Dream Come True?

From the very beginning of the novel, we've seen Lee Oswald's desire to be in the spotlight. He's always stood out well in a crowd and strives leave his mark in history. As a kid we saw him with his pretentious tomes on Marxism and his accent that left him mocked wherever he travelled. He really didn't fit in very well with neither the marines nor the Russians, and has never been taken particularly seriously for his ideas. Reading this last section with the long-anticipated assassination of Kennedy, I couldn't help but wonder if Lee's childhood dream finally became reality here.

What made this chapter a bit frustrating for me was just how detached it was. The whole novel so far has been up and down everyone's thoughts, all building suspense for the famous shot. This section, while insightful and tied nicely to the plot that DeLillo has spent the previous 400 pages setting up, was more or less just a retelling of the famous Zapruder film. I immensely enjoyed how slow and carefully the whole event was written, but we unfortunately got very little insight into Lee's mind at all. It's as if DeLillo is teasing us, at the time when we want to hear Oswald the most, he seems to have gone silent.

Still, it sure appears to me that Lee's remained a fairly static character throughout the course of this novel. He's seemed to maintain his rather opportunistic tendencies, building multiple guises for himself, demanding that history examine him with a microscope. Of course the infamous Lee Harvey Oswald smirk has persisted as well, that half-smile he always seems to have, as if he smugly knows something nobody else does (and also appears on the covers of most of our books). Lee also takes it extremely hard when he realizes he's not the sole assassin of Kennedy (despite how history seems to remember him) and inadvertently completely tears apart the rest of Mackey's plan to have Lee shot immediately. I do believe that while he's firing the weapon Lee completely believes that this is his destiny, his Lee-Harvey-Oswald-sized spot in history, and once he realizes he's been played, his confusion and distress is genuine, not part of some grand scheme.

Ultimately though, it sure seems to me like Lee got almost exactly what he's always wanted, and his dreams did come true in a way on that Nov. 22, 1963.

Oswald's Difficult Character

I'm finding Lee Harvey Oswald's character somewhat difficult to pin down. Throughout the Frontline documentary he was definitely portrayed as a man who tended to act on his own and didn't enjoy following others' instructions. That seems to be resonating in the novel as well, as we've been discussing how Oswald likes to be different for the sake of being different. He appears smart, but is intentionally provocative and seems to enjoy being rejected by others. His exact beliefs or values can sometimes be somewhat difficult to pin down as well, and de Mohrenschildt mentions, "He may be a pure Marxist, the purest of believers. Or he may be an actor in real life."

I do think that Oswald's emotional detachment, lack of trust, and strong desire to go against the grain set him up fairly well to be an assassin. The Frontline documentary seemed to conclude that Oswald basically acted alone, presenting some possible ties to organized crime, but not pursuing them in depth. This seems fairly plausible from what we've seen of the novel so far, he enjoys doing things alone and nobody seems to particularly like him very much either.

What I found particularly interesting from the documentary of Oswald's life though, was his strange behavior after killing JFK. He seemed somewhat aimless, carelessly killing a police officer, ultimately winding up in a movie theater and getting himself caught. Afterward, he was recorded shouting about police brutality and completely denying owning the murder weapon at all. This whole showdown struck me as somewhat out of character, since he's clearly a very smart and organized man who would plan for events following the shooting. It almost seems like he wanted to get himself caught, and this seems to strongly indicate that Oswald wasn't just acting alone. I tend to lean toward Oswald having sole responsibility for JFK's death, but the more facts I hear about the case, the fuzzier it seems to become. I definitely look forward to seeing how Oswald's character continues to evolve throughout the novel.

Dana's Influence on Rufus

One of the main themes that's definitely being explored throughout Kindred is the capability and tendency of people to change, especially in the presence of some new social setting or dynamic. Kevin and Dana are both intensely interested in maintaining their twentieth century philosophies and attitudes, even in the context of such a wildly different world where every idea seems to go against theirs. Both of them, especially Dana, are fearful of adjusting too well to the backwards norms of this brutal time period. Equally importantly though, the book also explores this theme of human change as Dana tries to impart her contemporary ideas of racial and gender equality to Rufus in an effort to alter his ideas and actions for the better. She knows that she can only have an incredibly limited impact on him, but still she strives to go against his upbringing and, unfortunately, never seems to have as much effect on him as she thinks she does.

