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Bride and Prejudice Analysis [Dec. 3rd, 2006|11:57 pm]
As some of you may remember from my previous entries, I was less than thrilled when I found out we were reading Pride and Prejudice. I had Joe Wright’s 2005 movie of the same title to thank for that. I now understand the irony that I was prejudiced against a story that is largely about the problems prejudice causes. Clearly, I based my judgments on the wrong presentation. I still maintain that Wright’s Pride and Prejudice is battling it out with Final Destination 3 and Battlefield Earth for the all time worst film in the history of the world. That being said, I really enjoyed the story of Pride and Prejudice and felt that the movie did not do it anything close to justice. Gurinder Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice is a completely different story. It may stray farther from the original novel in terms of setting and events but it manages to cling much more tightly to the spirit of the story.
If you take Jane Austen’s story out of the gloom of the English moors, this is really a happy tale of two people’s abilities to overcome their personal shortcomings and fall in love despite themselves. Bride and Prejudice realizes this where the other version comes short. By setting the story in modern day India, Britain, and America, we get to see the vibrant love story that is at the root of Pride and Prejudice. This movie does a good job of staying true to the original novel despite the modern day setting. Sure, the locations are changed, a few interactions are modernized (E-mail, for example), and a gospel choir makes a brief appearance (It’s not in the book, I checked), but the story is the same. The names and places are changed but the plot and events remained mostly unchanged. I guess the best indicator that Bride and Prejudice was closer to the book than its 2005 counterpart was that I enjoyed the novel and the Indian version, whereas the other one was less than superb. I thought Aishwarya Rai was cast very well as Lalita as she, like Elizabeth has breathtaking eyes, which was very important to the novel’s story as far as Darcy is concerned. She reminds me of an Indian Ana Beatriz-Barros.
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Frankenstein Trial [Nov. 19th, 2006|10:02 pm]
This past Friday’s three-way reminded me a lot of a game of Clue®. With so many defendants, I halfway expected the group defending the monster to say, “We suspect it was Society in the Ballroom with a lack of acceptance.” This completely useless thought aside, I really enjoyed the trial and I would like to commend my team of exceptional defense lawyers on our stellar defense of Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Seriously, though, I thought this trial brought up a big question that, so far, is still unanswered. Yes, in a modern court of law, Stephen J. Monster would probably be found guilty of murdering the victims, but legal standards aside, who is really responsible for the tragic events of the novel?

The obvious answer to this question is that the monster is the guilty party. He did, after all, kill most of the innocent victims, presumably with his bare hands, brute strength, and/or a large blunt object (The wrench, anyone?). At the same time, it could just as easily be argued that he is the victim here. He is created ugly, deformed, and enormous into a society that refuses to accept that which it does not understand. His existence is torturous because of circumstances far beyond his control. Despite his advanced intellect, he is looked upon as a dangerous animal. So, yes, he does commit the actual murders but it could easily be argued that he was driven to it by society and his creator’s inability to play God.

So where else can the blame go? The next logical place to look is Dr. Frankenstein. Thanks to a brilliant Venn diagram, his innocence was proved in a fake court of law. Would he be so lucky in a court of morals? Yes, Victor’s intentions are good. Who wouldn’t want to destroy the inevitability that is death? He is attempting the greatest medical achievement in humanity’s history! The first important question this brings up is this: Does he have a right to attempt this? Is it morally defensible to play God? In the context of the trial, however the important question is this: Is he responsible for the actions of his creation? My answer is yes and no. The monster chose to murder these people on its own. The killings were premeditated and design to strike in a way that would most hurt Frankenstein and the monster shows no clear signs of insanity. This being said, we have to face the fact that Victor is a negligent parent because the monster is, in many ways, an eight-foot tall child. Victor abandons it immediately and takes no responsibility for this creature he has brought into the world. In many ways, Victor is more of a monster than Steve, which brings to mind a similar message conveyed by both King Kong and Heart of Darkness. Because of this, Victor is at least partially responsible for the deaths.

Society is not without blame. This novel could easily be seen as Shelley’s commentary on society’s inability to accept those that are different from it. The monster is ugly, deformed, and monstrous, which means to society that it must be destroyed. Shelley clearly sympathizes with this misunderstood character and even incorporates elements of herself in Steve (Both are vegetarians). As was mentioned in the trial, it is hard to charge an entire society with murder, but society definitely played an important role in these murders.

