Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Excerpt from Nights at the Circus
"Gawd!" exclaimed Fevvers when she saw Mignon's nakedness. Mignon's skin was mauvish, greenish, yellowish from beatings. And, more than the marks of fresh bruises on fading bruises on faded bruises, it was as if she had been beaten flat, had all the pile, the shin banged off her adolescent skin, had been beaten threadbare, or as if she had been threshed, or beaten to the thinness of beaten metal; and the beatings had beaten her back, almost, into the appearance of child-hood, for her little shoulderblades stuck up at acute angles, she had no breasts and was almost hairless but for a little flaxen tuft on her mound.
Unconscious of their startled looks, she dropped her wrapper on the floor and scampered to the bathroom, all legs and elbows. She did not forget to take her chocolates with her. Lizzie picked up the discarded garment with the firetongs and dropped it on the blaze, where it flared, crackled, turned into a black ghost of itself and disappeared up the chimney. Fevvers put a summoning finger on the room service bell.
(Carter 129-130) Nights at the Circus
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
1)
Which text from the novel is the best example of
colloquial language?
I.
“…the minute hand and the hour hand folded
perpetually together as if in prayer” (29)
II.
“ ‘Course,’ said Fevvers, ‘he never got nowhere’
“ (19)
III.
“ ‘Nobody. I meself” (19)
IV.
“The clown may be the source of mirth, but- who
shall make the clown laugh?” (121)
a.
II
b.
III
c.
IV
d. II and III
e.
IV and II
Explanations:a. This answer is wrong because this is an example of a metaphor or personification, not colloquial language.
b. This answer is right, but there is a better answer.
c. This answer is wrong because it is simply asking a question, and has no colloquial language
d. This answer is right because the diction Fevvers uses ("never got nowhere" and "meself") are informal language, and stem from her Cockney background.
e. This answer is wrong because IV is not an example of colloqiual language.
1)
Walser tone towards Fevvers in the beginning of
the novel can be most accurately described as:
a.
Appraising
b.
Analytical
c.
Judgmental
d.
Skeptical
e. Both b and d
Explanations:
a. This answer is wrong because Walser is a journalist who sets out to expose Fevvers as a fake. He is in no way appraising of her except for her ability to fool the world of her abilities.
b. This answer is correct, but there is a better answer.
c. This answer is wrong because Walser is not judging her. He doesn't put down or support anything she does, he is simply observing.
d. This answer is correct, but there is a better answer.
e. This answer is correct because Walser is sitting analyzing Fevvers, picking her apart with his questions not because he is curious about her life, but because he is skeptic of her and wants to point out the holes in her story.
Ironic
1)
In the novel, Fevvers’ wings can be most
symbolic of:
I.
Her freedom
II.
Irony, because though she has the ability to fly (which is a symbol of freedom) she is not truly free.
III.
Religion, Fevvers is the image of the fallen
angel
a.
I
b.
I and III
c. II
d.
III
Explanations:
a. This is the wrong answer because though wings are a sign of freedom and do at some points in the novel allow her to obtain freedom, she is not free.
b. This is the wrong answer because though her wings are a symbol of freedom, they do not symbolize Fevvers as a holy being.
c. This is the right answer because Fevver's wings symbolize different things to those in the book. To her fans, they are a symbol of her freedom. Ironically enough, they are what keeps her caged because she uses them to make herself a spectacle.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
superfluous
1)
What is the grammatical purpose behind Fevvers’
way of speaking as Walser interviews her?
a.
To show the reader that she has a Cockney accent
b.
To make her seem intelligent
c. To show the paradox of Fevvers
in that she is intelligent yet includes Cockney slang
Explanations:a. This answer is wrong because though it is true that Fevvers has a Cockney accent, that is not the purpose behind her grammar.
b. This answer is wrong because though Fevvers uses superfluous language, she does not do so to make herself seem intelligent, but rather to further exploit herself as a spectacle.
c. This answer is correct because it shows the complexity of Fevvers in that despite her attempts to remake herself, she is unable to entirely blot herself out. She does this through various alterations to her appearance as well as her personality.
