Sylvia Plath

Oh no, not Sylvia Plath! The single most depressing and mentally ill poet I have ever read. In “The Bee Meeting” she painfully exudes lack of confidence in herself as a person and a poet. She is afraid of everyone, paranoid almost, feeling naked and alone, an outsider to a foreign world. I can’t decide if she is comparing herself to the old queen bee, about to be replaced, or is she is merely an observer. At the end, she gives the impression of death, her own. Who knows.

In “Daddy”, Plath attempts to end her grief over her father’s death by alternately comparing him to God and the devil, describing their relationship as that of Nazi and Jew, called him a vampire, a bastard, etc. She loved him so much, thought he was almost a god, in fact, that she had to “exorcise” him from her life in this poem by symbolically killing him. Just a little bit weird for me, but then we know that Ms. Plath was tragically unique.

"Sonny's Blues"

Baldwin’s “Sonny’s Blues” covered drug addiction in an interesting way. We forget that drugs are not a new problem. It was interesting to see how the narrator took the news of his brother’s arrest and incarceration. It was as though he couldn’t bear to think of it, didn’t want to get involved- maybe he felt guilty. When he sees Sonny again, old memories and emotions come back, and he remembers his mother asking him to take care of Sonny, to look after him, because his father lost a brother who was much like Sonny. The narrator doesn’t think that Sonny has taken a very responsible way of life, being a musician- he doesn’t understand that Sonny expresses himself that way, just as he found his way through teaching. Their failure to understand each other is one of their biggest problems. As Sonny struggles to stay “clean”, his brother accompanies him to a club to hear him play, where he sees Sonny finally shine in the limelight as the talent that he is. He has accepted Sonny for what he is, and will take him as he is.

Randall Jarrell

These poems were just a little depressing weren’t they? I get the sense that Mr. Jarrell did not have much hope in mankind, or in his own future. But then, he only lived what, fifty years, so perhaps he was born with a built-in sense of life-is-temporary-and-meaningless type of complex. Of the selections given, I would have to pick out “Losses” as the one I “liked” the most. In it the narrator, maybe Jarrell, maybe not, describes his experience in war and how he thinks of death. It feels like he is trying to make sense of it, not just the dying, but the dying for reasons he didn’t particularly understand. Men died in training, men died due to accidents, died because of hazards unforeseen; men barely out of training were called into replace those freshly killed, only to die as well, their bodies soon to “lay among the people [they] had killed and never seen”. Those who made it were given medals; those who didn’t were described as “losses” or “casualties”, never dead. It was hard to reconcile with death if it was never called death I suppose.

A Raisin in the Sun

I greatly enjoyed the movie “A Raisin in the Sun”. Nothing against Diddy, but I watched the original with Sidney Poitier, as it is the version I have seen the most bits and pieces of. I don’t know why I never bothered to sit down and actually see it all the way through- it is such a wonderful, rich story. I must confess that as much as I like Sidney Poitier, I didn’t care for Walter Lee, his character. I understand that Walter was a walking, talking example of frustrated manhood, unable to provide for his family, unable to live out his life’s dreams, never realizing the potential he thought he possessed. But Walter took it further than that- when the insurance check came, he let the hopes and dreams of his family take second seat to those that he saw for himself. He wanted to “be a man”, and to him that meant money. To his father, being a man meant taking care of your family and teaching them right from wrong. To Walter, being a man meant making money any way you could, being a “big shot”, making deals. He wasn’t interested in his family’s wishes. He ignored his wife, he didn’t support his sister in her goal to be a doctor, and he spoke disrespectfully to his mother and all who didn’t agree with his plans.

Some of the most interesting things for me were when Mama spoke about the plant, and how it couldn’t grow without sun; when she told everyone she bought the house, we physically see the exhausted Ruth stretch out towards the ceiling, smiling, thinking of how nice it would be to have a house, just like a plant reaching out towards the sun. When Walter was pleading his case for the liquor store, he said that even when people couldn’t pay their rent, they would always have money for liquor, and later we see him in the bar drinking, when Ruth didn’t have fifty cents to give her son. He spoke of what he knew. When the friend ran off with money, Walter and Mama cry and mourn, not just over the money, but because losing the money is like losing the father all over again; the money was their last link to his memory, it was his last gift to them. I liked what Asagai had to say to Beneatha about her being dependent- they were all dependent on the death of the father for that money. No matter what kind of deal Walter fell into, he could never be a “man” until he stood up and did something for himself. He finally did that at the end when he spoke up for his family, and I like to think of them all living as happily as they could, given the times, and that Beneatha became a doctor and went to Nigeria.

