I think "The Two Drovers" is a very lovely story in its language. Sir Walter Scott has a fantastic ear for accents in his dialogue, spicing the musicality of Scottish highland lilt with colloquialisms that are sometimes translated and sometimes left to us to figure out. What is confusing is the constant change in narrative structure and point of view. It is only towards the end of the tale that we learn who the narrator actually is and his relationship to the events, "I was myself present, and as a young Scottish lawyer, or barrister at least, and reputed to be a man of some quality, the politeness of the Sheriff of Cumberland offered me a place on the bench" (21). Prior to this belated introduction, the narrator assumes an omniscient position on the life of drovers in the area and the friendship of Harry Wakefield and Robin Oig in particular. Really, the narrator's point of view is rather unimportant; the story, a rather untragic Shakespearean tragedy of politicized misunderstanding, proceeds through dialogue in many different registers and arguably languages, which Scott does brilliantly.
Interestingly, the fact that the narrator is Scottish is evident in the narration that splices the opening dialogue among the Scottish characters, although this is not revealed until the trial. The musicality of the narration underscores the idyllic pastoral relationship between the two drovers that will be fractured by misunderstanding, as well as the narrator's implicit sympathy with the plight of Robin Oig as a Scottsman.
"There was a natural variety in the whole journey, which exercised the Celt's natural curiosity and love of motion; there were the constant change of place and scene, the petty adventures incidental to the traffic, and the intercourse with the various farmers, graziers, and traders, intermingled with occasional merry-makings, not the less acceptable to Donald that they were void of expense;--and there was the consciousness of superior skill; for the Highlander, a child amongst flocks, is a prince amongst herds, and his natural habits induce him to disdain the shepherd's slothful life, so that he feels himself nowhere more at home than when following a gallant drove of his country cattle in the character of their guardian" (2).
This absurdly long sentence is replete with alliteration, causing it to proceed in a cyclical manner that turns back on itself like a song with a chorus. The many hard c's supply a beat. The jolliness of the content give it the subject matter of perhaps a drinking song, or a song for lonely journeys over the highlands with droves of cows. At first, the introduction of the name Donald is confusing--is he to be our first mention of a character? Then, we must conclude that the name is common and simply stands for the average highland drover. Scott presents this inside knowledge to us without explanation.
In the following sentence, Scott adds much italicized Gaelic, some translated and some not.
"Of the number who left Doune in the morning, and with the purpose we described, not a Glunamie of them all cocked his bonnet more briskly, or gartered his tartan hose under knee over a pair of more promising spiogs (legs) than did Robin Oig M'Combich, called familiarly Robin Oig, that is, Young, or the Lesser, Robin" (2).
In this sentence, Scott translates in different ways. The first Gaelic word Glunamie is not translated, but we can gather from context that it must related to the expression "not one of them...". Spiogs is translated parenthetically, while finally Oig is translated in an extended exposition of the main character's name, so that the name is repeated and renamed five times. This sentence is also a mouthful of rhythm, each clause pacing the sentence, with the alliteration of bonnet more briskly and the assonance of gartered his tartan punctuating the middle clauses, which run into the pair of more promising spiogs (legs) that employs alliterated first and last syllables, and ends with the riddle of Robins.
The musicality disappears from the narrator's inconsistent voice when he is describing the activities of the Englishman Harry Wakefield. "At the same time he rebuked his servant severely for having transgressed his commands, and ordered him instantly to assist in ejecting the hungry and weary cattle of Harry Wakefield, which were just beginning to enjoy a meal of unusual plenty, and to introduce those of his comrade, whom the English drover now began to consider as a rival" (10). While much of the earlier alliteration remains, the overwrought vocabulary is awkward when describing such mundane activities.
Scott is able to distinguish Wakefield's accent from Robin Oig's with different colloquialisms. "Take it all, man--take it all--never make two bites of a cherry--thou canst talk over the gentry, and blear a plain man's eye--Out upon you, man--I would not kiss any man's dirty latchets for leave to bake in his oven" (10). The vocabulary and emphasis is different than Robin Oig's speech and sounds definitively English.
Robin Oig's speech, in moments of high passion in particular, gives way to an almost indecipherable brogue, that is as alienating for an unfamiliar reader as it must be to Wakefield. "Nae doubt, nae doubt...and you are a set of very pretty judges, for those prains or pehavior I wad not gie a pinch of sneeshing. If Mr Harry Waakfelt kens where he is wranged, he kens where he may be righted" (13).
Finally the story ends with the very lengthy speech from the judge at Robin Oig's trial for the murder of Wakefield. The end of the story loses me with the judge's impenetrable language that is so heavily qualified and vacilating in opinion it seems impossible to discern what he really thinks. A sample, "In the heat of affray and chaude melée, law, compassionating the infirmities of humanity, makes allowances for the passions which rule such a stormy moment--for the sense of present pain, for the apprehension of further injury, for the difficulty of ascertaining with due accuracy the precise degree of violence which is necessary to protect the person of the individual, without annoying or injuring the assailant more than is absolutely requisite" (24). Note the gerund-verbage of compassion!
