Bizarre Life - of Pi - Decisions

Currently Reading: 1984 by George Orwell

I’m committing Novel Ideas treason a little bit today and discussing a movie rather than a book.

The reason I find this mini act of betrayal excusable is that the movie is a film adaptation of one of my favorite books, a book I’ve actually mentioned more than once in my blog to this point, it’s been that significant to me.

Again, this post includes spoilers, both of the book and of the movie so... you've been warned!

On November 21st, Ang Lee released his film adaptation of Yann Martel’s best-selling novel, Life of Pi. This past holiday weekend, my best friend and I saw it.

As strong lovers of the novel, we both knew we were going to see it at some point, if only out of curiosity. However, we entered the theater with a healthy dose of skepticism, a habit of most avid readers who attend movie versions of their cherished novels given that 9 times out of 10, the movie is far inferior to the book.

This inferiority isn't usually the movie creators’ fault, though. A lot of what makes novels better than movies is that they can provide a more detailed, extensive, and personal experience that no movie can based on logistics alone. Aspects of the story almost always have to be cut in a film adaptation because almost no one will sit through a five-hour movie – even if it meant every loved plot point and character could be included. Furthermore, a movie immediately becomes less personal since it doesn’t allow for imagination; the faces of the characters, the way a monster looks, the landscape are all given instead of created within the individual’s mind. Therefore, if a plotline you love is removed from the movie – I’m looking at you The English Patient – or characters don’t look the way you envisioned them – that’s right Weasley twins from Harry Potter – it’s a lot harder for you to love the movie with the same fervor you loved the book.

In short, the film creator is at a severe disadvantage since his audience is much more critical of his work.

While Life of Pi was not nearly on the level of movie adaptation catastrophe as, say, Ella Enchanted (which I will never forgive that director/screenwriter for!), it still had some directorial choices that I just don’t understand. So I’m venting here.

As I’ve mentioned before, there’s not a tremendous amount of action in Life of Pi so I recognize that Ang Lee and David Magee (the screenplay writer) were limited in how action-packed a movie they could make. However, it seemed to me that they decided to spend a disproportionate amount of time on the less interesting aspects of the story. It felt as if Ang Lee was so focused on creating breathtaking visuals that he lost the story. I mean, instead of including the pivotal hallucination that’s actually important to the plot – the first hint that there’s more to the story than first meets the eye – Lee decides to create a fanciful, crazed, glowing vision of fish and zoo animals culminating in a woman’s face and then the wrecked ship at the bottom of the ocean.

Why?? Yes it was beautiful and a good break to the somewhat monotonous scene of Pi in the lifeboat on the ocean endlessly, but why??? Why choose to create this hallucination instead of the one in the story that’s actually relevant?

Then to add to the frustration, after spending about an hour on the repetitive story of Pi’s life at sea, Lee zips right through one of the most fascinating and mysterious parts of the story in about ten minutes. Of course, I’m referring to the illusive meerkat island, the element of the novel that has sparked endless amounts of discussions with my best friend in which we analyze and dissect all the possible meanings for hours. I wish I were exaggerating. Actually, when I heard they were making a movie, I somewhat held on to the fleeting hope that maybe Lee would have gotten together with Martel and be able to explain this bizarre plot point. 

Nope. Lee not only offers no new explanations, he creates absolutely no build up to the big reveal, the fact that the island is carnivorous. Plus, Pi and Richard Parker spend weeks on this island in the novel, but in the movie, they only spend a single night there. Thus there’s no real recovery period and no discovery.

Again, why??? You finally have a great visual and exciting plot point with which to work and you choose not to spend any time on it? Ugh!

