Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

Throughout his famous poem Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas uses an extended metaphor of darkness and nightfall to portray a speaker urging his father to fight his coming death. Extensive imagery, violently vivid language, and examples of how wise, good, wild, and grave men have fought death reveal the fervor with which the speaker begs his father not to go gently into darkness.

The poem begins with its title line, “Do not go gentle into that good night,” the first example of Thomas’s linkage of death and night or darkness. This theme continues in the next line, when he states that “old age should burn and rave at close of day,” expressing the wish that the little life left in his dying father continue to burn bright in the face of pressing darkness. The final line of the stanza, one repeated throughout the poem, urges that the dying father “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” The use of the word “rage” brings a violent and warlike tone to the poem, conjuring images of soldiers wildly fighting a battle they know they cannot win.

In the next stanza, the speaker describes wise men who acknowledge that death is inevitable and even right but continue to fight it “because their words had forked no lightning.” This idea of delaying death out of regret for goals left unfulfilled is present throughout the poem. In the next stanza, good men refuse to go gently as they imagine “how bright their frail deeds might have danced.” The speaker uses this theme of remorse for what could have been as further exhortation for his father to go down fighting.

The following two stanzas reveal another theme inherent to men on their deathbed in addition to the regret present in earlier parts: tragic understanding of their own complicity in their downfalls. Wild men “learn, too late, they grieved [the sun] on its way,” continuing the light and dark metaphor by portraying the sun’s journey across the sky as a timeline of a man’s life. This line reveals that such men realize only when it is too late that they are partially responsible for their coming deaths: by grieving the sun on its way, they hurried their own ends. In the poem’s final description of men refusing to go gently, grave men “see with blinding sight [that] blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,” showing the tragedy of knowledge. These grave men who truly see the world are determined to fight death, unlike the blissfully ignorant men who continue to be bright and gay. The image of eyes blazing like meteors ties into the idea of death as darkness, and refusing to be smothered by coming night.

It is only at the end of the poem that the speaker identifies his intended audience as his father. He begs him to “curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears,” revealing that as his father’s death approaches, the speaker wishes his father to curse him, because such violence would reveal the fight left in him. Thomas wrote the poem just before his own father succumbed to death, and although there is no evidence he ever showed it to him, it reveals the turmoil Thomas felt as he faced the death of a man with whom he’d had a tumultuous relationship. Do Not Go Gentle reveals the depth of the speaker’s (and Thomas’s) feelings for his father and his fervent desire for his parent to keep fighting and hold onto pride and dignity in the face of death. (596)

The Magistrate's Lessons

The Magistrate learns that when one is stripped of all power and the only thing left is his own insignificance, even the smallest acts of rebellion are worth something. During his "interview" with Colonel Joll after he disturbed the beatings in the public square, the Magistrate says that "if he (the guard) goes near me I will hit him with all the strength in my body. I will not disappear into the earth without leaving my mark on them." This quote reveals both the Magistrate's insignificance - he knows that the greatest impact he can have now is leaving a bruise or scar - and his new found determination to not go without a fight. He has been reduced from a position of authority to one of irrelevance, yet he is far more determined to leave his mark as a nothing than he ever was when he held power.
He also learns that there is very little that separates the body from the soul. When describing his torturer, Mandel, he says, "He deals with my soul: every day he folds the flesh aside and exposes my soul to the light." The Magistrate quickly learns that when subjected to pain and humiliation and neglect, the gap between man and beast grows much smaller. Everything that separates humans from lesser animals - self-awareness, complex thought, a sense of honor - disappears when faced with hunger and thirst and filth. The Magistrate learns that it is only through civilization - through comfort and health and care - that man can rise above the level of animals.

Emergency Powers in Egypt

Until the recent revolution, Egypt had been under "Emergency Law" for nearly thirty years. The law, which was regularly extended by President Mubarak, allowed indefinite imprisonment without trial, detention and trials of civilians my military courts, and limits on speech and association. While the Egyptian government claims the law was imposed to protect citizens from terrorism and violence, international critics claim the case of Egypt exemplifies the threats of "emergency powers": they provide ultimate control to individual leaders with no monitoring and no end in sight.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/30/AR2006043001039.html

Fraiman's "The Humiliation of Elizabeth Bennet"