I see elements of Blake’s philosophy in all of this. Not one of these defendants is completely innocent or completely guilty. There is no black and white, only shades of gray. There is good and bad in each of them/
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Maya Angelou [Nov. 19th, 2006|09:28 pm]
I really wasn’t sure what to expect when I went to see Maya Angelou last Wednesday. I have enjoyed all of her work that I have read, especially I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, but I was still a bit hesitant to spend an hour of my precious time (I say that based strictly on the law of supply and demand, not on the way I view the importance of my time. I have no time; therefore, it must be valuable.) watching an elderly lady speak about…well, I wasn’t sure about what it was she was supposed to speak on either. To be completely honest, I’m not sure that I could tell you, even now, what her topic was, but I do know that I really enjoyed her talk.

I would consider myself a fan of Dr. Angelou’s work but that wasn’t the whole reason I decided to go to this event. This was one of those events that seemed like it was too important to pass up. I almost felt obligated to go just because it was Maya Angelou, which makes me as guilty of celebrity-obsession as the pilot who left his cabin in mid-flight to see Dr. Angelou. Indeed, if I had been carrying a baby Wednesday night, I probably would have transferred the infant to her possession. Shockingly, extra credit played little, if any, role in my decision to attend the event.

I must say that Wednesday night was much better than the previous time I had gone to see Maya Angelou speak. That would be because I had originally thought the event was the previous Wednesday and I actually wound up circumnavigating campus on foot about three times as a result (After football practice, no less). So, yes, this time was much less exhausting than its predecessor.

As far as her actual speech went, I enjoyed it immensely. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that this Renaissance woman was remarkably funny. Given the difficulties of her background and the seriousness of a lot of her writing, I had expected a serious talk about race relations. What I got instead was a masterful oration on the need to be “composers,” Dr. Angelou’s term for people that shape the world. Her stories about the effects of small deeds of goodness brought to mind the movie Pay it Forward, which, though I have never seen it, seems to be about a similar premise if Yahoo! Movies holds any credibility. Anyways, from Tupac to Capitol Hill, the speaker made the point that by doing little things for people, you can change the world for the better. I love this message and I thought she did a great job with her speech. My only regret is that she left abruptly before she could be fully and properly recognized for her accomplishments, for which I now respect her even more.
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Shelley's Message to Science [Nov. 12th, 2006|09:55 pm]
When we first began to discuss Frankenstein, I thought it was just a very well written ghost story because of its origins in that rainy weekend with Lord Byron. When we were told to analyze how we thought Shelley felt about scientists on Wednesday, however, I felt that the message became very clear. Yes, Frankenstein is a ghost story and, arguably, the most famous ghost story in popular culture. As easy as it would be to accept it as such and leave it at that would be entirely missing the point though. Shelley is writing a warning to the scientific community of her generation and for generations to come. Frankenstein is a novel that attempts to scare scientists into the realization that when science goes unchecked by morality, terrible things will result. I assure you that Shelley would be horrified by the extent of genetic engineering today because geneticists are doing exactly what Shelley was warning against: They are infringing upon God’s territory. Victor is well intentioned, there should be no doubt of that, but his ambition blinds him into abandoning moral principles. Although I am personally in favor of it, I can see how the same approach might be applied to stem cell research today. It is for a noble cause, but what is the cost? Shelley is introducing conscience into a world of cold, hard facts. She, like Dostoevsky in Crime and Punishment, realizes that attempts to pretend that this world is strictly rational and the actions that follow such a pretense will be met with disastrous results. The author’s message can also be interpreted as simply a warning to scientists in a time of great discoveries. Scientific discoveries always bring about new questions and Shelley reminds us to ask this question first and foremost: Is it a good thing to do? Just because we are capable of doing something doesn’t mean that we should do it.
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"The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth." -Jean Cocteau [Nov. 5th, 2006|08:28 pm]
Before I begin my discussion of the nature of poetry, I would like to check on something I noticed this week. Did anyone else notice Byron’s attempt to blame the lust of tropical and subtropical peoples on the sun? I thought this was really similar to Meursault, the protagonist of Camus’s The Stranger, who blames his murder of an Arab man on the large fiery orb in the sky. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that there is absolutely, positively zero connection there, but I just thought that was interesting.