For the second novel I read, Nights
at the Circus, also by Angela Carter, I chose the poem Portrait d’une Femme by
Ezra Pound. The speaker of the poem is acknowledging a woman that is very
similar to Fevvers. Both are strong, cultured woman who are constantly in the
presence of people described in the poem as: “one average mind- with one
thought less, each year” (10). And
because of this, both of the woman find themselves without identity or
fulfillment, taking in the “ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, / Strange
spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price” (5-6), they are the great
Sargasso Sea in which the social current back washes into. “The tarnished,
gaudy, wonderful old work; / Idols and ambergris and rare inlays” (22-23),
these images show the life that Fevvers lives, acting out in an overcompensated
personality and acquiring a gushing of flashy material items. The tone of the
piece is also similar to that of Walser as he interviews Fevvers; evaluating
and criticizing, picking her apart as he asks her to tell him her story. And in
the end, his words to her are just as climatic as the last three lines of the
poem, in which the speaker exclaims: “No! there is nothing! In the whole and
all, / Nothing that’s quite your own. / Yet this is you” (28-30). This line can
be paralleled the Walser demanding Fevvers: “What is your name? Have you a
soul? Can you love?” (pg. 291). By asking her this, he is dehumanizing Fevvers,
taking away her name, heart, and soul- proving that nothing is her own because
she has already given it away to something else.
Portrait d'une Femme
By Ezra Pound
Your mind and you are our
Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about
you this score years
And bright ships left you this
or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip,
oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and
dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought
you — lacking someone else.
You have been second always.
Tragical?
No. You preferred it to
the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and
uxorious,
One average mind
— with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have
seen you sit
Hours, where something
might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes,
you richly pay.
You are a person of some
interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some
curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a
tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes,
or with something else
That might prove useful and
yet never proves,
That never fits a corner
or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the
loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy,
wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare
inlays,
These are your riches,
your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of
deciduous things,
Strange woods half
sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing
light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In
the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is
you.
The first novel I read was The Magic Toyshop by Angela Carter. The
poem I felt connected thematically to it was A Servant To Servants by Robert Frost. In The Magic Toyshop, the
Jowle family (consisting of Finn, Francie, and their mute sister Maggie) are an
optimistic one despite their oppressive conditions under the household rule of
Maggie’s husband, Uncle Phillip. After being beaten by Uncle Phillip, the
households only symbol of hope- Finn’s
attitude towards the world, is taken away and Finn falls into a state of
depression. This can be parralled through the line “I see it’s a fair, pretty
sheet of water. / I stand and make myself repeat out loud / The advantages it
has, so long and narrow, / Like a deep piece of some old running river / Cut
short off at both ends” (17-21). The Jowle family is trapped as the lake is,
they have been “cut short off at both ends” by the oppression of Uncle Phillip.
Protagonist Melanie is also represented in the piece through their distractions
of material possessions. For Melanie, who came from wealth, what her new home
lacks is the materials she had prior. But in such hostile conditions, brought
on from the relationships Uncle Phillip has between everyone in the household,
she begins to understand the beauty of the Jowle family, and knows she must put
away childish materialistic thoughts and face the damage Uncle Phillip has done
to these people. In the poem it reads: “It took my mind off doughnuts and soda
biscuit / To step outdoors and take the water dazzle / …When a storm threatened
from the Dragon’s Den” (26-30), which shows the speaker abandoning worldly
things, and dismissing their ignorance to the storm building up around the
house. The “Dragon’s Den” can be paralleled to Uncle Phillip’s work shop,
symbolically placed in the foundation of the home to show the heart of the
house as nothing more than Uncle Phillip’s sadistic desire for control.
A Servant to Servants
By Robert Frost
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
With a houseful of hungry men to feed
I guess you'd find.... It seems to me
I can't express my feelings any more
Than I can raise my voice or want to lift
My hand (oh, I can lift it when I have to).
Did ever you feel so? I hope you never.
It's got so I don't even know for sure
Whether I am glad, sorry, or anything.
There's nothing but a voice-like left inside
That seems to tell me how I ought to feel,
And would feel if I wasn't all gone wrong.
