I am not quite sure what more to say of the novel besides the paper, except to say that Lolita captures older men, and I do not see this as a pattern in most adolescent’s life. She is idolized and described as though she would be young forever. It is easy to forget that all youth never stay as such. She is immortalized in this novel as this young, vibrant character. I agree with many critics that said that Lolita was not someone to be pitied or at least thought of as a weak or easily manipulated character. Everything she has done has been out of her own interests. It was mentioned in a source, that most of the young lover’s of protagonists in novels have committed suicide after the affair had ended, or somewhere amongst the time they had spent together. The novel Lolita differs from this outcome because she does not seem remorseful for what she has done, and the act of making love to her step-father has not made her overly attached, or someone who is reliant on him. If anything, Humbert is reliant on her. He knows her games, and when she is lying, but he continues to dote on her like a fool.
Lolita holds a lot of power over her lover, which is different than most men would like to believe, was possible for a girl of such a young age. Most women in history have been prided on their fragility, and reliance on a significant other. Women are supposed to be sensitive, and mold themselves to the humors of others. Lolita is a modern day obsession. The author even points out the difference between someone like Lolita, and someone from novels of previous authors. He wants to mold Lolita to the obsessions that these previous authors have had over similarly aged girls, but Lolita is rambunctious. The whole appeal towards a young girl like this is to be able to be their guardian, and protector. The point would be to have someone rely upon you at all costs. This, of course, is a sick concept, but Lolita does not fall for it. She even playfully calls her lover “Dad” to get a rise out of him. She is doted upon, but she never dotes on him. She uses him for what she wants, and then goes behind his back and becomes interested in others. She was not ruined by him, but he somehow becomes ruined by her. Humbert becomes obsessed with trying to appease Lolita. He becomes obsessed by her habits.
The novel thus far offers no apparent ending. There is no obvious outcome for either of the two characters. Time has not moved, Lolita has not grown older for Humbert, and it is not apparent at how their relationship will progress, without saying that it is obvious that it will not, except for the fact that he is also her legal guardian. Much confusion lies ahead, but I must find time to finish this novel! (503)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Halting of Time
Even though I was continuously logged out of JSTOR while reading a passage, I managed to drudge up some thoughts of my own while reading other’s own opinions. I have concluded that the narrator is full of himself. He believed that Charlotte, Lolita’s mother, was a dumb American who spoke French horribly, and was too obsessed with a life she did not lead. His description leads us to believe that she lead a shallow existence watching soap operas, and chasing after people of wealth. Poor Charlotte he says. He lacked sympathy when she died. He whisks Lolita away on a road journey that was described by the author of the article, “Lolita’s Loose Ends: Nabokov and the Boundless novel”, James Tweedie, that the narrator went on this journey to escape time and the aging Lolita. He believes he is better than everyone, and therefore everyone must be wrong when they say that the relationship between Lolita and he is not normal. He looks down on everyone because he is afraid they might look down on him.
The narrator thinks that everyone at Beardsley is ridiculous, that Charlotte was ridiculous, her friends were, Lolita, her friends, and many others. He is cultured, and looked up to in his mind for it. He satisfies his bad thoughts by saying that he is an artist. It was stated in an article by Mathew Winston that he is a Jekyll and Hyde type character. He can act as though he is a murderer, but he speaks in a cultured manner, even fooling other authors such as Dorothy Parker who stated that she thought Humbert to be cultured and sophisticated, and it made no sense that he should be with such a brat type such as Lolita. Many people thought it interesting that she was not innocent like a child, so the narrator never really took anything away from her. This boggles many since children are related to innocence. Many people have their preconceptions, which may taint some opinions as stated by James Tweedie, of Humbert, and Humbert is caste off as a rapist, child molester, or habit to incestual relations, which he was, but he somehow was not evil. He was ignorant, or psychotic, but weirdly in love.
Humbert immortalizes Lolita as did many authors that he mentions of their child lovers. It is hard in this novel to tell whether he loves Lolita for her age, or for who she is. One is more socially acceptable, and therefore highly relevant. Lolita is Humbert’s “souvenir” in his passage of time (Lolita and the Dangers of Fiction; Mathew Winston). Humbert must want to stunt her growth and have her love him forever, but she is not at the stage that he is in. He is fully developed, and she is not. I love how this book starts out with her coming on to Humbert and how Lolita is not the innocent flower that she is supposed to be. It was also mentioned by Mathew Winston, that as Edgar Allen Poe wrote of “Annabel Lee”, so did the narrator of his first love, Annabel Leigh. I thought this was very interesting since the author shows off his literary knowledge often, and breaks out into French many a time which makes it hard for a modern day American teenager to read, but the reference to “Annabel Lee” was something that I knew, and found similar to his wanting to put down Lolita as immortal.
By the narrator wanting to stop the passage of time, it is ruining both Lolita’s and his life. She misses out, and so doe he since it is not possible to halt time, and by attempting to do so, it causes them to miss out even more. It is too dramatic to say that love can allow this since it is such an awesome thing because Lolita’s immature demeanor and the narrator’s acknowledgement of this behaviour is only evidence that it should not be taken seriously. Students do not doubt the love that was shared between Romeo and Juliet even though they had such a distance in age. They were both mature and held respect for one another. In Lolita, the narrator holds no respect for Lolita as anything but a doll. This reminds me of the short story “A Doll’s House”, and how love does not emerge from such situations. Both parties must love one another, but in this situation, convince the reader of the mutual respect, not lustfulness, and a true excuse for the halting of time is approved.
The narrator thinks that everyone at Beardsley is ridiculous, that Charlotte was ridiculous, her friends were, Lolita, her friends, and many others. He is cultured, and looked up to in his mind for it. He satisfies his bad thoughts by saying that he is an artist. It was stated in an article by Mathew Winston that he is a Jekyll and Hyde type character. He can act as though he is a murderer, but he speaks in a cultured manner, even fooling other authors such as Dorothy Parker who stated that she thought Humbert to be cultured and sophisticated, and it made no sense that he should be with such a brat type such as Lolita. Many people thought it interesting that she was not innocent like a child, so the narrator never really took anything away from her. This boggles many since children are related to innocence. Many people have their preconceptions, which may taint some opinions as stated by James Tweedie, of Humbert, and Humbert is caste off as a rapist, child molester, or habit to incestual relations, which he was, but he somehow was not evil. He was ignorant, or psychotic, but weirdly in love.