I don't doubt that Rufus demonstrates that she's done something to change him. He's clearly very sympathetic toward her, goes out of his way to keep her close to him, and makes an effort to treat her with some respect. Still, this only points to Dana's ability to make Rufus like her. She's failed to make any perceivable impact on his idea of a trusting relationship. He seems to have some underlying abandonment issues, demonstrated by how his relationships are always completely dominated by him. I don't think he can even begin to conceive of one where he isn't the power figure. He will never restrain himself from trying to get what he wants, no matter how much it will hurt others, and it makes me wonder what exactly it is that Dana's done to alter his actions in any way. He feels his love for Alice should be enough justification for her rape, and his more platonic love for Dana should be enough reason to force her to stay with him.

Rufus' lack of a conscience is pretty sickening, and Dana clearly feels the same way, yet she always seems to give him the benefit of the doubt at just about every opportunity. We saw this especially when she accepted that he had sent the letters, even when she had been warned he probably didn't. She feels a familial connection to Rufus and sees some hope for change in him, despite all evidence to the contrary. Rufus trusts Dana but completely takes her for granted, and Dana interprets his confidence around her and politeness toward her as her making a positive impact on him. I can't help but roll my eyes a bit every time Dana finds herself surprised at Rufus' harsh actions, thinking that she's figured him out. I definitely take his behavior to be more indicative of the fact that he has power over her, is used to having this sort of power over people like her, and has no intention to give it up.

I imagine Rufus will remain a fairly static character throughout the course of the novel and Dana will eventually have to accept her failure to change him.

A Delusional Middle-Aged Man

The postmodernist fiction we've been reading so far has certainly required some suspension of disbelief. Ragtime flaunted its fictitious historical meetups, forcing the reader to accept them as factual within the world of the novel. Mumbo Jumbo, even more so, constantly invited the reader to believe in the slew of fictitious or impossible elements of the story, like the secret societies and immortal beings and whatever else. Likewise, once aliens were introduced in Slaughterhouse Five, I had to decide whether or not to take their existence for granted within the novel itself. It's not always very easy to discern what's intended to be real or not real within the world of a work of fiction.

Obviously the aliens are figments of Vonnegut's imagination, and he doesn't try to hide that by giving them any sort of scientific credibility. Still, for most of the novel, I was fairly convinced that they did exist within the world of Slaughterhouse Five. It wasn't until I was toward the end that I really started to get the impression that they were only the delusions of a sad, damaged, middle-aged man. Chapter nine is where this is especially demonstrated, as, immediately following his traumatic brain injury and still under observation, he wanders into an adult bookstore where he begins to read The Big Board. I doubt it's much coincidence that it's about "an Earthling man and woman who were kidnapped by extra-terrestrials" and "put on display in a zoo on a planet called Zircon-212." Only moments later, he catches a glimpse of the pornstar Montana Wildhack and an article speculating of her disappearance. His broken mind immediately latches onto these random details of his surroundings and used them to help craft a new story of himself.

It seemed fairly evident to me at this point that poor Billy is having delusions that are drastically upsetting his memory. Nearly all of his time travel episodes that he describes throughout the novel only take him to points preceding the brain injury and his daughter shortly afterward asking, "What are we going to do with you?" His memory is disrupted and jumbled, and he makes sense of it all by saying he became "unstuck in time" and was, in a completely unrelated event, abducted by aliens. This works well to explain Billy's passivity and reluctance to try and affect any outcomes he's sure will happen during his time travels. His own death, the only event he time travels to beyond the events immediately following his plane crash (I think this is true, someone please fact check me if I'm incorrect here), is almost certainly a figment of his own imagination. Unfortunately, he'll probably meet his end in a decidedly less dramatic way down the line.

