I Ain't Sayin' He's a Gold Digger...

I honestly could not believe it when Milkman decided that he would steal from Pilate.  She practically raised him as a baby, and was his escape from the brutal world as a teenager.  Along with that, she is just a caring old woman that he cares about and looks up to, so it upset me when he set his mind to attempting to steal from her, and taking his father's side.  The whole moonlit scene with Guitar and Milkman attempting to rob "gold" was quite amusing, especially at the very end where we inadvertently see Pilate muttering to herself, but only fully realize it's Pilate because we are told she is chewing on a wooden splinter.

After Pilate so graciously bails Milkman and Guitar out of trouble, Milkman can't get the idea of godld and opportunity out of his head.  This whole fiasco with the gold seemed to point Milkman in the "right" direction in terms of finding out who he is and going forward in life on his own.  As Lena accuses him of never having lifted more than his own shoes, shortly after we see him climbing up steep rocks and tearing his precious clothes, feeling hunger, and helping a man lift a very heavy object, thereby exerting himself.  For the first time in his sheltered life, he is forced to make decisions on his own and take care of himself alone, with no one else to clean up after himself.

Though I'm truly not sure how the book will end, I have this feeling that Milkman will find his aunt's relatives in Virginia and find his true calling and feel like he belongs there.  However, I want him to have to "suffer" a bit more on his own so he really understands what living is like for the majority of people in his life. 

Dead or Alive?

Song of Solomon is a book that is as interesting as it is provocative.  Toni Morrison writes on many touchy subjects, and is very realistic in her presentation of the black community of the early-mid 20th century.  Not only do the names chosen for her characters suit them well, but there are many themes apparent in their meanings throughout.  

The most prevalent name that appears frequently is Dead, the last name Macon Dead I received because of an error a "drunk Yankee" (53) made.  Macon Dead II was named after his father, and in an effort to become more than his father, became an uptight, disliked (for the most part) man.  The word 'dead' can be used to describe the dynamic between the members of the nuclear Dead family.  There does not seem to be any warmth or liveliness between them, and they therefore seem to be dead in their interactions with one another.  Similarly, the tie between Macon Dead II and his sister Pilate Dead is severed and dead.

The surrounding community picks up on the name dead as symbolism and uses it to make an analogy for the car the Dead family travels in -- naming it Macon Dead's hearse.  The car gets its nickname because the family acts so strict and formal when riding in it, and because it has supposedly not lived --"no rope ever held the door to its frame...there was never a sudden braking...no beer bottles or ice cream cones poked from the open windows..." (32) and because Macon had never "taken a woman into the back seat" (32).  This formality that is prevalent between members of the Dead family during their car ride is also symbolic of the deadness of the family's relations and Macon Dead II's exerted control over his family.  

The word 'dead' also gives off a sentiment of fear as death is, well, death.  The name carries power because Macon II has achieved a great deal in his life and his quite wealthy, but he is feared (and not entirely respected), just as his name suggests.

There are many, many more names and nicknames that have meaning throughout the novel (Pilate's name was chosen because the P looks protective -- like she is -- and it is a male name but still sounds soft -- like her simultaneously patriarchal yet maternal role in the three-generation family -- and also the connotation of the name "Pilate" as being the fierce "Christ-killing Pilate" (19) -- as she stands up for her daughter with a knife) so my next blog post might be on the symbolism/meaning of names as well.

The Man Wasn't Where?

As I was talking with a friend today about the perplexities and futility of life, I began to give a brief description of The Stranger, primarily focusing on the ending with the trial and Meursault's detached personality and view of life.  Getting more emotional and more confused as I attempted to depict this to my friend, he suggested I read The Myth of Sisyphus at which I chuckled and said how that was one of Camus' main points and we had already discussed its relevance to the novel.  I thought it was really amusing how my point of view seemed to blend enough with Camus' that it was suggested I read about Sisyphus.