• Fraiman states that the main point of the novel is not Darcy's overcoming his pride and Elizabeth her prejudice. Rather, she believes that Elizabeth is forced to overcome her own masculine pride and succumb to the more feminine humility.
• An effective example used by Fraiman to show Elizabeth's disregarding of her own pride and deferring to Darcy is that Elizabeth is forced to accept the partiality and prejudice of her earlier views, while Darcy successfully defends his own as impartial. Elizabeth's earlier opinions are taken as those of a silly woman, influenced too much by her hurt pride from her first interaction with Darcy, while Darcy is never forced to revise his early opinions. Even when he changes his mind about Jane, it is his own decision, not because Elizabeth told him he was wrong.
• Fraiman also discusses Mary's definitions of "pride" and "vanity" as they relate to Elizabeth's sacrificing of her own pride. Mary says that "Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us." Fraiman claims that Darcy is able to retain his pride because he can afford to - due to his power as a noble and, even more importantly, as a man, he doesn't have to care what others think of him - his own opinion is the most important. In contrast, the poorer and female Elizabeth is forced to rely on the opinions of others - she must sacrifice masculine pride for feminine vanity.
• While her general thesis is effective and logical, Fraiman delves into psychoanalysis of Elizabeth and her relationship with her father. The claims that Elizabeth's close relationship with her father stems from her "penis envy" and Mr. Bennet's giving of his daughters to their husbands represents his sacrificing his own sexual pleasure seem a bit ridiculous. While I agree that Elizabeth is a more masculine character than her sisters and the other female characters, I think Fraiman here gets a bit caught up in her own cleverness.
• Fraiman's final point is that Elizabeth represents the uniting of the emerging merchant middle-class and the waning nobles, as evidenced by her linking Mr. Gardiner and Darcy in friendship. While it's an interesting idea, it's fairly undeveloped - Fraiman seemed to tack it on the end of her essay, as an afterthought.
• Besides the previously mentioned tangents, I agree with Fraiman. Even though Elizabeth is generally thought of as a revolutionary female, the only way she can achieve happiness is through sacrificing her independence, both of body and mind.
• An open eye towards the many examples of Elizabeth's forced deference reveals the similarities between her and her sisters, and shows the relatively small amount of independence she has compared with all she lacks. Fraiman's piece has given me a more critical view of Austen's themes of female independence and a greater appreciation for her skill in subtleties as a writer.

Stupid, Stupid Love

Although I really enjoyed reading the Twelfth Night, I had a hard time suspending my disbelief and just "getting over" the many incongruities. The entire plot is founded on various characters falling and being in "love" with each other, but Shakespeare's version of love is far different than my own. The whirlwind, borderline-obsessive romances between the characters seemed farcical and ridiculous. Not once did I feel that Orsino’s “love” for Olivia was legitimate, or that Olivia’s feelings for Ceasario justified her embarrassing behavior. Instead, it seemed like Shakespeare used such “love” as a device to move the plot forward and justify the most absurd events in the story. If found myself forced to set aside my own notions on love and accept Shakespeare’s definition in order to get through and enjoy the play.

Shakespeare’s love is immediate – Viola falls for Orsino, Olivia for Ceasario, and Sebastian for Olivia within days and even hours of meeting one another.  This differs greatly from modern society’s (and my own) view of love as a slow and gentle process based on getting to know a person’s true character and loving them for that character, flaws and all. Shakespeare’s characters do not even see their love interests’ flaws – Olivia is so blinded by her love for Caesario she misses the fact that he is a woman. Shakespeare’s version of love is also far more unrelenting than my own views – what he calls persistent courtship, I would deem stalking. Orsino’s incessant pestering of Olivia is enough to earn him a restraining order today but is accepted as par for the course by the other characters. I found Orsino’s endless harassing of Olivia one of the most absurd aspects – how can he possibly be so in love with her, he doesn’t even know her! This has to do with the third main difference between Shakespeare’s love and my own views – his love seems completely unfounded. I couldn’t see why Viola would ever fall for Orsino while he’s fawning over Olivia like a puppy. There is no reason for anyone to like who they like – even Maria and Toby’s little romance is completely unfounded. I disagreed with Shakespeare’s definition of love but found I did agree with his greater message about love.

Above all the debauchery and confusion and absurdity of Twelfth Night, the them of the play is “love conquers all.” The honesty and devotion of the love characters have for one another triumphs the disguises and idiocy, giving everyone (accept maybe Andrew and Malvolio) a happy ending. This is an idea that carries as much relevance and popularity today as it did in Shakespeare’s time. It’s an idea that, despite my cynical moments when I view love as a myth, believe as well. Everyone just wants somebody to love, and I think Shakespeare does an excellent job of portraying the feverish desire for a “someone.” Despite their flaws, I was legitimately pleased that Sebastian and Olivia and Orsino and Viola wound up together and hoped they would continue to be happy and in love. Like Shakespeare, I view love as the single defining aspect of our lives – something to be searched for, dreamed of, longed for, and cherished, in spite of the sometimes-absurd obstacles along the way. (543)

"I feel charming, oh so charming"

My first encounters with the word “charm” came around the age of six from friends and coworkers of my mom in the form of “well, isn’t she charming!” spoken over my head. The remark was complimentary but the tone patronizing, said in that certain cooing voice of well-meaning adults discussing children present as though they aren’t there. Used as a synonym for “precocious,” it was often intended as a compliment to my mother, but also carried with it a slight dig at the fact that she let me sit at the grown-up table and treated my opinions as valuable as those of her peers. I quickly grew to resent the word, as it indicated an adult who would comment on my rosy cheeks or growth spurt and then appear utterly un-amused when I opened my mouth. Needless to say, the association with the “children should be seen and NOT heard” left all variations of the word “charm” viewed as undesirable by my childhood self.

