On Calmer Seas

Ahoy there! The time has come for us to make the final stop of this voyage of the Jar of Dirt. While it is always a sad moment to pull into port for the last time, this final trip should lead us to sees calmer than those we've seen thus far.

Our journey today takes us through the works of Beatrix Potter, a British writer (and illustrator) of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century who was made famous for her many children's stories, the main characters of which were small animals.

One such children's book by Potter is The Tale of Peter Rabbit. In the story, Peter Rabbit and his three siblings are warned by their mother - a widow - that, when she goes off to run errands, they should not go into the garden of Mr. McGregor as his wife put their father into a pie. While his siblings obey, Peter goes into McGregor's garden and begins eating a number of the vegetables he finds there. Eventually spotted by McGregor, Peter is chased around by the old man, losing his clothes as various articles get snagged while he is running away. Eventually, the old man stops chasing Peter who returns home to his mother; she tends to him as he is rather under the weather, the product of his having been soaked after hiding in a watering can.

This tale is continued in Potter's The Tale of Benjamin Bunny. In this story, young Benjamin Bunny is on his way to visit his widowed aunt and his cousins when he happens upon Peter Rabbit (one of his cousins) wrapped in a red handkerchief, his clothes missing. Peter tells his cousin that his clothes are on the scarecrow in Mr. McGregor's garden. The two go to the garden and retrieve the clothes, Peter rather nervous the whole time, pleading with his cousin to leave. Young Benjamin Bunny does not, however, listen to his cousin, telling him to take some onions and wrap them in the handkerchief so they could take them back to Peter's mother. Suddenly, the two come upon a cat and are forced to hide beneath an overturned basket. The cat jumps on top, trapping them there for hours until Young Benjamin Bunny's father rescues them, locking the cat in the greenhouse. Benjamin's father does, however, punish them for going into the garden. Peter then returns home, his mother rather forgiving as he has found his clothes. Mr. McGregor, upon finding his cat locked in the greenhouse, the tiny shoeprints in the garden, and that the clothes went missing from the scarecrow, is rather confused.

Though, at first glance, these stories seem to be nothing more than quaint children's stories about talking animals, they may actually be more than what first meets the eye. The story told between these two books could really be considered something of a fable, a morality tale, emphasizing for children the importance of being responsible and obeying their parents. In The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Peter's mother warns him that McGregor's garden should be avoided, that his father was eaten because he went there. Peter's disobedience, though it seems, at first, without major consequence, results in him not only feeling ill after over-eating, but leads to him almost meeting the same fate as his father. Though Peter does - albeit perhaps narrowly - escape McGregor, he does lose his clothing and fall ill after hiding in the watering can. In The Tale of Benjamin Bunny, Peter not only returns to McGregor's garden though he knows it's dangerous, but his cousin goes, as well, not listening to Peter's pleas to leave. As they do not leave immediately after finding Peter's clothes, staying to steal onions from the garden, they nearly fall victim to a cat. The two, though rescued by Benjamin's father, are subsequently punished by him for their disobedience, finally - it seems - learning their lesson. The recurring idea of disobedience followed by danger (which is only escaped by luck or the appearance of a parent) serves to send the message that parents set rules for the good of their children, and that, for their own good, children should obey those rules.

Well, my fellow literary sailors, it seems that we have reached the end of yet another fine adventure! I hope that your time in port is pleasant, but keep reading, me hearties, and sail on your own wherever the tides may take you.

Until next time!

A Whale of a Tale

Ahoy there! Be on the lookout - we may spot a whale or two!

Our next trip on the Jar of Dirt brings us back to Britain where it seems that the sister-in-law of the Duke of Cambridge has caused something of a scandal.

But, what do whales have to do with it, and how on earth is any of this at all relevant to British literature?

Well, according to an article published by the Guardian (see link below), Pippa Middleton, on a recent trip to Norway, sampled which incorporated whale meat, subsequently discussing the meal in the media. Not only is eating whale meat an endorsement for the controversial whale hunting industry, but Middleton's brother-in-law is known to be a supporter of wildlife conservation (not something that really seems to go hand in hand with whale hunting).

