 |
Wide Reading - advanced comparative literature study |
 |
IntroductionOn this page you will find outlines for independent literature study. These were originally devised for students taking GCE Advanced (A2) level and Advanced Supplementary (AS) level English literature. The guides are designed to enable students to undertake comparative study of two texts for written coursework. Each one has been used successfully by at least one "real" student. The table above has a hyperlink to each of twenty texts. As some of these texts have been used for more than one comparative study (that is, in conjunction with several other texts), the hyperlink will take you only to the first study guide. For all of the comparative studies, see the list below. Pairs of texts for comparative studyThe tasks are arranged chronologically, by date of publication of the earlier text (always the first-named) of the two which are to be compared.
Thomas More: Utopia; Jonathan Swift: Gulliver's TravelsWorking title: In what ways do More and Swift use fictional narrative to explore political and social questions? Briefly explain the method of each: More's invention of the traveller, Raphael, into whose mouth the account of Utopia is put; note that More introduces himself into the narrative by name (but as rather an inconsequential person) to prevent his being identified with Raphael. In the first book, Raphael contributes to, but by no means dominates, a debate about systems of government; in the second book, he is left free, more or less to describe Utopia. In Lilliput and Brobdingnag, Swift, speaking as Gulliver, presents the reader with a mixture of fantastic elements and more or less plausible social and political elements: the size of the people is fantastic, but the quarrels of the two factions in Lilliput have been seen as satirizing recognizable ("low" and "high") parties in the church, while the social system of Brobdingnag embodies some plausible progressive features, and the Houyhnhms' society contrasts sharply with the English system which Gulliver unconvincingly defends. Use of fantastic locations and details is found in both works. What are these? How do the authors use them as a defence against charges of expressing revolutionary or subversive ideas? Do they distract the reader from, or direct us to, the elements in Utopia, Brobdingnag etc. which show how European or English systems can be improved? Now move to a close reading of the details of these accounts of alternative societies. More give us one, chiefly, but Raphael contrasts Utopia not only with Europe, but also its neighbouring countries. The account considers many areas of life, such as religion, work, sexual and family relations, war and diplomacy; how far does Raphael/More commend these? At what points does he mock the arrangements in Europe with which his readers are familiar? In Gulliver's Travels some time can be spent on the quarrel of the Lilliputian factions and the more harmonious arrangements in Brobdingnag, but the fantastic elements are much to the fore here: how Gulliver's grossness offends the Lilliputians (especially the queen) and how, in turn, he sees human deformities magnified in Brobdingnag. In the Voyage to the Houyhnhms, he adopts a method rather like More's, describing in detail the merits of the Houyhnhm society. There is a pretence of criticism subsequently, as Gulliver engages in long discussions with the Houyhnhm king, and explains to him the different merits of the English systems of law, medicine and so on, but the tone of this false praise is at variance with its content, in which Swift is merciless in exposing the follies, vanities and corruptions of his various targets. Although he has told us that he is conversing with rational horses, these dialogues could be taking place between two human beings. The bulk of your essay should consist in examining the detail of these accounts, with regard to the authors' purpose in presenting the descriptions as they do. This can lead to a conclusion in which the methods identified here (the "How") are judged as to their effectiveness in carrying the writers' social and political speculations. Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice; Charlotte Brontë: Jane EyreWorking title: How, in these narratives, do the authors explore the central characters' struggle against adversity? While both Austen and Brontë are interested in issues of women's independence in a world where female rôles are often defined by their relations to, or dependence on, men, it is not enough for you merely to describe these issues as they appear in the novels. The question is how do the novelists present these themes? That is, as well as inventing situations which invite us to consider questions of, say, (in)dependence, the writers give, maybe through the thoughts of a given character, maybe as authorial comment, maybe as ironic suggestion, indications of how we are to view the issue which is vividly presented to us in the story. The opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice is a case in point. Even before we know a line of the story, Austen has teased us with an alleged universal truth. It is stated ironically, as a specimen of the belief held by Mrs. Bennett and others, which the reader is not intended to accept at face value. Thus, at once, the question is held up to scrutiny, whether a man's wealth exists at least partly to secure a wife. What is your view of this opening, and how does the novel bear it out, or not, later? Austen depicts a world in which many marriages are contracted for material reasons, as to prevent breaking up of an estate: a wife's dowry should be roughly equal to the husband's "loss" in settlements on younger brothers or dowries for sisters! Younger brothers will enter the army or the church and then try to secure marriages to women of means. Elizabeth is presented as an occupant of this world. Note that she has every reason to contract a marriage for money, as her father's estate is "entailed", in the absence of a son, upon Mr. Collins; and Darcy is the sort of man one might marry for his money. But neither he, nor Elizabeth would stoop to this. They will marry only for love. Thus Austen has to contrive a situation in which Elizabeth declines Darcy's first proposal, thereby demonstrating her indifference to wealth. Her looks and vivacity might bring along another worthy suitor, but Austen takes trouble also to inform the reader of the relative lack of eligible men. Bingley and Darcy are seen as rarities, while more typical of the sort of suitor Elizabeth can expect are the clergyman (Collins) and the soldier (Wickham), each of whom is quite able to transfer his affections to another very readily. Austen also establishes the merits of a good marriage by contrast with others. Jane marries Bingley, a wealthy and handsome man, for love, not for money: this is more or less a romantic ideal, but Austen has shown us that Jane is unusually beautiful (and good, with it): this would be inappropriate for the heroine who has to conquer through character and intelligence and wit. The very worst kind of marriage is that of the treacherous Wickham and the shallow and irritating Lydia. In case there is any doubt in our minds, Austen uses the device of Mrs. Bennett's approval to show us the marriage is a bad match: we have been led to see Mrs. Bennett as unfailingly wrong in her judgements. Of more serious interest is Charlotte's marriage to Collins. This is presented to the reader very much initially through Elizabeth's perception that Charlotte has made a mistake. Collins has been seen as a poor match for Elizabeth, so she assumes he is no great catch for her friend. She is prevailed upon to visit Charlotte, and observes, for example, that Collins has the best room in the house. Elizabeth's assessment of Charlotte's actions is a useful narrative device, which gives Charlotte an occasion to correct her friend's error: as we have shared the initial mistake, we are all the more convinced. It is Charlotte, not her husband, who has chosen the rooms, so she can avoid his company, through his preference. She points out that she is plain, and not able to hold out for a love match. In the absence of any other offer, marriage to Collins gives her independence of her parents, dignity in the world's eyes as a wife, and more so, as a mother, and the scope to manage her own household, sometimes entertain her friend, and choose her own company. Another device Austen uses for showing how Darcy's marriage challenges convention by promoting a new kind of marital mobility is the presumption of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The deference she expects and receives from others reveals the degree to which the powerful aristocrat can determine the lives of others. But when Elizabeth defies her, she is, in fact, powerless to override the younger woman. Her power is derived largely from others' belief in it. She has intended a dynastic marriage for her sickly daughter. The reader's knowledge that, even without Elizabeth, Darcy would not contemplate marriage to Anne de Bourgh, shows a further limit to the power of such ogresses. Against convention, privilege and arranged marriages, Austen pitches choice, romantic love and reason: her heroes and heroines are moved by love, but also by reason and intelligence. If Darcy were to use computer dating to find the perfect partner, he would doubtless end up with Elizabeth. You should consider how Austen's narrative shows how Elizabeth is able to come to an understanding of a relationship with Darcy which preserves her self-respect, in which she is valued for her merits and not merely purchased by a wealthy man. Darcy's rejection and renewal of his suit is a device by which