A new view of the word and its derivations came a few years later, spurred by my Harry Potter-induced obsession with witchcraft and magic. As I poured over the latest work by Rowling (and the plethora of formulaic young adult novels that jumped on the wizard train) I learned that charms were simple and harmless spells, incantations to light up a room or erase a muggle’s memory. Obviously, the connotations I held with regards to the word were completely altered. As I anxiously counted the days until my twelfth birthday, when I would be greeted with a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I imagined all the ways I could use such spells in my daily life, ranging from instantly tidying my room with the flick of a wand to transforming that “B” on a spelling quiz to a more satisfying (and deserved!) “A”. Thus, my notions on the word came to be more positive, associated with my fascination with magic.

A few more years down the road, I obtained another appreciation for the word, again influenced by a series and genre of books. This newest version came from my first foray into historical fiction, especially the work of Phillipa Gregory about English women in the court of King Henry VIII. In these novels, “charm” was the tool used by women like Anne Boleyn to manipulate and seduce. In a world where men held nearly all the power, such allure was the one thing that allowed a woman control over her destiny. This version of the word held all the mystery and magic of my earlier definition, combined with a slightly forbidden risqué quality – it was an adult word and an adult concept, fascinating to an adolescent reader. Charm was something that appealed to boys and men, held by women who got what they wanted - the kind of women men wanted and women wanted to be. Thus, it was a quality I desperately sought to master. At age 13, this was quite a momentous task, one that led to my pouring over often-racy historical fiction and quite a few embarrassing attempts to wink without looking like a sufferer of a persistent eye-twitch. But the new context for the words “charm” and “charming” layered onto my preconceived notions, creating a deeper understanding of the word.

As I begin my journey to divine the true and complete definition of the word “charm” and its history, I possess an understanding of the word as shown in a simple dictionary search: a word with a variety of meanings, all linked by a somewhat magical element. A charm can be an amulet worn for protection or a more aesthetic trinket, such as those found on charm bracelets. The word can refer to a spell cast with a specific magical intent, or the more subtle allure of an individual that similarly gets her what she wants. Most commonly, it has the meaning of appealing, alluring, or pleasing, whether in reference to a quaint cottage or someone’s personality. Apparently, it also has a meaning linked to physics and the study of quarks; that, however, is a definition I care very little about. I’ll focus instead on the origins, historical connotations, literary uses, and modern multi-faceted definition of the word “charm”. (717)

Lost His Religion?

"Thus spete I out my venim under hewe

  Of holinesse, to seeme holy and trewe.

  But shortly myn entente I wol devise:

  I preche of no thing but for coveitise;

  Therefore my theme is yit and evere was

  Radix malorum est cupiditas." (133-138)

If the pardoner has no conscience and no respect for his faith or what he teaches, how did he get into the church in the first place? Is he just a conman or did something make him lose his religion?

The first two lines reveal how impressed the Pardoner is with his own imitation of holiness - he plays well the part of a "hellfire and damnation" preacher, and he knows it. The next two lines are his letting in his fellow pilgrims on a secret, possibly one he has never shared before. He explains that his true driving force is covetous and all he wants is to satisfy his own desires. The final two lines are ironic in light of the previous two: he says the theme of his sermon is always that "greed is to root of all evil." The complete hypocrisy of this shows just how little he cares for his religious duty.

The Pardoner’s obvious distaste for his profession’s religious goals makes me wonder why he got into the religious field in the first place. There are two possible answers: 1. That he simply viewed the church as an easy and profitable career path and decided to take advantage of the respect given to religious figures or 2. He was originally more devoted to his faith (probably not completely) but something shook his belief and made him bitter and cold-hearted. Although the first is probably the most likely, I find the second choice to be more interesting. I like the idea that the Pardoner has a past, which would explain his cruelty and lack of conscience. However, Chaucer’s portrayal of most of his characters as fairly flat means the Pardoner shouldn’t be sympathetic in the least. Therefore, it’s unlikely that the Pardoner has any reasonable explanation for his cruelty or greed. (348)