I was reading yesterday in Frankenstein and thinking about all the discussions we'd had in class over the novel. We've had some wonderful talks about it and gotten some pretty good debates going, but one of the points Dr. Kimberly made about Frankenstein cracked me up. It's true: Victor Frankenstein is so much more like the Gothic heroine than the Gothic hero. I found this quote online... the Gothic heroine is "a young, attractive woman... running in terror through an old, dark, crumbling mansion in the middle of nowhere, from either a psychotic man or a supernatural demon... terminally helpless and more than a bit screechy, but is inevitably "saved" by the good guy/future husband in the nick of time." And I thought, oh my gosh. Minus the mansion, this is Victor Frankenstein all over! He begins the novel as everything beautiful, virtuous and desirable; he winds up, however, constantly panicked and feeling in danger as Steve stalks him. He is constantly fainting and suffering mental breakdowns (the novel details a few times that he suffers illness for several months following an extreme shock).
Okay, so we've identified our heroine; just one problem left. Who's our Gothic hero? As I read today and yesterday, I discovered his identity: none other than Henry Clerval, Frankenstein's best friend! To begin with, Clerval possesses all of the qualities that would have been so valued during this Romantic time period. He is ambitious and intelligent, and holds so much enthusiasm and passion for life. He wants to travel, learn languages, and serve his country and colonization. He appreciates nature, a must for any man of stature at the time. I bet he would have known the difference between sublime, beautiful, and picturesque without being laughed at by Wordsworth. In addition to his Renaissance-man personality, he always seems to be the one supporting Victor. Consider: who nursed Frankenstein for 2 months following his first illness? Clerval. He helped keep his friend emotionally balanced after he returned home to Geneva, not to mention was his psychological aid and companion on his trip to Britain.
I might be way off base here, but I don't think so.

I was working [read: sleeping] in the library today, doing our assignment for Friday (chapters 7-10), and I came across the passage near its end where Frankenstein's monster approaches Frankenstein with his story. I was really interested in the argument that the "monster" makes against his creator, and found myself even sort of agreeing with him... Let's take a look.

"'Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed...'
"For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I complained of his wickedness."

Frankenstein's monster is reproaching his maker for the state he's in. The monster compares his and Frankenstein's relationship to Adam's relationship with God, as described by the Biblical creation account. God created Adam and placed him in a paradise, maintaining a relationship with him (until Adam broke it by direct disobedience) and providing him with his needs and wants, including a wife. Frankenstein did absolutely nothing for his creation. He labored for years to discover the science necessary to perform his experiment and worked painstakingly to create a live human from a dead one, then, realizing his error moments too late, went off to take a nap to evade his responsibilities as a creator.

With no one to guide him in the mores of society or even basic morals and behavior, who could blame Frankenstein's monster for what he became? He was abandoned by the one man in the world who owed him some form of care and left to make of his new "life" what he could. We have not advanced far enough into the novel to discover exactly what passed, but the monster's experiences have evidently left him emotionally damaged and wanting revenge on the creator who deserted him.

To be quite honest, I'm amazed that Frankenstein had no feelings regarding the thing he brought to life. Until the monster expresses his frustration and misery with some serious force and feeling, and even offers Frankenstein the opportunity to murder him once he's done, Frankenstein refuses to even listen his story. His guilt and his prejudices against the creature that might possibly have been everything he created him to be-- eloquent, deeply emotional, able to learn languages and behaviors (we discover later)-- everything but beautiful-- run so deep that he immediately suspects him of a horrible crime. I'm astonished that he reproaches himself for his creation of the monster but doesn't reproach himself for abandoning it and literally and figuratively "taking a nap" when he needed to take some responsibility for his actions.