he is made aware of things in Elizabeth he might have overlooked, and in which he wins her love by demonstrating his unexpected virtues, his great wealth having been shown not to impress Elizabeth. As they have married for love, it is of course, acceptable for Darcy to have so much money! For the modern reader to object to this would be anachronistic, showing ignorance of just how far Austen does challenge the status quo. Ironically, it is her conversation with Lady Catherine which informs Elizabeth of Darcy's continued love! You should consider this, other important conversations and letters, as methods whereby the author keeps the reader posted of the appropriate view to take of the developing narrative. Just as our view of Collins' marriage alters, so does our view of Darcy's character, and of his suitability to marry Elizabeth. You should consider how things are seen largely from her perspective, but also the views of others, where these are made clear to her, and influence her view. In Brontë's novel, Jane, like Elizabeth, will ultimately achieve great wealth. Unlike, Elizabeth, she inherits in her own right. Yet she does not even know of her fortune, until she has sorted out her problems for the most part. She achieves dignity in the reader's eyes and a modest independence, while resisting the earlier, bogus and bigamous marriage to Rochester, and the dutiful Victorian dream of supporting a saint in his mission to the heathen. She works out her happiness on her own terms, before she receives her full reward: she gets the man and keeps the loot. Consider, then, how Jane depicts herself and her prospects, as a child at Mrs. Reed's. As she is sent to Lowood we see how life there is uncomfortable but mitigated by a new factor in Jane's life - the love of a friend (the rather saintly Helen Burns). Helen's death reinforces the idea that happiness is not lasting. (One can see that the plot of this novel is not unlike a game of snakes and ladders.) To be a governess is a not contemptible occupation (Jane does not know she is an heiress), and Jane has no idea of being Rochester's wife when she enters his home. As his ally and confidante in his dealings with other women, she becomes close to him, but is not aware of his feelings for her: how does she describe this to the reader? His proposal to Jane is made with the knowledge that his wife still lives, but Brontë only discloses this when Jane finds out. Or does she? Are the earlier hints strong enough for us to foresee Jane's disappointment? The interlude with St. John Rivers is important because his proposal would be welcome to many women of the time: to support a courageous man in a life of service is a conventional Victorian model of a woman's duty: Jane has become a feminist heroine, because she refuses this, opting for self-fulfilment: to be happy on her own terms, not as an appendage to someone else. When she returns to Rochester, not only has he been humbled, but she has been elevated, having received the fortune out of which she has been cheated in the past. What is interesting here is that Jane in retelling her story has known about this from the start, but gives no hint of it until the point where she discovers it: how does she present this to the reader? All of this is a starting point only. Write your own essay, in your own terms. Look for relevant examples of textual evidence to support what you say. Above all, look for the comments of the characters in the narrative, and those of the author (Austen) or narrator (Jane) about the actions and motives of the two heroines. Note, for instance, the many occasions when Jane addresses the reader directly ("Reader, I married him") in justification of her choices. Edgar Allan Poe: Tales of Mystery and Imagination; H.P. Lovecraft: At the Mountains of Madness, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward and other stories.How do these writers explore abnormal and anti-natural states of being? Briefly establish common ground: i.e., both authors are American writers who are Anglophile, whose concerns are more those of the Old World than the New Frontier; both authors work within the Gothic tradition, and Lovecraft is obviously familiar with Poe's work, though his chief influences perhaps lie elsewhere. On the other hand, it can be shown that Poe's best work locates evil and bizarre phenomena in the mind of man, rather than in external supernatural causes. While Poe, by the standards of his time, is scientifically plausible, and even anticipates, albeit in different terminology, ideas which would barely be out of place in a modern psychological thriller, Lovecraft is deliberately obscurantist, and enjoyment of his work requires suspension of disbelief in arcane notions of alchemical magic, while references to the "Interstellar ether", say, reflect a 19th century understanding of cosmology in a 20th century author. In method, Poe is notable for his economy; some stories may be long, but there is nothing redundant. Some of the shorter stories - The Black Cat, The Fall of the House of Usher, The Pit and the Pendulum - are constructed in such a way that the form of the story perfectly matches its mood and content. Within a sentence one has moved to the heart of the narrative. Lovecraft is discursive; by his own admission stories such as the novella At the Mountains of Madness are excessively long; openings are long-winded, and one wonders whether the information given is all necessary to the narrative. In discussing Poe, one should examine the construction of the story, and the rôle of the narrator. We find a discrepancy between what we are being told, and what we are meant to infer. Good examples of this are in The Black Cat, The Cask of Amontillado and The Tell-Tale Heart. For structure one should examine The fall of the House of Usher. Clearly many of the events are fantastically improbable, but the connection between the desolation of the landscape through which the narrator travels, the decay of the family seat reflected in the mental and physical disintegration of the last heirs of the dying family, the horror of premature burial, and the final catastrophic destruction of the house - all these combine to create an extreme vision of corruption, while the ambiguous word House in the title signals both the literal and metaphoric senses in which we are to understand the Fall. In The Black Cat we meet what would today be diagnosed as schizophrenia: the narrator has a persecution mania and a divided personality. He attributes his woes to perversity, but shows us the discrepancy between his initial mildness and docility and the horrific acts of violence he perpetrates, both regretting yet at once relishing the recollection of his actions: "I blush, I burn, I shudder, as I pen the damnable atrocity" (in this case, cutting out the eye of his beloved pet cat). One can show how the various explanations offered to the reader are untrustworthy: as that someone has attempted to rouse him, his house being on fire, by throwing through the window the body of a cat which he has hanged, or that a white patch on the breast of his second pet cat changes from an indeterminate character to a depiction of the gallows he so much fears. Poe's diction is somewhat archaic and formally precise rather than colloquial: thus the narrator of the above tale tells us that the second cat "evinced a disposition to follow me". On the other hand, his sentence structures are varied, and his openings most economical: "True, very true" or "The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne without reproach". In the next sentence the narrator declares that Fortunato's final transgression (precise nature unspecified) led to his decision to murder the offender. We do not need to know the offence because it is the narrator's disproportionate vengeance which is the subject of this tale, but a lesser writer would have been tempted to spell out the cause. Lovecraft's prose is superficially as elegant as Poe's, while being perhaps closer to everyday speech. On the other hand, he resorts to two irksome devices. On the one hand, he frequently informs the reader (or his narrator does) that x is too horrible to put into words. In due course x is revealed to the reader, more or less, though we often have to wait for many pages before this occurs; the revelation rarely justifies the extreme claims made hitherto. We are not necessarily disappointed by the disclosure as such, so much as by the exaggerated advertisement which precedes it. Worse than this, perhaps, is Lovecraft's resorting to a stock of hackneyed epithets to depict the diabolical. In moments of narrative difficulty, Lovecraft will unleash an adjective such as "eldritch" on the reader. A similar tendency is at work in Lovecraft's repeated references to standard works of black magic, favourite of which is the Necronomicon of the "mad Arab Abdul Alhazred". One can trace elements in Lovecraft's fiction which enable it to work successfully within the Gothic tradition. At his best, as in the novella The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, Lovecraft convincingly depicts black magicians trying, but narrowly failing, to revive or reanimate inhuman beings from antiquity. He plausibly examines the notion, in this work and elsewhere, of diabolical knowledge, harmful in the extreme, fortunately lost, but perhaps discoverable from clues scattered among a number of authorities, many of which (as in the case of writings by John Dee and Albertus Magnus) are authentic (that is, these are real books, not that the magic formulae in them are efficacious!). In Doctor Faustus and Frankenstein one meets the idea that knowledge may be dangerous and the thirst for knowledge (and the power it can bring) is at best a