My final complaint, and then I will silence myself of the subject, is about Lee’s (or Magee’s, I don’t honestly know who made the choice) addition to the cast of characters. Before leaving India, Pi suddenly has a little love story that appears absolutely nowhere in the novel. In the movie, he becomes bored with his life and then his love, Anandi, brings the change he’s looking for and reinvigorates his life. None of this is necessary in the book because, in the book, Pi’s life is plenty full from his passionate love of religion and God. What’s extra irritating about this addition is that it actually isn’t an addition in any sense to the story. Anandi pretty much never comes up again in the movie. Her relationship with Pi barely impacts his life in the long run and the love story itself doesn’t really add to Lee’s overall message. So why did Lee/Magee decide to waste time on this unimportant, uninteresting puppy love story instead of spending that time explaining meerkat island or adding in the important hallucination or visually explaining the seedy under belly of the story instead of simply having Pi relate it in a monologue?

Overall, the movie wasn’t a gross deviation from the book, which is always a relief, but I’m fairly certain it would be a bore for those who haven’t read the novel or who aren’t fascinating with new visual effects. Therefore, I'm not entirely sure if I would recommend it...

I just don’t understand these choices.

And even worse, I still don’t understand those damn meerkats.

Jane Eyre - the Good and the Bad

Currently Reading: 1984 by George Orwell

First impression of Jane Eyre: my God this book is a lot longer than I always thought it was!

Lasting impression of Jane Eyre: I’m incredibly jealous of Jane Eyre and greatly admire her. However, I am also glad that I don’t live in an era with the same levels of religiosity, propriety and deficient psychology knowledge.

WARNING: This blog post contains some major spoilers so if you haven’t read Jane Eyre, you should probably stop reading now.

I’m jealous of Jane Eyre in two senses. The first is that she is a brilliant role model and has numerous character traits that I wish I also had. She has such an intense fiery spirit that initially makes her slightly volatile and prone to outbursts of restlessness. Yet she eventually masters this fire so that it’s no longer aimlessly raging and instead becomes the fuel necessary to maintain the inner strength required to hold to her convictions and sense of self no matter what. I envy her steadfastness and her ability to remain true to herself and her beliefs in any circumstance, even when it upsets others. I find her constant hopefulness, her discipline, and her goodness admirable and it makes me long to be more like her. I’m jealous of her for not being wishy-washy or overly concerned with others’ opinions, traits she outgrows yet that I cannot shake.

The second reason I’m jealous of Jane Eyre is because of the love she shares with Mr. Rochester. Sorry to be a girl, but I really hope someone loves me the way Mr. Rochester loves Jane Eyre someday. I want to find a relationship like theirs that’s based on respect and shared intellect; a relationship in which we understand each other for who we really are, strengths and flaws included, and love each other for all of it. I hope I find a love like theirs in which it really feels like finding your soul mate. I’m envious of their passion for each other and their ability to not lose themselves entirely in each other while maintaining this passion – a balance I haven’t always been great at striking.

In these ways, I adored reading this novel about growing up and finding your great love.

However, in other ways, this book just reminded me how glad I am that I live in a different time period.

Throughout the story, I was surprised by the large role religion played. Perhaps it’s because my exposure to other novels of this genre – i.e. Wuthering Heights and all of Jane Austen’s novels – largely did not have particularly faithful characters, but I really did not anticipate Jane Eyre to be so religious. I was taken aback when she spent so much time in a repressive, religious school and came out of it with an intense love of God. I was further surprised that she very nearly became a missionary’s wife out of a sense of duty, even though she loved another man. I was stunned (and honestly, a little disappointed) that the last character mentioned in the novel is the overly religious missionary - a character whose faith is intense to a point that Charlotte Bronte does not condone. Despite the fact that he isn’t introduced until more than half way through the novel and that he isn’t ever seen as especially likeable, he’s the one with the last word in the story? It didn’t seem fitting to me. Maybe it was a bothersome element of the novel to me because I’m simply not religious at all, but I’m glad that religion isn’t such a dominant and prevalent force in my life that I feel compelled to throw all my happiness away for the chance to do my duty to God.

I’m also glad that I wasn’t born in an era when propriety was so important. There’s a specific instance in the novel when this became overwhelmingly clear to me. It came after Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester became engaged. Mr. Rochester describes the life he envisions for them, including extravagant adventures to show her all the places she’s wanted to see, showers Jane with gifts, and insists that she will spend more time with him once she’s his wife. To me, and I believe to most women of my era, this sounds incredible!

