Samples
Warning: Streetcar spoiler: the end of Streetcar is revealed in this essay
Sample 1-- In some works of literature, an author makes it clear what the reader can know about a character. In others, however, it is very difficult to really know what a character thinks and who that character really is. Discuss the ways two authors create ambiguity regarding a character and the reasons for doing so.
Ambiguity with regard to a character is an effect often sought in literature. Authors often raise questions and veil their characters in mystery; the specific reasons for this vary, but this is always done to influence the reading of the text in some way or other. Both Tennessee Williams and Franz Kafka chose to create ambiguity around the main characters in their respective works A Streetcar Named Desire and The Metamorphosis. Ambiguity is created around Blanche and Gregor by bringing into question the truth of their tales, thus raising questions about the tragedy of their demise.
In A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche becomes an ambiguous figure because the reader is never sure what the truth is, and whether or not to believe her. One reason her truth is brought into question is because she is constantly inventing stories, usually to put on airs. At one point, for example, she goes on and on about her beau Shep Huntleigh from Dallas, who made millions drilling oil and likes to go on cruises to the Caribbean. This story is obviously fake because the men Blanche usually hangs out with are greasy bar flies and high school boys, and because she hasn’t the means to ever meet anyone like Shep Huntleigh. Her truth is further brought into question by her habit of inventing a new persona for herself in an attempt to impress others. She always wears fake furs and rhinestones so that she can pass herself off as a wealthy Southern Belle. She furthers this Southern Belle image by hiding her drinking: for though Blanche Dubois requires liquor to get her through the day, a lady would never be seen drinking the stuff. In order to appear more like the desirable young lady she’s supposed to be, Blanche is constantly seeking the darkness so that she can hide her age, she even resorts to hiding her past, especially all of her unsavory relations with men, so that she can appear morel like the lady she so desires to be. We therefore cannot trust Blanche’s version of truth, for she is constantly lying, keeping secrets and putting on airs. The reader’s mistrust then creates ambiguity around the character, for our mistrust of Blanche does not mean she lies about everything.
In The Metamorphosis, Gregor also becomes an ambiguous figure because the reader comes to question his truth. This is done primarily through the narrative. The narrator is third person, but the narrator follows Gregor. So though the narration is third person, we are essentially in Gregor’s thoughts. But because we are seeing everything through Gregor’s eyes, we are forced to be skeptical. The fantastic elements described seem impossible. If there were an omniscient narrator, we could be sure that others saw what Gregor did. But the subjectivity of the narration prevents that, and brings into question Gregor’s version of the events. Moreover, we can question the rendition of events because of how matter of factly they were rendered. The events described are fantastic and seemingly impossible. The average person, if faced with such a situation, would be incredulous, would panic, would have a generally ostentatious reaction. But it is instead merely said that “one morning Gregor woke up to find himself transformed into a giant bug.” This frank tone is in stark contrast with the bizarre turn of events, and as such the reader cannot help but question the truth of this matter. This uncertainty about the truth of the narration creates ambiguity around Gregor, for he is the principal agent of the narration, as well as the center of the action.
In Blanche’s case, the ambiguity that surrounds her brings controversy to the tragedy of her outcome. On the one hand, this ambiguity makes her seem like less of a victim. The way in which she lies and invents stories to impress people makes her seem very calculating. She’s another poker player, just like Stanely. And if she calculates everything, and knows exactly what she’s doing, can she really be considered a victim? Being a victim implies being harmed by someone stronger than oneself; but if Blanche is another poker player, she is of equal status with Stanely, and her demise was her fault. And if Blanche cannot be considered a victim, we don’t know whether or not to pity her when Mitch leaves. The situation is obviously tragic, considering the state Blanche is left in, but the tragedy is tempered by the fact that Blanche in some sort brought about the situation. However, she can be called a victim in the denouement. Despite all her wrongs, when Stanley rapes her she becomes a victim because she was bested by someone of greater physical force. Because she can be considered a victim at the end of the play, the tragedy is reinforced because Stella, her own sister, won’t believe her. This in some sense furthers the ambiguity about Blanche: Stella won’t believe her because of all the lies she previously told, therefore making her the cause of her tragedy; but this only reinforces the tragedy rather than tempers it. There is therefore much controversy about whether or not Blanche’s plight is actually tragic. The ambiguity of Blanche’s character therefore brings into question the definition and nature of tragedy.