It seems that whatever political point Scott has about the tragic results of linguistic and cultural misunderstanding between English and Scottish is buried in the judge's dense speech. There is in fact quite a lot of indication that there is something more complex behind this story but it is too exhausting to dig it out. The confusing narrative structure of this story makes it mainly a showcase for Scott's excellent ability to play with language.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Injun Territory
Both of these critiques of the influence of Islam in Europe employ the major persuasive rhetorical strategy that we identified in The Communist Manifesto: positioning the argument as an inevitable progression of history. Really, both Steyn and Holmes agree that Islam is already a power that Europe must reckon with. It is the way in which they recommend that Europe respond that differs. Steyn's overarching historical analogies reinforce the sense that Islam is the next historical power, the next age. Drawing from disparate continents and political climates, Steyn compares Muslim countries to "Indian territory" in the United States, at a time when American politicians were obsessed with spreading the "civilizing" influence of American culture into some of the best (inhabited) land in the country. Borrowing a term from Robert D. Kaplan, "the lawless fringes of the map as 'Indian territory'," Steyn compares the Native Americans of the United States to Muslim immigrant settlements in European countries:
"The difference between the old Indian territory and the new is this: no one had to worry
about the Sioux riding down Fifth Avenue. Today, with a few hundred bucks on his ATM card, the fellow from the badlands can be in the heart of the metropolis within hours.
Here's another difference: in the old days, the white man settled the Indian territory. Now the followers of the badland's radical imams settle the metropolis.
And another difference: technology. In the old days, the Injuns had bows and arrows and the cavalry had rifles. In today's Indian territory, countries that can't feed their own people have nuclear weapons." (Steyn, 3).
In the three differences Steyn lays out for his readers, he presents the Muslim immigrant as more confrontational, more powerful, and better armed. Rather than portraying Muslims in Europe as a persecuted group, Steyn casts them as a settling force, comparing them to the European colonists that once "settled" the inhabited Americas. This seems like a risky connection to make, on a subject that most writers tiptoe through with an effort toward political correctness, "One of Hirsi Ali's reiterated themes is that well-meaning Europeans frequently hesitate to criticize Islam 'for fear of being called racist'" (Holmes, 3). Indeed, Steyn is little concerned with political correctness, when he uses colloquial slurs like "Injuns." It is curious that in his parallel constructions that correspond to Muslims, Steyn never uses a correspondin slur that would relate the hostility toward Muslims expressed by some racist and xenophobic Westerners such as "towelhead." The most offensive characterization Steyn makes of Muslim immigrants is "followers of the badland's radical imams." This awkward phrase separates the subject of the sentence "followers" from the nexus of their beliefs "the badland's radical imams." This prepositional phrase is completely lacking in the power of a slur like "Injuns." Between the first difference and the second, Steyn also makes a clever alteration of the word "badlands" with a apostrophe. In the first sentence, it is the American plains of the Sioux; in the second, it is a moral judgment on the Arab world as a "badland." Following the first usage, "badland's" carries the connotation of the actual "Indian territory" of the U.S. that seems to comment on the moral distinction of a large geographic space, so that this potentially offensive name also loses its weight. The implicit message is that Muslims have overcome the persecution of the West, or that their persecution is irrelevant, since they have the power of "youth and will" behind them. Comparing Muslim immigrants to American frontier settlers is a useful analogy: both essentially practice a belief in manifest destiny in their migrations.
Holmes, in his review of the two books on Islam in Europe, uses the lens of another enormously important intellectual development, The Enlightenment:
"That a clash of civilization is also heartily endorsed by Islamist extremists should make us sit up and take note. Rather than signaling an admirable willingness to defend the
Enlightenment against its enemies, eagerness to participate in such a clash implies a wholesale abandonment of one of the Enlightenment's main pillars -- namely, the overcoming of collective punishment or group-on-group revenge by the strict individualization of culpability. The Islamophobia of the European right is obviously no less tribalistic than the Islamists' hatred of the West. Although the tribalization of the Enlightenment by European xenophobes clearly distresses Buruma, it does not even interest Hirsi Ali." (Holmes, 3)
Holmes comparison of the two authors' critiques of the current usage of Enlightenment theories of Europe is very interesting. It is difficult to gauge Holmes' stance on the two opinions, perhaps because he is trying to remain objective, and he often seems to contradict himself by giving Hirsi Ali the benefit of the doubt. Rather than holding Hirsi Ali responsible for the potentially violent fracturing of Enlightenment virtues practiced in Europe, Holmes allows that, "It is no reflection on her motives to point out that her high-minded criticism of anti-racism and her plea for
Europeans to stand up and "fight" for their civilization have inevitably appealed to people who refuse coexistence with Muslim immigrants on much cruder and more emotional grounds" (Holmes, 3). While Holmes does criticize the grounds on which Europeans might refuse to interact with Muslims, he allows for the possibility that there could be justifiable grounds. Holmes implicit bias for the perspective of Hirsi Ali can be sensed in his having put the word fight in quotation marks rather than civilization. Holmes allows fight to be qualified by the quotation marks, as if the European response to radical Islam has been less violent than the attacks waged by Muslim extremist organizations, while allowing Hirsi Ali's notion that Europeans have a civilization that must be protected to go unqualified.
