Paris

Baldwin's story "This Morning, This Evening, So Soon" takes place in Paris, where the narrator, an American expatriate, and his family have lived for twelve years. They are on the verge of returning to the US for the narrator's work, and he is understandably nervous about the transition.

For the narrator, Paris is very special to him because has allowed him to "enter [his] own life." He thinks about how his relationship with his wife, a white Swedish expatriate, would not be possible in America. As the narrator describes it, "if Harriet had been born in America, it would have taken her a long time, perhaps forever, to look upon me as a man like other men; if I had met her in America, I would never be able to look on her as a women like all other women...we would never have been able to love each other. And Paul would never have been born." Besides his relationship, which is considered normal in Paris, the narrator seems to imply that Paris has allowed him to become his own individual. In the US, society attempted to define him solely by his race. This pressure is absent for him in Paris, which allows him to define himself (however, he does acknowledge that France has its own racism).

Later in the story, the narrator recounts on his visit to the US for his mother's funeral. During the ship journey, he begins to feel uneasy, noting that the Americans on board were friendly to him, but it was a friendliness that was "not intended to suggest any possibility of friendship." After tipping a waiter on board, the narrator notices a "flicker of wry sympathy" in the waiter's eyes, and another uniformed crew member refers to him as "boy." As he travels to his Alabama hometown, the narrator has a difficult time hiding his dislike for the cops and white people. He mentions that he tries to say "no sir" or "no ma'am" the 'correct' way, but never succeeds. The narrator, after spending time in Paris and gaining a broader view of the world, seems to pose more of a 'threat' to the white people in Alabama, who find that they are unable to define his place in society anymore.

The narrator eventually returns to Paris, excited to escape from American society. But I think it's important to realize that while he has physically left the US, he can never really 'escape' from America. He was born in America and will always carry his experiences with him. This becomes apparent when the narrator discusses the role of Chico he played in one of his movies. The director of the movie, Vidal, recalls how the narrator could only produce a good performance when he drew upon his rage and frustration that he experienced while living in America.

Paris has also helped the narrator to better understand his upbringing in America and where he came from. His life in Paris offers perspective on how his fellow African-Americans are treated in the US and aids him in understanding his own culture. And generally speaking, looking from the outside in can reveal things that someone might never have noticed if they were inside.

I thought this was a great story overall. I really enjoyed the contrast the author draws between Paris and the US, and how it enabled the narrator to understand his origins. Looking at Baldwin's other stories, setting always seems to play an enormous role.

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How Does Teddy Die?

(Sorry about the weird formatting)

For me, the ending of Salinger's short story "Teddy" came across as an unexpected shock. Even if the reader had picked up on earlier hints dropped by Teddy, I don't think that many people fully expected the story to end in the way it did.
But going off that, how does the story end?
Upon first glance, it seems that Teddy dies. For one, Teddy hints that something important "will either happen today or February 14, 1958 when I am sixteen." This 'thing' becomes clearer later in the story, as Teddy (oddly) explains in great detail a hypothetical situation where he dies.
"I have a swimming lesson in about five minutes. I could go downstairs to the pool, and there might not be any water in it. This might be the day they change the water or something. What might happen, though, I might walk up to the edge of it, just to have a look at the bottom, for instance, and my sister might come up and sort of push me in. I could fracture my skull and die instantaneously." 
And in that famous, ambigious closing scene, we hear piercing screams from the pool, "clearly coming from a small, female child." This seems to suggest that a) Teddy and his sister are indeed at their swimming lesson, and b) something horrifying has happened.
If we as readers believe that Teddy is truly a spiritual genius who can outsmart professors at institutions around the world, then perhaps this whole situation is more believable. Maybe Teddy can truly predict his death.

But even if we accept this ending, it raises a few, important questions. For one, is it possible that Booper  murders Teddy? If Teddy knows that he's about to die why doesn't he try and stop it?
Both are sinister and chilling to think about. Maybe Booper and Teddy's relationship is more strained than just a "sibling rivalry". Or maybe Booper is truly evil. If we believe Teddy's intellegence is real, then it really isn't a far stretch to consider that Booper is a malicious child. Or heck, maybe Booper was just predetermined to kill Teddy when she was born. As for why Teddy does not try to avoid his inevitable death, it makes the most sense to assume that he believes that death—and dying, is not a big deal. He truly thinks he will be reincarnated again.

