The journey of Stephen Dadelus in James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is known to be a rich commentary not only on Joyce’s own life, but on the political and social climate of Ireland at the time of Joyce’s personal coming of age. Stephen is the product of an Ireland wrestling with its independence, it’s cultural heritage and identity, and it’s future. Stephen, like Joyce, is raised a strict Catholic, and is faced early on with the dilemma of being a good, pious, and humble Catholic; acknowledging, appreciating, and working towards greater Irish independence and cultural autonomy; and respectfully communicating and living with those who wanted Ireland’s relationship with and reliance upon Great Britain to continue. This is a common thread among Irish literature of this era, and it is a topic touched upon to a greater or lesser degree by the majority of Ireland’s authors, artists, and critics during and following the period of the Irish Revival. One such author is W.B. Yeats, who’s works regarding the independence and identity of Ireland contain ideas reflective of and sympathetic to the Irish majority: devout Catholics who celebrated Ireland’s unique cultural heritage and struggles, and who wished to see her freed of the yoke of English influence and governing.
Stephen Dadelus, however, is a character of James Joyce’s experiences and imagination who seems to come to a different conclusion regarding the state of his mother country and the nature of her struggle for independence and recognition. Stephen’s journey towards independence, self-realization, and honest self-expression begins amidst an atmosphere of strict Catholic observance, both cultivated and embodied by Stephen’s mother Mary Dadelus. This baseline framework by which Stephen experiences the world seems reasonable and sensible to the young adolescent; although the degree to which it affects Stephen’s views and understanding of Emma Clery underscores its ultimate fallibility – it is too stark, too moralistic, too black-and-white to allow room for the subtleties of genuine human beings to be accounted for. Hence, Emma becomes iconic of all things pure and feminine; not unlike Stephen’s probable vision of his mother at this juncture in his life, or the virtues of the Virgin Mother Mary, held in such holy regard by Catholics.
Stephen’s view of the world, and therefore his actions and his character, change once he begins having sexual affairs with prostitutes, and indulging in other morally forbidden behaviors. This phase of his life contrasts starkly with his pious religious upbringing, and with it comes intense guilt and shame. This period of Stephen’s life comes to an abrupt end when the young man is audience to three especially fiery and topical sermons; these well-timed messages ring true to the adolescent, and he returns once more to the Catholic fold, this time with a pious zeal which is undeniably noticeable to all those around him.
Stephen’s roller-coaster ride of personal exploration, reflection, and identity crisis is tempered all along by his artistic nature, his love of beauty, and his philosophical consideration of how best to live his life. It is this side of the now-young adult which ultimately comes to fruition; Stephen’s observation of a young and beautiful girl wading at the beach one day brings about an epiphany that aesthetic beauty is a real and undeniable and worthwhile principle by which to guide one’s life. Following this epiphany, Stephen departs for college, where he finds among conversations with is friends a fully realized synthesis of the young artist’s views and philosophies regarding art, beauty, creativity, and existence itself. He concludes that to be fully himself, he must simultaneously renounce the constrictions which have been culturally engrained in him, while also paying heed and homage to those people and movements which have undeniably shaped his world and experiences thus far.
This ultimate acknowledgement and acceptance of personal balance and honest expression is in contrast with those Irish authors and artists who found it natural to fully support Ireland’s movement for independence. This form of nationalism was and is both common and understandable; however, the lesson of Joyce’s Stephen Dadelus (and, for that matter, Joyce’s own perspective on the issue) is that in order for an artist – or indeed any human being seeking to be fully genuine and authentic – to be completely self-realized and not just a product of a time and place, they must look beyond the social and cultural movements of their day in order to find out who they truly are, what is truly important to them, and what is necessary for them to fulfill their obligation of genuine self-expression. This is difficult to do when one is nearly or entirely defined by the social agenda and values handed to them by way of random chance (i.e., where and when they were born).
