Amoz Oz' novel My Michael is the story of rather distant and dysfunctional marriage between Hannah, a demanding, intense, and complex woman, and Michael, her dependable yet often uninteresting husband. The novel, set in mid-twentieth-century Jerusalem, begins with Michael and Hannah's courtship and progresses through their strange and often difficult marriage. Hannah is both the leas trustworthy character and the narrator of the novel, a dynamic that proves interesting for the reader. Oz' decision to tell the story of Hannah and Michael's relationship through Hannah does not seem an unreasonable one, but it does emphasize Hannah's discontentment and emotional confusion, making the reader unsure how much to trust her narration.
The central problem in Hannah and Michael's marriage seems a combination of poor communication and false expectations, primarily on Hannah's part. The marriage begins quickly, with an engagement period of only a few months, and while Michael is exactly the sort of quiet, intelligent, trustworthy professor Hannah dreams of marrying, she comments often that he is dull, uninteresting, and seemingly quite unattractive to her. Hannah is a restless character, and it is evident very early in the novel and in her life with Michael that she is not nearly content with him or with her life in general. Oz portrays Michael a faithful and consistent husband, but faithfulness and consistency seems unrelated to happiness for Hannah, and she long for Michael to do something, anything, surprising our out of the ordinary. She longs for him to be thrilled, or angry, or somehow emotionally charged, but despite her longings, he is always there, always steady, always boring, always Michael.
A central problem in My Michael is, I think, the problem of silence. Silence..often the silence of Michael and Hannah in each other's presence, is mentioned over and over again. Hannah bottles up her desires, her hopes, and her wishes, and Michael goes about a daily routine so predictable that very little conversation is necessary. He is not necessarily a cold man, but he can seem so, especially to Hannah. "[We were] so silent and good-natured," says Hannah, "that a stranger might have mistakenly supposed that we were at peace." (144) Oz tells the story of a marriage that decays not as the result of harsh words, but few words, and somehow, the destructive force of silence is more terrifying.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Response to Naguib Mahfouz' "Arabian Nights & Days"
Naguib Mahfouz' Arabian Nights & Days is not so much a cohesive novel as a collection of short stories recounting events that are often seem mythical or fantastic. The collection of stories and myths deals with both natural and supernatural characters, often mentioning the interactions between humans and genies and raises questions about the freewill of human beings as they are manipulated by powerful supernatural or fantastical beings. In many ways, the questions of choice and freewill seem to me of central importance to Mahfouz' collection of tales, and perhaps the primary question we are meant to ask is whether or not we truly have control over our actions and even our destinies.
Without detailing the plot of each shorter story that makes up Arabian Night and Days, it is safe to say that the vast majority of the collection deals with genies manipulating human beings do commit various crimes and engage in activities that they would not normally engage in. The first tale in collection that deals with the influence of a genie is that of Sanaan al-Gamali, a mild-mannered merchant who is asked by a genie to kill the governer of quarter after he steps on a genie while walking home one night. The genie Sanaan al-Gamali the option of dying instantly instead, but out of concern for his family and a desire to live, al-Gamali chooses to make an agreement with the genie and carry out the murder so that he might escape death at the hands of the genie. After making this agreement, al-Gamali becomes inceasingly hostile and unlike himself. His family and his business associates soon notice the marked change in his demeanor, but nothing the influence of the genie is strong, and al-Gamali seems to slip into a kind of madness. In one the more shocking passages in Mahfouz' collection of tales, al-Gamali rapes and murders a young girl in the midst of some sort of violent, lustful trance.
Many of the other tales in Arabian Night and Days also include violent acts committed by humans who are influenced to commit such crimes by manipulative genies, and it is relatively easy to view the genies as some definite force of evil, existing only to tempt, manipulate, and otherwise destroy humanity. I do not think, however, that Mahfouz intends to convey such a simple message as "genies are evil." The fact that the humans in Mahfouz' tales have the ability to choose is easy to miss yet crucially important to understanding the series of stories and their overarching theme. Humans are certainly manipulated by genies in these tales and made to commit actions they would never commit on their own, but their obedience to evil is the result of conscious choice, and though the motivators for obeying the genies are strong, it seems, perhaps, that death at the hand of a genie might be the morally preferable course of action when compared to the murders, rapes, and other terrible crimes committed under the influence of the genies' power. These tales are so much about choice and freewill, in fact, that it seems appropriate to question whether the "insanity" of the human characters is truly the result of some sort of possession or evil influence. Perhaps at least part of the insanity exhibited by Mahfouz' characters exists within their own minds; their fears, their passions, and yes, their freewill.
