I believe to be ____ or not to be ____ is the proper fill-in-the-blank that Hamlet implies. In other words Hamlet asks us, gentle reader, whether or not we want FEAR to exist as a primary motivator in our lives. So forget the question, let's skip to the implications:
To be a good student despite the social uncoolness attached to it, or not to be;
To be an applicant to a really tough university even though you may not get in, or not to be;
To be a voice of reason among your crowd of peers during weekend activities even though everyone else is doing it, or not to be;
To be reliable especially when you have miles to go before you sleep, or not to be;
To be proud of your accent, weight, beliefs, and fears even among the popular kids, or not to be;
To be something new even if you don't be it well, or easily, or if you fail at it miserably, or if it comes hard and with struggle, or you are the only person who takes pleasure in it or sees the value of it...
Or not to be.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The Role of the Uncle-Dad
And Hamlet says [aside]: "A little more than kin and less than kind" and Claudius keeps talking.
Clearly, gentle reader, Hamlet has some uncle-daddy issues. To recap: his real dad just died, his mom remarried his uncle, and now those two (mom and stepdad) are dogging him about his attitude. And it's only Monday.
Let us, therefore, insert a total non sequitur right here and state the reasons why Beowulf would successfully fulfill the role of Uncle-Dad, a role that Hamlet seems set against:
Reason #1: Beowulf has no family of his own.
Remember, Beowulf apparently never married and/or had children of his own. The guy has time to give. He's got a big heart, like a buffalo heart or a whale heart, because he's so big. Hamlet would be so lucky to have that much love sloshed his way.
Reason #2: Beowulf is loaded.
He is a king, after all, and he possesses precious artifacts and heirlooms, including but not limited to Grendel's left arm and an uncorked bottle of mead from the meal when Unferth insults him. Even if Hamlet, who is also rich, isn't won over by Beowulf's treasure, these rarities would still impress. Perhaps Hamlet could stop belly-aching and do something with his time, like open a Beowulf Rulz Museum and serve as curator. That would put an end to his depression. He could charge $2.50 at the door, perhaps earn some money of his own, the hard way. Work is good, gentle reader.
Reason #3: Beowulf represents 30 uncle-dads.
What's better than 1 uncle-dad? 30 uncle-dads. Or at least the strength of 30. Remember, Beowulf is strong. He is the ultimate swing-pusher, rough-houser, piggyback-ride-giver, and taker-up-to-bed-from-the-couch-because-Hamlet-fell-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV. What a seamless ride, being carried up to bed on that boulder of a shoulder. And if you drool too much, do not fret; Beowulf is also a strong swimmer.
In conclusion, Beowulf proves yet again to be the ultimate. (I use that last word as a noun, not a mere adjective. Beowulf transcends parts of speech.)
Clearly, gentle reader, Hamlet has some uncle-daddy issues. To recap: his real dad just died, his mom remarried his uncle, and now those two (mom and stepdad) are dogging him about his attitude. And it's only Monday.
Let us, therefore, insert a total non sequitur right here and state the reasons why Beowulf would successfully fulfill the role of Uncle-Dad, a role that Hamlet seems set against:
Reason #1: Beowulf has no family of his own.
Remember, Beowulf apparently never married and/or had children of his own. The guy has time to give. He's got a big heart, like a buffalo heart or a whale heart, because he's so big. Hamlet would be so lucky to have that much love sloshed his way.
Reason #2: Beowulf is loaded.
He is a king, after all, and he possesses precious artifacts and heirlooms, including but not limited to Grendel's left arm and an uncorked bottle of mead from the meal when Unferth insults him. Even if Hamlet, who is also rich, isn't won over by Beowulf's treasure, these rarities would still impress. Perhaps Hamlet could stop belly-aching and do something with his time, like open a Beowulf Rulz Museum and serve as curator. That would put an end to his depression. He could charge $2.50 at the door, perhaps earn some money of his own, the hard way. Work is good, gentle reader.
Reason #3: Beowulf represents 30 uncle-dads.
What's better than 1 uncle-dad? 30 uncle-dads. Or at least the strength of 30. Remember, Beowulf is strong. He is the ultimate swing-pusher, rough-houser, piggyback-ride-giver, and taker-up-to-bed-from-the-couch-because-Hamlet-fell-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV. What a seamless ride, being carried up to bed on that boulder of a shoulder. And if you drool too much, do not fret; Beowulf is also a strong swimmer.
