Waiting for the Barbarians: A Bold Step Beyond Conrad

The parallels between Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians are remarkable. Both tell stories of Imperial forays into the uncivilized unknown. Both foreign settings reveal terrible truths to the narrators. Yet there are several distinct differences between the two novels. As Douglas Kerr explains, HoD is narrated by the lawman who is struck the changes that have overcome the “transgressor” of cultural values, while WfB is narrated by the actual transgressor – even if he is a sympathetic one.

Kurtz’s European values are supposedly corrupted by the native rituals, yet his viewpoint is clearly still one of a European. He creates his own kingdom exulting in the forbidden knowledge he has gained from his interactions with the Natives. He does not become one of the Natives; rather he seeks to rule over them – clearly a vestige of Kurtz’s European values. The culture that Marlow and Kurtz are products of tells them that Kurtz was corrupted either by the Natives or by his protracted time away from civilized society. In either case, the obvious conclusion to be drawn from the novel is that imperialism exploits the Natives and that the self-proclaimed European civilizers are not magnanimous reformers, but rather cruel masters who abuse the Natives.

Coetzee, in his WfB takes these lessons a step further. He demonstrates that not only are the Imperialists needlessly malicious, but that the Empire actually creates its enemies in an endless cycle of attempted self-perpetuation. The Empire – personified by Colonel Joll – is not interested in deciding whether a barbarian uprising is coming; it is hell-bent on crushing the uprising that it believes is inevitable. In this case, the ability to see through the lies of the Empire stems not from civilized logic, but rather from fraternizing with the barbarians. Unlike in Heart of Darkness, spending time with the barbarians does not corrupt an individual, but actually opens his eyes to the truth of the situation. Colonel Joll doggedly pursues what he is sure is true. The Magistrate investigates with an analytical eye what appears to be historically true. Yet against all Imperial logic, the barbarians are the only ones capable of seeing reality. That is what sets Waiting for the Barbarians apart from Heart of Darkness. Conrad’s story still portrays the Natives as primitive relative to the Europeans, while Coetzee dares to say that the barbarians are actually higher on a moral hierarchy than their Imperial counterparts.

Coetzee's Clever Allegory

J. M. Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians first struck me with its generalities. The allegorical aspects of the novel are infinitely strengthened by Coetzee’s decision to leave the characters (besides Colonel Joll) unnamed, the setting undefined, and the Empire unspecified. Perhaps the only clue we as readers are truly given as to the time period is the subtle reminders of Colonel Joll’s sunglasses. Nevertheless, the events described in Waiting for the Barbarians can be pictured taking place any time between the 1600s and the modern day. This intentional broad definition of the Empire allows us to see ourselves in each of the characters and recognize that the evils described could be perpetrated even by our own nation in this (as we like to think of it) modern and civilized era.

I also like the Magistrate’s thoughtful, sober, and introspective narration. I find him to be a very realistic character who is drawn clearly through not only his thoughts, but also his actions, and occasionally, a lack thereof. He is clearly working through a serious dilemma as he tries simultaneously to be a loyal servant to the Empire – and therefore the Colonel – even as he attempts to mitigate the havoc that Joll wreaks on the entire border area. The Magistrate is a simple, older man who does what he can to be compassionate to the prisoners and, in so doing, quietly defies the Empire. He truly wrestles with what to do with regard to the torture that is being committed in his domain. His loss of sleep and various attempts to shut out the horror of events does not make me dislike him. After all, he does his best. Yet he feels remorse for what is going on even when he does not have the ability to alter those events. The Magistrate is troubled by the idea of what the Empire stands for because he is an agent of the Empire. As the tension grows between the Magistrate and his conscience, between the two opposing agents of the Empire, and between the Magistrate and the barbarians, I find myself excitedly anticipating what will come next. Coetzee has captured my attention and I look forward to seeing how the novel will conclude.
(371.)

Alfred Russel Wallace’s Racist Inquiry:

Alfred Russel Wallace, an English naturalist who independently developed a theory similar to Darwin’s theory of evolution, attempted to answer the question:
“Are humans one race or many?” His answer to that question demonstrates clearly the racist values of the late 1800s.