Anyways, last week we watched The Man Who Wasn't There.  Aside from being an interesting movie in the general sense, I really did feel that Camus' "philosophy" was being projected in it.  I enjoyed the black-and-white old style film noir quality, as well as recognizing several loved actors such as Tony Shalhoub, Richard Jenkins, Christopher McDonald, and Jack McGee.

The title forces the question of which man wasn't where?  I find this to be answered by: Ed Crane was the man that no one really believed was at the scene of the death of Big Dave.  Though he tried telling the truth to help his wife, his story was just not "exciting" enough.  The darkness of the movie was evident not only in the plot, but in the cinematics such as the dark room where Big Dave tells Ed about his affair and a cigar cutter catches the light, or when the jail bars cast shadows across the face of the lawyer and around him, the dark against his light grey suit.

This brings me to something else I enjoyed -- Ed's lawyer Freddy Reiedenschneider.  Perhaps I am biased as I love Tony Shalhoub, but his enthusiasm and spirit in trying to find a logical explanation for the murder was almost contagious.  Then again, I get really into criminal investigation shows at times, and the scenes where the lawyer tried to get behind what happened were really engaging.  The first main scene with him where Ed tries to tell the truth about him committing the murder was really tense as Freddy rambles on and on about his hypotheses while Ed's wife slowly turns her head to stare at her husband when she realizes that he really did commit the murder and she is unfairly locked up, and Ed's face has a mixed look of terror and calmness.

One thing I didn't enjoy very much was the forced humor.  Yes, sometimes it was funny and fit in, but other times, the absurdity (oddness, not Camus' absurd) stuck out too much.  This included things like the whole UFO idea and most of the scenes with Birdy.  Oppositely, the ending scene where the camera pans across expressionless faces watching Ed die was very moving and enhanced the movie after the stupid UFO thing.

However, having watched countless movies with my father and brother when they always pointed out logic flaws, difficult scenes, mistakes, and the overall quality of a film, I have "inherited" a very critical point of view towards movies.  Overall, I enjoyed the movie and was also made to think about the ideas presented, though it didn't speak to me as much as the novel The Stranger itself did.

Beauty in the Caribbean

Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea is a deceptively beautiful and saddening novel.  For now, I want to focus on the beauty that is described throughout.

Beauty in this novel takes on various forms, and has different effects when narrated by Antoinette or Rochester.  It is used as a description for people on the island as well as the natural surroundings.  Antoinette's infrequent comments on beauty are usually focused around her mother when she was younger, while Rochester's images of beauty come primarily from the unfamiliar surroundings as well as Antoinette when she's older.  However, Rochester perceives both these beauties as intimidating and deceptive.

"We pulled up and looked at the hills, the mountains and the blue-green sea.  There was a soft warm wind blowing but I understood why the porter had called it a wild place.  Not only wild but menacing.  Those hills would close in on you...Everything is too much, I felt as I rode wearily after her.  Too much blue, too much purple, too much green.  the flowers too red, the mountains too high, the hills too near.  And the woman is a stranger" (63).

Just as Rochester is describing the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, he switches to thinking about Antoinette, in the passage above and below, showing how closely intertwined he has the beautiful yet intimidating nature with Antoinette.

"It was all very brightly coloured, very strange, but it meant nothing to me.  Nor did she, the girl I was to marry" (69), shortly followed by:  "She [Antoinette] was sitting on the sofa and I wondered why I had never realized how beautiful she was" (72).  After he describes nature's beauty and Antoinette's beauty, a few pages later he describes how intrigued and almost disturbed he is by her crying at night and her close relations with some blacks such as Christophine.

As I have not read Jane Eyre (just gotten a brief summary from a friend), I am curious to see what this relationship will amount to.  Will Antoinette go crazy herself?

The Meaning of Life (Is That Even Real?)

Albert Camus' The Stranger was ultimately a very thought-provoking and emotional novel.  The deep thoughts it stirs primarily in the end while Meursault prepares for his death were very dark, but were composed of very legitimate ideas and Meursault's point of view really hit home with me.

