How Tender is the Night?

One of the pervading themes of Tender is the Night is a theme that is shared by the other novels by Fitzgerald that I have read: that of the natural unhappiness that comes with the human condition. Though I have yet to finish this novel, it seems as if each page I turn brings me deeper into the characters’ psyches and gives me glimpses into fresh reasons for their underlying unhappiness. Whether it be from a faltering career like Dick Diver or Abe North’s, a changing relationship like the one Rosemary Hoyt has with her mother, or for some other deeply embedded personal issue like Tommy Barbar, as Fitzgerald develops each significant character, he seems to layer him or her with significant sadness.

I am curious to see whether the conflicts that Fitzgerald has thus far introduced in the book will be resolved, or whether the message to be gleaned from the novel will come from its characters’ inability to overcome their obstacles: whether Dick will be able to manage his newfound relationship with Rosemary, whether Abe will drink himself to death, and whether Rosemary can truly make a life for herself without her constant influence. Regardless of the means that he takes to do so, I am certain that Fitzgerald will be able to teach me just as much about human nature and the lives of the privileged as he was through his other novels. I am only waiting to find out the lesson behind Rosemary’s foray into life on her finally unveils itself: either through the resolution or the deepening of the significant sadness in the lives of Rosemary and her new friends.

Is Thebes Its Own Tragic Hero?

The story of Antigone is far more than just the typical tragedy. While the play certainly goes through the typical story arc of a respected, promising hero (in this case heroine) falling from her pedestal in heartbreakingly sorrowful manner, this particular tragedy adds far more to the dramatic experience than just what we as readers have come to expect from tragedies. In fact, reading Antigone directly after finishing Oedipus Rex and thus coming into the story with the horrors that Thebes, Creon, and, Oedipus’ children have just finished dealing with fresh on the brain, it almost seems as if the city of Thebes itself serves as its own version of the tragic hero. In the series of events described by Sophocles (in addition to the events that he trusted his audience to already know about the city) alone, Thebes has been forced to deal with a man-eating Sphinx, a murdered King, an incestuous relationship between the Queen and her son/her former husband’s killer who has since become the new king, the death and expulsion of a queen and king, respectively, and finally a war instigated by one of the former king’s sons. Despite all of this, the city of Thebes has kept its pride and character, and seems to be just as promising, wholesome, and majestic as the two more conventional tragic heroes of the play at the beginning of Antigone.

Contrary to these other characters, though, Thebes is not in total despair at the end of the play. While Antigone is dead, and Creon might as well be by the time he hears of his wife’s suicide, Sophocles gives no indication that this latest failure in Thebes’ government will be any more potent than the ones detailed in Oedipus Rex. Though the city’s response to this latest in their series of misfortunes is not responded to with the immediacy that Oedipus’ death was, this does not mean that Sophocles’ Thebes was without hope. Perhaps in saying that he alone is responsible for the deaths of his wife and son, Creon absolves the rest of the city of guilt in the fiasco, essentially creating the possibility for recovery and long sought-after peace for the city as a whole. In fact, outside of Creon’s family, if you include his sister’s family tree in that description, no one in Thebes seems to be having too much tragedy. In fact, by the end of this story, readers are left feeling that perhaps there is no “anagnorisis” because Creon’s family is simply not right for the throne of Thebes, thus separating his tragedy from the city’s. With everyone from Oedipus to Creon to Haimon now deceased, it seems as if the rotten branch of the tree of Thebes has been pruned in order to facilitate growth, rather than tragically chopped off. And perhaps this is why Thebes itself cannot truly be categorized as a unique type of tragic hero. Perhaps the chance to move onward in a totally new direction is just what Sophocles’ sad city needs in order to truly thrive and shed the tragedy of its past. The difference is all in perspective. (521)

The Farthest Thing From Proud

Throughout the years, I have been called many things, “mighty” and “dreadful” the least of these. I have been reviled, feared, and avoided more times in my lifetime than any other creature that has walked the earth—and there have been many of those, all passing through my embrace at one point in time. I have not cherished the fleeting moments that I spent with your friends, relatives, or acquaintances, though. Rather, quite the opposite. I am in a constant state of dread, knowing that each passing moment means more work, more sadness, more fear.