His answer follows as such:

- Those who believe in the unity of mankind as a single race use the wide variation of traits within each individual “race” and the overlap of those traits between races as evidence in support of their views. The fact that others cannot agree on how many independent races exist also bolsters the argument that mankind is a single race.


- Those who see mankind as fundamentally split into different races say that there is no evidence that the races are related at all. Since each race has maintained its distinctive characteristics over long periods of time, they must be inherently different.


- Wallace himself believes that all of the modern races originated from an original homogenous race, which later split into various distinctive groups. He hypothesizes that the reason there has been no obvious change in the characteristics of the races is that natural selection stopped acting on them. Because human beings cooperate and help one another when they are vulnerable, the law of “survival of the fittest” no longer applies.


- Once natural selection stopped changing the physical characteristics of each race, (because of human cooperation) the only remaining factor which determined the victor in the “struggle for life” was intellect. Therefore, the most advanced races, (i.e. European races) would of course prevail over less developed races. Thus, the “superior” races were not always inherently dominant. They simply developed faster and more thoroughly, leaving them “more fit” for survival than their “savage” counterparts.


Francis Galton, one of Charles Darwin’s cousins created a system for comparing the intellects of various races. (See the footnote on page 225 for details.)

- Galton argued that intelligence is as much an advantage to an animal as physical strength or any other natural gift. Because Europeans were intellectually superior, and civilization is the fruit of intelligence, European civilization would naturally spread across the globe.


- Galton’s system for comparing the intellectual capabilities of the races was based on the number of people of that race who attained “eminence” relative to their total number. Of course, Galton determined what constituted “eminence.”


- Galton asserted that the “negro race” had produced very few capable people such as Toussaint l’Ouverture and would not even if they were the social equals of whites. Because of the inherent difference in the races’ intellects, Galton theorized that even a negro genius would not come close to the measure of an European genius. Interestingly, Galton placed the “Australian race” below the “negro race” in intellect. Galton saw the ancient Greeks as the most capable race because of their contributions to knowledge in relation to their small numbers.


- Finally, Galton stated that races went extinct when they were not able to compete with the “superior” incoming races. Galton saw the Native Americans in North America as a prime example of this phenomenon. Galton finished his essay with a plea to his fellow Englishmen to find a way to raise the average intelligence of his nation.

Barack Obama Just Won the Election!

As I write this, the TV is playing in the background and I can hear the crowds in Chicago shouting their love for our soon-to-be president, Barack Obama. I just want to say that I'm really proud to be able to witness this event. Call it corny, call it trite; it's true.

A Portrait of Dilsey in Faulkner's Sound and Fury

The final section of The Sound and the Fury provides some semblance of closure through its portrayal of Dilsey as a model of integrity. Her actions are directly contrasted with the morally bankrupt Compson family. As readers, we have witnessed the deterioration of the Compson family, and our distaste for their actions is mirrored in Dilsey’s perspective. We have seen Benjy’s mental retardation, Caddy’s (arguable) recklessness, Quentin’s obsession with time, Jason’s irrational and bitter hatred, and Mother’s self-pity. Finally, we see Dilsey, the ideal human being filled with humble kindness and motherly compassion. She represents everything that the Compson family is not, and by contrast, what it should be. Dilsey goes beyond the call of duty to look after Benjy, even taking him to her church. She protects Quentin from Jason’s violence and acts as the last significant glue to hold the family together. Most tragically of all, she was forced to witness the corrosion of a family she truly cared for.

Kartiganer on Faulkner's Form

Donald Kartiganer, in the journal English Literary History, describes Faulkner’s style in a very interesting way. He explains that Faulkner uses the experiences of various characters to create a broader idea of an event. His form can be summarized as “not the sequence of bizarre incidents happening to a single hero, but the sequence of bizarre characters happening to a single incident.” The reader never sees that incident fully described, but can take the various fragments and reassemble them to gain a surprisingly deep understanding of that event.

