Hints of industrialization and the changing nature of American culture permeate several of these selections. “A White Heron” beautifully fictionalizes the tension of change—from an agrarian nation of pioneers to a more urbanized environment of entrepreneurs. There are multiple layers of Jewett’s story. On one level, a young girl moves from a position of innocence to experience. The protagonist, Sylvia, becomes aware of the desire to please man as well as the potential conflict of interest such a desire has with her love of nature. At the end of the story, she remains loyal to the sought-after heron not out of ignorance but out of deliberate choice. She is now aware that either decision requires some sort of sacrifice. “Were the birds ever better friends than their hunter might have been,--who can tell?” America seems to be going through a similar transition. To remain agrarian in nature might be safe and calmer. But perhaps Americans wonder, like Sylvia, whether industrial progress will be a better friend than the birds. Either way, some things will be gained, while others will be lost. The story is particularly poignant considering the young age of America as a nation. America herself is moving from innocence to experience in her own way, through events such as wars, slavery, expansion, and growing industrialization.
Theodore Roosevelt’s “From American Ideals” shocked me in the similarity of its rhetoric to much of what we still hear today. Roosevelt writes about the response of Americans and immigrants to the continued immigration of people from other nations. Roosevelt’s main hypothesis is that immigrants are welcome as long as they learn to be “American” above all else. For Roosevelt, becoming American is also synonymous with ceasing to be European. He does not have issues with being a “people of mixed blood,” but he desires for all immigrants to cease their native languages and customs in order to fully embrace the heartily American way of life. At one point, Roosevelt declares, “To bear the name American is to bear the most honorable of titles; and whoever does not so believe has no business to bear the name at all, and, if he comes from Europe, the sooner he goes back there the better.” How similar this statement is to current rhetoric concerning the influx of the Hispanic population! Some believe that immigration should equal assimilation, and that to come to the country without learning English is a detriment to our society and an inconvenience upon us. Others believe that everyone should learn Spanish to accommodate those who are moving into the country. It seems that somewhere there is a much sought after, little found balance.
Roosevelt proposes an interesting idea that I find somewhat contradictory. He embraces the mixed nature of our people as Americans, saying that some of the best people he knows are from Scandinavia, Ireland, Germany, etc. Yet he wants people to abandon all customs except those which are truly “American.” Yet in reality, all Americans are immigrants except for the Native Americans (and even they most likely traveled to America from a different location). The American spirit that Roosevelt speaks of cannot be but a blending of different cultures. Who decides what is truly “American” and what looks too much like our European roots? Roosevelt later implies that some of America’s defining characteristics are her hard work ethic and endurance. Yet it seems rather arrogant to assume these qualities are exclusively or “truly” American. Authors such as Jose Marti and Helen Hunt Jackson seem to rise up against this “us” and “them” mentality. Women such as Jane Addams worked to embrace the diversity of immigrant culture while at the same time helping them find a niche within the American society.
I found Henry James to be an interesting author in the midst of a slew of others interested in writing only stories taking place in and concerned with America. Though he certainly confronted American stereotypes, he dared to set his story back in Europe. It seems that American writers were often so concerned with developing a distinctly American genre that they overlooked international issues. At times, the overwhelming desire to be individualistic seemed to somewhat blind Americans to their place in the world as a whole. James shows an interesting tension between national pride and a larger vision for the world, a sophisticated sense of internationalism. I wonder whether this sense of the world at large will grow as imperialism grows, with the expansion of American economy and interests into other nations around the world. And I was left wondering about Daisy Miller and her true character, just as James’ biography predicted I would be in describing his ambiguous endings.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
"Her banner in mockery waves..."
