"Am I going to die? -- like this?" (3). This question pulls the reader along for 150 more pages as we too wish to know if Kelly Kelleher is going to die this way and how she has gotten herself into this position. By beginning the story near the end, Oates allows the reader to see the most honest version of Kelly’s character. As we move forward through a series of prolepses and analepses, our confusion parallels Kelly’s. The reader’s confusion about whether Kelly is dead or alive, going to be rescued or not, and where we really are in time at any given moment allows for a stronger identification with Kelly’s emotional states. As with many of Oates’ female characters, we experience hope, defeat, exhilaration, and fear with Kelly which allows the story to haunt our memories long after the book is over.
One of the first things Oates tells us about Kelly is that she has no voice with men. When faced with a situation that involves speaking up to men "you could not speak, there were no words" (5). This introduces us to Kelly’s dilemma, but the use of the second person is a stylistic bit of genius that pulls the reader even further into identification with Kelly. Since the story is written to reflect a common experience of young women as feeling free and powerful, yet ultimately finding themselves at the mercy of a male dominated society, it is important that the young female reader insert themselves quickly into this plot.
Oates pushes the reader through a twenty-six year life of tragedy wherein American society attempts to tell women that they are independent and powerful. "You love the life you’ve lived, you’re an American girl. You believe you have chosen it" (152). Kelly believes this too even as through her memories we see that the projections of her independence have been framed through what others allowed her to be. She is defined not by her accomplishments, but by who she is in relation to men. She is defined always as "somebody’s little girl" (45) and as something helplessly being acted upon: "I’ve made you want me, now I can’t refuse you" (115). Even the possibility of her death is described in a fashion that reads like a rape scene as Kelly understands that the illusion of her control is simply that - an illusion. She reflects on being "rendered incapable of screaming and… from the first instant of realizing herself out of control, the fate of her physical body out of control of her brain, she had had no coherent perception of what in fact was happening" (10).
Still, no matter how many times the story comes back to the present moment where Kelly is trying to keep her head above the thick, murky water, she persists in her youthful trust. She holds tightly to the idea of "Daddy’s authority" (52) and the interest of the Senator in her as being enough to save her. She ignores the way she has been used and clings to the hope that the very men who use her and fight to keep her secretly powerless will be the ones to save her. In her delusional state, Kelly continually imagines that the Senator will come back for her or she sees herself reaching up for her fathers arms. It is this misplaced trust in older men that has been her downfall and yet, she reaches to that place even in death. Perhaps this constant trust at our own expense is what it truly means to be an "American girl".
Though it is lost on Kelly, it is not lost on the reader that the Senator literally used Kelly’s body to push himself out of the car to safety. It is described so pitifully that even Kelly must acknowledge how her girlfriends would laugh at her: as she grabs at his foot in a desperate plea for help, he kicks her to make her let go, pushes off of her body to force himself up toward the surface of the water. She is left, still trapped in the car, clinging to his shoe as if the shoe itself might save her. This underscores the unspoken idea throughout Black Water that a man will use a woman to create more power for himself while creating the illusion that she has more power by allowing herself to be used.
Kelly falls prey constantly to the ideas thrust upon young American women by society. She believes that when something goes wrong, it is her fault and that love will save the day. Even as she is facing the possibility of dying in the dark alone, her thoughts drift toward this horrifying death being something perhaps she deserves, "as if to punish her for her behavior her performance as a self not herself" (48). She punishes herself for not speaking up sooner and questioning the Senator on being lost. Still, she believes everything will be ok if she trusts in love, because this is what she has been taught to believe. "Mommy, Daddy, hey I love you, you know that I hope, please don’t let me die I love you, okay" (119) changes to her offering to love the Senator in a last act of desperation. "She wasn’t in love but she would love him, if that would save her. She’d never loved any man… but she would love that man if it would save her" (152).