The article goes on to describe certain aspects of the whaling industry, including the International Whaling Commission's moratorium and how "support and demand" for the whaling industry is declining.

But, again, what does this have to do with British literature?

This article deals with ideas of conservation, appreciation for wildlife, for nature, all of which are themes featured in a number of works by poet Gerard Manly Hopkins. One of Hopkins' poems which captures these ideas with no small degree of depth is "God's Grandeur." The poem deals with the idea of the world being God's great creation which, rather than being appreciated and revered by mankind, has been trampled and abused. Hopkins' poem, however, ends with hope rather than despair as the idea that, by the grace of God, nature is never exhausted, is always made new, is emphasized.

Many look at the whaling industry as a form of abuse of wildlife that could easily fit with Hopkins' idea of the trampling of God's creation. While the industry has done its share of harm to the populations of various species of whales, improvements are being made, the industry's impact reduced, perhaps leading into some of the hope which Hopkins' poem ends with.

Well, my fellow literary sailors, it seems that our whale watching excursion has reached its end. But keep a weather eye on the horizon - the last leg of our voyage is fast approaching, and who knows what we'll see!

Until next time!




http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/apr/17/pippa-middleton-whale-meat-dinner-blunder

Run Aground?

Ahoy, fellow readers! It’s time for our next literary adventure! This time, however, we will not be traveling to a new and distant land. We will be remaining in port. Not to worry - we haven't run aground! Our adventure here in Transylvania, dominion of the infamous Count Dracula and his creatures of the night, simply has not come to an end quite yet. While we will be remaining here a while longer, we will not be traveling the same paths we have before. Rather, we will be exploring new passages through the dark terrain of Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

 

How will we do this? With a map, of course. To ensure that we don’t get lost in the literary foothills of Stoker’s novel, we will be following a map in the form of an article of literary criticism by Stetson University English Professon Jamil Khader, “Un/Speakability and Radical Otherness: The Ethics of Trauma in Bram Stoker’s Dracula.”

So, be prepared! It’s a dark road we venture down!

***

 

Khader’s article brings up a number of intriguing points regarding Stoker’s novel, including what it seems to say about trauma and memory. One major point which Khader makes relates to the fact that, in Dracula, it seems as though many of the characters struggle to deal with their traumatic experiences on an individual level. Khader states, “while traumatic vampiric attacks cannot be fully known or represented accurately and coherently at the individual level, it is possible, even advisable, to represent such events at the collective level.” Khader goes on to point out that this can be seen, among other instances, when Johnathan Harker gives Mina his journal, telling her that he does not want to remember the terrible things he knows he must have recorded, that – should she decide to read his journal – she should keep his forgotten experiences to herself. Khader also goes on to say, “unable to admit the trauma to themselves, the vampires’ victims can only register the traumatic vampiric attack on their unconscious, only to emerge later in disruptive and shattering form in their lives.” In explaining all of this, Khader indicates that the only way in which those who experienced, in some way, the horror of vampiric attack could only really begin to face the traumatic things which had happened to them when they pulled together as a group, when they began to compile their documents and share what they had gone through without fear of judgement by the others.

 

This leads into another of Khader’s major points, “the inhumanity of witnessing.” To better explain this idea, Khader references Giorgio Agamben and his work, Remnants of Auschwitz. Khader explains that Agamben indicated that many survivors of the Holocaust, rather than sharing their own story, tell the stories of those who died, thus removing themselves, in a way, from the experience. Quoting Agamben, Khader explains the problematic nature of this idea as, “it is impossible to bear witness…‘from the inside, since no one can bear witness from the inside of death’; and it is impossible from the outside, ‘since the outsider is by definition excluded from the event.’” This idea is then applied to Lucy and her role in the narrative. Though she plays a part in telling of her own experiences while she is still alive, Lucy’s narrative, as Khader points out, is immediately excluded upon her death, her perspective never shared after she becomes a vampire. However, while the others have trouble speaking of their own traumatic experiences, they try very hard to convey Lucy’s, acting as witnesses rather than victims and falling into the paradox explained by Agamben.

