Connections Between Heart of Darkness and Waiting for the Barbarians

Despite being written over 80 years apart, Heart of Darkness and Waiting for the Barbarians actually have a great deal in common in terms of content. Although Waiting for the Barbarians functions more as a allegory, while Heart of Darkness can be interpreted literally, both stories have important points to make about the nature of discrimination and empire. Even more important than their common criticism of imperialism are the similarities between the narrators of the two stories: Marlow in Heart of Darkness and the Magistrate in Waiting for the Barbarians.
Although, at first glance, it appears that Marlow and the Magistrate are polar opposites, both protagonists only because of different sets of morals from the two different literary periods in which the books were written, in fact the two characters go on very similar journeys. Both Marlow and the Magistrate begin as loyal (more or less) servants of the empire in which they live (Marlow works for the Belgian Company, while the Magistrate lives in the nameless entity known only as The Empire). However, following their experiences with the natives in the wild, both begin to look at their fellow "civilized" men with increasing disdain. The way in which the two characters do this differs somewhat. The Magistrate begins to sympathize with the barbarians after his encounter with the blind girl, while Marlow simply becomes offended by the rampant corruption while in the wilderness, making little or no mention of sympathy towards the natives.
Perhaps because of this, Douglas Kerr, author of "Three Ways of Going Wrong," compares in his article the Magistrate to Kurtz rather than Marlow. Kerr's logic is that the shift in perspective from colonial to post-colonial literature results in the different roles of the two characters (from antagonist in HOD to protagonist in WFB). While there is some accuracy in this comparison, there are enough differences to give me pause. Kurtz begins his voyage to Africa with high ideals and increasing disdain for everything "civilized." However, as Kerr points out, he incurs the wrath of his fellow Europeans by passing "beyond the bounds of what is considered acceptable and civilized." In this process, Kurtz becomes swallowed by the "heart of darkness" losing all traces of civilization. There is no indication that the Magistrate has any similar loss. Indeed, one of the main conflicts in Waiting for the Barbarians features the Magistrate struggling to look beyond the prejudices of the Empire to analyze the barbarians. Also, Kurtz reacts to his experiences with the natives more negatively than the Magistrate. There is evidence that Kurtz scribbled on a piece of paper, "exterminate all the brutes." While the Magistrate often finds himself torn in his feelings towards the barbarian girl, there is no evidence that he ever thinks anything so hateful. (462)

Initial Reaction to Waiting for the Barbarians

This might be a little bit of a stretch, but as I read Waiting for the Barbarians, I was reminded, especially towards the beginning, of George Orwell's 1984. Both stories are told from the perspective of a citizen of a larger empire or government ("The Empire" in Waiting for the Barbarians and Big Brother in 1984). Both narrators begin by being largely faithful to their government, as well as largely oblivious of the abuses perpetuated by this government. However, both narrators slowly become aware of the cruelty and corruption from their exposure to a girl who (indirectly, in the case of the beggar girl from Waiting for the Barbarians) cause the narrators to shift their perceptions about their evil empire. There are even hints in Waiting for the Barbarians of the "War is peace" sort of mentality that is present in 1984. The whispers around The Empire that the barbarians are banding together to attack, along with the presence of Colonel Joll to investigate the "threat," when there does not appear to be any at all, seem to be examples of warmongering and xenophobia, at the very least.
Coetzee sets up the story in a way that Colonel Joll is the first impression the reader gets of this nameless empire. In this way, Joll embodies The Empire for the duration of the first section. Joll is an interesting combination of ruthlessness and arrogance. He is brutally efficient in torturing his prisoners, but he does not bother to find or capture the correct culprits. In addition to setting up Colonel Joll and, by extension, The Empire, as being thouroughly unlikable, this indifference further supports the idea that The Empire does not actually believe that there is a barbarian conspiracy. If Colonel Joll and his superiors actually believed there was some sort of danger, they would probably be more interested in finding the actual perpetrators.
As for the prose itself, it is a nice change from dense description of Heart of Darkness, as well as the general weirdness of The Sound and the Fury. Waiting for the Barbarians reads far quicker than anything else we have read this year. The story is told from the perspective of a suprisingly intellectual and insightful narrator, who is perpetually attempting to put everything together, but is never quite able. It is an interesting effect for a story in which events are manipulated by a greater power: the cruel and downright Orwellian Empire. (407)
Note: I am sorry about the lateness of this entry. I misread the assingment sheet and thought it was due after the break.