I definitely believe that Billy is a very tragic character, and certainly an interesting choice of personality with which to frame Vonnegut's story.

So What Genre is Mumbo Jumbo Anyways?

Recently in class, we've delved into the idea that Mumbo Jumbo can be viewed as an ontological detective novel. Throughout the story, LaBas is acting as a detective, trying to unravel the mystery of the big bad Atonists interfering with and trying to take down Jes Grew. He's constantly gathering clues and putting together metaphysical evidence that reveals Hinckle Von Vampton to be the villain he is, finally culminating in the great story beginning in ancient Egypt that satisfyingly fills in the mysterious holes lurking in the narrative. The whole book plays out like a movie, with a number of obviously cinematic elements scattered throughout, like the title coming after the first chapter and the stage cues in the final chapter. I can definitely understand the book being viewed as a detective novel of sorts.

Still, I feel like if I were to describe the novel to someone, I'm not sure I would call it a detective story. There are just so many other elements at play throughout the book I'm very reluctant to pin it to just one genre. The novel consists of a whole number of themes and stories, and it's all jumbled enough so as to appear something like a collage. It seems like Reed is most trying to make fun of contemporary western culture and reveal an alternate perspective to early twentieth century history directly in opposition to the common "Atonist" narrative. I would say that his method of telling a detective story is definitely twisting and building on the modernist ways of doing so, but it's not his chief purpose in the novel.

So it's pretty difficult to assign some specific genre to Mumbo Jumbo that people will understand immediately. It's not really like any other works I've read before, and I would say intentionally so. It's a very postmodernist novel, obviously, and is designed to be particularly unpalatable or unfamiliar, at least at first. Slowly, as I read, it opened itself up as satire, historical narrative, a detective story, and also text simply designed to provoke the reader. This chaotic mixture of work definitely seems to allow for a whole slew of interpretations, as I'm sure Reed was aware. I'm certainly glad to have read it, I'm just still gathering my thoughts together and trying to determine exactly what it is I've read.

History in the Making

In class we've been grappling with the idea that history might just be a collection of arbitrary events that are magically strung together by historians to form compelling stories. I certainly don't think it's a very intuitive way of thinking about the historical record. Chronology and cause-and-effect tend to be our primary concerns and it's the burden of proof that keeps historians from making random connections between seemingly unrelated events. Still though, the physical evidence more often than not only sheds light on one potential story, when something entirely different may have happened. All throughout Ragtime, Doctorow presents a whole number of improbable situations but the book nonetheless remains historically grounded, and nothing in it can be definitively pointed out to not have happened. It's very frustrating just how open to interpretation and possibility the historical record is.

Rarely, it seems, are the historical events themselves disputed. Its the unrecorded encounters and unclear relations between these events that enable historians to create a variety of stories from different perspectives, some disputed and others not so much. To me, a historian has always been someone who analyzes primary sources, tangible evidence, the works of other historians, and formulates their own uniquely-positioned narrative equally subject to analysis and criticism. Not all historical events are created equal, and it's up to the historian to determine which ones make for an interesting perspective or important connection. In this way, all histories leave out information and offer interpretation of the evidence they present, or else they would be entirely worthless.

Postmodernism teaches us that there is no one true historical perspective or narrative from which to view events past. This is extremely important, highlighting the key idea that history is a discussion. New narratives are constantly being presented, differing perspectives being emphasized and illustrated. Nobody should sit in a history class and mindlessly treat the subject matter as gospel, because the mere recounting of undisputed historical events is inherently demonstrating bias in some way or another. Stories (and flowcharts) need to be constantly challenged and tested, their purposes and positions made transparent. As is repeatedly demonstrated throughout Ragtime and the articles we've been studying, we can never have all the facts about history or understand every intimate cause-and-effect. It is unproductive at best and malicious at worst to pretend like we do.

