Ercassesanwi
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Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Holly" journal:
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05:10 pm
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Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince
As promised, here is the companion essay to my beast-complex essays. I have written quite a few words in praise of literary beasts, such as the beast from "Beauty and the Beast," Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, Cyrano de Bergerac, and the Phantom of the Opera. (See http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/21800.html and http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/34630.html.) Now I will comment on the beast's foil, his nemesis, the handsome prince.
Most beasts in general and each of the beasts I have mentioned in particular have their handsome-prince foils -- Mr. Rochester versus St. John Rivers, Cyrano versus Christian, the Phantom versus Raoul, and, of course, the beast versus the prince. At first, the handsome prince looks like a very attractive romantic prospect. He is young, handsome, dashing, admired and pursued by other women. He is the textbook-perfect model of romantically attractive manhood, the kind of man a Beauty, a Roxanne, a Christine is supposed to want. He is the happy ending to the fairy tale.
Or is he?
Note the "supposed to." Note the attitude of "this should be," the foregone conclusion that any woman, particularly an attractive one such as a fairy-tale princess, must want the prince, must even be destined for him. Doesn't she get a choice? Few of us know or have ever been told that the Grimm Brothers' Cinderella runs from the prince all three nights of the ball and that he gets her shoe only by spreading pitch on the stairs in an attempt to stop her flight. It takes a royal decree to get those two married. Old-school (read "non Disney") fairy tales are full of girls who aren't out looking for love but who end up catching a prince's eye anyway. Christine is enjoying her first night as opera prima donna, due to the tutelage of her angel of music, when Raoul decides to notice her, remember their childhood romance, steal into her dressing room, and take her to dinner. She refuses, thinking of her angel's displeasure, but Raoul won't hearken to her objections. St. John Rivers, too, though Jane is in love with Rochester, doesn't ask but rather demands Jane's hand in marriage, saying, "A missionary's wife you must -- shall be. You shall be mine: I claim you." When she persists in her refusal, knowing that she cannot be the wife he will require her to be, he tells her, "It is not me you deny, but God." Jane sees even St. John's beauty as a form of his tyranny, saying that to be what he wants of her is "as impossible as to mould [her] irregular features to his correct and classic pattern."
What the prince and often the audience fail to realize is that the prince's love for the maiden isn't always requited. His admiration doesn't obligate her to him. Her heart is hers to give, even if everyone else thinks she should give it to him, even if her family and friends are willing to sell her for money and a title. When the forces of parents and society and religion join to tell a woman that she must like a certain man, even if he is a prince, how can she help but feel manipulated and trapped? Is it any wonder if she succumbs to the allure of the forbidden and gets a crush on the dirty, sweaty blacksmith?
When we step back from the prince and the brilliance of his title, money, and popularity, what is so confounded attractive about him? He is a pretty boy. I know that pretty boys and metrosexuals are plastered all over present-day magazine covers and touted as the pinnacle of fashionable, sexually attractive manhood (again with society's telling women what to like). I know that I should allow for varying tastes among women. But can a pretty boy really do it for so many? So he's young, cute, (often) blond, bright eyed, smooth skinned. He sounds more like competition than a date to me. When I think of masculinity, I don't think of a pretty-boy handsome prince. I'll bet that blacksmith I mentioned earlier could easily take down our prince here and not even break a sweat (beyond that which he's worked up while pounding metal and building up those biceps). Even blind and maimed, Rochester could snap St. John's neck like a twig. The waifish Christine has to save Raoul twice from the Phantom's wrath. And Roxanne actually charges Cyrano with protecting Christian first from their allies among the cadets and then from their enemies in the war.
Yet despite the prince's general uselessness and utter lack of manliness, he is his own biggest fan. We can hardly wonder at his vanity, since everyone has always told him how cute, desirable, and extraordinary he is. He is Queen Mommy's darling, King Daddy's chip off the ol' block. Women fall all over him, even if he spends more time primping at his mirror than they. Sure, he can't arm wrestle the blacksmith, but he can order the palace guards to do it for him and then take all the credit. The prince is good at taking the credit for other people's work; after all, it's his due as royalty or as a pretty-boy heartthrob or as whatever characteristic he chooses for his entitlement complex. The rather dim-witted Christian sees no problem in claiming Cyrano's eloquence as his own in wooing Roxanne. St. John Rivers declares that God has destined Jane to be his bride.