Humbert immortalizes Lolita as did many authors that he mentions of their child lovers. It is hard in this novel to tell whether he loves Lolita for her age, or for who she is. One is more socially acceptable, and therefore highly relevant. Lolita is Humbert’s “souvenir” in his passage of time (Lolita and the Dangers of Fiction; Mathew Winston). Humbert must want to stunt her growth and have her love him forever, but she is not at the stage that he is in. He is fully developed, and she is not. I love how this book starts out with her coming on to Humbert and how Lolita is not the innocent flower that she is supposed to be. It was also mentioned by Mathew Winston, that as Edgar Allen Poe wrote of “Annabel Lee”, so did the narrator of his first love, Annabel Leigh. I thought this was very interesting since the author shows off his literary knowledge often, and breaks out into French many a time which makes it hard for a modern day American teenager to read, but the reference to “Annabel Lee” was something that I knew, and found similar to his wanting to put down Lolita as immortal.
By the narrator wanting to stop the passage of time, it is ruining both Lolita’s and his life. She misses out, and so doe he since it is not possible to halt time, and by attempting to do so, it causes them to miss out even more. It is too dramatic to say that love can allow this since it is such an awesome thing because Lolita’s immature demeanor and the narrator’s acknowledgement of this behaviour is only evidence that it should not be taken seriously. Students do not doubt the love that was shared between Romeo and Juliet even though they had such a distance in age. They were both mature and held respect for one another. In Lolita, the narrator holds no respect for Lolita as anything but a doll. This reminds me of the short story “A Doll’s House”, and how love does not emerge from such situations. Both parties must love one another, but in this situation, convince the reader of the mutual respect, not lustfulness, and a true excuse for the halting of time is approved.
Monday, April 14, 2008
One Hundred Love Sonnets (V) Pablo Neruda
This sonnet, "One Hundred Love Sonnets (V) by Pablo Neruda, captures the feeling of longing for another, and not being able to keep them off one’s mind. This is told in a private conversation between the author and "you". The author's lover is in the clay, the earth, and in memory. The author lives on the memories of feelings that have inspired him to keep interest in his love. When he is around her it is one thing, but when he is away from her, she becomes this being that he describes in this sonnet that has transcended all human existence, but has become eternal in his thoughts, and earth. Now that he is away, he knows now what love is. He knows that wherever he should be, it must be with her, and that is where he belongs; of this unknown place of “kisses and volcanoes”. To a reader, this can mean a land where she is present.
The first four stanzas give the impression that he is not worth enough to touch the essence which surrounds the author's lover's being. He is only worthy enough to worship the ground she walks on, literally the earth, as he says, “I did not touch your night, or your air, or dawn: only the earth”. He uses the adjective “sweet” to describe homely things that we all deem ordinary such as the clay, resins, and water of the earth. These things are not things that ordinary people may regard as “sweet”, or anything extraordinary, but to the author, anything associated with his lover is utopian.
The next four stanzas give the impression of a woman the author possesses. He describes the creation of his lover as being for no one but himself. He does not give thanks to a higher being, but a factual account of her body parts, and how their sole purpose were to love him as a whole. It is interesting how the language draws the reader from a real-life visual of touching her hips, to a flash of wheat in a field. Anyone can almost picture the flash on a movie screen, from the sensual imagery of the texture of clay, and him physically being able to touch her, yet he is not so close to draw us all back to the imagery of reality of touching the wheat in his field. This statement is a reluctant one, with sadness as reality sets in. She was built for him, but it is somehow felt that he author does not own her, only in words.
The third set of stanzas set a declaration to another town in Chile. Differing from the possession the author felt from the single woman from Quinchamali, he declares to his past experiences of woman from Arauco. When he says that “before I loved you I forgot your kisses”, he is explaining that he has also only began to love someone when they are gone. He eventually moved on with nothing to hold on to but a memory.
The last three stanzas describe the author's experiences through the battlefield of love in Arauco which led him to sink so low that he finally understands love once he has found a mate. He has finally stopped searching from town to town all around Chile, and had settled on a mystical place of “kisses and volcanoes”. This, of course, is a metaphor for conclusion the author has found from the emptiness, and homelessness that the author has felt for so long. It might be cliché, but home is where the heart is. The author has described for the reader in fourteen lines his search for love in memory, and in the dirt that surrounds him. He has nothing concrete, and no specific land where his lover resides except in metaphor. He declares to Quinchamali, and Arauco, but his lover is nothing concrete. She would transcend anything concrete or able to define. His lover is of no menial location, but of a land where all there is is explosions of love. His lover is everywhere, not one single town in Chile, but every specific object that has been created, and as she is, specifically for him.
This poem has a light and airy tone with no depth. Love is too deep of a concept to define in a poem. The reason why all poems appear cliché, is because love does encompass all, and in this sonnet, the author tries to explain this feeling of being overpowered. He is overwhelmed by the love he feels, but it is in no way scary for him. He has succumbed, and admitted to finding a home with no longer searching for a new love.(917)
The first four stanzas give the impression that he is not worth enough to touch the essence which surrounds the author's lover's being. He is only worthy enough to worship the ground she walks on, literally the earth, as he says, “I did not touch your night, or your air, or dawn: only the earth”. He uses the adjective “sweet” to describe homely things that we all deem ordinary such as the clay, resins, and water of the earth. These things are not things that ordinary people may regard as “sweet”, or anything extraordinary, but to the author, anything associated with his lover is utopian.
The next four stanzas give the impression of a woman the author possesses. He describes the creation of his lover as being for no one but himself. He does not give thanks to a higher being, but a factual account of her body parts, and how their sole purpose were to love him as a whole. It is interesting how the language draws the reader from a real-life visual of touching her hips, to a flash of wheat in a field. Anyone can almost picture the flash on a movie screen, from the sensual imagery of the texture of clay, and him physically being able to touch her, yet he is not so close to draw us all back to the imagery of reality of touching the wheat in his field. This statement is a reluctant one, with sadness as reality sets in. She was built for him, but it is somehow felt that he author does not own her, only in words.
The third set of stanzas set a declaration to another town in Chile. Differing from the possession the author felt from the single woman from Quinchamali, he declares to his past experiences of woman from Arauco. When he says that “before I loved you I forgot your kisses”, he is explaining that he has also only began to love someone when they are gone. He eventually moved on with nothing to hold on to but a memory.