Coalhouse's Movement

There's been a fair amount of class discussion recently about Coalhouse Walker, primarily concerning his actions following the destruction of his car. One of the most controversial aspects of of these unfolding events is probably whether or not his violence is justified. Coalhouse could have just as easily paid the arbitrary fine set forth by the men and been on his way. Being a full grown man black man living in this period of America, he, like many others, has in all likelihood had to submit to the unfair tolls of racism before.  This time was different though, and he instead chose to take the hard way, refusing to suffer the consequences of his skin tone. He firmly asserts and fights for the belief that he has rights equal to any other and justice will prevail for him.

He's fully aware that he's representing something larger than himself by taking such a resolute stand. He knows that if he emerges from this struggle victorious, this instance will be cited again and again and will hopefully begin to set a precedent for the rights of African Americans in the future. Presenting himself as a respectable, well-off man, he demands to be taken seriously. Doctorow certainly seems to, judging by his lack of irony about Coalhouse and his distancing himself from the events to make them flow as organically as possible.

Doctorow doesn't condone Coalhouse's murders and destruction of property, but he does appear to deem it necessary. Coalhouse has thoroughly demonstrated that, alone, he has pretty much exhausted all possible legal means of getting his justice. Nonetheless, I feel he was fully prepared, and unfortunately expecting, to escalate the situation. He couldn't just give up and accept defeat, his single mission was to restore his dignity and make a push toward African American civil rights. He's not some crazed psychopath who just snapped one day, he's actually being very transparent with his desires and making the conditions of his war very clear. He doesn't want to have to fight it, but he feels as though he must, and for it to have any meaning at all it needs to be as public as possible. The bombings of the firehouses hold the public's attention and the car is a tangible thing that he wants people to see and feel for, as though it were a martyr of some sort.

The violence shouldn't be necessary, but racism is extremely ugly. Coalhouse is now waiting for the authorities to 'just give him his car and justice' instead of spending all the effort to pursue him in parallel to how they originally wanted him to 'just pay the $25.' The war was certainly starting to work in his favor too, as "Will Conklin became a despised person everywhere." (219) Coalhouse is tired of waiting for his justice and has now willfully become the leader of a movement, and as far as I can tell, he's playing this out as best as he possibly could.

END HISTORY AS FICTION POSTS, BEGIN HERO'S JOURNEY POSTS

This blog has been recycled from one class to another, so this is the point where my posts on "History as Fiction" stop and my posts on heroism-themed literature begin. So stop scrolling.

Macon's Leadership on the Day of Apology

Simply put, the Day of Apology has been an absolute disaster for Macon. The majority of the day's failure simply has to do with the fact that Macon's not really as great of a leader of the masses as he believes himself to be. What he's been doing throughout the entire Day of Apology is going out expecting the world of his followers with expectations high as the moon, ultimately having to conclude with, "I was wrong to think that you've got what it takes to change. Forget apologizing. It'll only make things worse." Macon's definitely beginning to lose faith in his followers by the end of this major event because he wanted and expected "erudite, die-for-the-cause radicals." What he got instead were moderates of the cause, and he honestly has no idea how to speak to them.

Macon is decidedly on the far end of the bell-curve, and he thrives there. His radicalism and strive to be different are what make him a good leader to those who are passionate about his cause because he brims with confidence about what he's doing. People who aren't hellbent on Macon's agenda, however, are easily disturbed by his personality and methods or are simply following him for the wrong reasons. This is largely why the media picked up on him, he made a very good story. Unfortunately for him, with his appearance on television, his target audience seems to have gone from very niche to very widespread, and his radical ideology isn't really tailored to that crowd.

Macon is really counting on his followers people to use their own brains on the Day of Apology instead of blindly following him to the letter, which ironically enough, is largely what he's been doing with previous civil rights leaders. "Malcolm never said what black people's response should be when white folks started apologizing." He forms a lot of his own ideas, but for the most part, he just set the Day of Apology in motion and hoped it would go in roughly the right direction, not wanting to craft it to his agenda at all. Whether this is laziness on his part of just a massive level overconfidence in his followers, I can't really tell. He really just wanted people to begin thinking about day-to-day racial issues within the context of the modern day and instead got violent and somewhat misguided riots in the streets with no real enlightenment occurring for either party involved. To me, Macon's hard fall definitely seems to be inevitable.

