Frankenstein I

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/38/Punch_Anti-Irish_propaganda_%281882%29_Irish_Frankenstein.jpg

"I had begun life with benevolent intentions,... now all was blasted:... I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe."
(Shelley 59)

This is a major turning point in the story because it sets Frankenstein’s mindset and the tone for when he meets up with his creation. Up until this point in the story, Frankenstein has hardly seen his creation, and though he loathes it, has no particular reason to do so. Even later, upon finally meeting the creature, and hearing its story, he has feelings of compassion for it, to the point of desiring to bestow some measure of happiness upon it. However, when William turns up dead, and Justine is wrongfully executed for the crime, it is enough for even the reader to loath Frankenstein’s creation.

“I had begun life with benevolent intentions,...” (Shelley 59) Nothing is more frustrating to the heart of a good person with good intentions than to see their work run amuck and cause evil. Frankenstein’s plans with this work included perhaps one day reversing even death. This most of all might have pushed him along as his own mother had died some two or three years before, leaving a wake of devastation in his family. Yet his own creation, supposed to be the first of a new, kindly race, killed his own brother and only added to the family’s losses. That is almost forgivable, considering the poor creature’s story, but to add the implication and execution of the family friend, Justine, and the family suffers yet another irreplaceable loss.

“…now all was blasted…” (Shelley 59) Such a reversal of intent to actuality would surely seem as a curse, and he must be asking, “What will happen next?” When things run amuck so quickly it throws a great amount of doubt on one’s ability to ever have a good effect next time one acts. If this is what happened, he could never find the courage to try the experiment again. Certainly he is set as to the ability of his creation to ever have a good effect upon the world.

“…I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe.” (Shelley 59) Above all he blames himself for the events that transpire because of his creation. He lacks the courage to outwardly take the responsibility for his actions, evidenced by his unwillingness to defend Justine at her trial. The only way he can see to pay retribution for his actions and satiate his conscience is to rid the world of his abomination, and then I suppose he will pretend that he never had created the thing.

Works Cited:
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Critical ed. W. W. Norton, 1996. 59. Print.

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Humanity Lost

Nathan Kleinman

Essay #2 English 102

Cline

17 September 2011

Humanity Lost

Sylvia Plath’s “Lady Lazarus” is a most intriguing poem. It has very descriptive and detailed wording, yet it remains vague and elusive as to its subject’s identity. There are many elements that play at the emotions as one delves deeper and deeper towards the subjects true identity. However, this elusiveness works to its advantage, as the true theme of the story, or “moral” if you will, is about that loss of identity; the idea that history, with all its facts, stories and more especially its relics, is really about people, and too often these people lose their humanity through time in our eyes.

The Humanity

The most direct method of communicating or illustrating the theme of “Lady Lazarus” would be to start with history and then show the humanity in it. Part of the beauty of “Lady Lazarus” is that it does the opposite. From the very title of the piece it appears that we are speaking of a person, and this is re-enforced throughout the piece. “And I a smiling woman. / I am only thirty.” (Plath lines 19-20).

There begins to be an image formed of a young, happy woman who we can imagine living a normal life and we relate with. This person portrays feelings all throughout the piece: Resignation, “I have done it again./One year in every ten/I manage it” (Plath lines 1-3) and Determination, “I may be skin and bone, / Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.” (Plath lines 33-34); Defiance, “Peel off the napkin / O my enemy. / Do I terrify?” (Plath lines 10-11) and Anger, “Herr God, Herr Lucifer / Beware / Beware.” (Plath lines 79-81). We begin to feel a kinship, a sort of bond with this mysterious, unidentified person. Though it is not written expressly, through our mind’s eye we can imagine a complete life, a family perhaps, a childhood, friends and others. In our minds stands a living, breathing person.

The History

Shortly after the concept of a person is introduced, our image of this person or their identity in our minds begins to get a little muddled. When the subject begins to speak of her skin being “Bright as a Nazi lampshade” (Plath line 5), with a foot being merely “a paperweight” (Plath line 7) and a smiling face as a “featureless, fine / Jew linen” (Plath lines 8-9), the true horror of the impersonal history lessons comes to light. This is someone we feel that we have come to know. Now, through of the horrors of the Hollocaust, this young woman has been reduced to simple, impersonal furniture.

