Why am I so distrustful of a man with such a happy name?

Human beings are creatures of habit, by and large. We try to create links and patterns whenever possible because it’s easier for us to understand things when they are consistent. That’s why, after Janie’s first two husbands quickly transition from doting partner to bitter oppressor, it’s hard for me to read chapters 12-16 without a heavy dose of suspicion. Even though Janie says Tea Cake never wronged her in chapter 1, I can’t help but expect his “true colors” to begin to show, despite the fact that he hasn’t given me any reason to do so.

Of course, that’s an intentional effect Zora Neale Hurston knew she was creating. She even seems to be stringing readers along that path, probably to jerk the rug from under our feet and laugh at us when we fall. If Tea Cake does prove to be truly in love with Janie and married for honest reasons, I can already hear Janie yelling at me through the pages, “I told you so!”

But Hurston creates plenty of doubt and suspicion to make that told-you-so more surprising, even though she tells you it’s coming in the first chapter. First, Tea Cake disappears with Janie’s two hundred dollars and explains to her that he was at a gathering she wouldn’t have enjoyed. Okay, sounds a bit sketchy, but not a real big deal. Then, he leaves again to gamble the remaining money to recover the lost funds, and returns with over three hundred dollars. Perhaps colored by the expectation of ruined marriage created from the first two marriages, I initially assumed that Tea Cake simply stole the money. Later, Janie does actually see him gambling and winning plenty of times, so it’s not so inconceivable that he would have been able to win the three hundred dollars. Eventually, we see Nunkie flirting with Tea Cake, and again my first assumption is that he’s going to cheat on Janie.

It’s unfortunate, because if the first chapter is any indication, poor Tea Cake doesn’t deserve my suspicion and lack of trust at all. I’m sure Hurston has a compelling vindication in store for him, or she wouldn’t have so obviously set him up to be distrusted. In the meantime, I’ll try not to automatically assume the worst every time Tea Cake gets into these situations that can so easily be misconstrued.

A Frustrating Protagonist Makes A Good Protagonist

Janie is a frustrating character. Sometimes it’s impossible not to sympathize with her, and sometimes it’s incredibly hard to. Joe’s treatment of her makes her sympathetic, but she’s definitely a flawed character. That’s not a bad thing; I’d rather be frustrated with a flawed character than bored by a perfect(ly fake) one.

I suppose, considering her lot in life (being repressed by her husband,) it’s unreasonable to expect her to know everything, but sometimes she just doesn’t think things through very thoroughly. I was bothered by her realization that she hates her grandmother. It seems to show that she either doesn’t have a very good grasp of how society treated black women in her time, or she just didn’t take the time to consider the issue more thoroughly. Logan Killicks may not have been an ideal husband, but her grandmother didn’t marry her off maliciously. It was, in fact, the opposite: she wanted to ensure Janie didn’t end up like her mother, and wanted to make sure Janie would be protected and provided for after her death. It may not have turned out the best, but it was an act of love that you’d think would be appreciated even if it didn’t have the intended results. Clearly Janie has never heard the expression “it’s the thought that counts.”

Additionally, it’s hard to agree with Janie’s decision to unload her thoughts on Joe. I can understand the desire (maybe even need) to let those thoughts free after having to keep them to herself for so long. But couldn’t she have unloaded them elsewhere—to Phoeby perhaps? Joe was not a good husband, but the guy was on his deathbed. Let him die in peace! It was no coincidence that he died while she was venting to him. The sudden and severe stress surely brought his death about sooner.

If Janie gave her speech to Joe because she wanted him to recognize his sins before it was too late, it would be understandable. But from the context, it doesn’t seem that was the case. From my reading, it seems that she just couldn’t bear the thought of him dying without knowing how she felt about him, which is pretty much the height of selfishness. Again, maybe she just didn’t think it through thoroughly. Either way, it makes her a frustrating character that I continually alternate between pitying for her lot in life, admiring for her initiative and willingness to speak her mind at times, and being annoyed by her seemingly short-sighted and under-thought decisions. And I appreciate that Zora Neale Hurston was able to write her protagonist to provide such conflicting feelings about her.



Also, I have to mention the two excerpts from this reading that I found humorous:
 
“Aw naw they don’t. They just think they’s thinkin’” (67). Oh really, Joe? Nice self-contradiction.