The last three stanzas describe the author's experiences through the battlefield of love in Arauco which led him to sink so low that he finally understands love once he has found a mate. He has finally stopped searching from town to town all around Chile, and had settled on a mystical place of “kisses and volcanoes”. This, of course, is a metaphor for conclusion the author has found from the emptiness, and homelessness that the author has felt for so long. It might be cliché, but home is where the heart is. The author has described for the reader in fourteen lines his search for love in memory, and in the dirt that surrounds him. He has nothing concrete, and no specific land where his lover resides except in metaphor. He declares to Quinchamali, and Arauco, but his lover is nothing concrete. She would transcend anything concrete or able to define. His lover is of no menial location, but of a land where all there is is explosions of love. His lover is everywhere, not one single town in Chile, but every specific object that has been created, and as she is, specifically for him.
This poem has a light and airy tone with no depth. Love is too deep of a concept to define in a poem. The reason why all poems appear cliché, is because love does encompass all, and in this sonnet, the author tries to explain this feeling of being overpowered. He is overwhelmed by the love he feels, but it is in no way scary for him. He has succumbed, and admitted to finding a home with no longer searching for a new love.(917)
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Social Distortion
It was intriguing to start reading a book in which I had to repeat twice that that was indeed the book I had intended to choose; there was no error in my decision. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading Lolita and have also found the language to be very unique, descriptive, and lovely even though its intentions were to be an expression of love towards a thirteen year old. This may have been a “Harold and Maude” type love story had it not been an older male in this case instead of a female. This somehow makes the story pedophilic and twisted. Ignoring the knowledge of one’s age, we can see that anything the narrator says could be directed towards anyone of any age and it would be deemed romantic and idyllic; however, age immediately becomes an issue with whoever discusses this book with me. It can be a tad obsessive, but I find it similar to most of Marquez’s novel’s descriptions of younger women. Somehow it is different in this book than it is in the Latin versions by Marquez. This I find interesting, that it is accepted in some cultures, but not in others. Americans find it weird in any situation, but other cultures do not. Similar to the book Memories of my Melancholy Whores, it is shown that it is never too late to love, and instead of living one’s life by one’s age, it is shown that these men throw age out the window and instead rely solely on what their age might be according to their heart. Being “in denial” has bad connotations, but it may be sensible to live one’s life to the fullest, even if it may be against all civil teachings. Not much has happened except for the culmination of the narrator’s love for Lolita, and getting closer to her. He confesses his love not to her, but to himself over and over until it may succumb him, and action may take place leading to a climax later perhaps. He has taken advantage of Lolita’s mother, and all I could think of while reading that he has married his love’s mother was that this may be why those weirdoes do it. They have a fetish, and do whatever they can to get what they want. I felt so horrible that he was using the mother, since she seems just as vulnerable as a child being single, and she is mean to Lolita because Lolita reminds her of the mistakes she has made in the past, but in a permanent version that she has to deal with on a day to day. The narrator gets upset with the mother and sees Lolita as being perfect, but he is blinded. This is love, and so far it does not sound sick. (467)
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Do you wake up on your own?
A Doll’s House was an interesting way of looking at gender roles. This story would have been controversial at the time that it was performed, and although it may not be as outwardly controversial now as it once was, it still provides a decent look into a “real” problem that many couples face today. The only thing that differs is that women now make that decision for themselves, and this play may provide outlook for some as to whether or not they should indeed assume that role of a “doll”, or a play thing.
The story did lack background as to where Nora did gain her sudden power to break it off with her husband, but it may also appear realistic in relationships where it takes a change of luck to realize where someone stands. When luck is on a couple’s side, why would they find fault in one another; why ruin a good thing? Everyone has their own personal aspirations whether they are a housewife or financial supplier to a family. Everyone must learn and attain his or her own personal aspirations in order to become the stable rock that a family depends on. It was harsh of Nora to leave her children, but she was at her wit’s end. She had sold her soul to the devil, and gave up her freedom for comfort. This was a turning point in her young life which illuminated her discomfort in her own home.
This story was a nightmare, but one that highlighted the social defects of our culture. Nora and her husband were brainwashed into living by society’s rules that were set up for the general public to follow. Not everyone fits that mold, and no matter how sad or difficult that moment is when you decide that you do not fit that mold is, no one can live a lie. Nora may have been very upset to find out that she did not fit the social norm, but she realized that in her situation, it was not worth her happiness in order to upkeep her normal persona. I pitied her husband as he begged for her to stay, but there was no hope for him. He had proven to be a superficial character that was just as ruined as she was. He becomes the personification of the norm that antagonizes Nora. Christine is a friend that is presented as a fallen woman who has become a widow and needs Nora’s help. Here, Nora appears to be the sane, and most sought after character. Christine finds love with no superficiality and the relationship ends up better of than Nora’s.
The story concludes with Nora’s freedom. This is harsh, but it only shows how dirty a situation can get, and how much harder it can be to escape from as time goes on with everything left unsaid. Nothing was deep in Nora’s life, and it broke her. It was a happy ending to see her trying to save herself. This might have served as a warning to all that they should remain true to themselves and not live a lie because it may become as messy, sudden, and controversial as the ending to this play.(534)
The story did lack background as to where Nora did gain her sudden power to break it off with her husband, but it may also appear realistic in relationships where it takes a change of luck to realize where someone stands. When luck is on a couple’s side, why would they find fault in one another; why ruin a good thing? Everyone has their own personal aspirations whether they are a housewife or financial supplier to a family. Everyone must learn and attain his or her own personal aspirations in order to become the stable rock that a family depends on. It was harsh of Nora to leave her children, but she was at her wit’s end. She had sold her soul to the devil, and gave up her freedom for comfort. This was a turning point in her young life which illuminated her discomfort in her own home.
This story was a nightmare, but one that highlighted the social defects of our culture. Nora and her husband were brainwashed into living by society’s rules that were set up for the general public to follow. Not everyone fits that mold, and no matter how sad or difficult that moment is when you decide that you do not fit that mold is, no one can live a lie. Nora may have been very upset to find out that she did not fit the social norm, but she realized that in her situation, it was not worth her happiness in order to upkeep her normal persona. I pitied her husband as he begged for her to stay, but there was no hope for him. He had proven to be a superficial character that was just as ruined as she was. He becomes the personification of the norm that antagonizes Nora. Christine is a friend that is presented as a fallen woman who has become a widow and needs Nora’s help. Here, Nora appears to be the sane, and most sought after character. Christine finds love with no superficiality and the relationship ends up better of than Nora’s.