The setting of Arabian Night and Days is never explicitly mentioned, and perhaps the fact that his information is undisclosed to the reader suggests Mahfouz' desire to say something of universal significance. Though we do not live in isolation from outside influences, our actions are ultimately the result of an internal choice, not an outside force. Mahfouz' tales are not a denial of the existence of the fantastical, the supernatural, or any other influence that might cause a change in human actions, but they are an affirmation of the importance of choice, and a reminder that our actions are always a choice.
Without detailing the plot of each shorter story that makes up Arabian Night and Days, it is safe to say that the vast majority of the collection deals with genies manipulating human beings do commit various crimes and engage in activities that they would not normally engage in. The first tale in collection that deals with the influence of a genie is that of Sanaan al-Gamali, a mild-mannered merchant who is asked by a genie to kill the governer of quarter after he steps on a genie while walking home one night. The genie Sanaan al-Gamali the option of dying instantly instead, but out of concern for his family and a desire to live, al-Gamali chooses to make an agreement with the genie and carry out the murder so that he might escape death at the hands of the genie. After making this agreement, al-Gamali becomes inceasingly hostile and unlike himself. His family and his business associates soon notice the marked change in his demeanor, but nothing the influence of the genie is strong, and al-Gamali seems to slip into a kind of madness. In one the more shocking passages in Mahfouz' collection of tales, al-Gamali rapes and murders a young girl in the midst of some sort of violent, lustful trance.
Many of the other tales in Arabian Night and Days also include violent acts committed by humans who are influenced to commit such crimes by manipulative genies, and it is relatively easy to view the genies as some definite force of evil, existing only to tempt, manipulate, and otherwise destroy humanity. I do not think, however, that Mahfouz intends to convey such a simple message as "genies are evil." The fact that the humans in Mahfouz' tales have the ability to choose is easy to miss yet crucially important to understanding the series of stories and their overarching theme. Humans are certainly manipulated by genies in these tales and made to commit actions they would never commit on their own, but their obedience to evil is the result of conscious choice, and though the motivators for obeying the genies are strong, it seems, perhaps, that death at the hand of a genie might be the morally preferable course of action when compared to the murders, rapes, and other terrible crimes committed under the influence of the genies' power. These tales are so much about choice and freewill, in fact, that it seems appropriate to question whether the "insanity" of the human characters is truly the result of some sort of possession or evil influence. Perhaps at least part of the insanity exhibited by Mahfouz' characters exists within their own minds; their fears, their passions, and yes, their freewill.
The setting of Arabian Night and Days is never explicitly mentioned, and perhaps the fact that his information is undisclosed to the reader suggests Mahfouz' desire to say something of universal significance. Though we do not live in isolation from outside influences, our actions are ultimately the result of an internal choice, not an outside force. Mahfouz' tales are not a denial of the existence of the fantastical, the supernatural, or any other influence that might cause a change in human actions, but they are an affirmation of the importance of choice, and a reminder that our actions are always a choice.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Respone to Kyung-Sook Shin's "Please Look After Mom"
Kyung-Sook Shin's "Please Look After Mom" is, perhaps, one of the strangest books I've read, though I don't mean to belittle Shin's work by saying so. The novel is strange in all the right ways, written almost entirely in second-person perspective and shifting viewpoints between four different characters. This is certainly an unusual technique, especially in a work of this length, yet somehow, Shin pulls it off without a hitch. The book explores the history of mom's interactions with her family members after she mysteriously disappears in a Soeul subway station and is written primarily as a series of thoughts and memories. Many of these memories involve a combination of fear, nostalgia, and regret, and as a result of Shin's use of second person, the reader is quickly thrown into the situations and emotions that mom's family find themselves dealing with. In some way, the constant use of the pronoun "you" seems both inclusive and alien for the reader. We truly feel what the characters are feeling, yet we somehow simultaneously experience a strong sensation of disconnectedness, a feeling that we are spiraling out of control as a result of difficult circumstances and are trapped in an almost out-of-body experience. It seems to me that Shin must intent this response in her readers as a means of communicating these truths about grief and loss, and if so, she succeeds brilliantly.
Even more impressive than her successful use of second-person perspective is Shin's success at introducing and developing complex characters within that stylistic approach. The husband of the lost mother, in particular, is an intriguing character for me, trapped in some sort of restless tension and a slave to his own ever-changing desires. It would be easy to cast and often-absent father as the villain of the story, but Shin instead introduces us to a man living in deep regret and trying to make sense of both his love for his family and his desire to be free of the seemingly oppressive and unceasingly dull obligations of a first-born son in traditional, rural Korean society.
