Jane Austin Critique

In “Regulated Hatred: An Aspect in the Work of Jane Austen,” writer D. W. Harding defends Jane Austen from criticism regarding her isolated view. He prefaces his critique by pointing out her works’ reputations preventing many of her biggest readers from bothering to read her works at all. Harding postulates that men of generations preceding his wanted Jane Austen novels to be read on their deathbeds, but why? Harding supports a theory from Beatrice Kean Seymour who wrote, “In a society which has enthroned the machine-gun and carried it aloft even into the quiet heavens, there will always be men and women—Escapist or note, as you please—who will turn to her novels with an unending sense of relief and thankfulness.” Perhaps the scope of the novel does not run the gamut of philosophical ponderings or even the more limited range of social commentary, but why does it have to? Just because the characters in her novels are empathetic to an extremely limited audience does not mean they are not meaningless, let alone entertaining to a broader one. Harding postulates that Austen appealed to a wider audience by being what he called a “delicate satirist”—something that I assume to mean a person who acknowledges the absurdity of her subject with subtle humor but does not overtly criticize it in a satirical manner. Harding describes the novel to have fragments of truth “incorporated in it but they are fitted into a pattern whose total effect is false.” Harding believes that Austen’s novels are “as she meant them to be, read and enjoyed by precisely the sort of people whom she disliked.” Who are these people she disliked? Perhaps the sort of people who cannot see the social commentary within the novel and quickly accept the work as a simple love story, perhaps the sort of people who look at her works and see them as a clever commentary on the simple-minded nature of the aristocracy, either can enjoy her novels.

Harding does not claim Austen’s novels to be strictly satirical, pointing out that she does not use any hidden moral intention commonly found in works of a regular satirist. Being a “delicate satirist” manifests Austen’s desire to find a story of survival in spirit as opposed to open-air conflict. Harding suggests that Austen was protecting her own reputation by writing her books as “good natured” stories that exaggerated the faults of a society to a point where her novels could only be seen as such. Harding prefaces this point saying, “She found […] that one of the most useful peculiarities of her society was its willingness to remain blind to the implications of a caricature.” In a simplistic view, the aristocracy enjoyed a love story while the rest laughed at the ridiculousness of the image Austen paints. In this way, her writing is much more balanced and appealing than it appears. It has that struggle and that social commentary that appeal to so many, but which part of the caricature does one focus on? One can see her novels for the parts that are or are not appealing to him or her.

RAGE

I picked this word—rage—for multiple reasons. Firstly, it is a word that describes a simple emotion, anger, but to a much stronger degree. It’s a very powerful word but does not necessarily imply that the holder of the emotion has power on the same level that the word fury does. Rage also does not necessarily imply its effect on others in the way that the word wrath does. It is powerful but self-contained in a sense.

Secondly, the word rage has an interesting slang meaning. The word is one of many slang words that in its normal use is a negative thing but in its slang usage is a positive thing. Another example of this is the word sick which can imply that something is “cool.” Rage in its slang can mean one of two things to my knowledge: to party as a verb or, as a noun, something popular like a fad. Think, “It’s all the rage!” Other forms of the word have similar meanings in their slang usage. Rager can mean a particularly ruckus party. The history of its slang usage interests me and I wonder how the word evolved in that way.

Mostly, I want to see why this word evolved in the way it did. Less strong than fury or wrath but still powerful in connotation, and opposite in its slang meaning, this word is unique. Its evolution must be equally interesting.

Barbara Johnson, My Monster/My Self

• Johnson attempts to reconcile three different literary subjects: the question of motherhood, of the woman writer, and of the autobiography by using Frankenstein as an example where all are present.
• 1.      Johnson suggests that Frankenstein is a comparative story on parenthood. Johnson compares Frankenstein’s upbringing to that of the creature. Frankenstein had two doting, caring parents. The creature was abandoned almost immediately. Yet, both end up in the same pitiful and bitter way. This comparison brings to light the fact that the idea of the “monster” is inseparable from the idea of the human. The creature is a monster, but the reader can’t help but see him as a human (or at least a sentient being with human emotional qualities). 
• 3 male biographies: Walton’s, Frankenstein’s, and the creature’s. However, in each case the speaker “depend[s] on the presupposition of resemblance between the teller and addressee. […] The teller is in each case speaking into a mirror of his own transgression.” Can it be a true autobiography when it is pandered toward the listener’s tastes or values? Mary Shelley does the same thing in her introduction. She tells the reader about her reluctance to give the origins of the novel.
•  Frankenstein’s choices can be reflective of Mary Shelley’s views on motherhood. Was Frankenstein’s abandoning of the creature just a simple form of postpartum depression? Shelley’s mother died in childbirth. Shelley’s parenting views were no doubt affected by this fact. Was the repeatedly italicized phase “I will be with you on your wedding night,” just a representation of Shelley’s killing her own mother in a similar way to the monster killing his father’s wife?