 

While there are many more paths explored on Khader’s critical map of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, these were among those I found most intriguing. The final path on this map which I would like to follow is this; Kader states, “it is impossible to overlook the ways in which Count Dracula’s voice is excluded.” Although the title character of Stoker’s text, the only time the reader really hears his voice firsthand is early in the text through his letter to Jonathan. Given this, I would like to leave you with a question; for what reason would Stoker exclude the perspective of the character who is (arguably) the most important in the text? While Khader poses the idea of anthropocentrism as a likely answer, I believe that there are many possibilities for what I believe to be Stoker’s very deliberate structural choice.

***

Our journey on land has come to a close, and it seems to be time to head back to the ship. I hope you haven’t lost your sea legs yet – our next voyage should be underway soon!

Until next time!

 

 

Khader, Jamil. "Un/Speakability And Radical Otherness: The Ethics Of Trauma In Bram Stoker's "Dracula.." College Literature 39.2 (2012): 73. MasterFILE Premier. Web. 24 Mar. 2015.

On Strange Tides...

Ahoy, fellow readers. I am afraid that we must again be wary – the trip on which we are about to embark is even more treacherous than the last. The next stop on our voyage requires that we temporarily depart from the seas which we have been sailing upon as of late. While our journey leads to a destination key to the work of a famed British writer, it takes us rather far from England. We must sail through the Strait of Gibraltar and through the Alboran Sea to the Mediterranean. We must navigate the waters of the Aegean and the Marmara to finally reach the Black Sea. There, after traveling through sea and time, we will make port and venture deep into the heart of Romania, to an infamous region known Transylvania.

Be warned! We are about to come face to face with the title character of Bram Stoker’s most well-known work – Dracula.

***

 

(From Chapter 2, continuation of Jonathan Harker’s May 5^th journal entry)

            His face was a strong – a very strong – aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily around the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

            Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine. But seeing them now rather close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse – broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the center of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point.

And so we are introduced by Mr. Stoker – via the journal of one Jonathan Harker – to the infamous Count Dracula. In this passage – after describing Harker’s strange, even harrowing, journey to Castle Dracula – Stoker goes on to describe the Count himself. While, at this point, we have not been made aware in the text that the Count is inhuman, a vampire, Stoker certainly does not fail to portray the Count as being something other than a typical human being.

The language in this passage consistently conjures images which are almost animal, making the Count appear to be some strange and subtle combination of man and beast. The term “aquiline” quite literally means hooked or curved like an eagle’s beak. This description of the Count’s nose immediately serves to liken him to a bird of prey, giving to his character a predatory air. The description of Dracula’s hair and eyebrows as being profuse, even wild, is a further suggestion of some kind of animal resemblance, albeit far more subtle. Another more subtle suggestion of otherness in the Count’s appearance is found in the description of his ears as being “extremely pointed.” While this descriptor is, again, more subtle, it is still enough of a departure from what many would consider a norm to be a distinguishing feature. Also, as many animals - including wolves, which appear with some frequency in the novel – have pointed ears, this feature can also be considered suggestive of an animal nature.

The description of the Count becomes, in some ways, rather sinister, as well, his “cruel-looking” mouth proving to be home to a set of very sharp teeth. This description fits quite well with the idea of Dracula being somewhat predatory in appearance as sharp teeth or fangs are a characteristic of many very skilled – and very dangerous – predators. As such, sharp teeth can be seen, in this instance, as a sign that Dracula is not only powerful to some degree, but dangerous, as well. This is an idea conjured once again in the later description of the Count’s nails. Depicted as being cut into sharp points, the Count’s nails almost sound more like claws. This again is somewhat suggestive of an animal, predatory nature.

Again, while we are yet to officially see Dracula’s true nature, this initial description is highly suggestive of the idea that Dracula is more than meets the eye, that there is some danger lurking beneath his aged façade, that he is something not entirely human…

***

Alas, we must be off! The sun is growing low on the horizon and it does not do to linger after dark, not here, not in our present company! Enjoy our time in port! But be wary! You might just want to find some garlic and a Crucifix or two – this land be home to strange creatures of the night!

