The Cat's Pajamas

Many of the reasons Cat's Cradle is considered a postmodern text is found in the inclusion of its title throughout the book. For example, Little Newt mainly uses the cat's cradle to explain such things as religion, asking "See the cat?See the cradle?" whenever such a subject occurs. Meaning, the cat's cradle has no end, nor is it really a physical manifestation of the object it is named after. In having no achievable goal or actions that would make it worthy of its name, this cradle is directly relatable to the principle priorities present in the postmodern era.

Firstly, postmoderists believe in no center around which people are supposed to revolve, or that there is any "correct answer," so to speak. Likewise, there is no "correct answer" to the cat's cradle. It is a seemingly endless net of X's, that can be fitted to whatever each individual person desires. So therefore, the very idea of having a cat's cradle is strictly postmoderist. It cannot be said with complete certainty that there is an endpoint to cat's cradle. So being, no person can say that s/he has finished it.

In speaking of religion in regard to the cat's cradle, we can see that since there is no "right answer," and each person may morph the original into whatever s/he feels is right, a large variety of these "truths" come about. Such as in the jungle on the island of San Lorenzo, there is an military base of sorts called "Fort Jesus". To most people in our modern society, Christianty and Jesus Himself are usually about peace and love and whatnot. Having a military base named after Him goes against the general accepted philosophies, and therefore fits right in with postmoderist theories. In this same example, the idea of not having a unified religion, or that a religion governs many in the same dictated manner, is rejected, making Cat's Cradle all the most postmodern.

Yeah, sorry that wasn't written well. Whatever, it's Friday night. Give me a break.

Love, and other unrelated things

I thought about what I was going to write about for some time now. I took a few laps around a nearby mountain, walked barefoot through a rain forest, and drank the morning dew off some blades of grass in a meadow with a flock of sheep, and have come to a startling, yet not completely over-the-top-surprising topic: love. Adorable isn't it?

In writing about this, I want to explore the different types of love in the novel, and what the affects are on both the people of the World State, and the condition of the World State itself.

I thought it would interesting to compare and contrast the various types of love. For example, the peoples' love for soma, John's love for his mom, Lenina's love for John, John's love for Lenina, Bernard's love for power/fame/acceptance, etc. Also, I would want to explore the absence of love in the World State. For another example, Helmholtz's apathetic view towards nearly everything, and the peoples' lack of relationship-like connection to anyone or anything.

In order to do this in the most proper and sound matter, I have decided to use the following sources:

I might be going out on a limb with this, but I think I'll use Brave New World. I don't know, it just seems right.

Neil Postman's technopoly wouldn't be a bad step either, I feel. The way in which he describes our society's (especially that of the World State) has surrendered its freedoms and other such liberties might be a nice enticement for the more obsession-like loves.

I would also like to mention Sir Ken Robinson's video, which we had watched earlier in class. I'd like to include it in such a way that the more standardized methods of both our society and the World State can be prevalent through the section mentioned above.

Unfortuantely for my essay, I was unable to find sources specifically related to my topic. I know, I know. It's very sad. Well, I hope with all the power my little heart can muster than such sources can be found before I have to write my draft the night it's due.

Educated Children: $.99 per barrel

Both Aldous Huxley, author of Brave New World, and Sir Ken Robinson have commented on the "manufacturablity" of today's children. Huxley does so by describing the massive amounts of conformation children are subjected to (in the aforementioned novel). Robinson, through a quite snazzy video-lecture contends that the most important thing about children nowadays, as far as the school system goes, is their age.

Huxley says: "the hands of all the four thousand electric clocks in all the Bloomsbury Centre's four thousand rooms marked twenty past two. 'The hive of the industry,' as the Director was fond of calling it, was in the full buzz of work. Everyone was busy, every one in ordered motion" (146).

Robinson says: our public education system has, as of late, turned into something of a "production line mentality;" "it's about standardization."

Now, though both sources are each detailing a situation a little different from the other, it essentially boils down to the same thing. This type of standardization, of conformation, is wrong. Huxley, however, gives the hint that it does indeed make for quite the good society. In theory. However, as seen in the rest of Brave New World, domination such as this cannot function to its fullest under realistic conditions.

So being, both men disapprove of standardization. Robinson states that with conformation (in schools, to use his scenario) is not only an unfit way to mold the minds of young children, but will eventually end up hurting their mental facilities, such as their weakening of divergent thinking.