You take the lake. I look and look at it.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water.
I stand and make myself repeat out loud
The advantages it has, so long and narrow,
Like a deep piece of some old running river
Cut short off at both ends. It lies five miles
Straight away through the mountain notch
From the sink window where I wash the plates,
And all our storms come up toward the house,
Drawing the slow waves whiter and whiter and whiter.
It took my mind off doughnuts and soda biscuit
To step outdoors and take the water dazzle
A sunny morning, or take the rising wind
About my face and body and through my wrapper,
When a storm threatened from the Dragon's Den,
And a cold chill shivered across the lake.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water,
Our Willoughby! How did you hear of it?
I expect, though, everyone's heard of it.
In a book about ferns? Listen to that!
You let things more like feathers regulate
Your going and coming. And you like it here?
I can see how you might. But I don't know!
It would be different if more people came,
For then there would be business. As it is,
The cottages Len built, sometimes we rent them,
Sometimes we don't. We've a good piece of shore
That ought to be worth something, and may yet.
But I don't count on it as much as Len.
He looks on the bright side of everything,
Including me. He thinks I'll be all right
With doctoring. But it's not medicine--
Lowe is the only doctor's dared to say so--
It's rest I want--there, I have said it out--
From cooking meals for hungry hired men
And washing dishes after them--from doing
Things over and over that just won't stay done.
By good rights I ought not to have so much
Put on me, but there seems no other way.
Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through--
Leastways for me--and then they'll be convinced.
It's not that Len don't want the best for me.
It was his plan our moving over in
Beside the lake from where that day I showed you
We used to live--ten miles from anywhere.
We didn't change without some sacrifice,
But Len went at it to make up the loss.
His work's a man's, of course, from sun to sun,
But he works when he works as hard as I do--
Though there's small profit in comparisons.
(Women and men will make them all the same.)
But work ain't all. Len undertakes too much.
He's into everything in town. This year
It's highways, and he's got too many men
Around him to look after that make waste.
They take advantage of him shamefully,
And proud, too, of themselves for doing so.
We have four here to board, great good-for-nothings,
Sprawling about the kitchen with their talk
While I fry their bacon. Much they care!
No more put out in what they do or say
Than if I wasn't in the room at all.
Coming and going all the time, they are:
I don't learn what their names are, let alone
Their characters, or whether they are safe
To have inside the house with doors unlocked.
I'm not afraid of them, though, if they're not
Afraid of me. There's two can play at that.
I have my fancies: it runs in the family.
My father's brother wasn't right. They kept him
Locked up for years back there at the old farm.
I've been away once--yes, I've been away.
The State Asylum. I was prejudiced;
I wouldn't have sent anyone of mine there;
You know the old idea--the only asylum
Was the poorhouse, and those who could afford,
Rather than send their folks to such a place,
Kept them at home; and it does seem more human.
But it's not so: the place is the asylum.
There they have every means proper to do with,
And you aren't darkening other people's lives--
Worse than no good to them, and they no good
To you in your condition; you can't know
Affection or the want of it in that state.
I've heard too much of the old-fashioned way.
My father's brother, he went mad quite young.
Some thought he had been bitten by a dog,
Because his violence took on the form
Of carrying his pillow in his teeth;
But it's more likely he was crossed in love,
Or so the story goes. It was some girl.
Anyway all he talked about was love.
They soon saw he would do someone a mischief
If he wa'n't kept strict watch of, and it ended
In father's building him a sort of cage,
Or room within a room, of hickory poles,
Like stanchions in the barn, from floor to ceiling,--
A narrow passage all the way around.
Anything they put in for furniture
He'd tear to pieces, even a bed to lie on.
So they made the place comfortable with straw,
Like a beast's stall, to ease their consciences.
Of course they had to feed him without dishes.
They tried to keep him clothed, but he paraded
With his clothes on his arm--all of his clothes.
Cruel--it sounds. I 'spose they did the best
They knew. And just when he was at the height,
Father and mother married, and mother came,
A bride, to help take care of such a creature,
And accommodate her young life to his.
That was what marrying father meant to her.