Powerhouse

Eudora Welty’s “Powerhouse” certainly seemed to walk a fine line between fascination with the characters and outright racism. Or maybe, it was less racism than a snapshot of what she was seeing, or interpreting from the time. Either way, I find little to take away from this story aside from the incredible detail that went into the character’s appearances and the settings, and or course, the ending of the story. They are all lushly drawn, larger-than-life characters; Powerhouse in particular is aptly named from his description and abilities.
The realities of real life seem to have followed Powerhouse, as he has received a telegram advising him of his wife’s death. He can’t understand why she has jumped to her death, doesn’t know why another man who he knows has signed the message. The more he talks, the more he feels guilty, then upset. His bandmates encourage him to confront the man, until they all realize without saying so that Powerhouse’s wife is probably not dead, but instead has run off with the man. They go back to work, do not mention it again, afraid to mention it again. The band plays and Powerhouse sings, “Somebody loves me, I wonder who!”, and we are left thinking that his words mean more than just words in a song.

Bigger

I don’t know quite what to write about Wright’s “Native Son”. The excerpt we read showed us a young man who was unsure of himself, afraid of the “white world” and the feelings of insecurity it called up. To Bigger, whites were not to be trusted, at least not fully. He did not like Mary and Jan’s attempts to win him over with their Communist talk; he felt that whites who had once put down blacks “held him up now to look at him and be amused”. To be sure, their alcohol-fueled antics did little to convince him of their sincerity. He was angered by their treatment of him. When he had to take a drunken Mary up to her room, he let the closeness and the excitement of forbidden fruit get to his head- he stole a kiss before her mother could come into the room, revealing his mixed emotions. His terror at being caught by the blind woman led to desperate actions, more primitive response than quick thinking. A pillow to smother her sounds accidentally smothered her to death, and Bigger became the stereotype that his employers, and victim, fought so hard to erase.

Steinbeck

John Steinbeck’s “Flight” was a very colorful and altogether very dark story. It was incredibly descriptive, and it painted a picture that is hard to get out of the mind. I can easily see Pepe, fighting nature and man for his life in those hills. I thought it was interesting how his mother thought him lazy, and that she worried that his knife would get him into trouble. The line, “A boy gets to be a man when a man is needed” really stood out. Pepe grew up in one evening, due to an argument that turned into what we can only assume was murder. His youth and laziness disappeared in a flash, his immaturity displayed in the bad decision to use a weapon.
As he “grew” into his “manhood”, or what he and his mother assumed it to be, he took on the tools of his new role- his father’s rifle, coat, and of course, his father’s knife. Riding off on the family horse, he leaves forever, running off before being caught for his crime. Unfortunately for him, his new “manhood” has not adequately prepared him for the rigors of the outdoors, and one by one, he loses the objects that he took with him, the horse, the coat, the gun and the knife. He becomes more primitive, with no food, no water, living like an animal in the wild, being hunted by an unseen foe. With his enemy near, his injuries seriously infected and his body suffering from thirst, he realizes that the end is near- Pepe says his prayers and stands atop the ridge, placing himself in the clear view of the enemy. Pepe was shot, fell down the mountain, and was covered up by a mountainslide. I think in his own way, he accepted his fate “as a man”.

Langston Hughes

Of Langston Hughes’ poetry, I like “Young Gal’s Blues” the best. The rhythm was steady, the rhymes familiar and easy. You could almost hear a piano or blues guitar in the background. The poem says things that a young girl thinks about- she goes to the graveyard because when she’s dead she wants someone to go there for her; she goes to visit her aunt, because when she’s “old and ugly” she wants someone to go and visit her. She thinks it would be better to be dead than to be old and ugly, and she doesn’t want to be blue (without love), so she begs her “daddy” to keep “a-lovin’ her”.

“On the Road” by Langston Hughes was a very dark and depressing story. I suppose it has lots of meanings, on lots of different levels, but I confess to not getting most of them. The story appears to be about a homeless black man as he searches for shelter and food. He is cold, wet, and hungry, seemingly oblivious to the snow, even though it pelts down on him. He is a black man in the cold, dark night surrounded by white snow. It’s almost as if the snow is all white people, crushing his spirit, keeping him in the cold. He didn’t seem to notice the very thing that was controlling his world, or maybe he was ignoring it. After the altercation with the police, he lost consciousness, and he envisioned he was walking with Jesus. Perhaps his vision of Jesus was a manifestation of a real desire for salvation, or merely just one of the last images he saw before losing awareness. He felt real satisfaction at his “rescue” of Jesus, and probably felt like he had really accomplished quite a feat by pulling down the “white” church, the one that would not help him. I liked the description of the sound of his steps in the snow. Before, the snow covered him, made him cold and wet; after he “pulled the church down” he “crunched” the snow with his steps. He dominated it; he left marks in it wherever he went. When he awoke in his cell, cold and wet once again, he realized that he did not, after all, pull down the church. He threatened to break down the door, and then wondered aloud where Jesus might be, because he wasn’t there with him now.