mistake. In Lovecraft this desire is sometimes an error (Charles Dexter Ward) at worst demonic (The Dunwich Horror). As in Mary Shelley's novel, this can be a warning to attempts to advance the cause of science. Frankenstein's monster disappears with his creator over the polar ice. In At the Mountains of Madness Lovecraft suggests that the Antarctic waste conceals ancient powers whose disturbance by modern explorers may portend the end of the world. On the one hand this reflects an idea found in many of the stories, but best explained in The Call of Cthulhu, of the arrival, in a remote time, on Earth of malevolent and intelligent beings, which have come, on the interstellar ether, from other worlds: these creatures are horrific to behold, their culture is repellent, and they remain, a constant danger to man, in the uncharted parts of the world. On the other hand, one can see a reflection of contemporary concerns: the interest in occultism that marked the early part of the century (exemplified by Conan Doyle's belief that Houdini escaped by de-materializing himself!) and which was associated with the discoveries of archaeologists, which led to the Tutankhamen craze in the 1930s. Attempts were made, at this time, to recreate ancient Egyptian ritual in the Valley of the Kings, and to summon the gods of Egypt. While this met with no success, there was a widespread popular belief that an ancient curse had afflicted those who opened the long-dead Pharaoh's tomb. Lovecraft is clearly fascinated as an artist by the Gothic potential of these ideas, which are explored in many of his stories. Although it is dangerous to generalize, one could characterize the chief difference in the two writers' outlook in their stories thus: while Poe usually locates the bizarre and anti-natural mode of being in the perverted heart and mind of man, Lovecraft attributes these effects to external supernatural, diabolical or otherwise inhuman agencies, to whom or to which the weak and curious man is vulnerable and which only the strong and virtuous can resist. That Lovecraft regards Poe as a model is clear from references to his work and to similarities of subject matter in their stories. One could show this, for instance, by comparing Lovecraft's tale of the last scion of a degenerate family living in a decayed and haunted house (The Rats in the Walls) with Poe's Fall of the House of Usher. While Poe is a writer who enjoyed little popular success in his own time, his work has since enjoyed both a wide readership and critical acclaim; Lovecraft, in a less degree, has achieved the former of these. He is not, as Poe, an innovator, but may be important as continuing an honourable tradition which is still alive and well as a genre in English and American fiction. Charlotte Brontë: Jane Eyre; Charles Dickens: Great ExpectationsWorking title: Self-help or fairy godmothers? How do the novelists present their central characters' attempts to better themselves? In order to answer this question, you must first establish the central theme which it addresses, then look in a structured but detailed way at Brontë's and Dickens' use of the narrative voice in directing the reader's response to Jane and Pip. Self advancement: Victorian society has an optimistic belief in the ability of the individual to better himself or herself by his or her own merits and efforts. A novel in which material security and domestic happiness are achieved by winning the 19th century equivalent of the National Lottery would be considered immoral. Yet, in both novels, the central characters do come perilously close to this: Pip receives his "great expectations" as a reward for an act of charity of which he is ashamed, as Magwitch's money has made him a snob; Jane rejects the chance to "marry" Rochester bigamously, notwithstanding the attractions of his wealth and person, because to do so would be to lose her personal integrity. To a degree, Pip does lose his, but recovers it, as he loses his money, in caring and coming to love Magwitch. In the end, Pip has a hope of happiness with Estella because he and she have recovered something of themselves, and because Pip has now prospered by hard work, not by undeserved good luck. Jane marries Rochester properly, but her happiness has been earned by honesty and adherence to principle; Brontë avoids sentimentality as we see Rochester disfigured and weakened by his ordeal - "a sightless block" as he describes himself to Jane. Like the biblical Samson, the strong man is punished for his (youthful) folly (marrying Bertha) with the loss of his sight. In looking at each character, you should identify the stages of his or her progress to maturity, but ensure, above all, that you examine the author's use of comment by the narrators on their actions. Consider, then, how Jane depicts herself and her prospects, as a child at Mrs. Reed's. As she is sent to Lowood we see how life there is uncomfortable but mitigated by a new factor in Jane's life - the love of a friend (the rather saintly Helen Burns). Helen's death reinforces the idea that happiness is not lasting. (One can see that the plot of this novel is not unlike a game of snakes and ladders.) To be a governess is a not contemptible occupation (Jane does not know she is an heiress), and Jane has no idea of being Rochester's wife when she enters his home. As his ally and confidante in his dealings with other women, she becomes close to him, but is not aware of his feelings for her: how does she describe this to the reader? His proposal to Jane is made with the knowledge that his wife still lives, but Brontë only discloses this when Jane finds out. Or does she? Are the earlier hints strong enough for us to foresee Jane's disappointment? The interlude with St. John Rivers is important because his proposal would be welcome to many women of the time: to support a courageous man in a life of service is a conventional Victorian model of a woman's duty: Jane has become a feminist heroine, because she refuses this, opting for self-fulfilment: to be happy on her own terms, not as an appendage to someone else. When she returns to Rochester, not only has he been humbled, but she has been elevated, having received the fortune out of which she has been cheated in the past. What is interesting here is that Jane in retelling her story has known about this from the start, but gives no hint of it until the point where she discovers it: how does she present this to the reader? Jane's concealment of her adult knowledge as she tells her story is similar to Pip's method of telling his story. He gives no immediate hint, in the novel's opening chapters that there will be a sequel to his meeting the convict (unnamed here) on the marshes. The reader is not at all led to believe that Magwitch is Pip's benefactor nor that he will re-appear. Yet by the device of Pip's preoccupation, as a source of shame, with his memory of the event, Dickens does prepare the reader for the eventual disclosure. We are given hints that Pip's own belief (that Miss Havisham is his benefactress) is mistaken, but we are in the dark about the truth. Miss Havisham is seen by Pip as a grotesque kind of real-life fairy godmother, but we see this as so naive that we cannot share his belief: Estella's conduct towards Pip is a clear indication of his error. In Dickens' novel the three parts of the work correspond closely to the stages of Pip's growth in self-knowledge. Dickens makes good use of Pip's telling of his own story to manipulate the reader's response to him. Thus, in the first part, the childish Pip is subject to the influence of Joe. While suggesting his failure to see Joe's merits properly, Pip recalls so much of his conduct and speech as to show it to the reader clearly. The novel's opening contrasts the smug, self-congratulating party eating their fill at Joe's table with the convicts starving on the frozen marshes. When the soldiers arrive it is typical that Pip should prefer Joe's company to that at home: he understands Joe's sympathy to the convict who apologizes for eating his pie, and is at this stage a naturally affectionate and likeable boy. This makes more effective his depiction of his discontentment on meeting Estella, and his ungrateful rejection of his apprenticeship for "great expectations" and London. Pip's descent into snobbery and his failure to recognize Joe's merits, even while being partly aware of them, appear emphatically in chapters 19 and 27. In the first, he argues with Biddy: in recalling their words, he ensures that she has the best of the debate. In the latter, Joe visits Pip in London. Read this chapter (27), especially its conclusion, and explain what it tells us of what Pip has become, and what Joe has never stopped being. The chapter is from the novel's second part, which largely chronicles Pip's snob's progress in London. Of many manifestations of his perverted equation of being a gentleman with ostentatious display and elaborate social ritual we should note his keeping a servant of whom he has no need, and his membership of the "Finches of the Grove". In retelling this part of his tale, the adult Pip does not spare himself, but is the object of his own sustained ridicule. The final part of the novel chronicles Pip's salvation: he loses his wealth and gains his soul. His horror on meeting Magwitch is a measure of what he has become. But through Herbert's benign influence, and his natural curiosity to know more of his unwelcome guest, he discovers how Magwitch is not a bad man but unfortunate, the victim, note, of a villain (Compeyson) from a higher social class. Hitherto, curious coincidences have ensured that Pip has reminders of his convict when thinking of Estella. He has contrasted them as opposite poles of humankind: he now learns