The mid nineteenth century proved fairly quickly that America would be no utopia for all. Inequality plagued the land. Some believed the racism and sexism to be ramifications of an inherently unequal Constitution, whereas others simply believed America was not living up to her true ideals. Regardless, certain human lives were considered as more important and valuable than others. I was shocked by Thomas Jefferson’s opinions in his “Notes on the State of Virginia,” in which he maintained that “the blacks, whether originally a distinct race, or made distinct by time and circumstances, are inferior to the whites in the endowments both of body and mind.” His words are based purely on his own presuppositions and have no validity, evidence, or heart. He suggests that African Americans feel less deeply than whites. “Never,” he says, “yet could I find that a black had uttered a thought above the level of plain narration.” After reading authors such as Harriet Beecher Stowe, Harriet Jacobs, Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, and Frederick Douglass, I do not see how anyone could ever support that claim.
I have often heard of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” but have never read the novel. After reading these excerpts, I want to finish reading the rest of the novel. Stowe’s words are beautifully crafted with irony that manages to be heartfelt rather than brutish. Stowe challenges the notion of patriotism. She references the compassionate senator as “a sad case for his patriotism.” Yet one cannot help but see him as a much greater patriot than any enactor of the Fugitive Slave Law. He is a patriot for a higher group than just the Union—a patriot for humanity. Referring to a man who suggested that he did not support the Fugitive Slave Law, Stowe says, “So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutionalized relations, and consequently was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.” Stowe perfectly portrays in entertaining, narrative style the American double standard. This “Christian” nation is more responsible and more accountable than the most “pagan” of nations who do not boast the principles of enlightenment and liberty and justice. Frances Ellen Watkins Harper echoes a similar sentiment in her poem, “Eliza Harris:”
Oh! How shall I speak of my proud country’s shame?
Of the stains of her glory, how give them their name?
How say that her banner in mockery waves—
Her ‘star-spangled banner’—o’er millions of slaves?
Stowe captures humanity and the human spirit beautifully. I love the interchange between the senator’s wife and the runaway slave, Eliza. “There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all spring up into joys for others; whose earthly hopes, laid in the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed.” I feel that Stowe sets herself apart in a novel of social commentary by portraying these two women as having similar experiences. Both love their children; both know depths of grief. The color of skin does not automatically make one more or less feeling than the other and does not exempt either from sorrow. Stowe leaves the reader with the haunting question of whether apathy and inaction from the general masses leading to the perpetuation of slavery is not just as harsh a crime as the slave trader who rips the baby from its mother’s breast.
Women in general are continually finding a stronger and bolder voice at this point in history. Elizabeth Drew Stoddard portrays a woman who finds herself a different kind of slave in “Lemorne versus Huell.” Several times Margaret recognizes that her opinion is not being solicited and her wishes not being voiced, yet she seems to be consoling herself with being wanted. She expresses her plight, “Every person’s individuality was sacred to me, from the fact, perhaps, that my own individuality had never been respected by any person with whom I had any relation—not even by my own mother.” Though it appears Margaret might have gained her freedom and happiness by marrying Mr. Uxbridge, she has really just passed into a new slavery. Without her knowledge, her marriage has been more about an economic transaction than a vow of commitment and love. I think this reading ties the struggle of women and slaves at this period together. Neither were necessarily recognized as individuals; both were often used as a means to an end, to a gain of finance. Margaret says, “I was not allowed to give myself—I was taken.” This was the painful reality for far too many women and slaves. This denial of individual rights flew directly in the face of the proud, optimistic individualism of the Transcendentalists. It is no wonder that many of those men were strong abolitionists.
One scene in Uncle Tom’s Cabin reminded me of The Confidence Man. In this scene (also held on a boat, interestingly enough), a clergyman twists the words of the Bible to support his own political and economic position. He claims that the Bible indicates the African race as destined for servitude, using the same slippery deception the Confidence Man often uses in duping his victims. Thankfully, Stowe inserts another character into the scene who brings up the Scripture: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” But such twisted use of the Bible simply underscores the stubborn blindness of many Americans to what could not have been interpreted as less than an inhumane, evil, exploitive institution.