Similarly, the ambiguity about Gregor brings into question the tragedy of the tale. If we believed Gregor’s version of events, such as the way he was mistreated and ostracized and his solitary death in exile, the end of the story would seem quite tragic. The end of the novel ends on such a positive note, with the whole family rejoicing over Gregor’s death, that the family seems veritably cruel, after making their son suffer so much. The cruelty then translates into tragedy. But because of the ambiguity cast on Gregor’s relation of the events, one can also cast doubt on the tragedy of the ending. For if the family did not abuse Gregor as he said they did, he seems more like a burden to them, an annoying dead weight they are forced to suffer. He seems to be an annoying child who invents harmful stories and does nothing but eat, waste the family’s hard earned money, and get underfoot. And if that were the case, his death is more a liberation than a tragedy. Indeed, the hopeful tone of the ending supports this idea, depicting Gregor’s death as a sacrifice necessary to reestablishing the natural order of the world. If such is the case, the ending stands in stark contrast with the rest of the narration, and seems to bring into question exactly what tragedy is.
Both Blanche and Gregor are ambiguous characters because they give reason to suspect their truthfulness. This, in turn, brings about questions about their tragedy: if we can’t believe them, how can we believe in the tragedy of their demise? This ambiguity about whether or not their ends were tragic raises questions about the nature of tragedy, such as what tragedy is and what constitutes tragedy. This questioning of the nature of tragedy extends to the very beginnings of literature, when authors such as Euripides made us wonder if we could pity a murderer like Medea.
Sample 2—poetry
Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you --
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me -- we two -- you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me -- who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records -- Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white --
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me --
although you're older -- and white --
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
HYPERLINK "http://www.cs.rice.edu/%7Essiyer/minstrels/index_poet_H.html" \l "Hughes" Langston Hughes, 1951
The notions of identity and individual truths form the essence of American society—something which seems ironic, considering that the definition of a human individual was, and perhaps still is, based on such superficial characteristics as the color of your skin. The Harlem Renaissance writers, of which Langston Hughes was a member, attempted to use the tools of literature, and specifically poetry, as advocates of this ironic discrepancy between what the Constitution believes Americans hold as self-evident, and the reality of the streets. In “Theme for English B,” Langston Hughes uses the tools of poetry to illustrate the irony that exists between the social reality and universal characteristics in order to erase the meanings of common words and advocate equality and freedom for all.
Hughes clearly depicts the social reality by opposing the intellectual potential of the white world with the dirtier, Harlem world of Blacks. The white world is simple, traditional, and higher. This can be seen through various ways. First of all, the words of the instructor are clear, simple and his quatrain even includes a rhyme scheme, aabb. He easily defines truth as that which “comes out of you.” This stands in stark contrast with the messier rhymes and even visual presentation of Hughes’ words, which indeed begin with a question, “I wonder if it’s that simple?” Indeed, the simple words and prose of the instructor illustrate the cleanliness of the established white world, which Hughes immediately questions, as though from an outsider’s point of view, only to write his own poem in a new and messier way.
Within this poem, Hughes establishes the social discrepancy which exists between the two worlds. Emblematic of social hierarchy, the white school is on a “hill above Harlem,” and “the steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,” emphasizes the lower status of blacks. Furthermore, as Hughes wanders back home, the verses become more repetitive. There are more commas, modifiers (then, where) and conjunctions (ands) as well as an emphasis on The Harlem Branch Y which further establishes the difference between the races—as the spaces in which they live are very different.
Finally, he makes this social distinction complete by identifying himself as part of Harlem, in contrast to the white professor. There is an anaphora in “I,” which is repeated many times throughout the piece. Hughes specifically describes himself as “colored” and “the only colored student in my class.” He furthermore creates his social identity through his race and his connection to Harlem: “I’m what/I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you/hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.” With an enjambment after “what,” Hughes meshes his identity, which comes through his senses from outdoors, with Harlem. The two become one. This is then starkly contrasted with his instructor: “older—and white--/and somewhat more free.” Just as he represents the newness, the funkiness of Harlem, his instructor represents the established and ruling white society (with “white stuck between two dashes, it is clearly the emphasized word).
With clear distinction, Hughes seems to be a clear advocate for the Black cause, the move towards further emancipation. This advocacy is clear when he shows that this social inequality is tragically ironic, because race should not matter in discussions of equality. Hughes accomplishes this by juxtaposing elements of Harlem which create his identity to the universal characteristics that he possesses.
The third stanza confuses the parts of his identity which he has gathered from Harlem with the parts of his identity that are universal in an effort to eclipse derogatory socio underlying meanings of “colored.” He begins his stanza by calling out directly to the reader—who could be of any race: “It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me,” he writes, referring to this universal human quest to find truth—something that will perhaps forever elude us. Already, he is unifying his very “colored” “Harlem” self with every other human on the planet. He further calls to our joint humanity by talking about his senses: “feel,” “see,” “hear” are all basic human characteristics (it therefore should not mater that he is using these words as he refers to Harlem). He furthermore heightens these human qualities by putting them on a second deeper level: from “I like to eat, sleep, drink and be in love,” he proceeds to “I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.” This is a gradation in the level of humanity—first form a more animalistic way of life to a heightened shared pleasure of transcendental ideas. He even questions the impact of outside effects on identity by questioning his own: “me—who?” In this way, he at the same time keeps his identity in the forefront and replaces it by describing those things which make him human like anyone else.