1902 Encyclopedia Britannica: Congo Free State

• The article was written in 1902, before most of Europe knew, or cared, about Leopold's abuse of the natives. Therefore, there is little or no mention of any mistreatment by the Europeans
  
• The Congo Free State was founded as International Association of the Congo. Although it can be implied from the name that multiple countries controlled the area, King Leopold II of Belgium essentially controlled the region
• Following the Berlin Conference of 1884, Leopold essentially gained the rights to the entire Congo Basin
  
• Congo Free State was considered an independent state, but because Leopold had private ownership, it acted as a Belgian colony for some time
  
• This issue of Britannica contains racist undertones. Natives referred to as "pagans" and "fetish worshippers" and are said to be "on a very low plain of civilization"
  
• Ivory, rubber and copper are all stated categorically as the Congo's greatest exports. These items are predominately what caused Leopold's rape of the area
  
• Leopold instituted a Commission for the Protection of Natives to cover up widespread his abuses.
  

Easter and Irony: the Tragic End of The Sound and the Fury

Although I initially believed the final chapter of The Sound and the Fury, taking place on Easter Sunday, represented hope and resurrection, after reading it again, I have concluded that the ending is an ironic one, designed to juxtapose the revival associated with Easter with the final demise of the family. What little stability the Compson family had prior to the final chapter is destroyed by Quentin's escape and Jason's pursuit. Although the family is well beyond saving by this point, these departures place the final nail in the coffin of the once-proud Compson family. There are moments in the final chapter of the story that do convey the happiness and serenity traditionally associated with Easter. For example, on page 317 there is a powerful scene in which Dilsey calms Benjy by maternally stroking his head. However, such scenes are overshadowed by questions about the future of the remaining family members. Dilsey, although strong and protective throughout the story, is portrayed as elderly and frail towards the end of the story. It can be inferred that she is close to death, leaving no one to take care of Benjy. The final scene of the novel features Luster and Benjy's carriage taking a different path than they had ever taken before. This may symbolize the challenging and unfamiliar path in front of the remnants of the family. The final scene does represent an ending, but not one with realistic hope for better days ahead. The last section of the novel shows the final demise of a family, the Compsons, that has been broken for a very long time. (264)

Quentin Compson: An In-depth exploration

Although I have read only a few works by William Faulkner (two, to be exact), one common theme that his stories seem to possess is the decay of the Southern aristocratic family. In The Sound and the Fury, the character who this decay affects most severely is the thoroughly unbalanced narrator of the second section, Quentin Compson. Quentin is the eldest of the Compson children and, arguably, the most interesting character in the novel. However, to understand the inner workings of Quentin's warped mind, the reader has to wade through about one hundred pages of fractured syntax, absent punctuation, and sudden narrative leaps from present to past. Fortunately, I was aided by a helpful scholarly article, cited below, that took my general sentiments about Quentin and expounded upon them.
The Language of Chaos, by May Cameron Brown, examines Quentin's character by looking at a number of common themes within the section, some that I noticed and others that I did not pick up on. One opinion that Brown posits in her piece refers the symbolic importance of doors in the section. Brown mentions that most of Quentin's "adventures" in the morning are introduced by doors, and suggests that when he closes the door to the jeweler's shop, "the imagery foreshadows his...suicide which will kill time." Another interesting observation that Brown makes connects Faulkner's novel to the passage from Macbeth for which it was named. In doing so, she connects the tale "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," to Quentin's suicide. For example, she connects the "recorded time" referenced in Macbeth to Quentin's feeling of claustrophobia regarding time in general and she considers Quentin to be the "poor player" mentioned by Shakespeare.
Although I agree with the vast majority of the ideas in Brown's article, I have one minor nitpick with the way they are presented in her novel. She treats the various idiosyncrasies of Quentin's character as separate entities, the most important of which being his relationship with time. However, at least in my interpretation of the section, most of Quentin's most important characteristics can be understood as manifestations of an more important theme: Quentin's burning desire to live up to his heritage. This theme seems apparent from the beginning when he smashes his watch, a family heirloom that had been passed down from his grandfather, against his dresser. To me, this symbolized Quentin's frustration at being unable to live up to his family's legacy. In addition, his obsession with sexuality and virginity, both Caddy's and his own, can be attributed to Quentin's desire to become a complete Southern gentleman, as he remarks, "In the South you are ashamed of being a virgin (78)." Likewise, his obsession with Caddy can be interpreted as a mixture of jealousy (never overtly stated but heavily implied) of her sexual experience, and protectiveness that seemingly comes from Quentin's warped interpretation of the chivalric code. The latter can be found in Quentin's interference with almost all of Caddy's relationships, ranging from him interrupting her when they are both kids to his fighting Dalton Ames later in life.
Quentin is a complex character, and his section of narration is somewhat resistant to in-depth analysis due to the unorthodox format. However, Brown's article does an excellent job of examining all aspects of his personality. While I may agree with the thesis slightly, this is a difference of interpretation only while looking at the one of the most complicated characters in the novel: Quentin Compson.