She had to lie and hear love things made dreadful
By his shouts in the night. He'd shout and shout
Until the strength was shouted out of him,
And his voice died down slowly from exhaustion.
He'd pull his bars apart like bow and bow-string,
And let them go and make them twang until
His hands had worn them smooth as any ox-bow.
And then he'd crow as if he thought that child's play--
The only fun he had. I've heard them say, though,
They found a way to put a stop to it.
He was before my time--I never saw him;
But the pen stayed exactly as it was
There in the upper chamber in the ell,
A sort of catch-all full of attic clutter.
I often think of the smooth hickory bars.
It got so I would say--you know, half fooling--
"It's time I took my turn upstairs in jail"--
Just as you will till it becomes a habit.
No wonder I was glad to get away.
Mind you, I waited till Len said the word.
I didn't want the blame if things went wrong.
I was glad though, no end, when we moved out,
And I looked to be happy, and I was,
As I said, for a while--but I don't know!
Somehow the change wore out like a prescription.
And there's more to it than just window-views
And living by a lake. I'm past such help--
Unless Len took the notion, which he won't,
And I won't ask him--it's not sure enough.
I 'spose I've got to go the road I'm going:
Other folks have to, and why shouldn't I?
I almost think if I could do like you,
Drop everything and live out on the ground--
But it might be, come night, I shouldn't like it,
Or a long rain. I should soon get enough,
And be glad of a good roof overhead.
I've lain awake thinking of you, I'll warrant,
More than you have yourself, some of these nights.
The wonder was the tents weren't snatched away
From over you as you lay in your beds.
I haven't courage for a risk like that.
Bless you, of course, you're keeping me from work,
But the thing of it is, I need to be kept.
There's work enough to do--there's always that;
But behind's behind. The worst that you can do
Is set me back a little more behind.
I sha'n't catch up in this world, anyway.
I'd rather you'd not go unless you must.
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
With a houseful of hungry men to feed
I guess you'd find.... It seems to me
I can't express my feelings any more
Than I can raise my voice or want to lift
My hand (oh, I can lift it when I have to).
Did ever you feel so? I hope you never.
It's got so I don't even know for sure
Whether I am glad, sorry, or anything.
There's nothing but a voice-like left inside
That seems to tell me how I ought to feel,
And would feel if I wasn't all gone wrong.
You take the lake. I look and look at it.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water.
I stand and make myself repeat out loud
The advantages it has, so long and narrow,
Like a deep piece of some old running river
Cut short off at both ends. It lies five miles
Straight away through the mountain notch
From the sink window where I wash the plates,
And all our storms come up toward the house,
Drawing the slow waves whiter and whiter and whiter.
It took my mind off doughnuts and soda biscuit
To step outdoors and take the water dazzle
A sunny morning, or take the rising wind
About my face and body and through my wrapper,
When a storm threatened from the Dragon's Den,
And a cold chill shivered across the lake.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water,
Our Willoughby! How did you hear of it?
I expect, though, everyone's heard of it.
In a book about ferns? Listen to that!
You let things more like feathers regulate
Your going and coming. And you like it here?
I can see how you might. But I don't know!
It would be different if more people came,
For then there would be business. As it is,
The cottages Len built, sometimes we rent them,
Sometimes we don't. We've a good piece of shore
That ought to be worth something, and may yet.
But I don't count on it as much as Len.
He looks on the bright side of everything,
Including me. He thinks I'll be all right
With doctoring. But it's not medicine--
Lowe is the only doctor's dared to say so--
It's rest I want--there, I have said it out--
From cooking meals for hungry hired men
And washing dishes after them--from doing
Things over and over that just won't stay done.
By good rights I ought not to have so much
Put on me, but there seems no other way.
Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through--
Leastways for me--and then they'll be convinced.
It's not that Len don't want the best for me.
It was his plan our moving over in
Beside the lake from where that day I showed you
We used to live--ten miles from anywhere.
We didn't change without some sacrifice,
But Len went at it to make up the loss.
His work's a man's, of course, from sun to sun,
But he works when he works as hard as I do--
Though there's small profit in comparisons.
(Women and men will make them all the same.)
But work ain't all. Len undertakes too much.