I think that this is very much true in The Sound and the Fury with regard to the night that Caddy loses her virginity. We see it from Benjy’s point of view, Caddy’s words, and Quentin’s point of view. We never quite have the whole story given to us at once, but there are very clear descriptions available if you can manage to recognize each one and integrate them all properly. The novel, explains Kartiganer, therefore becomes an attempt “to become a single stream of [its] alienated parts.”

Kartiganer also notes that each of the four sections appears to be “locked within itself – interpenetration at an absolute minimum…” However, I believe that (based on what I have read as of today) there is actually a great deal of interpenetration between sections. The very fact that various sections contain memories of the same events is sufficient to show their obvious interconnectedness. I also believe, as Kartiganer unsatisfactorily refutes, that Caddy acts as a unifying force in the novel. Caddy is central to the narrative within multiple sections of the novel, even if that centrality is due to the narrator’s personal connection with her. Nevertheless, I do agree that each of the narrators seems unable to look beyond “the confines of his own private vision.” The narrators do display only their own perspectives and cannot see beyond themselves.

Another interesting point that Kartiganer makes is that the confusing aspect of Benjy’s section is that it “is not too jumbled but too clear,” in the way that characters are described. There is no complexity to the personalities of each character. Essentially, the characterizations are much too simple. After all, Benjy does not elaborate or color his memories, but we still get very specific ideas of what each character is like. If Benjy’s memories were really of characters as complex as those in real life, we would likely be unable to tell anything about any one of them because each character would have some moments of kindness or generosity and some moments of anger. Kartiganer summarizes the deceptively clear-cut characterizations as: “Caddy is love… while Quentin is sullenness and impotent anger… Jason is evil incarnate, and father is the occasional surrogate for Caddy’s verdant smell.” In this way Kartiganer exposes the overly- definite descriptions in Benjy’s section.
(512)

Source Citation:
“The Sound and the Fury and Faulkner’s Quest for Form”
Author: Donald M. Kartiganer
Source: ELH, Vol. 37, No. 4 (Dec. 1970), pp. 613 – 639
Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2872385
Accessed 22/10/2008 16:27

Creeping: Tragedy in Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”

Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” is a story of tragedy: the tragedy of the narrator’s insanity, the tragedy of a husband’s failure to save his wife, and the tragedy of the social inequality that prevented a sick woman from receiving the care that she needed. Using a Gothic framework and chillingly authentic narration, Gilman explores not only the mind of the mentally ill, but also the role of the traditional subservient woman in relation to her male guardians.

From the very first paragraph, the reader is signaled that there is something strange and unnaturally eerie about the house in which the narrator and her husband, John, are staying. Gilman, through the narrator’s descriptions, uses customary Gothic elements to evoke a sinister and ominous mood. John and his wife are dwelling in an isolated mansion with a murky history of feuds that has been uninhabited for years. The greenhouses are all broken, (425) there are bars on the windows, (426) the floors are scratched and gouged, (427) the plaster has been scraped away from the wall, and of course, there is the wallpaper. The narrator immediately fixates on the wallpaper, noting its “smoldering unclean yellow” color, (426) and its sickly scent – a smell that “creeps” about the house, “hovers,” “skulks,” “hides,” “follows,” and “lies in wait” for the narrator (432). These repeated details convince the reader that there is something terrible yet to happen, even as they reflect the troubled state of the narrator’s mind.

Yet the power of the story lies not only in the narrator’s disturbing insanity, but in the obvious fact that her husband, and even brother, could have prevented it. It is the narrator who presents all of the disturbing details to the reader. She knows that something is wrong, but her husband, the “physician of high standing,” (425) will not admit that she is sick. He tells her to gets lots of bed-rest and to avoid stimulating activities, but he never actually attempts to treat her mental problems. John is a man of science who “has no patience with faith, [and] an intense horror of superstition,” (425) and he attempts to treat her “nervous depression” with only tonics and cod liver oil. She tells him repeatedly that something is wrong with her, but he only scolds her and warns her not to speak of her non-physical problems. In her desperation, she overcomes her desire not to contradict her husband’s rulings, and makes one final attempt to seek his help. At the first mention of a non-physical malady, John delivers such a glare that his wife is unable to finish her sentence. John’s incensed rebuff actually alienates his wife, adding to the destabilization of her mental state. Rather than acknowledge the mere possibility of an intangible disease, John continues to put his head under the sand, allowing his wife’s condition to deteriorate further. His ignorance, stubbornness, and blatant sexism leave his wife susceptible to insanity.