Meursault is seen to be in the same situation as Sisyphus from "The Myth of Sisyphus," where there seems to be no point to the depressing, repetitive thing known as life.  For, if there is nothing after the current life we live, what is the point of feeling, caring, getting upset, and being happy?  Ultimately, they mean nothing whatsoever.  Ten years after a day you at-the-time called the best day of your life, you won't even remember the strength of feelings you felt, and ten years after you made someone happy for a long time, they might not even give a second thought about you.

Life is absurd.  Any meaning we see in life is imposed on it by ourselves.  People choose to be happy when they see someone they like or eat their favorite kind of ice cream; they choose to allow themselves to feel sad when losing someone they cared about or something as trivial as getting a stain on their favorite shirt.  Whether a stronger "reason" such as someone dying, or as simple as being taller than they wanted, a person allows for these things to affect them, and therefore is the sole reason for allowing themselves to feel.

And then there's the question of who decides that losing a person should be more emotional than losing a pet cat?  Or that crying over a bad grade isn't as bad as having a break up?  First of all, to different people, different events have different weights -- the death of a father that was never around might not be as significant as the death of a dog that stuck with its master through thick and thin; or vice versa.  Society has imposed these sort of ideas on our lives, but they're not even uniform throughout the world.  In one country, the death of a close person might be a devastating event while in another it's just a quotidian occurrence that really means nothing anymore.  Hell, even around the same country these "ideals" aren't the same.  (It really is a bizarre thought how there can be so many wealthy, well-off, people in the same country, while there are so many people around them that struggle to feed their children.)

Meursault doesn't get very upset about the death of his mother or his imminent death because he realizes that everyone will die eventually.  Who can say that a 20 year old's death is untimely just because they didn't die from old age?  If everyone is going to die eventually and life has no overall meaning to it, why do we look for simple pleasures in life, why do we hope for things to happen in the future, especially if the majority of our hopes and dreams are never realized?  Why does society condemn a man to death essentially because he doesn't cry at his mother's funeral?  Seriously, why do other people care about the emotions of others, why do they try to impose their beliefs on others?  Why are people who are different considered "strangers" like Meursault, and a threat to society?

Unfortunately, I cannot answer these questions because I don't know my own answers to them, but also because everyone has different opinions and beliefs (and while I'm just speculating, I don't want to be offensive.)

Kafka and the Three Transformations

Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis gives the events from Gregor Samsa's mind, relating his experience, surroundings, and family all from his guilt-prone point of view.  Though the metamorphosis clearly refers to Gregor's transformation from human to cockroach/"monstrous vermin," a significant metamorphosis is also apparent throughout in the characters of his family - primarily his father and sister.

At the beginning of the novel, we are told (in a somewhat timidly respectful way from Gregor's point of view) that Gregor's father is a fat, lazy man that spends hours simply eating breakfast and reading the paper, depending on his son for income support.  Initially not wanting to take care of the situation with Gregor, he runs away and tries cowering behind his wife.  

[insert passage from beginning]

As Gregor's "condition" remains stagnant, the father realizes he must find a means of supporting his family, and decides to get a job as a banker -- taking his role so seriously, as to refuse to take off the uniform, even when sleeping. 

[insert passage about father's "dedication"]

Gregor comments on his father's shockingly different appearance when he sees him a few months after his own metamorphosis.  Rather than fat and old looking, he notes that his father looks stronger, younger, and sharper with his new assimilated role.

[insert]

Gregor's sister Grete starts out as a timid, young child that we only hear through the door of Gregor's room, separated from her brother as well as her parents, begging for her brother to let her in on his "dilemma."  Once her brother's transformation becomes known, she immediately takes it as her role to take care of him.  

[insert beginning, caring sister]

She does this quite diligently and seems the more sympathetic and caring out of Gregor's family, until the very end where she condemns him.  Suddenly she has had enough of Gregor and says things that eventually cause him to give up and die.  