The prince's vanity and sense of entitlement make it very difficult to believe that he truly loves. What, after all, does he see in his desired woman but a pretty face for the family portrait, another check mark on his list of accomplishments? As Disney's Gaston says, "[She's] the most beautiful girl in town. That makes her the best. And don't I deserve the best?" Prince Humperdinck, too, declares, "I want someone who is so beautiful that when you see her you say, 'Wow, that Humperdinck must be some kind of fella to have a wife like that.'" As to the prince types I have named in particular, Raoul doesn't even notice Christine until she is made prima donna by the Phantom and displayed on stage, whereupon he says, "What a change! You're really not a bit the gawkish girl that once you were." When Christian tries to express his love to Roxanne without Cyrano's help, his words are, "Your neck! I'd like to kiss it." True, St. John wants plain Jane, but he wants her for his great missions work. As he says, "It is not the insignificant private individual -- the mere man, with the man's selfish sense -- I wish to mate: it is the missionary," and "You are formed for labour, not for love." In his way, St. John sees Jane as a missionary's trophy wife.
If this vain, self-centered prince marries his lady, will he love her selflessly? Will he make her happy? Of course he chases the fleeing maiden, because she challenges his view of himself as irresistible. But once he catches her, will he take her for granted as he would any toy of which he tires once he comes to possess it? Unfortunately for this question, the stories usually end with the prince's marriage, and we don't get to see his married life. But beauty/beast/prince stories in which the beauty chooses the prince don't give particularly glowing impressions of the couple's wedded life. Christine tearfully gives back the Phantom's ring and sails off with Raoul, and then we know nothing of her life except that she leaves Raoul a widower. Roxanne marries Christian minutes before he is sent to war, visits his camp just in time to hold him as he dies, lives in mourning at a convent for years, then at last learns that it was Cyrano who wrote the letters that won her heart, just in time to watch Cyrano die. She laments, "I've loved only one man, and I've lost him twice."
"But Holly," I hear you my readers say, "You titled this essay 'Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince,' and so far you've expressed only your own opinions." Well, now I will demonstrate that other writers are joining my cause and sharing my antiprince, probeast sentiments. The primary works I will discuss in this arena are Into the Woods, Shrek and Shrek 2, The 10th Kingdom, and a ballet version of "Beauty and the Beast" that I haven't seen but of which I've been told.
The first time I heard of a work that overtly agrees that a beauty should love the beast was when an aunt told me about a ballet version of "Beauty and the Beast" in which the dancer playing the beast dances around in a hideous mask. At the end, instead of his shedding the mask to become a prince, the Beauty character dons a mask and becomes a beast herself. I was so thrilled. Very soon afterward, I saw Shrek and was again glad to see Princess Fiona transform into an ogre rather than Shrek transform into a handsome-prince type. Even better than the sympathetic portrayal of the ogre Shrek are the characterizations of Lord Farquaad in the first film and of Prince Charming in the second film. Then I saw a college performance of Into the Woods, and I couldn't have been more pleased with the portrayals of the annoying handsome princes. And even The 10th Kingdom's Prince Wendell, though he isn't a romantic interest, is a wonderfully vain, spoiled, self-centered, useless prince.
The Shrek films do an excellent job of satirizing the "this is the way things should be" attitude of the prince type. (Sadly, these films take up satirical arms also against all fairy tales, which the films seem to recognize only as the Disney versions.) Lord Farquaad is a control freak who runs his not yet kingdom of Duloc as the most despotic of micromanagers and expects his princess to be part of his vision. As he says, "I will have order! I will have perfection!" Fiona, too, as if she has Stockholm syndrome from her long imprisonment, is at first a slave to fairy-tale convention. She balks at Shrek and his unorthodox rescue, saying, "It's destiny. You must know how it goes" and then "This is all wrong. You're not supposed to be an ogre." Later, however, she seems to realize the ridiculousness of marrying someone she doesn't know or like simply because it's expected of her. Shrek 2 does an even better job with Prince Charming, who also declares destiny has chosen him for Fiona. When Fiona's father the king points out that one can't force people to fall in love, the Fairy Godmother (Prince Charming's mother) says, "I do it all the time." The Shrek films are all about debunking convention and defying expectations, especially about love.
These new takes on handsome princes also tend to agree with me on the prince's lack of manliness. Shrek's Lord Farquaad is laughably short and must endure the resulting jokes and all their connotations, including jokes about his huge castle's being in order to "compensate." Prince Charming from Shrek 2 is incredibly effeminate and immature, shown sporting a hair net and sparkly lip gloss. He whines petulantly and must rely on his mother to solve all his problems, even to do his hair for the ball. The two princes from Into the Woods have their ridiculous phobias, one of blood, the other of dwarfs. Prince Wendell from The 10th Kingdom is easily duped by the evil queen and turned into a dog, leaving others to rescue him, save his kingdom, and restore him to the throne and to his human form.