In conclusion, Beowulf proves yet again to be the ultimate. (I use that last word as a noun, not a mere adjective. Beowulf transcends parts of speech.)
Friday, September 28, 2012
Dear John Gardner,
Well, gentle reader, we have read Grendel.
Whew!
So what did you think? And what do you think? Where do you place yourself on the Shaper-Dragon-Beowulf spectrum? We know all about poor Grendel's accident; how do we avoid our own?
And finally, what did you think of John Gardner's letter to those students? Let's pretend for a moment that Gardner is still alive... how would you respond to this letter? It's tone? It's content? It's anything?
Be brave, draft a response letter, and post it to the comments of this entry.
Dear John Gardner,
...
Whew!
So what did you think? And what do you think? Where do you place yourself on the Shaper-Dragon-Beowulf spectrum? We know all about poor Grendel's accident; how do we avoid our own?
And finally, what did you think of John Gardner's letter to those students? Let's pretend for a moment that Gardner is still alive... how would you respond to this letter? It's tone? It's content? It's anything?
Be brave, draft a response letter, and post it to the comments of this entry.
Dear John Gardner,
...
Friday, August 31, 2012
"Beowulf" the Clunky, Perfect Legend
What do we want out of our heroes? Unequaled prowess, check. Unachievable achievements, check. A conflicted soul that ultimately overcomes evil and demonstrates goodness, check and mate.
And what of the legends themselves? What of the stories? Don't the vehicles for these heroes require a certain glossy veneer, a level of direct forwardness by which to view the hero's deeds? Like a Michael Bay theatrical juggernaut, the stories we desire deliver their content with as much ease as possible, progressing ever forward and forward. No delays allowed, please. My popcorn will run out.
Which is why we exit such films admiring the effects and already forgetting the people involved in them by the time we reach our cars.
Consider Beowulf the story. It "lacks steady advance" as Klaeber states. This is true. The plot digresses. It stalls before moving again. To be clear, it lurches sideways and backwards like the story itself is sloshing on the whale-road. Which is what makes it awesome. Because every sideways step provides a layer, like winding fabric around the loom, one loop at a time. And the layers do not represent mere facts, subplots begetting subplots, as much as they stand for humanity. Beowulf the man does not truly exist until we see him arrive home and retell his story with his words, and endure Hygelac's gentle admonishments for leaving in the first place, and learn about the sordid family history--the pain and love endured by Hrethel and his offspring. And oh yeah, there's a dragon to be dealt with, too.
This is not some early artistic experiment of art imitating life. This is a skilled storyteller telling about a man worth knowing. Because he is a hero also, but only because he is an honorable man first. I argue that although it missteps the most, the final third of the poem is the best because it is this section that finally deserves the title Beowulf. We love watching him rip arms off of things and swim underwater all day with the fire-snakes and berate drunken idiots in their own homes. We love this action. But we finally get around to caring about Beowulf after enduring the imperfect, clunky family history that follows.
And I'm fine with that. I'm fine with clunky. Because that's what I am. And I like seeing a little of that in my heroes from time to time. And their stories.
And what of the legends themselves? What of the stories? Don't the vehicles for these heroes require a certain glossy veneer, a level of direct forwardness by which to view the hero's deeds? Like a Michael Bay theatrical juggernaut, the stories we desire deliver their content with as much ease as possible, progressing ever forward and forward. No delays allowed, please. My popcorn will run out.
Which is why we exit such films admiring the effects and already forgetting the people involved in them by the time we reach our cars.
Consider Beowulf the story. It "lacks steady advance" as Klaeber states. This is true. The plot digresses. It stalls before moving again. To be clear, it lurches sideways and backwards like the story itself is sloshing on the whale-road. Which is what makes it awesome. Because every sideways step provides a layer, like winding fabric around the loom, one loop at a time. And the layers do not represent mere facts, subplots begetting subplots, as much as they stand for humanity. Beowulf the man does not truly exist until we see him arrive home and retell his story with his words, and endure Hygelac's gentle admonishments for leaving in the first place, and learn about the sordid family history--the pain and love endured by Hrethel and his offspring. And oh yeah, there's a dragon to be dealt with, too.