Johnson suggests that Frankenstein could be about the process of writing Frankenstein. Mary Shelley’s husband was compelled to write a preface in her name explaining the shadiness of the characters and the dark tone of the novel. Frankenstein is Mary’s Frankenstein’s monster.

Beowulf Versus Courage

Courage: “the quality of mind that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear,” (dictionary.com). This is the definition of courage; however, in our society, children are brought up believing that in order to be courageous, one must also fear. Being brave is not acting without fear, it is acting in spite of fear. As literature has developed from the time of Beowulf to our age of literature so has the people’s definition of courage. Because our modern definition of courage seems to require fear, Beowulf could arguably lack courage. He appears to act without fear. Beowulf’s courage and our courage are very different, and because of this, the question of whether courage can so easily be defined arises.

If one defines courage as acting completely without fear, Beowulf is most certainly courageous. He defeats Grendel, not only doing what no man before him could but also doing so while knowingly weakening himself by not using any weapons or armor. There is no arguing that his actions are not honorable, but courageous? In order to surpass his inhuman enemy, Beowulf must have pushed his human-like quality away. In order to defeat a monster, one must become a monster. Beowulf does so by throwing away his human-like fear and reducing himself to his most basic state. He throws away his fear if it were ever present. If one defines courage as acting without fear, then Beowulf is one of the most courageous men in literature.

However, is this man courageous by the fear-present definition of the word? This, by the fearless definition, is a prime example of courage; however, is it courage by the fear-present definition? While one might admire Beowulf’s desire for a fair fight, others may call it stupid citing the fact that Grendel is a monster and Beowulf, a simple human. By our fear-present definition, Beowulf’s actions can easily be characterized not as courageous but as foolish and full of luck. Courage is something human, so by throwing away that human side containing fear, he is also throwing away his human courage. Beowulf, when compared to our society’s definition of courage can be labeled more easily as a foolish brute than as a courageous hero.

Courage, at its most basic definition can be defined as a person overcoming survival instinct. Fear is what keeps any organism cautious. Acting with fear or without fear, if one goes against common, basic instinct, then they may be defined as courageous. This is a definition of courage that meets both our modern interpretation of the word and an interpretation that characterizes Beowulf as brave. One may have that basic instinct, but if he or she “defeats” it, then he or she is a courageous person. Beowulf, as a human, has or had that instinct. The people around him most certainly do. This is best demonstrated in Beowulf’s final battle with the dragon. While the masses around him flee, Beowulf fights. Beowulf acts against this instinct. Whether he overcomes or pushes it away is not important. Beowulf defeats that instinct knowingly or unknowingly and becomes a courageous hero in the process.

By literary standards, being a foil to the fearful masses is enough to portray one as courageous as shown by Beowulf. The modern definition of courage seems to meet the literary definition. Take, for example, a man rushing from a crowd into a burning building without any firefighting supplies to save a person inside. He escapes with the person inside. One would see this man as a hero whereas so many could label him as a fool. But, he acts as a foil to the people around him who cannot overcome their basic instinct telling them that fire is something to be avoided. It would be hard to argue that this man is not courageous whether one believes him to be foolish or not. Beowulf is the man rushing into that burning building. It does not matter if he is afraid or not. What matters is that he is doing what others cannot.