As for vanity and a sense of entitlement, these princes have them in spades. Lord Farquaad declares he and his kingdom are perfect and will hear no word to the contrary. He believes himself fully entitled to wed Princess Fiona, though he doesn't bother to rescue her himself. In Prince Charming's opening monologue to Shrek 2, he declares himself "the bravest and most handsome in all the land" as he tosses his hair for the camera. He, too, thinks himself entitled to Fiona without slaying the dragon or rescuing her. The princes from Into the Woods strut like peacocks for every female they see. Prince Wendell, even as a dog, thinks himself entitled to unquestioning obedience from the dimensional travelers who are in no way his subjects. He is supposed to have performed "prearranged acts of bravery" as a coronation requirement.
Each of the amorous princes has selfish motives for wanting his lady. Both Lord Farquaad and Prince Charming want Princess Fiona in order to become king. Farquaad is willing to use his marriage to be king while locking Fiona turned ogre back into her tower prison. The princes from Into the Woods want Cinderella and Rapunzel as long as these ladies are unattainable. Once they marry their ladies, they begin to pine for other beauties in need of rescue. As Cinderella's prince says, "I was raised to be charming, not sincere." And I don't think it's coincidence that the actor who plays this prince traditionally plays the wolf, with his double-entendred lines, as well. It seems these new princes, just as I've always said of the old ones, are not capable of the selfless love that a beast has for his Beauty.
So it looks like popular culture is starting to agree with me that a handsome prince is no real man, no true lover. And at least to some extent, beasts are gaining in popularity. I'm glad we as a culture are starting to come to our senses, but I'm afraid beasts may never be appreciated as they deserve. In fact, I'm sure they won't. That, in the end, is what makes them beasts, what makes them so very attractive to those of us who understand.
Current Mood: analytical
Tags: beast complex, beauty and the beast, cyrano de bergerac, fictitious men, jane eyre, literature, phantom of the opera
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11:54 am
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Beast Complex Revisited
It has been almost two years since I first posted about my Beast Complex, thereby enlightening the world as to why beasts make the best lovers and are infinitely to be preferred to handsome princes. It may be helpful to my readers to review the initial post at http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/21800.html. For those too lazy to do so, I'll reiterate that I identified four literary beasts -- the beast from "Beauty and the Beast"; Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre; Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, from the musical named for him; and Cyrano de Bergerac from the play bearing his name. The beast qualities I identified are ugliness, masculinity, physical strength, and a love that is passionate, focused (on one beloved), faithful, and selfless.
In the intervening two years, I have ruminated over my intense reaction to beasts. It seems I have always felt this way. (I've noted before that all my education and literary training doesn't seem to change my opinions but only to augment my ability to express and defend them. Basically, one might say I have a BA in BS.) "Beauty and the Beast" has been my favorite fairy tale for as long as I can remember. I loved Erik and despised Raoul from my first hearing the Phantom soundtrack at eleven or twelve years old, long before I had any real romantic understanding. And Rochester is my number-one literary crush of all time. Even this entry at http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/10674.html#cutid1, posted nearly a year before I first identified Beast Complex, shows the tendency was there before I realized it. What is it that resonates so between beasts and my soul?
To come nearer the answer to that question, I have begun to study the beast's beloved, his Beauty. After all, she, like me, loves and appreciates the beast. By studying her and seeing what she and I have in common, I may come to a fuller understanding of myself and my attraction to the beast.
Also, I have begun to look at some more recent takes on Beauties and beasts and handsome princes. I'm surprised and pleased to see that writers of various mediums are coming around to my view, exalting the beast and mocking the prince. These tidbits, however, I may save to post later under the title "Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince."
While contemplating Beast Complex one day, my muse pointed out to me one trend among beasts that I hadn't before noticed, that of luxury. When a Beauty enters the world of her beast, she is surrounded by luxury, often in stark contrast to the poverty of her former life. The fairy-tale beast lives in a beautiful palace with servants, invisible or otherwise, who grant Beauty's every wish and whim. Mr. Rochester's splendid residence at Thornfield Hall dazzles Jane. The Phantom's lair below the opera, though I've heard some disparage it as cluttered like an attic, is nevertheless rich and lavish, lit sumptuously with candles, hung with luxurious drapes. Just think of the carved-swan bed, with its brilliant spread and curtain canopy, where he lays the sleeping Christine. (For this luxury trend, we will have to excuse Cyrano. He is still a beast, but he doesn't fit the luxury mold.) ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) firebreatherjen had me read The Fire Rose by Mercedes Lackey, a more recent and less "literary" beauty-and-the-beast story. It, too, has the beastly Jason Cameron living in the lap of luxury, where he brings the scholarly Rose to aid him in his studies. These beasts' luxurious homes are in sharp contrast to their Beauties' former lives. The fairy-tale Beauty's father has lost his profitable shipping business and moved his family to a much smaller and plainer home. The orphan Jane Eyre comes to Thornfield from a charity school where she was first a student and then a teacher. The orphan Christine lives in the ballet dormitories of the Opera Populaire. Rose has just lost her father and her livelihood and has had to become a working girl. (Of course, we are leaving out the wealthy Roxanne, as we did her poor beast Cyrano.)