This leads to an actual confusion of colored, white, and races in general which seems to erase our pre-conceived notion of words. “Bessie, bop”—referring to traditional black music—are tied to the epitome of white, Eurocentric culture: “Bach,” by the alliteration in B. He asks “will my page be colored that I write?” skillfully using the word “colored” both in referral to his race (which might have a more negative connotation) and to a good, diverse, deep and interesting piece of writing (“colorful” would thus take on a more positive connotation). Therefore, by universalizing and tying together differences in identity, race, words, culture, Hughes bridges the two races, and shows just how ironic, and perhaps tragic these distinctions are.
Finally, it becomes clear that what Hughes is truly trying to do is bridge this racial gap in order to advocate equality and freedom for all. It is within this that he will be able to find the answer to his homework assignment. In forging a bond between two individuals, Hughes establishes a truly American principle. He upholds the critical importance of the individual in establishing a difference between “I” and “you.” The “I” will not write a white paper like the “you.” There is some antagonism between the identities of the two, who have been so forged by their special surroundings, Harlem or that hill, that they perhaps do not want to resemble each other. And this is something that Hughes very clearly upholds. And yet, this is also what makes America what it is—two very different races and cultures are nevertheless a part of each other : “you are white--/yet a part of me, as I am a part of you./that’s American.” He thus finds the truth perhaps not form himself but from the mixing and meshing and learning and teaching of two different individuals, and races: “But we are, that’s true!” I am my brother’s keeper, and the truth is that though his professor is different (and there is a definite celebration of this difference), they are nevertheless equal, each learns from the other.
The problem, however, the reality of the situation, comes back in those last two lines. Though they are equal, and each free from each other, the society nevertheless recognizes the white man as “somewhat more free.” This litote holds the key to Hughes’ entire message, because after showing however stupidly ironic the discrepancy between whites and blacks is, after showing that we all have the same basic needs, desires and characteristics,after showing that our identities, while perhaps different, only add to the truth and progress of our world, whites are nevertheless more free. And in this, there is something fundamentally wrong and disturbing and sad.
Thus, much like Tennessee Williams, Hughes seems to deplore our lack of human understanding. As equals, we should be equal, as individuals with individual and different identities, we should embrace one another, as free men, a truth our constitution tells us is self-evident, we should accept human freedom as a truth. On this are great nations founded, and by this should they live.
Sample 3—prose
: from The Rainbow
The women were different. On them too was the drowse of blood–intimacy, calves sucking and hens running together in droves, and young geese palpitating in the hand while the food was pushed down their throttle. But the women looked out from the heated, blind intercourse of farm–life, to the spoken world beyond. They were aware of the lips and the mind of the world speaking and giving utterance, they heard the sound in the distance, and they strained to listen.
It was enough for the men, that the earth heaved and opened its furrow to them, that the wind blew to dry the wet wheat, and set the young ears of corn wheeling freshly round about; it was enough that they helped the cow in labour, or ferreted the rats from under the barn, or broke the back of a rabbit with a sharp knock of the hand. So much warmth and generating and pain and death did they know in their blood, earth and sky and beast and green plants, so much exchange and interchange they had with these, that they lived full and surcharged, their senses full fed, their faces always turned to the heat of the blood, staring into the sun, dazed with looking towards the source of generation, unable to turn round.
But the woman wanted another form of life than this, something that was not blood–intimacy. Her house faced out from the farm–buildings and fields, looked out to the road and the village with church and Hall and the world beyond. She stood to see the far–off world of cities and governments and the active scope of man, the magic land to her, where secrets were made known and desires fulfilled. She faced outwards to where men moved dominant and creative, having turned their back on the pulsing heat of creation, and with this behind them, were set out to discover what was beyond, to enlarge their own scope and range and freedom; whereas the Brangwen men faced inwards to the teeming life of creation, which poured unresolved into their veins.
Looking out, as she must, from the front of her house towards the activity of man in the world at large, whilst her husband looked out to the back at sky and harvest and beast and land, she strained her eyes to see what man had done in fighting outwards to knowledge, she strained to hear how he uttered himself in his conquest, her deepest desire hung on the battle that she heard, far off, being waged on the edge of the unknown. She also wanted to know, and to be of the fighting host.
From The Rainbow by D.H. Lawrence, published in 1915
The beginning of the twentieth century would bring many social ameliorations for women. Yet, however close to equality we are getting, there is, to the core, many differences between men and women, in their desires. D.H. Lawrence in 1915 publishes a novel called The Rainbow in which he describes the different attitudes of mean and women towards farm life. After energetically emphasizing the fulfilling of the senses that farm life is to me, Lawrence shows how this vision is drastically opposed to the perception of farm life by the women who hear the appealing sound of the world outside.