I have often heard of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” but have never read the novel. After reading these excerpts, I want to finish reading the rest of the novel. Stowe’s words are beautifully crafted with irony that manages to be heartfelt rather than brutish. Stowe challenges the notion of patriotism. She references the compassionate senator as “a sad case for his patriotism.” Yet one cannot help but see him as a much greater patriot than any enactor of the Fugitive Slave Law. He is a patriot for a higher group than just the Union—a patriot for humanity. Referring to a man who suggested that he did not support the Fugitive Slave Law, Stowe says, “So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutionalized relations, and consequently was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.” Stowe perfectly portrays in entertaining, narrative style the American double standard. This “Christian” nation is more responsible and more accountable than the most “pagan” of nations who do not boast the principles of enlightenment and liberty and justice. Frances Ellen Watkins Harper echoes a similar sentiment in her poem, “Eliza Harris:”
Oh! How shall I speak of my proud country’s shame?
Of the stains of her glory, how give them their name?
How say that her banner in mockery waves—
Her ‘star-spangled banner’—o’er millions of slaves?
Stowe captures humanity and the human spirit beautifully. I love the interchange between the senator’s wife and the runaway slave, Eliza. “There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all spring up into joys for others; whose earthly hopes, laid in the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed.” I feel that Stowe sets herself apart in a novel of social commentary by portraying these two women as having similar experiences. Both love their children; both know depths of grief. The color of skin does not automatically make one more or less feeling than the other and does not exempt either from sorrow. Stowe leaves the reader with the haunting question of whether apathy and inaction from the general masses leading to the perpetuation of slavery is not just as harsh a crime as the slave trader who rips the baby from its mother’s breast.
Women in general are continually finding a stronger and bolder voice at this point in history. Elizabeth Drew Stoddard portrays a woman who finds herself a different kind of slave in “Lemorne versus Huell.” Several times Margaret recognizes that her opinion is not being solicited and her wishes not being voiced, yet she seems to be consoling herself with being wanted. She expresses her plight, “Every person’s individuality was sacred to me, from the fact, perhaps, that my own individuality had never been respected by any person with whom I had any relation—not even by my own mother.” Though it appears Margaret might have gained her freedom and happiness by marrying Mr. Uxbridge, she has really just passed into a new slavery. Without her knowledge, her marriage has been more about an economic transaction than a vow of commitment and love. I think this reading ties the struggle of women and slaves at this period together. Neither were necessarily recognized as individuals; both were often used as a means to an end, to a gain of finance. Margaret says, “I was not allowed to give myself—I was taken.” This was the painful reality for far too many women and slaves. This denial of individual rights flew directly in the face of the proud, optimistic individualism of the Transcendentalists. It is no wonder that many of those men were strong abolitionists.
One scene in Uncle Tom’s Cabin reminded me of The Confidence Man. In this scene (also held on a boat, interestingly enough), a clergyman twists the words of the Bible to support his own political and economic position. He claims that the Bible indicates the African race as destined for servitude, using the same slippery deception the Confidence Man often uses in duping his victims. Thankfully, Stowe inserts another character into the scene who brings up the Scripture: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” But such twisted use of the Bible simply underscores the stubborn blindness of many Americans to what could not have been interpreted as less than an inhumane, evil, exploitive institution.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
If I Were the Devil: Confidence Man Part 2
What does this Confidence Man want? What exactly is he after in these various encounters with unsuspecting individuals, who for all their lack of confidence put far too much trust in the devil? I personally think he has little interest in actually receiving their money, because many of the amounts he collects are small and hardly seem worth the time spent conniving. The Confidence Man’s desire seems to be much more rooted in the art of persuasion, the desire to win the challenge of getting whatever he sets his mind to at the expense of anyone. I believe that were the confidence man to decide he wanted to get everyone on the ship to shed a tear or to bark like a dog, his delight in victory would be just as great. He chases for the sake of a chase and dupes others as though it is an art rather than a money making scheme.
