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)

Chaucer's The Legend of Good Women

In the 1380’s, before Geoffrey Chaucer began his most famous Canterbury Tales, he completed a similar compilation of stories through a frame: The Legend of Good Women. Like his other early works, the story’s frame is a dream of the first person narrator (presumably Chaucer) who, upon waking writes down everything he has dreamed. Good Women’s frame is that Chaucer is lying in a field of daisies in springtime and witnesses a parade of the God of Love, his queen, and thousands of “good women” who follow. The God chastises Chaucer for complaining about women and tells him that true love is the path to heaven. He then orders that Chaucer create a book of the stories of history’s great ladies, for which he will be rewarded by finding true love.

Although the piece is ostensibly about good women, historians often quip that it is more focused on “bad men”. The stories focus mostly on the actions of men who hurt the female characters, who are relatively helpless victims of circumstance. Their “goodness” doesn’t seem to help them much at all. In fact, the work is actually most often viewed as a satire of the preferred “feminine” values of the time, such as humility and purity, because all of the characters who exhibit such traits end up unhappy (and often dead). Even the title of the work is satirical - he is saying that so-called "good women" only exist in legend and not in fact. Many Chaucer scholars believe that the author used these stories to subversively attack the prominent anti-feminism of the time and ideals of romantic love. Others, however, view the work as genuinely emphasizing the weakness of women and proof of Chaucer’s anti-feminism.

Within Good Women, Chaucer tells the stories of ten women in nine tales. The majority of the stories he tells differ from the original stories from with they were drawn, both in plot and theme. He begins with Cleopatra and somehow manages to portray the powerful queen as weak and plagued by the deaths of her brother Tholome (whom she poisoned) and her lover Antony. Chaucer spends very little time on the character of Cleopatra, instead focusing on the naval battle scene and Antony. He next moves on to the story of Thisbe, most famously used within Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Chaucer dramatically alters the plot (often to ridiculous results) and the obvious moral of the story is that women should not be allowed to go out alone because they get into trouble, and “love should be enough to enlarge their worlds.” Next comes the longest and most traditional tale, the Greek myth of Dido, which many scholars view as an allegory for the relationship of John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, two of Chaucer’s contemporaries. This is followed by five more retellings of Greek and Roman stories about the following women: Hipsipyle and Medea (who share a story), Lucrece, Ariadne, Philomela, and Phyllis. All of these tales describe the ultimate powerlessness of women to men’s desires and actions and portray a women’s ultimate (and often only) weapon or tool to be her virginity and purity. He finishes with the story of Hypernestra, a woman whose father orders her to kill her husband and eventually imprisons her when she refuses. The story ends with the phrase “This tale is seyd for this conclusioun” and leaves the reader to think the author was called to dinner and never finished the work. This device was a common way to end pieces at the time, especially those embedded in frame stories about the author.

Chaucer thus abandoned the work and published it without truly finishing it. It was ultimately unsuccessful and criticized for its inaccuracies and lack of consistency. However, it is widely studied today for both its views on women and the fact that it was possibly the first English work written in iambic pentameter with heroic couplets. While it is unclear whether he intended it as a satire or legitimate collection of stories (speculated to have been commissioned by a princess or lady at the time), The Legend of Good Women provides insight into Chaucer’s and all 14^th century views on women. (674)  

http://www.umm.maine.edu/faculty/necastro/chaucer/translation/lgw/lgw.html

http://www.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/chaucer/LGW2.html

Beowulf's Splendid Bash: a Party Twelve Years in the Making

By the Hrerald's own social commentator and insider, Hrerez Hrilton

The golden days (and nights!) of Hrothgar’s Heorot have once again returned – last night’s bash at the great mead-hall served testament to that. All the King’s men and especially his ladies celebrated the defeat of the most dreaded descendant of Cain in style with jewels glimmering and the mead glowing at what will certainly be the “see-and-be-seen” event of the year (probably the last twelve). The guest of honor – the brave and dazzling (and reportedly single – maidens, take note!) Beowulf simply glowed in the candlelight as he received praise and thanks from every man in the hall. For those of you who’ve spent the last few days in some corner of a swamp, Beowulf traveled with his men from his home to our land to defeat Grendel, which up until now has been both impossible and fatal for all who attempt. The god-like Beowulf, however, had little trouble slaying the horrendous beast with his bare hands and even retained a “trophy” of the monster’s severed arm. The peace he has brought the kingdom served as more than enough reason to re-christen the mead-hall last night.