This is not some early artistic experiment of art imitating life. This is a skilled storyteller telling about a man worth knowing. Because he is a hero also, but only because he is an honorable man first. I argue that although it missteps the most, the final third of the poem is the best because it is this section that finally deserves the title Beowulf. We love watching him rip arms off of things and swim underwater all day with the fire-snakes and berate drunken idiots in their own homes. We love this action. But we finally get around to caring about Beowulf after enduring the imperfect, clunky family history that follows.
And I'm fine with that. I'm fine with clunky. Because that's what I am. And I like seeing a little of that in my heroes from time to time. And their stories.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Crumbling like a Human Cookie
Aunt Emily tells us that "Crumbling is not an instant's act" and I think I believe her. After all, my own "organized decays" are true works of art; just ask Chipotle what it's doing to my blood pressure, one bite at a time. Like a cinder-blocked routine of devastation, I order out for pizza once a week, every week.
Organized, indeed.
Organized, indeed.
And it's all nice and good when we, gentle reader, can apply such literary analysis to our own lives. After all, isn't this the very type of enrichment that great literature begs of us? I believe so. But how in the world do we apply it elsewhere? Is reading great literature only to be an isolated journey of the self, only applying inward? Sounds lonely. The most enlightened man is only still a man if he cannot point his flame outward, right? But then, how in the world are you supposed to take Dickinson's wisdom and make use of it, for someone else? Quote her? Are we supposed to quote poetry at people?
"You know, you should rest easy; your entire relationship didn't just collapse around this one argument. It's been crumbling for years. Methodically, slowly. Slipping, after all, is Crash's Law, just like Emily Dickinson said. Don't get too hung up on today's latest entanglement. You've been doomed for a while now."
Uh huh.
So the question becomes, now that I am wiser for reading Dickinson, do I do anything with it? What do I do with it? Who cares what a weird, introverted poet has to say on the matter. She's dead and poetry is whatever you want it to be.
Right?
Well, it doesn't much matter for me. I am a non-doer, so quoting poetry is right up my actionless alley. You, gentle reader, are probably a different story. You have the opportunity here. You are the one with mountains to climb, with places to go, with people to influence. All the while better equipped for the mountain, the places, the people because you will be aware of the cuticles of dust forming along the edges, and you may have the chance to stop them, or at least to know about them and not be surprised. If Crash's Law is a law -- like gravity and love and inertia -- then I want to be informed on that one as well.
Squeezing poetry into a busy life is dangerous. You risk squeezing something else out.
Squeezing poetry into a busy life is dangerous. You risk squeezing something else out.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Hunger Games: Book or Movie?
Alright you literary movie-goers, The Hunger Games opens tonight. So which is better, the book or the movie? Go see it, gentle reader, and then drop us a comment...
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The Limits of Hope and of Meanness
I was recently researching some commentary on Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winner, The Road, and I came across a quote by McCarthy regarding hope. The context of the quote dealt with McCarthy's harsh, violent characters living in a seemingly meaningless and unfeeling world -- basically how most of his writing isn't easily redemptive and, a lot of times, doesn't end well -- when I stumbled across this really powerful hammer-stroke:
"I don't think goodness is something that you learn. If you're left adrift in the world to learn goodness from it, you would be in trouble... There's not much you can do to try to make a child into something that he's not. But whatever he is, you can sure destroy it. Just be mean and cruel and you can destroy the best person."
Hmm.
It's not that I disagree with this; I think McCarthy has hit on something very real and very fundamental. What I've been turning over in my mind is the implication behind this idea: that evil has the advantage. To be clear, I don't want to slip into naivety or an over-romanticized version of the world; evil exists, it persists, it does doom some. However, I would like to suppose that the power of evil is equally balanced by the power of good, and if McCarthy is right (and I am understanding him correctly...), evil knows no limits, and goodness does. We are born with a finite amount of goodness -- like champagne in a crystal flute, perhaps just a few drops, perhaps threatening to overflow -- and that's it. No more, forever. But apply enough cruelty, enough meanness, enough cracks to the flute, and the entire portion is capable of being drained out. Meanness can overcome any amount of goodness.
Hmm.
Can goodness be replenished? Am I reading too much into the word "destroyed"? I suppose we may rebuild what is destroyed. But then, it isn't quite the same as the original. It has potential to be great again, just not the same. And maybe therein lies the beauty. If I am only capable of a little goodness, and I lose it, then it wouldn't take me that long to regain it. After all, it was only a small amount to begin with, and if I can't recoup it, then I am probably not trying hard enough. Likewise, if I am capable of a deep level of goodness and lose it all, it will take me much longer to recapture all of it. Perhaps I would not be able to recapture every last drop, but then I started with a lot more than others and should still find myself well ahead of the game.