And They Lived Happily Ever After

Except not really. Presumably Jack and Ma will continue to live fairly happy lives together. Unfortunately, they don't get to just sit back and instantly assimilate themselves straight back into society. They'll face some serious challenges and continue to to have some very rough spots, especially for Jack. Their journey is very much not over, and due to the nature of the relationship between a mother and her son, never will be. So what exactly does the end of Room represent, if clearly not Jack and Ma's heroic adventure with each other?

To me, it looks like the ending of Room represents the end of Jack and Ma's relationship to Room itself. Throughout the entire second act of the novel both Ma and Jack have been doing their best to detach themselves completely from Room; Ma because she desperately wants to, Jack because he slowly understands that he has to. Since his escape, he had been looking at the entire world through the lens of Room, and the detachment to it in his language and behavior in the final scenes highly suggests that Room has finally transitioned into more of a memory for him than a limitation. Their final goodbyes really indicate to me how much they've come from the beginning of the book and provide the reader with some nice closure by bringing the whole story around full circle.

Personally, I thought it was one of the best endings the book could have done.

The Growing Rift

I'm a few dozen pages into After at this point, and some interesting dynamics are definitely beginning to develop. Spoilers beware if you haven't done much of this reading yet.

in Dying, Jack plunged himself face-first with his safety on the line into a universe he knew basically nothing about, where he had to rescue Ma, alone. This a terrifying experience and almost certainly a traumatic one for him. To say his whole world has been turned upside down would be an understatement. As far as he could tell, he and Ma had just lived there peacefully forever, but with their escape, their true differences begin to emerge. For seven years Ma had been presumably been fantasizing about what she would do once she got out, and with her escape, she can't wait to return to normal life as best she can. Jack, on the other hand, knows nothing other than Room, and so, in a complete role reversal, Outside seems to feel more like the prison to him.

This is especially interesting because neither Ma nor Jack seem to be fully aware so far about what exactly the other is feeling, both just seem to kind of translate their emotions onto the other person, more or less assuming that they should both feel the same way. This mentality disalignment has increasingly caused them to butt heads in the hospital, and I greatly look forward to how both characters, as well as their intense relationship, develop throughout the rest of the novel. We're not even half way done yet with Jack and Ma's story.

Who is the Real Hero?

We're around half-way through the novel by this point, and an important aspect of the book that still seems to be somewhat ambiguous is who the true hero of the story is. On the one hand, Jack is the narrator of Room, and thus it's his story to tell. Surely he would go ahead and make himself the hero. The book is presented in a way such that Jack is central to the story and everything appears to revolve around him, seeming to make his actions the most impactful. As we've learned in this last section of the book Dying, Jack appears to be literally risking his life to free Ma and himself. Sure sounds pretty heroic.

On the other hand, Odysseus' crew risked their lives constantly, and yet we don't call them the heroes of the story. The hero there is the brains behind the operation, Odysseus himself, who appears to be analogous to Ma. Jack didn't come up with any decent plan of escape whatsoever, nor did he really have any desire to do so either (not really of any fault of his own). He ended up being forced to go through with the final plan by their leader, Ma, in a state of total cowardice.

That's a really harsh way of me to put it. Although Jack did fight very hard against the plan, he did end up going through with it, and although he was no doubt experiencing the most terror he'd ever felt before, he executed it flawlessly. Credit where it's due to Ma as well, resisting the urge to stay cooped up in Room until the end of time with her son and instead deciding to risk it all for a very real chance at freedom, all while keeping Jack calm and comforted. I really don't have a definitive answer as to who the primary hero in the story is. I think the concept of an equally dual heroship is a very interesting possibility here, and I'm certainly interested in what others of you have to say about it.