It is interesting to note that Stephen Dadelus’ process and conclusion of authentic self-exploration and –realization, as both a young man and as an artist, has parallels in other spiritual and philosophical coming-of-age stories. I was personally struck by the common aspects between Stephen’s journey of perception and understanding with the Buddha’s procession from sensual prince to ascetic pauper to balanced and enlightened teacher, who taught living by “the Middle Path.” Where the Buddha found purely sensual and purely spiritual/ascetic ways of living to be equally unrealistic and detrimental, so too does Stephen find neither his strict Catholic piety nor his attempts at living in pure indulgent debauchery to be fully authentic, engaging, or satisfying. In this light, it seems perhaps inevitable that one must explore the extremes of one’s experience before they can honestly and contentedly express a more objective, realistic, and pragmatic approach to living their life.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Dorian Grey Article
This week’s reading, “The Gay Artist as a Tragic Hero in The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Henry M. Alley, was insightful and informative. Alley’s perspective on the homo-erotic subtext of Dorian Gray does much to put the story line and its historical references and influences into a meaningful context.
The relevance of terms like “hamartia” and “dandy” to Dorian Gray become quite apparent upon brief investigation. Hamartia is defined simply as “tragic flaw” on Dictionary.com; Wikipedia offers a more in-depth explanation of the term:
This form of drawing emotion from the audience is a staple of the Greek tragedies. In Greek tragedy, stories that contain a character with a hamartia often follow a similar blueprint. The hamartia, as stated, is seen as an error in judgment or unwitting mistake is applied to the actions of the hero. For example, the hero might attempt to achieve a certain objective X; by making an error in judgment, however, the hero instead achieves the opposite of X, with disastrous consequences.
This I think quite directly applies to Dorian Gray in the form of the character Basil. The assertion made, by Alley and others cited by him, that Basil is the principle hero of Dorian Gray is convincing to me and would seem to be quite obvious, seeing as Basil alone mantains an essence of goodness and goodwill throughout the story, whereas Lord Henry’s influence is a corrupting factor, and Dorian’s presence to all those around him is toxic. Basil has a good in his heart which is fitting of a prototypical hero, but the “error in judgement or unwitting mistake” which defines the artist is of course his all-pervasive and all-powerful love and longing for Dorian, whose unavailability and calamitous influence on those around him tears at Basil as much as his own inability to express and pursue his heart’s desire with conviction and success.
The term “dandy” is also relevant to Wilde’s novel. It has been noted that Lord Henry’s uncle refers to him as a “dandy;” Wikipedia offers us this working definition of the term:
A dandy (also known as a beau, or gallant) is a man who places particular importance upon physical appearance, refined language, and leisurely hobbies, pursued with the appearance of nonchalance in a cult of Self. Historically, especially in late 18th- and early 19th-century Britain, a dandy, who was self-made, often strove to imitate an aristocratic style of life despite coming from a middle class background.
This of course describes Basil (to a degree, but especially in how he covets physical appearances), Lord Henry (he of the influential yellow book and it’s guidance along in the “cult of Self”), and most of all Dorian Gray. Gray encapsulates the spirit of the dandy in it’s darkest manifestation, where appearance becomes not only everything, but a means by which to hide true darkness and malevolence. Dorian Gray is very much the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, maintaining a façade of regal sophistication and dashing debonairness while beneath the surface festers a conniving, self-serving hedonist egomaniac.
I found The Portrait of Dorian Gray to be maybe our most interesting and pleasurable reading assignment thus far in class. Alley’s insights into the text, and especially his understanding of the relationship between Gray as a novel and Oscar Wilde’s own real-life proclivities, proved to be quite fascinating and, I think, helpful in gaining a more meaningful understanding of the book’s message.
The relevance of terms like “hamartia” and “dandy” to Dorian Gray become quite apparent upon brief investigation. Hamartia is defined simply as “tragic flaw” on Dictionary.com; Wikipedia offers a more in-depth explanation of the term:
This form of drawing emotion from the audience is a staple of the Greek tragedies. In Greek tragedy, stories that contain a character with a hamartia often follow a similar blueprint. The hamartia, as stated, is seen as an error in judgment or unwitting mistake is applied to the actions of the hero. For example, the hero might attempt to achieve a certain objective X; by making an error in judgment, however, the hero instead achieves the opposite of X, with disastrous consequences.
This I think quite directly applies to Dorian Gray in the form of the character Basil. The assertion made, by Alley and others cited by him, that Basil is the principle hero of Dorian Gray is convincing to me and would seem to be quite obvious, seeing as Basil alone mantains an essence of goodness and goodwill throughout the story, whereas Lord Henry’s influence is a corrupting factor, and Dorian’s presence to all those around him is toxic. Basil has a good in his heart which is fitting of a prototypical hero, but the “error in judgement or unwitting mistake” which defines the artist is of course his all-pervasive and all-powerful love and longing for Dorian, whose unavailability and calamitous influence on those around him tears at Basil as much as his own inability to express and pursue his heart’s desire with conviction and success.