Canute, a Danish King of England

While I was aware that England had had kings that were not of actual English decent, I was not aware of the Norse king Canute. Born in either 985 or 995 C.E., Canute would go on to become the king of a land that was not originally his own. He was of Danish and Slavic descent and son of Sweyn Forkbeard, a king of Denmark. Sweyn, in what is believed to be a response to the St. Brice’s Day Massacre—an order by Aethelred, the king of England at the time, to kill all Danes in England including Sweyn’s sister—Sweyn orchestrated a series of attacks on England. Eventually, Sweyn forced the King of England to flee with his family. He was then declared King of England. Sweyn had two sons, the firstborn Harald, and the younger Canute.

Harald, as the oldest was first in line to become king and did so; however, Aethelred would soon return with the favor of the English people. With his army, Aethelred pushed Canute to the northern areas of England. Canute suggested to Harald that they have a joint kingship as he was elected by the Vikings and majority of the Danish. Harald did not give him the kingship but rather gave him control of the army. Aethelred died during the war and a new king, Edmund was elected in London. After a long decisive victory for Canute in the Battle Assandun, Canute and Edmund made peace. They split the country into two pieces: a northern section for Canute and the Danes and a southern section for Edmund and the English. After Edmund’s death within weeks of the agreement, Canute was left to rule all of England. Canute ruled for nearly nineteen years before his death in 1035. After becoming the king of England, he would go on to become the king of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway as well. He was succeeded by his son Harold Harefoot.

Robinson Crusoe

Daniel Defoe's novel is a book that I thoroughly enjoyed. It is a great story about one man's struggle to survive, trapped on an island. I initially picked this book off of the summer reading list because of its story. I knew only the most basic details about this book. One man, one island, survival: a harrowing tale. However, the novel's reach is not limited to Crusoe's reaching, surviving on, and escape from the island.
What makes the story more interesting is the irony Defoe pushes into the story. The beginning, Crusoe argues with his father, his father saying that Robinson's desire to adventure by sailing is foolish while Robinson dismisses these warnings. Crusoe's regret upon reaching the island and his dealing with the regret do not push the story forward necessarily, but they keep hold of our questioning Crusoe's mental state. Will he snap from guilt or regret? Or, will he move forward, dealing with his situation the best he can? Further strength in the book comes from the interesting post-island adventure Crusoe has with his faithful friend and companion, Friday. Crusoe's final adventure in the novel is dangerous, arguably more so than many of his adventures on the island save his battles--they are attacked by a bear who has already injured their guide. Defoe keeps you interested in Crusoe's life even though he has escaped from his famed island.
While Crusoe's story is brilliant, the manner in which Defoe tells it keeps the reader from sympathizing with him. He was trapped on an island for twenty-eight years; however, not once, did I really feel that Crusoe was having a hard time. It was hard to feel bad for a man who ends up with a herd of goats, multiple firearms, a field of corn, and a "house" he is comfortable in. Moreover, due to the books first-person narrative, it is revealed early on that Crusoe escaped the island. Even though the emotions Crusoe felt on the island should have been strong and dramatic, the retrospective view the narration takes keeps the reader from really feeling the pain Crusoe must have felt. The many times that Crusoe describes his regret, sorrow, and thankfulness for his life, the tone is very impersonal and simple. Because of this, it seems as though the speaker is talking to the reader as if the reader knows what kind of man Crusoe is like, when really, his actions do not speak to us well enough to understand his psyche completely. It is because of this that the strongest character in the novel is not introduced until Crusoe has already been on the island for twenty-four years.
Friday, a man whose psyche the reader does not understand is arguably the most noble character in the novel. His simple loyalty, intelligence, and abilities are what make him so. His abilities are best seen when he toys with the bear that Crusoe's party encounter at the end of the novel--he plays with the bear by climbing a tree and shaking the branch the bear is on. Friday never questions what Crusoe is doing or why; he just simply understands that Crusoe saved his life and he owes him his loyalty. He quickly converts to Christianity and learns English, abandoning his own way of life to serve as a companion and worker. He displays innocence that can be found in a child admiring a father figure. Friday is by far the most noble and ultimately-good character in the novel.
While I was slightly disappointed with the fact that the book seemed to lack "survival" as a theme, I did enjoy the innovative thoughts and actions that Crusoe took to cultivate his island as a theme much more. It was not so much fear and acting for each moment that drove the story as inventiveness and patience. Overall, I did enjoy the book but not for the expectations I had before I began. I went in thinking "Crusoe, survival, fear, danger," but came out thinking "Friday, inventiveness, patience." It was a great story told by a not-so-great speaker, but it did not suffer catastrophically because of it.