However, Jane insists that none of this would be proper. She insists that even after they are married, everything should continue as it has been, with her still acting like his inferior rather than his equal. She firmly believes it wouldn’t be proper to do otherwise. Honestly, this sounds insane to me. She wants to get married and not have anything change? She wants to continue acting like her husband’s inferior even though he’s repeatedly told her he finds her to be his only equal (I’m paraphrasing here)? I’m so relieved that I didn’t grow up believing that this was proper.

The last aspect of the novel that made me really, really grateful that I live in the time period I do is Mrs. Rochester.

Again, I repeat that this is a big time spoiler! Just want to make sure you’re warned.

On the day that Jane and her beloved Mr. Rochester are to finally be married – which only comes halfway through the novel so you know something is going to go wrong – Jane discovers the horrifying truth about her betrothed. Turns out, he’s already married and his wife is still alive, living like a caged animal in the attic of his house. When Mrs. Rochester is introduced, she’s an obstacle keeping the protagonists from happiness. She’s a terror, vicious and both homicidal and suicidal. Her character makes Mr. Rochester more sympathetic and makes the reader greatly pity the poor, unknowing and crushed Jane Eyre.

However, I have to admit that I bizarrely felt terrible for Mrs. Rochester. As a sufferer from a mild anxiety disorder (not even close to the ranks of Mrs. Rochester’s illness for the record), I have great sympathy for people who clearly have mental illness in a time when mental illnesses were not understood at all, beyond that it meant they were crazy and broken. Mrs. Rochester appears to suffer from schizophrenia or some other equally intense mental illness and to be treated the way she is seems so dehumanizing. She’s trapped and ignored and literally treated like a rabid animal when she’s suffering in the most awful way possible. I mean, her mind is essentially attacking itself, that’s pretty unbearable. Thus, even though I know that Mrs. Rochester is supposed to be seen as a psychopath – which she is – I still feel sorry for her because if she lived in a different time she’d be viewed very differently.

So… overall impression of Jane Eyre? The good parts outweigh the bad and it’s a wonderful novel worth reading.

"Book Candy" Explained

Currently Reading: 1984 by George Orwell

That’s right! I finished A Clockwork Orange! The slang really did get less challenging, which was an exciting discovery, so I was able to zip right through once I got the hang of it.

What I’d like to discuss today, though, has pretty much nothing to do with A Clockwork Orange… except maybe that they both involve a food analogy…

As many of my close friends know, I’m particularly fond of coming up with really excellent and accurate analogies. Usually, this is a practice I reserve for sorting out relationship troubles or complicated feelings that I can’t quite pin down with a single descriptive word. However, there is one analogy that I use frequently that has nothing to do with boys or angst. This analogy has now become a term I use for novels that fall into a certain category. The term is “book candy,” which I’d now like to take a moment to explain.

Book candy books are the novels that most wouldn’t generally consider “great literature.” They include the novels you find in the bookstore of an airport or in the reading material section of a CVS; the formula books of prolific mystery or fantasy writers; and the trashy romance novels read on the beach or by the pool. Usually, these are the books that are driven more by plots and characters than by ideas. For example, The Da Vinci Code (a piece of book candy) was not written to explore the complex ethical and political dilemmas that arise from the implications of the mystery Robert Langdon discovers about the Catholic church. No, the driving force of the writing is how Robert Langdon discovers the mystery. Again, it is a book that’s about plot more than anything.

Essentially, the common characteristic of book candy is that it’s not all that challenging; it’s effortless, yet enjoyable reading. Some may call them trashy books or what have you, but I proclaim them to be book candy.

Because here’s the thing, these books really are just like candy, but for your brain. They’re satisfying and addictive, but probably not all that good for developing your mental faculties. Plus, for most, these books are especially desired at a younger age because they are so much easier to read, just like candy is more desirable because it’s more delicious. For me, my childhood book candy included the Tamora Pierce books, the Bunnicula series, and the Mercedes Lackey books when I got a little older. I pounded through those series and couldn’t get enough of them, just like when I eat a bag of Skittles.