Now I shall move on to my definition of poetry. I really used to hate this sort of open-ended assignment but, due to the nature of poetry, it seems quite appropriate. When Dr. Kimberly gave us this assignment in class, I had one of those moments that so often happen in cartoons. A tiny demonic figure appeared on my left shoulder and whispered in my ear. According to him, I should simply define poetry as, “Any form of literature that is written in verse, takes itself too literally, and is written by a woman or a gay man.” That’s when his tiny angelic counterpart appeared and reminded me that Byron was bisexual. Because of that, I actually decided to write a serious definition for poets and poetry. This is what I came up with:
A poet is, in my humble opinion, a prose writer who has grown weary of the inadequacy of mere words. A poet, unlike his less lyrical counterpart, is concerned with subjects that elude the grasp of plain language alone. In the words of Faulkner, “The poets are almost always wrong about the facts. That’s because they’re not interested in the facts, only the truth.” To borrow a term from Byron, I “giggled” the first time I read this. While it initially seems contradictory, however, it is really quite accurate. A poet seeks to reach true human emotions and feelings through imagery and verse in his work, which extends beyond the limits of prose. Prose is cold, hard facts. Poetry is vibrant, living truths that exist not in the outside world but within one’s perception of the outside world. What makes poetry so effective in conveying a message is its feeling. The reader becomes emotionally engaged with the work, and the work becomes their inner reality or something they disagree with and oppose. Prose shows us what is outside of ourselves, poetry reveals what we think and feel.
My definition was received with mixed feelings. I will agree with one somewhat opposing point that was brought up. Poets do have a tendency to place more value on their craft than is merited. To be perfectly honest, poetry has never changed my life and will almost definitely never do so. Poetry is a form of expression and entertainment that can be both powerful and meaningful, but I do think Blake and Coleridge may have been going a bit overboard with their whole “poet-prophet” belief. Perhaps there is no other profession than that of poet where the craftsman is so convinced that his work, which is often seen as trivial by the public, is so invaluable. As Lorna Dee Cervantes so eloquently put it, “I thought poems were songs for people with bad voices.” So to respond to your comment, Josh, I do think you are right in describing poetry as somewhat pointless. Very often, it is art for art’s sake. To say that this is exclusively the case would be misguided, however, as so much of poetry is emotion directed towards a point or goal. I hope that is a suitable response to your comment because I couldn’t read it all that well. Anyways, this is my definition of poetry and I’m sticking with it for now.
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Don Juan made me "giggle." [Oct. 29th, 2006|11:54 pm]
Although writer/director Jeremy Leven and the crew responsible for the film “Don Juan Demarco” clearly took advantage of artistic liberty during the making of the movie, I thought it did a very good job portraying the theme of the poem. I had to get that out of the way since I couldn’t help but notice it. That being said, however, this LiveJournal entry is about Lord Byron, not Johnny Depp.
The reasons for Byron’s celebrity became clear to me almost instantly when I began reading this poem. He had all the prerequisites for fame. He led a flashy lifestyle with an equally flamboyant wardrobe, had a controversial divorce, and was equipped with a sexual appetite that would rival Wilt Chamberlain’s. He had, however, what few celebrities have today: Talent. Byron, although my experience with him is limited to this poem, is an exceptional writer. His is a successful blend of storytelling, rhyme, allusions, and humor. He writes in a way that reminds me of several successful writers of today, especially Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated. This story is a dramedy; it makes its point but it doesn’t take itself so seriously that it forsakes its comedic side. Byron makes several comments on his writing throughout the piece, which gives no pretense that this is anything but his account of Don Juan. It reminds me of Monty Python or, as Josh Anderson noted, Mel Brooks when they make their characters aware of the fact that this is a film, not reality. I think this blend of seriousness and humor is one of the characteristics that make Byron’s work an entertaining read.
The rhyming and diction in “Don Juan” are more confusing issues for me. I like that his rhymes are easy to understand and often funny. Throughout most of the rhymes, he successfully maintains the story without getting sidetracked. The only problem I have with his word selection is that he sometimes seems to abandon better wording to maintain his rhyme scheme. It gives the poem better consistency but some of the rhymes seem cheap, for lack of a better word. This is the only time I think he gets a little off topic in order to keep the pattern.

“Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;
In short, in all things she was fairly what I call
A prodigy - her morning dress was dimity,
Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,
And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling.”

It just seems to me like a very brief mention of her dress veers too sharply from the topic of Inez’s personality and education just to insert a word that rhymes with “sublimity.” All in all, however, I think this rhyming makes the poem that much more appealing to the masses. It’s just catchier that way, which, like rap or popular music today, seems to make people enjoy it that much more.