Despite Kelly’s inability to see her lack of power and independence in the situation, the reader can see it all the more clearly through the scope of the tragedy. It is a potent reminder then to young American women that we must not rely on others to save us; we must turn the idea of choosing our lives into a reality. The powerful connection with Kelly and her internal state allows the reader to understand how being an "American girl" is actually hegemonic code for withstanding the debasement of women. Oates provides both a memorable story and an important warning.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Making the system work for you
Though Teena Maguire is brutally raped by a gang of drug addled boys and is told by everyone around her that it must be her fault, she and her twelve year old daughter find a way to make the very system that betrayed them work for them. Rape: A Love Story shows in a series of subtle maneuvers how it is possible for a person with seemingly little power to influence circumstances around them in an effort to achieve great things. Through their actions, both intentional and accidental, Teena and Bethel lure officer Dromoor onto their side and use him as their tool of justice. Since Dromoor works for the male dominated justice system, the women are able to use his standing as the perfect cover for their revenge without having fingers point back to them accusingly. This proves an interesting plot twist as the rage and violence often portrayed against women by men is now being inflicted on men by another man at the will of a woman. Teena and Bethel prey on Dromoor in a way, taking advantage of his male need to play the white knight, but because of willingness to fill this role, both women love him. This disturbing tale is certainly not your typical love story, but it does show a love born out of necessity and circumstance... a love orchestrated by women who understand the very male attitudes that were turned brutally against them can be skillfully turned to work for them as well. Through this, Oates demonstrates that the social beliefs that turn women into victims are the very same ones that can be turned to make women strong, even if that cannot be voiced as loudly.
Aside from telling the story of Teena's rape, the beginning of the book sets up many important ideas for the reader. One of the first things Oates tells us about Dromoor (before we even know his name) is "he liked the idea of justice... putting-things-back-to-right he liked. Such abstractions as law, good conduct, valor in service, eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth" (7). The next important bit of information Oates conveys is about the correlation between life and luck. She writes, "How a life is decided. How a life is ended. Good luck, bad luck. Purely luck" (16) which begins to erode the concept of accountability. After all, is something is purely luck, than nobody is truly at fault for a thing gone wrong. In direct opposition to that is the argument that simply by her behavior or style of dress, Teena "had it coming. Asked for it" (19). While there cannot be an argument in which someone is to blame and yet nobody is to blame since it is only a matter of luck, this confused pattern of thought allows the rest of the story to make sense.
The first sign of weakness seen in women is the simple fact of their womanhood. By being feminine, enjoying her body, and exhibiting herself as a woman, Teena became a target. The rapists, their lawyer, and even the judge use the fact that Teena was wearing short shorts, high heels, and make-up to justify the argument that she provoked her attack. Since her daughter is female and related to her, she must have also been asking for it despite the fact that she is only twelve years old; "like mother, like daughter in that family" people think (22).
The next strike used against Teena and Bethel by the system is youth. Though Teena is thirty-five, she behaves in a more youthful manner. Bethie is of course not even a teenager, but yet her childhood has been stolen from her. Nevertheless, and despite the fact that she is old enough to have been the target of a violent sexual attack, it is argued that she is too young to reliably testify about what happened to her and her mother. "How can the child be sure? How can we believe her? How can a child of twelve swear? How can a child of twelve testify" (43)? These are the questions posed by a corrupt lawyer attempting to prove his rapist clients not guilty.
Related to youth is the idea of women as vulnerable and helpless. It was fairly obvious to the men at the scene of the crime that these two women would not be able to stop them from having their fun. These women, even coupled with their female lawyer would never have the power to stop them from getting away with any crime they chose to commit. After all, women have no power in this male dominated society and the entire court process seems like a way of reminding every woman in the courtroom of that fact.
These very points that serve to turn women into victims and objects are the points that work in their favor when it is time to seek their revenge. When Dromoor was called to the scene of the rape, "there was the girl dazed sitting on the grass, and Dromoor saw the look of her, the torn clothing, bloodied face, the way one of her arms hung wrongly, and he knew it must be rape" (35). From the moment he sees this young, vulnerable girl, he is drawn into their saga. He thinks about them, checks on Teena in the hospital, and even ensures that they have his phone number should they need him. Dromoor's male driven knight-in-shining-armor complex gets the best of him and the Maguire women are not above using it to their advantage.
When Dromoor attends the initial court case against the men who raped Teena, his sense of justice is brutally battered. He feels that the law as failed, and as a man who likes the idea of right, he feels compelled to help these women who seem too helpless to do anything for themselves against the powerful system. As Dromoor comes to their rescue more and more often, especially as he starts killing the rapists in a vigilante way, Teena and Bethel begin to love him because he allows them to feel safe again. This love is returned in a way because it allows Dromoor to feel needed and as if he is providing real justice. While the men who abused and raped Teena and her daughter took advantage of a perceived weakness in their victims, Teena and Bethel also take advantage of Dromoor's need to play the savior.