Now, the reason I prefer “book candy” to “trashy novels” is that I find it to be a much less derogatory term. I don’t believe that most of these books are horribly written or not worth reading. At the very least, they are gloriously compelling and sometimes the plots are quite clever, so to call them “trashy,” I believe demeans the author, which pains me to do as a pathetic-attempt-of-a-writer myself. To call them candy is much better because, let’s face, who doesn’t like candy?? No one abstains from sugar entirely and I firmly believe no one should. Candy is a great treat and comes in so many delectable flavors (although it’s a rule that grape flavor always sucks)! And sometimes, candy is exactly what you need.

It’s the same with book candy. The three series I mentioned and The Da Vinci Code are some of my absolute favorite books – including Bunnicula even though I’m far too old for it now. They were just as great a treat for my mind as candy is for my stomach.

However, part of the reason I like this analogy so much is because it continues to the cautionary side as well. Neither type of candy should be the sole basis of your diet (mental or physical). Candy, delicious and awesome as it may be, will not sustain your body. It will rot your teeth and make you fat if you have too much of it. Likewise, book candy is not enough to sustain your brain. It will make your mind sluggish and rotten if you have too much of it. Thus, you should only consume both types of candy in moderation.

As a kid, I could handle a lot of book and regular candy and, while I still have a pretty impressive sugar tolerance, college caused some pretty big changes in my mental and physical palates. In college, candy and junk food were super accessible and often preferable to the “real food” options. At first, this was amazing! I could eat a bag or two of Runts every day without anyone giving me grief for it! I could consume chocolate mints all through my all-nighters with no one to tell me I couldn’t! Hello freedom!

But the longer you’re in college and away from nutrition, the more you crave real food. There came a time when getting take out from my favorite restaurant – a meal consisting of cilantro-lime chicken, green beans, and buttery-smooth mashed potatoes – was far more satisfying than any sweet I could get my hands on. I came to appreciate real food more than I ever had and to this day, I often would rather fill myself up with my meal and forego dessert.

Similarly, I came to appreciate more savory reading in college. The analogy falters here a bit since in college, book candy was much harder to come by than actual candy. Most of the time you had for reading was occupied by your required reading and book candy hardly ever was consumed. However, the analogy holds because the end result was the same. In being exposed to this banquet of great literature, I came to realize how much more satisfying it was than the easy reading.

However, part of the reason I started this reading project is that it’s really easy to fall back into bad eating/reading habits, especially when you’re working and feeling lazy. This project makes my mind stay sharp and healthy, the same way having a workout regiment or a calorie counter does.

Though don’t be fooled into thinking I won’t indulge in my mental sweets from time to time. After all, candy is still pretty awesome. 

Tender Reading

Currently Reading: A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

Side note: I promise I will make progress on A Clockwork Orange. I’m hoping that it will be one of my November blog posts, but that may have been more ambitious than I had anticipated. It seems it is a novel that is too challenging to begin on the metro – breaking one of my own rules. The fake slang is just really hard to get adjusted and re-adjusted to.

Moving on….

Confession: I actually completely forgot I had read Tender is the Night. I did have the nagging feeling for a while that I had read one more book over the summer than the ones I’ve already blogged about, but as no name or distinct reading memory came to me, I assumed that I was simply thinking of my failed attempt to read An Invisible Man (which is still on my list!). It wasn’t until I was discussing my reading project with a co-worker yesterday and she mentioned that Tender is the Night was on her reading list that I finally remembered that I had, in fact, read it and recently.

I believe the source of this literary amnesia is partly due to an inconsistent reading schedule with far too many breaks and distractions to absorb much of what I read. However, I firmly believe that the more important reason is that the takeaway from Tender is the Night has very little to do with plot and so much to do with the feeling the writing evokes in the reader.