The Demise of Reason in The Yellow Wallpaper

"The Yellow Wallpaper", by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, bears its Gothic roots as it demonstrates a struggle of ideas that would not appear out of place in literature by Poe or Hawthorne. Indeed, the one of the story's primary themes is the contrast between reason and madness. In The Yellow Wallpaper, reason is embodied by John, the narrator's husband and primary caregiver as she fights her sickness. John is a physician, and he stubbornly refuses to believe that anything out of the ordinary is happening to his wife, treating her physical needs while neglecting her emotional and spiritual needs. John attempts to help her feel better with medicine and privacy, when all she really needed was love and support. However, Gilman shows the flaw behind this logic, as this "cure," while rational, actually pushes the narrator further toward chaos and despair. Eventually the narrator loses her sanity completely in her room, succumbing to madness and completing the victory of chaos over reason.
From the beginning, John and the narrator appear to be an odd match for one another. John is a doctor who has "no patience with faith," while the narrator appears to believe in fate and spirituality even at the beginning of the story, intuitively sensing something "queer" about the house. Her suspicions are proved correct as she is placed, against her wishes, in the room with the horrifying yellow wallpaper, which disturbs her profoundly throughout the story. Gilman, through her affected narrator, goes into great detail about the wallpaper, which she describes as "a smoldering unclean yellow" with "bloated curves and flourishes." From the beginning, the narrator is bothered by the decoration, and asks John for permission to rest in a different room. John refuses, citing the "practical" concern that there was no room for a second bed in the other room. This refusal begins a story-long pattern of John ignoring his wife's increasingly desperate pleas for empathy and understanding. John fails in this respect, stubbornly refusing to leave the house even though it is clearly hurting, not helping, his wife. Even worse, he essentially abandons her in her time of need, working every day and some nights. In a sense, the narrator's obsession with the wallpaper and her eventual insanity are inevitable, as she is locked in her room all day and night, with nothing else but the wallpaper to occupy her attention. Even if she were not suffering from depression, this would not make for a healthy situation. Without John to help her, the narrator becomes obsessed with the wallpaper, accelerating her depression and driving her to madness.
Indeed, not only does John not help his wife with stubbornness and neglect, but there is also evidence that he actually aggravates her problems with his adherence to reason. Throughout the story, John believes so ardently that he is handling the problem correctly that he repeatedly overrides her protests in order to do what he thinks is right. This protectiveness is frequently taken to the extreme, where the narrator is chastised for even using her imagination. In fact, there is evidence that she is stifled in this way even before they get to the house. For example, the narrator proves willing to accept the rest cure that John proscribes to her, even though she says, "Personally, I disagree with their ideas." This is another instance of where John's reason and practicality actually contribute to the problem. The narrator is so repressed that she lets her imagination get the better of her while she watches the wallpaper. In this way, she also moves away from the concrete world that she never felt entirely comfortable with to another, more abstract world. In this abstract place, she seems to understand subconsciously just how trapped she is, as she begins to see a woman (possibly herself) hidden behind the design in the wallpaper, contained in the same way that she is. As she sinks further and further into madness, the narrator begins to empathize with the "women" in the design, reaching a level of understanding, in her own twisted way, that she never has with her husband. Indeed, it can be inferred that the narrator becomes so emotionally connected with the wallpaper because she is not receiving support from her husband.
Gilman does a brilliant job of showing the inadequacy of reason in certain situations. John, symbolizing all that is concrete and scientific in the world, tries in his own way to help his wife. However, his stubbornness and repression cause her to turn to the abstract world, as she eventually becomes completely insane. And when John faints at the end of the story upon seeing the state of his beloved wife, it represents the final demise of reason in "The Yellow Wallpaper." (807)
Questions:

To what extent is the story feminist in tone or content?

Why is the narrator discouraged by her husband and others from writing?

Why are other characters also interested in the wallpaper?

The story strongly suggests that something violent happened in the room before the couple moved in. Could this have something to do with the wallpaper?

The Five-Forty-Eight- An Analysis of the Other Main Characher

A lot was made about Mr. Blake (the twisted protagonist of John Cheever's The Five-Forty-Eight) in class today, but very little was said about the only other major character in the story: Miss Dent. I, for one, thought her character interesting enough to warrant further investigation. After some pondering, here are some of my conclusions.
Firstly, it seems that Miss Dent, in addition to being to story's antagonist, also acts as a foil to Mr. Blake. While Blake's character can best be described as being confident and well put-together on the outside and rotten on the inside, Miss Dent is the exact opposite. It is made relatively clear throughout the story that she is suffering from some sort of mental illness-- one that was present before the events of the story, though probably aggravated by the arrival of Blake into her life. Despite this, her words and contemptuous tone at the climax of the story makes the reader think that, as she claims, she really may know more about love than our disconnected narrator. There are more subtle clues about their contrasts in the text as well. Blake appears confident, if not cocky, throughout the story, while Miss Dent clearly has low self-esteem and openly longs for Blake's life. And, although it is not readily apparent, there is a contrast between Blake's emphasis on appearance and Miss Dent's claw like handwriting. The fact that Miss Dent acts as a foil to Blake accelerates the plot of the story and gives a level of deeper meaning to its climax.
Secondly, it appears that the two characters, so different yet completely interconnected within the story, end up switching roles following the climax of the story. Blake seems to be completely broken and shocked by the experience, not even bothering to dust himself off after putting his face in the dirt. Miss Dent, on the other hand, appears to be fortified by the experience and it is easy to understand her thought process. Lost in the story because Blake, rather than Miss Dent, is the narrator, is her emotional arc after he takes advantage of her and fires her. She slipped into a state of sickness and insanity. By her own description, the only that kept her going was her plan to exact some measure of revenge on Mr. Blake-- revenge she extracts during the climax of the story. The final confrontation was a bizarre scene, to say the least. The first time I read it, I felt a distinct sense of anticlimax at the end. However, I eventually concluded that something significant had taken place after all: both characters left the confrontation somewhat differently than they had arrived. Blake received the humbling blow to his arrogance that he desperately needed, and Miss Dent gained, in addition to confidence to stand up to her former tormentor, a sense of closure that may allow her to move on with her life. Miss Dent puts it simply at the very end, "Now I can wash my hands of you." This she does, putting to an end the emotional arc that plagued the most fascinating character in The Five-Forty-Eight. (522)