The story concludes with Nora’s freedom. This is harsh, but it only shows how dirty a situation can get, and how much harder it can be to escape from as time goes on with everything left unsaid. Nothing was deep in Nora’s life, and it broke her. It was a happy ending to see her trying to save herself. This might have served as a warning to all that they should remain true to themselves and not live a lie because it may become as messy, sudden, and controversial as the ending to this play.(534)
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Hamlet Scene
SCENE IV. The Queen's closet.
Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
Polonius says this in a very hurried tone, anxious to hide for fear of Hamlet. He is firm with the Queen in her orders towards Hamlet in order to make sure he carries out his orders from the King; he stays true to his loyalty to the King.HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
Calls for his mother in a highly sarcastic tone ready for a battle royale of wits against his mother’s wishes for him to accept his father.QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
In an anxious tone, also fearful of the possible wrath to ensue from Hamlet. She is loyal to her king, but also vulnerable, this is her son. She braces herself.POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
In a “what’s the matter noooww” attitude. Slightly mocking.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
In a tone that is much belittling.HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Heavy emphasis on the “my”. A little bit cheeky and playful in his statement.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Still in a belittling tone, a little more hasty.HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Says this in a slow tone with much emphasis on each word; evil tone.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
She says this hastily with hurt but forcefulness.HAMLET
What's the matter now?
Still maintains his calmness; now belittles his mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
In a motherly, tender voice with sadness. She tries for one last time to bridge a relationship from the past with her son. She says this in a slight wisper.HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
He says this with emotional bridge and with a tinge of anger as he reminds his mother that she married his uncle. It is told in order to bite at her. First most he refers her as the queen rather than his mother. This is the reason of acting sane towards her instead of paying respect to one’s mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
She does not sense the anger or sarcasm in Hamlet’s voice. She resumes the role of Queen and reminds Hamlet that he is indebted to her for she has more power than he does. She gets hold of herself since letting go of her guard obviously did not work on Hamlet. He will not let up.HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
He resumes the upper hand. Playful with an underlying hatred. He is slightly emotional here with flinging arms. Crazy eyes. He has a psychotic look to him with tensed features.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
Vulnerable with arms also flailing with woe and a look as if about to cry. LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
In a shock as if woken from sleep, he shouts with horror.HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
In an all too casual tone, he makes believe he is aiding his mother from a far greater beast, a rat. LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
In an overly dramatic tone, falls abruptly. Falls and dies
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
She expresses sympathy and shock towards someone she does not know. She is viewing Hamlet in a new light. He is alien to her. She grasps her bosom as she says this with a sympathetic whisper. HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
In a joking manner, almost laughing, but a psychotic laugh.QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Still in shock at the event that has just occurred in front of her eyes. She realizes what Hamlet is actually capable of.HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Without a beat, he snaps back at his mother not even paying Polonius a second glance. In a rollercoaster tone, he gains another point against his mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
Grasps her chest as she says this in the utmost shock at this statement which is unpatriotic. Anyone against the King is against the nation which is a great defiance. HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff,
If damned custom have not brass'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Belittles the corpse with anger and a tone of teaching a child its lesson of revenge. Hamlet has had his fill of being sensible. He is rash and is proud.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Ignorant of what Hamlet has been saying all along, still in a sympathetic “poor me” tone. She is impatient.HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
This is said with anger almost to the point of crying. He is so angry that he is on the verge of tears. He looks down at the floor and cannot bear to look at his mother’s face. He is ashamed.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
She says this as if she were saying "What is wrong with you". Like he is sick and twisted for belittling her.
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And reason panders will.
He looks her in the face with a pointed finger. He gets physical and impatient. He does not know how to get through to her. He is frustrated. He is also almost to the verge of crying as he is less angry, but more accepting that she is evil to him. There is no more playfulness as he gets truly emotional, and goes on a tangent. He looks her in the face with occasional glances off into the heavens with his arms floating as well as being forceful. He feels sorrow for himself as being alone. In the beginning; however, he is nostalgic and nicely pointing out the difference between good and evil to a child.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
She has had enough. She herself cannot look into the eyes of Hamlet and shakes her head in disapproval at the ground. She has truly had enough, on the verge of tears, she understands…finally. She sees no point to going on, utterly hopeless.HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
He is not finished. He feels that she cannot feel bad when she is still committing a crime against her dead husband. He cannot feel sorry for her or let her end this argument. He is on a roll. He gives her the right to live but live with hatred of oneself.QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
She is utterly hopeless, she tries to convince him that she is being sincere in her act of sorrow. She is disturbed by him, she tries one last time to convince him that she really does feel sad.HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket!
He uses his words to poke and prod at her heart. He cannot stop this joy he feels with making his mother unhappy. He is psychotic in the look he has for her. He is on a role and cannot let up because if he does he feels as if he has failed. He continues with his jabs at his mother in order to hopefully make a true difference, and ignores the sincere pain he sees in her eyes.QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
She yells with tears in her eyes, and violently crying. She is getting physically weaker.HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
He starts out with rambling off but with a sudden pause as he views an ghost-like figure hovering.Enter Ghost
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
He speaks affectionately to the ghost with trusting tones begging for advice. He looks up with his arms flailing. QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
She awakes from her crying and stares wide-eyed surprise. She does not move her body or face except to udder these words. She does not take her eyes off Hamlet.HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
Speak to her, Hamlet.
He tells him in a nice tone deemed to simply give advice. HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
Speaks as if nothing previous has occurred. His face is happy but sarcastic. QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
She throws away the concern for herself, she acts motherly as she tends to his seeing things that are not there. “How am I? How are you!” She confronts him on the psychotic tendencies to view things that are not really there. She shows concern, which might be superficial.HAMLET
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
He points frustratingly at nothingness. He speaks hurriedly in order to convince his mother of his craziness and plays with her. QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
In a cordial tone.
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
Shocked, perhaps sarcastic.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
Confused.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
Scared at being the only one to see the ghost.QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
Serious tone. A final sentence to end the back and forth statements.HAMLET
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Speaks dreamily, like a child.