Norma's Impact on Smithy

With Smithy's journey having decidedly come to a close by the end of the story, I can't help but realize just how huge of an impact Norma had on Smithy throughout his great cross-country bikeride. He initially set out with the sole intention of escaping his current situation and taking time to reflect on past events in order to more fully understand how he ended up in the depressed, unhealthy, friendless state he was in, and how to fix it. To me, Norma seemed to play just a big a part in this "quest" of his as Smithy did.

Throughout his whole journey, Norma's been Smithy's rock, his guide, his primary source of joy. He's basically dedicated his ride to her. She's also been a central figure of kindness, much like Smithy has, helping to keep him focused on the goodness of humanity rather than to let all of the terrible things people on his journey have done to him get to his head. She contributes to his understanding of compassion, really giving him the strength to continue his ride for her and his sister.

Norma has been an inspiration for Smithy the whole way. Through most of the story, Smithy has had profoundly low self-esteem, and it's really not until he sees Norma, physically crippled yet still tackling life with confidence that he begins to free himself of his harsh thoughts. Slowly, through both example and through the way she treats him, Smithy regains his self-esteem and gains a certain level of confidence that he didn't have before, culminating in his love relationship with Norma. Sure seems like this journey would have been a whole lot more difficult for Smithy without her.

James Franco's Vision and Mine

One of the greatest things about As I Lay Dying is how much in the gray area the novel is with humor. Is it a tragic parable meant to be taken dead seriously? Is it a humorous story designed to be laughed at? Guess what, it's up to you! Franco's approach certainly seemed to be closer to that of the former though. From what little we saw in class on Wednesday (and yes, I'm basing my whole post on just that much but I hope to watch it in its entirety later on), Franco paints the book in a much darker, creepier, more serious tone, and I'm not too sure how much I liked it.

I appreciated what he was going for with the split screens and I thought it was interesting how much the movie was tailored very specifically to those who had already read the book. I just wish he would have included a bit more humor in some of the scenes we had seen. The book is neither inherently funny nor is it inherently somber. It's a mix, and if I were to create my own movie adaptation of As I Lay Dying I would definitely be sure to bring out the best of both. I feel like the movie could have absolutely worked with having very quick changes in mood, depicting something like the river scene as very amusing then suddenly showing its more serious side.

I understand that not everything in the book is meant to be taken as a joke (Looking at you, poor Dewey Dell), but I think there's merit in the critique of the movie that it's "too artsy" and taking itself a bit seriously. I'd like to see a version where the clash between Jewel and Cash is laughable, where Anse Bundren is more of a Delmar-ish character. As I Lay Dying is a book that became so much better once I could see the lighter side of things, and I feel like a movie would be as well.

"Why Are You Anse"

One discussion topic that I've found we keep returning to is the debate of whether or not Anse can be considered a heroic figure. Can his journey be described as an act of heroism? I feel like for the most part the book has done a good job of keeping it very much in the gray area for me, that is, right up until the very last chapter. It was those final few paragraphs that put a whole lot into perspective for me and made me see that no, this really wasn't a particularly heroic journey for Anse Bundren.

Initially, I had found myself defending Anse, explaining how this was a journey for his deceased wife and it was heroic simply because these kind of journeys were such a massively huge deal for him. The thing is, he began to lose perspective of that, Samson even going so far as to remark that he enjoyed the challenges he faced out there because they made him seem braver than he really was. His stubbornness would never allow him to return back (Gotta get those teeth, ya know?). The trip was no longer a challenge for him because he had his whole team slaving away mercilessly, doing their best to get him to Jefferson.

The whole idea behind a heroic journey is that a protagonist faces adversity that causes them to undergo a transformation, and unfortunately, Anse is easily one of the most static characters in the entire book. It's so bad that I could easily see his actions in the final chapter as exactly something he would have done all those years ago when he met Addie as well. He let others deal with his problems the whole way and completely lost sight of his original mission, spending more time picking out teeth and getting a new wife than putting his last one in the ground.