In my opinion, all humans are poets. We are divinely endowed with passion for life and love and various aspects of the world in which we live. Communication of this passion is poetry-- some people are just better at verbalizing than others. I believe that humans are created in the likeness of God. Because He is a passionate, creative God, we are creative and passionate (in some form or another) as well.
To clarify my beliefs: I don't think poetry is limited to the written or spoken word. I speak poetry when I tell my mom that I love her over the phone. I express poetry through my smile when I trip down Freshman Hill because I'm dancing to what's on my iPod. Laughter is the world's most pristine form of poetry. I do that a lot, too. Worship of God is an expression of sacred poetry.
In short, I agree with Wordsworth: "All good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." He never said a thing about verbalizing.

COMMENTS:
I like how you expressed that poetry is the communication of passion, where some people are just better at expressing their passions than others. I have one question; if creativity and passion are from God, how do atheistic poets explain their creativity. Is poetry an expression of the poet, or of God expressing vicariously through him.

I agree that all people have the ability to create poetry and that it just depends on your ability to verbalize or express it intelligibly that determines if it will be remembered. We are as poets after all trying to convey particular feelings. I think if you are going to bring God into the mix you have to accept that he works whether or not you believe in him. Zack Hughes

Although atheists do not believe in God, she is coming from the viewpoint that God does exist. Therefore, God created the atheists, like all other humans, in His image and thus they still retain their passion and creativity.
Meredith Dreher

I believe what Donna Julia did was wrong, but at the same time I can't help but to pity her. For heaven's sake, Alfonso was twice her age. Her attempts at virtue were noble at first, but because she didn't carefully guard her heart she wound up getting into trouble... Let's take a look at some specifics, shall we?
I was particularly interested in the little singsong-y poetic preface to the part about Julia and Juan's first interactions. It begins their tale by talking about the effect that the climate of Spain has on people's moods and sexuality:
'Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,
And all the fault of that indecent sun,
Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,
But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
That howsoever people fast and pray,
The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone:
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
Is much more common where the climate's sultry.
Byron goes on to discuss how lucky people in cold climates are. I was pretty amused at this concept altogether, and was reminded of reading that I had done in high school English. About the time that America began to be colonized, there arose an opinion about those who had moved from the temperate English climates to the West Indies. The women became "tropicalized": they were lazy, emotionally high-strung, and overly sexualized. This sounds to me like a similar excuse-- that the warm, sunny climate of Spain put everyone in the mood for love. Interesting.
The fifth and sixth lines of this stanza also drew my attention. There's a Biblical reference in there; it's talking about the night before Christ was crucified. He's praying a little way away from 3 of the disciples, late at night, in the garden of Gethsemane, and they can't stay awake. He's urging them to keep watch and be vigilant; they knew the urgency of the situation, but couldn't seem to discipline themselves. An analogy is drawn here between the actions of the disciples and Donna Julia's lack of determination. While she knew the dangers of beginning an affair with Don Juan, and began by praying and supplicating the Virgin Mary for help, she rationalized her actions away to herself until she was too far gone to turn back.

Have you ever done some reading and tried to get into it, but you just couldn't? Either because it was dry or you were tired or in a hurry or you had something else on your mind... you just didn't find it interesting? Sometimes, it's best to try and think of a new way to experience the reading. Try and find it as a book on tape, or do your reading in a different place. (Get out of your dorm room! I like the Campanile, Starbucks, and the balcony at Skiles where I can dangle my feet over the edge through the bars... but if you steal my favorite reading spot I'll probably be a little irritated with you. Find your own safe haven; mine was just an example.) In the case that I reference, I watched a movie, Pandaemonium, and came out with a totally new understanding of Kubla Khan.