What I really like most about this poem has nothing to do with Byron’s mechanics, though. I enjoy Byron’s subtle endorsement of Don Juan as a hero. What I really got out of this is a glimpse at the oft-overlooked sufferings of a misunderstood and tormented playboy. Clearly, Byron can relate to the poor young man who just can’t help but seduce a beautiful woman seven years his senior. It’s a rough life beating women off with a stick, and when the women in question are married, it’s just that much harder. That’s why we should sympathize with Don Juan and Byron. As recording artist Djay so eloquently put it, “It’s hard out here for a pimp.” Simply put, this makes me giggle.
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Coleridge Comparison [Oct. 21st, 2006|08:56 pm]
Humanity should be grateful for the poppy plant. Perhaps no narcotic has played as big a role in human history. Without opium, you couldn’t write a book on Chinese history, the Wizard of Oz would be missing at least one scene, and, according to another film, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story, the sport of dodgeball would not exist. The drug’s impact has been felt profoundly in literature as well, which is probably more relevant to this class.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge knew a thing or two about opium and it shows in his poetry. The drug’s effect is very obvious in “Kubla Khan.” Although the poem is only a fragment, we have a general idea (and I stress “general”) of what Coleridge was trying to do. This being said, this is, in my professional opinion, one whacked-out poem. It sounds like a Beatles song, complete with vibrant colors, historical allusions, and an imaginary dreamland. He complains about an obnoxious visitor from Porlock, and this is where the very drug-induced nature of this poem becomes most apparent to me. (Ironically enough, I was interrupted while writing this.) Mr. Coleridge makes the claim that he was unable to remember the rest of the poem after his interruption and also seems to suggest that “Kubla Khan,” in its entirety, is the greatest poem ever and that it will somehow enlighten all who read it. He sounds a bit like Tenacious D in “Tribute,” if you ask me. More importantly, however, he sounds like a drunk trying to explain some great revelation to someone sober. He is trying to make some great point, but it is lost on me. Much like Blake, he also tries to preach the whole “poet-prophet” idea, which I’m not buying. It just seems to me like drug-induced arrogance. No amount of poetry is going to reveal the secrets of the world to me, especially when the author’s words make zero sense. In short, I didn’t really like this poem and I award it no more value than the words of any given junkie on the street.
I look at “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” in a completely different light. I really enjoyed that poem and here’s why: It had a message. One could easily find several themes in the poem, including the value of innocence, human responsibility, the power of the supernatural, the importance of nature and the sublime, and a rendition of the “Wandering Jew” story. In fact, my only real complaint with “Rime” is the exceptionally confusing part where the spirit voices have their debate. I’m guessing that Samuel’s rheumatism was acting up while he was writing that because painkillers were definitely involved. Although I really can’t say authoritatively when the author was abusing substances, I think I can say that, unlike the Beatles and other ‘60s bands, Coleridge’s work was negatively affected by his drug usage. The man had a lot to say and opium just got in the way. It may make more artsy people than myself think it made his work deeper, but I disagree. Convolution does not equal depth to me.
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The (C)Rime of the Ancient Mariner [Oct. 19th, 2006|10:56 am]
I really like this poem. I had the opportunity to read it in high school, so I was excited when I heard that we would be reading it this year. With that having been said, I have given a lot of thought to the meaning of this poem. Several themes seem to exist in the poem, including the power of the supernatural, the value of nature, and the sanctity of innocence. After contemplating each of these, I have reached several conclusions.
First of all, as prevalent as the supernatural may be in the story, I just don’t feel like that is the point of the story. It would be easy to say that Coleridge was trying to convey something about the power of spirits, and he does make note of the existence of spirits of various elements, but I just think that the theme is too simple to do justice to the story.
I find it a little more likely that Coleridge would write a story about the value of nature, given his relationship to Wordsworth. The two are known for their appreciation of the sublime and the natural world. If any bird would be considered sublime, I think the albatross would be. Albatrosses are enormous, beautiful birds that can have wingspans up to eleven feet and can weigh as much as twenty pounds, which would certainly inspire awe. The story’s conclusion, which does emphasize God’s love for all His creatures, supports this idea and I do think it is one point that Coleridge is seeking to make.
As much as Coleridge may emphasize the importance and beauty of nature and the sublime, I think it is a subcategory underneath the theme of the sanctity of innocence. The albatross, a focal point of the story, is undoubtedly an innocent character. It is essentially a pet that brings happiness to the mariners. The Ancient Mariner’s senseless killing of the bird is what makes me think that this is what Coleridge is trying to convey. There is absolutely no reason for the mariner to kill the albatross, but he does it anyway, just because he can do it. He obviously suffers for his ill-treatment of the innocent bird, which hammers home the point. Life-in-Death for all eternity and having to watch his comrades die because of his wrongdoings are two pretty harsh punishments, and I think this just shows how much Coleridge values innocence.