[insert ending where she explodes]

After Gregor's death, her parents reflect on Grete's youthfulness and attractiveness, and, as Mr. Mitchell said, the essence of the ending is "Look at that fertile body, we gotta marry her off."  Grete transforms from a young, essentially useless member of the Samsa family, to a hardworking and caring sister, to an irritable and fed-up adolescent throughout the course of the novel. 

Gregor's father and sister transform over the course of the novel, alongside Gregor himself.  Though Gregor's transformation is physical, that of his family is mental and social, and, despite the lack of a son/brother at the end, they seem better off and hopeful for the future.

*note: [inserts] above are for the potential expansion of the blog post to an essay (as passages alluded to are most likely known at the moment*

Paris? Pamplona?

Cuando los amigos en El sol también se eleva están en España, hay algunas diferencias entre sus personalidades y el escenario en comparación con Paris (Español).
Quand les amis dans Le soleil se léve aussi sont à Paris, il y a beaucoup de différences entre leurs personnalités et sertissage de que est en Paris (Français).

Though the characters in the Sun Also Rises continue their habitual café drinking at all hours and argue amongst themselves in France as well as Spain, there are differences in their interactions, as well as the general feel of the book as the setting changes.  Though you can tell from reading the book that Hemingway clearly loved Paris and its nightlife and craziness after the war, his depictions of peaceful and "pre"-modern Pamplona hold an appreciation different from that associated with the insider descriptions of Paris.

Hemingway describes Paris and the pastimes of the characters enough to allow for the reader to feel like they're a part of the busy, drunken, nightlife, but his descriptions of the city's overall physical appearance are not like those found in the Spanish section, where many sentences, if not long paragraphs at first, are used for describing the nature and tradition of Spain.  Paris is seen as modern and busy as it was greatly affected by the war, while the countrysides of Spain are unaffected and ancient-feeling.

Most of the scenes in Paris take place during the night hours, in urban scenes, with a seemingly "moral vacancy" (as was suggested in class).  In contrast, Jake and Bill spend a lot of their time fishing in the wilderness, or when all the characters are together, watching bullfights in the daytime.  Because Paris is so urban and busy, it gives off a claustrophobic vibe that breeds anxiety in all the barhopping and partying the characters engage in.  Though a good deal of wine is consumed in Spain as well, the days seem to last longer and without as much stress as in Paris, possibly due to the openness of Pamplona and its surroundings.

The alcohol consumed and its "packaging" also differ as the setting switches.  In Paris, the characters indulge in expensive, modern drinks, bottled in glass with nice labels, and they primarily consume drinks out of glasses while sitting at bars or fancy dinner/café tables.  In Pamplona, the drinks of choice are almost entirely wine in leather/skin wine sacks, offered to them not by the hand of a suited-up waiter, but by friendly farmers and peasants.

As the setting switched from Paris, France to Pamplona, Spain (and surrounding countryside), Hemingway's depictions of surroundings switched to a more natural focus, as well as giving off a warmer, more traditional feeling.  The characters still maintained their general habits of arguing with one another (though more seriously in Spain) and drinking with one another, but the overall quality of their time in Spain seemed lighter and not as hectic as in France.

Bulls, Booze, and Boys

In more than one way, Jake Barnes from Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises seems like a portrayal of Hemingway himself.  The style of narration from Jake's point of view as well as his speech is quite concise and matter-of-fact, as is Hemingway's general writing.  Both Jake and Hemingway enjoyed fishing, and both were part of the ex-patriot community in Paris in the 1920s.  Though Jake does not seem to engage in "overbearing masculinity" as Hemingway was said to have done, it seems that both had a complex regarding male roles and ideologies.  Also, in the way Hemingway describes bullfights through Jake's eyes, we get the understanding that he is an aficionado of bullfighting much like his invented character.  Hemingway's vivid yet pithy depictions of the matador's teasing yet expert movements regarding the bull really make the reader feel like they are in the bullring themselves.