The term “dandy” is also relevant to Wilde’s novel. It has been noted that Lord Henry’s uncle refers to him as a “dandy;” Wikipedia offers us this working definition of the term:
A dandy (also known as a beau, or gallant) is a man who places particular importance upon physical appearance, refined language, and leisurely hobbies, pursued with the appearance of nonchalance in a cult of Self. Historically, especially in late 18th- and early 19th-century Britain, a dandy, who was self-made, often strove to imitate an aristocratic style of life despite coming from a middle class background.
This of course describes Basil (to a degree, but especially in how he covets physical appearances), Lord Henry (he of the influential yellow book and it’s guidance along in the “cult of Self”), and most of all Dorian Gray. Gray encapsulates the spirit of the dandy in it’s darkest manifestation, where appearance becomes not only everything, but a means by which to hide true darkness and malevolence. Dorian Gray is very much the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, maintaining a façade of regal sophistication and dashing debonairness while beneath the surface festers a conniving, self-serving hedonist egomaniac.
I found The Portrait of Dorian Gray to be maybe our most interesting and pleasurable reading assignment thus far in class. Alley’s insights into the text, and especially his understanding of the relationship between Gray as a novel and Oscar Wilde’s own real-life proclivities, proved to be quite fascinating and, I think, helpful in gaining a more meaningful understanding of the book’s message.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Literary Criticism
For this assignment, I chose to read Michael Davis’ (of the University of Birmingham) Gothic’s Enigmatic Signifier: The Case of Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla. The thrust of Davis’ argument is as follows:
o Dreams are similar to the Gothic, in that dreams and the Gothic are both enigmatic, with meaningful subtext which needs to be explored to reach a true understanding
o A part of the enigmatic nature of both dreams and the Gothic involves the notion of that which cannot be decoded, deduced, understood, or fathomed … the “enigmatic signifier”
o In Carmilla, the relationship and attraction between Laura and Carmilla is defined by this factor of the “enigmatic signifier;” the mysterious, powerful, and ambiguous pull between Laura and Carmilla … a connection which baffles, thrills, seduces, and sometimes terrifies Laura, even years after the relationship in question has ended.
In Gothic’s Enigmatic Signifier, Davis chooses to examine Carmilla through the lens of William Veeder’s (distinguished Professor of English at the University of Chicago) noted Freudian analysis of the vampire novella, relying as well on Jean Laplanche (French author, theorist, and psychoanalyst) and his expert musings on Freud’s seduction theory. Citing John Fletcher’s documentation of Laplanche’s most recent work, Davis notes that
“Laplanche’s revision of the inauguration of human sexuality shifts the location of its source ‘from a biological stimulus to an exciting internal foreign body that attacks the ego from within.’ And the source of this assault is ‘the intrusive intimacies of the other.’ At the heart of this intrusion lies a situation of primal seduction. Laplanche writes:
I am, then, using the term primal seduction to describe a fundamental situation in which an adult proffers to a child verbal, non-verbal and even behavioural signifiers which are pregnant with unconscious sexual significations. We do not have to look far to find concrete examples of what I call enigmatic signifiers. (Davis, p.224)
This is a primary underpinning of Davis’ further exploration of the meaning and allegorical subtext of Carmilla. He posits that during the initial dream encounter between Laura and Carmilla, there was deposited this “exciting internal foreign body that attacks the ego from within … this assault (of) the intrusive intimacies of the other … a situation of primal seduction.” This “seed,” the energetic foundation of the future reunion and liason between Laura and Carmilla, is characterized as an undecipherable, ambiguous, emotionally- and energetically-charged message communicated to a child by a parent figure, which remains unsolvable and unknowable and powerfully mysterious yet unconsciously repressed in the heart of the young.