Huxley writes of what would be, without any flaws, the perfect society. Every clock is synchronized down to the section. If that is so, the people must be even more so. As portrayed throughout the novel, conformity to this magnitude either yields persons with the ability to corrupt other (and by corrupt, I mean advancing "heretical" ideas) towards the citizens of the World State and a general breakdown of the system by which the society is ruled.

Finally, both Huxley and Robinson agree on the point that standardization is detrimental to the development of a society, especially its youth.

The end. You may go about your business now.

It's okay. I've always wanted a Malthusian belt, too.

Mr. Aldous Huxley states in his rather famous novel, Brave New World: "The Caste System. Constantly proposed, constantly rejected. There was something called democracy. As though men were more than physico-chemically equal" (47).

Oddly enough, he also says "family, monogamy, romance. Everywhere exclusiveness, a narrow channel of impulse and energy. 'But everyone belongs to everyone else' " (40).

The former, which I shall lovingly call Hopscotch, and the latter, which I shall not quite as lovingly, but more in a "I-only-keep-you-around-because-the-law-demands-it" kind of way, call My Little Pyrrhic Victory, both indirectly (and in a mildly sassy manner, I might add) describe the subject world's values as it pertains to both current social etiquette and past ignorance and/or ineptitude.

With their pompous commentary, Hopscotch and My Little Pyrrhic Victory both present said values just as clear as crystal. If, of course, you were to take that crystal, and maybe throw some of that magic Windex stuff that makes your windows disappear, and then take another crystal, and scrabble out a hole in the middle of the first crystal so that you could more or less see through it.

Value #1: Only those who spent their six to eight years of their childhood on the eastern coast of Noumea attempting to make a lego castle out of the dreams of other small children would believe that democracy is a good idea.

Value #2: Alphas are fantastic. Betas are kind of cool, but not really as cool as the Alphas (even though they try to sit next to them at lunch). And Deltas, Gammas, and Epsilons can go die in a hole for all the world cares. Meaning, men are not equal. Never were, never will be, and most likely aren't at the moment.

Value #3: Promiscuity rocks. Any romantic business is sheer folly. Yes, folly.

Family and monogamy: noting rule #3, we can see that these such actions/lifestyles are looked down upon. In order to produce the desired results, the government in this novel asserts that women and men should all just sleep around in one, big, happy family.

Desire, impulse, and passion: eh, I'm too lazy. Look at the paragraph above. And the judgement you just made about me really wasn't necessary.

How to write about preparing to write an essay that other people have already written about.

Right. Well, the prompt was a bit like drinking from a fire hose, but I'll do my best to answer it in its entirety.

On the one hand, Aimé Césaire argues that it is indeed a fine thing to include all perspectives, even if it is contrary to what the author wanted. For example, instance, and goodness sake, she, in rewriting a bit of "The Tempest" in her own words, writes Prospero criticizing Ariel for having done his bidding with a disfavoring disposition: "Oh, so you're upset, are you! It's always like this with you intellectuals! Who cares! What interests me is not your moods, but your deeds." (112). Portraying Prospero as a rather irate individual who cares so little for Ariel and his/her feelings shows the reader the complete opposite viewpoint of what Shakespeare wanted. Which definitely should be done. I mean, you can't know the value of a coin without looking at both its faces. And you can't make sense without knowing what the heck you're talking about. Gosh.

In discussions of "The Tempest", the traditional view is that Prospero is a puppy-loving, rainbow-creating, flower-nurturing hero. However, one controversial issue has been the inclusion of post colonialist theory in analyzing the play. Mainly, whether or not these philosophies would help the understanding of said play. Going further into the lands of controversy, just past the town of I-don't-want-to-think-about-this-anymore-because-all-this-right/wrong-business-has-given-me-a-headache, is whether or not this point of view confuses the author's original intent, and if this original intent should even be seen in the modern world.

For one thing, Aimé Césaire argues that it is indeed a fine thing to include all perspectives, even if it is contrary to what the author wanted. For example, instance, and goodness sake, she, in rewriting a bit of "The Tempest" in her own words, writes Prospero criticizing Ariel for having done his bidding with a disfavoring disposition: "Oh, so you're upset, are you! It's always like this with you intellectuals! Who cares! What interests me is not your moods, but your deeds." (112). Portraying Prospero as a rather irate individual who cares so little for Ariel and his/her feelings shows the reader the complete opposite viewpoint of what Shakespeare wanted. Which definitely should be done. I mean, you can't know the value of a coin without looking at both its faces. And you can't make sense without knowing what the heck you're talking about. Gosh.