Until next time!

Beware the Duke

Ahoy there! It's time for the next stop on our British adventure. Beware! The lord of this realm, a Duke, is of questionable disposition. Now, while nineteenth-century poet Robert Browning crafted this literary land, he is not the Duke in question. This noble of a less than wholesome disposition is the narrator of Browning's well-known poem "My Last Duchess," a piece which we will be exploring momentarily. Again, be wary - these be dangerous waters!

***

My Last Duchess

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,                       1

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said                        5

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)                            10

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps                          15

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough                    20

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,                        25

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,             30

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill                   35

In speech—which I have not—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set                               40

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;          45

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretense                                50

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,                                 55

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

 

Browning’s dramatic monologue, an unexpectedly dark piece, is extremely revealing in regards to its narrator, the Duke, who wife – the “Last Duchess” of the title – is dead, as indicated in the opening lines; “That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall/Looking as if she were alive.” The Duke, in talking with an associate who, at this point in the poem, is unknown, acknowledges the look on the face of his deceased wife’s likeness, stating that “the depth and passion of its earnest glance” – the look of flattered, almost flirtatious expression, if you will – was not put there by him. He states that the “spot of joy” painted on her cheek could have been called up by the flattery of Fra Pandolf, the priest who painted the portrait.

While this is plausible, the Duke’s speech to his yet unrevealed guest not very strange thus far, he goes on, in lines twenty through thirty-four, to describe how this look of joy, this look of happy gratitude, was received by any who pleased her, that “She had /A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad/Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er/ She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.” This begins to indicate the Duke’s jealous nature as he describes his resentment of the fact that she treated such gifts as a “bough of cherries” with the same great gratitude and joy as the “gift” of his favor and the honor of his “nine-hundred-year-old name.”  Throughout this section of the poem, the language, via word choice and punctuation, grows more and more agitated, conveying a distinct tone of fevered jealousy. The language also serves to reveal the arrogant pride of the Duke, primarily through the idea that – because he is titled and comes from an incredibly old family line – he is worth more than others and what gifts they have to offer. The Duke then goes on to say that he could have discussed with his wife his dislike of her behavior, but doing so would have been “stooping,” and he chooses “never to stoop.” This further supports the idea that the Duke is possessed of a prideful arrogance as it suggests that his wife should simply have known his likes and dislikes without ever having been told.

The Duke then says, “Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt/Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without/Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands/Then all smiles stopped together.” This segment of the poem heavily implies that, eventually, the Duke could no longer tolerate his wife not exalting him, raising him above all else, and gave orders to have her killed. This drastic measure further emphasizes the Duke’s arrogance while simultaneously revealing the extent of his cruelty and – perhaps arguably – his madness.

In the lines which follow, it is revealed that the Duke has been speaking with some kind of emissary who works for a Count whose daughter the Duke wishes to marry. Not only has the Duke revealed that he may very well have caused his late wife’s death, he, in stating that “no just pretense/Of mine for dowry will be disallowed,” proceeds to indicate that he must be given the dowry of the Count’s daughter, revealing his greed. This idea is expanded upon when the Duke refers to the Count’s daughter as an “object,” revealing his sentiment that women are nothing more than possessions. The closing lines of the poem, in which the Duke suddenly points out a bronze sculpture of Neptune taming a sea-horse, further emphasize these ideas. They further emphasize the Duke’s greed and possessiveness while also indicating, through the symbolic nature of the statue, that he views women not only as possessions, but as objects fully subject to his will.

***

Well, we have survived another exciting – if not harrowing – voyage on the Jar of Dirt! Enjoy your time in port – but keep a weather eye on the horizon! We’ll be off on our next voyage before long!

Until next time!

A Journey Through the Night

Ahoy! It’s time to start the Jar of Dirt’s latest voyage in earnest!