For the Brangwen men, the farm-life seems to bring extasis of the senses. Lawrence describes through a powerful, pulsing, rapid text, full of visual sensations, what farm life is to men. To do so, he uses many enumerations, first listing the duties of the men, from helping the cow in labor to breaking the neck of a rabbit. After doing so, he lists the sensations that will come to these men: “so much warmth and generating and pain and deaths.” The “and” separating all the words creates a redundance associated with the farmer’s pattern, but also a sense of completeness, of perpetual fulfillment. Therefore the men are left not only “full” but also “surcharged.”
There seems to be a harmony between the men and nature. First of all nature and their duty are complementary: “the wind blew to dry the wet wheat.” Nature seems to be helping them, they work hand in hand with it, in complete osmosis with it: “the earth heaved and opened its furrow to them.” The personification of the earth showed the complicity between the men and nature. Furthermore, a succession of alliterations emphasizes this harmony: in “w” with “the wind blew to dry the wet wheat,” on in “k,” “broke the back of a rabbit with a sharp knock of the hand.” The different sounds indicate different actions, showing the wide range of activities of the Brangwen men. This permits a wider closeness with the Earth with whom they interfere in many different ways: “so much exchange and interchange they had with these.” This makes the harmony reach its apotheosis. Indeed the men become the nature: the blood is put in parallel with the “earth and sky and beast and green plants,” the men become a part of the farm elements with which they work: earth and green plants for agriculture, beast for farming and the sky to look at. Therefore the farming men live “their senses full fed.” They are so absorbed by the farmwork that they are “unable to turn around,” since they are always turned towards “the heat of the blood,” the physical work. They seem to have no mind, no desires, only faces that stare into the sun as opposed to women.
As men are entirely satiated with the farm work, women desire other things. This difference is not due to the fact that they don’t work: they too possess the “drowse of the blood,” but on them it is a “drowse” whereas on men it is a “heat of the blood.” This blood is not only liked to the farm, to the physical and material dimension of the work they do, but also to the men who are so indivisible from farm life: in the intimacy that is associated with blood. On the opposite of me, women are turned “outwards,” they are not blinded by physical work. They “look at the spoken world beyond.” The women do not only see what is outside, they do not only hear it, they desire it. There seems to be a complete dichotomy between the men and the women. Whereas men possess only what seems to be extatic animality, the woman is separated from him. She can possess it; it is “’her house” and “her husband,” not “their house.” Yet she transcends these possessions: her house “faces out from the farm” and she looks at “the world beyond” not only with her eyes but with her imagination.
Indeed, the woman, on the opposite of the farmers, is able to look with her mind. She sees the “far-off world” both far off physically and mentally. To her this is a “magic land where secrets were made known and desires fulfilled.” On the opposite of men, she is not satisfied by the only material satisfaction of her needs, she also has moral needs, desires and secrets, that have to be fulfilled. She wants a world where “men move dominant and creative” at the opposite of the world where all are servants of nature, which is the only one to dominate and the only one to create. What the woman craves for, is to discover the world outside.
To her this world is central and unique: it is “the spoken world,” “the lips and mind of the world speaking.” This personification of the world as a person and the metonymy of the city as “the lips and mind” makes the outside world seem central but also a place of spiritual evolution, and therefore of moral bliss. This world is a world of “fighting outwards towards knowledge.” Man in the outside world is depicted as an epic hero “fighting outwards,” “in his conquest,” “fighting host, “battle being waged on the edge of the unknown.” Whereas the men in the farm are dealing with elements that are part of themselves, that “pour unresolved into their veins,” the men in cities try to resolve what pours into their veins. They try to understand the limits that surround them, they strive to achieve knowledge. The woman “also wants to know and to be of the fighting hosts.” The outside world offers a development of the mind, a battle against ignorance, a desire to know that farm life does not provide. Men have taken the necessary step of “turning their back on the pusling heat of creation,” of transcending nature and farm life, to live in a society that tries to “enlarge their own scope and range and freedom.” Because whereas the Brangwen men and women are slaves of nature, in cities man is able to decide where to go, to try to win the battle of knowledge, to discover.
Therefore whereas men are living fully with their senses, whereas farm life satisfies men, women are left with other deeper desires, of moral evolution, of knowledge. These are whispered to them by the lips of the outside world. However they never reach nor make concrete their desires. They stay with the blood intimacy, the animal man who dazes at the sky and their empty desires, dreaming and looking out, maybe because at the time they couldn’t do anything else. There was their liberty, in front of the doorstep, imagining a world they would never—they could never—experience.