I have to confess, I wasn't really excited about doing Wednesday night's reading. However, after listening to Dorothy Wordsworth's mysterious, muttering voice recite Kubla Khan, and seeing the montage of pictures and video that accompanied the poem, I was sort of inspired to pay closer attention. I read the poem slowly and tried to really envision the place that Coleridge was describing. And it worked! The language is beautiful and the place it describes is amazing. The garden he describes is a union of the beautiful and the sublime; it's not exactly picturesque, being so ordered, but it's exotic and mysterious and awe-inspiring. I particularly like the first paragraph:

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers girdled round;
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

Completely amazing. When I read it aloud, I feel like I'm reading the opening of an ancient, exotic adventure story-- it's worded sort of similarly to the way Asian mythology is. Coleridge complains that because of the visitor from Porlock, he's not able to give as lifelike a description of the vision as he would like. I find the poem perfectly sufficient.

Also, I was interested in the change in tone between the first and second paragraphs. If we want to continue tracing my theme of "there are greater powers in the world than humans" from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," it's not difficult to do. Stanza 1 describes mostly the man-made part of the garden, with the towers and scented trees that the Khan had planted, and it's beautiful. However, when Stanza 2 begins, Coleridge spends little time describing the artificial. He focuses more deeply on the wild, natural parts of the garden, as well as discussing the spirits in the water that warn Kubla Khan of war. This paragraph describes the garden as being sublime. The poem once again illustrates nature and the supernatural's superiority to humans and human imagination. What man creates is pretty; what the world creates for him is inspiring and mysterious.

I was a little dumbfounded when asked to state what I thought was the theme of this poem. Honestly, there are several, and I'm not about to try and trace all of them. The one theme that I feel Coleridge was most strongly propagating is this: there are more powerful forces in the world than humans, be those forces from Heaven, Hell, or the natural world.
The poem begins powerfully. An active, engaging scene is described on the freezing ocean, and activity and work are central to the atmosphere of the place. The first major action that takes place is an attempt to demonstrate power: the shooting of the albatross. For what other reason would the mariner shoot such a beautiful bird? To prove that he could, and that he was cold and strong enough to do so.
The rest of "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" constitutes the responses of nature and the supernatural. He is punished severely for his actions, with thirst, with freezing, with the death of his companions, with a lack of fellowship with God (he cannot pray), and finally with life-in-death. All of these are situations which show the dominance of the natural and spiritual worlds over the people that inhabit them. It's as though the spirits of the poem are trying to say, yes, you can shoot a defenseless animal. Look how much stronger we are than you-- we'll prove how powerful we are. The "spirits" punish him psychologically, as well as act through the natural world to torture him physically.

A side note: a lot of Coleridge's inspiration came from... hmm, let's just say it wasn't always a result of pure human imagination. He himself was subject to the opinion that humans are subject to their environments and influences. Maybe his dependence on drugs speaks a belief that he's chosen to rely on stronger powers than humanity for inspiration.

This entry isn't really about contrasting all of the adjectives we discussed in class. I was just really amused at Coleridge's literary snobbery. It's hilarious to me how impressed he obviously was with his own vocabulary and verbal ability.
I really wanted to continue discussing the sublime and how I felt it was displayed in depth in one of the poems we were to read, "The Tables Turned." Upon first reading this poem, I felt it had been personally directed at me in a way that was both humorous and reproachful. Like most Tech students, I feel like the majority of my life has been claimed by studying and work. Unlike many students, I oftentimes feel that I'd rather be in my room curled up with a book than out of doors, or that I receive more inspiration or instruction from something I read in Scripture or see in a great movie or read in a well-written poem. This poem, however, is about "mixing things up." It seems to be directed expressly to an overworked student. The narrator approaches the harried friend in the poem and encourages him to clear his head and learn a little from the beauty outside. Instead of continuing to pore over books for hours, he suggests listening to the songs of birds and enjoying the fresh green of woods. One of the essential components of the sublime that we read was inspiration. Lines 21-24 state this clearly: "One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man; Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can." However, as the woods discussed are neither terrifying, infinite, or particularly mysterious, I would say that the nature described exemplifies also the characteristics of that which is beautiful. I believe that Wordsworth is trying to create in this poem an image of the perfect union of the sublime and the beautiful as the most tranquilizing and inspirational backdrop for learning.