And let’s not forget: “You heard her, you ain’t blind” (75). Amidst all the tension from Janie’s outburst, I picture Walter delivering that line perfectly seriously.  

A Rant About Feminism and Double Standards

Through five chapters, the feminist elements in Their Eyes are readily apparent. For example, the final sentence of chapter three: “Janie’s first dream was dead, so she became a woman.” (Hurston 24) I can appreciate this and other feminist elements, but I’m concerned it may end up being taken too far. This often occurs outside of literature, and it creates more problems than it solves.

 To be clear, I have nothing against feminism and I’m glad to have been born into a society that provides mostly equal opportunities for both genders. But, sometimes modern feminists take up a cause that’s more detrimental than beneficial in my opinion. For an extreme  example, and I’m about to delve into a topic that may offend some, but consider the popularly quoted “1 in 4 women will be raped before graduating college” statistic. Here’s an ABC News story discussing it.  While acknowledging that I am not a woman and couldn’t possibly understand the threat of rape the same way, and that there are countless unreported rapes not figured into those statistics, I find it irresponsible and potentially dangerous for feminists to promote awareness of those sorts of rape statistics.

Don’t think I’m a rape apologist—I have nothing but the utmost contempt for rapists. However, I find the statistic damaging because it’s not true. Included in that statistic are victims of “drunk sex.” Essentially, if a woman goes to a party and gets drunk and has sex with a man, and wakes up the next morning regretting it, she was, by law, raped. Of course, this introduces an incredibly unfair double standard, which is ironic considering that sort of thing is supposed to be what feminism is against. Certainly, no court will take a man’s claims seriously if he tries to accuse a woman of rape in the same circumstances, despite the fact that drunk men, well, let’s just say they can end up in some pretty awful predicaments in the morning as well.

While there can be circumstances in which drunk sex can border on rape, to consider every single instance a rape is wrong, in my opinion. Though there are plenty of unreported rapes understating the statistic, I think there are a lot more that were reported wrongly. Feminists sponsor polls that create these statistics, and I’ve personally seen how the polls trick women into saying they’ve been raped. For example, there will be a question asking “have you ever had sex while drunk” and every woman who checks “yes” gets added into a big bucket of people who answered affirmatively to other similar questions. Then, the total becomes the rape statistic, despite the fact that an unknown number of those included answered “no” to more direct questions like “have you been a victim of sexual assault.”

So, if rape statistics are overstated, the reason I don’t think feminists should continue misleading poll respondents (in my opinion) is obvious: it promotes unease and fear, puts a barrier between men and women that doesn’t belong. Women are conditioned to fear men and assume they’re all sexual predators, and that doesn’t create healthy relationships, whether romantic or platonic. There are a lot of repercussions of this attitude that are hard to directly trace to it, and perhaps that’s why it still happens, but I genuinely feel society would be better off if feminists eased up in this case. The feminist movement was originally about creating equality, yet modern feminists that attempt to promote this negative attitude toward men only divide us further. Besides, discussing how prevalent something is is a good way to make it so. Quite literally, I believe these feminist-sponsored rape statistics actually encourage rape more than inhibit it. That's why I take this issue so seriously--I truly believe some feminist movements actually hurt their own cause, and it pains me to see that.

Anyways, back to Their Eyes. As I said, I can appreciate the feminist elements in it. But, there has already been one instance in which it was taken perhaps a bit too far. The event I’m referring to is Janie’s leaving with Joe without divorcing her husband. He was not an ideal husband, probably, but he did provide for Janie. Feminists hate the marginalization of women, yet Logan was left high and dry without a second thought. Perhaps he resurfaces later in the story, but thus far no mention has been made of him since Janie left him. If their roles were reversed, I have a feeling feminists would bash the novel for marginalizing the poor married woman who was dumped at a moment’s notice, and condemn the male version of Janie for being the scum of the earth.  Sadly, I'm not sure how hyperbolic that is, even though it was meant to be.

In this case, though, there may be practical reasons why the event played out how it did. It may not have been realistic for a black woman to pursue a divorce from a white man, and perhaps she would have been punished for even mentioning it. Similarly, she may not have had any choice but to run off while Logan was gone. If she had tried to tell him before she left, it’s doubtful he would have just said “oh, okay, see ya!” In that sense, her infidelity is a message of empowerment, as Janie took her life into her own hands rather than settling for the hand dealt her. So, this may not be a case of feminism being pushed too far—but it is enough to keep me alert. I will be on the lookout for more double standards throughout the novel, as well as the positive feminism elements.