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"Turning the Tables" [Oct. 16th, 2006|12:07 am]
There’s one thing that I have wanted to say all week, and I will take this opportunity to do so. “Wordsworth” seems like a very appropriate surname for a poet. Now, that being said, I have a gained a greater appreciation this past week for the worth of a word, if you will. As ridiculously cheesy as that may sound, it really does have a meaning to me. Wordsworth’s description of the sublime really evoked some strong feelings for me. I could go on and on and on complimenting him on his realism and ability to interpet the mind of a child in “We are Seven.” I could talk about his poetic skill and ability to inspire awe in “Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey,” or his knack for drawing sympathy for the old leech gatherer. Instead of all this, however, I really feel like I have to talk about “The Tables Turned.” To be completely honest, I was absolutely, positively sick and tired of this whole school thing by the end of this past week. I think Dr. Kimberly said it best when she pointed out that she normally would save this poem for last before Fall Break because of its propriety at the moment. I could not agree more. Between school and a rough week of football, I was feeling a little like the narrator of “Resolution and Independence” around the eighth stanza. I had gone from cloud nine to rock bottom over the course of one day, Wednesday, to be exact. I had gone from the sunny meadow to the gloomy leach pond, and I needed a break from Georgia Tech. By turning my tables, I was able to go reclaim my happiness. Yes, I am aware that sounds like an endorser for a weight-loss program advertisement. That’s how it was, however. I got to go out this weekend with my girlfriend in South Bend and enjoy the outdoors. It was a glorious weekend.
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P&P's Conclusion [Sep. 30th, 2006|01:32 pm]
I have said before that I really enjoyed Pride and Prejudice and I stand by that statement. It was really a quality novel. I do, however, have a few objections to the conclusion of the book. To me, it simply came together too well and too quickly. Darcy’s personality change just seemed a little too sudden. I can appreciate his falling in love with Elizabeth and his subsequent proposal. That was believable enough for me. That he could so quickly become the perfect gentleman, however, seems just a little bit out of the reach of reality. His arrogance is very evident in his proposal and his coldness is still present the day after. I think his letter does give a little more insight into his real personality, which does offer hope for his relationship with Elizabeth. I guess what I’m trying to say is that there should have been a little more of a transitional phase. Darcy experiences little, if any, growing pains during this stage of the courtship.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, strikes me as a more realistic character as she struggles with her feelings for Darcy. As she learns more of his true character, she goes from thinking his love a curse to thinking about the possibility of her being mistress of Pemberly to sincerely desiring his affections. She is initially victim of an involuntary love. She has feelings for him that she simply doesn’t want, but that fact that her feelings toward him are so strong throughout the novel’s entirety, whether they are feelings of disgust, curiosity, or love, indicate that he certainly is an object of her attention, though obviously not her immediate affection.
Perhaps what I most object to in this arena is that their professions of love to each other at the end just doesn’t seem to live up to the drama and profoundness of their relationship to that point. I almost get the feeling that Austen was trying to wrap it up for a deadline or is trying to prove a point with its reasonable, though still passionate, ending. I think that Mr. and Mrs. Bennett’s reactions to Darcy are indicative of this. They actually agree on something, as both go from despising (Or, in Mr. Bennett’s case, disliking him because he thinks Elizabeth despises him) him to immediately liking him and commenting on his positives. Though this could be mere politeness to their daughter’s new fiancé, it still seems just a little too sudden for me.
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Novel vs. Movie [Sep. 20th, 2006|04:47 pm]
There have been a handful of pleasant surprises in my life that made me think to myself, “Wow, that was a lot less painful than I had originally assumed.” For example, escargot is much better than its description would have one believe. Playing dodgeball with shot puts, while I don’t recommend it, is actually another example because most of the time you can move away fast enough to avoid any direct hits. Reading Pride and Prejudice is in the process of becoming one such surprise. My wonderful girlfriend and her friends considered the movie of the same title to be a must-see, although that was mostly attributable to an exceptionally sappy romantic exchange between Elizabeth and Darcy at the film’s conclusion. I willing agreed to watch this cinematic production for two reasons. The first deals with what I call the Boudreau Theory of Dating (Named for my mother who explained it me), which states, “The woman is always right.” Secondly, I assumed that, even if the movie was bad, I could at least comment on it if it was ever discussed, preventing the awkwardness of being the only individual who had not seen the movie in question.