Another explanation of the last scene is that Teddy commits suicide.
From this point of view, we regard Teddy's genius with skepticism. After all, what ten-year old truly behaves like Teddy? Perhaps Teddy is actually a very mentally disoriented child, who has conjured a whole different world in his head. If we consider the people around Teddy—his parents, Bob, and Booper—they all seem much more different and removed.
Early on in the story, Teddy complains that he was only reincarnated as an American because he could not stay focused while meditating in his earlier life. Based on this detail, it would make sense for Teddy to be frustrated and even feel trapped in his current situation. Perhaps Teddy jumps into the empty pool himself in an attempt to escape from the confinements of his American life.

One last possibility to consider is that Booper is the one who dies (I didn't consider this until someone brought it up in class). It depends how closely you want to read into the text, but the last paragraph states that the piercing female scream seems to "reverberate within the four tiled walls." Maybe Salinger literally means "within"—that Booper screams as she falls into the empty pool.

There's no doubt that Salinger keeps the ending very ambiguous. A few of his other short stories have ended similarly, causing the reader to ponder (at times, with great frustration) what has actually happened, and what will happen.

How do you guys read the ending of "Teddy"?

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Phony People

Since we've started reading Salinger's short stories, I can't help but notice great similarities between them and Salinger's most known work, Catcher in the Rye. Some stories seem to bear an uncanny resemblance. Others not so much, but still carry over certain elements from Catcher. I think Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut is a story that's trademark of Salinger's style. In the piece, he seems to focus a lot on contrasting the phony (hi there Holden) world with an idealized, youthful and innocent one—something that's also a recurring theme in his writing.

In Uncle Wiggily, I think we can safely view Connecticut as the "phony world"—full of fake, materialistic individuals who are concerned about superficialities. In the very beginning, we start to get hints that Eloise is an middle-upper class— if not upper class—woman. She has a camel-hair coat. Her bookcases are "heavily stocked." And of course, she has a maid named Grace. From these details alone, the reader starts to get the impression that Salinger might not be fond of such a lifestyle. In addition, take A Perfect Day for Bananafish as an example. Muriel is portrayed rather negatively as an high class woman who's too naive and preoccupied with fashion to see that something might be wrong with Seymour.
Eloise herself also seems to be rather phony. For one, she didn't marry Lew out of love. When asked about their marriage, Eloise just shrugs and says that Lew liked Jane Austen (which turns out to be a lie). But there are also hints she married Lew for financial security and comfort.
Lew is pretty phony. He lies about his favorite authors and seems to be a stereotypical working husband with a high salary.
Mary Jane, in my opinion, seems to be the most phony. The dramatic way she talks and cackles with laughter seems to be performed, rather than genuine. Salinger seems to suggest that Mary Jane is younger and lacks experience compared to Eloise, as we discussed in class. In my opinion, it just makes her seem immature.
Especially in comparison to Ramona, who in contrast appears to be wise beyond her own years. Ramona doesn't react to Mary Jane's childish conversation and seems to speak very matter-of-factly. When Jimmy "dies," Ramona is able to move on very quickly and conjure Mickey.
Ramona, along with Walt, both seem to represent the youth and innocence that stands in stark contrast to the phoniness of Connecticut and the other characters. In fact, the title itself, Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut, seems to be an oxymoron.

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Beauty, Gore and Death

There's no denying that war is gory. It's ugly. It's dirty and often not as glorious as one might expect (take the shit field where Kiowa passed, for example). Indeed, "war is hell."
But can it be beautiful as well?
In the stories we've read so far from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, there have undoubtedly been showcases of the horrors of war, both physical and emotional. Yet every death or other incident is accompanied by a sort of beauty as well.
Take the story of Curt Lemon, who is killed after stepping on a land mine. His death is first told in an almost poetic manner, with O'Brien describing the seemingly tranquil landscape—the white flowers, the sunlight dancing through the leaves, and the surrounding mountains. Then, Lemon's face appears in the sunlight, shining, and suddenly, he "soars" into the tree.
Lemon's story made me do a double take, and I had to reread the section to fully acknowledge that he had died. It was certaintly not what I had pictured a death by land mine to be like. As O'Brien puts it a second time, "when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms."
Later, we get another, more technical and gory version of the story, where "the booby-trapped 105 round blew him [Lemon] into a tree." O'Brien and Dave Jensen were tasked with peeling the body parts off the tree and throwing them down—the white bone of an arm, wet yellow pieces of intestines.
There's also the man that O'Brien killed, described as having a 'star-shaped hole' where his eye should have been, the jaw in his throat, and half his mouth blown away. Yet this description stands in sharp contrast to the other things O'Brien notices about the man: the smooth, undamaged nose and right cheek, his shapely hands and clean fingernails. Notably, we receive descriptions of nature once more. The dead man's head lays among a blanket of blue blossoms, and a butterfly momentarily rests on his chin.
For me, war and beauty have always seemed to be worlds away from each other, especially when you consider the gory nature of fighting. But O'Brien seems to find a middle ground in his writing, where the two are free to intermingle. "War is grotesque, but in truth, war is also beauty. For all its horror, you can’t help but gape at the awful majesty of combat."
Because O'Brien has stated that he is intent on capturing the emotion in war, it is easier for me to try and picture the beauty he describes. Perhaps, in his shoes as a soldier, there is something beautiful about seeing how powerful war can be, and how death can occur so quickly, to anyone. It may even make him value his own life more.
I also think that O'Brien intends to tell us that despite war and death, life keeps moving. Butterflies still fly, sunlight is still reflected off the dead man's ammunition belt. Flowers blossom among pools of blood. Death does not change the world around O'Brien and his soldiers—they're still stuck in Vietnam, in some cases in a shit field. But they too, must eventually cope and move on with their grief.
By writing stories that highlight both the gore and beauty of war, that's exactly what O'Brien is attempting to do.