Holmes similarly characterizes the conflict between Muslim immigrants and Europeans as inevitable and violent, "One comes away from these two remarkable books suspecting that neither compromise nor confrontation will do much to avert the coming train crash between a resentful minority of indigenous Europeans and a potentially violent minority of young men among the millions of Muslims now permanently residing in Europe" (Holmes, 3).
For Holmes, this confrontation is a threat against a civilized, established culture, while for Steyn Islam is the next political force to take over from a literally dying civilization whose time has already passed.
"The difference between the old Indian territory and the new is this: no one had to worry
about the Sioux riding down Fifth Avenue. Today, with a few hundred bucks on his ATM card, the fellow from the badlands can be in the heart of the metropolis within hours.
Here's another difference: in the old days, the white man settled the Indian territory. Now the followers of the badland's radical imams settle the metropolis.
And another difference: technology. In the old days, the Injuns had bows and arrows and the cavalry had rifles. In today's Indian territory, countries that can't feed their own people have nuclear weapons." (Steyn, 3).
In the three differences Steyn lays out for his readers, he presents the Muslim immigrant as more confrontational, more powerful, and better armed. Rather than portraying Muslims in Europe as a persecuted group, Steyn casts them as a settling force, comparing them to the European colonists that once "settled" the inhabited Americas. This seems like a risky connection to make, on a subject that most writers tiptoe through with an effort toward political correctness, "One of Hirsi Ali's reiterated themes is that well-meaning Europeans frequently hesitate to criticize Islam 'for fear of being called racist'" (Holmes, 3). Indeed, Steyn is little concerned with political correctness, when he uses colloquial slurs like "Injuns." It is curious that in his parallel constructions that correspond to Muslims, Steyn never uses a correspondin slur that would relate the hostility toward Muslims expressed by some racist and xenophobic Westerners such as "towelhead." The most offensive characterization Steyn makes of Muslim immigrants is "followers of the badland's radical imams." This awkward phrase separates the subject of the sentence "followers" from the nexus of their beliefs "the badland's radical imams." This prepositional phrase is completely lacking in the power of a slur like "Injuns." Between the first difference and the second, Steyn also makes a clever alteration of the word "badlands" with a apostrophe. In the first sentence, it is the American plains of the Sioux; in the second, it is a moral judgment on the Arab world as a "badland." Following the first usage, "badland's" carries the connotation of the actual "Indian territory" of the U.S. that seems to comment on the moral distinction of a large geographic space, so that this potentially offensive name also loses its weight. The implicit message is that Muslims have overcome the persecution of the West, or that their persecution is irrelevant, since they have the power of "youth and will" behind them. Comparing Muslim immigrants to American frontier settlers is a useful analogy: both essentially practice a belief in manifest destiny in their migrations.
Holmes, in his review of the two books on Islam in Europe, uses the lens of another enormously important intellectual development, The Enlightenment:
"That a clash of civilization is also heartily endorsed by Islamist extremists should make us sit up and take note. Rather than signaling an admirable willingness to defend the
Enlightenment against its enemies, eagerness to participate in such a clash implies a wholesale abandonment of one of the Enlightenment's main pillars -- namely, the overcoming of collective punishment or group-on-group revenge by the strict individualization of culpability. The Islamophobia of the European right is obviously no less tribalistic than the Islamists' hatred of the West. Although the tribalization of the Enlightenment by European xenophobes clearly distresses Buruma, it does not even interest Hirsi Ali." (Holmes, 3)
Holmes comparison of the two authors' critiques of the current usage of Enlightenment theories of Europe is very interesting. It is difficult to gauge Holmes' stance on the two opinions, perhaps because he is trying to remain objective, and he often seems to contradict himself by giving Hirsi Ali the benefit of the doubt. Rather than holding Hirsi Ali responsible for the potentially violent fracturing of Enlightenment virtues practiced in Europe, Holmes allows that, "It is no reflection on her motives to point out that her high-minded criticism of anti-racism and her plea for
Europeans to stand up and "fight" for their civilization have inevitably appealed to people who refuse coexistence with Muslim immigrants on much cruder and more emotional grounds" (Holmes, 3). While Holmes does criticize the grounds on which Europeans might refuse to interact with Muslims, he allows for the possibility that there could be justifiable grounds. Holmes implicit bias for the perspective of Hirsi Ali can be sensed in his having put the word fight in quotation marks rather than civilization. Holmes allows fight to be qualified by the quotation marks, as if the European response to radical Islam has been less violent than the attacks waged by Muslim extremist organizations, while allowing Hirsi Ali's notion that Europeans have a civilization that must be protected to go unqualified.