To clarify, I should probably summarize the book a little bit. Full disclosure, I had to look up some summaries before writing this for a bit of a refresher as I could remember the characters and bits of plot, but large chunks of the storyline escaped me. Tender is the Night mainly focuses on the lives of three characters: Rosemary Hoyt, a beautiful, young, and rather sheltered new Hollywood actress, and Dick and Nicole Diver, a seemingly blissfully happy, successful, and charming couple whose marriage contains more tortured and twisted secrets and relationships than appear on the surface. Chief among these secrets are Nicole’s relapses into breakdowns brought on by mental illness she has battled since she was sixteen. The story begins when Rosemary meets the Divers while they are all vacationing in France and she promptly falls in love with Dick and becomes Nicole’s close friend. It then progresses to a flashback sequence that reveals the darker aspects of the Divers’ lives.

The reason I argue that the plot is secondary in this novel is that there are several events that would be massive incidents in other novels, that would stick with me more after reading it, that are basically glossed over in Tender is the Night. Someone is murdered, someone is molested by their father, someone drives her car off the road purposefully, and more than one character has an affair. Again, I barely remembered any of these plot points, plot points that would easily be described as exciting incidents in other novels. I mostly remembered one of the affairs and only because it had such a long build up and then was so anti-climatic when it happened. Instead of feeling any release or excitement or guilt or anything at giving in to his long-standing attraction, the character is almost numb. He's so defeated and broken that nothing can evoke emotions in him any more.

And this emotion was so prevailing throughout the novel, that that's what lingered after I finished reading it. The story didn’t matter. What mattered was the devastating and bleak, yet bittersweet feeling with which it left you. The Divers’ story was especially heart wrenching to experience as both the caregiver and the cared for are so run down and tormented by their situation. Yet they are so in love with each other that breaking free of their dependence – while necessary for Nicole’s mental health – is excruciating even if it is liberating.

These were the powerful aspects of the novel. The “exciting incidents” were completely dwarfed by these overwhelming emotional journeys.

In refreshing my memory, I found information that made these emotions even more poignant for me. It turns out that this novel was much more autobiographical than I had realized. I knew that Fitzgerald’s wife, Zelda, had suffered a mental illness (schizophrenia), but I’d never really thought about how this must have influenced his life as well. I never knew how broken and defeated Fitzgerald was in the end of his life and how much he thought of himself as a failure. In reading Dick Diver’s story, I had a revealing look into the author’s life.

Which just makes this so much sadder.

Perhaps the real reason I forgot that I read this was self-preservation...

The Art of Reading on the DC Metro

Currently Reading: A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

Although I’ve been riding the DC metro all my life, most of my experiences with the transportation system have been limited to trips to the Smithsonian museums and the National Zoo. However, in the last four months, I have entered into the world of regular metro commuters. Granted, I still don’t ride every day – which is fortunate for my wallet – but I still ride often enough to have acquired some valuable knowledge about how to make the commute less painful. My most effective method for passing the time? Reading a book, of course! Allow me to share what limited insight I might have into the art of reading on the DC metro.

Let me put a disclaimer on this first and say these are hints that are useful for me. Some of them may be useful to you and some of them may make you think I’m crazy. However, I thought I’d share my experience just in case.

For me, like working out, riding the metro without music is excruciating! I swear it makes the trip feel three times longer than it actually is! Now, I recognize that some people are flabbergasted as to how I can read while listening to music, but in as noisy an environment as the metro, it’s a necessity. For me, it’s the white noise I need in order to focus on my book. While classical works for some, it immediately puts me to sleep. However, whatever style you listen to, I just recommend that you don’t choose new music for your reading accompaniment since it will most likely be more of a distraction than the noise you’re trying to block out.

Beyond noise cancellation, there are other important steps to ensuring the optimal environment for your metro reading enjoyment.