Davis clarifies his intentions by explaining, “rather than reading the tale as a narrative of (barely) repressed lesbian desire, I shall trace the traumatizing incursions of sexuality from the other (italics added) and, in Laplanchian terms, also examine Laura’s failure to translate the other’s enigmatic address into stable meaning – with all its consequences. Thus, I propose to read the text not literally (or at the level of Freud’s manifest content) but as an allegory of the psychic processes identified by Laplanche. In this sense my reading will be situated at a different level of unconscious meaning” (Davis, p.227)
This is precisely what Davis goes on to do. He interprets Laura’s behavior, and the strange power Carmilla has over her young object, as symbolic of the pervasiveness of the enigmatic other, the mystery which grows from within. The sexual nature of the relationship between Laura and Carmilla, and of the powerful sway Carmilla holds over Laura, is essential to Davis’ assertion that Carmilla as a novella exhibits simultaneously Gothic and Freudian undertones.
Davis observes, “For Laura the memories of the past, sexually arousing experiences remain enigmatic: vivid and yet vague, clear and yet obscure, but retain their power to re-invoke the disturbing effects of (wild and terrible) trauma. As Laplanche points out ‘it is in the very nature of sexuality to have a traumatic effect.’ And as Laura’s psychic disequilibrium testifies, the trauma of sexual seduction remains ‘encysted,’ an inner (unconscious) foreign body waiting to break out from within; ‘a sort of waste-product of certain processes of memorisation.’” (Davis, p.228)
I find Davis’ analysis of Carmilla to be compelling. Certainly, the profound psychological influence which Carmilla wields so dominatingly over the hapless Laura is made clear when, in Carmilla, Sheridan La Fanu writes (as Laura):
I now write, after an interval of more than ten years, with a trembling hand, with a confused and horrible recollection of certain occurrences and situations, in the ordeal through which I was unconsciously passing; though with a vivid and very sharp remembrance of the main current of my story. But, I suspect, in all lives there are certain emotional scenes, those in which our passions have been most wildly and terribly roused, that are of all others the most vaguely and dimly remembered. (La Fanu, p.261)
This passage captures the essence of the effect which Carmilla has had on Laura, the psychic stain, the residue which has been left to fester and thrive deep within Laura’s wounded psyche: sexual in nature, thrilling throughout the whole spectrum of emotions, lasting, and inexplicable. The Sigmund Freud-based interpretation of Davis, and by extension Veeder and Laplanche, is novel to me, but persuasive nonetheless. It is clear that Laura is essentially defined by her irrestible lure towards Carmilla, and the degree to which this unknowable force within her dominates her state of being makes clear that this is something deep and powerful within her. Davis’ assertion that Laura illustrates the power and the importance of the unknowable subconscious enigma characteristic of the Gothic is convincing.
Some questions to further engender conversation about Davis’ examination of Carmilla are:
o How does the imprinted stain upon the spirit and subconscious of Laura impact her relationships with others in her life, if at all?
o To what degree is Carmilla affected like-wise by her part in the relationship, in the enigma? Is the effect as powerful upon the “giver of the mark” as it is on those who have been “marked?”
o If this analysis of Carmilla in the context of Freudian psychology is accurate relative to the Gothic in general, what are some examples we can find in other Gothic works which demonstrate similar psychological underpinnings and concepts?
o Dreams are similar to the Gothic, in that dreams and the Gothic are both enigmatic, with meaningful subtext which needs to be explored to reach a true understanding
o A part of the enigmatic nature of both dreams and the Gothic involves the notion of that which cannot be decoded, deduced, understood, or fathomed … the “enigmatic signifier”
o In Carmilla, the relationship and attraction between Laura and Carmilla is defined by this factor of the “enigmatic signifier;” the mysterious, powerful, and ambiguous pull between Laura and Carmilla … a connection which baffles, thrills, seduces, and sometimes terrifies Laura, even years after the relationship in question has ended.