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Ick

In recent class discussions, we’ve touched upon the rather unsettling stories of Ruth and her father—from both Ruth and Macon’s respective viewpoints. Macon paints a very graphic picture to the reader: his wife lying naked next to her father’s dead body, with Dr. Foster’s fingers in her mouth, among other disturbing events. Understandably, both Milkman and the reader are revolted. The story even seems too be too ludicrous to be true. In class, we discussed how Macon and Ruth are constantly trying to bring Milkman closer to one of them, and how Macon might be using this story to induce hateful feelings in Milkman towards his mother. 

A few chapters later however, as Milkman follows his mother to Dr. Foster’s grave, we are given the opportunity to hear Ruth’s side of the story. Ruth bases her story around the fact that she is a “small woman”, someone who was greatly deprived of intimacy and companionship after she married Macon. The one person who truly cared about her was her father, and thus, when he died, Ruth “kissed” his delicate fingers. She began visiting his grave on a regular basis, seeing him as the only person she could talk to. Ruth also paints a rather horrible picture of Macon; someone who both killed Dr. Foster and tried to kill Milkman himself. Again, as readers, we question the validity of her story—who is right?

For a while, I tended to believe Ruth more. Her story was understandable, based on how Macon interacted with her, and I definitely felt sympathetic. It was clear to me that from a young age, Ruth had always admired her father and felt a deep connection to him. There’s also the fact that Ruth had no idea Milkman was following her; she wouldn’t really have time to orchestrate an elaborate lie. 

However, things changed after I revisited Chapter 1. In the first handful of pages of the novel, Macon recalls the first time he met Dr. Foster, asking if he could “keep” Ruth from time to time. Dr. Foster agrees. Interestingly, the narrator (Morrison, not Milkman or Macon) adds that Dr. Foster was secretly glad that Ruth might be married to Macon. 

“Fond as he was of his only child…lately he had begun to chafe under her devotion. Her steady beam of love was unsettling, and she had never dropped those expressions of affection that had been so lovable in her childhood…at sixteen she still insisted on having him come to her at night. Sit on her bed, exchange a few pleasantries, and plant a kiss on her lips. Perhaps it was the loud silence of his dead wife, perhaps it was Ruth’s disturbing resemblance to her mother. More probably it was the ecstasy that always seemed to be shining in Ruth’s face when he bent to kiss her—an ecstasy he felt inappropriate to the occasion.”

After reading the above quote, I was taken aback. I had totally forgotten about this section in Chapter 1, and rereading it completely changed my idea of Ruth being completely truthful. I also think this makes the story all the more complex. Perhaps there were some incestuous feelings directed from Ruth to her father. That makes the scene of her lying next to the dead Dr. Foster more believable. We also learn that although Macon hated Dr. Foster, Dr. Foster knew Macon well and thought he was a decent young man. I once believed that Dr. Foster was fostering (haha) an inappropriate relationship with Ruth, but now I feel as if it was much more one sided—he seemed to be very uncomfortable with Ruth’s behavior as she grew older. Although I still sympathize with Ruth’s loneliness and abusive relationship with Macon, she clearly left things out in her story to Milkman. Yes, she might visit her father’s grave because he was the only one who cared about her, but there may be other reasons as well.

In the end though, I’m honestly not sure how much all of this matters. Ruth and Macon have been pointing fingers at each other for years, and it’s very clear that their relationship is nearly impossible to mend. In fact, all of these twisted stories prove how little communication lies between them. But as a reader, I find it very interesting that Morrison included the detail about Dr. Foster in chapter 1 from a narrator’s perspective, rather than one of the main characters’. The passage definitely made me reconsider my own opinions and alliances.