Though, comparatively, the characters don't spend too much time in the bullrings, but rather in cafés getting drunk, a lot about the characters and their personas appear when watching a fight or discussing bulls or matadors before or after one.  As I already said, Jake is an aficionado of bullfighting.  Though he loses this form of respect from Montoya because he aided in the corruption of perhaps the best bullfighter alive (Romero), Jake's knowledge of bullfighting does not decrease, and we see even more explicit examples of his knowledge after losing this respect, when Jake picks up on the tricks Romero is using despite being hurt, and recognizes that one of the bulls has bad eyesight. He respects both the bull and the matador, and while he isn't disgusted by the blood and killing, he doesn't revel in it like someone disturbed might.  Jake has a strong personality that is brought out in his passion for bullfighting.  Bill is also very similar in this regard, and that might be what makes Bill and Jake such good friends for each other -- their strong yet individual personalities blend well together.

Brett is another character that doesn't seem very disturbed by the killings, but rather quite intrigued -- very unusual for a female, especially at the time.  Her calmness regarding the slaughtering of the bulls, as well as the man she loves (Romero) in such a dangerous position reflects on her strong, partly-masculine personality.  Though not explicitly stated, I felt that when Brett comments on how captivated she was by the bullfight, and how she could not look away, Jake loves her even more as he is such an aficionado of bullfighting, it just makes him happy that the girl he loves enjoys it too.  Because Brett has so many qualities that Jake likes, it's only logical that Bill and Brett are on good terms as well.  As she is one of the appreciative types of bullfighting, she fits in with Bill and Jake, and because Bill drinks and likes to have fun, he fits in with Brett and Jake in that aspect as well.

On the contrary, Cohn has difficulties bonding with any of the group.  Yes, he had an affair with Brett, but Brett has affairs with almost anything male.  Cohn is the only one in the group (including Mike) who turns green and feels sick during the bullfight.  He is also the only one that doesn't drink.  These two aspects of Cohn's persona estrange him from the group, and he does not fit in with them well.  In the case of the bullfights, Brett seems more masculine than him as she cannot stop herself from looking away, while he does his very best not to throw up at the thought of it.

Through Hemingway's details of bullfighting, I got the sense of being in the ring myself with a crowd of chanting, cheering, jeering, drunk Spaniards excited for the slaying of the bull and the finesse of the matador.  While depicting something he was clearly passionate about, Hemingway also allowed for character development, providing more insight into their relationships and personalities.  I really enjoyed the bullfighting scenes, and the Spanish setting in general.

Dark Times Persist in the Modern Day

We watched the movie The Hours last week which really brought Mrs. Dalloway into a different light. While parts of the novel were quite dark, especially with regards to Septimus and when Mrs. Dalloway contemplated death, the overall tone of the book had a light quality to it.  The movie adaptation of it was essentially entirely dark.  Whether literally dark because all the shades in Richard's apartment were pulled down, or metaphorically when Clarissa has a break down, or even musically with the manipulating-ly repetitive music when Laura was baking a cake or driving, the movie as a whole was very dark.  This had an effect of drawing out what Virginia Woolf must have been feeling herself, as well as reiterating how fleeting and short life can be.

The movie also affected me quite a bit more than I had expected it to.  In general, I am an emotional person, so the fact that I was quite upset at the scene where Virginia Woolf drowns herself in the river while her suicide note is being recited wasn't surprising.  I was dripping tears when Laura was contemplating suicide and leaving her boy, and even more so in the heart-wrenching scene where Richard and Clarissa interact almost unknowingly one last time before he falls out the window.  I think that these scenes affected me more than they would normally because in a three-week span, with the movie sandwiched in between, two people I knew committed suicide themselves, and the realization that terrible things like this happen to people you don't necessarily expect them to, really hit home.