So what does luxury have to do with being a beast? What does it mean to the impoverished Beauty? Yes, a fortune makes the beast a better prospect, but that isn't the point. Beauty has never been mercenary in any of her incarnations. In fact, she is the least materialistic of the fairy-tale sisters, the others of whom ask their father to bring them expensive gifts while Beauty requests only a rose, and that only when pressed. Beauty is, in fact, quite selfless. The 1987 Beauty and the Beast film has Beauty say to her siblings, "Without you, I'd have all this lovely time just to devote to myself. Someday... someday." Her brother replies, "If you had time for yourself, Beauty, you wouldn't know what to do with it." Beauty asks, "I wouldn't?" He responds, "No, you're much too unselfish to enjoy it." He is, of course, dead wrong. And here we come to my newest epiphany concerning Beauty and the beast.
The beast, with his riches and, more importantly, with his intense devotion to Beauty, allows the selfless Beauty finally to receive rather than to give. The vivid contrast between Beauty's former life of poverty and her life in the beast's luxurious home is the visual realization of her translation from giver to receiver. To the unfailingly selfless Beauty, who has rarely been allowed anything for herself, entering this world of receiving is magical -- an enchanted castle in a forest, a candle-lit isle in an underground lake. Even Thornfield Hall, a mere mansion of no particular magical quality, is wonderful to the selfless Jane. Jane comes there looking for "A new servitude," saying "There is something in that. I know there is, because it does not sound too sweet. It is not like such words as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly, but no more than sounds for me, and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to listen to them. But Servitude! That must be a matter of fact. Any one may serve." And once Jane has lived at Thornfield, she says, "I love Thornfield: I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life [. . .]. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high." For Jane, Thornfield is magical solely because she has received there and nowhere else.
Of course, no selfless Beauty would presume, on entering a beast's home, that any of his luxuries are for her. The beast must give them to her. The Disney version has Belle shocked when the beast says, "I'll show you to your room." She thought she was to stay in the tower prison. In the fairy tale, Beauty finds a door clearly marked "Beauty's Room" behind which is a beautiful apartment filled with feminine luxuries that seem to have been selected specifically with her in mind. A note tells her "Here you are queen." Mercedes Lackey's Rose, too, is afforded a splendid apartment in Jason Cameron's mansion. Both Beauty and Rose are given lovely dresses to wear by their beasts. (Rochester offers Jane dresses and jewels and every luxury she can imagine, but the unreasonably prim Jane refuses to accept them.) And contrary to what the 1987 film brother says, Beauty is quite capable of enjoying all the beast's gifts, just as the beast is pleased to give them. His wealth has ceased to bring him joy in his loneliness, but now he finds joy in sharing it with his Beauty.
Still, it is certainly not only luxury that pleases Beauty about living with the beast. It isn't that she puts up with him because she gets to share in his wealth. The beast gives his Beauty not only his wealth (He is so wealthy that swamping her in luxury is no sacrifice.) but also his time, attention, and devotion. In his castle, in his heart, she is queen. Everything she says and does, every wish and dream she has is of utmost importance to him. More telling than the richness of his gifts is their aptness, how fitting they are for Beauty and for Beauty alone. She likes books; he gives her a library (in the fairy tale, too, not only in Disney). Christine dreams of a protecting angel of music; Erik becomes her angel. And even more important than gifts is time. Whereas before Beauty spends all of her time helping others, now she has time for herself. In the beast's world, there is only Queen Beauty and her loving beast. The only being who has contact with her is the one being who wishes only to serve her and please her. Think of what that means to Beauty. She cannot go against her selfless nature. She is compelled to serve those around her. Beauty's family, Jane's students, others' needs have always come first. What does Erik need? He needs Christine. What does Rochester need? He needs Jane. What does the beast need? He needs Beauty.
I hear some readers now hearkening back to the statement by Beauty's brother in the 1987 film that Beauty is too selfless to enjoy so much time to herself. I agree that a life spent in meaningless self-gratification would not be amenable to Beauty. But we must remember that she has the beast. In the beast's castle, Beauty has not only the pleasure of being queen but also the joy of knowing she is helping another. She is, in fact, the only thing that makes the beast's life worth living. Without her, he would die. (See my previous entry on Beast Complex for the fates of Erik, Rochester, and the beast without Christine, Jane, and Beauty respectively.) The selfless Beauty is in the glorious position of being able to accept all the wealth, time, and devotion the beast offers without suffering the slightest guilt. She knows that by accepting, she is only pleasing him. Her entire existence is pleasing to him. As Jane says of her relationship with Rochester, "There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought life and light to my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived, and he lived in mine."