In Gothic’s Enigmatic Signifier, Davis chooses to examine Carmilla through the lens of William Veeder’s (distinguished Professor of English at the University of Chicago) noted Freudian analysis of the vampire novella, relying as well on Jean Laplanche (French author, theorist, and psychoanalyst) and his expert musings on Freud’s seduction theory. Citing John Fletcher’s documentation of Laplanche’s most recent work, Davis notes that
“Laplanche’s revision of the inauguration of human sexuality shifts the location of its source ‘from a biological stimulus to an exciting internal foreign body that attacks the ego from within.’ And the source of this assault is ‘the intrusive intimacies of the other.’ At the heart of this intrusion lies a situation of primal seduction. Laplanche writes:
I am, then, using the term primal seduction to describe a fundamental situation in which an adult proffers to a child verbal, non-verbal and even behavioural signifiers which are pregnant with unconscious sexual significations. We do not have to look far to find concrete examples of what I call enigmatic signifiers. (Davis, p.224)
This is a primary underpinning of Davis’ further exploration of the meaning and allegorical subtext of Carmilla. He posits that during the initial dream encounter between Laura and Carmilla, there was deposited this “exciting internal foreign body that attacks the ego from within … this assault (of) the intrusive intimacies of the other … a situation of primal seduction.” This “seed,” the energetic foundation of the future reunion and liason between Laura and Carmilla, is characterized as an undecipherable, ambiguous, emotionally- and energetically-charged message communicated to a child by a parent figure, which remains unsolvable and unknowable and powerfully mysterious yet unconsciously repressed in the heart of the young.
Davis clarifies his intentions by explaining, “rather than reading the tale as a narrative of (barely) repressed lesbian desire, I shall trace the traumatizing incursions of sexuality from the other (italics added) and, in Laplanchian terms, also examine Laura’s failure to translate the other’s enigmatic address into stable meaning – with all its consequences. Thus, I propose to read the text not literally (or at the level of Freud’s manifest content) but as an allegory of the psychic processes identified by Laplanche. In this sense my reading will be situated at a different level of unconscious meaning” (Davis, p.227)
This is precisely what Davis goes on to do. He interprets Laura’s behavior, and the strange power Carmilla has over her young object, as symbolic of the pervasiveness of the enigmatic other, the mystery which grows from within. The sexual nature of the relationship between Laura and Carmilla, and of the powerful sway Carmilla holds over Laura, is essential to Davis’ assertion that Carmilla as a novella exhibits simultaneously Gothic and Freudian undertones.
Davis observes, “For Laura the memories of the past, sexually arousing experiences remain enigmatic: vivid and yet vague, clear and yet obscure, but retain their power to re-invoke the disturbing effects of (wild and terrible) trauma. As Laplanche points out ‘it is in the very nature of sexuality to have a traumatic effect.’ And as Laura’s psychic disequilibrium testifies, the trauma of sexual seduction remains ‘encysted,’ an inner (unconscious) foreign body waiting to break out from within; ‘a sort of waste-product of certain processes of memorisation.’” (Davis, p.228)
I find Davis’ analysis of Carmilla to be compelling. Certainly, the profound psychological influence which Carmilla wields so dominatingly over the hapless Laura is made clear when, in Carmilla, Sheridan La Fanu writes (as Laura):
I now write, after an interval of more than ten years, with a trembling hand, with a confused and horrible recollection of certain occurrences and situations, in the ordeal through which I was unconsciously passing; though with a vivid and very sharp remembrance of the main current of my story. But, I suspect, in all lives there are certain emotional scenes, those in which our passions have been most wildly and terribly roused, that are of all others the most vaguely and dimly remembered. (La Fanu, p.261)
This passage captures the essence of the effect which Carmilla has had on Laura, the psychic stain, the residue which has been left to fester and thrive deep within Laura’s wounded psyche: sexual in nature, thrilling throughout the whole spectrum of emotions, lasting, and inexplicable. The Sigmund Freud-based interpretation of Davis, and by extension Veeder and Laplanche, is novel to me, but persuasive nonetheless. It is clear that Laura is essentially defined by her irrestible lure towards Carmilla, and the degree to which this unknowable force within her dominates her state of being makes clear that this is something deep and powerful within her. Davis’ assertion that Laura illustrates the power and the importance of the unknowable subconscious enigma characteristic of the Gothic is convincing.
Some questions to further engender conversation about Davis’ examination of Carmilla are:
o How does the imprinted stain upon the spirit and subconscious of Laura impact her relationships with others in her life, if at all?
o To what degree is Carmilla affected like-wise by her part in the relationship, in the enigma? Is the effect as powerful upon the “giver of the mark” as it is on those who have been “marked?”
o If this analysis of Carmilla in the context of Freudian psychology is accurate relative to the Gothic in general, what are some examples we can find in other Gothic works which demonstrate similar psychological underpinnings and concepts?
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