Above all else, I wish this were not the case. Though I carry out my job calmly and efficiently, this does not mean I enjoy it, let alone am proud of it. I do not puff my chest each time I carry another soul from its earthly body. It costs me even more than it does you for me to collect those souls closest to you who truly disagree and feel that their time has not yet arrived. Do you think it easy to venture into battlefields or hospitals to collect my souls or that I would willingly give myself to this task? I come when the time is right: no sooner, no later. I have no choice in the matter.

As tiresome as my job is, it must be done, for I do in a way provide a form of solace. The sick, the wounded, the beaten down all find refuge in me in a way that has irrevocably eluded them on earth by the time I come calling. Peace and serenity are two gifts that I do possess, though few people take the time to consider this in between cursing me and doing everything in their power to keep me far away from everyone important to them. I do not blame them for this, as I too feel that my gifts are far outnumbered by the sorrow that is synonymous with my frequent visitations.

Thus, I find it difficult to decide whether those who doubt me are the most gullible of fools or the most sage of wise men. Whether or not the blissful escape of eternal rest is more than just a euphemism, though, even I cannot say for I alone have survived life’s millennia without having to fear my shadow. Though this has made my task easier, it has not made it any more pleasurable. I long for the day when I will be relieved of my heinous duties, but that end is not in sight for me. Though the souls that I take may indeed wake once more after I have collected them, I cannot believe that I will ever share this experience.

I am not meant to live as any normal soul who roams the earth does. I cannot partake of life’s cheap pleasures and thrills nor can I imagine the physical nature of pain, heartbreak, or loss. I am an entity designed to pick up the pieces once Life’s turn is done. It is not a job that I recommend, nor one that I will ever escape from. Until the universe’s last soul has breathed its final breath, I must persevere. Though I may not be nearly as mighty nor as dreadful as they say, I am the end. I am the slave of the reckless. I am the gateway to the beyond. I am Death. And I am immortal.

Two Sets of Natives

Though Douglas Kerr’s article focuses more on comparing the main characters of Waiting for the Barbarians and The Heart of Darkness, I believe the more intriguing comparison is between the natives of the two stories. Both Conrad and Coetzee’s natives are feared, demeaned, and despised. However, they do in fact serve as the unifying link between the two novels’ protagonists, Marlow and the Magistrate. Both of these characters are set apart from the rest of the non-natives in their respective stories because they view the natives as, if not equals, at least not enemies whose only purpose in their lives is to evoke fear. In fact, both sets of natives serve far larger purposes even than the protagonists, as they simultaneously emphasize society’s racism and fear of the unknown.
In such a role, both the natives of Africa of The Heart of Darkness and the nomads and fisher-people of Waiting for the Barbarians portray a number of similar traits. For example, they are both far more primitive than the invaders who now control their land, leading society as a whole to look down on them. However, both sets of natives have cultures of their own which have been crushed by the people who conquered them. Additionally, both sets of natives have been seriously misunderstood (whether deliberately or not), which led to violence in both cases. The fisher-people, barbarians, and cannibals all have ways of life that are vastly different from those of their urban conquerors, and they are persecuted because of this. Additionally, they are far more adaptable than their conquerors believe them to be. From the fisher-people’s bartering to the African cannibal’s serving as Marlowe’s helmsman, native people were able to bring themselves up to speed with modern customs, as long as they were given opportunities and training rather than simply tossed into army barracks as prisoners.
The major difference between the two novels’ natives, though, and what makes the contrast between them so severe is their resilience. While by the end of The Heart of Darkness, Africa is just as suffocated by the European presence as it was in the beginning, the barbarians are portrayed as the victors in Waiting for the Barbarians. Even if that belief has no credence, both the fisher-people, in rebuilding their huts just one day after the soldiers of the Empire tear them down, and the nomadic barbarians, who refuse to succumb to the vast armies, show that they are willing to do whatever it takes to preserve their ways. All in all, though the natives are treated similarly in these two novels, the manner in which they react is totally different, creating two very different outcomes. Though the Empire has not fallen any more than the Company has given up on Africa, I as a reader felt that Coetzee’s natives had a far better chance of preservation that Conrad’s simply because of the resiliency of their actions and their innate ability to persevere.