Besides the heroic son of Ecgtheow, the star of the show last night was undoubtedly the lovely queen. Wealhtheow was smashing as always in a fabulous custom gown from the Hraus of Hresace, and her demure laugh tinkled throughout the hall above the raucous noise of the men. She made quite the statement by serving Beowulf from the mead-cup second only to Hrothgar, revealing how quickly the young Geat’s star has risen. The evening took a slightly solemn turn when she asked Beowulf to promise to protect her sons (who both appear to be well on their way to status as the kingdom’s most eligible bachelors) in the event of the death of Hrothgar. Beowulf, always the perfect gentleman, gallantly accepted, and the hall quickly returned to its high-energy party atmosphere. Wealhtheow and her venerable hubby, Hrothgar, followed up their request with a few fabulous tokens of appreciation: a magnificent set of chainmail and what we think is the most glorious torque ever made. All present at the gala followed the King and Queen’s shining example and gave Beowulf the respect and gratitude he deserves. Notably silent was Unferth, whose lack of participation was a marked improvement from his behavior towards Beowulf upon his arrival (see yesterday’s piece for the full story).

No mead-hall merrymaking would be complete without an appearance by the king’s own storyteller, and last night was no exception. Always a bit wordy in our opinion, the carrier of tales outdid himself with the famous story of Sigemund’s defeat of the dragon. Although we felt quite a few details could have been eliminated, the story was perfectly fitting as a comparison for Beowulf’s own admirable bravery. All in all, the evening was a smashing success, impressing upon us even more the glamour of Hrothgar’s court and the greatness of the Danes. Even more important, we got another chance to truly appreciate the greatness of character (and form – what a stud!) of the great Beowulf. You heard it here first – that Geat is destined for great things. (525)

Weavers of Peace

Although Beowulf is primarily a battle-tale about men and their conquests, it features three prominent female characters (besides Grendel’s mother, who, as a monster, retains very little femininity and does not function as a female character): Wealhtheow, Hrothgar’s wife and Queen of the Danes; Hygd, Wealhtheow’s Geat counterpart and wife of King Hygelac; and Hrothgar and Wealhtheow’s daughter Freawaru. The first two are believed by scholars to represent important principles of hospitality and act as extensions of their husband’s graciousness. Freawaru is often described as an example of the use of daughters as offerings to ensure peace between warring groups and is a tool in her father’s diplomacy.


In her work The Social Centrality of Women in Beowulf: a New Context, Dorothy Carr Porter of Western Michigan University examines the female characters in Beowulf as tools in the anthropological study of the epic’s setting. She views Wealhtheow and Hygd as playing the role of hostess, important to the story due to the weight placed by Germanic tribes on hospitality. Both are described in the epic as wise, noble, and “mindful of customs”, revealing the positive association with adhering to tradition. Both women fulfill the task of offering the mead cup to all the men during the banquets, beginning with their Kings and going down the social hierarchy. This small ritual actually has important significance: it shows who has favor with the King and who is most respected of the men. Specifically, Parker mentions Beowulf’s receiving of the mead cup. When he first arrives in Hrothgar’s hall, Beowulf must wait until all of the King’s retainers have received the cup before drinking himself. However, after slaying Grendel, Wealhtheow offers him the cup immediately after Hrothgar drinks, showing his ascension to great importance in the King’s circle. In this scene, Hrothgar acts as a literary tool, silently showing the change in Hrothgar’s favor. Although not specifically described by the poet, it is presumed that Hygd fills a similar role in Hygelac’s mead hall, passing the cup from man to man. Because Beowulf is already a member of Hygelac’s circle, it is not necessary for Hygd to reveal his social rank through the mead passing ritual.

Like Wealhtheow and Hygd, Freawaru represents an extension of the King’s power and rule. However, in her case, it is less about social customs and more about politics. She is only mentioned in a brief tangent by Beowulf before he describes his adventure to Hygelac, when he tells how the “young bride-to-be of the gracious Ingeld” (2024), King of the Dane’s rivals, the Heatho-Bards, follows her mother during the mead-passing. She is being married to make amends and smooth ties after Ingeld’s father and many others were killed by the Danes. She is described as a “peaceweaver”, a term Porter identifies as almost always being used when referring to women given “in order to secure peace among enemies or rivals.” She goes on to explain that although this was not a terribly common practice among the Germanic tribes the name makes apparent the openness with which such diplomacy was conducted – Freawaru is obviously a token to Ingeld. Freawaru reveals the ultimate powerlessness of women in a society based on male supremacy and war – she is merely a pawn in her father’s politics, and no one seems surprised by her acceptance of her fate. The hope that “this woman will heal old wounds and grievous feuds” (2028) shows that while men are wholly responsible for war, it is the women who manage peace. Wealhtheow, Hygd and Freawaru all function as peacekeepers, ensuring that the Kings’ worlds – both within their own hall and throughout the world – run smoothly. This role of women as peacekeepers is echoed when the author describes the evil Great Queen Modthryth, a vain and cruel past Queen of the Geats, who punished any man who dared look her in the eye with torture and death. The author concludes this tangent by proclaiming that “A queen should weave peace, not punish the innocent” (1942) which is presumably, the role of the men. Although less prominent than their male counterparts, the female characters of Beowulf are crucial both to the epic’s plot and to an understanding of the cultural setting and context of the poem. (708)

Porter, Dorothy Carr. "The Social Centrality of Women in Beowulf: a New Context." The Heroic Age, Issue 5 (Summer- Autumn 2001). Western Michigan University. Web. 13 Sept. 2010. <http://www.mun.ca/mst/heroicage/issues/5/porter1.html#anchor750551>.

"Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it." - P.J. O'Rourke

1. The Bookshop Dog by Cynthia Rylant - quite likely my favorite children's book ever. The story about Martha Jane, a golden lab who spends her days in her owner's bookstore, was one i chose at least once a week when reading before bed with my Dad when I was little.
2. Saving Francesca by Melina Marchetta - I've read this story about a girl from an Italian family growing up in Autstralia and dealing with her mother's depression more times then I can count. On at least three occasions, I've started it before going to bed and ending up reading the entire thing that night. I also love her first novel, Looking for Alibrandi.
3. The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom - A certain Ms. Arregoces turned me on to this, and as soon as I opened the first page, I didn't move off my couch for hours until I finished, at which point I wanted to start it all over again. Such a good book.
4. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling - like so many people my age, this was the book that got me reading. My aunt gave it to me and started reading aloud to me, but when she left I was forced to read it myself - and I couldn't put it down.
5. Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer - a really great mix of humor and seriousness, this is a great story (two stories, really) and I love the way it's written - a compilation of letters, legends, and narration. I read this on a plane and recieved stares for laughing hysterically at a Ukrainian character's mishaps with the English language.
6. The Other Boleyn Girl by Phillipa Gregory - I got really into this book, and all the ones that followed, about King Henry VIII around sixth grade. I was probably a little young for some of the racier bits but loved the intrigue and historical aspects, and it got me hooked on all sorts of historical fiction.
7. Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman - This collection of essays made me realize that writing doesn't always have to be about a story - it can just be a way to let readers into your head. It made me start writing a lot more.
8. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky - my first foray into "indie" teen novels - ones that didn't feature the young and beautiful cavorting around in designer clothes. I felt incredibly mature and counter-culture. I later realized the book was pulished by MTV, the bastion of all things teeny-bop, but I still remember the way reading it made me realized that life for everyone else was no better than mine.
9. The Future Dictionary of America from McSweeney's - not quite a novel, but this collection of a variety of young writers', artists' and musicians' ideas on what will constitute the American vocabulary is a fascinating way to think about the way our culture is headed.
As soon as I post this I'll remember about seventeen more, but these are the books that define different times of my life and I don't think I'll ever forget.

"It was my father who called the city the Mansion on the River"

Over the summer i read:
The White Queen - Philippa Gregory
Tender is the Night - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Saving Francesca (for the ninth time) - Melina Marchetta
The Wish Maker - Ali Sethi
South of Broad - Pat Conroy
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil - John Berendt
High Fidelity - Nick Hornby
Jane Eyre (most of it) - Charlotte Bronte
Persuasion - Jane Austen
Isabel's Bed - Elinor Lipmann
Norah Jane - Ellen Gilchrist

The title of this entry is the opening line of South of Broad by Pat Conroy, and perfectly sets the tone for Conroy's part memoir, part love letter to the city of his birth.The novel is one of the most profound and engrossing books I've read not only this summer but in a long, long time. I've been reading a lot about the South lately - I'm fascinated by the history and sensuality and light-dark complex of Spanish moss and Victorian houses and Carolina drawls (Berendt's Midnight and Gilchrist's Norah Jane also took place down south). The book's setting of Charleston in the 1960's and then 1980's feels like another world. Maybe it's my culture envy - i love the sense of tradition and identity as a Southernor (minus all of the negative past connotations and responsiblities that go along with it) - Conroy's characters all share a common bond, even if it is as the loser's of the "War of Northern Aggression". The novel is narrated by Leopold Bloom King, son of a nun-turned-Joyce-scholar, paper boy for all of Old Charleston (the area south of Broad Street), and later the premier columnist in the city's newspaper. His story flips back and forth in time, weaving together his 18th and 38th summers and various other anecdotes about his family and friends - 8 Charleston outcasts who banded together during their senior year in high school and twenty years later when tragedy strikes. Modern issues of mental illness, racism, the outbreak of AIDS in San Francisco among homosexuals (including on of their own), abuse, and chronic dissatisfaction seem hyperrealistic in the setting of shady streets winding past houses hundreds of years old.

The novel is poignant and relevant, funny and touching, heartbreaking and heart warming. Ultimately, it is the loss of three of the nine that reminds them all why they first came together. I couldn't put it down - I read all five hundred some pages in less than two days. The story is engrossing and the style impecable, and it's definitely one of the best books I've read. I liked the "us against the world" mentality of the characters and the artful skill with which Conroy sneaks in observations about family, heartbreak, tradition, memory, and growing up. Towards the end of the book, one line struck me as especially poignant and honest:
"It was the least I could do (holding his friend's hand), as he had long ago taught me a lesson about the great inner strengthe sometimes granted to the most wounded of men. And how those men can sometimes grow up to be heroes." It's especially fitting, because South of Broad is a story about what wounded quite a few men (and women), and how they all managed to grow up to be heroes. (467)