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
She speaks as if she has the only perfect explanation. Her face is clear with realism. This all cannot be, it simply cannot.HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
Hamlet is defensive in his tone.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
She says this as though he has broken her heart. She says this with her head tilted downward with an affectionate glance of self-pity.HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
Pointing to POLONIUS
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,
To punish me with this and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So, again, good night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.
He says this with perfect composure as he says it how it is. He gives her a little bit of hope that he cares for her.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
She says this as though saying, “well what should I do now?” As if there is no other way for her to go about her life unless it is through sin.
HAMLET
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
And break your own neck down.
He is done with her. He speaks in a cooing tone dripping with sarcasm. He gains anger towards the end.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
She is speechless and says this in a quiet tone giving him room to let her know that she is still a good person deserving of his love. She wants him badly to be on her side, but eventually realizes that he must never at this point unless she does what he wants her to do. She is utterly conflicted and cannot satisfy anyone.HAMLET
I must to England; you know that?
He laughs at this statement as he is telling it. It is more of a laugh/you know what he is doing to me sort of statement. He feels alienated, and wishes to give her any pity.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alack,
I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
She says this as if this conversation has doled on way too long. Alas, another thing. She hardly gives any emotion towards this statement.HAMLET
There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
He says this all matter-of-factly. He states the facts, jokes about Polonius, and affectionately concludes with a goodnight to his mother that he has just yelled at, but now addresses her as if it has been forgotten. This is his life in short. He simply is stating all of the things he must do now, almost as if stating a list jotted down in a planner that makes him bored of things he must now do. What a busy schedule.Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS
Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
Polonius says this in a very hurried tone, anxious to hide for fear of Hamlet. He is firm with the Queen in her orders towards Hamlet in order to make sure he carries out his orders from the King; he stays true to his loyalty to the King.HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
Calls for his mother in a highly sarcastic tone ready for a battle royale of wits against his mother’s wishes for him to accept his father.QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
In an anxious tone, also fearful of the possible wrath to ensue from Hamlet. She is loyal to her king, but also vulnerable, this is her son. She braces herself.POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
In a “what’s the matter noooww” attitude. Slightly mocking.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
In a tone that is much belittling.HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Heavy emphasis on the “my”. A little bit cheeky and playful in his statement.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Still in a belittling tone, a little more hasty.HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Says this in a slow tone with much emphasis on each word; evil tone.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
She says this hastily with hurt but forcefulness.HAMLET
What's the matter now?
Still maintains his calmness; now belittles his mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
In a motherly, tender voice with sadness. She tries for one last time to bridge a relationship from the past with her son. She says this in a slight wisper.HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
He says this with emotional bridge and with a tinge of anger as he reminds his mother that she married his uncle. It is told in order to bite at her. First most he refers her as the queen rather than his mother. This is the reason of acting sane towards her instead of paying respect to one’s mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
She does not sense the anger or sarcasm in Hamlet’s voice. She resumes the role of Queen and reminds Hamlet that he is indebted to her for she has more power than he does. She gets hold of herself since letting go of her guard obviously did not work on Hamlet. He will not let up.HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
He resumes the upper hand. Playful with an underlying hatred. He is slightly emotional here with flinging arms. Crazy eyes. He has a psychotic look to him with tensed features.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
Vulnerable with arms also flailing with woe and a look as if about to cry. LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
In a shock as if woken from sleep, he shouts with horror.HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Makes a pass through the arras
In an all too casual tone, he makes believe he is aiding his mother from a far greater beast, a rat. LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
In an overly dramatic tone, falls abruptly. Falls and dies
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
She expresses sympathy and shock towards someone she does not know. She is viewing Hamlet in a new light. He is alien to her. She grasps her bosom as she says this with a sympathetic whisper. HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
In a joking manner, almost laughing, but a psychotic laugh.QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Still in shock at the event that has just occurred in front of her eyes. She realizes what Hamlet is actually capable of.HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Without a beat, he snaps back at his mother not even paying Polonius a second glance. In a rollercoaster tone, he gains another point against his mother.QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
Grasps her chest as she says this in the utmost shock at this statement which is unpatriotic. Anyone against the King is against the nation which is a great defiance. HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff,
If damned custom have not brass'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Belittles the corpse with anger and a tone of teaching a child its lesson of revenge. Hamlet has had his fill of being sensible. He is rash and is proud.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Ignorant of what Hamlet has been saying all along, still in a sympathetic “poor me” tone. She is impatient.HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
This is said with anger almost to the point of crying. He is so angry that he is on the verge of tears. He looks down at the floor and cannot bear to look at his mother’s face. He is ashamed.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
She says this as if she were saying "What is wrong with you". Like he is sick and twisted for belittling her.
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And reason panders will.
He looks her in the face with a pointed finger. He gets physical and impatient. He does not know how to get through to her. He is frustrated. He is also almost to the verge of crying as he is less angry, but more accepting that she is evil to him. There is no more playfulness as he gets truly emotional, and goes on a tangent. He looks her in the face with occasional glances off into the heavens with his arms floating as well as being forceful. He feels sorrow for himself as being alone. In the beginning; however, he is nostalgic and nicely pointing out the difference between good and evil to a child.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
She has had enough. She herself cannot look into the eyes of Hamlet and shakes her head in disapproval at the ground. She has truly had enough, on the verge of tears, she understands…finally. She sees no point to going on, utterly hopeless.HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
He is not finished. He feels that she cannot feel bad when she is still committing a crime against her dead husband. He cannot feel sorry for her or let her end this argument. He is on a roll. He gives her the right to live but live with hatred of oneself.QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
She is utterly hopeless, she tries to convince him that she is being sincere in her act of sorrow. She is disturbed by him, she tries one last time to convince him that she really does feel sad.HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket!
He uses his words to poke and prod at her heart. He cannot stop this joy he feels with making his mother unhappy. He is psychotic in the look he has for her. He is on a role and cannot let up because if he does he feels as if he has failed. He continues with his jabs at his mother in order to hopefully make a true difference, and ignores the sincere pain he sees in her eyes.QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
She yells with tears in her eyes, and violently crying. She is getting physically weaker.HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
He starts out with rambling off but with a sudden pause as he views an ghost-like figure hovering.Enter Ghost
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
He speaks affectionately to the ghost with trusting tones begging for advice. He looks up with his arms flailing. QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
She awakes from her crying and stares wide-eyed surprise. She does not move her body or face except to udder these words. She does not take her eyes off Hamlet.HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
Speak to her, Hamlet.