So, gentle reader, evil doesn't win. Or at least, it doesn't have to. It is still a very real player in the game, but ultimately it has no unfair advantage. And the best part, I think (if I'm still understanding the quote correctly...), is that we ultimately have control over the meanness and the cruelty. Don't like it? Don't do it! Those are better odds still.
"I don't think goodness is something that you learn. If you're left adrift in the world to learn goodness from it, you would be in trouble... There's not much you can do to try to make a child into something that he's not. But whatever he is, you can sure destroy it. Just be mean and cruel and you can destroy the best person."
Hmm.
It's not that I disagree with this; I think McCarthy has hit on something very real and very fundamental. What I've been turning over in my mind is the implication behind this idea: that evil has the advantage. To be clear, I don't want to slip into naivety or an over-romanticized version of the world; evil exists, it persists, it does doom some. However, I would like to suppose that the power of evil is equally balanced by the power of good, and if McCarthy is right (and I am understanding him correctly...), evil knows no limits, and goodness does. We are born with a finite amount of goodness -- like champagne in a crystal flute, perhaps just a few drops, perhaps threatening to overflow -- and that's it. No more, forever. But apply enough cruelty, enough meanness, enough cracks to the flute, and the entire portion is capable of being drained out. Meanness can overcome any amount of goodness.
Hmm.
Can goodness be replenished? Am I reading too much into the word "destroyed"? I suppose we may rebuild what is destroyed. But then, it isn't quite the same as the original. It has potential to be great again, just not the same. And maybe therein lies the beauty. If I am only capable of a little goodness, and I lose it, then it wouldn't take me that long to regain it. After all, it was only a small amount to begin with, and if I can't recoup it, then I am probably not trying hard enough. Likewise, if I am capable of a deep level of goodness and lose it all, it will take me much longer to recapture all of it. Perhaps I would not be able to recapture every last drop, but then I started with a lot more than others and should still find myself well ahead of the game.
So, gentle reader, evil doesn't win. Or at least, it doesn't have to. It is still a very real player in the game, but ultimately it has no unfair advantage. And the best part, I think (if I'm still understanding the quote correctly...), is that we ultimately have control over the meanness and the cruelty. Don't like it? Don't do it! Those are better odds still.
Monday, January 9, 2012
2012 New Year's Resolutions
1. Jay Gatsby says he will "try to steer clear of dangerous women who cry over men's apparel."
2. Beowulf resolves nothing. For there is nothing to resolve. (Enter Chuck Norris joke here only substitute "Beowulf" for "Chuck Norris")
3. Ma Joad says she plans to feed her family "less carbs and more proteins" this coming year.
4. Boo Radley would have said "to get out more" had he actually been contacted for this list.
5. Rosencrantz resolves to "ask more questions" especially in the presence of insane royal people.
6. Daisy Buchanan says she wants to cry less around men and their shirts. To which Holden Caulfield replies"stop being so damn phony" at which Daisy starts to cry. Holden gets depressed and goes off to find the ducks.
7. Beowulf changes his mind and decides to kill a dragon and leave his country defenseless this year.
8. Montag says he will come up with a nickname to avoid further confusion over long and short vowel sounds.
9. Victor Frankenstein resolves to tamper with the natural order of life and death "just one more time."
10. Ophelia decides to "not worry" about those swimming lessons.
2. Beowulf resolves nothing. For there is nothing to resolve. (Enter Chuck Norris joke here only substitute "Beowulf" for "Chuck Norris")
3. Ma Joad says she plans to feed her family "less carbs and more proteins" this coming year.
4. Boo Radley would have said "to get out more" had he actually been contacted for this list.
5. Rosencrantz resolves to "ask more questions" especially in the presence of insane royal people.
6. Daisy Buchanan says she wants to cry less around men and their shirts. To which Holden Caulfield replies"stop being so damn phony" at which Daisy starts to cry. Holden gets depressed and goes off to find the ducks.
7. Beowulf changes his mind and decides to kill a dragon and leave his country defenseless this year.
8. Montag says he will come up with a nickname to avoid further confusion over long and short vowel sounds.
9. Victor Frankenstein resolves to tamper with the natural order of life and death "just one more time."
10. Ophelia decides to "not worry" about those swimming lessons.
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