Although he is not a victim, Dromoor is certainly prey to feminine stereotypes that led Teena to be victimized. The parts of women that are exploited as weaknesses by the legal system and by the town are used as strengths to get a man on their side. Without Dromoor being drawn to the idea of female vulnerability and need, he would not have felt so compelled to come to their rescue. While it is not spoken that Bethel and Teena are intentionally playing into Dromoor's white knight complex, they both seem to act just a bit more needy when he is around; it is he they call when they are afraid; it is he who Bethel gives distressed eyes to while she is throwing the female lawyer out of their home.
Perhaps it is all coincidence within the plot of Oates' story, but nevertheless, the message exists: the things that appear to make women weak can easily be turned into strengths when framed in the right light.
Aside from telling the story of Teena's rape, the beginning of the book sets up many important ideas for the reader. One of the first things Oates tells us about Dromoor (before we even know his name) is "he liked the idea of justice... putting-things-back-to-right he liked. Such abstractions as law, good conduct, valor in service, eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth" (7). The next important bit of information Oates conveys is about the correlation between life and luck. She writes, "How a life is decided. How a life is ended. Good luck, bad luck. Purely luck" (16) which begins to erode the concept of accountability. After all, is something is purely luck, than nobody is truly at fault for a thing gone wrong. In direct opposition to that is the argument that simply by her behavior or style of dress, Teena "had it coming. Asked for it" (19). While there cannot be an argument in which someone is to blame and yet nobody is to blame since it is only a matter of luck, this confused pattern of thought allows the rest of the story to make sense.
The first sign of weakness seen in women is the simple fact of their womanhood. By being feminine, enjoying her body, and exhibiting herself as a woman, Teena became a target. The rapists, their lawyer, and even the judge use the fact that Teena was wearing short shorts, high heels, and make-up to justify the argument that she provoked her attack. Since her daughter is female and related to her, she must have also been asking for it despite the fact that she is only twelve years old; "like mother, like daughter in that family" people think (22).
The next strike used against Teena and Bethel by the system is youth. Though Teena is thirty-five, she behaves in a more youthful manner. Bethie is of course not even a teenager, but yet her childhood has been stolen from her. Nevertheless, and despite the fact that she is old enough to have been the target of a violent sexual attack, it is argued that she is too young to reliably testify about what happened to her and her mother. "How can the child be sure? How can we believe her? How can a child of twelve swear? How can a child of twelve testify" (43)? These are the questions posed by a corrupt lawyer attempting to prove his rapist clients not guilty.
Related to youth is the idea of women as vulnerable and helpless. It was fairly obvious to the men at the scene of the crime that these two women would not be able to stop them from having their fun. These women, even coupled with their female lawyer would never have the power to stop them from getting away with any crime they chose to commit. After all, women have no power in this male dominated society and the entire court process seems like a way of reminding every woman in the courtroom of that fact.
These very points that serve to turn women into victims and objects are the points that work in their favor when it is time to seek their revenge. When Dromoor was called to the scene of the rape, "there was the girl dazed sitting on the grass, and Dromoor saw the look of her, the torn clothing, bloodied face, the way one of her arms hung wrongly, and he knew it must be rape" (35). From the moment he sees this young, vulnerable girl, he is drawn into their saga. He thinks about them, checks on Teena in the hospital, and even ensures that they have his phone number should they need him. Dromoor's male driven knight-in-shining-armor complex gets the best of him and the Maguire women are not above using it to their advantage.
When Dromoor attends the initial court case against the men who raped Teena, his sense of justice is brutally battered. He feels that the law as failed, and as a man who likes the idea of right, he feels compelled to help these women who seem too helpless to do anything for themselves against the powerful system. As Dromoor comes to their rescue more and more often, especially as he starts killing the rapists in a vigilante way, Teena and Bethel begin to love him because he allows them to feel safe again. This love is returned in a way because it allows Dromoor to feel needed and as if he is providing real justice. While the men who abused and raped Teena and her daughter took advantage of a perceived weakness in their victims, Teena and Bethel also take advantage of Dromoor's need to play the savior.