To make a long story short, I thought the film was bad. Fortunately, I was not required to watch it in its entirety, as the girls let me fast forward to their favorite part at the end. I thought I was home free. I didn’t have to watch the whole thing, I still got credit for watching it, and I could still quote the final scene, which would be undoubtedly seen as “sweet” or “romantic” at some later date. I was terribly mistaken. Little did I know that every girl on the planet, even those who have not yet seen it, love the movie. So when my senior English teacher asked for people to volunteer to bring in a movie at the end of the year, every girl in the class suggested P&P. Girls even came in from other classrooms to recommend it. One other school in town even decided to take a field trip to my English class so that its female population could vote for it. I think some female legislators may have even passed some laws requiring us to watch it. Of course, with a group of senior boys who didn’t really care about anything and who were already in the minority, we were not able to muster the force needed to oppose the much more organized estrogen-powered assault. So we watched it. We watched it for the four longest days of my life. And my worst fears were realized: It is the grandmother of all chick-flicks. I was literally in pain trying to watch it. Not even Keira Knightley could save it and, trust me, that means a lot. My fellow male detainees and I tried to distract ourselves with more interesting things, like looking for grammatical errors in our yearbooks (We actually had two pages, front and back, of corrections through page 68.) or counting the hairs on our heads. That’s how bad I thought the movie was.
What I now find to be really sad is that the screen adaptation of the book does not do justice to the story. Although it is mostly true to the book from what I remember, I have taken a great deal more pleasure in reading the story. While that could be interpreted to mean simply that the book does not make want to cut off my own arm with a rusty hacksaw, I really do enjoy the book. The character development is brilliant. I have a much better appreciation for some of the more complex characters like Mr. Bennet and Darcy. Mr. Bennet’s wit is much better observed written on paper than it is by watching Donald Sutherland, although I intend that statement more as praise for Ms. Austen than as slight towards Mr. Sutherland. I think the movie’s inability to show the full degree of the characters’ depths is what really took away from the movie what I enjoy most about the novel. What I really love about the book is the satirical way the characters are portrayed. Mrs. Bennet is pretty dumb, for lack of a better word, but she tries hard, though often impolitely, to do what she thinks is best for her daughters. Mr. Collins is a pompous suck-up and, also has the good fortune of being extremely dimwitted. I can understand why the movie does deviate from the book in his physical description, choosing to portray him as much more Lilliputian than his counterpart in the novel. His personality just lends itself to his being a small, weak non-alpha male type that would cling to a stronger, more intelligent person like Lady Catherine. I also failed to comprehend the Miss America element of Jane’s character. She is the much sought after beauty who fails to see the shortcomings of others and of the world in general. Her naivety contrasts much more sharply with Elizabeth’s more astute understanding of the world. As so often happens in films, the auxiliary characters, in this case the other sisters, fall to the wayside and don’t receive the personalities they deserve. In the novel, each girl has developed differently, thanks to Mrs. Bennet’s lack of attention to raising them. This is all missing from the movie, which makes the book that much more enjoyable to me.
I really like what Ms. Austen has done and I hope it continues until the novel’s conclusion because I can say without a doubt that I prefer it infinitely to watching its screen adaptation.
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Wily Women... [Sep. 16th, 2006|09:54 pm]
It occurred to me just now that my best lesson in English this week came not from any one lesson, although I did learn a lot about the lives of several extremely influential and historically important women, but from a quiz. I learned, quickly and painfully, that I have become very bad at remembering names. I may have known the identities of each woman but without names, that isn’t very helpful. I suppose that putting names to ideas is the idea of language, so forgetting names in a language class is rather inexcusable. Maybe that’s what gave me problems with Mary Robinson (The poet, not the first female president of Ireland). She defies any single title. A lenient judge would accept poet, actress, slut, mistress, and genius as acceptable titles for Ms. Robinson. She’s almost like a female character from a James Bond movie; she’s the kind of girl who could make men’s jaws drop or operate a fusion-powered nuclear weapon defusing wristwatch (Standard Bond equipment that was not available during Robinson’s lifetime). I realize that female expectations and stereotypes would not have been in Robinson’s favor during her lifetime; sleeping with the Prince of Wales usually doesn’t do much for people’s moral opinion of you when you live in a conservative male-dominated society. At the same time, however, I find it astonishing that she wasn’t enough to convince men of women’s ability to hold their own with men intellectually, while still maintaining their femininity. Most of the women we have discussed in class provide similar evidence for the need for women’s rights and equality through their lives, although I feel that Robinson perhaps best epitomizes this. It was unfair then, and it is unfair now, to assume that an attractive and womanly female is automatically incapable of intelligent thought, and vice versa. While people like Jessica Simpson and Eleanor Roosevelt might provide support for the perpetuation of this stereotype on either extreme of the spectrum, there are people like Oprah Winfrey (Oprah’s not bad looking, Dave Chappelle wants her children, and if she’s anything, she’s womanly) and Natalie Portman (Harvard graduate) who defy these unfair perceptions. The point I’m really trying to make is simple: Femininity and capability do not necessarily clash and the women that we’ve studied this week have all exhibited this through their lives.
