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.