He's into everything in town. This year
It's highways, and he's got too many men
Around him to look after that make waste.
They take advantage of him shamefully,
And proud, too, of themselves for doing so.
We have four here to board, great good-for-nothings,
Sprawling about the kitchen with their talk
While I fry their bacon. Much they care!
No more put out in what they do or say
Than if I wasn't in the room at all.
Coming and going all the time, they are:
I don't learn what their names are, let alone
Their characters, or whether they are safe
To have inside the house with doors unlocked.
I'm not afraid of them, though, if they're not
Afraid of me. There's two can play at that.
I have my fancies: it runs in the family.
My father's brother wasn't right. They kept him
Locked up for years back there at the old farm.
I've been away once--yes, I've been away.
The State Asylum. I was prejudiced;
I wouldn't have sent anyone of mine there;
You know the old idea--the only asylum
Was the poorhouse, and those who could afford,
Rather than send their folks to such a place,
Kept them at home; and it does seem more human.
But it's not so: the place is the asylum.
There they have every means proper to do with,
And you aren't darkening other people's lives--
Worse than no good to them, and they no good
To you in your condition; you can't know
Affection or the want of it in that state.
I've heard too much of the old-fashioned way.
My father's brother, he went mad quite young.
Some thought he had been bitten by a dog,
Because his violence took on the form
Of carrying his pillow in his teeth;
But it's more likely he was crossed in love,
Or so the story goes. It was some girl.
Anyway all he talked about was love.
They soon saw he would do someone a mischief
If he wa'n't kept strict watch of, and it ended
In father's building him a sort of cage,
Or room within a room, of hickory poles,
Like stanchions in the barn, from floor to ceiling,--
A narrow passage all the way around.
Anything they put in for furniture
He'd tear to pieces, even a bed to lie on.
So they made the place comfortable with straw,
Like a beast's stall, to ease their consciences.
Of course they had to feed him without dishes.
They tried to keep him clothed, but he paraded
With his clothes on his arm--all of his clothes.
Cruel--it sounds. I 'spose they did the best
They knew. And just when he was at the height,
Father and mother married, and mother came,
A bride, to help take care of such a creature,
And accommodate her young life to his.
That was what marrying father meant to her.
She had to lie and hear love things made dreadful
By his shouts in the night. He'd shout and shout
Until the strength was shouted out of him,
And his voice died down slowly from exhaustion.
He'd pull his bars apart like bow and bow-string,
And let them go and make them twang until
His hands had worn them smooth as any ox-bow.
And then he'd crow as if he thought that child's play--
The only fun he had. I've heard them say, though,
They found a way to put a stop to it.
He was before my time--I never saw him;
But the pen stayed exactly as it was
There in the upper chamber in the ell,
A sort of catch-all full of attic clutter.
I often think of the smooth hickory bars.
It got so I would say--you know, half fooling--
"It's time I took my turn upstairs in jail"--
Just as you will till it becomes a habit.
No wonder I was glad to get away.
Mind you, I waited till Len said the word.
I didn't want the blame if things went wrong.
I was glad though, no end, when we moved out,
And I looked to be happy, and I was,
As I said, for a while--but I don't know!
Somehow the change wore out like a prescription.
And there's more to it than just window-views
And living by a lake. I'm past such help--
Unless Len took the notion, which he won't,
And I won't ask him--it's not sure enough.
I 'spose I've got to go the road I'm going:
Other folks have to, and why shouldn't I?
I almost think if I could do like you,
Drop everything and live out on the ground--
But it might be, come night, I shouldn't like it,
Or a long rain. I should soon get enough,
And be glad of a good roof overhead.
I've lain awake thinking of you, I'll warrant,
More than you have yourself, some of these nights.
The wonder was the tents weren't snatched away
From over you as you lay in your beds.
I haven't courage for a risk like that.
Bless you, of course, you're keeping me from work,
But the thing of it is, I need to be kept.
There's work enough to do--there's always that;
But behind's behind. The worst that you can do
Is set me back a little more behind.
I sha'n't catch up in this world, anyway.
I'd rather you'd not go unless you must.
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