Likewise, Mr. Bressler contends that in such texts as "The Tempest", the theory of "alternity" is used, "whereby 'the others' are excluded from positions of power and viewed as different and inferior." (236).  Now, in many cultures people considered inferior in whatever manner are usually not allowed to write books, especially in Shakespeare's era. So then, these "others" most likely wouldn't have been able to give their perspective on colonialism as Shakespeare was. Therefore, it is almost overwhelmingly necessary to read literature from as many viewpoints as possible in order to understand the human race, and all that it is/was/hopes to be when it grows up.

Therefore, taking these positions into account, we can see that most of my commentary has already been given. However, since I like you so much, I'll say it again in a different way so that you don't feel like you're reading the same thing twice. That being said, I won't cry if you do realize it. Anyways, not reading literature in the way the author intended is okay. In fact, it's good. Well, it is if you understand the author's original intent (I really do need to find another word for that) in addition to your myriad of connotations.

This really feels like it's never going to end, huh?

As for using sources in the coming essay, I feel it'd be good for my health and small children in third world countries if I stuck with the two aforementioned. I might throw in the opposition just so that I can hurt his/her feelings. I might even switch to use the opposition by itself. Well, I guess I'll just decide when I right the essay the morning of its due date.

Feel free to misinterpret this in a political manner.

Over time, topics tend to have new light shed on them, and are thus seen in a different way. Not in the leaves-changing-colors-in-the-Fall way, but a way in which classical literature, such as The Tempest, is regarded with knowledge of philosophies that weren't around during the novel's era. The debate as to whether this new insight expands the reader's understanding of the novel or muddles the author's original intent is discussed with proponents at both extremes.

One of these debaters goes by the name of George Will. He laments that "all literature is, whether writers are conscious of it or not, political." For example, "Shakespeare's 'Tempest' reflects the imperialist rape of the Third World." (111). Will asserts that having the critic as a higher point of authority on a piece of literature makes culture "oppressive" and literary canon "an instrument of domination." (111). He decidedly states that placing the critic over the author, in terms of their opinion on the literary meaning, will continue until every value that we have thus far based ourselves on will be cut down and thrown into the streets, where poor children will ridicule them for their unwanted-ness.

His opponent is a man named Stephen Greenblatt. Aside from having what may be one of the worst-sounding names in the history of names, Greenblatt rebuts Will by stating basically the opposite of what Will said. He says the critic should indeed have more power over the author, and he proposes the idea that one must read every possible direction of a text so that s/he may soak up all the literary-goodness contained in that work. Aside from his horrendous name and sassy attitude, Greenblatt confronts Will's argument with a rather simple statement: "It is very difficult to argue that The Tempest is not about Imperialism." (114). He goes on to down trod the importance of the aesthetics of a piece of literature, and instead advocates the more political view of the work, whatever that may be.

As for my personal, law-like opinion, I have to side with Mr. Greenblatt. Lucky for him, my name is magnificent, so it seems we cancel each other out. Unfortunately for the over zealous author, the interpretation of his/her literature is left to the reader. Therefore, though the author has a smidgen of control over the moral/meaning/what have you of his/her novel, the reader may interpret as s/he pleases. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. If we are to apply the teachings of today's world to the written world of years past, it is quite possible that we may be able to apply this combination of old and new knowledge in order to solve a problem.

Let's say Rafael likes pigs. Especially ones that are alive. Now, when Rafael reads the familiar novel "The Three Little Pigs," he's going to be pumped the pigs live, and go on his merry way, most likely stepping on some broken literary values on his way home. Let's also say that Hansberry has taken many courses on current world visions and/or/but-not-limited-to English-majoring-type courses. When Hansberry reads the novel, he will most likely find a different meaning that applies itself more aptly to Hansberry's life. And, let's be honest, he'll probably be stoked that the pigs live, too.

Neither version of the meaning these two young gentlemen took from the novel is "incorrect," so to speak. They're just different. It's safe to say that just about every piece of literature out there can be viewed with the same scenario as with Rafael and Hansberry. Personally, I find a myriad of conclusions far more interesting and more profitable for society that one grand narrative. Yeah, I did just connect this to class. You can deal with it. And so can the author who doesn't want his works to be taken any other way than the way he perceived them. And Will, too.

