with the injustice, which brings me to . . .).

2. Iago has right on his side. I agree -- planning to frame and murder somebody, lie to just about everybody, and treat one's wife with childish contempt is a bit of an overreaction to not getting a desired promotion -- but gosh darn it, Iago should have been appointed lieutenant.

3. Iago makes the play interesting. Think of how crappy this story would be if Iago gave in and decided that Cassio is a worthy lieutenant.

4. Iago is telling me the story as we go along. Iago is anything but withholding, and I appreciate the fact that he's keeping me and not the other characters in the loop. It makes me feel special.

5. Iago is funny in an astutely vulgar way, as we witnessed above.

Seeing into the Mind of Iago

"Thus do I ever make my fool my purse, / For I mine own gained knowledge should profane / If I would time expend with such a snipe / But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor, / And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets / He's done my office. I know not if 't be true, / But I for mere suspicion in that kind / Will do as if for surety" (Othello, I.iii.363-370).

I was going to shorten that quote, but I just had to keep typing -- everything Iago says is pure gold.

What we have here is a significant contrast between what the audience knows and what the characters know. In Othello, the only character who has a firm handle on what's actually going on is Iago. (This is essentially due to the fact that this play is from the vantage point of Iago, who is actually the antagonist.) Here, he establishes a contrast between what the audience knows and what Roderigo and Othello know. Roderigo believes that Iago will help him win back Desdemona if he gives Iago money, but Iago is using him for his "sport and profit." Othello believes that Iago is an honest ensign, but Iago is planning his revenge against Othello who (a) appointed Cassio as his lieutenant rather than Iago and (b) maybe slept with his wife, Edith. I mean, Emilia -- why do I have issues with that name? Maybe it's just because I'm a fan of Edith Wilson.

Iago delivers another soliloquy at the end of Act II to reveal his plan to plant a seed of suspicion that Cassio is spending time 'twixt the sheets with Desdemona, Othello's wife.

What sort of breaks this special relationship Iago has with the audience is that in Act III, Othello begins to share private information with the audience in addition to Iago. In one soliloquy, Othello expresses his internal concerns about Desdemona potentially sleeping with Cassio (III.iii.259-78). However, still, Othello doesn't know the half of what's really going on -- an instance of dramatic irony. Only Iago and the audience can share in the fullness of truth.

Why isn't anybody jealous of "honest Iago"?

"But jealous souls will not be answered so. / They are not ever jealous for the cause, / But jealous for they are jealous. 'Tis a monster / Begot upon itself, born upon itself" (Othello, III.iv.153-156).

After reading three acts of Othello, I'm noticing that jealousy plays an important thematic role in the play.  The first clear instance of jealousy is Iago's jealousy of Cassio, whom Othello appointed to be his lieutenant rather than Iago.  Additionally, Roderigo is clearly jealous of Othello, who married Desdemona -- Roderigo has tried to steal her heart before the play begins, but to no avail.  Another big hint that jealousy is important is the handout Mr. Costello gave me with four important themes in Othello, one of which is jealousy.

Iago's wife, Emilia (whom I keep wanting to call Edith -- I'm not sure I can explain why), provides an interesting commentary on jealousy when she talks to Desdemona of Othello's apparent suspicion of Desdemona.  She says that people aren't jealous for a cause -- we are only jealous because we are jealous.  In other words, jealousy works in a repetitious cycle, and Othello becomes a part of that cycle when he suspects Desdemona of cheating on him with Cassio.  Also, I don't think I've used the word "jealous" so frequently in anything I've written before.

In honor of tonight's beautiful couple, Iago and Edith, I present this love song: