Gray Shades: Cultural Ambiguity in Heart Of Darkness and Waiting For the Barbarians

The theme of civilization plays a major role in both Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and J.M. Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians. In Heart of Darkness, Conrad portrays Kurtz as regressing from a civilized man to a crazed native. In Waiting for the Barbarians, the Magistrate witnesses “civilized” people do unspeakable and uncivilized deeds. In both books, there is a contrast set up between civilized and uncivilized, and, as the novels progress, the readers’ perception of this contrast is changed.
In both books, there are characters who interact in the wilderness but see a stark contrast between themselves and the native people. In Waiting for the Barbarians, Colonel Joll will stop at nothing to fight the barbarians, even if they have not provoked a fight. He casts the magistrate as a traitor to the Empire because the magistrate dares to think from the barbarian’s point of view, and dares to sympathize with them. Joll sees the world in black and white, and unlike the magistrate, he does not hesitate or get confused when the barbarians do not prove to be the aggressors he expects; instead, he tortures them until their version of the truth matches his own. Similarly, the manager of the company in Heart of Darkness, despite living among natives, treats them as tools and is unable and unwilling to listen to their worth as human beings. Kurtz’s association with them is irrefutable proof to the manager that he has gone mad. Similarly, the accountant, who manages to retain the look of a European gentleman in Africa, confides in Marlowe that he resents the natives.
Other characters, however, are unable to draw such a distinct line between two civilizations. The magistrate and Kurtz stand out of their respective novels because they cannot fathom such a distinction. They both exist at a point that is close to where one culture ends and another begins; so close, in fact, that it becomes hazy to them. They both partially assimilate in the native culture, while still keeping parts of their past civilization. The assimilation has a wide range of effects on both characters. In Kurtz’s case, he lives among the natives, but is held up as special and unique because of his European culture. The book is ambiguous as to whether it is the native culture or the feeling of superiority he gets from being a part of European culture that causes him to go so insane. The magistrate, on the other hand, lives within the Empire but sympathizes with the barbarians. It is unclear in his case whether his civil upbringing has led him to take pity on the barbarians or whether his experience with the barbarians has made him more open-minded. Certainly, the characters who are able to see cultural ambiguity when surrounded by natives have a very different experience than the characters who only see a stark contrast.

Follow the Leader: Thoughts on the 3rd Chapter of Waiting for the Barbarians

The third chapter details the magistrate and the barbarian girl's march from the edge of the Empire into the barbarian’s territory, his returning of the girl, and the surprising news that, upon his return to the Empire, the army has arrived to fight the barbarians. There is one passage in particular which I would like to focus on, because it seems like a good metaphor for this chapter and for the book so far. The passage I am referring to takes place when the magistrate first spots the barbarians that he eventually returns the girl to. Try as they might, the party is initially unable to catch up with the barbarians, who keep a constant distance. Confused, the magistrate asks, “are they reflections of us?” Then, when he gives up chasing them, he adds, “we understand now that while they are following us they are also leading us.” I think the way the barbarians mimic the “civilized” people, or, depending on how you look at it, the “civilized” people mimic the barbarians, is a metaphor for the cycle that both the barbarians and the Empire are caught up in. Throughout the novel, the concept of civilization has been ambiguous. Are the barbarians civilized or is the Empire? Are neither? Ironically, in attempting to civilize the barbarians the Empire has become uncivilized. Therefore, civility seems to flow through both groups, and while the barbarians seem to “follow” the Empire (they are becoming more civil by adopting the Empire’s culture) they actually “lead” it (they are preserving civility by not sinking to the Empire’s level and committing atrocities).

Benjamin Kidd's Point of View

-Background: Kidd was a prominent nineteenth-century Social Darwinist

-Kidd says that "progress is a necessity from which there is simply no escape." He continues that throughout history (even before man) everyone has been constantly competing, and because of this competition, they have been adapting and improving.

-He concludes that because of this competition every living thing is getting better and more perfect. He says that we owe "the most-perfect in life" to this constant competition and betterment.

- He commends the Anglo-Saxon race for spreading "altruistic influences" to the "inferior peoples" around the globe. He mentions that the Anglo-Saxon race should be proud because they have not been as cruel with natives as previous explorers have been.