All of the deaths in the movie The Hours, the death of Septimus in Mrs. Dalloway, as well as the death of Virginia Woolf in real life, really had an impact on me, for I was in a dark mood myself the last few weeks.  All of those people, real or not, had a story behind them, one that was not necessarily visible to everyone else, and all, whether they knew it or not, impacted someone else with their life, as well as their death.

Digressing a bit from English Class, I would like to say I am so sorry for Cl. and Co. who, in their better days, brought a lot of light to the world.  I can't believe they're gone.  RIP.

Ramblings on Septimus and Language Barriers

While I already have the majority of my response paper written, and most of the ideas jotted down, I have a large compilation of notes on Septimus and psychology in general that might not end up in it.

Perceptions of Reality
-We know that Septimus is not insane in the sense that insanity is being incoherent and rambling randomly with no purpose, once we are taken inside his mind, though what comes out of his mouth might appear so.
-The fragments that he speaks aloud or has Lucrezia write down are enough to concern the people listening, but his thoughts are quite coherent.
-Whatever goes on inside Septimus' mind is the representation of his reality: he believes Evans to be walking towards him, if only just for a moment before returning to "absolute" reality.
-The shock of the war and the death of his closest friend are what seem to be the main triggers for his madness/state of mind.
-The distinctions between reality and hallucinations aren't apparent to him at the time they occur, but when he is in a relatively clear state of mind, such as when he is sitting with Lucrezia making hats, he is aware that he is the only one around him that thinks and sees and hears the things he does.
-For all we know, the things Septimus describes in his mind are actually happening, and that Lucrezia is not openly aware of them, and therefore cannot pay enough detail to notice that birds are actually singing in Greek.
-Septimus sees the truth in his perceptions and his brain is sending him subliminal messages.  Because he has not fully dealt with the death of Evans, manifestations of his friend appear subconsciously to allow him to remember the pain and consciously deal with the pain of the years past.
-Septimus' poetic and artistic side from before the war come out even more radically and make him exaggerate the things he sees, and he can't separate reality from these exaggerations.

Clarissa might reflect on an event as terrible while Peter remembers it as one of the greatest things he has ever experienced.


Everyone's perceptions of reality are distorted by emotions, memories, and their character -- not just in the novel, but in real life too.  A color that looks dull and boring to one person might be seen as the most intricate of colors to another.  Take the color turquoise for example.  I might be speaking of my favorite color turquoise while someone else is thinking of the color turquoise.  There is a gap between descriptions of colors.  How do I know the color blue to me is not the color blue to someone else, and that when someone points to something and labels it blue, that becomes my shared definition of that color as well?

Anyways, as Clarissa thinks of something exciting that Peter thinks is boring, Septimus has an exciting reality that other people just cannot see.  Whether or not he his hallucinating, or seeing supernatural things, or making things up -- it doesn't matter, because to him, it's real and that is what shapes him and his decisions and ramblings, what HE perceives his HIS reality, whether or not anyone else agrees with it.

When You've Got Nothing Left, You've Got Nothing Left To Lose

The last couple days of class have been focused on Septimus and his life story, and many enthralling discussions have been prevalent.  Whenever Septimus Smith is a topic of discussion, I fill entire pages up taking notes during class time and still don't manage to get every idea I'm having/everything I hear down.  The ambiguity of the character and things hinted at in the book are what leave so much potential for different opinions and outputs, and lead to never-ending discussions.
 
What goes on inside Septimus' head, and the way Virginia Woolf manages to believably portray those thoughts, is fascinating to me.  Septimus' thought-process and thoughts and actions are just radical enough to seem odd for the "average" person (which we now know he is not), yet still perfectly believable of a human mind when demented or gifted (depending on what point of view you take).  Before the war, Septimus was an aspiring poet, self-educated, open-spirited, and determined young man.  He seems to have maintained these qualities for at least part of the war, until the end when his friend Evans is killed.  I think that was the catalyst along with Septimus' denial of his closest friend's death, that ultimately led to his pronounced "madness."