Sample 1-- In some works of literature, an author makes it clear what the reader can know about a character. In others, however, it is very difficult to really know what a character thinks and who that character really is. Discuss the ways two authors create ambiguity regarding a character and the reasons for doing so.
Ambiguity with regard to a character is an effect often sought in literature. Authors often raise questions and veil their characters in mystery; the specific reasons for this vary, but this is always done to influence the reading of the text in some way or other. Both Tennessee Williams and Franz Kafka chose to create ambiguity around the main characters in their respective works A Streetcar Named Desire and The Metamorphosis. Ambiguity is created around Blanche and Gregor by bringing into question the truth of their tales, thus raising questions about the tragedy of their demise.
In A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche becomes an ambiguous figure because the reader is never sure what the truth is, and whether or not to believe her. One reason her truth is brought into question is because she is constantly inventing stories, usually to put on airs. At one point, for example, she goes on and on about her beau Shep Huntleigh from Dallas, who made millions drilling oil and likes to go on cruises to the Caribbean. This story is obviously fake because the men Blanche usually hangs out with are greasy bar flies and high school boys, and because she hasn’t the means to ever meet anyone like Shep Huntleigh. Her truth is further brought into question by her habit of inventing a new persona for herself in an attempt to impress others. She always wears fake furs and rhinestones so that she can pass herself off as a wealthy Southern Belle. She furthers this Southern Belle image by hiding her drinking: for though Blanche Dubois requires liquor to get her through the day, a lady would never be seen drinking the stuff. In order to appear more like the desirable young lady she’s supposed to be, Blanche is constantly seeking the darkness so that she can hide her age, she even resorts to hiding her past, especially all of her unsavory relations with men, so that she can appear morel like the lady she so desires to be. We therefore cannot trust Blanche’s version of truth, for she is constantly lying, keeping secrets and putting on airs. The reader’s mistrust then creates ambiguity around the character, for our mistrust of Blanche does not mean she lies about everything.
In The Metamorphosis, Gregor also becomes an ambiguous figure because the reader comes to question his truth. This is done primarily through the narrative. The narrator is third person, but the narrator follows Gregor. So though the narration is third person, we are essentially in Gregor’s thoughts. But because we are seeing everything through Gregor’s eyes, we are forced to be skeptical. The fantastic elements described seem impossible. If there were an omniscient narrator, we could be sure that others saw what Gregor did. But the subjectivity of the narration prevents that, and brings into question Gregor’s version of the events. Moreover, we can question the rendition of events because of how matter of factly they were rendered. The events described are fantastic and seemingly impossible. The average person, if faced with such a situation, would be incredulous, would panic, would have a generally ostentatious reaction. But it is instead merely said that “one morning Gregor woke up to find himself transformed into a giant bug.” This frank tone is in stark contrast with the bizarre turn of events, and as such the reader cannot help but question the truth of this matter. This uncertainty about the truth of the narration creates ambiguity around Gregor, for he is the principal agent of the narration, as well as the center of the action.
In Blanche’s case, the ambiguity that surrounds her brings controversy to the tragedy of her outcome. On the one hand, this ambiguity makes her seem like less of a victim. The way in which she lies and invents stories to impress people makes her seem very calculating. She’s another poker player, just like Stanely. And if she calculates everything, and knows exactly what she’s doing, can she really be considered a victim? Being a victim implies being harmed by someone stronger than oneself; but if Blanche is another poker player, she is of equal status with Stanely, and her demise was her fault. And if Blanche cannot be considered a victim, we don’t know whether or not to pity her when Mitch leaves. The situation is obviously tragic, considering the state Blanche is left in, but the tragedy is tempered by the fact that Blanche in some sort brought about the situation. However, she can be called a victim in the denouement. Despite all her wrongs, when Stanley rapes her she becomes a victim because she was bested by someone of greater physical force. Because she can be considered a victim at the end of the play, the tragedy is reinforced because Stella, her own sister, won’t believe her. This in some sense furthers the ambiguity about Blanche: Stella won’t believe her because of all the lies she previously told, therefore making her the cause of her tragedy; but this only reinforces the tragedy rather than tempers it. There is therefore much controversy about whether or not Blanche’s plight is actually tragic. The ambiguity of Blanche’s character therefore brings into question the definition and nature of tragedy.