I have to confess that I'm kind of sad that we've finished Pride and Prejudice. I liked the book regardless of the fact that it was a class assignment, and I had an actual justification for reading something nice to wind down at night. Now I get to curl up with "The Earth System" for my bedtime reading... definitely puts me to sleep.
Anyway... Bride and Prejudice.
I was interested to see such an adaptation of a British novel. The writers took Jane Austen's novel and transplanted it in the Indian countryside. While at first I questioned their reasoning, I sort of understand it now. The fact is that while British society at the time was obviously different from traditional Indian culture on the surface (different clothes, style of dancing, etc.) there are many societal principles that are the same. Two examples of these similarities are strict levels of society and the practice of arranging marriages, both of which are important elements of Jane Austen's novel. In short, while the two societies appear nothing alike at first glance, they are structured similarly, making India an ideal location for the adaptation of the book.
The key events of the novel all appear in the movie, including the arrival and marriage of Mr. Collins, the deception by Wickham, the seduction of Lydia, and Jane and Elizabeth's marriages to Bingley and Darcy. (I use the names of the characters as they appear in Jane Austen's novel... they are, of course, different in Bride and Prejudice. By the way, did the different names, especially of the Bennet daughters, confuse anybody else? I had a hard time following them for a while.) However, there were certain differences between the two that make it difficult for me to say that "Bride and Prejudice" is a true adaptation of Jane Austen's novel.
The first of these is the fact that Kholi sahib was in no way related to the Bakshi family, which sort of removed the reason that one of the daughters had to marry him. This is a big deal! Another thing, and the most important to me, is this: the fact that Lakhi had gone of with Johnny Wickham and we never really see that anyone makes a fuss over it is frustrating. Obviously, they're worried for her safety, but nothing beyond that is really stated as a concern, and that confuses me. In such a traditional society, where daughters are "married off" the way that we see in this movie, it's intuitive that a virgin daughter will probably be "married off" a little more easily than one who's had sex. The only thing that Darcy does to help Lakhi out is find her and then punch Johnny in the nose. The big difference lies in the fact that in the book, in order for him to even have a shot at marrying Lizzy, he had to save her family's reputation by saving Lydia's reputation, and this wasn't the case in Bride and Prejudice. This sort of takes half the romance out of the end of the movie for me. I don't know who all has seen the latest adaptation of Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley, but I was just melted (yeah, I know... hopeless romantic) when Darcy told her that what he'd done for her family was "all for her." What did Will do in the movie? Not much when compared to Fitzwilliam's gallant "here I am to save the day" in the novel.
Okay. I know I'm nitpicking. Bride and Prejudice is sort of a baby-step towards modernization of the novel Pride and Prejudice. It's set in a highly traditional culture, but the fact that it's set today automatically sets it a little forward of Jane Austen's work. Perhaps Bride and Prejudice is the happy medium between rigid film representation and complete modernized adaptation of a novel.
In conclusion, I did enjoy the movie. It's a little more melodramatic than the novel, but is still completely lighthearted and funny, what with all the singing and dancing. Personally, having a gospel choir pop up in the middle of the beach completely made the movie for me. I laughed my head off. It's a fresh take on an old favorite and comes off much better than the average modern adaptation.