Although he is not a victim, Dromoor is certainly prey to feminine stereotypes that led Teena to be victimized. The parts of women that are exploited as weaknesses by the legal system and by the town are used as strengths to get a man on their side. Without Dromoor being drawn to the idea of female vulnerability and need, he would not have felt so compelled to come to their rescue. While it is not spoken that Bethel and Teena are intentionally playing into Dromoor's white knight complex, they both seem to act just a bit more needy when he is around; it is he they call when they are afraid; it is he who Bethel gives distressed eyes to while she is throwing the female lawyer out of their home.
Perhaps it is all coincidence within the plot of Oates' story, but nevertheless, the message exists: the things that appear to make women weak can easily be turned into strengths when framed in the right light.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Loss of Light, Loss of Life
"... a figure of sorts in stone, aluminum, and bronze, displayed proudly in front of the school library: 'Solstice' was it's enigmatic name" (41)
The winter solstice occurs in December and brings with it the longest night. On this day, the sunlight hours are brief and we are submerged into a lengthy period of darkness. This time of year is associated for many with the beginning of a death/rebirth cycle. During the long nights of the winter months, there is traditionally more death, starvation, loss of energy, a general feeling of ennui, etc. The beautiful part of it though is that the world continues to turn and ultimately, the Earth comes through this dark time to face the bright sunny days of spring and summer again. Thus, from our darkest days, we are brought back into the light.
This symbolic look at the solstice provides some insight to the novel of the same name by Joyce Carol Oates. Solstice traces the darkest days of Monica Jensen and Sheila Trask. The two women seem to repeat their own solstice cycles throughout the novel. Monica has recently gone through an abortion, a divorce, and a complete mental breakdown; Sheila has recently lost her husband and not recovered from this staggering blow. The two seemingly come through these dark times and find their worlds revolving necessarily together.
For a brief period, Monica and Sheila both seem stable and content together. They bring to each other a needed friendship yet they have their outside passions: Monica has found passion in her teaching while Sheila finds passion in her art. Sheila begins her descent into darkness as Monica watches and tries to understand it. Sheila explains, "it [is] just December: the approach of the solstice: the malaise of relentlessly darkening days and relentlessly lengthening nights" (75). During this time, Sheila begins to slip away, until ultimately Monica is afraid her friend will kill herself. Sheila develops an obsession with the idea of death which is spoken in chapter nine of part two: "Always and forever mortality. Nothing else engages me, nothing else terrifies me..." (110). During this time, Sheila loses her passion for her work and has to create an alter ego (Sherrill Ann) as a way to survive these dark times and maintain some sense of passionate abandon in her life.
Monica seems to be the one in control during these dark times for Sheila, but the balance shifts slowly as the world keeps spinning. At Sheila's lowest point on Christmas as we believe she may kill herself, Monica is arguably at her best. This balance begins to shift immediately after the episode at Sheila's door, which is almost exactly the mid point of the book. It is here that the dark side of the Earth's surface begins to spin in Monica's direction.
As Sheila comes out of the dark and regains her ability to travel, to work, to care about things - Monica loses it in equal proportion. She loses her passion for her work and for her students. She loses interest in her friendship with Sheila and in her relationship with her coworkers. Much as Sheila became singularly obsessed with her work and slid into darkness, Monica's slide into darkness focuses on a singular obsession with Sheila. As the world of the novel rotates, Sheila is working again and moving closer toward her show opening. Though she still needs Monica to help her organize her life and prevent her descent back into darkness, it is clear that she is on her way back to the light as Monica is falling: "falling asleep, falling sick. Falling" (214).
As the solstice falls on Monica's life, it is Sheila who has to act as the stabilizing force. On the night of Monica's personal solstice - on the darkest night - Sheila calls an ambulance and rides with Monica to the hospital. There is no indication in the last line: "...we'll be friends for a long, long time... unless one of us dies" (224) of exactly what is to happen to Monica, but from the meaning of the solstice imagery, it can be hoped that she will recover and start her ascent into the light again as she did after her divorce.
As the loss of light during the solstice is explored as equivalent to a loss of life, it is worthwhile to look at another "curious phenomenon" (194). Just before her final plunge into illness and near death, Monica notices daffodils outside in the school yard and reflects on the fact "that when daffodils pass their prime their petals become paper-thin. The colorful centers remain (yellow, orangish-yellow) but the outer petals turn transparent" (194). Monica is certainly facing her transparent stage, but the image she has in her head shows a sense of life still within her core. It is fitting then that the daffodil is a symbol much like the solstice. It is a flower representative of renewed life after a dark and troubling time.