Finally, I offer one last sentiment. Will contends (as nicely paraphrased by Greenblatt) that "poets cannot soar when their feet are stuck in social cement." (115). Well, Will, poets were never meant to fly. They, and their horribly vague poems were meant to be damned to the cement of social interpretation for eternity. But is it as Greenblatt said: "art, the art that matters, is not cement. It is mobile, complex, elusive, disturbing. A love of literature may help to form a community, but it is a community founded on imaginative freedom, the play of language, and scholarly honesty, and not on flag waving, boosterism, conformity." (115).

The victor writes the history; the loser is usually slaughtered and/or misrepresented

The victors are Prospero (as far as The Tempest goes) and the general white man (as far as American colonization goes). These winners are able to not only control history, but decide the manner in which each person will be represented.

Firstly, of course Shakespeare means Caliban to be a representation of "the Other." As for his description of "the other," I think he portrayed them quite well. Repressed, yearning for freedom, considered to be a savage. What more could you ask of "the Other?"

As previously discussed in class, there is evidence for both sides as to whether or not Shakespeare was against this type of colonization. For example, nearly every time Caliban is present, he's bound to complain about some aspect of his imprisonment to Prospero. After a while, it can almost convince you to agree with Caliban. On the other hand, Caliban did attempt to rape Miranda and upon meeting Stephano and being introduced to his "heavenly drink," Caliban readily vows: "I'll kiss thy foot. I'll swear myself thy subject." (Act 2, scene 2, lines 127 - 218), in addition to a myriad of other treasonous acts. Seen in this light, Caliban is more of a prick consumed with ideas of insubordination than a repressed...er, creature. As for my personal stance on said matter, I have yet to have one. Yeah, you can deal with it.

The video presented for blogging as well as the chapter: CULTURAL STUDIES: POST COLONIALISM, AFRICAN-AMERICAN CRITICISM, AND QUEER THEORY reason that the representation of such beaten minorities, such as Caliban and the Native Americans themselves, can be (and for the most part, are) horribly misrepresented. The chapter states that in many such cases the concept of "alternity" is used, where "'the Others' are excluded from positions of power and viewed as different and inferior." (236) In a nutshell, that is exactly what happened to both the Native Americans and Caliban. The chapter continues on to say that resisting such degradation can be difficult to achieve, since there seem to be such a wide variety of responses on the subject. However, as stated in "The Danger of a Single Story" this method of conquest can be turned on its head by challenging the conviction of the victor with the stories of the defeated.

Oh, Prospero. You vexing little idiot.

Prospero is controlling, plain and simple. However, the way in which he controls is completely identical to that of which we have been discussing in class since forever ago. Simply put, this whining son-of-a-gun changes his past into problems.

For example, when he speaks to Miranda about how the two of them were ousted from their dukedom, he words his tale so as to provoke two things. One, he puts himself in a better light than he probably should have. During said occasion, "a treacherous army levied, one midnight fated to th' purpose did Antonio open the gates of Milan, and, i' th' dead of darkness, the ministers for th' purpose hurried thence me and thy crying self." (Act 1, scene 2, lines 127 - 132) Considering this and only this, it's natural to feel pity for Prospero. That being the effect he wants, Prospero puts heavy emphasis on his brother Antonio being so horrible and the King of Naples shaming him so in taking his dukedom "to most ignoble stooping." (116)

Granted, Antonio was being a bit of a jerk and should probably apologize, but come on! Prospero was so busy not being a duke and sitting in a bloody library all day and night that he didn't even know his own brother was taking his dukedom (man, I love that word). In a literal view, Prospero never really was a duke.

Miranda only has Prospero's word to go on, so she not only believes him (1984, anyone?), but begs his forgiveness for being such a trouble all this time ("Alack! What trouble was I then to you!" (152)) when it really should be Prospero apologizing for taking his daughter down with him.

You might notice I don't really care for Prospero. You might also notice this post is long. Sheesh. Why can't I do this on essays?

Well, I'd go into rants about the Prospero's relationship with the Ariel and Caliban, but it seems to be the same story: they're "indebted" to him for what he has done (or at least says he has) and in no way can the two of them question these stories or what Prospero tells them to do. Basically, Prospero is O'Brien and everyone else is Winston. Or else...

Here's a single story. Beware, it's dangerous.

You there. With the computer. You should know two things before you read this. One thing is that I have nothing against Mexican immigrants. That may sound a bit random and misplaced, but I assure you, it isn't. My little discourse here mentions them a few times, occasionally in a rather bad light, and I don't want anything taken the wrong way. A second thing is that this post is quite long. Don't mind it, it's an amazing read. That is all.