Holmes similarly characterizes the conflict between Muslim immigrants and Europeans as inevitable and violent, "One comes away from these two remarkable books suspecting that neither compromise nor confrontation will do much to avert the coming train crash between a resentful minority of indigenous Europeans and a potentially violent minority of young men among the millions of Muslims now permanently residing in Europe" (Holmes, 3).
For Holmes, this confrontation is a threat against a civilized, established culture, while for Steyn Islam is the next political force to take over from a literally dying civilization whose time has already passed.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Paste
Well, one thing is for sure, when reading Paste I cannot for a second forget about James. The style is as heavily controlled as the emotional displays and disclosures of the characters. The opening uses alliteration profusely, with a preponderance of s-sounds creating a hushed atmosphere surrounding the recent deaths.
"The pair of mourners, sufficiently stricken, were in the garden of the vicarage together, before luncheon, waiting to be summoned to that meal, and Arthur Prime had still in his face the intention, she was moved to call it rather than the expression, of feeling something or other. Some such appearance was in itself of course natural within a week of his stepmother's death, within three of his father's; but what was most present to the girl, herself sensitive and shrewd, was that he seemed somehow to brood without sorrow, to suffer without what in her own case she would have called pain." (James, 84).
Within and without are both repeated twice in the second sentence, emphasizing the sudden loss of Arthur's parents in such a short time. Both of these suspensive sentences leave the emotion to the end, where it evidently rests in the minds of the characters behind all of their outward appearances. James' sentences, with all of their interruptions, really do seem to make everything more complicated than it really is.
The dialogue in this story is so mannered that it seems hardly to vary from James' narration. It is rather sparse, and so embedded in the narration that it doesn't stand out.
"This career could not have been eminent and must much more probably have been comfortless.
'You see what it is--old stuff of the time she never liked to mention.'
Our young woman gave a start; her companion had, after all, rejoined her and had apparently watched a moment her slightly scared recognition. 'So I said to myself,' she replied. Then, to show intelligence, yet keep clear of twaddle: 'How peculiar they look!'
'They look awful,' said Arthur Prime. 'Cheap gilt, diamonds as big as potatoes. These are the trappings of a ruder age than ours. Actors do themselves better now.'" (James, 85).
James' introductory sentence, followed by interjection, dominates Charlotte's two sentence response to Arthur. When the dialogue begins with Arthur's "you see," after a dense paragraph of family history, the you is the only thing jarring. The rest of the material in the sentence "old stuff of the time she never liked to mention" seems to conclude the previous paragraph, which begins with Charlotte looking at the jewelery. The narration continues in the second person with "our young woman," this time including the reader in the narrator's world. Arthur's final comment could easily be rewritten as part of the narrative, rather than dialogue. It sounds like James' voice speaking through Arthur. This dialogue reminds me of the Lydia Davis piece, "They Take Turns Using a Word They Like," in that it is more about the social conventions being expressed than the actual conversation.
Still, not all of James' language is formal. Oddly, he sometimes includes colloquialisms in the narration, while the characters speak very properly, and then inverts, allowing a bit of slang to creep into the dialogue, while the narration becomes exaggeratedly proper.
"'Not a nobody to whom somebody--well, not a nobody with diamonds. It isn't all worth, this trash, five pounds.'
There was something in the old gewgaws that spoke to her, and she continued to turn them over. 'They're relics. I think they have their melancholy and even their dignity.'" (James, 85).
Arthur's comment sounds conversational in his use of "trash" but the phrasing of the second sentence with "this trash" as interruption sounds mannered. James then uses "gewgaws" to describe the jewelery, which seems more like a word that Charlotte would use than James. Finally, Charlotte responds to Arthur in a very proper tone, with words like "melancholy" and "dignity" restoring the former "trash." This technique in the dialogue and narration makes it seem as if James is going in and out of his characters' heads. Perhaps that makes him a more credible narrator.
"The pair of mourners, sufficiently stricken, were in the garden of the vicarage together, before luncheon, waiting to be summoned to that meal, and Arthur Prime had still in his face the intention, she was moved to call it rather than the expression, of feeling something or other. Some such appearance was in itself of course natural within a week of his stepmother's death, within three of his father's; but what was most present to the girl, herself sensitive and shrewd, was that he seemed somehow to brood without sorrow, to suffer without what in her own case she would have called pain." (James, 84).
Within and without are both repeated twice in the second sentence, emphasizing the sudden loss of Arthur's parents in such a short time. Both of these suspensive sentences leave the emotion to the end, where it evidently rests in the minds of the characters behind all of their outward appearances. James' sentences, with all of their interruptions, really do seem to make everything more complicated than it really is.
The dialogue in this story is so mannered that it seems hardly to vary from James' narration. It is rather sparse, and so embedded in the narration that it doesn't stand out.
"This career could not have been eminent and must much more probably have been comfortless.
'You see what it is--old stuff of the time she never liked to mention.'
Our young woman gave a start; her companion had, after all, rejoined her and had apparently watched a moment her slightly scared recognition. 'So I said to myself,' she replied. Then, to show intelligence, yet keep clear of twaddle: 'How peculiar they look!'