I wonder whether Melville used the bachelor as a mouthpiece for his own views on the world, saying “…one cannot enjoy life with gusto unless he renounce the too-sober view of life. But since the too-sober view is, doubtless, nearer true than the too-drunken; I, who rate truth, though cold water, above untruth, though Tokay, will stick to my earthen jug.” The confidence man and bachelor are discussing the age-old dichotomy of optimism and pessimism, examining a glass that is half empty or half full. The old cliché, “Ignorance is bliss,” applies to many of the passengers aboard the Fidele. Many of the passengers have stories of disappointment, betrayal, and distrust to tell the confidence man. Modeling an almost intentional blindness to real life evidence, the confidence man always manages to repaint the story in a light that makes humanity look worthy of confidence. Melville is dealing with an issue that seems more gray than black and white. The confidence man’s stubborn ignorance in his words is ironically countered by his jaded and shrewd actions. Melville effectively portrays the struggle to maintain hope and reality. One cannot assume the best in everyone at the expense of being in denial about flaws and hurts. Yet one cannot suspect the worst without driving oneself into isolation or despair. Somewhere in the middle, a balance must be found.
Snake imagery is rife throughout the novel, which is fitting for the devil typology into which the confidence man fits. He slithers around and sweetly seduces, waiting until the right moment to strike with a fatal blow. He hypnotizes the barber into agreement, an image that makes me think of a snake’s glassy eyes. Melville describes the confidence man as looking at the barber like “certain creatures in nature, which have the power of persuasive fascination—the power of holding another creature by the button of the eye, as it were, despite the serious disinclination, and, indeed, earnest protest, of the victim.” I imagine the confidence man’s workings much like a snake, paralyzing a small animal and holding it tight within its grasp until all struggle bleeds out of the victim.
The song “If I Were” by Andy Gullahorn fits the confidence man’s tactics perfectly:
If I were the devil, I wouldn’t wear red
I wouldn’t have horns or a pitchfork
I wouldn’t breathe fire cause it might give me away
If I were the devil you’d never know
I’d befriend you quick and corrupt you slow
So you don’t notice until it’s far too late
If I were the devil, if I were the devil
If I were the devil, I’d spend all day
Lowering standards of what’s okay
To think, to say, to watch on your TV
And I’d break down the value of promises kept
And fade out truth till there’s nothing left
Except gossip and lies popping up as thick as weeds
If I were the devil, if I were the devil
I might not be as foreign as you think
Cause I wouldn’t only show my evil side
I’ve got the time and patience just to wait
To steal your soul just one sin at a time
Like I would if I were the devil
I wonder whether Melville used the bachelor as a mouthpiece for his own views on the world, saying “…one cannot enjoy life with gusto unless he renounce the too-sober view of life. But since the too-sober view is, doubtless, nearer true than the too-drunken; I, who rate truth, though cold water, above untruth, though Tokay, will stick to my earthen jug.” The confidence man and bachelor are discussing the age-old dichotomy of optimism and pessimism, examining a glass that is half empty or half full. The old cliché, “Ignorance is bliss,” applies to many of the passengers aboard the Fidele. Many of the passengers have stories of disappointment, betrayal, and distrust to tell the confidence man. Modeling an almost intentional blindness to real life evidence, the confidence man always manages to repaint the story in a light that makes humanity look worthy of confidence. Melville is dealing with an issue that seems more gray than black and white. The confidence man’s stubborn ignorance in his words is ironically countered by his jaded and shrewd actions. Melville effectively portrays the struggle to maintain hope and reality. One cannot assume the best in everyone at the expense of being in denial about flaws and hurts. Yet one cannot suspect the worst without driving oneself into isolation or despair. Somewhere in the middle, a balance must be found.