The combined power of these images and the last line spoken by Sheila serves as an indication that the two women will live on to get each other through these natural life cycles for years to come. They will have their ups and downs, and hopefully while one is suffering their internal solstice, they will have the supporting "sunlight" of the other. The entire novel serves as a reminder that our darkest days in life are best reflected upon as a time of solstice... it does not end in darkness, because the world continues to spin and will come close to the sun again. A momentary loss of light does not mean we are doomed to a loss of life, but rather that we must weather these hard times so that we can rise up again and find our passion and joy.
The winter solstice occurs in December and brings with it the longest night. On this day, the sunlight hours are brief and we are submerged into a lengthy period of darkness. This time of year is associated for many with the beginning of a death/rebirth cycle. During the long nights of the winter months, there is traditionally more death, starvation, loss of energy, a general feeling of ennui, etc. The beautiful part of it though is that the world continues to turn and ultimately, the Earth comes through this dark time to face the bright sunny days of spring and summer again. Thus, from our darkest days, we are brought back into the light.
This symbolic look at the solstice provides some insight to the novel of the same name by Joyce Carol Oates. Solstice traces the darkest days of Monica Jensen and Sheila Trask. The two women seem to repeat their own solstice cycles throughout the novel. Monica has recently gone through an abortion, a divorce, and a complete mental breakdown; Sheila has recently lost her husband and not recovered from this staggering blow. The two seemingly come through these dark times and find their worlds revolving necessarily together.
For a brief period, Monica and Sheila both seem stable and content together. They bring to each other a needed friendship yet they have their outside passions: Monica has found passion in her teaching while Sheila finds passion in her art. Sheila begins her descent into darkness as Monica watches and tries to understand it. Sheila explains, "it [is] just December: the approach of the solstice: the malaise of relentlessly darkening days and relentlessly lengthening nights" (75). During this time, Sheila begins to slip away, until ultimately Monica is afraid her friend will kill herself. Sheila develops an obsession with the idea of death which is spoken in chapter nine of part two: "Always and forever mortality. Nothing else engages me, nothing else terrifies me..." (110). During this time, Sheila loses her passion for her work and has to create an alter ego (Sherrill Ann) as a way to survive these dark times and maintain some sense of passionate abandon in her life.
Monica seems to be the one in control during these dark times for Sheila, but the balance shifts slowly as the world keeps spinning. At Sheila's lowest point on Christmas as we believe she may kill herself, Monica is arguably at her best. This balance begins to shift immediately after the episode at Sheila's door, which is almost exactly the mid point of the book. It is here that the dark side of the Earth's surface begins to spin in Monica's direction.
As Sheila comes out of the dark and regains her ability to travel, to work, to care about things - Monica loses it in equal proportion. She loses her passion for her work and for her students. She loses interest in her friendship with Sheila and in her relationship with her coworkers. Much as Sheila became singularly obsessed with her work and slid into darkness, Monica's slide into darkness focuses on a singular obsession with Sheila. As the world of the novel rotates, Sheila is working again and moving closer toward her show opening. Though she still needs Monica to help her organize her life and prevent her descent back into darkness, it is clear that she is on her way back to the light as Monica is falling: "falling asleep, falling sick. Falling" (214).
As the solstice falls on Monica's life, it is Sheila who has to act as the stabilizing force. On the night of Monica's personal solstice - on the darkest night - Sheila calls an ambulance and rides with Monica to the hospital. There is no indication in the last line: "...we'll be friends for a long, long time... unless one of us dies" (224) of exactly what is to happen to Monica, but from the meaning of the solstice imagery, it can be hoped that she will recover and start her ascent into the light again as she did after her divorce.
As the loss of light during the solstice is explored as equivalent to a loss of life, it is worthwhile to look at another "curious phenomenon" (194). Just before her final plunge into illness and near death, Monica notices daffodils outside in the school yard and reflects on the fact "that when daffodils pass their prime their petals become paper-thin. The colorful centers remain (yellow, orangish-yellow) but the outer petals turn transparent" (194). Monica is certainly facing her transparent stage, but the image she has in her head shows a sense of life still within her core. It is fitting then that the daffodil is a symbol much like the solstice. It is a flower representative of renewed life after a dark and troubling time.