Anse is the winner of the Bundrens, no doubt about it. He is the only one where everything goes according to plan. Meanwhile all of his children have been completely and utterly screwed over in one way or another. They all have undergone transformations and sacrifice, so where's his? I feel like Anse certainly had the potential to be a heroic figure, but being Anse, it slid right past him.

Concealed Emotion

All of the characters in As I lay Dying have reacted to Addie's death in one way or another. In class, we've especially been assessing everyone's different emotional reactions and I've begun to realize that each family member has a very unique way of showing or expressing their grief. One of the biggest questions I've been thinking about is how Anse, Cash, and Vardaman all expresses emotion, and it's certainly an interesting question to delve into.

Upon Addie's death, Anse is definitely described as being the clumsiest of the family. His "claw-like hands," his extreme incapacity to help out Cash, his reluctance/inability to do any work, etc. all make him a rather tragic character. Despite his failings to really do anything laborious for Addie, he clearly feels grief and anxiety, as most obviously demonstrated by the constant rubbing of his knees and his absolute stubbornness to continue his monumental (for him personally at least) journey to Jefferson for his wife. His journey is so far out of his comfort zone that it really is, for the most part, a way for him to demonstrate remorse for Addie's death. I think that he truly believes this as well.

Cash is interesting because, like Anse, he doesn't seem to be doing anything obvious to grieve Addie at first. But it slowly becomes clear just how invested he is in making this perfect coffin for her. It's not just work for him. it's his craft, a work of art do demonstrate his love for her, a present essentially. His constant protection of the box isn't just him taking pride in his work, but also him taking care of his gift to his mother. Cash really isn't one to express emotion through hugs and kisses, but that certainly doesn't mean that he's just a robot.

Vardaman really doesn't know how to show remorse for his mother's death. He's still a very little kid and only understands death in a very limited way. His angst over the fish is the chief way that he expresses grief, as he understands how, like the fish, his mother was there, underwent some sort of non-physical transformation, and now just isn't. He is extremely concerned about the preparation of the fish for food, and is upset about imagining the equivalent for his mother.

I see these three characters as three of the most emotional characters in the book, they just all have very different methods of expression. Once I realized and comprehended that they do in fact have feelings of their own, the book attains a new level of depth for me and becomes even more intriguing than before.

The Formidable Foe Odysseus

Book 22 was a crazy book to read for me. It was expected, inevitable, but still upsetting. Instead of a hero mowing down fighting suitors in glorious combat like in some cartoon, I feel like it was more of a depiction of Odysseus striking down, one by one, defenseless, begging, miserable suitors in a fit of rage. Eurymachus is the very first to plead with him, offering wealth and loyalty, claiming to not even blame Odysseus for his rage. Odysseus kills him. Later, Leodes begs for mercy as well, expressing how he is an innocent suitor, not to be lumped in with the others. Odysseus kills him. Phemius then comes up to Odysseus and begs for mercy on the grounds that he's just a singer. Odysseus would have killed him in a heartbeat if it weren't for Telemachus' interjection only then telling him who he shouldn't be killing. Fairly rotten planning there, I guess.

Odysseus feels much more like a villain in this book than a hero. His boasting, all-or-nothing attitude, and merciless sword don't make him the most compelling of characters in this scene. He could have diffused the entire situation by exposing himself as Odysseus, perhaps killing the suitors that he truly felt deserved to die, and harshly threatening all of the rest. He's already a legend, a heroic story told to everyone about the fall of Troy, a formidable figure, not to mention a king. His threat would probably be worth quite a lot to these men. The death toll required to get Odysseus home is easily in the hundreds by this point.

The suitors did not have my sympathy, that much is for certain. But neither did Odysseus really by this point, and it was also the first time that I felt that Athena's help was really unnecessary. The battle was completely rigged and still Odysseus pretended numerous times that the suitors had some sort of other option. They suitors never really got a chance to defend their actions, which I would have actually been interested in reading.