He tells him in a nice tone deemed to simply give advice. HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
Speaks as if nothing previous has occurred. His face is happy but sarcastic. QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
She throws away the concern for herself, she acts motherly as she tends to his seeing things that are not there. “How am I? How are you!” She confronts him on the psychotic tendencies to view things that are not really there. She shows concern, which might be superficial.HAMLET
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
He points frustratingly at nothingness. He speaks hurriedly in order to convince his mother of his craziness and plays with her. QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
In a cordial tone.
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
Shocked, perhaps sarcastic.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
Confused.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
Scared at being the only one to see the ghost.QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
Serious tone. A final sentence to end the back and forth statements.HAMLET
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Speaks dreamily, like a child.
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
She speaks as if she has the only perfect explanation. Her face is clear with realism. This all cannot be, it simply cannot.HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
Hamlet is defensive in his tone.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
She says this as though he has broken her heart. She says this with her head tilted downward with an affectionate glance of self-pity.HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
Pointing to POLONIUS
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,
To punish me with this and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So, again, good night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.
He says this with perfect composure as he says it how it is. He gives her a little bit of hope that he cares for her.QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
She says this as though saying, “well what should I do now?” As if there is no other way for her to go about her life unless it is through sin.
HAMLET
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
And break your own neck down.
He is done with her. He speaks in a cooing tone dripping with sarcasm. He gains anger towards the end.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
She is speechless and says this in a quiet tone giving him room to let her know that she is still a good person deserving of his love. She wants him badly to be on her side, but eventually realizes that he must never at this point unless she does what he wants her to do. She is utterly conflicted and cannot satisfy anyone.HAMLET
I must to England; you know that?
He laughs at this statement as he is telling it. It is more of a laugh/you know what he is doing to me sort of statement. He feels alienated, and wishes to give her any pity.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alack,
I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
She says this as if this conversation has doled on way too long. Alas, another thing. She hardly gives any emotion towards this statement.HAMLET
There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
He says this all matter-of-factly. He states the facts, jokes about Polonius, and affectionately concludes with a goodnight to his mother that he has just yelled at, but now addresses her as if it has been forgotten. This is his life in short. He simply is stating all of the things he must do now, almost as if stating a list jotted down in a planner that makes him bored of things he must now do. What a busy schedule.Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The song of the Rose
For Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
-Sappho
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
-Sappho
To the cuckoo
O blithe newcomer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.
Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;
The same whom in my schoolboy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed birth! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee!
-William Wordsworth
I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.
Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;
The same whom in my schoolboy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed birth! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee!
-William Wordsworth
She walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
-Lord Byron
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
-Lord Byron
Cinderella
The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,
And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.
Sylvia Plath
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,
And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.
Sylvia Plath
Cinderella
The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,
And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.
Sylvia Plath
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,
And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.
Sylvia Plath
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Speachless
I feel reluctant to write this blog, not because I did not enjoy Oedipus, but because it is hard to analyze a story which has no apparent “happy ending”. It seems as though fate chose Oedipus to do such horrible things, and for some reason he rightfully deserves such a life. His father maintained hubris, so perhaps he was rightfully killed, but the fact that Oedipus should suffer more by being exiled blows my mind.
By today’s standards, Oedipus would have been punished for killing anyone, not just a king, but this is ancient Greece we are referring to, where this is of no consequence. The fact that it was self-defense gives even more leniency from me, but he killed one of kin, and more so, the king, and this did not go over very well. I pity Oedipus even though he did such twisted things. I feel as though he were set up since the beginning of his life to be doomed and it is not a comforting thing to think that life should really go this way. No one likes their life planned out for them, and it never ends up well. It must also be especially difficult to have to play to such humanistic and short-tempered Gods that plan someone’s life out for them. The monarchy, another power figure, is flawed; no one can trust a human to be flawless, and this story explains that the royal Laos family has a curse, which emphasizes the humanistic qualities of a ruler that rules under the gods, which leads us back to hubris. It does not seem fair, although it seems weird that such ideas as “fate” and “karma” are expressed hundreds of years later in novels, future religions, and daily life. This idea of existentialism is expressed here, in Ivan Ilyich, and in Metamorphosis , and the realization that life is out of our control. Each story displays extreme examples to get the point across to their readers of what happens when power is not in our control, and as a result inflicts on us whether we are prepared for such things. Would any of us really roll over and allow someone to turn us into a bug, or allow fate to lead to our ruin, or even allow death to succumb us all? If we had our choices, I am sure no one would want to welcome any of those things to take us over, but maturity is realizing that we are limited in our power just as Oedipus and his father, Gregor, and Ivan were.
We all have free-will, and where our free-will is limited, none of us are ready to be controlled. Sure, when it comes to being governed, or managed in our jobs and societies we accept, but when it comes to our personal self, not just our commands or actions, we know there is no way to have the opportunity to object. Sometimes we all forget that we have the opportunity to object commands; however, when such things as fate or karma intercept, there are higher beings at play, and it seems to be unavoidable. It is not a comforting feeling to be out of control, and this is simply the feeling I get as I read each of these three stories. I believe it reminds us all of something that we do not have control over. This can be a psychological propaganda, or a political piece of literature. I believe that Sophocles might have accentuated this story of Oedipus in order to draw the reader into feeling helpless, or perhaps sorry for someone who had done wrong. It seems weird to me that I should feel pity for someone who slept with his mother, and killed his own father, but I feel it was not fair that life has had this planned out for him, and this may be a reflection on myself and how I would react.
All religions state that when you do something bad, that bad things happen to you; everyone gets their means in the end. This mantra has been pushed down our throats for eons. It is against our teachings as humane and civil beings to accept the feeling of pity for bad things or people, but there is perhaps more to look at each situation.