Snake imagery is rife throughout the novel, which is fitting for the devil typology into which the confidence man fits. He slithers around and sweetly seduces, waiting until the right moment to strike with a fatal blow. He hypnotizes the barber into agreement, an image that makes me think of a snake’s glassy eyes. Melville describes the confidence man as looking at the barber like “certain creatures in nature, which have the power of persuasive fascination—the power of holding another creature by the button of the eye, as it were, despite the serious disinclination, and, indeed, earnest protest, of the victim.” I imagine the confidence man’s workings much like a snake, paralyzing a small animal and holding it tight within its grasp until all struggle bleeds out of the victim.
The song “If I Were” by Andy Gullahorn fits the confidence man’s tactics perfectly:
If I were the devil, I wouldn’t wear red
I wouldn’t have horns or a pitchfork
I wouldn’t breathe fire cause it might give me away
If I were the devil you’d never know
I’d befriend you quick and corrupt you slow
So you don’t notice until it’s far too late
If I were the devil, if I were the devil
If I were the devil, I’d spend all day
Lowering standards of what’s okay
To think, to say, to watch on your TV
And I’d break down the value of promises kept
And fade out truth till there’s nothing left
Except gossip and lies popping up as thick as weeds
If I were the devil, if I were the devil
I might not be as foreign as you think
Cause I wouldn’t only show my evil side
I’ve got the time and patience just to wait
To steal your soul just one sin at a time
Like I would if I were the devil
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Power of Footnotes: Confidence Man Part 1
I have never appreciated footnotes more than when I am reading The Confidence Man. Initially striking about Melville’s work is his intricate layering of social issues, Biblical allusions, allegorical characters, and rather dense language. I am already intrigued by this “confidence man,” who seems to be a deceiver to the very core. So far, I have encountered the confidence man in five different disguises, from dumb prophet to a lame beggar to an unfortunate man with a weed to a cold man in a gray suit to a jovial man with ruby tassels. Each disguise seems tailor made for the unsuspecting passenger who encounters that particular mask.
I am enjoying the wealth of literary devices Melville uses in subtle ways. I love Melville’s irony in often having one disguise of the confidence man ask about himself to an unknowing passenger. The word “confidence” seems to have multiple layers. I lost count of the amount of times the word was included in the first chapters of the book. Over and over again, the confidence man asks, “Can you have confidence in me?” The answer to the question is invariably no, and yet after stuttering and flutters of conscience, most of the unsuspecting victims not only put confidence in this masquerading man but contribute to his financial well being. He preys upon each individual’s weakness. He riles up the collegiate with philosophical talk about gloomy people, winning his favor and his dollars. He enlists the sympathy of the good-hearted woman by playing upon her loyalties to a false fund, the Widow and Orphan Asylum. And all the while he records these transactions in a mysterious, suspicious black book.
Already at least one level of the title’s meaning seems clear. This man, who seems to be the devil in various disguises, always brings up the issue of confidence in mankind followed by philanthropic action. Confidence in this sense seems to be a general trust in the heart of man, a propensity to assume the best about a perfect stranger rather than resorting to suspicion. Of course, the irony in such a name is that the confidence man is completely unworthy of the trust he idolizes in conversation to others; he merits every ounce of suspicion. The second half of the title, “His Masquerade” seems fitting aboard this Fidele vessel. He parades about the ship deck, switching faces and games but always with the same deceitful motive and twisted ambition.
The conversation between the confidence man and the gentleman with gold sleeve buttons was particularly interesting. The confidence man tells the gentleman of his grand plan to collect worldwide taxes to forever wipe out need in one swoop, saying, “You see, this doing good to the world by driblets amounts to just nothing. I am for doing good to the world with a will. I am for doing good to the world once for all and having done with it…I am for sending ten thousand missionaries in a body and converting the Chinese en masse within six months of the debarkation.” I think Melville perfectly captures the serpent-like kind of persuasion characteristic of the devil in this scene. Everything about the plan sounds noble, efficient, and active. The most effective kind of deception is barely twisted truth rather than blatant lies. What the confidence man says sounds good, albeit impossible. Yet underneath such an idea, he lacks any compassion. This “humanitarian aid” sounds cold, calculated, and business like—unmotivated by any real compassion or desire to ease suffering. The confidence man is promising a quick fix without any real consideration for the people he proposes to aid.