'They look awful,' said Arthur Prime. 'Cheap gilt, diamonds as big as potatoes. These are the trappings of a ruder age than ours. Actors do themselves better now.'" (James, 85).
James' introductory sentence, followed by interjection, dominates Charlotte's two sentence response to Arthur. When the dialogue begins with Arthur's "you see," after a dense paragraph of family history, the you is the only thing jarring. The rest of the material in the sentence "old stuff of the time she never liked to mention" seems to conclude the previous paragraph, which begins with Charlotte looking at the jewelery. The narration continues in the second person with "our young woman," this time including the reader in the narrator's world. Arthur's final comment could easily be rewritten as part of the narrative, rather than dialogue. It sounds like James' voice speaking through Arthur. This dialogue reminds me of the Lydia Davis piece, "They Take Turns Using a Word They Like," in that it is more about the social conventions being expressed than the actual conversation.
Still, not all of James' language is formal. Oddly, he sometimes includes colloquialisms in the narration, while the characters speak very properly, and then inverts, allowing a bit of slang to creep into the dialogue, while the narration becomes exaggeratedly proper.
"'Not a nobody to whom somebody--well, not a nobody with diamonds. It isn't all worth, this trash, five pounds.'
There was something in the old gewgaws that spoke to her, and she continued to turn them over. 'They're relics. I think they have their melancholy and even their dignity.'" (James, 85).
Arthur's comment sounds conversational in his use of "trash" but the phrasing of the second sentence with "this trash" as interruption sounds mannered. James then uses "gewgaws" to describe the jewelery, which seems more like a word that Charlotte would use than James. Finally, Charlotte responds to Arthur in a very proper tone, with words like "melancholy" and "dignity" restoring the former "trash." This technique in the dialogue and narration makes it seem as if James is going in and out of his characters' heads. Perhaps that makes him a more credible narrator.
Montaigne's Maiden Warriors
Montaigne's essay is incredibly fascinating for being so long. I just keep chugging along with it, despite the fact that it never seems to be getting any closer to a conclusion that is not arrived at already within the first five pages. The unfolding of Montaigne's argument is ultimately the subject of the essay, and the experience of it is illuminating. Montaigne's fluid musings on fundamental human issues of life and death, aging, and sexuality are not only profound but humorous. The simple thesis of Montaigne's essay is something like: Sexual pleasure should be enjoyed by older men who can properly appreciate it. But there are many sub-arguments within the essay:
1) The mind can rescue itself from old age, but struggles against the needs of the body in order to do so.
2) It is a mistake to marry for love. Marriage should be entered into as an economic and familial arrangement for "posterity and family" (7).
3) Love should be sought outside of marriage.
4) Women and men have the same sexual desires and urges, and women should be allowed to pursue theirs outside of marriage. Men are hypocritical to deny women this freedom.
5) There are worse vices than promiscuity. Unsanctioned sexual activity, particularly as practiced by women, has only been condemned because human beings are jealous by nature.
Montaigne frequently contradicts himself, but this becomes a strength of the essay, as he is able to anticipate counterarguments, and debunk prevailing thinking through sarcasm. Contradiction, juxtaposition, and oxymoron are ubiquitous in the essay. To characterize his age, exaggerating his decrepit seniority, Montaigne juxtaposes, "From the excess of sprightliness I am fallen into that of severity" (1). He then humorously juxtaposes wisdom and folly, "Both wisdom and folly will have enough to do to support and relieve me by alternate services in this calamity of age" (2). Then, the mind and the body, "Seeing it is the privilege of the mind to rescue itself from old age, I advise mine to it with all the power I have; let it meanwhile continue gree, and flourish if it can, like mistletoe upon a dead tree" Montaigne invokes plaintively, with a fantastically morbid simile (3). The juxtaposition continues throughout, as I have outlined. Montaigne's argument relies on dualities to represent the complexity of human experience.
Montaigne's frequent use of oxymorons exposes how ridiculous and ineffective the prevailing oppression of female sexuality is. "We, on the contrary, would have them at once sound, vigorous, plump, high-fed, and chaste; that is to say, both hot and cold, for the marriage, which we tell them is to keep them from burning, is but small refreshment to them as we order the matter" (11). Later, Montaigne provides an even clearer image of the problems of suppressing female sexuality, in oxymoron, "There is no doing more difficult than that not doing, nor more active; I hold it more easy to carry a suit of armor all the days of one's life than a maidenhood; and the vow of virginity of all others is the most noble, as being the hardest to keep" (15). Montaigne seems to comment on his own use of oxymoron when he says, "there is neither continency nor virtue where there are no opposing desires" (19).
One of the strongest rhetorical facets of Montaigne's argument is his complete omission of the subjects he is discussing, and occasional euphemism. As soon as Montaigne actually starts talking about sex, he completely refrains from using the word. Montaigne writes at length about the penis, but never uses the word penis. The euphemism he uses most often is "member"; he also uses "shameful parts," "implements," and "natural furniture."