In short, my newest epiphany concerning Beast Complex is that I love the beast because he allows me to be selfish. He turns the tables on me and my selflessness. (brukwurm says I have a scary definition of "selfless." She may be right.) As a teaser for the "Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince" post, I'll point out that no handsome prince can give the way a beast does. A handsome prince may have the money, but he has so many distractions and obligations that his princess can never be queen of his heart the way Beauty is queen of the beast's heart. No handsome prince's world of publicity and politics and duty can compare with the private world of love and devotion that is a beast's castle, a Phantom's underground island. We don't even have to bother posting a "Do Not Disturb" sign.
Tags: beast complex, beauty and the beast, cyrano de bergerac, fictitious men, jane eyre, literature, phantom of the opera
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11:15 am
[Link] | This may very well be the first time ever I've done a meme, though I've been tagged before. Anyway, here goes.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag five people.
"As she danced to the rhythm of the tambourine which her round, delicate arms held over her head, she seemed to be some sort of supernatural creature, with her billowy, multicolored dress, her bare shoulders, her shapely legs, which her skirt revealed from time to time, her jet-black hair and her fiery eyes.
"'She's a nymph, a goddess!' thought Gringoire. Just then a strand of the 'goddess's' hair came loose and a brass coin which had been attached to it fell to the pavement."
A semi-steamy excerpt that. It's from a copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame that is nearest my computer only because I'm getting rid of it because I've discovered it's an abridged edition. Holly does not read Hugo abridged! It has come to my attention that several of my paperbacks are abridged editions, and it's hard to tell, because the word "abridged" is usually carefully hidden on the cover.
I'll tag brukwurm, firebreatherjen, shadmere, acquana, and icarus_suraki.
And here's another meme on which I was tagged long ago by lauralyrics and which I'm finally posting.
Name 15 fictional characters you would date, or might consider dating against your better judgement, or otherwise find attractive (in no particular order, add reasons if you wish) and then tag 4 people to do the same.
1) Edward Fairfax Rochester from Jane Eyre, my number-one crush of all time. I stole another critic's epithet for another of my crushes (No. 2), and I refer to Rochester as "sex incarnate."
2) Mr. Knightley from Emma. Whereas Rochester appeals to my baser parts, Mr. Knightley is noble, admirable, the perfect gentleman. I refer to him as "the most perfect male ever formed in the mind of God or man."
3) Professor Friedrich Bhaer from Little Women, a close second to Mr. Knightley in masculine virtue, and with a cute German accent.
4) The Phantom of the Opera, whom I call Erik. (Yes, I'm on a first-name basis with a fictitious deformed homicidal maniac.) He's got the voice of an angel, the mind of a genius, the seductive power of a god, and a love undying. So what are a couple of murders between friends?
5) The beast from "Beauty and the Beast." I mean the traditional fairy tale, not specifically the Disney version. As my regular readers know, the beast exemplifies and has named my Beast Complex. For fuller details see my 1-2-2005 entry.
6) Sir Percival Blakeney, the Scarlet Pimpernel, from the novel or from the film starring Anthony Andrews. He combines the appeal of the superhero with that of the historical love interest, along with a cape and a British accent.
7) Aragorn son of Arathorn. Yes, like Eowyn (with whom I identify strongly), I have stars in my eyes for this tall, noble, destiny-burdened heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor. And he's much too far out of reach for either Eowyn or me.
8) Faramir son of Denethor. This man comes close to Mr. Knightley in masculine perfection. He's a skilled warrior who places himself in danger for his fighting men, his loved ones, and his country; but he hates war. He would rather study at Gandalf's feet and woo a wild shield-maiden of Rohan.
9) Dr. MacNeil from Christy. He's educated and eloquent yet fiercely loyal to his poor, rural homeland. He's dark, broody, and mysterious, with a tragic romantic past and a to-die-for Scottish accent.
10) Remus Lupin. Selfless and noble yet kind and accessible. His sympathy knows no bounds, and everyone is safe and cared for with him. Add to this his angst at being a werewolf (He's a beast!) and his resistance to putting the woman he loves in danger. Be still my heart!
11) Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing, especially as played by Kenneth Branaugh. A girl can spar verbally with him all day, and he'll finally stop her mouth with a kiss. Then he'll challenge the man who wronged her cousin and send chills up her spine with his masculinity.