that they are of the same flesh, and his redemption is more or less complete. It is so when he visits the prisons, notes the goodness of so many of the convicts and is able to bring happiness to the dying Magwitch. Pip is cured forever of his fantasy of unearned wealth. Yet, once he has lost it, Estella (who is still wealthy but no longer complying with Miss Havisham's fantasy of revenge on the male sex) is prepared to consider him as a lover. This is only an outline, and you have been (intentionally) left to find for yourself appropriate passages in which Jane and Pip comment on their earlier selves and actions. Always bear in mind how the author uses this simple device in order to influence our reading of the narrative. Charles Dickens: Great Expectations; Tom Wolfe: The Bonfire of the VanitiesWorking title: How, in these novels, do the authors explore themes of ostentation, ambition and morality? In order to answer this question, you should identify a number of shared concerns of the novelists, then amplify these in a structured way, introducing selective detail to support your views. Reference to text or brief quotation are in order, but you should not quote at length. Some possible subjects for discussion are as follows: The novels' titles: These identify the authors' sense of their own themes. Dickens chooses a phrase which Jaggers uses to inform Pip of change of fortune; but it is soon associated by Pip (and has this sense for the reader) with his mistaken belief in the sources of his expectations: we are led to see that Magwitch's money is no more (or less) dirty than Miss Havisham's. It suggests the youthful snobbery which is the cause of Pip's adult guilt. The reader today may feel that Pip is unduly hard on himself, but Dickens would convince us that Pip's betrayal of Joe is a real fault. For Wolfe, New York is a kind of pinnacle of human folly: the title recalls both the wisdom of Ecclesiastes ("All [human endeavour] is vanity") and Thackeray's great novel Vanity Fair (which in turn is taken from a town in The Pilgrim's Progress, which symbolises the false values of worldliness). You might also consider how far the titles are a reflection of the time and place of the novels' setting (Victorian London and New York in the 1980s - each being the contemporary pinnacle of wealth, sophistication and fashion, with the shallowness, triviality and falsity these may imply). Ostentation: This is a snobbish concern for status, especially in terms of appearances or show: both Pip and Sherman are driven by a desire for self-advancement. Pip is simultaneously embarrassed by his humble social origins and ashamed of the conduct to which this embarrassment drives him - look especially at his argument with Biddy in Chapter 19, and his account of Joe's visit in Chapter 27. In both cases, Pip tells the story in such a way as to secure our disapproval for his part in it, and our admiration of Joe's and Biddy's integrity (the final sentence of Chapter 27 is especially important here). As Pip's first object in entertaining his "expectations" is to secure Estella's love, it is symbolically important that he discovers her origins: she is not the natural child of his social superiors, but the daughter of Magwitch, who has aroused such loathing in Pip precisely because of his fear that Estella might associate him with the convict. Sherman comes from a privileged and moneyed background, but has an obsessive desire for more power and wealth: his idea of "the Masters of the Universe" expresses this well. Like Pip, he is conscious of trivial distinctions, of dress, say, which indicate the higher status of those he envies. In London, Pip joins a club, the “Finches of the Grove”, largely in order to display his social elevation; he also keeps a liveried servant. Yet in many ways his life is less comfortable than Joe's, who says of Barnard's Inn that he "wouldn't keep a pig in it". Joe does not mean to be rude or comical (as the rest of the remark shows), but thinks it to be an unhealthy place to live. Sherman's apartment in New York is presented as fabulously luxurious, but his living there is depicted as almost obligatory; he is conscious all the time of costs, many of them for things he does not really need (two cars he rarely drives, an underground garage with attendant, various domestic servants, and so on; see p. 158). This is contrasted with the more modest and solid lifestyle of his parents, who are wealthy but chose to live well within their means. Viewpoint and narrative voice: Dickens presents the story in Pip's retelling. He is aware, but gives only cryptic hints, of the disclosure he is to make at the end of the second part of the novel. He is able to combine the immediate experience of his younger self with adult wisdom and self-knowledge. Others' views appear in their conversation: we note that Estella is heartless but as an adult she is honest with Pip. Miss Havisham does not lie to him, but allows him to be deceived. Pip knows Joe to be good, but does not at first see that, in spite of his uneducated speech, Joe is also a wise man, who knows the dignity of his labour and values his place in the community. Joe is despised by Mrs. Joe and patronised by her cronies, but in his marriage to Biddy he flourishes: he becomes literate, has children of his own and with great tact helps Pip to be reconciled to him. Wolfe writes in the third person, and the reader is privy to the thoughts of several characters: all of these are linked by involvement with Sherman McCoy, who is clearly the principal subject of the novel; in spite of his obvious mistakes, he comes to have the reader's sympathy. Peter Fallow is comically contemptible, while Larry Kramer is more ambiguous: he sees himself romantically as the spokesman of the People, but subordinates the truth to his prejudices. Mostly, these characters are representative types with Sherman as a kind of Everyman figure for the 1980s. One significant difference in the stories is Dickens' optimism. There are villains (Compeyson, Orlick, Drummle) in Great Expectations as well as hypocrites and bores (Mrs. Joe, Pumblechook, Wopsle) but they are balanced, in the novelist's complete vision by humane, kind and virtuous characters at every level of society, from the ill-treated Magwitch, through Mr. Wemmick and Jaggers, to Startop and Herbert Pocket (incapable of unkind words, Pip tells us): best of all, of course, are Biddy and Joe, who are depicted as exceptionally saintly. In Wolfe's more pessimistic vision there are no heroes. There are decent people (Kovitsky, Martin, Killian and Sherman's parents, Henry Lamb and his mother) but many more who are driven, or compromised, by motives of personal gain. Wolfe is also interested in ethnic identity, which can be a cause of division, or exploited for selfish reasons (as both Weiss and Bacon show). But it can also be the source of courage and loyalty as we see in the bravery of Martin and the relations between Killian and Fitzgibbon. Kovitsky exemplifies the virtue (which Wolfe sees as in some ways typical of Jews) of ignoring the interests of one's own class, for a higher good. How do the novelists present the relation between ambition and morality? Crime and punishment - how far are the central characters (Pip and Sherman) shown to be responsible for what befalls them? Consider how each learns to accept the truth about himself. How far do the authors try to express the Zeitgeist (spirit of the times) in these novels? Consider how the Victorian dream of social advancement (being a gentleman) and the materialism of the 1980s appear in the novels. Appendix: Notes on Great ExpectationsSelf advancement: Victorian society has an optimistic belief in the ability of the individual to better himself or herself by his or her own merits and efforts. A novel in which material security and domestic happiness are achieved by winning the 19th century equivalent of the National Lottery would be considered immoral. Yet Pip receives his "great expectations" as a reward for an act of charity of which he is ashamed, as Magwitch's money has made him a snob. To a degree, Pip loses his integrity, but recovers it, as he loses his money, in caring and coming to love Magwitch. In the end, Pip has a hope of happiness with Estella because he and she have recovered something of themselves, and because Pip has now prospered by hard work, not by undeserved good luck. Pip gives no hint, in the novel's opening chapters that there will be a sequel to his meeting the convict (unnamed here) on the marshes. The reader is not at all led to believe that Magwitch is Pip's benefactor nor that he will re-appear. Yet by the device of Pip's preoccupation, as a source of shame, with his memory of the event, Dickens does prepare the reader for the eventual disclosure. We are given hints that Pip's own belief (that Miss Havisham is his benefactress) is mistaken, but we are in the dark about the truth. Miss Havisham is seen by Pip as a grotesque kind of real-life fairy godmother, but we see this as so naive that we cannot share his belief: Estella's conduct towards Pip is a clear indication of his error. In Dickens' novel the three parts of the work correspond closely to the stages of Pip's growth in self-knowledge. Dickens makes good use of Pip's telling of his own story to manipulate the reader's response to him. Thus, in the first part, the childish Pip is subject to the influence of Joe. While suggesting his failure to see Joe's merits properly, Pip recalls so much of his conduct and speech as to show it to the reader clearly. The novel's opening contrasts the smug, self-congratulating party eating their fill at Joe's table with the convicts starving on the frozen marshes. When the soldiers arrive it is typical