And where are we venturing to first? It seems that the tides of British Literature are carrying us towards the work of Lord Byron, the famous – or, in the eyes of some, infamous – late eighteenth and early nineteenth century poet. Byron, famous for a great many of his poetic works, is also noted for creation of what has come to be known as the “Byronic Hero,” a romantic figure who – much like himself – was often dark and brooding, full of noble angst and a kind of glorious melancholy.

While there are any number of works which we could be focusing on for the purposes of this voyage, the literary seas have brought us to a particular poem of Byron’s, “She Walks in Beauty.”

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 
 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Much like Byron’s eponymous romantic hero, “She Walks in Beauty” is filled with a kind of dark elegance. In this particular poem, Byron, interestingly enough, casts darkness itself as a thing of beauty, contrasting greatly with the common idea of darkness as something to be feared, something almost evil. This is done in the poem’s opening line, “She walks in beauty, like the night,” immediately establishing the beauty – even the goodness – of the night, of darkness. The alliteration of “cloudless climes” and “starry skies” found in the next line serves to draw increased attention to imagery which further serves to reinforce the idea of beautiful darkness. Also in this first stanza, an almost profound longing is expressed through the statement that “All that’s best of dark and bright/Meet in her aspect and her eyes,” indicating that the “she” who is the subject of the speaker’s attention is a veritable well of goodness, the best of everything, possessed of an almost ethereal kind of beauty – characterized by a “tender light” – which heaven denies even to “gaudy day.”

 

In the second stanza of the poem, the numerous instances of alliteration (beginning with “h,” then going on to “w” and then “r”) in the lines “Had half impaired the nameless grace/Which waves in every raven tress” continue to expand on the initial idea of darkness being beautiful. The alliteration draws attention of descriptive language and specific word usage which adds a further element of grace to the idea of the night, of darkness. Further alliteration in the lines “Where thoughts serenely sweet express,/How pure, how dear their dwelling place” also suggests, through the initial simile of the “she” at the center of the poem being “like the night,” that the night – or darkness – like the lady being focused on, can be something calm and almost wholesome.

 

In the final stanza, the poem seems to turn in terms of tone. The imagery of darkness disappears entirely, causing the tone of the poem to rather brooding undertone present in the prior stanzas. The imagery turns, the choice of such phrases as “The smiles that win, the tints that glow,” as well as the final two lines, “A mind at peace with all below,/A heart whose love is innocent!” conveying much warmer, brighter feelings, a more conventional brand of longing and happiness than was seen previously in the poem, the first two stanzas tinted with a hint of contented melancholy.

***

Well, it seems that the first chapter of our voyage has come to an end. I hope you enjoyed today’s leg of the journey – we’ll sail again soon!

Until next time!

The Jar of Dirt Sails Again!

Ahoy! It’s been quite some time since the Jar of Dirt last set sail, but it’s once again time to start off on another literary adventure. This time, rather than embarking on an exhibition that will take us through time and space the world over, we’ll be sailing on waters of a much smaller area of the literary map. The focus of this voyage is on British Literature.

 

Now, for those of you who are new to the Jar of Dirt, this blog began as – and still is – homework, a variety which I’ve found I rather enjoy. My name is Courtney, I am an English major and History minor in my Junior year of college, and I hope to go into the field of teaching. I am a longtime and avid reader and a huge fan of the horror genre in both literature and film – as such, I am more than thrilled that, for this British Literature course, I’ll have the chance to reread Dracula. While the horror is, without a doubt, my favorite literary genre, I have a deep love for a great many novels of any number of genres. I also appreciate literature from all over the timeline of history (and have my own list of more contemporary works which others may not consider “real literature.”)

 

Now, some of you may be wondering why this blog is called the Jar of Dirt. As those of you who may have been around for our World Literature voyage may remember, I mentioned that, among other things, I have a love of pirates, and the title of this literary vessel is a vague reference to a line uttered by a famous pop culture pirate.

 

I hope that all of you enjoy our coming voyage – who knows what strange adventures may be waiting over the horizon as we sail the seas of British Literature!

Until next time!