That Evening Sun

“That Evening Sun” by Faulkner was a different type of story. It certainly has some provocative themes for a story written so long ago, but then each generation thinks it is the first to think of such things. Nancy is person with some problems, not the least of which is apparently a drug and alcohol problem. Nancy’s “problems” are probably also the basis of her altercation with one church-going Mr. Stovall, the latter owing her money for services unmentioned but ultimately assumed by all. Through the narrator, the child of the family that Nancy works for, we learn that Nancy had been arrested and has unsuccessfully tried to kill herself- we also find out that Nancy is pregnant, and that her common law husband is not the father. Her husband, Jesus, leaves her, and Nancy falls apart. Her guilt and fear drive her crazy, and she begins to fear for her life. She thinks that Jesus is waiting for her, planning to kill her. The father of the family and the children walk her home one night, as Nancy is afraid of the dark. The mother is upset that the father would choose to Nancy’s safety over her. Eventually, Nancy is so upset that she winds up sleeping on a pallet on the children’s floor, talking about her death. She is afraid to go home, afraid that Jesus might be in the ditch waiting for her. The family tolerates Nancy and her drama for a while, and then they become impatient with her. They think her fears are “nonsense”, in part due to her dire predictions and also due to the fact that she is a black woman, a servant in their house. She was not seen as being worthy of their attention for very long. The wife especially was jealous and resentful of the attention shown to Nancy. The children and the family do not seem to understand that Nancy’s life is in danger from her “husband”, or that she served any purpose greater than doing their laundry and cooking. As the family left her cabin for the last time, Nancy had resigned herself to her probable fate, sitting in the dark she feared. The family was talking, joking, already dismissing what they had seen and heard as nonsense. The narrator wondered who would do their laundry, as if to say, if Nancy does die, what will we do? Their only concerns were for themselves, not for their servant.

Francis Macomber

I have never been a huge fan of Hemingway. I am not sure why, I just don’t care for the way the characters are drawn, or the way things are described- just a little too realistic, too unpleasant for my tastes. I know I am terribly picky about what I read, but that’s just the way it is. I never saw the joy in reading something you didn’t like.

Anyway, this story seemed to be about the coming-of-age of poor Francis Macomber, the long-suffering rich boy with the heartless trophy wife. Unfortunately, he grew up too late, as he was already married to a cruel woman and found himself near the midpoint of his life, wracked with fear and indecision. The safari was probably a chance for him to impress his wife by shooting animals, and when he failed at that, no doubt not the first the time, he realized that she might leave him. He no longer felt secure in her faded beauty and his vast wealth. When his wife slept with the hunter, he further felt further emasculated and humiliated, as was his wife’s intention. She told him he was a coward, and she wanted to punish him. Francis found redemption in the killing of the water buffalos. He gained a new attitude, seemed to “find himself”, and showed off a new-found bravery. He was actually happy and ready to take on the world. His wife, on the other hand, watched his transformation warily, with dread. I think she saw her husband become content and confident right in front of her eyes, and she began to be very afraid for her future. After all, she couldn’t very well expect to act the way she was used to acting, or stay married long after the way she had behaved. Her world was about to change. I don’t know if she planned to shoot him, but maybe when she began to shoot at the charging buffalo her mind just snapped, and it happened. Self-preservation. Just like the wounded lion who will attack to save itself, Francis Macomber’s human trophy killed him.