John fails in his duty to his wife, but the narrator also neglects to speak up for herself. She is trapped by her husband’s influence and is simply too timid to overcome it. As the standards of the time dictated, she subjects herself to the authority of her husband. As a doctor and the man of the house, John controls the life she lives. He speaks for her, tells her what she should and should not think, and warns her never to lose her self control. He chooses the bedroom they will stay in, refuses to change the wallpaper, and tells her not to give in to her “nervous weakness” of imagination (427). Despite the narrator’s mental instability, this “nervous weakness,” is clearly a reference to her gender. After all, John refuses to recognize her true disease. Yet, through all of this, the narrator meekly accepts his commands, asking only “What is one to do?” She even confesses to the reader that “he does not believe I am sick” and perhaps “that is one reason I do not get well faster” (424), but out of a desire to obey her husband, never gets the care she needs. Of course, Gilman intentionally contrived this situation to support her politics, but the narrator’s situation is a compelling one, and the reader is left wondering “what if” she had gotten the care she so urgently needed.
(731).





Questions:
1)At what specific point in the story does it become apparent that the narrator is delusional?

2)Is John to blame for his wife’s deterioration, or is he just a well-meaning husband?

3)How do the descriptions of the wallpaper reflect the narrator’s own thoughts?

4)What is the effect of the last six lines? How did you react to the revelation that the narrator created the smooch in the wall?

Updike’s Authentic “A & P”

Mark Eisenberg

Mr. Coon

AP English IV

September 21, 2008

In his “A & P,” John Updike paints an accurate portrait of a young man caught between youth and adulthood. The narrator, Sammy, still has the sarcastic irreverent attitude that is the hallmark of teens the world over. He very clearly does not think his actions through. However, he is taking on the task of working at the local A & P and is moving into the world of adult responsibility.

Perhaps the most compelling aspect of Updike’s story is the authentic tone of Sammy’s inner thoughts. Bored with his job as a cashier, Sammy makes up labels for each of the people in the store. He explains that “in walks three girls,” (15) walks, not walk. To Sammy, they are an indivisible unit. His pithy descriptions convey a great deal of information about each person in the A & P and the reader feels that he or she truly knows even the most minor of characters.

First, there is Stokesie, the twenty-two year old married man at the next register, who still enjoys joking with Sammy about the allure of the girls, even with two children at home. Then there is the “witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows,” (15) who enjoys berating Sammy for his mistake, and who would have been burned at the stake if she’d been born at the right time. “Queenie,” (16) the pretty girl who exudes confident superiority and arrogant wealth, struts around the store barefoot with her straps down looking for expensive things to buy, while Sammy’s eyes are glued to her. Permanently attached to the queen are her two followers who lack the confidence of their leader, “peeking around and making their shoulders round” (15). McMahon wearily stands at the meat counter where Sammy imagines that he views the entire world through the lens of a butcher, even admiring the girls by “sizing up their joints” (16). Finally, there is Lenger, the religious store manager who haggles with the produce supplier and scuttles about the store righting moral wrongs. Through Sammy’s descriptions, the reader gains a sense of the dreary boredom that overcomes the store in the slow hours. It is these simple, yet revealing descriptions by Updike that make “A & P” so memorable. The issues of consumerism, socio-economic background, religion, and modernity are of secondary importance. The relationships between the characters are what drive this story.

Sammy’s realization that he wants to quit, and his impulsive decision to do so based in part on a desire to impress the girls show his immaturity. He feels that he cannot take back what he has said because “once you begin a gesture, it’s fatal not to go through with it” (19). However, Sammy is clearly bored and unhappy with his job. He wants a change in his life; and the girls give him an excuse to make one. He knows that this is an important decision that he will feel for the rest of his life, and just how “hard the world was going to be” (19) from then on, but the certainty of his earlier words and the fact that he has been working for a close family friend demonstrate that Sammy may, in fact, need a chance to assert his independence. When Lengel asserts that he thinks Sammy doesn’t know what he’s doing, he replies that “I know you don’t. But I do” (19). Sammy may have made a rash decision, but he has finally taken an active role in deciding the course of his life.