-He notes that throughout the world natives in all countries are dying out as a result of their contact with white people. He attributes this to the fact that natives are an inferior race and are unable to catch up to the white man, so they die out. He explains that it is a misconception that the evil nature of the more "civilized" white man is what has killed the natives; rather, it is the white man's virtues that have outperformed the natives.

- He says that the people of successful races all share similar traits, such as an "energetic, vigorous, virile life." He claims that people who are conquered are, on the other hand "careless, shiftless, and easily satisfied." He points to the competition and intensity in the "superior" races as the reason they are surviving while the "inferior" races are dying out.

-He closes by urging the reader to face these "stern facts of human life and progress" openly and honestly.

-From Social Progress and the Rivalry of the Races by Benjamin Kidd

"Here, Caddie"

One way that the final section of the novel provided closure was Quentin's escape from the Compson family. When Quentin left, it was almost as if she was fulfilling the legacy left by her mother, and bringing both her and her mother's history full cycle. Caddy's history of estrangement from her family (starting with her relationship with Dalton Ames, continuing with her marriage and divorce, and ending in an illegitimate child and complete separation from family and society) was, in this section, continued on by her daughter. Not only were the remaining Compson's never able to forgive Caddy or accept her back into the family, they never forgave Quentin for Caddy's actions. Even after Jason completely cuts off Caddy from Quentin, removing any influence that Caddy could have had on her, he treats Quentin with a disdain and with the expectation that she will behave like her mother. Therefore, Quentin running away is almost a self-fulfilling prophesy: she was expected to fit a certain role all her life, and by running away she has filled that role.

Time Traveling With Quentin Compson

The Language of Chaos: Quentin Compson in The Sound and the Fury
May Cameron Brown
American Literature, Vol. 51, No. 4 (Jan., 1980), pp. 544-553
Published by: Duke University Press

"For Quentin, time is painful and destructive. He lives in the past, which he attempts to reconstruct by imaginatively damning himself and Caddy to the purifying flames of hell. His major actions in the present--caring for the Italian girl, whom he calls "sister," and fighting with Gerald Bland--are reflections of the most significant aspects of his past--caring for a real sister and defending her honor according to his distorted chivalric code."

The above passage has several enlightening things to say about Quentin's section in the novel. I wanted to highlight and discuss a couple of them.
For one thing, Quentin's obsession with time is explained convincingly in the above passage. His violent outburst against his watch seemed poetic but unclear upon my first reading of it. But it does make sense that he hates the passing of time and is trying to stop it, however futile that may be. This also explains why he thinks at length about time and how to create a moment in time that will last forever. Of course, Quentin can not stop it, can not live within a stationary moment. The futile gestures of punching the watch and covering his ears when he almost hears the time are tragic because we know that by ignoring time, Quentin will still not be able to escape it.
Also, the passage draws a connection between Quentin's past and present. I struggled all week articulating why Quentin helping the little girl made sense, but I fell short of explaining it. This article sheds some light on that matter: Quentin helps the little girl because he sees her as a recreation of his sister. Therefore, because he is able to help the little girl, it is almost like he can help Caddy. In this way, he can maybe forgive himself for not actually being able to help Caddy.

More Thoughts on Battle Royale/Short Stories

The story “Battle Royale” and our discussion on it was something that really stayed with me all week. I have been turning over what the grandfather said and how his grandson took it. This was a point of contention in our class. I think I may have another interpretation of it. Maybe by humiliating himself, delivering his speech, and accepting the scholarship, the grandson was perfectly in line with his grandfather’s advice. The character’s uneasiness comes from following his grandfather’s advice, which does not always seem to him like a good idea. By accepting both the humiliation and the scholarship to a segregated college, the narrator is showing deference to the rich white men. However, he actually comes out looking a lot nobler than any of them (for example, his treatment of the “exotic dancer” is much more humane). His deference is meaningless if he actually propels himself to a higher moral and intellectual ground. And even though the white people applaud his accomplishments, he is actually living proof that the theory that he supposedly believes in is wrong. His very existence also undermines their theories on race. I admit there are a couple of holes in this theory: for one, the grandfather’s statement in the narrator’s dream makes it seem as though he is laughing at his grandson’s foolishness. Nevertheless, it may be that the grandfather is laughing at his grandson’s foolish intentions: through his good intentions, the narrator has kept the white people on their toes, prompting them to dream up ways to contain him, separate him, and humiliate him.
For my short story reading I read one by Chuck Palahniuk and one by Christopher Buckley. I picked these two authors because they have both written novels that I liked. The Palahniuk one was very interesting, most notably because it was absolutely repulsive. I enjoy the “off-colordness” of his books, it makes them unique and I believe is supported by the fact that he has legitimate (or at least entertaining) beliefs and ideas to get across to the reader. This story was no exception, but it was so repulsive that I do not think I could write a successful paper on it: I could not quite stomach the plot enough to discuss its overall significance. The other short story, By Buckley, was a vast departure from his colloquial style in Boomsday. I found it extremely boring and found myself thinking “so what?” after pretty much every paragraph. Anyway, I will keep searching for a story that would interest me more.

The Crazy Clairvoyant and the Dull Demon

The Crazy Clairvoyant and the Dull Demon
In his story “The Five-Forty-Eight,” John Cheever constantly shifts both the reader’s and the character’s perception of the people to whom they are introduced. He is able to do this so successfully by showing the depth of seemingly one-dimensional characters.
Blake and Miss Dent are people who can be approached from many different angles. Physically, Blake is described as “undistinguished in every way,” (11) and Miss Dent as “small” and “common” (63). In other words, if you ever saw either of them walking down the street, you would not even pause to notice them, despite the fact that one is crazy and the other is diabolical. At the beginning of the story, Blake seems like a victim because he is trying to escape from a stalker and potential killer. However, the reader quickly learns from Blake’s own thoughts that he is an evil man dedicated to cheating on his wife by scamming insecure girls into sleeping with him. Because Miss Dent is stalking Blake, we originally see her as crazed. Then, when we hear why she is stalking him, she appears more rational (during the course of a day, the guy exploited her and then fired her, so even if she is trying to kill him, her reasoning is solid). Finally, we see that she is in fact certifiably insane (or else a completely successful, if not somewhat misunderstood, clairvoyant). Blake himself is a judgmental man, as evidence by his intense dislike of Mr. Watkins, who has been presumptuous enough to have “long and dirty hair” (14). Also, the character’s perceptions of each other shift. Blake originally sees Miss Dent as quiet and meek, a stark contrast to the crazed women we later meet. Miss Dent views Blake as a god before she realizes what a pathetic and evil man he really is. Blake even has flashes of a happier, more fulfilling childhood with “gone summers and gone pleasures,“ (60) which hints that he may not be as despicable as he appears. Over the course of the story, the reader is presented with an ebb and flow of perceptions: we are led to believe that character traits are not as rigid as they first appear.
The atmosphere that Cheever portrays in his story is filled with isolation and conformity. On the five-forty-eight, when Blake is in danger, he needs to quite literally reach out to his neighbors, and yet he is unable to do so. Considering the many hints throughout the story that Blake is a reasonably wealthy man, it can be said that his attempt and failure to connect with others who live in his community is an example of the quiet desperation of upper-middle class American life. Miss Dent also notices how lonely and unfulfilling this life can be when she comments that she didn’t expect where Blake lived to “look so shabby” (57). No one on the train stops to notice Blake’s predicament, and one can imagine that Blake himself had often times waited to be picked up without making any meaningful connection with his fellow commuters. When the last man leaves him to face his fate, Blake even feels a deep sense of regret for the “unwanted parting of the spirit and the heart” (57). It takes a gun pointed at his belly for Blake to even attempt to make a connection with fellow human beings.
As the above paragraphs show, Cheever’s overall goal in this story is to illustrate how upper-middle class life boxes people into one dimensional personalities that do not entirely fit them. Even though we see that Blake and Miss Dent are complicated characters, they are living lives that, “like the rest of us,” (11) appear conventional and dull. In this way, the five-forty-eight is a microcosm of all upper-middle class life: everyone is searching for fulfillment by trying to conform to a tired stereotype that precludes any sort of human connection. (657)

Baba O'Riley

This week, I think we had a really interesting discussion on Teenage Wasteland, a story I enjoyed immensely. When I read it, I noted that Daisy was often times at least partially responsible for Donny's difficulties. I originally thought that this observation was insightful and unique, only to discover that everyone else in the class took for granted the fact that she was often at fault. In fact, although we touched upon Calvin and Donny himself as sources of Donny's numerous problems, we spent a significant portion of the time discussing Daisy. So, I will add one more note about Daisy that I have thought about since the discussion before moving on to Donny himself. I think the trouble with Daisy is she wants to "solve" Donny. Because, as so many people pointed out, she thinks of Donny as a reflection on herself, she is sure that if she works hard enough and searches far enough, she will come up with the right "solution." This goal is laughably quixotic. Donny can not be solved, no human can. Instead of trying to find one permanent catch-all cure (such as severe discipline or Calvin's severe freedom), she should focus on helping her son deal with the individual obstacles he faces. 

One more thing that occurred to me since last week's discussion is Donny taking responsibility for himself. After Calvin goes on a tirade about how the school is to blame for Donny's sad lot in life, Daisy asks, "Doesn't Donny ever get blamed?". Realistically, Donny is just responding to his environment.  With Calvin, he knows he can get away with anything, so he does. When I first encountered Donny, I thought he was going to become the stereotypical powerful teacher. I wanted him to step into that role. After all, the reader is introduced to him as though he is a miracle worker. One can tell that Daisy, with  her all-or-nothing mentality, also senses that Calvin's the one to reform Donny. And yet, instead of helping Donny help himself, Calvin lets Donny go. He practically gives Donny permission to get away with murder, and then rationalizes it for him. Alas, all along their were clues about Calvin's negligence. The first time we meet him, he declares to Donny "we'll see if we can show that school of yours a thing or two." It isn't the school Calvin should stand against, its Donny he should be standing with. (407)

Books I read over the summer:

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The Final Days by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein

The Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Boomsday by Christopher Buckley

The Life Of Pi by Yann Martel

All throughout The Life of Pi, which detailed the experiences of a shipwrecked boy (Pi Patel) floating in the Pacific on a small boat with a full-grown tiger, the protagonist struggles with the proper use of an anchor. He need not worry about the book  however, because he single-handedly anchored the entire thing. Never have I been introduced to a literary character who was more emotionally, intellectually, or spiritually centered. His strength and intensity stayed with me long after I put the book down.

Initially, as Pi described his childhood in India, I mistook his strength for a weakness. His self-possession came off as self-importance. He seemed too serious and somber for a young boy. However, as he journeyed along, he displayed a sense of humor that was impossible to ignore. Experiencing this humor from someone who I had previously thought to be so serious forced me to re-evaluate Pi's character. Additionally, the fact that the novel was told from the point of view of the adult Pi, a voice of maturity and reason, lent further depth to his character. Not only did the venerable, confident voice perfectly suit the tone of the novel, it also gave the reader another perspective into the soul of Pi, and this book seems to be first and foremost interested in Pi's extraordinary soul.

Pi's journey takes almost a year to complete before he is finally washed on to Mexican shore and saved. He travels with a hyena, an orangutang, a zebra, and, of course, a tiger. Soon, the hyena has killed the zebra and orangutang, and the tiger has killed the zebra. And, despite Pi's constant fear of a tiger that could so easily dispose of him, Pi ultimately tames it and makes it docile. One especially poignant scene involves an instant when the tiger is poised to attack and kill Pi. Pi stares the tiger down and forces him to back off.  What is so remarkable about this scene is Pi's ability to win in a battle of wills with such an intimidating adversary.

Even the seemingly confused end of the novel was a further display of Pi's strong soul. When he tells his story to Japanese insurance men, they doubt its veracity. So he tells them another story, this time substituting his animal companions for humans. Instead of a maternal orangutang, he says he was with his mother. Instead of a vicious hyena, he explains that he traveled with a mean-spirited cook. Whether or not the facts are aligned with this story or the original one, neither Pi nor the author seem to care. Instead, Pi poses this ironic question: "which story is better, the story with the animals or the story without the animas?" The question seems to imply that there is only one right answer: all of the characters from both of the stories acted like animals.  For me, this was a powerful ending, because as I reflected back on the stories I realized that all of the characters were animals, except Pi. To its end, the novel found Pi challenging himself and others to transcend his animal nature. The last page of the book describes how touched the Japanese men were by his story, despite their initial doubts. I wholeheartedly agree with them.