Now we introduce a new kind of person on to the scene: all of us.

The peanut-crunching crowd / Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot—— / The big strip tease. / Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands / My knees.

                                                                                                            (Plath lines 26-32)

To the entire “peanut-crunching crowd” (Plath line 26) our Lady Lazarus is just a lamp, an odd relic of a far off time. Her humanity has been sold for “a charge, a very large charge” (Plath line 61); for an entrance fee. For an entrance fee, all that she identifies with on earth is laid out for all to see. How often have we been part of that crowd that walked away thinking, “Well, that sure was a lot of neat stuff” and then forgot about it or had the feeling that we once we left we were now “returning to reality?” Can we actually realize that this was someone’s life? It deserves more dignity and respect than we often give it; otherwise, what is the difference between that and “The big strip tease” (Plath line 29) as it is referred to here by Lady Lazarus? Here the theme can be readily applied to all history, but it is truly the most dramatic in this particular setting. Though there is no dignity, no humanity left in this scenario, the subject still chooses to retain ownership of “my hands / My knees.” (Plath lines 31-32). It helps to drive home the point of “what if?” “What if they were here? What would they say? How would they feel?”

The Words

Throughout the entire piece, there is a sense of forboding and a melancholy aire about it. It’s a feeling that takes more than one reading, as the first three lines, though possessing an almost celebratory atmosphere in the first reading, now feel dull and lifeless, like a museum display: “I have done it again./One year in every ten/I manage it” (Plath lines 1-3). Though all of the words are nice enough, speaking of bright Nazi lamp shades and fine Jewish linen (Plath lines 5-9), enough of the sublties of the message get through, and dark images and stories from classes and books fill our mind, and they never leave us. Throughout the whole poem there is a feeling of subdued horror, yet the words themselves do not express it, it is what the imagination conjures up in response to them.

So What?

For the last few minutes for you and the last few hours for me, we’ve been in a sort of coma where this thesis was born and developed and where the whole universe was a simple poem. So what? In the REAL world, what does this analysis have to do with anything? What real effect does it have in life? Well, in a small way, it has changed mine. No longer do I avoid the endless monologs from guides at Montezuma’s Castle, or skip the signs at Tuzigoot. I still might not like the history classes, but now I do know that many peoples’ lives (real people mind you) revolved around the events told of. It makes many of the more horrific events in history hit home a little better, as opposed to just being stories told about. In the final lines of the poem, they can be interpreted many ways, but I believe that they point to just this fact: if we fail to learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer   

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair   

And I eat men like air.

                                                               (Plath lines 79-84)

Works Cited:

Plath, Sylvia. “Lady Lazarus.” Poetryfoundation.org. Poetry Foundation, 2011. Web. 10 September 2011

Response to "Lady Lazarus"

Probably the most intriguing of the poems to this reader was Sylvia Plath’s Lady Lazarus. It is surprisingly complex, never actually stating what the subject of the title was; only leaving reference after reference, in its mournful tone, leading the reader to a subject that is little known and considered only in horror.  Only in a second reading does one begin to understand what the poem actually said, and it takes several more readings just to get a glimpse of the meaning behind it.

 Starting with the title, and adding the first stanza, “I have done it again./One year in every ten/I manage it” (Plath, lines 1-3), it seemed to be a story of a woman who lives one year out of every ten, or some other fantastic scenario found mostly in fairy tales. After all, Lazarus is a character well known as having died, and then been brought back to life. This more upbeat tune is quickly drowned out by the line “Bright as a Nazi lampshade” (line 5). At this in juncture, stories from history classes and books on the Holocaust flood to the forefront of one’s mind, all bearing images of furniture made with human pieces. Step by step, line by line, the reader is lead down a dark road to a place he do not wish to be, but feel compelled, nigh entreated to go. Mention of appendages as “paperweights” (line7) and the subject’s face as “Jew linen” (line 9) only add to that foreboding scene. The setting in the reader’s mind shifts a bit, as now a new character is introduced.

The peanut-crunching crowd

Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——

The big strip tease.

Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands

My knees.