12) Don Pedro from Much Ado, especially as played by Denzel Washington. This man is the perfect prince -- tall, handsome, royal, responsible, willing to fight, willing to play. He understands the importance of love, though he remains without.
13) Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. He's the older, wiser, sophisticated man who wants to shelter his young love from the hardships of the world. Add to that his sad romantic past, his unrequited (until the end) present love, and his sizable fortune and estate, and we have a very attractive prospect.
14) Nicholas Nickleby as played by Charlie Hunnam. This man is everything I say I don't like in men -- young, cute, blond, naive, idealistic -- and yet he pulls it off so well that I can't help but like him. He does manage to look very masterful when challenging the man who compromised his sister.
15) Batman. Come on, every girl has her superhero crush. And Batman is great because his "powers" are natural, not due to being an alien or being bitten by a radioactive bug or doused in nuclear waste. He's a rich guy who decided to learn martial arts, build a lot of cool gadgets, and fight crime. He, too, is the only superhero I know whose alter ego isn't a dork. Batman -- cool. Millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne -- still cool.
For this one, I tag anyone who wants to, but specifically brukwurm, firebreatherjen, shadmere, and icarus_suraki.
Current Mood:  tired
Tags: beast complex, beauty and the beast, emma, jane eyre, meme, phantom of the opera
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09:17 pm
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Conscience Turned Tyrant
Conscience, turned tyrant, held Passion by the throat, told her tauntingly, she had yet but dipped her dainty feet in the slough, and swore that with that arm of iron he would thrust her down to unsounded depths of agony.
--Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
The reason Jane Eyre is my favorite novel (all right, other than my steamy crush on Rochester) is that I identify so much with Jane. Since I settled into my routine of an annual reading, I've never read through it without finding some new resonance between Jane and me. Jane resonates even with my seeming contradictions. Like me, she is both shy and talkative, both timid around others and confident in who she is.
The quote above struck me from my very first reading. I couldn't believe it. How did Charlotte Bronte know? How could anyone else understand what I'd always thought was unique to me, that my own conscience could infuse me not merely with guilt (for guilt would come after having committed an offense, after the failure of conscience) but with utter terror for the strength of that very conscience? The nearest any other literary work I know has come to expressing such a sentiment is Nicholas Nickleby's line (and I got it from a film, not the book, though I suspect it's a direct quote) "Weakness is tiring, but strength is exhausting."
What is exhausting about strength? Strength is exhausting because the strong must keep going when the weak can go on no longer. They must bear not only their own weight but also that of others who lean on their strength. When the strong one reaches the end of his strength, he doesn't fail only himself; he fails all of those who depend on him.
What is terrifying about Conscience? It is the threat he (Yes, both Jane's conscience and mine are male, and we could write a whole gender-issues essay about that, couldn't we?) poses to what Jane calls "passion" and what I call "desire." Conscience, because he derives his authority from the immutable ideal of right (though it be the individual's ideal, not any universal ideal), is merciless with lesser-order concerns. "You want it?" he asks. "No matter. It is wrong. You may not, you cannot, you will not have it."
I do not know how others ignore their consciences and go about following the desires they, in their hearts, consider wrong. When Conscience turns his steely gaze on me, I tremble, not because I fear the consequences of defying him -- I cannot defy him, so the point is moot -- but because I know I will obey and, so doing, kill Desire. I tremble for the pain I know I will cause myself. I know I will do it because I know I am strong enough to do it, and I curse the strength that allows and, therefore, demands that I do it.
Of course, the desires for which I tremble are not the petty ones, the ones I would despise even without a merciless conscience. I tremble when Conscience raises his "arm of iron" against a desire of my heart. These desires are not evil or immoral in and of themselves, but they may be selfish. (By "selfish" I don't mean to the detriment of others; I mean simply for myself and no one else.) Conscience tolerates such desires until it happens that I could help another by abandoning one of them. Then he strikes. "You want this?" he asks. "No matter. It serves none but you. You will abandon it to serve another."
I fear that my conscience will chip at me piece by piece, in the name of selflessness, until I am truly without self, until I have no more desires of my own. Must I abandon my most deeply cherished dreams because others are in need? Conscience says, "If by doing so you may aid them, yes, you will." And how can I argue? There are countless souls across this world who suffer in ways I never have. What are my desires to be a scholar next to their suffering? Selfish. Selfish.
But what am I without a dream?