While I greatly sympathize with Lucrezia and all the troubles she has been going through with a husband who seems incapable of returning affection or maintaing a typical conversation, I also feel bad for Septimus who is estranged from the rest of the world and trapped inside a brain that shows him things others can't see -- and if he drifts away into his thoughts or comments on them, others (primarily Lucrezia) are constantly trying to snap him out of it, or are perplexed by the oddities that come out of his mouth and seek help for him.

When we are given full insight from Septimus' point of view, we see that he is not insane, and that he is quite capable of making judgements and rationalizing.  At one point when Septimus is acting more "like his old self," we see him pondering over "why seek truths and deliver messages (139)" when everyone else is doing simple, normal things.  We see that he is aware that he has odd thoughts though he can't really control him, and the fact that he is helplessly aware that something is different about him makes him even more sympathetic.

I was really upset when Septimus jumped out the window, especially because "He did not want to die (146)" and he only jumped out because the stupid doctor was imposing himself on Septimus and Lucrezia's lives.  However if Septimus had felt that he still had something powerful enough to live for (not much earlier he was debating over the point of delivering important messages, so that sense of urgency seemed to have diminished) he probably wouldn't have been so desperate to rid himself of the doctor, by whatever means possible.  For this reason, I feel that he didn't really have much left to live for, besides the hot sun (since he dislikes humans and their meddling).  Right after his incident, we switch to Lucrezia's mind who's thoughts take on ideas and patterns very similar to those of Septimus.  Though I don't think she realizes it, her husband's death led Lucrezia to a similar insanity/state of mind that her husband had: imagining running through cornfields, hearing whispers, and envisioning the sea.  She keeps repeating "He is dead" and wondering if they will bring his body to her, but she feels no pain, no emotion, and this is exactly what happened to Septimus when Evans died.

I feel a little flustered with how Woolf killed off my favorite character, but I suppose it makes sense for his death to not be too dramatic, especially since it allows for us to see into Lucrezia's mind who wasn't expecting anything, making the shock more dramatic.  I wonder how the rest of the book will be without Septimus, perhaps a little dull?

(When I Walk in the Club) All Eyes On Me

Already in the first 28 pages, I have an idea of what Mrs. Dalloway will be like as a novel.  Virginia Woolf's distinct style uses abundant description and intrusive narrator that, at first, I found to be bothersome, but on the second reading have come to really enjoy.  Though there isn't a huge vigorous plot, there's enough of a story, or character background, that keeps interest and drives what plot there is, along.

I'm not entirely sure how to explain the sensation I had, having just completed the night's reading, but it is one of giddiness, awe, or excitement.  It seems silly saying that because there has barely been any action, but the second I finished the reading assignment, I jumped to my computer to put some thoughts down (that hopefully I recorded fast enough and with enough coherence to be interesting to others).

I find the character of Septimus to be enthralling.  The odd things he thinks or does create such a queer disposition, and I wish more of the book was from his thoughts.  It was very comical to read how Septimus thought everyone was staring at him and that he was trying to find his purpose in life, or I love that while Septimus is sitting next to his wife, the voice of the nursemaid "rasped his spine deliciously (21)." That's just such an odd thing to read!  Or how he wants his wife to shut up so he can think and "get away from people." I really hope he shows up more throughout the novel!

I think the way Woolf switches from Septimus to Lucrezia to Maisie Johnson to Mrs. Carrie Dempster to Mr. Bentely is delicious, and she does so in such a smooth yet clear transition that I can't help but admire her work.  It must have been such a bizarre thing to read when it was published, and I greatly admire Woolf's innovation as well as her success in carrying it out.  Aside from the interesting royal car scene and the quirky airplane-spelling-toffee part, a segment I thoroughly enjoyed was Maisie Johnson's description of her view of Septimus and Lucrezia on the bench in the park:

"...the young woman [Lucrezia] seeming foreign, the man [Septimus] looking queer so that should she [Maisie] be very old she would still remember and make it jangle again among her memories how she had walked through Regent's Park on a fine summer's morning fifty years ago ... and now how queer it was, this couple she had asked the way of, and the girl started and jerked her hand, and the man -- he seemed awfully odd ... (25-26)"

Not only do we get a taste of Woolf's eloquent writing style in this passage, but we also get a painted picture of Lucrezia and Septimus and their oddness -- a picture that you can see clearly: a couple sitting in a park on a bench on a warm June morning with birds singing and green grass and pretty flowers, that on closer inspection seems to be two extremely bizarre people.  We also get the innocent and outsider point of view of Maisie, who like so many other people mentioned so far, may just be a temporary observer of the scene that Woolf used to describe an otherwise simple and insipid episode.  Getting a view of Lucrezia and Septimus that wasn't from Lucrezia's sorrowful aspect or Septimus' detached one, really brought life to that fleeting and probably inconsequential scene.  Woolf was all about character development in the essay we read, so I'm glad to see that she is certainly not hypocritical and delves deeply into all the temporary characters she introduces.

Next Stop: Bizarre Station

In Nicholson Baker's The Mezzanine, the narrator Howie talks about the most everyday objects and actions, but with so much detail that it provokes a lot of thinking about routines and items we easily dismiss as trivial (such as shoelace tying, or plastic bags).  The things he thinks and does in both the present and the past, are recorded into a short "novella" of the most peculiar yet fascinating string of ideas.

Whether it's Howie talking about how he can't pee when other men are near him in urinals, or his philosophy on brushing tongues as well as teeth, he manages to arrive at that idea from a series of other almost-random thoughts, that are still, oddly, connected.  Almost like a train from Champaign to Chicago.  Looking at a small town and then at the bursting city of Chicago many miles away, there's almost no reasonable connection; but, taken stop by stop, the way from Champaign to Chicago really isn't that complicated.   I feel like that's what Baker really accomplished overall in his novel in so many different aspects.  An escalator ride really isn't complicated,  but when you factor in all the thoughts that go through your head, or the many people riding up it and what their individual stories are, it can go from being a dull, quotidian factor of life, to having an international feeling, or  spanning over decades of thoughts and experiences.  Similarly, we don't spare a thought about tying our shoes, yet how many hands the shoelace has gone through, and where the material was constructed, and over which sea it travelled, and so much more, can be a captivating thought if we only had the interest and time to spend analyzing all the amazing things that we take for granted in our daily lives.  However, now I'm starting to sound like Baker himself, and this isn't even a footnote, so I'll end with the digression.  By reading and experiencing another person's no-shame thought processes, I felt relieved by the fact that I'm not the only one that has a very strange train of thought that speeds around quickly and stops at peculiar stations.  For example, I sometimes come up with nicknames for friends.  My thought process was as follows:

Nolan --> Nol --> Knoll --> Hill, so his name became Hill.
Berl --> Pearl --> Oyster --> Ocean
Newman --> Paul Newman --> Cool Hand Luke --> Eggs (the egg scene in that movie is very memorable!)

etc.  Taken step by step, like Nicholson Baker does in his verbose footnotes that jump around from idea to idea, the names are understandable (if not their purpose, but their derivation).  Maybe that's why I associated so much with his writing style and found the novel very entertaining.
The Mezzanine had me chuckling quite often, especially in the prolix footnotes (especially when talking about footnotes in the footnotes, or Howie's envisioning sheep as workers sent out to put him to sleep (FAVORITE PART), or his discussion of bathroom etiquette).  Baker/his character Howie wrote about many things that would be considered private or awkward for conversation, let alone published, but he wrote about them in a way that makes them comic and almost acceptable, and I was captivated by his enthusiasm.

Anyways, these were my thoughts on the The Mezzanine, can't wait for more in-class discussion!

OH also, a question for the male population: do guys actually say "oop" instead of "oops" when they're with other males, or was this just an 80s thing...?