The combined power of these images and the last line spoken by Sheila serves as an indication that the two women will live on to get each other through these natural life cycles for years to come. They will have their ups and downs, and hopefully while one is suffering their internal solstice, they will have the supporting "sunlight" of the other. The entire novel serves as a reminder that our darkest days in life are best reflected upon as a time of solstice... it does not end in darkness, because the world continues to spin and will come close to the sun again. A momentary loss of light does not mean we are doomed to a loss of life, but rather that we must weather these hard times so that we can rise up again and find our passion and joy.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Invention of Independent Identity
In Joyce Carol Oates' Do With Me What You Will, the characters seem to change very little over the course of five hundred plus pages. Though toward the end, there are some important shifts in the characters and their sense of identity, it is Ardis Carter who displays the most marked transformations during the novel. As a woman who sought independence at an early age, Ardis has spent her entire lifetime creating new identities for herself.
After chastising her daughter Elena for not being "normal", Ardis goes on to say how important it is to be independent. "When I was your age, I was totally independent. Of other people, of other people's ideas of me. I didn't give a damn for anybody", Ardis tells Elena bragging about her youth (88). This sense of independence gives Ardis the ability to do something that few people seem capable of; it gives her the ability to decide for herself who and what she will be. Ardis even tells Elena early on: "we're our own ideas, we make ourselves up; some women let men make them up... they're helpless to invent themselves... but not me, I'm nobody's idea but my own" (79).
Clearly, Ardis has ideas for new inventions regularly. She is seen as this nearly mythical creature - as someone who was never a child - by her ex-husband. She creates herself as the perfect, devoted creature for Mr. Karman until she gets what she wants from him. Ardis even changes her and Elena's last name and asks Elena to "guess how much they're worth - our lovely last names" (72). To Ardis, a name is an easy thing to change because it is only a label for her creation and her creation is simply a thing to help her get what she wants.
After arriving in Detroit and arranging a successful marriage for her daughter, Ardis thinks up a new creation named Marya Sharp. When Elena is introduced to Marya for the first time, she doesn't quite know how to react: "Elena looked at Marya Sharp's face and saw it shift slowly into the face of someone she knew" (138). Marya confirmed that she was Elena's mother and referred to the cosmetic surgery she had done, the name she'd "taken on" (139), and her new television show.
Not long after this meeting, Elena runs into a woman while out shopping who she is certain is her mother. "The woman smiled in recognition, happily" (152), but tells Elena she is mistaken. The woman introduces herself as Olivia Larkin and proceeds to tell an entire tale of how she has been repeatedly mistaken for Marya Sharp, how she and Elena have previously met, and how flattering it is to be mistaken for a woman like Marya. Meanwhile, Elena is certain this is her mother simply assuming one more creation.
Instances like this happen often for Elena because one could never be too certain what face or personality Ardis would put on from one day to the next. The whole thing was terribly confusing to Elena who sometimes "noticed a woman who resembled her mother" (382), but was afraid to say anything for fear of being mistaken. At other times, Elena did not see her mother at all and was later admonished for ignoring her mother when they had both been in the same place.
Ardis seems to be such a successful chameleon that these changes of persona and identity cease to come as a surprise. It is then, not surprising at all to discover Marya is engaged to be married to a gentlemen from London who Elena had never even heard of. It is less surprising that the marriage takes place secretly with Marya having already moved to London by the time Elena hears of it next. Marya has taken on a new identity of Mrs. Nigel Stock and is quite as committed to it as to any of her previous roles. She is determined that she "will make a permanent home... not just be a 'transplanted' American" (458).
Although it can be argued that all identity is nothing more than a surface performance, Ardis seems to be the queen of the stage. With an effortless grace, Ardis shifts from one identity to another in an attempt to get for herself whatever she most wants. She says in her farewell, "those of you who know me will understand what this kind of life will mean to me" (458), yet the only conclusion to draw from that is she means the type of life where nobody will know her at all and she is free to reinvent herself as often as she wishes in a new place. Ultimately, it seems as though this choice to invent and reinvent an independent identity is fulfilling to Ardis. Though she changes herself constantly, it seems to always be on her terms and her means seems to always bring about her desired end. Perhaps, Oates argues through this character we all should all strive to create an identity that makes us happy and fulfilled rather than allowing other people to define us through their eyes. A little power and control over ourselves and who we are clearly goes a long way to true freedom.
