A whale-ship was my Yale College and my Harvard

For my upcoming blog on two poems on death, I have chosen to write on the work of Emily Dickinson. Her work appeals to me because of her use of unconventional grammar and her easily accessible language (which is used to to tell not-so-accessible anecdotes).

In the process of reading Dickinson’s work and attempting to understand the short stories she tells in each, I have, as is required, thought often about death, particularly the relationship between life and death.

I feel that it is almost a requirement that any poet who is writing about death does so from the point of view of life. Regardless of attempts to place themselves near death (from which to discuss its impact and other matters), poets inevitably end up comparing life and death simply because they are living and have not yet experienced death.

But Dickinson goes beyond this inherent comparison of life and death in her poems: she explains the instant at which life changes into death in several of her poems, including those that I am reading for my project. In her works, Dickinson notes that life seems slower the instant before death (potentially due to trepidation?), while death seems, to her at least, to be rushing.

I would have to agree with this assessment of death. I feel that the common perception (at least in our society) of death is that it is not unlike a long sleep, and, although we dream, does it not seem that sleep occurs in the blink of the eye? So, I argue with Dickinson, there is a slowing of pace of life just before death, but that is quickly changed to rushing through centuries in death.

Morrison’s Song of Solomon follows Milkman through his life as a young black man in the Midwest during a period in which it was dangerous to be a young black man. But Milkman does not define himself–nor does Morrison define him–solely in terms of his age and race. He is a character largely determined by his relationships with other individuals in his life, and he acknowledges such at one point, almost bitterly thinking he is simply a pawn to all those who know him.

Therefore, it is most fruitful and important for a reader of Morrison’s novel to examine at least some of the relationships in Milkman’s life.

As readers, we are first introduced to Milkman’s relationship with his mother. While it becomes apparent early on that she sees him largely as a sort of toy or tool and not really as a person (evidenced by her continued breast feeding him for pleasure), I was not entirely sure of the nature of their relationship until she began to discuss it with him. Milkman, she says, was the result of her trying to save her marriage and happiness. Ultimately, the two become seperated, almost wary, of each other.

Milkman’s relationship with his father is similarly dysfunctional. During Milkman’s childhood, his father only spoke to him to give him orders, and, aside from some awkward moments during which his father reveals stories about the past and about other figures in Milkman’s life, that relationship essentially has continued into the present.

When considering both of these–relationships in which Milkman is the object by which others achieve goals–as well as Hagar’s desire to control Milkman and bring him back to her, one knows that, at least in these parts of his life, Milkman is basically used.

For the choose-your-own-book-and-then-write-an-essay-on-it assignment, I chose Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. The rationale for my choice can essentially be traced to a flow chart of criteria:

1. I had to own the book.

2. Some description–whether online or on the back cover–needed to seem at least somewhat interesting so that I wouldn’t end up pushing through this book as I did through Moby Dick.

And 3. The book wasn’t too terribly long. I don’t particularly want to be cramming through this assignment and early decision and ucas college apps for the next few weeks.

Ultimately, I was standing on the third floor of our house holding Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms and Of Mice and Men. I was surprised as to how difficult a decision this was for me to make as I generally count Hemingway as one of the authors whom I do not enjoy reading. I guess I feel the prestige of the book demands I read it at least once–at the very least to understand references in other texts, on NPR, and in other forums.

Anyway, back to Of Mice and Men. I read the first forty pages of the book this weekend and have so far found the character development some of my favorite in “established literature” I have read. Steinbeck, as of this point, seems down to earth and simultaneously with insight into the lives of ranch workers. There are characters with multiple personality traits (Curley is crazy mean and a bit creepy), and I continue to find that interactions among the people elicit my emotions. I especially like (and worry about) the old stinky dog. Let’s hope he isn’t put down.

Ten chapters into Austen’s Emma, I find the title character to be not unlike Shakespeare’s Malvolio in disposition. Ultimately, Emma sees few, if any, flaws in her person, views the common townspeople and farmers (Like Mr. Martin) as lesser, and takes on projects–that is, persons into whom she can insert her own thoughts and behaviors–upon herself so as to view her own life as productive.

Emma bemoans the loss of Miss Taylor but hardly acts to see her and keep her company. It seems as though she does truly miss her former companion but as she must now make time and make effort to see her, finds it difficult to work out.

What struck me most about Emma is how unaware she is to the ways she acts while her companions and friends understand easily the effect her presence is having on Harriet. Even though Emma’s friends and acquaintances (particularly Mr. Knightley) attempt to dissuade her from interfering, Emma pushes Harriet as she sees fit.

Olivia, by the end of the first act, has been advised by many characters. The fool appears to offer the wisest advice, often quipping in with his opinion and simultaneously ridiculous and insightful snippets like “The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen” (referring to himself). The Fool appears to occupy a position in the play from which he offers the more profound comments as well as acting as comic relief. What’s not to like about him–he’s funny and clever–except maybe his bluntness. Olivia is later counseled by Viola (as she tries to convince her to choose Orsino) that she should not leave the earth without a husband. But when she becomes interested in Viola, in what capacity I am not sure, she keeps her own counsel. I like the counsel of the fool best. He is sharp even though he denies it, and he is hilarious as his name dictates. He has the confidence of Olivia, for to her he is only a fool. He seems to be just an awesome character.