(lines 26-32)

Here one feels the repugnance and isolation of being an abomination on display. There is profound sorrow, of lost humanity, yet also, rising determination: “I may be skin and bone, / Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.” (lines 33-34) “And I a smiling woman. / I am only thirty.” (lines 19-20) Yet that humanity is sold for “a charge, a very large charge” (line 61). Throughout the whole poem there is a feeling of subdued horror, yet the words themselves do not evoke it, it is what the imagination conjures up in response to them. By the end, one’s sickened fascination is growing weary, when then come the startling and ominous final stanzas:

Herr God, Herr Lucifer   

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair   

And I eat men like air.

                                                                           (lines 79-84)

Works Cited:

Plath, Sylvia. “Lady Lazarus.” Poetryfoundation.org. Poetry Foundation, 2011. Web. 10 September 2011

Summary VS Analysis

At a first glance, especially from one with a mindset like mine, there seems to be little difference between what is required in a summary of anything and an analysis of it. Thanks to a little patience, and a long presentation, I can say with certainty that this assignment will be more of a summary of what I have learned than an analysis of anything.

A summary is as simple as a restatement or rehash of what has already been said or done. It is so easy, even children, as young as 5 or 6, can do it! How often do parents, entering the room to find an all out brawl among the siblings, ask any child what happened and get a good enough explanation to pass judgment in the case? Even better, ask a child to tell you their favorite story or about their favorite movie. A summary answers the basic who, what, where, when, how.  It is as simple as this: The Lion King is about a lion cub named Simba who runs away from home after his uncle kills his dad and lays the guilt at his feet. Years later an encounter with a childhood friend reveals the deplorable state of his home under his uncle’s rule and compels him to return and reclaim his title and responsibility as king.

An analysis is much more difficult to accomplish, as it requires a questioning and understanding mind. It requires going beyond just looking at the details of what is there, but also why do you think it is there. Asking the why questions, one for which there is not often a clear, stated answer, forms the basis for an analytical argument. The easiest, and possibly some of the best, analyses are born out of questions that naturally arise when you are simply willing to take a closer look and the “weird stuff.” Put better, try to find the things that naturally stick out to you as being a little different than what you would expect; the “moments of cognitive dissonance” as the power point presentation called it. Now, don’t forget that there is a place for summary and facts in an analysis. On the Northern Virginia Community College’s web site, they give some advice for writing analyses of literature. Here you can see how they stress the importance of gathering the who’s, what’s where’s and when’s. After all, these facts will be the data to support your claims. Take those moments and the facts and develop your opinion of them and enjoy it! This will be one of the few times when your opinion is not only allowed, but the whole point! In The Lion King, why does the turning point come when Rafiki the monkey and a storm cloud, bearing the face of Simba’s long dead father shows up and give cryptic advice to the protagonist? I would argue that the story, though bearing an African feel with character names being Swahili words and African style music and lyrics, is quite reminisce of Judeo-Christian theology and story types, with the devil, dire consequences for following his advice, and saving coming in the form of a priest type character and an experience with an all powerful father figure.

Ok, so maybe I was wrong, there is a little more analysis than I thought...

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Me!! Sort of

Apparently, I'm a Bad Reader

In his essay “Good Readers and Good Writers,” Vladimir Nabokov suggests that a good writer is one who can experience the piece with as few hindrances as possible. Sighting examples ranging from personal experience indentifying with the story to the very act of having to read for understanding, to Nabokov, reading takes almost as much work to do right as writing does! Only when a reader can remove all of the distractions can one see the world the writer was trying to create, and then can appreciate and recognize and analyze the writer’s creative style. If one has an imagination, knowledge of language (or a book to do so), some decent memory, and the ever ambiguous, ever subjective “artistic sense,” then they can truly appreciate a good book.

Well, I must not be a very good reader then! At least, I must not have the artistic sense that he is looking for. To me, I read for pleasure or instruction, coincidently, the lowest two of his reader-types. I am not the analytical type. I rather enjoy relating with the main character; putting myself in their shoes, looking at how I would react and what I would do in a given situation (something which he says ruins the experience for a reader). I for one would rather live the story, in my own imagination, than just experience in the way Nabokov suggests. Of course, I’m just a poor reader, and an even worse writer… or, I’m just human, and aren’t we all so different anyway that, in the end, reading and writing and appreciating a good book is entirely personal? Who’s to say one way is better than the other? Different styles and different content appeal to different people. A good reader is one who does read and can understand it; after that, what makes us human, our individualism, takes over and who are we to say nay?