This story is simply interesting. It hurts my mind to explore further into the plot. I feel it is laid out for us what happens, and it is a great drama. This might have been intriguing for many audiences, and drama’s are meant to be overdone. This story might have been some sort of a happy ending, as Oedipus is exiled, or the bad man goes away, and what makes it a drama is its feeling of grief at the end. This might be ironic to have a happy ending where the "bad guy" is defeted, but we are still not content. Not only are we grieving for Oedipus’s father and mother, but also himself and his children. Hubris from being a king, or solving the riddle of the sphinx may have led to both Oedipus and his father’s downfall, but as humans, we see more sympathy, and I am not sure if that is a difference between now and then, but a lack of free-will may also make this a drama. If only we could all jump into the story, we could altar the ending of the story, but in life there is no altering fate, or is there? No one will EVER know. This question will continue to scare, and plague many, since it will never be answered, but let us continue to read on for more pessimistic or optimistic views on the meaning, rules, and outcome of life itself. All anyone ever does is put spins on it, and this one truly made me surprised at my reaction to such a disastrous act. (832)
By today’s standards, Oedipus would have been punished for killing anyone, not just a king, but this is ancient Greece we are referring to, where this is of no consequence. The fact that it was self-defense gives even more leniency from me, but he killed one of kin, and more so, the king, and this did not go over very well. I pity Oedipus even though he did such twisted things. I feel as though he were set up since the beginning of his life to be doomed and it is not a comforting thing to think that life should really go this way. No one likes their life planned out for them, and it never ends up well. It must also be especially difficult to have to play to such humanistic and short-tempered Gods that plan someone’s life out for them. The monarchy, another power figure, is flawed; no one can trust a human to be flawless, and this story explains that the royal Laos family has a curse, which emphasizes the humanistic qualities of a ruler that rules under the gods, which leads us back to hubris. It does not seem fair, although it seems weird that such ideas as “fate” and “karma” are expressed hundreds of years later in novels, future religions, and daily life. This idea of existentialism is expressed here, in Ivan Ilyich, and in Metamorphosis , and the realization that life is out of our control. Each story displays extreme examples to get the point across to their readers of what happens when power is not in our control, and as a result inflicts on us whether we are prepared for such things. Would any of us really roll over and allow someone to turn us into a bug, or allow fate to lead to our ruin, or even allow death to succumb us all? If we had our choices, I am sure no one would want to welcome any of those things to take us over, but maturity is realizing that we are limited in our power just as Oedipus and his father, Gregor, and Ivan were.
We all have free-will, and where our free-will is limited, none of us are ready to be controlled. Sure, when it comes to being governed, or managed in our jobs and societies we accept, but when it comes to our personal self, not just our commands or actions, we know there is no way to have the opportunity to object. Sometimes we all forget that we have the opportunity to object commands; however, when such things as fate or karma intercept, there are higher beings at play, and it seems to be unavoidable. It is not a comforting feeling to be out of control, and this is simply the feeling I get as I read each of these three stories. I believe it reminds us all of something that we do not have control over. This can be a psychological propaganda, or a political piece of literature. I believe that Sophocles might have accentuated this story of Oedipus in order to draw the reader into feeling helpless, or perhaps sorry for someone who had done wrong. It seems weird to me that I should feel pity for someone who slept with his mother, and killed his own father, but I feel it was not fair that life has had this planned out for him, and this may be a reflection on myself and how I would react.
All religions state that when you do something bad, that bad things happen to you; everyone gets their means in the end. This mantra has been pushed down our throats for eons. It is against our teachings as humane and civil beings to accept the feeling of pity for bad things or people, but there is perhaps more to look at each situation.
This story is simply interesting. It hurts my mind to explore further into the plot. I feel it is laid out for us what happens, and it is a great drama. This might have been intriguing for many audiences, and drama’s are meant to be overdone. This story might have been some sort of a happy ending, as Oedipus is exiled, or the bad man goes away, and what makes it a drama is its feeling of grief at the end. This might be ironic to have a happy ending where the "bad guy" is defeted, but we are still not content. Not only are we grieving for Oedipus’s father and mother, but also himself and his children. Hubris from being a king, or solving the riddle of the sphinx may have led to both Oedipus and his father’s downfall, but as humans, we see more sympathy, and I am not sure if that is a difference between now and then, but a lack of free-will may also make this a drama. If only we could all jump into the story, we could altar the ending of the story, but in life there is no altering fate, or is there? No one will EVER know. This question will continue to scare, and plague many, since it will never be answered, but let us continue to read on for more pessimistic or optimistic views on the meaning, rules, and outcome of life itself. All anyone ever does is put spins on it, and this one truly made me surprised at my reaction to such a disastrous act. (832)
Monday, January 21, 2008
Kafka Convert
It is hard to read a story without a happy ending. Well, Metamorphosis had one, but not the one that I was expecting. The “good guy” was turned into a cockroach. I read on and on trying to catch something that he did to deserve this punishment, but I got nothing to vindicate my original thoughts. Most children are taught at young ages the fundamentals of religion whichever one they practice, and learn that if you do something bad you are punished. Kafka throws us all for a loop when he brings up the point that this horrible thing might have happened for no reason, which may also prove there being no higher power to prevent something like this from happening. Religion exists for those to qualm their fears of the unknown, and to protect them from the unknown which is usually bad since what is not known cannot possible be prepared for. No one can prepare for being turned into a bug. This scares most readers since, unlike most stories, there is no vindication for the bad guy, and it leaves the reader thinking who the bad guy is, or even if possibly he wants to say that being a “good guy” is not a good thing. Nice guys finish last apparently.
Does his family have a point when they say that he is no longer himself when turned into a cockroach? Has he already died if he can no longer contribute anything material or vocal anymore? This story is very existentialist. What is love in this story? Is there love? Is there a higher power such as karma that takes care of rewarding the good, and punishing the bad? These questions are asked daily, and this is the first time that I have read any author say that there might not be anything that controls karma. It was an exaggerated situation that constitutes this story; however, it might have been the only way to get the issue across. This story starts out so strangely, that it makes you think about the underlying point being made without actually knowing that you actually are. He’s a bug, not a dog, he is cold and unapproachable, and he becomes unworthy of love. This mirrors Kafka’s depression, or any other’s experience with it. Is a person worthless when they no longer are contributing to society? Subliminal messages have been sent out to inflict on us all that this is a possibility. Are people just dead weights if they are homeless, old, or depressed? When people are depressed, they are lost, and the family in this story renders him motionless. He is left alone; he is tossed out, and becomes a burden. The family is glad to be rid of him. This may be an accurate depiction of how people react towards people who are depressed, or perhaps how a depressed person perceives others as acting.