In reading Pride and Prejudice (as well as watching both the movie versions), I've picked up on something that sort of interests me, and I'd like to hear people's opinions.
Lydia Bennet is not exactly the central character of the novel, but she's certainly an important character. Her words and behavior as described in the novel are flirtatious, unguarded, shallow, and generally inappropriate. Oddly enough, the strongest word her father (the man who should be the authority in her life) uses to describe her mindset and actions is "silly." Her mother indulges her as the baby of the family, and at only fifteen Lydia is already "out" in society. While we don't have much dialog in the text from outsiders to attest to this, the movies make it clear that Lydia is pretty well known in Hertfordshire society as a very high-strung, undisciplined girl.
While we never see Lydia being punished in the novel by her parents for the things that she did, Jane Austen ensures that life punishes her and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for her wildness and her parents' lack of disciplinary action in her life. In this day, appropriate behavior for a girl did not include boy-chasing or an overly flirtatious demeanor. Isn't it interesting that behavior so frowned upon by society in that time period is the one popularized by so many entities today? Consider the attitudes promoted on most MTV reality shows: "The Real World" is focused on little more than sexual promiscuity and drama; "My Super-Sweet Sixteen" celebrates and rewards spoiled attitudes and ungratefulness; and "Laguna Beach" is a docudrama on the gossip-filled lives of ridiculously rich California teens. The young people on these shows are not exactly fair samplings of American society, but their behavior is what's being pushed. It's sort of ridiculous how far we've come.
And this is the result of a lack of anything better to think about. In addition to her parents' total failing to discipline her, I point to Lydia's faulty education. Mrs. Bennet did not take the trouble to educate her daughters, or to have anyone else to educate her daughters. While Mary seems to have developed a natural interest in philosophy and theology, and Elizabeth enjoys reading to a degree, Lydia and Kitty don't seem to have any academic interests at all. As they weren't forced to expand their intellectual horizons, the extent of their thoughts tends to officers, shopping, and gossip. This isn't a plug for Mary Wollstonecraft, but her solution-- the serious education of women-- would probably have done wonders for the youngest Bennet daughter.

I'm extremely interested in tomorrow's reading, specifically the poem "January, 1795." The poem is written in a very sing-song meter that has almost the feel of a list. As I read it I feel like I'm being shown flashes or quick snapshots of the inconsistencies of London society. The poem highlights injustices, and is summarized by stanza six: "Tastes and talents quite deserted; All the laws of truth pererted; Arrogance o'er merit soaring; Merit silently deploring." Mary Robinson compares the comfortable life of many wealthy members of society to the bleak lifestyles of the majority of the city's population, and she deplores the fact that the majority of the rich are, in her opinion, undeserving of their money when compared to many of the starving geniuses with whom she was acquainted. She is frustrated with the fact that many of the most deserving members of society lack so much, while insincere, less scrupulous citizens manage to insinuate themselves into high society and connections. In spite of its dark tone, "January, 1795" was satisfying food for thought.

I was particularly refreshed by the reading due today (Wednesday, September 13).
I've felt that our reading of late has been nothing but biting sarcasm and social criticism, and while this makes for interesting reflections on the literature, it sort of tires and depresses me, too. However, this mood lifted upon my reading "To a Little Invisible Being Who Is Expected Soon to Become Visible." This is an absolutely beautiful piece of poetry written out of what is obviously one of the deepest, most heartfelt and beautiful emotions of a woman. It is the first piece that we have read of late that has dealt directly with a traditional women's role (motherhood) and approved of it wholeheartedly, without calling for a revolution in some capacity or another.
I particularly enjoyed reading the fourth through seventh paragraphs, which discuss the anticipation and joy that the mother of the poem feels as she completes her pregnancy. The way that Barbauld describes the mother's tender emotions for her soon-to-arrive baby is heartwarming. Lines 17-18 ("She only asks to lay her burden down, That her glad arms may that burden resume") detail the woman's readiness to take on the task of motherhood. The love that she already feels for her child is expressed in lines 27-28, where Barbauld reminds us that no other noise is as sweet to the ears of a mother as the voice of her child.
The topic of "To a Little Invisible Being..." is a somewhat of a transition from the topics that we've discussed recently, but I'm appreciative of the general change of voice. Three of the four poems by Barbauld that we were assigned have domestic topics, or are written upon subjects that would have been deemed part of the woman's world during the Romantic period. The couplet at the end of "To the Poor" notwithstanding (a very sharp jab at societal institutions' use of God to manipulate the general population), these three poems are a sharp contrast to Wollstonecraft's writings because they lack the sardonic attitude that so tires me. The style of the poetry varies from poem to poem, but the voice of the author conveys a certain sense of contentment and happiness that makes for very good reading.