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Betrayal and the Crowing Cock

In Wide Sargasso Sea, one detail that keeps popping up is the cock/rooster crowing. In one instance, Antoinette seems to specifically state that the rooster’s call impends betrayal. “But who is the traitor?” she questions. It becomes clear that the traitor in that instance is Amelie, who betrays Antoinette and sleeps with Rochester. Their encounter is arguably the last straw for Antoinette, who immediately leaves to meet Christophine. Later, after Antoinette's return, she grills Rochester over the affair, telling him that he’s no better than the old slave owners.

I was also curious to see whether the rooster’s crow signaled impending doom in other parts of the novel. Shortly after Antoinette and Rochester arrive in the island, Rochester mentions how he had to listen to “cocks crow all night”. As they explore the landscape the next day, Rochester feels uncomfortable, overwhelmed by the size and color; “too much blue, too much purple, too much green”. But perhaps the most telling is Rochester’s reaction to their temporary house, calling it “more awkward than ugly, a little sad as if it knew it could not last”. Here, we are provided with an ominous reference to Antoinette and Rochester’s eventual fate. In addition, the cocks crowing every night seem to strengthen this idea that from the start, their relationship would end in some sort of betrayal.

The last instance of the rooster’s call seems to be the most chilling. By this point in the novel, Rochester has transformed into a near madman-- to destroy Antoniette, he plans to take her back to Jamaica, and then England. He begins to write a letter to the lawyers in Spanish Town, requesting to rent a large house with separate suites, and servants who he would pay very liberally if they keep quiet about Antionette. The entire time that Rochester writes the letter, a cock crows persistently outside. Rochester is clearly annoyed and even throws a book at the animal, but the cock just moves further away and begins to crow again. This seems to indicate Rochester’s final--and worst-- betrayal: taking Antoinette away from the places she so dearly loves.

Upon further research, I also discovered that the image of a crowing cock is often used in literature as a symbol of Peter’s betrayal of Christ:  “I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me’, (the Bible, Luke 22:33). Thus, it makes a lot of sense how Rhys employed this image in her novel. Although there’s a feeling of unease throughout the entire novel, I think the crowing cock image was interesting to explore. We mentioned in class (earlier in the book, before Rochester goes crazy) that there might be a sliver of hope for Antoinette and Rochester’s relationship. There’s no denying that there are a few scarce moments of tenderness: when he buries his face in her hair, or admires her white dress. But I feel as if the rooster really drives home the point that despite these moments, Rochester and Antoinette were doomed from the moment they arrived in the islands.

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Is Meursault Indifferent?

I think in general, the ending of The Stranger is pretty satisfying. Throughout the whole novel, emotions and everything are kind of pent up. Meursault finally seems to release everything in his long rant to the chaplain towards the end of the novel, and it definitely made me feel relieved. I guess you could think of it as a flood, slowly pushing against a wall, and it finally breaks through. In addition, afterwards, there is the sense of some “calm after the storm” when Meursault talks about the stars, the salt air and the “wondrous peace”.

Despite all of this, there’s some part of me that’s not satisfied. I still have questions about Meursault that I feel like were not answered.

First, he talks about the gentle indifference of the world, and how it feels like a brother to him. For me, this phrase suggests quite clearly that Meursault recognizes his own indifference towards things in his life— especially the consequences of his actions. I don’t think we should be surprised by this at all— his actions throughout the book, his line about “to shoot or not to shoot” all reflect his attitude.

But here’s the thing that confuses me a little. Prior to his execution, Meursault feels disappointed once he realizes that there will be no scaffold to climb, as if he wished the execution was more grand and dramatic. His last line in the book seems consistent with this idea as well. Meursault hopes that there is “a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate”. These thoughts seem to suggest that Meursault almost wants to be acknowledged for his idiosyncrasies. I think he recognizes that most people do not think or act in the same manner he does. Cheers of hate would validate that his ideas and attitude are at odds with society.

If this were confirmed, I think it would make death easier to cope with for Meursault. He can die knowing that he was sentenced because of his own philosophy, not necessarily because he killed a man. Maybe there’s some triumph in that acknowledgement.

However, I feel as if these two things are at odds with each other. On the one hand, Meursault describes himself as “indifferent”, but on the other, he seems to care about who wins the moral (?) battle in the end (what they are killing him for). So I don’t exactly know what to make of Meursault’s character at the end of the novel.

I had a decent amount of trouble fleshing out some of my ideas as I wrote this, but hopefully it makes at least some sense. How did you guys interpret the last few pages of the novel?

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