After chastising her daughter Elena for not being "normal", Ardis goes on to say how important it is to be independent. "When I was your age, I was totally independent. Of other people, of other people's ideas of me. I didn't give a damn for anybody", Ardis tells Elena bragging about her youth (88). This sense of independence gives Ardis the ability to do something that few people seem capable of; it gives her the ability to decide for herself who and what she will be. Ardis even tells Elena early on: "we're our own ideas, we make ourselves up; some women let men make them up... they're helpless to invent themselves... but not me, I'm nobody's idea but my own" (79).
Clearly, Ardis has ideas for new inventions regularly. She is seen as this nearly mythical creature - as someone who was never a child - by her ex-husband. She creates herself as the perfect, devoted creature for Mr. Karman until she gets what she wants from him. Ardis even changes her and Elena's last name and asks Elena to "guess how much they're worth - our lovely last names" (72). To Ardis, a name is an easy thing to change because it is only a label for her creation and her creation is simply a thing to help her get what she wants.
After arriving in Detroit and arranging a successful marriage for her daughter, Ardis thinks up a new creation named Marya Sharp. When Elena is introduced to Marya for the first time, she doesn't quite know how to react: "Elena looked at Marya Sharp's face and saw it shift slowly into the face of someone she knew" (138). Marya confirmed that she was Elena's mother and referred to the cosmetic surgery she had done, the name she'd "taken on" (139), and her new television show.
Not long after this meeting, Elena runs into a woman while out shopping who she is certain is her mother. "The woman smiled in recognition, happily" (152), but tells Elena she is mistaken. The woman introduces herself as Olivia Larkin and proceeds to tell an entire tale of how she has been repeatedly mistaken for Marya Sharp, how she and Elena have previously met, and how flattering it is to be mistaken for a woman like Marya. Meanwhile, Elena is certain this is her mother simply assuming one more creation.
Instances like this happen often for Elena because one could never be too certain what face or personality Ardis would put on from one day to the next. The whole thing was terribly confusing to Elena who sometimes "noticed a woman who resembled her mother" (382), but was afraid to say anything for fear of being mistaken. At other times, Elena did not see her mother at all and was later admonished for ignoring her mother when they had both been in the same place.
Ardis seems to be such a successful chameleon that these changes of persona and identity cease to come as a surprise. It is then, not surprising at all to discover Marya is engaged to be married to a gentlemen from London who Elena had never even heard of. It is less surprising that the marriage takes place secretly with Marya having already moved to London by the time Elena hears of it next. Marya has taken on a new identity of Mrs. Nigel Stock and is quite as committed to it as to any of her previous roles. She is determined that she "will make a permanent home... not just be a 'transplanted' American" (458).
Although it can be argued that all identity is nothing more than a surface performance, Ardis seems to be the queen of the stage. With an effortless grace, Ardis shifts from one identity to another in an attempt to get for herself whatever she most wants. She says in her farewell, "those of you who know me will understand what this kind of life will mean to me" (458), yet the only conclusion to draw from that is she means the type of life where nobody will know her at all and she is free to reinvent herself as often as she wishes in a new place. Ultimately, it seems as though this choice to invent and reinvent an independent identity is fulfilling to Ardis. Though she changes herself constantly, it seems to always be on her terms and her means seems to always bring about her desired end. Perhaps, Oates argues through this character we all should all strive to create an identity that makes us happy and fulfilled rather than allowing other people to define us through their eyes. A little power and control over ourselves and who we are clearly goes a long way to true freedom.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Objectification and Violence as a Chosen Identity?
I am just beginning an entire semester on Joyce Carol Oates, so expect that many of the entries appearing here over the next few months will relate to her work. I begin with two of her short stories from the 1960s, which I found a touch hot - you'll understand why after reading the following:
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Simply looking at Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice is enough to indicate young women have struggled to find independence and unique identities for well over 200 years. While there is a much longer history of women engaging in various rites of passage, that looks far enough back to indicate the ideas Joyce Carol Oates writes about are not new. In "How I Contemplated the World from the Detroit House of Correction and Began My Life Over Again" and "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" Oates explores the journey of two young girls seemingly trying to move away from the identities forced upon them. These girls run from the concept of parental control and seek freedom, yet they run into a dangerous foreign world where they are forced into other roles. Searching for an identity through the eyes of others leads both girls into the arms of trouble and toward the edge of death and destruction, but it is an edge they feel compelled to move ever closer to.