that Pip should prefer Joe's company to that at home: he understands Joe's sympathy to the convict who apologizes for eating his pie, and is at this stage a naturally affectionate and likeable boy. This makes more effective his depiction of his discontentment on meeting Estella, and his ungrateful rejection of his apprenticeship for "great expectations" and London. Pip's descent into snobbery and his failure to recognize Joe's merits, even while being partly aware of them, appear emphatically in chapters 19 and 27. In the first, he argues with Biddy: in recalling their words, he ensures that she has the best of the debate. In the latter, Joe visits Pip in London. Read this chapter, especially its conclusion, and explain what it tells us of what Pip has become, and what Joe has never stopped being. This chapter is from the second part, which largely chronicles Pip's snob's progress in London. Of many manifestations of his perverted equation of being a gentleman with ostentatious display and elaborate social ritual we should note his keeping a servant of whom he has no need, and his membership of the "Finches of the Grove". In retelling this part of his tale, the adult Pip does not spare himself, but is the object of his own sustained ridicule. The final part of the novel chronicles Pip's salvation: he loses his wealth and gains his soul. His horror on meeting Magwitch is a measure of what he has become. But through Herbert's benign influence, and his natural curiosity to know more of his unwelcome guest, he discovers how Magwitch is not a bad man but unfortunate, the victim, note, of a villain (Compeyson) from a higher social class. Hitherto, curious coincidences have ensured that Pip has reminders of his convict when thinking of Estella. He has contrasted them as opposite poles of humankind: he now learns that they are of the same flesh, and his redemption is more or less complete. It is so when he visits the prisons, notes the goodness of so many of the convicts and is able to bring happiness to the dying Magwitch. Pip is cured forever of his fantasy of unearned wealth. Yet, once he has lost it, Estella (who is still wealthy but no longer complying with Miss Havisham's fantasy of revenge on the male sex) is prepared to consider him as a lover. Robert Louis Stevenson: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; Oscar Wilde: The Picture of Dorian GrayWorking title: Consider these works as examinations of human nature and the idea of moral responsibility The notes which follow should be used as ways into the study of the texts. Detailed examination of the text is not given here, but should appear in your essay, as should more frequent (but brief) quotation and reference to text. To avoid accidental copying of this introduction, do not have it to hand while drafting an essay. The two texts should be considered individually for part of the essay, but points of comparison and contrast should be made where possible. The essay title is not fixed and should only be chosen after drafting (to indicate the actual not intended nature of your study of the books!). The chronology of these works is worthy of note. Stevenson's novella (1886) briefly pre-dates Wilde's novel (1891); The Picture of Dorian Gray first appeared as a serial in a magazine. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was written at great speed, following a dream; the first draft was disliked by the author and his wife, and was destroyed; the second draft pleased both and is substantially the extant work. It is likely that Wilde will have been aware of the earlier work; in his novel he attempts something similar but distinctive. Both authors exhibit an interest in the workings of human nature; both connect, metaphorically perhaps, moral beauty with physical beauty and wickedness with ugliness. This seems more literal in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde where the notion of degeneracy as both a physical and psychological phenomenon is more or less explicit. Where Dorian Gray's Faustian pact is simply introduced as an unexplained marvel, Stevenson gives Jekyll's achievement a pseudo-scientific explanation (the doctor's refusal in his narrative to give details is justified by his wish not to tempt others to copy his bad example). In each case, however, the author has hit upon a convenient device to explore ideas about the nature of man: the integrated personality against the divided self (Jekyll hints at personalities which may be split into more than two parts, an idea which will not strike the late 20th century reader as odd); whether we can evade the consequences of our actions and experiences, and what these consequences are, and the notion that it is a false promise which assures us we can have our cake (innocence) and eat it (experience). Stevenson's short work considers virtue fairly conventionally (Jekyll's wish is for himself to remain good, while creating an "other" who can commit evil and bear the guilt of it; Jekyll learns that he cannot so divide the self; that he is "Hyde", and that, as Jekyll, he cannot control which form he will take; eventually he is unable to return to the persona of Jekyll). In this work there is no debate about what virtue actually is; Utterson and Jekyll equally share a horror of Hyde's actions; the debate is about whether or not one can escape the consequences of immoral action. Stevenson is in no doubt that Jekyll's dream of moral licence is as fantastic as the means by which he attempts it. Wilde, on the other hand, is far more ambiguous about virtue; in The Picture of Dorian Gray Basil Hallward is clearly the spokesman for restraint and conventional morality, just as Lord Henry is the Mephistopheles to Dorian's Faustus. Early in the novel (end of Ch. II), Dorian is urged by Basil to dine with him rather than accompany Lord Henry to the theatre; with hindsight, we can see that this is more than a simple choice of entertainment on this occasion: it is symbolic of a choice which Dorian makes repeatedly through the novel; Lord Henry's experience and aestheticism against Basil's view of art as a means to truth (significantly, Basil says he will stay with the "real" Dorian, meaning the picture; Wilde has of course contrived the apparent prescience here, but in his own terms Basil sees his art as having revealed the essence or truth of the person depicted). Lord Henry argues with Basil that "conscience" is merely a respectable name for cowardice, in effect timidity which restrains experience. Aestheticism is an approach to life and art in which the subjective response (how the individual feels) is the criterion of merit. To this conventional scruples must be subordinated. Sybil Vane is loved by Dorian for the imaginative response her acting evokes in him; made confident by his declaration of love she ceases to act with sensibility towards Shakespeare's theatrical magic and is seen by Lord Henry, Basil and Dorian, too, as merely a beautiful young woman: Dorian feels disgust at this and spurns her (it appears that he feels more keenly than Lord Henry, and is less able to conceal his feelings by equivocation to spare others). He is able easily to reconcile himself to Sybil's death in the belief that he has loved her truly, and that this love is important; there is no imaginative sympathy which enables him to grieve for her death, save as the loss of a beautiful object, but this is barely a loss, since the experience of loving her, and seeing her inspired performances is one he has already enjoyed, and clearly remembered. Under Lord Henry's tutelage, Dorian seeks more and more novel experiences; the (slightly) older man makes suggestions (as when he sends Dorian a copy of "a book that might interest him" - identified by clues Wilde gives as Huysmans' A Rebours) yet appears to anticipate exactly what will excite Dorian's interest; Basil, also, foresees much of this, while he remains close to Dorian, yet is eager to dissuade his friend from indulging his curiosity. Wilde does not identify the sensations and activities into which Dorian is led but indicates their impropriety in the eyes of most people of Dorian's social class: we read that Dorian is blackballed and spurned by various of his peers, and that his influence is blamed for the disgrace into which his younger associates fall; speaking to Basil (before he murders him) Dorian argues that his enemies are hypocrites and jealous of his success (and beauty); but he will not deny the reports. The author does not here endorse the view of either party, but the picture does not allow the reader to remain neutral; the changes in Dorian's painted appearance are taken by the reader (as by Dorian himself) as the measure of his experiences and their consequences on his moral nature: we see cruelty, ugliness and bloodshed; the reader alone (with Dorian) sees all the causes and their effects, while other characters (Lord Henry or Alan Campbell, say) see only parts of the whole. The other character who comes closest to a full understanding of both is Basil, but he is unable to communicate to others what he sees. Wilde is evidently sympathetic to Dorian in the sense that he understands what attracts him, and appears to endorse a world view in which what is valued can only ever be experienced and appreciated by a tiny élite of wealthy aesthetes: there is much cataloguing of furniture, antiques and objets d'art in which the author's knowledge is paraded to indicate Dorian's exquisite taste (Wilde anticipates the kind of detail one encounters in the "sex-and-shopping" commercial narratives of the late 20th century). Although written in the third person, the novel largely presents the narrative as it appears to Dorian, though apart from the discovery of his death, we witness