"In the greatest part of the world, that member of our body was deified; in the same province, some flayed off the skin to offer and consecrate a piece; others offered and consecrated their seed." (13)
"To what end do we make a show of our implements in figure under our gaskins, and often, which is worse, above their natural size, by falsehood and imposture?" (13)
The fact that Montaigne effectively omits the subject of these sentences, and yet we know exactly what he is talking about, forces us to agree with him.
In this fantastic passage, Montaigne again writes with humor about activities performed on his "member," this time in the context of aging:
"Nature should satisfy herself in having rendered this age miserable, without rendering it ridiculous too. I hate to see it, for one poor inch of pitiful vigor which comes upon it but thrice a week, to strut and set out itself with as much eagerness as if it could do mighty feats; a true flame of flax; and laugh to see it so boil and bubble and then in a moment so congealed and extinguished. This appetite ought to appertain only to the flower of beautiful youth: trust not to its seconding that indefatigable, full, constant, magnanimous ardor you think in you, for it will certainly leave you in the lurch at your greatest need; but rather transfer it to some tender, bashful, and ignorant boy, who yet trembles at the rod and blushes" (32). Montaigne's overwrought account of masturbation among old men is so hilarious and pitiable, he wins us over, as at the beginning when he characterizes himself as a pitiable old man. The passage is another oxymoron: Montaigne argues that pleasure should be reserved for older men who can appreciate it properly, but then reveals that his body is not quite up to the task. Alas, youth and experience do not go hand in hand, again the problem of mind/body disconnect.
"Every member I have, as much one as another, is equally my own, and no other more properly makes me a man than this," Montaigne writes, in case we had any doubt as to which member he had been referring to throughout the essay. Montaigne emphasizes the fact that the word member is not specific, that it could really mean any appendage of the body, but we knew exactly what he meant all along, which means we have already experienced his point and must therefore agree with him.
Later, Montaigne compares the sexual organs and apetites of males and females:
"The gods, says Plato, have given us one disobedient and unruly member that, like a furious animal, attempts, by the violence of its appetite, to subject all things to it; and so they have given to women one like a greedy and ravenous animal, which, if it be refused food in season, grows wild, impatient of delay, and infusing its rage into their bodies, stops the passages, and hinders respiration, causing a thousand ills, till, having imbibed the fruit of the common thirst, it has plentifully bedewed the bottom of their matrix" (14). Montaigne's account of Plato is so wildly imaginative it allows his radical argument to pass as comical, although sincere.
Montaigne very rarely refers to women directly in the essay, only using a sex indicator when it is absolutely necessary to clarify the attributes of one sex versus the other. When he can, Montaigne simply uses 'us and them'. While the assumption that the writer was male at the time would have been pretty much universal, the fact that Montaigne can describe the conditions under which women lived without referring to women directly, again forces us to agree with him. Montaigne's delightful assay proceeds with a will of its own through humour, juxtaposition, oxymoron, and above all, euphemism.
1) The mind can rescue itself from old age, but struggles against the needs of the body in order to do so.
2) It is a mistake to marry for love. Marriage should be entered into as an economic and familial arrangement for "posterity and family" (7).
3) Love should be sought outside of marriage.
4) Women and men have the same sexual desires and urges, and women should be allowed to pursue theirs outside of marriage. Men are hypocritical to deny women this freedom.
5) There are worse vices than promiscuity. Unsanctioned sexual activity, particularly as practiced by women, has only been condemned because human beings are jealous by nature.
Montaigne frequently contradicts himself, but this becomes a strength of the essay, as he is able to anticipate counterarguments, and debunk prevailing thinking through sarcasm. Contradiction, juxtaposition, and oxymoron are ubiquitous in the essay. To characterize his age, exaggerating his decrepit seniority, Montaigne juxtaposes, "From the excess of sprightliness I am fallen into that of severity" (1). He then humorously juxtaposes wisdom and folly, "Both wisdom and folly will have enough to do to support and relieve me by alternate services in this calamity of age" (2). Then, the mind and the body, "Seeing it is the privilege of the mind to rescue itself from old age, I advise mine to it with all the power I have; let it meanwhile continue gree, and flourish if it can, like mistletoe upon a dead tree" Montaigne invokes plaintively, with a fantastically morbid simile (3). The juxtaposition continues throughout, as I have outlined. Montaigne's argument relies on dualities to represent the complexity of human experience.
Montaigne's frequent use of oxymorons exposes how ridiculous and ineffective the prevailing oppression of female sexuality is. "We, on the contrary, would have them at once sound, vigorous, plump, high-fed, and chaste; that is to say, both hot and cold, for the marriage, which we tell them is to keep them from burning, is but small refreshment to them as we order the matter" (11). Later, Montaigne provides an even clearer image of the problems of suppressing female sexuality, in oxymoron, "There is no doing more difficult than that not doing, nor more active; I hold it more easy to carry a suit of armor all the days of one's life than a maidenhood; and the vow of virginity of all others is the most noble, as being the hardest to keep" (15). Montaigne seems to comment on his own use of oxymoron when he says, "there is neither continency nor virtue where there are no opposing desires" (19).