In "How I Contemplated the World...", the main character's lack of unique identity is underscored by her being referred to simply as "the girl". The girl is physically ordinary and stands out only in the sense that she does not obey the rules. In addition to being somewhat of a kleptomaniac, the girl leaves home at a very early age and rather than finding independence finds someone else to claim her. Simon, a drug addled older man, finds the girl on the streets and takes her in. She begins sleeping with him, injecting him with drugs, caring for him, and keeping his secrets. Despite a fear that Simon may come into her room and strangle her and despite such objectification that Simon gave her away to a friend for three days, the girl clearly says that she would go back to him and their crazy life "over and over again" (181).
This dangerous excitement finds the girl quite by surprise as Simon initially grabs her and is hurting her, but it is right after that she first goes to bed with him. There is something intoxicating to her about having such power wielded over her and about the fact that "it wasn't love... it was terror" (186). Repeatedly, the narrative shows someone putting the hand on the girl's arm which is referred to as "a claim" (186). From this, we see that even as she believes she is finding freedom in her relationship with Simon, she is still a creature possessed. These things the girl was happy to continue with, but when she is assaulted by two other girls, it nearly breaks her. She says even Simon's treatment never hurt her, but those other girls did, and she vows to stay forever in the protection of her family rather than risk being hurt again by other girls.
"Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" is the story of Connie's search for independence. She is expected to behave in a certain way (like her older sister) and follow certain rules, but when she is out from under supervising eyes, that all changes. Sneaking out to drive in movies and engaging in sexual behavior leads Connie to have an unexpected visitor. One day after her family has gone out for the day, Arnold Friend arrives at Connie's door. "His whole face was a mask" and his words were "spoken with a slight rhythmic lilt" like a skilled hypnotist (48-49). Despite resisting at first and declaring that Arnold is crazy, the more forceful he becomes with her, the more she seems to give in to his demands.
Connie tries to rebel and reaches to call the police at which point she feels an intense pain that registers as "something Arnold Friend was stabbing her with again and again with no tenderness" (52). As she is recovering from this pain, Arnold sweetly says and repeats "that's a good girl" and things begin to shift inside Connie (52). Connie begins to realize that everything is about to change for her and though she seems afraid, she is actually detached. She begins to see even her own body as something that "wasn't really hers either" (53). Giving in to his harsh treatment and trance inducing speech, Connie ultimately watches herself walk out the door and to Arnold's car as if she were watching someone in a movie.
Though both girls wanted to escape the demands placed on their identity by their parents, they abandoned these demands for the demands of yet another authority. It seems that Oates is implying through this shift that either young women are not capable of full independence or they simply have an internal desire to be controlled and objectified by these older male figures. Both girls seem to respond most favorably to the harshest treatment from the men and in doing so, they find one form of freedom. It is this type of freedom that one girl stops resisting and the other would seek “over and over again” (181).
Early February Wall of Shame
Since there was very little posting for school during January, I took the month off, but I'm going to start February's Wall of Shame a little early. Hold on tight!
I've certainly seen worse, but this still made my head hurt:
"Why did John feel as though this child would completely ruin and barricade his life to misery? Why not stick it out and try to still reach his goals instead of having to pick ether his girl friend or his future? The same in the first story, why did the young man have to leave home to never come back."
I'm left more than a little confused, though I think I agreed with her general premise:
"M. Butterfly shows that gender roles provide people with an identity, that's it!. What we consider to be man and woman exists only in our minds, so that we may identify ourselves. The "woman" Song is referring to in the play is not actually a woman but the male perception of one which only assets their own gender and masculinity. We clearly see in this play, man and woman are just names for mere assertion."
I've certainly seen worse, but this still made my head hurt:
"Why did John feel as though this child would completely ruin and barricade his life to misery? Why not stick it out and try to still reach his goals instead of having to pick ether his girl friend or his future? The same in the first story, why did the young man have to leave home to never come back."
I'm left more than a little confused, though I think I agreed with her general premise:
"M. Butterfly shows that gender roles provide people with an identity, that's it!. What we consider to be man and woman exists only in our minds, so that we may identify ourselves. The "woman" Song is referring to in the play is not actually a woman but the male perception of one which only assets their own gender and masculinity. We clearly see in this play, man and woman are just names for mere assertion."
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