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More on Wollstonecraft... [Sep. 9th, 2006|11:55 pm]
It really hit me today just how true Wollstonecraft's words are. On my way to the stadium this morning, I was walking across west campus, soaking up the moment when I came upon a women's rugby game. Now there is a picture of "sensibility." Young women exercising (gasp!) by running around with a ball and trying to slam one another to the ground. Now that is the epitome of femininity. At the time, however, it didn't really register like that to me, mostly because I was going to view/participate in a spectacle for men of very comparable attributes. Now, however, I realize what I was witnessing. While it is much more acceptable for women to participate in sports than it was thirty years ago, let alone two hundred years, the men's event drew in excess of forty-five thousand, while the women's was tucked away almost secretly behind some trees. What really brought this to my attention was a conversation with my girlfriend, which may not seem connected at all to my post here. What connects them is her identity. See, my significant other is a student-athlete, much like myself, which has always been one of the most convenient features of our relationship. It's nice to have a date that understands the demands of workout schedules, practices, and games and, because of this mutual understanding, we really are each other’s best friends. She was an All-American swimmer in high school, once did 101 consecutive pushups, and can bench press 200 pounds. Most men wouldn't necessarily see these as attractive features, but what's incredible is that you wouldn't guess these things by looking at her. She is absolutely gorgeous and extremely feminine. The point of this discussion is not to brag about my girlfriend, however; it is to prove the validity of Wollstonecraft's message. Exercise and knowledge do not remove one's womanliness. Instead, at least in my eyes, they accentuate it. While the comparison of a women's club rugby game and a college football game or a similar comparison between a WNBA event and its male counterpart may prove that most people still associate athletics as a masculine event, I am glad to see that a woman taking care of her body is the norm, or at least no longer frowned upon. Similarly, five of the final thirteen finalists in last year's Scripps National Spelling Bee were female (source: www.spellingbee.com). If nothing else, expanded women's rights have shown that women can hold their own with the men, to say the least. Wollstonecraft could not have been more correct about the benefits women's rights had for society. We live in a world today where many women are completely self sufficient, a world where it is not all that odd for a female to be the breadwinner in a family, and a world where a lady is more than just her man's doll; she is his friend and his companion.
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Wollstonecraft was right. [Sep. 6th, 2006|10:01 pm]
As so often happens with progressives, Mary Wollstonecraft had the experience of being both loved and admired by those of similar opinions while also being despised by those of differing thoughts. What I find particularly interesting are the accusations against her, as listed in The Longman Anthology of British Literature. Evidently, and I say that because I was not alive at the time to pass my own judgment on her, she was a “radical revolutionary, an atheist, a slut, and a castrating threat to masculine authority.” As I mentioned, I am not really entitled to speak on the validity of any of these accusations, but I can say that the last one sounds particularly painful. I can say that, with the exception of her being a threat to masculine authority, however, that I did not pick up on any of those alleged qualities of hers from reading excerpts from A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Clearly, the public’s sense of morality has evolved some since the eighteenth century.
On a more serious note, I would like to state my agreement with Ms. Wollstonecraft’s opinions on the inherent rights of women and her argument for the provision of them. I firmly believe that men and women are equal but not in every facility. In other words, I believe that the respective values of men and women to humankind are completely equal but the areas in which they excel differ. A study by professors from the University of Wisconsin and Harvard University has shown that men tend to be stronger while women usually excel at computation, according to “psychologymatters.org.” This is the sort of, as they described it, “separate but equal” doctrine that I subscribe to.