1.  Try your hardest to get a seat! Especially if you have a long commute (i.e. more than 30 minutes). I’m not sure if I just have tremendously terrible balance, but personally, I just cannot read a novel while standing up on the metro. Without fail, I get jostled around a hell of a lot more, which pretty much guarantees that I will lose my place constantly in my book, rendering the attempt at reading utterly useless. Another note on getting a seat: you will be infinitely more comfortable and your personal space won’t be invaded if you get a window seat. Believe me, it’s a lot nicer than occasionally getting jostled right into someone’s butt or crotch.
2. Before choosing a car on your train, if possible, do a quick survey of the passengers getting on the same car. Avoid the man or woman talking on his or her cell phone because once the train is moving, they will have to essentially yell to be heard – a really unfortunate distraction. Also, avoid small children with all your might! While your music may be able to drown out cell-phone-man to an extent, there are certain pitches that children’s voices hit that just cannot be blocked out by anything. By this, I mean the whine and the shriek, inexplicable noises that a human will never be able to reproduce past the age of 10. Even if the children are mute, they are sure to fidget, a distraction for your eyes.

Now to delve into tips for choosing your reading material. When making this decision, there are a few factors to consider.

1.  How long is your commute?
2. How likely is it you will be standing for most of your trip?
3. How far along in your reading material are you?
4. How challenging a read is your material?

If you have to stand or if you have a short commute (under 30 minutes), I believe it’s better to read magazines or newspapers. They are thin and easier to hold – provided you know the proper steps to make your newspaper small. Plus it’s more possible to read and comprehend an entire article in either of these media outlets than it is to pick up the flow of a novel enough to truly absorb what you’ve read.

It’s not generally advisable to start a new novel on your commute. This is especially true of more challenging novels, like Jane Eyre or Les Miserables. Again, it’s a matter of getting sucked into the book enough to retain what you’ve read and avoid extensive re-reading.

One of the exceptions to several of these guidelines is when the book is an easy read, like a heavily plot driven book or something written for a younger audience. (Don’t scoff! The Book Thief is one of the most fascinating, beautifully sad books I’ve ever read and it’s written for a young audience.) The other exception is if the book is a sequel to something you’ve read recently since it’s essentially like continuing the same novel.

When the conditions are right, the metro ride can be a good way to make a dent in your novel. It’s a solid 45 minutes to an hour to yourself that would otherwise be wasted staring out into space. Instead, it’s the opportunity to have a mini reading binge twice a day, giving you something to look forward to when you have to drag your butt out of bed extra early and when you have an hour between finishing work and your sweatpants. Maybe someday I’ll even master reading while standing up.

Last note on this topic: STAND to the RIGHT, WALK to the LEFT on the escalators! Avoid pissing off everyone behind you that way. 

Decrypting Descriptions in The Scarlet Letter

Currently Reading: A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess 

Before I dive into this long overdue post, I’d like to apologize once again for how long it’s been. I never really imaged that I’d have a procrastination problem with a hobby, but I guess I underestimated my extensive procrastination skills. However, in this case, I believe a large part of the problem stemmed from a lack of inspiration. I wasn’t really moved one way or the other to write about The Scarlet Letter yet I felt obligated to write a post about it before moving on to anything else. But I’ve decided to bite the bullet and just write it!

Secondly, for those who don’t know (i.e. those who don’t write or have writer-friends), November is National Novel Writing Month. In case it isn’t obvious from the title, NaNoWiMo is, according to the all-mighty Wikipedia, “an annual internet-based creative writing project which challenges participants to write 50,000 words of a new novel between November 1 and 30.” Apparently, I’m not the only writer who needs a fire lit under her butt to get work done.

The reason I bring this up is not because I intend to write a novel – if I could come up with a remotely original idea, maybe I would – but because I’d like to use it as an opportunity to similarly motivate myself. Thus do I embark on my own personal project for the month:

Nine New November Novel ‘Ntries 2012.

Believe me, I hate myself for the “ ‘ntries,” but I really wanted to keep up the alliteration. But that’s right! I have been bad and lazy enough! And now I’m setting a very modest goal for myself of completing nine new posts (including this one) by the end of the month beginning today!