A Rose for Emily- Faulkner's Tribute to the Antebellum South

As I read Faulkner's A Rose for Emily, one particular theme that was not really touched upon in class stuck out in my mind: how Emily's "downward spiral" may have mirrored the downward spiral of Southern aristocracy. By extension, this could mean that Emily embodies the outdated customs of the Antebellum South. This theme is hinted at, but never fully established in the text. However, I, for one, found the hints too tantalizing to ignore.
Faulkner, it is important to remember, was a Southern writer (born in Mississippi) who was born about a generation after the Civil War. He was, therefore, perfectly positioned by birthright to write about the changes he had witnessed in the South. He also wrote "A Rose for Emily" a predominately retrospective form, creating a sense that the reader is looking back on something. Faulkner includes a plethora of hints in the text, both overt and subtle, that help to suggest that Emily embodies the pride and nobility of the pre-Civil War South.
First of all, it is outwardly stated that Emily was born in to a rather affluent Southern family that, according to the text, "held themselves a little too high for what they really were (paragraph 25)." Not only does this passage establish Emily as being the privileged daughter of a wealthy planter, but it also establishes her family as a relic of the Antebellum South, clinging to ideas such as pride and nobility of blood-- that the modern world had moved beyond. The changing beliefs of different generations is another important theme in the short story. In Emily's time, her taxes were taken care of by the mayor, Colonel Sartoris, with the implication she was being protected because of her status. A generation later, however, representatives from the town come calling expecting her to pay her dues. This is just another example of the changing values of the times, as Emily begins to lose her "credit" around the same time, chronologically, that the old southern values were falling apart. There are more subtle hints hidden in the story as well. Emily's father refusing to allow her to marry any of the young men in town (something that comes back to haunt Emily later in the story) because they weren't "quite good enough" shows yet again her family's reliance on the outdated caste system of the Antebellum South. Even the story's shocking ending is symbolic, as it shows Emily (and, through her, the wealthy gentlemen and ladies of the South) living far too much in the past and clinging to something that had long since died. Finally, the title also seemed to be a subtle clue about the symbolism present in the story. There are many theories about the significance of "A Rose for Emily" as a title. However, if you agree that Emily embodies the Antebellum South, then the title is appropriate for what the story appears to be: a tribute by Faulkner to the pre-Civil War South. Faulkner seems to be critical of the South in his story, but he also recognizes the tragedy of its demise, and he captures this tragic spiral perfectly in the characterization of Emily. Through his story, Faulkner pays homage, or "gives a rose", to the Antebellum South, shattered by the Civil War. (546)

Summer Reading- The Catcher in the Rye

Much to my chagrin, the school authorities made the decision to remove The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger, from the curriculum of English III, thus denying our class of the book several seniors called, "the best part of junior English." Undaunted by this, I determined to read The Catcher in the Rye on my own time as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The novel did not disappoint. Salinger's timeless story of a teenager who runs away from his boarding school due to his disgust with the "phonies" who inhabit it, despite its somewhat vague plot, introduced characters who resonated with me for some reason. Holden Caulfield, described by his author as "an ancient child of sixteen," is similar to most teenagers in the way he talks and acts. What sets him apart is the depth and complexity of his soul, which manifests itself in Holden's utter disdain for superficiality he encounters. The story is told entirely from his perspective and, more impressively, entirely in his highly distinctive form of prose. This device helps establish Holden as a sympathetic character, as one can almost hear the frustration and loneliness in his voice.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about The Catcher in the Rye is that very little of consequence actually happens in the book, yet the reader is compelled to keep reading, if only to continue hearing Holden's voice. The plot, such that it is, is quite simple: a teenager runs away to New York City and kills time for about a week. During this "adventure" he encounters a host of characters, ranging from a prostitute to a girl he knew from school named Sally. Holden finds something to dislike about almost all the people he meets. In fact, the characters themselves often take a backseat to Holden's assessment of them. For someone so young, Holden proves remarkably adept at evaluating people and looking beyond the obvious. Holden is no less critical in his tastes in music and drama, dismissing everyone from the lounge band in his hotel to the cast of a Broadway play. In doing these things, Salinger, through his harshly critical teenage narrator, cruelly satirizes modern culture and the people who comprise it.
What redeems the character of Holden Caulfield and, by extension, the entire book, is his often-overlooked sensitivity. Although it doesn't appear often, there are several small moments that reveal this side of Holden. For example, after getting beaten up by his roommate, Holden confesses, "I'm a pacifist, if you want to know the truth." His comments about sex also display a level of sensitivity unusual for a teenager. Another thing that sets our protagonist apart is his level of emotion when talking about something he cares about. When his roommate teases him about Jane, a girl Holden used to know, Holden snaps and tries to attack him. Although it is clear Holden doesn't like these qualities about himself, they go a long way towards making him a likable young man.
Although The Catcher in the Rye sometimes feels meandering and, quite often, frightfully lonely, the reader is fortunate enough to meet a truly unique character in the process. Holden Caulfield, in addition to being a inimitable social critic, proves to readers that one doesn't need perfect grammar to have the soul of a poet.