This week, I had plenty to mull over with Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of Women. She makes some points that I agree with, and some that I wholeheartedly disagree with. For example, I certainly agree that girls should be educated. That the female mind is incapable of development like the male mind is an idea that was eliminated years ago. Of course girls deserve every opportunity to learn, to expand their imaginations, and also to exercise and be healthy. However, I believe that Mary Wollstonecraft's perception of certain societal institutions-- marriage, to be specific-- was slightly distorted, and I think that this needs to be addressed.
Mary W. was extremely suspicious of marriage in the first place, and who could blame her? With a mother and sister in abusive marriages, she had seen the worst of the wedded state, and disagreed with marriage on principle. She preaches equality for women-- not subservience or chivalrous behavior. I'm of the mind that the three, in their intended states, are not mutually exclusive. According to Biblical principle, which was the official mindset of the time, the three go hand in hand.
I refer to Ephesians 5:22, where Paul writes to women: "Wives, submit to your own husbands." Submission is not subservience as Mary W. paints it; it is rather a respect for the leadership of a husband in a Biblical marriage. This verse is accompanied by Ephesians 5:25, a direction for husbands: "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her." This is a basis for the popular attitude of men toward women known as chivalry, which is defined as courtesy towards women. This gentlemanly attitude is hardly an inappropriate elevation of women-- it's just respect. While equality in marriage may seem incongruous with the two previous attitudes, it in fact inevitably accompanies them. The equality that I'm talking about isn't women throwing a fit for their rights or men backing down to uber-feminist wives... I mean the equality that comes as a result of a real, loving, respectful, correctly founded marriage, the likes of which Mary Wollstonecraft would probably have approved, had she had any decent examples.
All right. Liberal and/or feminist classmates, line up and shoot me down. I'm unarmed!

So the other day in class, we had a pretty serious discussion on William Blake versus Mary Wollstonecraft and Thomas Paine, and we had to write a detailed paragraph on where we stood. I really hadn't given that much thought-- but the fact is, maybe I should. I read the essays by all three authors and found myself nodding in agreement with all of them. Can I do that? I don't think my opinion is solidified enough on some of these issues and that bothers me. I had always sort of considered myself a balance of Romanticism and Enlightenment-- I'm reason and emotion, tradition and progression. And I always found a very different kind of beauty in that balance. Yes, I'm the kind of person that deeply considers and reflects on this sort of thing...
But that wasn't what I was talking about. What I really need to sort out is how I feel about societal reforms and whether or not they're truly effective. I sense a lot of frustration in Paine's and Wollstonecraft's writing. Mary W. says she "blush[es] to discover the depravity of our nature" when she talks about the contrasting (and totally inappropriate) punishments for poaching and murder. Of course I believe that poaching is wrong, because it's stealing. But the bigger problem is why they're stealing-- because people are starving, and the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. (Side note: What is the Christian church-- supposedly so strong at this point in time-- really doing to help the needy? Isn't that what Christ's church is all about? More on that later.) Thomas Paine makes some points that he argues really well. I confess, even I was a little swayed when I read what he had to say about "man has no property in man." And he's right, to a degree. What can we know about the specifics of the future? But then I think about the fact that history really does repeat itself-- that I believe the hearts of men are the same everywhere-- and I know where I stand. Burke argues the importance of tradition's role in his writings, and I agree with him. He's a moralist and he's right about what he says-- that people who try to turn society upside down and go about things the wrong way (like mass regicide) will never get what they want. Dr. Kimberley was totally right in class. In situations like that, you don't get a level society. The worst people rise to the top. I mean, hey, look at the Bolshevik Revolution.