Am I cutting the suitors too much slack? I feel like I kind of did that a bit in my last post. It's fun contemplating the other side of the fight, and this was certainly a very good chapter for it.

Sympathy for the Suiters

It's incredibly obvious that the suiters are painted to look like the bad guys as much as possible by Homer. From the very beginning they are depicted as incredibly abusive of Telemachus' hospitality, lounging around the palace doing nothing but eat and complain and plot murder. Later on, their cruelty extends to Odysseus himself, resorting to throwing things at him (disguised as the beggar) and they are painted as pure evil, no doubt to build suspense and anticipation for their impending deaths.

The hatred placed on them is so heavy-handed though, Homer may as well just say "Hey, look! These are the bad guys! Right here!" From a story-telling perspective, all the hatred for them is pretty great. It'll make the ending just that much more satisfying. Once the suiters are more closely examined, however, I feel like their fates may seem just a tad bit unfair. First and foremost, from a legal perspective, they really have every right to be there and capital punishment is, for the most part, unjustified. Penelope's husband has been missing for a whopping 20 years now, and there isn't a single person we've met so far who truly believes that he'll be returning. Alone, abuse of hospitality really isn't punishable by death. The suiters are there to form a political bond, and the moment that Penelope does that, presumably they will leave Telemachus and her alone.

They've been in an awkward limbo for quite some time now, and lounging around probably does seem like a viable option to them now. They don't just want to leave and accept Ithaca as being king-less, and at the same time, Penelope refuses to choose anybody. For at least the first part of the story, Telemachus has just been a doormat, so they really don't feel to threatened by him. The suiters feel that the kingdom is dysfunctional in its current state without a definite ruler and are just sorta rolling with that for the time being. Their agitation is somewhat justified in this regard.

In addition to all of this, the suiters aren't even completely under their own free will. Not once, but multiple times has Athena used her magical god-powers to intimidate them with Telemachus' larger-than-life form and in various instances she's even inspired them to say cruel things, throw things, and just generally be assholes in order to make Odysseus even more upset and prepared to slaughter them all.

Almost all of this was touched on in class today in one way or another, and is just something to think about while proceeding into books 21 and 22 (Oh man am I excited). I'm interested in other peoples' thoughts on whether or not the behavior of the suiters really justifies the inevitable deaths of every one of them. It's an interesting conundrum of morality (and possibly anger management).

Deus Ex Machina

Odysseus is a hero, this is pretty much a given. He is considered to be a heroic figure by literally everybody and that satisfies my idea of a hero pretty well. Nonetheless, he receives a huge amount of help from the gods, especially Athena, who has a tendency to protect him, guide him, and help him out at every twist and turn (Calypso's release of him, his survival of the shipwreck, his discovery of Nausicaa, protective mist, etc.) The big question is whether or not this detracts from his heroism.

A really big idea throughout The Odyssey is fate. All of the characters just accept that the gods will do what they want with the humans and that they have no influence over that. The gods are perceived to essentially be uncontrollable forces of nature, and so by extension, Odysseus is basically just having a whole lot of good luck by being helped by Athena so much. Still, it's fairly easy to understand divine intervention being considered "cheating" because the sole heroic trait that Odysseus has is how badly he wants to go home (although this is contested multiple places, but that's a whole separate blog post). If he makes it home without any struggle or adversity, he's hardly a hero at all.

However, it can certainly be argued that this "good luck" is more than outweighed by Poseidon's wrath. If this is the case, then I feel like Athena's constant deus ex machina doesn't matter so much anymore. After all, is Harry Potter no longer a hero just because his life is saved by his friends? Is Frodo Baggins no longer a hero because Sam was the one who forced him to give up the ring? The levels of adversity in all of these stories immensely justify the received help, and every character (even Odysseus to an extent) underwent a psychological transformation, granting them their heroism.

END HERO'S JOURNEY POSTS, BEGIN AFR. AM. LIT. POSTS

This blog has been recycled from one class to another, so this is the point where my posts on "The Hero's Journey" stop and my posts on African American literature begin. So stop scrolling.