My Most Memorable Books

This is a list I'm thinking just off the top of my head, so it could be affected by things like time since I've read it, how old I was, etc...
1. Musashi, Eiji Yoshikawa. I recently finished this book but it really resonated with me. Partially for the reasons I listed in my last post, but also because I was really comparing myself to the characters. I saw aspects of myself in each of the male characters. The language, the subtle but vivid imagery, and the dramatic storytelling made this one of my favorite and definitely most memorable books.
2. Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger. This book really resounded with me. I personally had a very similar experience with Holden Caulfield. I remember having such a strong feeling of disgust and disillusionment about the people in and the structure of society that I wanted to have nothing to do with it. Particularly the scene where Holden is watching his little sister on the merry-go-round. Something so simple gave him such a strong realization. I remember that something sweet and simple brought me back into dealing with the society I hated instead of running from it. Luckily, I didn't end up in an institute like he did, though, ha, ha.
3. The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway. I love modern literature and I was an expatriate at one time as well, though it was not for any societal reason besides the fact my father had a job out of the country. What I remember about the book was thinking that the way these characters interact is often disgusting but not different from the way many people and groups of people I know interact. I really love the ending of the book too, (spoilers for those who haven't read it). That simple acceptance of Bret and Jake knowing they would have been great together but can never be together while at the same time maintaining the status quo and the close nature of their friendship was a fantastic scene.
4. Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe. While I wasn't enthralled by his writing, the situation Okonkwo is in really garnered a strong emotional response from me. I have always adored the diversity of our planet and to see a culture be taken over in such a way that drives Okonkwo to take the actions he does. I ended up hating everything about story but loving its anger at the same time. This book convinced me to read No Longer at Ease and Arrow of God, but I still have not gotten around to doing so.
5. The Odyssey, by Homer. Epic: the one word to describe this book. One of the original tales that helped to bring us the fantastic fantasy stories we have today. While I had liked Greek mythology before, I really wanted to keep reading more of it after this poem.
6. The Lottery, by Shirley Jackson. While this wasn't technically an entire book, I'll cheat a little and put this short story on here. I was relatively young when I first read this, about 11, and I remember being just confused. I finally figured out the messages Jackson was putting into the story and partially agreeing and disagreeing with them. I really enjoyed reading this short story the second time, when I was about 13.
7. Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. Again, this may be cheating, but this graphic novel was a great way for me to see how different people responded and offer solutions to the Cold War, ranging from creating a common enemy to accepting the world as a terrible place. I was 15 when I first read this series in its entirety. It really is a long step away from your classic superhero comic, but it's a step in a more mature direction.
8. Mahabarata (specifically the Bhagavad Gita), by Vyasa (a central figure to the Hindu religion). The only reason this "book" is lower on the list than Homer's epic poem is that I have not technically read the Mahabarata in its entirety (something I plan on doing some time in the future). I have, however, read abridged versions because of its sheer length. I loved the Bhagavad gita more than I did any specific chapter of the Odyssey. While equally fantastical and epic as Odysseus's journey. Krishna's journey, particularly in the Bhagavad Gita asked much more questions that made me think philosophically and about one's religious duty.
9. Into the Wild, by Jon Krakaur. I like to think myself as adventurous. The journey that "Alexander Supertramp" goes on is great except for its outcome. This book half convinced me to do something similar because I know I have better survival skills than Christopher McCandless. I decided not to do something like that, though only because my mom would be driven into a deep depression, ha, ha. She specifically told me after we had both read this book that if I did anything like this, she would be terribly depressed. I remember the long rants: "He should have at least left a letter!"
10. Calvin and Hobbes, by bill Waterson. I've been cheating quite a bit throughout this post, so why not one more time. Calvin and Hobbes is more than just a comic to me. I loved the series even before I understood what Calvin's six-year-old intellect was saying. You'd be surprised what kind of vocabulary this kid has if you haven't read any of the comics. I remember my imagination being similar to Calvin's and my pretending to be various things. What's great about this series of comic strips is that both 9-year-old me and 17-year-old me can enjoy them without feeling stupid or immature. I remember reading them every day in the car as my mother drove me to school.