At first, I found this story to be just odd, but after having read it, I moved on to possible explanations for why the nice guy got punished which lead me to think of larger issues that were hidden in the stories plot. This is a result of most things that I read. If I do not buzz through stories with pleasure, I usually read them then work on what they mean and then they too become favorites. An acquired taste rather than a common favorite such as with pizza verses falafel and hummus. I can say that I have learned to like Kafka and Tolstoy just through writing a blog. (594)
Does his family have a point when they say that he is no longer himself when turned into a cockroach? Has he already died if he can no longer contribute anything material or vocal anymore? This story is very existentialist. What is love in this story? Is there love? Is there a higher power such as karma that takes care of rewarding the good, and punishing the bad? These questions are asked daily, and this is the first time that I have read any author say that there might not be anything that controls karma. It was an exaggerated situation that constitutes this story; however, it might have been the only way to get the issue across. This story starts out so strangely, that it makes you think about the underlying point being made without actually knowing that you actually are. He’s a bug, not a dog, he is cold and unapproachable, and he becomes unworthy of love. This mirrors Kafka’s depression, or any other’s experience with it. Is a person worthless when they no longer are contributing to society? Subliminal messages have been sent out to inflict on us all that this is a possibility. Are people just dead weights if they are homeless, old, or depressed? When people are depressed, they are lost, and the family in this story renders him motionless. He is left alone; he is tossed out, and becomes a burden. The family is glad to be rid of him. This may be an accurate depiction of how people react towards people who are depressed, or perhaps how a depressed person perceives others as acting.
At first, I found this story to be just odd, but after having read it, I moved on to possible explanations for why the nice guy got punished which lead me to think of larger issues that were hidden in the stories plot. This is a result of most things that I read. If I do not buzz through stories with pleasure, I usually read them then work on what they mean and then they too become favorites. An acquired taste rather than a common favorite such as with pizza verses falafel and hummus. I can say that I have learned to like Kafka and Tolstoy just through writing a blog. (594)
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Everything will be iluminated in the end
I thought it was very successful putting the funeral at the beginning of the story of Ivan Ilych in order to convey to the reader that this is not a superficial story merely conveying a point in someone’s life, and a storyline that is told in chronological life order. Simply put, it expresses to the reader the notion that the most important thing in this story is not the physical outcome. This story goes deeper than creating suspense or a dramatic event, but it dives into the mind of Ivan as he succumbs to death, by not enforcing the event of death itself.
It takes the acceptance of Ivan dying to bring about true thoughts that he has avoided all of his life until now. Many people try and avoid going through deep thoughts in order to maintain a shallow life without worry, and easily accomplished goals. Who can say that this is a bad thing since many of us are victims? We all are involved with consumerism, and “ideal” commercial images that are thrust upon us all, and the goals that end up with obtaining things in order to become this ideal state are easier to obtain than our own intellectual, or emotional enlightenment. Different cultures dedicate their lives to finding this enlightenment, and meaning of life, whereas more industrialized nations have sought out other mechanical ways of enlightenment, which are not necessarily more advanced.
I think that Tolstoy wanted to convey that no matter how long we all avoid the inner questions that we all slip out of our psyche throughout the day, everyone must deal with them in death. He brings up important questions that make us think of whether or not it is better to deal with them as they come or let them pile up. We all want to go the safe route, and Ivan is a cultural representation of the social norm that we have all created to lead a “safe” lifestyle. In death, what can all those days of security bring you but the questions that you have continued to ask all of your life? Ivan ended up wanted to shed his figure of authority for a shoulder to cry on. Must we all put on these personas, and lead the lives we are bound to lead in order to confound to what others deem as normal? Even facing death, Ivan never cried. I wonder if anyone ever figured out why when people grow older that they always crave the past full of innocence. Ignorance is bliss, but maybe the true path of enlightenment is reached by being honest with oneself, and not waiting until death to do so. It was a sad novel because he wasted his life not dealing with the inner struggles, and regarding them as pointless since he was dealing with his entire life’s struggles in one sitting, only to have a funeral where no one grieved. It is part of human nature to want to slow down, and be alone in order to figure out who we all are. We have been hearing quotes over and over telling us that God has made us all different for a reason, but no one ever stops to try and figure out or accept how different they really are.
Tolstoy takes a dramatic existentialist storyline in order to express this point of inner coherence. Some people might get it, and others may have fallen so deep in the social manipulations to deem it as boring and a poor read, but to me it might be those things, but the underlying message is what carries out an important message of illumination. (609).
It takes the acceptance of Ivan dying to bring about true thoughts that he has avoided all of his life until now. Many people try and avoid going through deep thoughts in order to maintain a shallow life without worry, and easily accomplished goals. Who can say that this is a bad thing since many of us are victims? We all are involved with consumerism, and “ideal” commercial images that are thrust upon us all, and the goals that end up with obtaining things in order to become this ideal state are easier to obtain than our own intellectual, or emotional enlightenment. Different cultures dedicate their lives to finding this enlightenment, and meaning of life, whereas more industrialized nations have sought out other mechanical ways of enlightenment, which are not necessarily more advanced.
I think that Tolstoy wanted to convey that no matter how long we all avoid the inner questions that we all slip out of our psyche throughout the day, everyone must deal with them in death. He brings up important questions that make us think of whether or not it is better to deal with them as they come or let them pile up. We all want to go the safe route, and Ivan is a cultural representation of the social norm that we have all created to lead a “safe” lifestyle. In death, what can all those days of security bring you but the questions that you have continued to ask all of your life? Ivan ended up wanted to shed his figure of authority for a shoulder to cry on. Must we all put on these personas, and lead the lives we are bound to lead in order to confound to what others deem as normal? Even facing death, Ivan never cried. I wonder if anyone ever figured out why when people grow older that they always crave the past full of innocence. Ignorance is bliss, but maybe the true path of enlightenment is reached by being honest with oneself, and not waiting until death to do so. It was a sad novel because he wasted his life not dealing with the inner struggles, and regarding them as pointless since he was dealing with his entire life’s struggles in one sitting, only to have a funeral where no one grieved. It is part of human nature to want to slow down, and be alone in order to figure out who we all are. We have been hearing quotes over and over telling us that God has made us all different for a reason, but no one ever stops to try and figure out or accept how different they really are.
Tolstoy takes a dramatic existentialist storyline in order to express this point of inner coherence. Some people might get it, and others may have fallen so deep in the social manipulations to deem it as boring and a poor read, but to me it might be those things, but the underlying message is what carries out an important message of illumination. (609).
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