One of the strongest rhetorical facets of Montaigne's argument is his complete omission of the subjects he is discussing, and occasional euphemism. As soon as Montaigne actually starts talking about sex, he completely refrains from using the word. Montaigne writes at length about the penis, but never uses the word penis. The euphemism he uses most often is "member"; he also uses "shameful parts," "implements," and "natural furniture."
"In the greatest part of the world, that member of our body was deified; in the same province, some flayed off the skin to offer and consecrate a piece; others offered and consecrated their seed." (13)
"To what end do we make a show of our implements in figure under our gaskins, and often, which is worse, above their natural size, by falsehood and imposture?" (13)
The fact that Montaigne effectively omits the subject of these sentences, and yet we know exactly what he is talking about, forces us to agree with him.
In this fantastic passage, Montaigne again writes with humor about activities performed on his "member," this time in the context of aging:
"Nature should satisfy herself in having rendered this age miserable, without rendering it ridiculous too. I hate to see it, for one poor inch of pitiful vigor which comes upon it but thrice a week, to strut and set out itself with as much eagerness as if it could do mighty feats; a true flame of flax; and laugh to see it so boil and bubble and then in a moment so congealed and extinguished. This appetite ought to appertain only to the flower of beautiful youth: trust not to its seconding that indefatigable, full, constant, magnanimous ardor you think in you, for it will certainly leave you in the lurch at your greatest need; but rather transfer it to some tender, bashful, and ignorant boy, who yet trembles at the rod and blushes" (32). Montaigne's overwrought account of masturbation among old men is so hilarious and pitiable, he wins us over, as at the beginning when he characterizes himself as a pitiable old man. The passage is another oxymoron: Montaigne argues that pleasure should be reserved for older men who can appreciate it properly, but then reveals that his body is not quite up to the task. Alas, youth and experience do not go hand in hand, again the problem of mind/body disconnect.
"Every member I have, as much one as another, is equally my own, and no other more properly makes me a man than this," Montaigne writes, in case we had any doubt as to which member he had been referring to throughout the essay. Montaigne emphasizes the fact that the word member is not specific, that it could really mean any appendage of the body, but we knew exactly what he meant all along, which means we have already experienced his point and must therefore agree with him.
Later, Montaigne compares the sexual organs and apetites of males and females:
"The gods, says Plato, have given us one disobedient and unruly member that, like a furious animal, attempts, by the violence of its appetite, to subject all things to it; and so they have given to women one like a greedy and ravenous animal, which, if it be refused food in season, grows wild, impatient of delay, and infusing its rage into their bodies, stops the passages, and hinders respiration, causing a thousand ills, till, having imbibed the fruit of the common thirst, it has plentifully bedewed the bottom of their matrix" (14). Montaigne's account of Plato is so wildly imaginative it allows his radical argument to pass as comical, although sincere.
Montaigne very rarely refers to women directly in the essay, only using a sex indicator when it is absolutely necessary to clarify the attributes of one sex versus the other. When he can, Montaigne simply uses 'us and them'. While the assumption that the writer was male at the time would have been pretty much universal, the fact that Montaigne can describe the conditions under which women lived without referring to women directly, again forces us to agree with him. Montaigne's delightful assay proceeds with a will of its own through humour, juxtaposition, oxymoron, and above all, euphemism.
Comments from a reactionary
I had read the Communist Manifesto in a vague sort of way for other classes before, but I had always considered it a sort of artifact of history and not a text with the power of persuasion for subsequent generations of would-be revolutionaries. It is difficult for me to account for the lasting power of the Communist Manifesto because I don't find it persuasive. It's lofty language and exaggerated claims seem hardly serious to me. I find it more funny than persuasive. From the opening sentence, "A spectre is haunting Europe--the spectre of communism," the manifesto strikes a tone that is at once powerful and comical. This is a fantastic and extremely memorable opening sentence for a work of literature, but in this context, when I read this line all that comes to mind are a bunch of zombie revolutionaries stalking the darkened streets of Paris. Marx and Engels' attempts to frighten their readers into agreement with lofty similes end up sounding ridiculous, "Modern bourgeois society, with its relations of production, of exchange and of property, a society that has conjured up such gigantic means of production and of exchange, is like the sorcerer who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether world whom he has called up by his spells." This childish, fairytale analogy makes the arguable claims advanced about the bourgeoisie trite. The strong image that the analogy conjures obscures the modern conditions that the sorcerer is being compared to.
The manifesto makes bold, unwavering claims, as a manifesto should: "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles." The phrasing of this sentence so that the word history is repeated emphasizes the radical recasting of the dominant historical narrative by Marx and Engels. As potent and quotable these simple declarative sentences that are spliced throughout the text are, I think their simplicity undermines the argument. History is not so simple as to be reduced to an overarching declaration. The tone of certainty, articulated in vitriolic rhetoric, has a great deal to do with the historical power of the manifesto, as it has lasted through its quotability and memorability. However, I find the certainty unsettling.