Mary Wollstonecraft seems to agree while she makes her plea for women’s rights. Women are not ornaments; that much I think we can all agree with at this point. Most women probably would not fair real well against their male peers in a game of basketball or football. Tennis is one thing, as shown by Billie Jean King, but there are certain activities with physical demands that a male body is simply better suited for. This extends beyond athletics, to certain jobs and functions but, in the interest of simplicity, I think I’ll just assume that we can all live that idea. It works the other way, too. From personal experience, I can say that females tend to have much better organizational skills then their male counterparts. I will be the first to tell you that the female mind is vastly more complex than mine. I have to check with my mom/girlfriend/female authority figure to figure out whether or not my clothes match. I guarantee that I will forget any appointment within mere minutes of its scheduling. I have yet to meet a woman who this has ever happened to. I am clinging to my last shreds of male intellectual superiority: Extensive knowledge of sports players/teams/rules and automobile mechanics. In all seriousness, however, women are just as, if not more, capable of absorbing and processing information as men. I would like to propose that women are probably better suited for learning, as men tend to be better suited for manual labor. To me, it is an atrocity that women were deprived of the opportunity to learn in Wollstonecraft’s time. If nothing else, the opportunity should be, at the very least, provided to all people. What I find really amazing is that the men in power at the time were unable to pick up on the fact that noblewomen became essentially useless following the birthing of their first few children. Clearly, these men weren’t brilliant if this seemingly obvious fact didn’t send up a red flag, which prompts the question: How much more could Western civilization have accomplished by now if women had been educated or in positions of power? It kind of makes me ashamed to be a man…but then again, can any of my female readers tell me the name of the last Heisman Trophy winner to be taken with the first overall pick in the NFL Draft?
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French Revolution Debate [Sep. 4th, 2006|02:36 pm]
One thing that immediately struck me this past week as we were discussing the debate between Burke, Paine, and Wollstonecraft over the merits of the French Revolution was that this kind of discussion is still alive and well today. This realization then led me to consider the virtues of Blake’s “Marriage of Heaven and Hell,” of which they are many. To be honest, I was more than a bit skeptical about Blake after his idea of himself as a Bard/prophet. Initially, this self-righteousness turned me off to Blake and dealt his credibility, at least in my eyes, a serious blow. Yet, the more and more we analyzed the situation, the more I saw Blake as a breath of fresh air.
Burke plays the role of the conservative defender of the status quo in his argument and, while his perspective is defensible, this is one instance where I can’t help but think that the “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach might not be the best way to go about things. I thought Wollstonecraft’s approach was better, although I felt that it made a number of the same mistakes as Burke. It is a plea for the common people, and a very effective one at that. I thought her most effective argument dealt with the rights of game animals versus those of the less fortunate. It gained its strength both from the empathy it inspires in her audience and its reason. Human beings are human beings and they should not be deprived of their humanity, as is the case here. After this, however, I didn’t think that Wollstonecraft’s argument was reinforced with a lot of reason. Her case drew most of its strength from an emotional plea and from the readers’ assumed morality. It was not rooted in fact or theory; it relied on the reader’s pathos for the victimized French people.
In my opinion, Paine had the strongest argument. Ideally, it was a perfect argument. The problem lies not with the ruler, but with the system. Paine, as his history shows (See: “Common Sense”), is a revolutionary. I agree with his statement, “It is the living, and not the dead, that are to be accommodated.” If you can argue against that, you are a better man than I. Why should antiquated tradition receive priority over a modern situation? The simple answer is that it shouldn’t. Yet, it is undoubtedly human nature to keep tradition. Why else would they exist? The only problem with Paine’s argument is that it is purely ideological. Much like communism, his theory for the revolution looks good on paper but it falls short when it comes to implementation. He celebrates the lack of bloodshed but only shows his own ignorance by doing do. No monarch will readily hand over his own power as long as he is in control of a military. To think otherwise is simply foolish. Opportunity usually brings out the worst in people and the French revolution just offers more evidence to that. Of course, this is being said with 20/20 hindsight, but Paine is supposed to be an intellectual and for an “intellectual” to overlook such obvious long-term implications is unforgivable.
Anyways, what really struck me about this whole situation in the attempt by writers on both sides to oversimplify the situation. This, like most real-world situations, is not a black-and-white issue. Each side has its weaknesses and there is no strictly “right” answer. To obtain freedom, people will die and be enslaved. To avoid the bloodshed, the oppressive status quo must be maintained. There is essentially a “Marriage of Heaven and Hell” in the style of Mr. Blake. The only suitable course of action is a moderate one, which, unfortunately, is not a very attractive option for a lot of writers. This continues to be the case today. Moderation, though often the best choice, does not rally people to action nor does it sell books. Need proof? Look at Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, or Pat Buchanan. Ultimately, I have to side with Blake on this.
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(no subject) [Aug. 31st, 2006|10:53 pm]
This is only a test.
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