Similarly, the ambiguity about Gregor brings into question the tragedy of the tale. If we believed Gregor’s version of events, such as the way he was mistreated and ostracized and his solitary death in exile, the end of the story would seem quite tragic. The end of the novel ends on such a positive note, with the whole family rejoicing over Gregor’s death, that the family seems veritably cruel, after making their son suffer so much. The cruelty then translates into tragedy. But because of the ambiguity cast on Gregor’s relation of the events, one can also cast doubt on the tragedy of the ending. For if the family did not abuse Gregor as he said they did, he seems more like a burden to them, an annoying dead weight they are forced to suffer. He seems to be an annoying child who invents harmful stories and does nothing but eat, waste the family’s hard earned money, and get underfoot. And if that were the case, his death is more a liberation than a tragedy. Indeed, the hopeful tone of the ending supports this idea, depicting Gregor’s death as a sacrifice necessary to reestablishing the natural order of the world. If such is the case, the ending stands in stark contrast with the rest of the narration, and seems to bring into question exactly what tragedy is.
Both Blanche and Gregor are ambiguous characters because they give reason to suspect their truthfulness. This, in turn, brings about questions about their tragedy: if we can’t believe them, how can we believe in the tragedy of their demise? This ambiguity about whether or not their ends were tragic raises questions about the nature of tragedy, such as what tragedy is and what constitutes tragedy. This questioning of the nature of tragedy extends to the very beginnings of literature, when authors such as Euripides made us wonder if we could pity a murderer like Medea.
Sample 2—poetry
Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you --
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me -- we two -- you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me -- who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records -- Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white --
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me --
although you're older -- and white --
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
HYPERLINK "http://www.cs.rice.edu/%7Essiyer/minstrels/index_poet_H.html" \l "Hughes" Langston Hughes, 1951
The notions of identity and individual truths form the essence of American society—something which seems ironic, considering that the definition of a human individual was, and perhaps still is, based on such superficial characteristics as the color of your skin. The Harlem Renaissance writers, of which Langston Hughes was a member, attempted to use the tools of literature, and specifically poetry, as advocates of this ironic discrepancy between what the Constitution believes Americans hold as self-evident, and the reality of the streets. In “Theme for English B,” Langston Hughes uses the tools of poetry to illustrate the irony that exists between the social reality and universal characteristics in order to erase the meanings of common words and advocate equality and freedom for all.
Hughes clearly depicts the social reality by opposing the intellectual potential of the white world with the dirtier, Harlem world of Blacks. The white world is simple, traditional, and higher. This can be seen through various ways. First of all, the words of the instructor are clear, simple and his quatrain even includes a rhyme scheme, aabb. He easily defines truth as that which “comes out of you.” This stands in stark contrast with the messier rhymes and even visual presentation of Hughes’ words, which indeed begin with a question, “I wonder if it’s that simple?” Indeed, the simple words and prose of the instructor illustrate the cleanliness of the established white world, which Hughes immediately questions, as though from an outsider’s point of view, only to write his own poem in a new and messier way.
Within this poem, Hughes establishes the social discrepancy which exists between the two worlds. Emblematic of social hierarchy, the white school is on a “hill above Harlem,” and “the steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,” emphasizes the lower status of blacks. Furthermore, as Hughes wanders back home, the verses become more repetitive. There are more commas, modifiers (then, where) and conjunctions (ands) as well as an emphasis on The Harlem Branch Y which further establishes the difference between the races—as the spaces in which they live are very different.
Finally, he makes this social distinction complete by identifying himself as part of Harlem, in contrast to the white professor. There is an anaphora in “I,” which is repeated many times throughout the piece. Hughes specifically describes himself as “colored” and “the only colored student in my class.” He furthermore creates his social identity through his race and his connection to Harlem: “I’m what/I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you/hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.” With an enjambment after “what,” Hughes meshes his identity, which comes through his senses from outdoors, with Harlem. The two become one. This is then starkly contrasted with his instructor: “older—and white--/and somewhat more free.” Just as he represents the newness, the funkiness of Harlem, his instructor represents the established and ruling white society (with “white stuck between two dashes, it is clearly the emphasized word).
With clear distinction, Hughes seems to be a clear advocate for the Black cause, the move towards further emancipation. This advocacy is clear when he shows that this social inequality is tragically ironic, because race should not matter in discussions of equality. Hughes accomplishes this by juxtaposing elements of Harlem which create his identity to the universal characteristics that he possesses.
The third stanza confuses the parts of his identity which he has gathered from Harlem with the parts of his identity that are universal in an effort to eclipse derogatory socio underlying meanings of “colored.” He begins his stanza by calling out directly to the reader—who could be of any race: “It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me,” he writes, referring to this universal human quest to find truth—something that will perhaps forever elude us. Already, he is unifying his very “colored” “Harlem” self with every other human on the planet. He further calls to our joint humanity by talking about his senses: “feel,” “see,” “hear” are all basic human characteristics (it therefore should not mater that he is using these words as he refers to Harlem). He furthermore heightens these human qualities by putting them on a second deeper level: from “I like to eat, sleep, drink and be in love,” he proceeds to “I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.” This is a gradation in the level of humanity—first form a more animalistic way of life to a heightened shared pleasure of transcendental ideas. He even questions the impact of outside effects on identity by questioning his own: “me—who?” In this way, he at the same time keeps his identity in the forefront and replaces it by describing those things which make him human like anyone else.