Melville also includes a discussion of the difference between good and righteous. He introduces a character he calls a good man and then challenges the reader to judge whether righteousness or goodness is better. Of the good man, Melville says, “a merely good man, that is, one good merely by his nature, is so far from thereby being righteous, that nothing short of a total change and conversion can make him so; which is something which no honest mind, well read in the history of righteousness, will care to deny.” This seems to be at the crux of Melville’s allegory. Can a man be “good” in nature? Can, as the confidence man continually slithers and persuades, we put confidence in one another? Or does good only come out of what Melville (seemingly ironically or mockingly) calls a total change and conversion? I'm excited to find out more!
I am enjoying the wealth of literary devices Melville uses in subtle ways. I love Melville’s irony in often having one disguise of the confidence man ask about himself to an unknowing passenger. The word “confidence” seems to have multiple layers. I lost count of the amount of times the word was included in the first chapters of the book. Over and over again, the confidence man asks, “Can you have confidence in me?” The answer to the question is invariably no, and yet after stuttering and flutters of conscience, most of the unsuspecting victims not only put confidence in this masquerading man but contribute to his financial well being. He preys upon each individual’s weakness. He riles up the collegiate with philosophical talk about gloomy people, winning his favor and his dollars. He enlists the sympathy of the good-hearted woman by playing upon her loyalties to a false fund, the Widow and Orphan Asylum. And all the while he records these transactions in a mysterious, suspicious black book.
Already at least one level of the title’s meaning seems clear. This man, who seems to be the devil in various disguises, always brings up the issue of confidence in mankind followed by philanthropic action. Confidence in this sense seems to be a general trust in the heart of man, a propensity to assume the best about a perfect stranger rather than resorting to suspicion. Of course, the irony in such a name is that the confidence man is completely unworthy of the trust he idolizes in conversation to others; he merits every ounce of suspicion. The second half of the title, “His Masquerade” seems fitting aboard this Fidele vessel. He parades about the ship deck, switching faces and games but always with the same deceitful motive and twisted ambition.
The conversation between the confidence man and the gentleman with gold sleeve buttons was particularly interesting. The confidence man tells the gentleman of his grand plan to collect worldwide taxes to forever wipe out need in one swoop, saying, “You see, this doing good to the world by driblets amounts to just nothing. I am for doing good to the world with a will. I am for doing good to the world once for all and having done with it…I am for sending ten thousand missionaries in a body and converting the Chinese en masse within six months of the debarkation.” I think Melville perfectly captures the serpent-like kind of persuasion characteristic of the devil in this scene. Everything about the plan sounds noble, efficient, and active. The most effective kind of deception is barely twisted truth rather than blatant lies. What the confidence man says sounds good, albeit impossible. Yet underneath such an idea, he lacks any compassion. This “humanitarian aid” sounds cold, calculated, and business like—unmotivated by any real compassion or desire to ease suffering. The confidence man is promising a quick fix without any real consideration for the people he proposes to aid.
Melville also includes a discussion of the difference between good and righteous. He introduces a character he calls a good man and then challenges the reader to judge whether righteousness or goodness is better. Of the good man, Melville says, “a merely good man, that is, one good merely by his nature, is so far from thereby being righteous, that nothing short of a total change and conversion can make him so; which is something which no honest mind, well read in the history of righteousness, will care to deny.” This seems to be at the crux of Melville’s allegory. Can a man be “good” in nature? Can, as the confidence man continually slithers and persuades, we put confidence in one another? Or does good only come out of what Melville (seemingly ironically or mockingly) calls a total change and conversion? I'm excited to find out more!
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