(607).

A Reaction to Tyler’s “Teenage Wasteland”

I really don’t like Cal. I mean I really don’t like him. In fact, I might just deign to use the word despise. Cal’s subversive, calculated plot to lure in troubled teens is absolutely contemptible. Granted, the blame for Donny’s eventual disappearance does not lie entirely at his feet – his parents are certainly not models of discipline – but Cal’s abuse of his power as Donny’s counselor as well as his exploitation of the trust Donny’s parents put in him, leave me with absolutely no compassion for him as a character.

Some other characters at least have semblances of excuses. Daisy is an extremely flawed character, worrying too much about appearances, not giving her daughter enough attention, and putting too much stock in Cal’s soothing words. However, she truly cares for her son and tries to help him with his homework. She sacrifices her time and money to give Donny the support he needs. As a reader, I may dislike her, but I feel sympathy for her. Even Donny can claim the excuse of poor parenting and a dysfunctional family. Yet Cal’s only justification for his actions is that he was once married to a woman who was “too controlling.” After he has further destroyed Donny’s life, he blames it all on Donny and does not accept any responsibility. No, Cal is not deserving of our sympathy. He is a worthless leach who preys on the most vulnerable group in society, its youth. (248)

Summer Readings: Thomas Sowell

To be honest, when I read the assignment of writing a post about a book I’d read this summer, it took me few minutes to think of any of them. I generally read a lot of magazines and journals (I do so love my Economist.) and tend to peruse the offerings of The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, “Drudge Report,” and various other websites quite thoroughly each day. It occurred to me that with these distractions in addition to a busy summer schedule, I had not read very many actual books. Nevertheless, a list of what I did read follows:

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Ever Wonder Why? and Other Controversial Essays by Thomas Sowell
A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin
The Israelis: Ordinary People in an Extraordinary Land by Donna Rosenthal

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare

Finally, after much thought and frustrated vacillation, I decided to write about Thomas Sowell’s work. Sowell is a less than extraordinary writer. His compilation of essays, Ever Wonder Why? and Other Controversial Essays, is not exactly a masterpiece. He writes (perhaps intentionally) very simply and bluntly. Still, I found myself absorbed by his words. For the most part, I found that the true value of his book is in the provocation it provides for general thought, rather than in the ideas actually expressed. Ever Wonder Why contains dozens of short essays, each only three to five pages long, on various subjects ranging from healthcare and the education system to American foreign policy and free markets. Some of them might be found mildly offensive – hence controversial essays – such as the attack on the liberal ‘obsession’ with political correctness in regard to “race, class, and gender.” As you might have guessed by now, Sowell takes a decidedly conservative viewpoint in his essays though he sometimes expresses libertarian sentiments.

The title essay, “Ever Wonder Why,” is undoubtedly the most insightful of the collection. In it, Sowell outlines the reasons why we, as Americans, should be especially grateful for the comforts we take for granted. Essentially, Sowell asks the question of why we are so privileged over other peoples in the world. Upon pointing out the advantages that we enjoy, he asks the question of why so many people desire so strongly “change” for its own sake. Sowell warns against this blind meddling with established institutions. As Sowell himself wrote, “To be for generic ‘change’ is to say that what we have [now] is so bad that any change is likely to be for the better… The status quo is never sacrosanct but its very existence proves that it is viable, as seductive theoretical alternatives may not turn out to be.”

For me, one of the most interesting thing about this essay is that it was written almost three years ago and still manages to answer quite a few of Barack Obama’s arguments for change. Keep in mind that Obama did not rise to real prominence until approximately eight months ago and has only been viewed as having a realistic shot at the presidency for the last six. He even uses a number of Obama’s buzzwords including: change, idealism, and the status quo. Regardless of whether I agree with Sowell’s opinions, it was these sorts of strange and disconnected thoughts that made Sowell’s work so engrossing.