Don’t be surprised if I post eight more entries on November 30th…

Anyways, ambition and apologies aside, time to finally share my thoughts about The Scarlet Letter. Here’s hoping they aren’t a let down given the wait.

First, I have to say that this is one of the top novels that I was always stunned I didn’t read in secondary school. It seems like such classic high school reading. After all, pregnancy out of wedlock and forbidden love that’s punished; social groups ostracizing one or two individuals; and an intense message of abstinence all seem like exactly the kind of book high school officials would want in the hands of hormone-crazed teenagers. But apparently not.

Initially, I was relieved I didn’t have to read this book because man! Does Nathaniel Hawthorne enjoy his descriptions! I mean, was it really necessary to describe the “ghosts of bygone meals” (pg. 19) of the patriarch of the Custom-House in such crazy details? Did I need to know about the “tenderloin of beef, hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib of pork, a particular chicken or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey” (pg. 19)? Or about how “the chief tragic event of [his] life… was his mishap with a certain goose… which, at the table, proved so inveterately tough that the carving-knife would make no impression on its carcass” (pg. 19)? This isn’t even that prominent a character and he gets three solid pages of description, one of which is just about the feasts he has enjoyed! Seriously Hawthorne?? Why??

Don’t get me wrong! I’m all for a well-crafted descriptive paragraph! Sometimes I find they are the best part of the novel – like in Their Eyes Were Watching God. In fact, when people tell me they often skip over the descriptions in books, it bugs me quite a bit. After all, the author deliberately put in those descriptions and I like to believe they serve some purpose beyond allowing the author to self-indulge. The only exception I can come up with for this is Steinbeck. Read The Pearl and try to argue with me that all those descriptions serve a purpose other than putting the reader into a comatose state.

But I massively digress! My point is that the more I read The Scarlet Letter, the more I realized just how telling Hawthorne’s descriptions often are – extensive/excessive as they may be. In particular, I found the passages about Hester Prynne’s daughter, Pearl, the most fascinating. Perhaps this is because Hawthorne seems to develop a theme that has Nature and civilization somewhat at odds with each other and Pearl is the embodiment of the cross-over: a child naturally born from love, but born into a strict society that instantly makes her an outcast. 

Nature is free and untamed as “that wild, heathen… never subjugated by human law, nor illumined by higher truth” (pg. 203), making it both wonderful and dangerous. Meanwhile, Hester's story shows how civilization is the opposite: it is organized and comforting, yet restrictive and miserable. Thus Hawthorne explores one of the most complicated puzzles of humanity: is it better to be dangerously wild, but free in Nature or miserably restricted, but safe in society? 

It’s a fact that humans are social beings and therefore have a biological need to be part of a group. However, humans also need structure and hierarchies once the group reaches a certain size or all will fall into chaos. The latter world of structure and rules is the one in which Hester Prynne and her lover the Reverend Dimmesdale reside, miserable out of the group and miserable within it. However, their daughter Pearl appears to reside more in the former world. Ostracized from the womb, she’s never known what it is to belong and feels “gentler [in the forest] than in the grassy-margined streets of the settlement, or in her mother’s cottage” (pg. 205); she aligns more with Nature. She is repeatedly described as “elfish” (pg. 154), “an airy sprite” (pg. 92), and a “nymph-child” (pg. 205). Yet Hawthorne also depicts her as somewhat devilish in her elfishness. She is both natural and completely unnatural since she is free from society. It makes her somewhat wild and dangerous like the forest, but it interestingly, makes her the happiest of all the characters.

It seems that Pearl embodies the human free from civilization and her mother and father are the humans completely imprisoned by civilization. While the parents seem more noble and admirable characters, the daughter appears much happier. So which is the more desirable situation?

Personally, I’d rather not live in a puritanical society, but it’s hard to say whether Hawthorne agrees.

Thur Aiyes Were Watchin’ Gawd – Dialect Writing: Impressive or Irritating?