This leads to an actual confusion of colored, white, and races in general which seems to erase our pre-conceived notion of words. “Bessie, bop”—referring to traditional black music—are tied to the epitome of white, Eurocentric culture: “Bach,” by the alliteration in B. He asks “will my page be colored that I write?” skillfully using the word “colored” both in referral to his race (which might have a more negative connotation) and to a good, diverse, deep and interesting piece of writing (“colorful” would thus take on a more positive connotation). Therefore, by universalizing and tying together differences in identity, race, words, culture, Hughes bridges the two races, and shows just how ironic, and perhaps tragic these distinctions are.
Finally, it becomes clear that what Hughes is truly trying to do is bridge this racial gap in order to advocate equality and freedom for all. It is within this that he will be able to find the answer to his homework assignment. In forging a bond between two individuals, Hughes establishes a truly American principle. He upholds the critical importance of the individual in establishing a difference between “I” and “you.” The “I” will not write a white paper like the “you.” There is some antagonism between the identities of the two, who have been so forged by their special surroundings, Harlem or that hill, that they perhaps do not want to resemble each other. And this is something that Hughes very clearly upholds. And yet, this is also what makes America what it is—two very different races and cultures are nevertheless a part of each other : “you are white--/yet a part of me, as I am a part of you./that’s American.” He thus finds the truth perhaps not form himself but from the mixing and meshing and learning and teaching of two different individuals, and races: “But we are, that’s true!” I am my brother’s keeper, and the truth is that though his professor is different (and there is a definite celebration of this difference), they are nevertheless equal, each learns from the other.
The problem, however, the reality of the situation, comes back in those last two lines. Though they are equal, and each free from each other, the society nevertheless recognizes the white man as “somewhat more free.” This litote holds the key to Hughes’ entire message, because after showing however stupidly ironic the discrepancy between whites and blacks is, after showing that we all have the same basic needs, desires and characteristics,after showing that our identities, while perhaps different, only add to the truth and progress of our world, whites are nevertheless more free. And in this, there is something fundamentally wrong and disturbing and sad.
Thus, much like Tennessee Williams, Hughes seems to deplore our lack of human understanding. As equals, we should be equal, as individuals with individual and different identities, we should embrace one another, as free men, a truth our constitution tells us is self-evident, we should accept human freedom as a truth. On this are great nations founded, and by this should they live.
Sample 3—prose
: from The Rainbow
The women were different. On them too was the drowse of blood–intimacy, calves sucking and hens running together in droves, and young geese palpitating in the hand while the food was pushed down their throttle. But the women looked out from the heated, blind intercourse of farm–life, to the spoken world beyond. They were aware of the lips and the mind of the world speaking and giving utterance, they heard the sound in the distance, and they strained to listen.
It was enough for the men, that the earth heaved and opened its furrow to them, that the wind blew to dry the wet wheat, and set the young ears of corn wheeling freshly round about; it was enough that they helped the cow in labour, or ferreted the rats from under the barn, or broke the back of a rabbit with a sharp knock of the hand. So much warmth and generating and pain and death did they know in their blood, earth and sky and beast and green plants, so much exchange and interchange they had with these, that they lived full and surcharged, their senses full fed, their faces always turned to the heat of the blood, staring into the sun, dazed with looking towards the source of generation, unable to turn round.
But the woman wanted another form of life than this, something that was not blood–intimacy. Her house faced out from the farm–buildings and fields, looked out to the road and the village with church and Hall and the world beyond. She stood to see the far–off world of cities and governments and the active scope of man, the magic land to her, where secrets were made known and desires fulfilled. She faced outwards to where men moved dominant and creative, having turned their back on the pulsing heat of creation, and with this behind them, were set out to discover what was beyond, to enlarge their own scope and range and freedom; whereas the Brangwen men faced inwards to the teeming life of creation, which poured unresolved into their veins.
Looking out, as she must, from the front of her house towards the activity of man in the world at large, whilst her husband looked out to the back at sky and harvest and beast and land, she strained her eyes to see what man had done in fighting outwards to knowledge, she strained to hear how he uttered himself in his conquest, her deepest desire hung on the battle that she heard, far off, being waged on the edge of the unknown. She also wanted to know, and to be of the fighting host.
From The Rainbow by D.H. Lawrence, published in 1915
The beginning of the twentieth century would bring many social ameliorations for women. Yet, however close to equality we are getting, there is, to the core, many differences between men and women, in their desires. D.H. Lawrence in 1915 publishes a novel called The Rainbow in which he describes the different attitudes of mean and women towards farm life. After energetically emphasizing the fulfilling of the senses that farm life is to me, Lawrence shows how this vision is drastically opposed to the perception of farm life by the women who hear the appealing sound of the world outside.