Current Mood: frightened
Tags: conscience, family, jane eyre
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03:29 pm
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Mela Ulundo To Love a Beast
My lovely friend firebreatherjen has officially recognized what she calls my "beast complex." I'm not sure I like the mental-illness connotation of "complex" nor or "syndrome," but I don't know how better to term my predilection for ( literary beasts, actual and figurative. )
Tags: beast complex, beauty and the beast, cyrano de bergerac, fictitious men, jane eyre, phantom of the opera
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05:37 pm
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Eyrean musings
Since having finished my annual reading of Jane Eyre, now officially my favorite book (since it has at last been acknowledged by me to have displaced The Princess Bride in the number one spot), I have noticed myself adopting what I have termed "Eyrean" vocabulary and syntax. The previous sentence serves as a perfect example. In the car the other day with roommie supermer, I actually used the word "inanition."
Of course, the adoption of the style of a recently read author is nothing terribly new. But it has amused me of late. Perhaps more amusing have been the reactions of others when they understand my word "Eyrean" to be "Aryan" (sp?). I don't really associate the word "inanition" with Nordic peoples or with Nazis. (Incidentally, there is a tall, pale, shaved-headed man sitting at the computer across from me who could probably pass for an Aryan. Why is he at the Meredith College library?)
I have mentioned before that I came across some sections of Jane Eyre that had fresh meaning for me on this reading. I have finally remembered to bring the novel with me to get online. When Jane is on her way to Thornfield for the first time, she thinks:
It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connexion, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it: but then the throb of fear disturbs it [. . .]
I read that passage as if for the first time. It had never connected with me before. I hadn't experienced the sensation and could comprehend it only intellectually, not sympathetically. Now, I feel I know what Jane was saying. I have felt cut adrift too, far away from those who love me unconditionally (family) and from my nearest friends, almost to the preclusion of any practical aid therefrom (more Eyreanism).
An even more resonating passage happens later when Jane is restored to Mr. Rochester. I have often, of late, tried to explain to others my horror of "annoying people." I hate, above everything except feeling I have acted wrongly, feeling that I am annoying/bothering/offending someone. It is a struggle between my natural desires (as a Myers-Briggs NF, see Keirsey's book) both to be sincere and to please others. The desires are often at variance, and the ensuing struggle painful. I have before described ultimate bliss on earth as being assured that the person in my presence is not, will not, and cannot be annoyed by me. I know of fewer than five such people.
Jane has such a relationship with Rochester. She describes it thus:
There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought life and light to my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived, and he lived in mine.
I thought to spend much more time online posting, but it is getting later. I really do need a home net (Net?) connection so that this writing doesn't have to be scheduled and limited.
Current Mood:  complacent
Tags: jane eyre
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03:55 pm
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Fulfilling?
As I have commented to several friends, I have discovered an apparent inverse relationship between what is predominately viewed as practical and what I find fulfilling.
Lately, I have been spending my days doing things that I'm sure most people I know would consider useful, productive, and practical beyond things I have previously spent days doing. I have been working full-time, cooking my own dinners, running errands, making large (and practical) purchases, filling out forms, and cleaning house. I have been getting lots of "I'm proud of you" comments from family members who may be shocked at my ability to cope in this adult world. But I do not find these things fulfilling.
When I come to the end of a day spent in this way, I don't feel satisfied. I may even have worked less hard than I have on other less practical things (such as my thesis) and had time to relax, talk with roommie supermer, and read or watch a movie. Still, I don't feel accomplished. I don't get the satisfaction I imagine most of my family and other more practical people get on completing such a day. I am doing these practical things only because they are necessary and in the hope that they are temporary. To imagine that these tasks must continue to take all or most of my time for the next forty or more years is quite disheartening and, at the moment at least, almost unbearable.
I didn't feel this lack of satisfaction at school. I loved school. The work might even have been harder and more time-consuming. But having finished it (or handed it in at least), I felt accomplished and much more fulfilled. I felt I had done something valuable. I had enjoyed the work. I had a product I wished to share. The product might lead to more and further discussion/research/analysis. The idea was exciting.
School work was for grades, but that was not, I think, the real reason why I did it. I didn't have to go to school at all. I often pushed myself harder than required to graduate or even to make an A. I liked to push myself in those areas and see my skills develop and learn how better to read, understand, and analyze.
The work I do now I do for money. Nothing interests me in refining my dictation and transcription skills. I will work also to earn my boss's favor and my coworker's good will and the respect of our attorney clients for our services, but these stimuli are not like the personal satisfaction I got from school work. I don't feel interest in the area. I'm not particularly proud of these skills, even if I see them growing. I am not at all interested in the product. It goes to someone else who will use it to try to win money in a court case but has probably no other interest in it whatsoever. I feel not like an excited thinker but like a semi-useful tool. I don't want to be a tool. I want to communicate with others and share my ideas and perhaps inspire them to think.