"Please Look After Mom" is not, as a whole, what I expected it to be, yet it is an incredibly rich and cleverly crafted piece of literature, impressive in it's subtle complexity and technical excellence.
Even more impressive than her successful use of second-person perspective is Shin's success at introducing and developing complex characters within that stylistic approach. The husband of the lost mother, in particular, is an intriguing character for me, trapped in some sort of restless tension and a slave to his own ever-changing desires. It would be easy to cast and often-absent father as the villain of the story, but Shin instead introduces us to a man living in deep regret and trying to make sense of both his love for his family and his desire to be free of the seemingly oppressive and unceasingly dull obligations of a first-born son in traditional, rural Korean society.
"Please Look After Mom" is not, as a whole, what I expected it to be, yet it is an incredibly rich and cleverly crafted piece of literature, impressive in it's subtle complexity and technical excellence.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Don't Miss the Point
Literature, for me, is perhaps one of the most "human" things we do, yet the task of creating literature is one that not even those with much practice and experience fully understand. Literature is, in the most basic sense, concerned with digging through the layers of our humanity; churning up the soil, and trying to point out, using whatever means necessary, something true about humans. Literature, or at least good literature, asks questions about why we live, how we live, and how we live with each other, and the best literature can take on a life of its own, providing the author with some fresh perspective on our humanity even as she writes.
Because literature seems to possess an almost prophetic power, it has been the subject of human fascination for centuries. Even before human beings wrote stories down, oral traditions carried on tales through generation after generation, holding them in the highest esteem because they connected both listener and storyteller to some greater reality, some larger picture than the mundane, the understandable, and the close at hand. This connection to some higher reality and this ability to transport a reader or storyteller beyond himself also makes great literature, in some sense, timeless. In the year 2012, in Upstate New York, we read Homer, Shakespeare, and Steinbeck, not because we are disproportionately concerned with ancient Greece, Elizabethan England, or the Depression-era Southwest, but because each holds within its pages something profoundly true about our experience as humans, something that makes us laugh and cry and wonder despite the fact that we are far removed in both time and place.
These concerns, I think, are central to our understanding of literature. We can, in the academic community, spend incredible time and effort dissecting a text, searching word-by-word for the author's intent, her clever use of language, and her manipulation of the readers' response. These activities may, for a time, be worthwhile, but if authors wrote novels, plays, and poetry merely as a technical exercise, as a way of manipulating worlds to flex their intellectual muscle, literature would carry little merit outside the academy. Thankfully, the elements we so carefully deconstruct and analyze are mere tools that serve the greater purpose of communicating that someone, somewhere, at some time thought profoundly worthwhile.
As I read a number of works for three different literature courses this semester, my goal is to keep in mind the purpose of literature and to always reference that larger concern even as I examine the details before me. I hope that as an English major, I take a magnifying glass to the details, the tools, in order that I might better understand how the larger purpose is successfully accomplished. I hope that I can always be sure to make connections that broaden my perspective and teach me about something greater, even, that literature itself. I hope I don't miss the point.
Because literature seems to possess an almost prophetic power, it has been the subject of human fascination for centuries. Even before human beings wrote stories down, oral traditions carried on tales through generation after generation, holding them in the highest esteem because they connected both listener and storyteller to some greater reality, some larger picture than the mundane, the understandable, and the close at hand. This connection to some higher reality and this ability to transport a reader or storyteller beyond himself also makes great literature, in some sense, timeless. In the year 2012, in Upstate New York, we read Homer, Shakespeare, and Steinbeck, not because we are disproportionately concerned with ancient Greece, Elizabethan England, or the Depression-era Southwest, but because each holds within its pages something profoundly true about our experience as humans, something that makes us laugh and cry and wonder despite the fact that we are far removed in both time and place.
These concerns, I think, are central to our understanding of literature. We can, in the academic community, spend incredible time and effort dissecting a text, searching word-by-word for the author's intent, her clever use of language, and her manipulation of the readers' response. These activities may, for a time, be worthwhile, but if authors wrote novels, plays, and poetry merely as a technical exercise, as a way of manipulating worlds to flex their intellectual muscle, literature would carry little merit outside the academy. Thankfully, the elements we so carefully deconstruct and analyze are mere tools that serve the greater purpose of communicating that someone, somewhere, at some time thought profoundly worthwhile.
As I read a number of works for three different literature courses this semester, my goal is to keep in mind the purpose of literature and to always reference that larger concern even as I examine the details before me. I hope that as an English major, I take a magnifying glass to the details, the tools, in order that I might better understand how the larger purpose is successfully accomplished. I hope that I can always be sure to make connections that broaden my perspective and teach me about something greater, even, that literature itself. I hope I don't miss the point.
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