For the Brangwen men, the farm-life seems to bring extasis of the senses. Lawrence describes through a powerful, pulsing, rapid text, full of visual sensations, what farm life is to men. To do so, he uses many enumerations, first listing the duties of the men, from helping the cow in labor to breaking the neck of a rabbit. After doing so, he lists the sensations that will come to these men: “so much warmth and generating and pain and deaths.” The “and” separating all the words creates a redundance associated with the farmer’s pattern, but also a sense of completeness, of perpetual fulfillment. Therefore the men are left not only “full” but also “surcharged.”
There seems to be a harmony between the men and nature. First of all nature and their duty are complementary: “the wind blew to dry the wet wheat.” Nature seems to be helping them, they work hand in hand with it, in complete osmosis with it: “the earth heaved and opened its furrow to them.” The personification of the earth showed the complicity between the men and nature. Furthermore, a succession of alliterations emphasizes this harmony: in “w” with “the wind blew to dry the wet wheat,” on in “k,” “broke the back of a rabbit with a sharp knock of the hand.” The different sounds indicate different actions, showing the wide range of activities of the Brangwen men. This permits a wider closeness with the Earth with whom they interfere in many different ways: “so much exchange and interchange they had with these.” This makes the harmony reach its apotheosis. Indeed the men become the nature: the blood is put in parallel with the “earth and sky and beast and green plants,” the men become a part of the farm elements with which they work: earth and green plants for agriculture, beast for farming and the sky to look at. Therefore the farming men live “their senses full fed.” They are so absorbed by the farmwork that they are “unable to turn around,” since they are always turned towards “the heat of the blood,” the physical work. They seem to have no mind, no desires, only faces that stare into the sun as opposed to women.
As men are entirely satiated with the farm work, women desire other things. This difference is not due to the fact that they don’t work: they too possess the “drowse of the blood,” but on them it is a “drowse” whereas on men it is a “heat of the blood.” This blood is not only liked to the farm, to the physical and material dimension of the work they do, but also to the men who are so indivisible from farm life: in the intimacy that is associated with blood. On the opposite of me, women are turned “outwards,” they are not blinded by physical work. They “look at the spoken world beyond.” The women do not only see what is outside, they do not only hear it, they desire it. There seems to be a complete dichotomy between the men and the women. Whereas men possess only what seems to be extatic animality, the woman is separated from him. She can possess it; it is “’her house” and “her husband,” not “their house.” Yet she transcends these possessions: her house “faces out from the farm” and she looks at “the world beyond” not only with her eyes but with her imagination.
Indeed, the woman, on the opposite of the farmers, is able to look with her mind. She sees the “far-off world” both far off physically and mentally. To her this is a “magic land where secrets were made known and desires fulfilled.” On the opposite of men, she is not satisfied by the only material satisfaction of her needs, she also has moral needs, desires and secrets, that have to be fulfilled. She wants a world where “men move dominant and creative” at the opposite of the world where all are servants of nature, which is the only one to dominate and the only one to create. What the woman craves for, is to discover the world outside.
To her this world is central and unique: it is “the spoken world,” “the lips and mind of the world speaking.” This personification of the world as a person and the metonymy of the city as “the lips and mind” makes the outside world seem central but also a place of spiritual evolution, and therefore of moral bliss. This world is a world of “fighting outwards towards knowledge.” Man in the outside world is depicted as an epic hero “fighting outwards,” “in his conquest,” “fighting host, “battle being waged on the edge of the unknown.” Whereas the men in the farm are dealing with elements that are part of themselves, that “pour unresolved into their veins,” the men in cities try to resolve what pours into their veins. They try to understand the limits that surround them, they strive to achieve knowledge. The woman “also wants to know and to be of the fighting hosts.” The outside world offers a development of the mind, a battle against ignorance, a desire to know that farm life does not provide. Men have taken the necessary step of “turning their back on the pusling heat of creation,” of transcending nature and farm life, to live in a society that tries to “enlarge their own scope and range and freedom.” Because whereas the Brangwen men and women are slaves of nature, in cities man is able to decide where to go, to try to win the battle of knowledge, to discover.
Therefore whereas men are living fully with their senses, whereas farm life satisfies men, women are left with other deeper desires, of moral evolution, of knowledge. These are whispered to them by the lips of the outside world. However they never reach nor make concrete their desires. They stay with the blood intimacy, the animal man who dazes at the sky and their empty desires, dreaming and looking out, maybe because at the time they couldn’t do anything else. There was their liberty, in front of the doorstep, imagining a world they would never—they could never—experience.