scenes in the Vane household from which Dorian is absent, while some details (such as James Vane's interest in his paternity) seem irrelevant to Wilde's central purpose. Lord Henry's conversation dominates large parts of the narrative (see, especially Ch. XVII, part of which is almost completely dialogue between Lord Henry and a duchess): while this enables Wilde to demonstrate the lord's influence on his friend, the tone of the epigrams is lighter by far than that in passages describing Dorian's introspection. Where Basil is judgemental and, on Dorian's shocking disclosure, tries to persuade him to repent, Lord Henry never censures Dorian for his pursuit of sensation, but gives calculating advice on how to maximise it. Although Dorian Gray is a much longer work than Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, this is justified by Wilde's excursions into conversation, explication and introspection; though Dorian is in no sense a "rounded" character, as a means of examining an attitude to life in a questioning age (the fin de siècle motif) he is quite fully developed, though the rudiments of the narrative could be very briefly summarized (the plot is far simpler than that of, say, Silas Marner, yet Eliot's novel is shorter). Stevenson's novella has a simpler plot yet, but the telling is somewhat drawn out by an unusual shifting of perspective (was this changed from the rejected first draft?) Events are not at all narrated in sequence, and this is necessary or the element of mystery (the reader's curiosity, shared with Utterson) to know Jekyll's secret would be satisfied from the first, and interest would not be sustained. The device of a third-person narrative into which two first-person accounts (Lanyon's and Jekyll's) are inserted enables Stevenson first to elicit horror at Hyde (and disapproval of Jekyll for associating with this monster) then to arouse understanding and pity for the unfortunate scientist. Since most 20th-century readers know (or think we know) Jekyll's secret before we read the story, we should realize that for its first readers, the last chapter of the novella would have been necessary as Jekyll's explanation of what Lanyon has observed. Moreover what is in the narrative only potentially melodramatic (the incredible transformation of man into fiend and back) was very quickly made into explicit melodrama in theatrical (and later film) versions of the story, which may colour the contemporary reader's view of the novella. Utterson is presented rather as a detective in a thriller: his curiosity prompted by a friend's anecdote which seems puzzlingly connected with Jekyll's will, which he has drawn up, the lawyer is able by enquiry or serendipity to discover part of the story; the rest is supplied by the statements of Lanyon and Jekyll/Hyde which are addressed to him both because of his professional standing and his personal probity. Utterson's responses to what he finds are always reasonable and understated, and he (perhaps teasingly for the reader, at first) resists his curiosity respecting Lanyon's statement when he first receives this; from the point of view of the novella's structure this is a good thing, as it allows for the reading of Lanyon's and Jekyll's statements consecutively, after the death of Hyde/Jekyll. And what is revealed? Whereas, Dorian Gray wishes that the corruption of his soul shall not appear in his person, but in the concealed picture (he may know it but no other may), Jekyll's idea is from a moral viewpoint arguably more evasive: that the integrated personality shall be dis-integrated to create, in effect, two separate persons, one embodying the good, the other harbouring the evil in the original integrated person. At the least, this means that the former shall not be to blame for the deeds of the latter; but Jekyll argues that the evil part also cannot be truly itself while inhibited by conscience so it, too, benefits from the division "delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more upright twin". The modern reader is familiar enough with the notion of divided personality and even, in extreme cases, of those who could be termed, in Jekyll's words, a "polity of multifarious, incongruous and independent denizens". The least plausible detail (if we insist on reading the novella "scientifically" or as realistic narrative) is also the most celebrated: the sudden transformation from the attractive Jekyll to the monstrous physical deformity of Hyde, and back. Stevenson is wise enough not to associate Hyde's form with any identifiable or common kind of disfigurement. Hyde is certainly less "upright" in both senses than is Jekyll; but all who see him are disgusted at his manner yet unable to identify any obvious distinguishing feature other than their subjective response of horror: this of course allows the reader's own subjective response to imagine a creature obviously evil. Neither Dorian's improbably-granted wish, nor Jekyll's division of himself causes their subsequent evil actions; rather, these things allow or encourage them to think they can act with impunity. Dorian's depravity arises from a growing inability to resist any impulse: from the verbal attack on Sybil to the later murderous physical assault on Basil; Hyde does not share with Jekyll the restraint of conscience, and could be said not to be responsible for his actions - but Jekyll, clearly foreseeing (and later remembering) what Hyde will do (or has done), cannot deny responsibility. That the central characters are ultimately culpable is borne out by the conclusion to each work. Both men destroy themselves in two senses: first, they set out on a course which inevitably leads to destruction; but each dies directly by his own hand: Dorian, unwittingly, as he sets out to destroy his portrait; Hyde/Jekyll desperately swallowing cyanide (presumably - the narrative refers to a "smell of kernels"). Each author persuades the reader of the ultimate justice of his hero's fate, while evoking some sympathy for his position: experience without moral consequences may be an attractive fantasy, but that it is a fantasy both Stevenson and Wilde make clear as their characters pursue it by fantastic means, yet still fail to achieve it. Franz Kafka: The Trial (Der Prozeß); George Orwell: Nineteen Eighty-FourWorking title: How, in these narratives, do the authors explore the central characters' struggle against adversity? In order properly to answer the question you must show how both works depict central characters (Josef K. and Winston Smith) who are subject to forces arising from the organization of the external society to whose dictates they are required to conform; that both characters are punished for their defiance of society's canons of behaviour and belief; and that both authors, Kafka and Orwell, are concerned to depict a totalitarian society which is indifferent to the plight, and probably even the existence, of the private individual. This being granted, the approaches are utterly different: K. moves in a world he does not begin to understand, which, it seems, is not open to understanding; he never knows the nature of his violation of the law, and has no means of avoiding execution; the world he inhabits is a mixture of dream and nightmare: here, these terms are not vague clichés; the world K. inhabits has the logic of dreams: people suddenly appear to K. in rooms where they have evidently been all along, the law-court is in the attic of a slum-tenement building, a girl is discovered to have webbed hands, and in a box-room of the bank where he works, K. one evening finds one of the two men who have arrested him savagely beating the other for his incompetence. K.'s crime, like that of Oedipus perhaps, is not the premeditated transgression of one who knows the rules, but a kind of inevitable infringement of the appointed order, the result of unsuspected hubris. Orwell's vision, on the other hand, is a "nightmare" in the metaphorical sense which has become a cliché of critical writing: it does not resemble any nocturnal fantasy, but is a logical construction: the worst of all possible worlds, extrapolated from the worst features of the actual world. Where The Trial is vivid yet surreal, 1984 depicts a world of squalor, drabness and poverty, readily imagined. Orwell has worked out the laws and logic of the establishment with precision, and Winston knows what they are. Worse than the coercion of a man's actions, which has long been possible to the tyrant, is the coercion of man's thought through the control of language. (It is pleasant to know that Orwell's fears in this regard have not been realized; although substantial influence of thought by "brainwashing" techniques and torture has been achieved in oppressive societies, complete elimination of the possibility of revolutionary thinking has not been managed: the control of language on which it depends has been too elusive, as teachers of standard grammar no less than Big Brother know well; moreover, in very recent times, as Orwell could not possibly have foreseen, global communications and the wide availability of radio and television receivers have been important in spreading views which contradict the orthodoxies of the tyrants.) 