Trifles

Wow. Where has this been hiding? I can’t believe I haven’t read this play before. It was fantastic; so simple and spare, yet it said so many things. I think this play touched me because I am a bit of a homebody, and I have jars of fruit on my shelves, I make bread, and I sew- all that “old-lady stuff”. No, my husband doesn’t terrorize me, which is lucky for him. I liked this story and the way women made short work of figuring out what took place in the unhappy house, while the men marched around, criticizing the housewife’s housekeeping and making fun of the women’s “worrying over trifles”. It was their taking care of the “trifles”, the little details of the household and the womanly chores, that helped them understand Mrs. Wright’s motive for killing her husband. The men would never understand that a woman who could take such care with a complicated quilt would never randomly kill someone. A woman who took great pains to put up summer fruit and make fresh bread would never plan a murder, leaving her house in disarray for others to find. Only extreme circumstance could bring someone to murder, and the women stumbled across it. While murder cannot be condoned, the women felt like they were justified in hiding the box that held the dead bird, the motive for the crime. In their eyes, not only was Mr. Wright guilty of taking away the life of his wife’s bird, he also took away her life, keeping her away from other people, taking her youth away, keeping her trapped in a cage just like the bird he eventually killed. They felt guilty for not helping her, reaching out, and maybe in some way, they felt like they were making up for their own crimes by helping her.

A Wagner Matinee & Paul's Case

“A Wagner Matinee” was a bit odd to me. I kept thinking I had missed out on some monumental reference to the narrator’s childhood, but no, there were just the brief mentions of this and that, here and there that let us know that he was raised by his aunt and uncle out in Nebraska. I get the impression it is a place that he does not ever want to go back to. In fact, he has a peculiar attitude about his aunt; it seems almost as if she doesn’t seem to measure up to his standards. He makes remarks that sound as though he doesn’t think she’s all there. He wonders if she will be able to understand the world that she has left. I wondered why she didn’t whop him one. He did care for his aunt, to be true, and I appreciate the fact that he cared enough to take her to the concert. She seemed to enjoy hearing Wagner, and he was shocked to find out that she had heard some of it before. She became emotional with each piece, at times working her fingers as though playing along with the music. At the end, when everyone was leaving, she said “I don’t want to go…but I suppose we must”. She knows that it’s time to not just leave the concert hall, it’s time to go home, back to Nebraska, back to the work and the hard life.

“Paul’s Case” was not a favorite read this week. But, I have to say, it did stir up some questions. I realize Paul had an unrealistic vision for his life that was unattainable at that particular time. His life stood out in clear contrast to the gray, orderly life of his family. He wanted to be “Somebody”, and he wanted it without having to earn and education or work. (These days he would probably be a reality tv personality.)But above all of this, two things stood out to me- 1) Paul seemed to have some sort of mental imbalance, and 2) Paul may have had some unrecognized sexual identity issues. (no, those two things do not have anything to do with one another ) I really questioned what I was reading, and went searching to see if anything similar turned up. I was surprised to see that the possible latent homosexuality is a very commonly held idea with this story, but even more surprised to see that the mental imbalance theory is not mentioned very much. I feel that Paul’s problems are serious, not just those of a spoiled youth. In the end of the book, he has a hang-over, and experiences “one of those fateful attacks of clear-headedness that never occurred except when he was physically exhausted and his nerves hung loose”. It sounds almost as though he is a manic-depressive/bi-polar type person. Any homosexuality that may or may not been part of his makeup probably only contributed to his depression, as it could not have been very easy to live with, or even easy to understand as a young person in that day and age.

Zora Neale Hurston

Zora Neale Hurston was completely new to me, and I am glad to have had the chance to read some of her work. “How it Feels to be Colored Me” was a very thought-provoking, although short. It really captured the thoughts and feelings of a young girl/young lady who did not think of herself in terms of color or race until confronted with the views of the rest of the world. Even then, she did not become a victim of the time, she relished her uniqueness. My favorite line was “No, I do not weep at the world— I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” For those who aren’t quite up on oysters, they require a bit of work to get open, but once inside, you have a yummy, briny treat, and hopefully a pearl. I think she was saying she didn’t have time to cry because she was too busy trying to make something of herself and her life- trying to find the best out of all of it. I think that’s a message we can all appreciate.
In “The Gilded Six-Bits” we see a couple who is happy with what they have, living a simple life. Joe is a hardworking man, and Missie May loves him, but it seems as though he has taught her to expect some sort of money as part of love and affection. Missie May is a simple woman, she loves her husband, but she loved gold more, at least momentarily. Not until after her infidelity did she realize how much she loved her husband. Joe did not leave Missie May, which confused her and made her feel guilty. I think he loved her so much, he was willing to give her time to realize her mistake, and to give himself time to heal. When Joe laughed at catching them together, I got the impression that he found it all rather ironic- the man he had been admiring was with his wife- it was almost like he thought he deserved it somehow, or should have seen it coming and didn’t. Either way, I am glad that they both found a way to work through it all. Love can do that, sometimes, if you want it to badly enough.