The Magistrate's Mixed Emotions

Due to the fact that he is the narrator of J.M. Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians, it is easy enough for the magistrate to quickly become the center of attention of the story. Throughout the first three sections of the novel, I was especially intrigued by the actions that he takes when dealing with the Barbarians. It is clear from said actions that the magistrate is deeply conflicted on how he should regard the Barbarians. From cursing Colonel Joll for bringing the fishing people to telling the new officer that he hopes the Barbarians one day rise against the Empire to even taking one of the Barbarians into his bed, it seems as if he has decided that the Barbarians are in every way the equals of those people who live within the walls of the Empire. However, the vast amount of internal conflict present in the magistrate’s thought allows readers to see that there is more to his seemingly pro-Barbarian attitude than meets the eye. The way in which Coetzee depicts some of his interior dialogue allows us to see how even the magistrate himself realizes how radical it is for a high-ranking official located on the frontier to view the Barbarians as anything more than their name implies.
Through both the magistrate’s thoughts and actions, it becomes clear that the tension between the citizens of the Empire and the Barbarians is rapidly coming to a head. In the opening parts of the book, it is apparent that the gap between the inhabitants of the magistrate’s city and the Barbarians living just outside the border is larger than he initially cares to admit. Through his dealing with the prisoners and later the woman he takes a fancy to, we see that despite his desire to remain unprejudiced in his dealings with the Barbarians, he best sums up his current views on relations with them in the quote, “I [caught] myself in a moment of astonishment that I could have loved someone from so remote a kingdom. All I wanted now is to live out my life in ease in a familiar world, to die in my own bed and be followed to the grave by old friends.” (74), a saying which shows that though his ideals might be in the right place, reality dictates that he lives in a far different way than the utopian equality with the Barbarians that he desires suggests that he would. 409

Darwin and Hegel: Views from the Past

G.W.F. Hegel’s “The African Character”

• Focuses on the fundamental differences between Africans and Europeans as percieved in the Nineteenth century
• Claims that “negroes” lack religion, and thus humanity
• No conception of anything higher than themselves, which he views as a very negative attribute
• Hegel also discusses how African people during this time enslaved and sold each other (even their relatives) and uses this as evidence that they are morally on a lower plane than whites.
• Talks about traditions of African tribes, which he views as barbaric.
• Closes his argument by stating European slavery (and its gradual abolition) is a good thing for the Africans, so they can acknowledge a “higher being” and that immediately ending slavery would have been a regression.
• Finally, he claims Africa is historically irrelevant and that all the great societies of Africa were merely “not part of the African spirit.”

Darwin’s “On the Races of Man”

• Talks about the intrinsic similarities of man amongst the many outward differences.
• Gives a much more objective account that deals mostly with observed evidence of difference between the races of man.
• Claims that all men share a common ancestor, thus meaning that at most, different races should be considered “sub-species.”
• States that natural selection should be held accountable for the differences along the spectrum of humankind, not inferiority or superiority of certain ways of life.
• Sums up his argument with the quote “[t]he great variability of all the external differences between the races of man, likewise indicates that the cannot be of much importance.”

The End...or A New Beginning?!?!

In Section 4 of The Sound and The Fury, we are able to see the conclusion of the process that begins with Caddy’s loss of innocence, which we learn about way back in Section 1: the fall of the once-mighty Compson family. This process is finalized towards the end of the novel when Caddy’s daughter Quentin, the one remaining hope for a bright future for the family, finally calls Jason’s bluff and runs away from home with no prospect of being discovered.

The question I have is whether this serves as the beginning of a new branch of the Compsons, a final blow to an already defeated family, or a little bit of both. Has Quentin’s running away destroyed the Compson tradition forever, or was her leaving the toxic environment in which she grew up the only way she could hope to gain a normal future? Or again, was it a little bit of both: a reprieve for Quentin, but a knockout blow for the rest of the family? (169)