1984, hastily-written by a dying man, is not a great work of artistic imagination; it is a work in which the narrative is a vehicle for presentation of the author's views on actual tendencies in politics and the use of propaganda. Winston is not so much a character as a mouthpiece for revolutionary attitudes; of course, he retains more of what we would call personality than those around him, as they parrot whatever the Party tells them, without reference to concepts such as memory or objective truth. But the deeply pessimistic conclusion of this work is that Winston is an anachronism; that rebellion such as his will soon be impossible, and that in his argument with O'Brien he comes off the worse. If, as O'Brien proves in Winston's experiences in the Ministry of Love, the deviant thought can be eliminated, if, that is, power can be used to defeat logical reason, then truth is meaningless, or, rather, means what the Party defines it to mean; and there is of course no reason (reason, also, being a meaningless term) why the truth of today should not differ from that of yesterday. In a sense, by his own lights, O'Brien is right. Winston does not merely, as the detached reader can, understand how one can hold such a view. He comes deeply to believe it. At first he wants to believe O'Brien; then, for a moment, he sees the number of fingers O'Brien claims to be holding up; and finally, he loves Big Brother. It is not enough to kill your enemy, for he may defy you still in his heart. The Party's vision of complete power requires that the heretic be converted. O'Brien's desire to re-educate Winston is a parody of Christian love, though not far removed from the Inquisitor's professed concern for the immortal soul of his victim. Both novels are deeply dystopian. Orwell assembles familiar details, and the result (which superficially resembles the Third Reich or Stalin's U.SS.R.) alarms us as the illogical conclusion of international or global forces at work and seemingly irresistible in the 1940s. Kafka may draw details from his own experience: his bureaucratic job, his view of the great city (Prague) and his sense of alienation. But The Trial, by its resistance of tendencies to naturalism, by its avoidance of specific historical, geographical or political details of setting, and by its more thorough exploration of its central character - whose weakness is ambiguous, because a result both of powerful external forces and inner doubts - is a more timeless and universal work. Franz Kafka: The Trial (Der Prozeß); Alexander Solzhenitsyn: One Day in the Life of Ivan DenisovichWorking title: How do these works examine the plight of the individual in the face of external coercion? In order properly to answer the question you must show how both works depict central characters (Josef K. and Ivan Denisovich) who are subject to forces arising from the organization of the external society to whose dictates they are required to conform; that both characters are punished for their defiance of society's canons of behaviour and belief; and that both authors, Kafka and Solzhenitsyn, are concerned to depict a totalitarian society which is indifferent to the plight, and probably even the existence, of the private individual. This being granted, the approaches are utterly different: K. moves in a world he does not begin to understand, which, it seems, is not open to understanding; he never knows the nature of his violation of the law, and has no means of avoiding execution; the world he inhabits is a mixture of dream and nightmare: here, these terms are not vague clichés; the world K. inhabits has the logic of dreams: people suddenly appear to K. in rooms where they have evidently been all along, the law-court is in the attic of a slum-tenement building, a girl is discovered to have webbed hands, and in a box-room of the bank where he works, K. one evening finds one of the two men who have arrested him savagely beating the other for his incompetence. K.'s crime, like that of Oedipus perhaps, is not the premeditated transgression of one who knows the rules, but a kind of inevitable infringement of the appointed order, the result of unsuspected hubris. Solzhenitsyn's vision, on the other hand, is a naturalistic depiction of life in the Siberian labour camp. The central character is a representative type of the political prisoner. The "one day" could stand for the thousands of days the prisoners endure, and the detail of Ivan Denisovich's ordeal accumulates overwhelmingly. Both novels are deeply dystopian. Kafka may draw details from his own experience: his bureaucratic job, his view of the great city (Prague) and his sense of alienation. But The Trial, by its resistance of tendencies to naturalism, by its avoidance of specific historical, geographical or political details of setting, and by its more thorough exploration of its central character - whose weakness is ambiguous, because a result both of powerful external forces and inner doubts - is arguably the more timeless and universal work. Willa Cather: My Antonia; Jean Rhys: Wide Sargasso SeaWorking title: How, in these narratives, do the authors explore the central characters' struggle against adversity? In both of these novels, the writer is interested in the heroine's plight, as she confronts formidable odds. Jean Rhys depicts a character whose death is a "given", in the sense that she inherits part of her plot from Jane Eyre. Yet she is concerned to show Antoinette not as a two-dimensional figure, a convenient madwoman in the attic, who first prevents Jane's marriage and who, even more conveniently, dies in circumstances which allow Jane happiness without undue dependency on Rochester, now, in his own words a "sightless block" (Jane Eyre; Chapter 37). Rather, there is an attempt to understand Antoinette's descent into madness, and an exploration of the rootless existence of the Creole settler. Antonia, in Willa Cather's novel is outwardly unremarkable, and would escape the notice of most people; but Jim Burden, the narrator, comes to see that she has enormous reserves of strength - she survives every adversity; she is never triumphant, but she is never defeated. The most important features of the novels in your discussion should be the setting of the action, the narrative viewpoint and the manipulation of the reader's sympathy for the central character. My Antonia is set in the mid-western state of Nebraska, among the Bohemian immigrant community, while the action of Wide Sargasso Sea takes place principally in Jamaica. While Antonia leaves the Old World behind for the New World, Antoinette at the end of the novel travels to the continent from which her ancestors came. In each novel, there is a contrast between the Old and New World. This is partly a matter of class and social mores. In Wide Sargasso Sea the Mason family is evidently very wealthy, but not quite socially respectable in the eyes of European visitors; habits of speech and social etiquette mark the Creoles as alien; yet they are also alienated from the lives of the black workers who form most of the population of the island. Antoinette's closeness to her coloured maid would probably be distasteful in any case to Rochester; but her near-fatal poisoning of him with a supposed love philtre overwhelms him: he comes to view Antoinette as almost demonic. When he experiences a very powerful sexual desire for her, he is filled with self-loathing. Both are inexperienced and unable to communicate; the reserve which marks their very formal (arranged) courtship is exacerbated by the differences in their speech. Antoinette is at home on the island, but to Rochester it is an alien and hostile place - consider how he is physically ill at ease there, finding the heat unbearable and the people unintelligible. In My Antonia the Shimerda family have left Europe behind; they bring to the New World few possessions. They have hope and the support of a close-knit community. They are seen as socially inferior to the established families, especially those of English descent, and are regarded as aliens or foreigners. They are assigned land to farm, but it is far from the large cities. The land has to be broken, and the winters are harsher than those of central Europe, from which they come, with less well-established sources of supply and help. Consider how the terrain and the climate are depicted as hostile and threatening - to survive a winter is seen as an achievement. Consider also those passages which show the relationship of the Bohemian community to other, better established and wealthier families, such as that of the more middle class narrator. Look next at the narrative viewpoint in each work. In My Antonia Willa Cather presents Antonia's story through the medium of Jim's narration. Partly, this is a convenience: Antonia is not articulate, but is modest and self-effacing; it requires another to show her merits; Jim is reflective and sees what others might miss. A conventional third-person narrative would not allow the selective presentation of the story (with gaps at various points) as Jim has supposedly been able to pick it up. At points he is involved in the events he narrates, while at others he tells the story at second or third hand. Consider the effect on the reader of this narrative method, especially at those points where Jim/Willa Cather engages our sympathies. We share with Jim the gradual coming to understand Antonia's resilience. Show how by the end of the novel she has become almost a symbol of suffering and enduring womanhood. In Jane Eyre we learn of Antoinette at many removes. Jane lives under the same roof as her for a while, but never meets her. She learns of "Bertha Antoinetta" from her brother, Richard, and from Rochester when he comes clean. But there is no attempt to understand her (this is not a weakness in the novel which is simply about other things). Jean Rhys (whose mother was a Creole) is able to supply details of background, geography and culture, and give Antoinette a voice. The mutual incomprehension of the young couple is shown more strikingly by the shift mid-way into the novel from Antoinette's to Rochester's narration; we see the same things but they are presented in quite different terms - each has a very different understanding. In Antoinette's narrative Rochester, without