Chimamanda Adichie retains within her person not only an almost unbearably amazing accent, but provocative ideas of the dangers of "a single story," while inadvertently mentioning the ease of changing viewpoints about said stories.

First, foremost, and so forth, Adichie centers her argument around an anecdote based in her trip to Mexico one fine year. Or week. Whatever it was. Anyways, she says in an unnecessarily long quote: "I had been so immersed in the media coverage of Mexicans that they had become one thing in my mind: the abject immigrant. I had bought into the single story of Mexicans and I could not have been more ashamed of myself. So that is how you create a single story: show a people as one thing, as only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become."

I'm going to go ahead and assume you understand the simple process in which a person can be taken under, so to speak, by propaganda (such as that of the Mexican immigrants in this time). Naturally, this has happened to all of us, which I why you'll understand it. Or die.

Anyways, the part both highlighted and emphasized is the fact that by going to Mexico and seeing the Mexicans there (who, mind you, were not in any way trying to emigrate), her whole outlook on Mexican immigrants was completely changed. Honey/dear/child/sunshine/Adichie, you can't get a new stance on a topic by experiencing something similar to your topic. For example, I dislike pears. I can't see the way a pear trees swings about in the wind and sunshine (in a flower filled meadow, of course) and have a epiphany where I suddenly realize my long-lost hunger for pears and their succulent juices. It just doesn't work that way.

Even if she had seen Mexican immigrants planting flowers as they went through customs, how is she to know which story is right? Given the fact that with two stories, there is usually one that holds more truth, why in the world would she go on to believe Mexican immigrants are nice people? I mean, come on! The newspapers all say they're horrible, horrible people who should all die a horrible, horrible death before they ever get the golden/magnificent/fantastic opportunity to set foot on American soil!

Hyberboles aside, Adichie fails to understand the simple concept of perceptive, though her speech gives the idea that she wrote the book on it. Yes, having a single story of a people is not wrong, but has a very high chance of being both faulty and incorrect. Like she states in another lengthy quote, perceptions derived from single stories often lead to little or no truth about a people whatsoever: "A student told me that it was such a shame that Nigerian men were physical abusers like the father [odd African name that sounds like "karate"] in my novel. I told him I had just read a book called American Psycho, and it was such a same that young Americans were serial murderers.... It would never have occurred to me to think that just because I had read a novel in which a character was a serial killer that he was somehow representative of all Americans [because] I did not have a single story of America."

So, then, what is right? Can a single story depict an entire people, including its struggles, triumphs, and other such plights? The answer is simple: of course not, you bumbling idiot.

A single story can depict only what it is: a single story. It cannot even fathom the amount of stories that it would need to be in order to fully tell the correct tale of a people. And for you single story fans out there, you all can shove it.

Here's a couple quotes that conveniently worked out to summarize my main point: "Stories matter. Many stories matter." "The consequence of the single story is this: it robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different, rather than how we are similar." "When we reject the single story, when we realize that there is never a single story about any place, we regain a kind of paradise."

What? Connections to the novel and class discussions!?

In 1984, the people were given one point of view to believe and tattoo across their foreheads, which we all know is wrong, yet would still make for excellent tattooing. In the history book discussion, the broad spectrum of points-of-views were largely ignored, which we all know is also wrong, yet not quite as cool for tattooing. The point is that a single story is inept at telling history. A society cannot be built on a single story. A dictatorship can. Maybe even a lemonade stand. But not a free society.

The link to the video attacked/doted upon/explored in this lovely little post can be found by clicking Wilbert. "Who is Wilbert?" you may ask? Why, Wilbert that word beginning with a "n" at the end of this sentence. Nacamut.

Well, hey there. I, some time before writing the words you're currently viewing, considered what picture is so daringly epic that it could possibly live up to the honor of being placed with my first post on my bloggity. Then, I realized that this post is largely un-important and therefore chose the picture at the left. That's me. The one there. In third. Mind you, I was only not-first because my party hat fell off when I started running, and with it fell my pride and any desire I had to live life (much less run). The stallion you see in front of me would happen to be Camille van Putten. I'd say she's not that important since she wasn't on my team, but, then again, it is Cami, which cancels out any notion of lessening the greatness of those wonderous strides. This would indeed be the most epic moment of my entire life (excluding my birth, of course). And there you have it. My precious little bloggity, you now have meaning. My, this post has gone on far too long. Ah, well. Deal with it.