So, again, we see that this job is no temptation for me to stay in the career world.
* * * * * * *
This week has been my annual reading of Jane Eyre. I have restricted myself to a once yearly reading as otherwise I might--no, would overindulge. I have been drawing it out for a good while, but I will probably finish tomorrow.
I marked one comment by Jane that I felt applies to me now more than ever before, one I had always previously passed over, with the intention of noting it here. I have left the book at home, however, and not brought it to Meredith where I must go to get online. When Jane is on her way to Thornfield, she remarks the exciting and frightening feeling of inexperienced youth going off into the wide world. That comment resonated with me on this reading. So did a comment by Helen that she holds for herself a special creed not taught to her by others by believed firmly nevertheless. I know I have a few of those. I don't find their not being shared (or at least publicly expressed) by others at all discrediting to them. They form the bases for some of my most fundamental worldviews and understandings.
I also rented a film version of Jane Eyre in which I planned to indulge after my reading. I managed, however, to draw out the reading so that the film was due back before I had finished. I watched it last night. It was sadly disappointing. The only things I could admire in it were its making Jane young and almost plain-looking enough and the fact that Rochester did look about forty. Everything else was horrid. Even admitting my prejudice for novel-faithful adaptations, this one took unpardonable liberties. Plot-wise, Rochester's gypsy disguise was gone, Jane's uncle John Eyre and his fortune were gone, Jane's aunt's death was merely mentioned. Character-wise, the atrocities were worse. St. John was nice! Blanche Ingram was not haughty and majestic but delicate and simpering. She even liked Adele. Jane was too outspoken. She is supposed to be passionate but not venturesome. Rochester was hardly recognizable. The film left his most obvious faults -- pride, sarcasm, and an inclination to command -- and left out his salient points -- his intelligence, quick wit, sagacity, penetration, and vulnerability. He was commanding, but not seductive. He was all his harshness and sternness without the glimpses of kindness and need. He didn't seem to need Jane at all. He seemed more to want to win her for an exercise of his power. I didn't really like this Rochester, and that's saying quite a bit.
Well, now off to be productive again. I have errands to run.
Current Mood:  frustrated
Tags: jane eyre, work
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01:22 am
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Parmaneri Literary Men
I will begin this post, as per Laura's request, with a short recounting of the medieval feast held in the dining hall this past Friday.
I spent an hour on my hair, putting most of it into two braided buns on the sides of my head with gold ribbon running around the braids (it may sound weird, but it's pretty) and leaving a long tail cross-wrapped with gold ribbon. I wore my blue and gold Renaissance Faire dress, at least two centuries too late for the theme but the best I could do.
There was a high table for the royalty and the court -- those professors who had chosen to dress up. We had a king and queen, a lord and lady of Meredith Wood, and several courtiers.
The food was wonderful. We had three-color soup (potato soup served with various purees one could add and stir in to color it), cheese, bread, chicken, nuts, figs, and apple dumplings all served with hot wassail. Our serving page sneaked us some contraband forks, but I wasn't about to cheat like that.
The entertainment was, for the most part, excellent. We had a medieval band, a chorus of virgins (a school choral group on whose collective chastity I won't presume to comment), a strange pseudo-feminist but interesting dance performance, a storyteller, and heavy fighters from SCA. The fighters were to select a lady for whose honor they would fight. The first declared, "Though I see many lovely ladies in this room, most of them appear to be over the ripe marital age of twelve." He fought for the honor of a cute little girl up front. After the feast, we had some dancing, with a lot of help from one of the band members who told us what to do.
The heavily advertised prizes for best costume and hair were given strangely. I was handed a card informing me I would "be called upon" for "finest frock at the festival." The king and queen summoned four ladies, including myself, and a gentleman, the husband of art professor Dr. Greenberg. He was not in costume. They held an applause contest to see who would win. They declared Abe Greenberg the winner and presented him with a trophy, golden dancing shoes, and a "slave girl" -- his wife. The rest of us got consolation prizes. Mine were soap, incense, and an incense burner. Note, these are illegal to have at Meredith. I am the RA's roommate. But I have nowhere to keep them except for beside my bed.
Several professors remarked to me that I was "gypped" out of my rightful prize. I thought that was funny. But Monday afternoon in my PR writing class, Dr. Duncan brought me a present for "Lady McGhin" from the English faculty as the prize they believed I should have received. It was a book of Irish lore and legends. That was really sweet of them.
I have been working like mad on my thesis research. I'm already behind. :(
And now, the long-awaited essay on topic #3
( Men of Literary Romance )
Tags: beast complex, cyrano de bergerac, emma, fictitious men, jane eyre, literature, phantom of the opera
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