her explicit condemnation, appears as an unpleasant character, but his own narrative allows us to have sympathy for him, too. He is very different from the tough, worldly-wise hero of Jane Eyre. Both characters appear as victims: their lives are subject to the priorities of their families. Each is sacrificed to some supposedly more important principle. The wishes of the individual are not considered; the priority is to safeguard property. To the modern reader, this seems shocking, and Jean Rhys shows to what it leads. Look at the conclusion of each novel. Antoinette has been a victim. Her insanity is not inevitable; it is shown at first as a mild tendency to distort experience: there is apparently a history of madness in the family, but Antoinette is at first not very aware of it; in her case it is more potential than actual. That she becomes highly disturbed is largely the result of what happens to her. At the end of the novel, although her intention is dangerous, at least it has the dignity of action: she is not to be any longer the passive victim. Interestingly, her idea of what she is about to do is seen in the context of the reader's understanding of what it will lead to, the happy consequences for Jane Eyre, of whom Antoinette is ignorant. At the end of My Antonia on the other hand, Jim has led the reader to a favourable judgement of this strong and heroic woman. You might consider why, as a friend but not a lover or spouse, he chooses to call her My Antonia. Look for any passages in either novel in which (you think) the writer is trying to manipulate the reader's attitude to the heroine, and discuss these. This is an outline: it is up to you to find significant passages for detailed study or quotation in support of your argument. L.P. Hartley: The Go-Between; Kazuo Ishiguro: The Remains of the DayWorking title: How do these novels present the past as "a foreign country" where "they do things differently"? This will allow you to look both at the content of the novels and the authors' technique. You can briefly introduce the question in terms of the novels' presentation of a vanished world - not so very remote in time, but very different, perhaps, in its values. This will lead to a more detailed consideration of the relationships of the principal characters in the narratives, and in the narrative perspective. Both writers are aware of the idea of a hierarchical society, and of social class. Show how, in The Go-Between Leo is made conscious of this, and of how this is exploited by Marian. You should also look at its implications for her relations with Ted Burgess, and the narrator's understanding of this. Some points of detail to consider would be:
In The Remains of the Day you should look at the relationship between master and servants; consider also the well-meaning aristocrat who is drawn into support for Fascism without really understanding what he is doing. Consider how, in each novel, the values of a bygone age are being subjected, through the narrative, to the reader's scrutiny (look for passages which invite our judgement). Second, you should consider the way in which the understanding of the past is built into the structure of the novels, each of which allows the past to be viewed from the present, with the benefit of some greater awareness (not simply hindsight, but greater maturity, perhaps). Show how in each case, the action, in the past, is concentrated in a short space of time, and embodies values which seem, from the present perspective, to be mistaken. Look for passages in which the characters or a situation, provide comment or interpretation of past events. How far is the central characters' inability to achieve happiness rooted in their past, and how is this idea expressed? This is an outline, but you should find plenty of detail or material worth quoting, which supports this approach. There is no set "answer", but you can determine how far Hartley's opening statement is justified by his narrative, and whether the statement can be applied with any justice to Ishiguro's novel. Mary Wesley: The Camomile Lawn; Thomas Keneally: Schindler's ArkWorking title: How do these narratives present the survival of the human spirit in time of war? Both writers are interested in the way in which the adverse circumstances of war challenge the capacity of the human spirit to triumph over adversity. That said, the differences between the stories are enormous: Keneally presents an epic account of a historically documented episode, while Mary Wesley's view is more domestic and placid. In The Camomile Lawn the war, seen from unoccupied England, is always happening elsewhere; characters learn of it at second-hand (through letters, personal or official, and rumour); in Schindler's Ark, set mostly in occupied Poland, the consequences of war are immediate and cataclysmic in their inhumanity. Mary Wesley records violent deaths, but not graphically, and these seem exceptional; Keneally depicts a world where murderous brutality and bigotry are so commonplace, that he must select the more striking instances to represent what is too frequent to be chronicled fully. In the case of Schindler's Ark you should consider some of the following things:
In reading The Camomile Lawn, you might consider:
Having done this, you can move to a more comparative discussion of the texts, looking especially at:
Thomas Keneally: Schindler's Ark; Michael Ondaatje: The English PatientWorking title: How, in these narratives, do the authors explore themes of loyalty and betrayal? First, you can introduce the works briefly as considering claims of loyalty to the nation or state, and loyalty to persons. Show how these can (and do) come into conflict. In Schindler's Ark (note the name - Schindler's List is a feature film) Keneally tells a historical story but in the manner of a novel, in that he tries to understand the character and motivation of Oskar Schindler. Show how at first Schindler has no obvious loyalty. He is a Pole, but ready to accept Poland as part of greater Germany, or the Third Reich. He is quite ready to exploit his Jewish workers for financial gain. He becomes, gradually, personally concerned. While he is at first ready to work for the German war effort, ultimately he sees this as a lost cause, and directs his energies to keeping "his" Jews (the "Schindlerjuden") alive until the war is over. Consider the ambivalence in the presentation of the other Germans: those who are patriotic and wish to fight the war as effectively as possible - for these the Jews are a valuable resource; compare these to those who are more concerned, while their power lasts, to carry out Hitler's "final solution" in the mass killings of the Jews. Look at how Keneally presents the disputes over the use of the railway - important military objectives (movements of troops and munitions) giving way to the effort to kill a relatively small number of Jews. Look at the way these characters each have different sets of allegiances. Show how Schindler is able to travel freely and meet those who persuade him to work for the Jews, and inform him of what is happening elsewhere. Look at the depiction of Amon Goth. Show how Schindler is able to pretend to personal friendship and loyalty, while working to frustrate the aims of Goth, and others like him. Consider the author's use of motifs - such as the little girl in the red dress who survives the mass slaughter in the ghetto, and the seemingly magical "list" of names of the Jews whom Schindler is able to deliver alive from the danger of genocide. In The English Patient we see how before the war, adventurers of all nations work together with a common purpose, and place themselves above petty nationalism. In the war, we see how characters are far removed from their places of origin, to answer the call of duty: thus Kip, a Sikh (Indian) sapper, is trained in England and clears mines for the allies in Italy; Hana, a French-Canadian nurse stays in Italy to care for her "English" patient (ultimately shown not to be English at all); David Caravaggio, another Canadian, makes his way from Egypt to Italy, where he keeps Hana company. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima changes everything for Kip: he can no longer see the west as the guardian of civilized values, so leaves Italy and returns to his native India. The idea of loyalty to country can be compared to that of loyalty to individuals. Katherine Clifton betrays her husband with Almàsy. Almàsy has less sense of loyalty to the allied cause than to Katherine (consider how Herodotus's account of Gyges and Candaules serves as a commentary on their relationship). In order to gain the petrol he needs to fly to the cave of the swimmers, and retrieve her body (to fulfil his promise to her), Almàsy gives the Germans the maps they need to capture Cairo, where Caravaggio is subsequently tortured. He intends to be revenged on Almàsy for this betrayal, but does not take this revenge. In conclusion, show how each author questions the assumption that one's highest loyalty is to one's country. Consider how Schindler moves from amoral unconcern to a passionate defence of his Jews (quite at odds with his marital infidelity). Show how Ondaatje presents us with a mixed collection of characters, each of whom has his or her own objects and understanding of loyalty. In discussing both works, look for passages in which characters reflect on their reasons for action. Because he is presenting a historical subject, Keneally refers to the testimony of others repeatedly; Ondaatje, on the other hand, is able to give us access to the thoughts of Kip, of Hana, of Caravaggio and Almàsy, as well as to the evidence of Almàsy's conversation and the notes in his copy of Herodotus. © Andrew Moore, 2000; Contact me
|