Currently Reading: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

First, I feel the need to apologize for my long blog absence. I’m not sure how many people actually care or follow this or whatever, but I’m still sorry. If only because I never intended to have such a long break or to start a blog without writing in it for months. My main excuse involves an insane couple of months! Ordinarily, I would say this in a hyperbolic fashion, but this time, I really mean it. July, August, and September included several family hospital visits, a car accident (and post accident-accident) that caused a massive concussion – making both reading and writing rather impossible – and, happily, landing my dream job at the Folger Shakespeare Library. In all that craziness, my blog sort of got lost.

Also, a side note: I never actually finished An Invisible Man. I have every intention of finishing it, but it turns out that it was a fairly miserable metro book… or perhaps I’ve just lost my ability to read on the metro due to the crazy early hours I’ve been riding it since Jane Eyre is proving challenging as well.

Anyways, I’m back! And given my unanticipated blog sabbatical, I’m rather behind in blogging about the books I’ve read. After the fabulously funny and clever Hitchhiker’s Guide, I took on Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.

Honestly, this is one of those novels that I really wish I had read in a class because I felt I needed guidance. I’ve heard so many good reviews of this novel and I even found it in the summer reading section of the bookstore so clearly it’s widely agreed that it’s a book worth forcing mostly uninterested high school students to read during their breaks. Yet, the whole time I read this book, I found myself stumped as to why that was the popular opinion.

I believe the root of this confusion comes from a literary issue I’ve had for some time:

I don’t understand the concept of using dialect writing.

From my first encounter with the troubling writing style in Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, dialect writing has baffled me. As a bit of a stickler for grammar, I find sentences like, “Lawd a’mussy! Mist’ Starks, you ain’t gointuh gimme dat lil tee-ninchy piece fuh me and all mah chillun, is yuh? Lawd, we’se so hungry” (pg. 74) somewhat horrifying. 

Why do authors choose to write grammatically incorrect sentences with misspelled words? Seriously? Every word has to be misspelled? Every word? I always thought that a solid use of grammar and spelling were the cardinal signs of whether or not someone was a good writer...

It’s especially frustrating to find sentences like this following or preceding gorgeously written passages like this one:

“She had been spending every minute that she could steal from her chores under that tree for the last three days. That was to say, ever since the first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously. How? Why? It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again. What? How? Why? This singing she heard that had nothing to do with her ears. The rose of the world was breathing out smell. It followed her through all her waking moments and caressed her in her sleep. It connected itself with other vaguely felt matters that had struck her outside observation and buried themselves in her flesh. Now they emerged and quested about her consciousness.” Pg. 10-11

Gorgeous! Just beautiful imagery! Rich symbolism and a smooth way of turning a phrase! This is the kind of writing I read and want to cry because I know I will never manage to capture such an illusive, complicated feeling so beautifully. So, for me, having this drool-worthy passage abruptly broken by the following piece of dialogue:

“Janie, youse uh ‘oman, now, so – ” (pg. 12)

… is tear provoking in a different way. It’s just so jarring. And it happened again and again throughout the whole novel.

To make matters worse, I found that I would FINALLY get adjusted to the dialogue, which would often go on for pages and pages, and then Hurston would launch into another lovely narrative passage. Without fail, I would lose the knack for reading the dialogue and have to start readjusting all over again. It’s like switching in and out of different languages and the second language is one you haven’t studied in years so you really have to focus when translating.

I want to understand dialect writing, I really do! As an anthropology major, I understand that dialect is closely tied to one’s culture and thus becomes part of one’s identity. So I guess I understand that it’s admirable for authors to make the effort to write true-to-life dialogue. But it doesn't seem like quality writing to me. Does this mean I’m just limited because it’s not my language or culture so I feel no connection to it? Or is it possible that maybe I wouldn’t be so bothered if it weren’t so thorough? Maybe if the syntax was accurate to the dialect, but the spelling wasn’t so constantly misspelled I wouldn’t be as bothered?

Maybe I just need more practice with this foreign language.

What do you think? Do you like dialect writing? Do you find it irritating?