One of most powerful rhetorical strategies used by Marx and Engels is inversion. As the argument proceeds from their account of perpetual class struggle, they declare, "The bourgeoisie, historically, has played a most revolutionary part." Recasting the group they had just labelled as oppressors as having been, historically, revolutionary, Marx and Engels make way for the second part of their argument: the inevitability of the impending proletarian revolution. The bourgeoisie revolution has outlasted its time, they argue. The time for a workers revolution has come.
Throughout the manifesto, the opposing of groups (bourgeois/proletariat), communists/everyone else as anti-communist, forces the reader to take a side. From the opening, the reader is labelled either as a communist, or as one among the reactionaries who are already behind the momentous revolution. "Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as communistic by its opponents in power? Where is the opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of communism, against the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against its reactionary adversaries?" Communism is declared to be a power, in fact declared by the opposition to be a power, and those that are sceptical of it can only be those currently in power or those that are against change. This may be an effective rhetorical strategy for readers that are prone to take sides; perhaps at the time the Communist Manifesto was written there were more such readers. However, I find it alienating, and imagine that others might react similarly. As many critics have said before, the high language can hardly expect to be appreciated by the proletariat it incites to revolution, so the question remains, who is the intended audience? While Marx and Engels make many statements that would seem to alienate the "petty bourgeoisie," whose interests are so opposed to such a communist revolution, it is to this audience that the manifesto seems to most clearly apply. Certainly, in its current circulation, the Communist Manifesto seems to be most often espoused by those who are minimally oppressed and privileged enough to claim to speak for the lower classes.
The manifesto makes bold, unwavering claims, as a manifesto should: "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles." The phrasing of this sentence so that the word history is repeated emphasizes the radical recasting of the dominant historical narrative by Marx and Engels. As potent and quotable these simple declarative sentences that are spliced throughout the text are, I think their simplicity undermines the argument. History is not so simple as to be reduced to an overarching declaration. The tone of certainty, articulated in vitriolic rhetoric, has a great deal to do with the historical power of the manifesto, as it has lasted through its quotability and memorability. However, I find the certainty unsettling.
One of most powerful rhetorical strategies used by Marx and Engels is inversion. As the argument proceeds from their account of perpetual class struggle, they declare, "The bourgeoisie, historically, has played a most revolutionary part." Recasting the group they had just labelled as oppressors as having been, historically, revolutionary, Marx and Engels make way for the second part of their argument: the inevitability of the impending proletarian revolution. The bourgeoisie revolution has outlasted its time, they argue. The time for a workers revolution has come.
Throughout the manifesto, the opposing of groups (bourgeois/proletariat), communists/everyone else as anti-communist, forces the reader to take a side. From the opening, the reader is labelled either as a communist, or as one among the reactionaries who are already behind the momentous revolution. "Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as communistic by its opponents in power? Where is the opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of communism, against the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against its reactionary adversaries?" Communism is declared to be a power, in fact declared by the opposition to be a power, and those that are sceptical of it can only be those currently in power or those that are against change. This may be an effective rhetorical strategy for readers that are prone to take sides; perhaps at the time the Communist Manifesto was written there were more such readers. However, I find it alienating, and imagine that others might react similarly. As many critics have said before, the high language can hardly expect to be appreciated by the proletariat it incites to revolution, so the question remains, who is the intended audience? While Marx and Engels make many statements that would seem to alienate the "petty bourgeoisie," whose interests are so opposed to such a communist revolution, it is to this audience that the manifesto seems to most clearly apply. Certainly, in its current circulation, the Communist Manifesto seems to be most often espoused by those who are minimally oppressed and privileged enough to claim to speak for the lower classes.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
It's Interactive!
Ben's short fiction selections for tomorrow are very interesting. What is immediately apparent about them is that each of them say a lot with few words. This is a characteristic of writing that I really admire. It makes the interpretation of the reader a part of the text, creating an interaction between the reader and the characters of the story. Each of the fictions generally seem to be about social ritual, and involve communication between two subjects. The two women in the Lydia Davis piece take turns using the word extraordinary, the first placing the emphasis on the word and the second placing the emphasis on the verb and thus on her own opinion, which seems to both agree with and trump that of the first woman. The change in emphasis across the two lines of dialogue puts the lines in conversation with each other, along with the two women. While the two lines appear to be almost identical, they each have a different tone and reveal different information. In fact, it is not absolutely clear that the second person speaking is a woman; she is simply referred to as 'the other' and so we assume that she is another woman. The title, "They take turns using a word they like," becomes necessarily a part of the story that is required in order to interpret the two line conversation. According to the title, the conversation is really not about anything. This frees the reader from interpreting the actual content of the conversation, and instead allows her to consider the inherent meaning behind the interaction. The conversation really seems to be about the competition between two women, couched in a dramatic but meaningless word, extraordinary, and exaggerated politeness.
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