Zora Neale Hurston's writing style in Their Eyes Were Watching God

Presently, I’m only through chapter 2 of Their Eyes Were Watching God, but something about Zora Neale Hurston’s writing style is strange enough to me that I had to stop and write this post about it. I’m not talking about the Black English. What I find strange is that Hurston decided to write the novel in third-person. Generally, I prefer third-person to first-person, but in this case, first-person seems more appropriate. So far, there is a lot of dialogue—sometimes multiple pages without any narration. For me, it makes the transition between dialogue and narration rather “clunky.” It just seems, to me, that the novel would read better if written entirely in Black English rather than just the dialogue—the transitions are almost distracting.

In the foreword, Mary Helen Washington states that one reviewer described the novel as “a rich and racy love story, if somewhat awkward.” Though not for the same reasons, I think, I agree that the novel is a little awkward. I don’t understand at this point why Hurston wouldn’t have written the novel in first-person, allowing Janie to narrate, so that the transitions between dialogue and narration wouldn’t be so awkward. I can’t imagine that Hurston didn’t realize the strangeness of switching between Black English and something more closely resembling Standard English, so I’m assuming it was a deliberate stylistic choice. But why? I’ll be paying close attention to these transitions as the story progresses, and hopefully by the end I’ll have some idea as to why Hurston chose to write Their Eyes the way she did. Though I find the transitions a little awkward, the story isn’t bad, so I don’t mind having to get used to them. And who knows, maybe by the novel’s end I’ll have grown accustomed to the style and agree with Hurston’s choice.

Death and Taxes

One aspect of William Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily” that intrigued me despite its relative lack of importance to the story as a whole was the apparent commentary on Benjamin Franklin’s famous declaration: “in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” I don’t know that Faulkner was necessarily trying to impart any particular message about the concept, but nonetheless it seems worth mentioning that the main character, Emily, seemingly rejects the notion. Her taxes were remitted and she not only refused to accept the death of her father for several days, but she also kept Homer Barron’s decaying corpse in her house for decades, if I’m following the story correctly. Thus, she truly rejected the inevitability of both death and taxes.

Again, I’m not sure what the significance of that is. The whole “death and taxes” concept, while sadly true, isn’t really discussed seriously. Most often, in my experience at least, it’s used as a sort of “too bad, that’s life” when somebody complains about an event not turning out as planned. It’s rarely if ever a topic for critical thought. Then again, maybe that’s why Faulkner chose to comment on it—to get us thinking critically about something mundane. Yet, I struggle to comprehend what he could have been implying. Surely the point wasn’t to embrace Emily’s perspective, as rejecting the inevitability of death in particular is absurd unless framed in a religious context—many religions believe in life after death—but Faulkner does not frame the story that way. Conversely, he could be trying to demonstrate the futility of denying the inevitability of either thing, since having her taxes remitted didn’t appear to improve Emily’s quality of life any, and sleeping with a rotting corpse definitely didn’t do her any favors. But there wouldn’t be much sense in making such a point; few would argue it. It would be similar to trying to convince readers that the sky is blue.

Maybe it’s just an innocent allusion to a famous quote, and efforts to attach particular meaning to it are wasted. That answer just doesn’t satisfy me, though, so what do others think? What, if anything, is Faulkner trying to say through the allusions to Franklin’s quote?

Ernest Hemingway's self-commentary in "The Snows of Kilimanjaro"

To preface, I don’t know much about Ernest Hemingway outside of the introduction in the Norton Anthology. “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” is now, I think, his only work I’ve even read. So, my speculation here could be entirely pointless, but I couldn’t help but make a connection between the author profile and the story. The profile states that when Hemingway’s father committed suicide, he blamed his mother. (1019) Central to “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” is Harry’s recognition that he has wasted his talents and, ultimately, his life procrastinating and enjoying a luxurious lifestyle rather than achieving his ambitions, particularly related to his writing career. While he eventually assumes responsibility for his own regrets, he initially lashes out at his wife, blaming her wealth for his predicament, as if her presence in his life was a debilitating poison for which he had no antidote.

So, I wonder if the two are related. Even further, it’s intriguing to ponder whether such a connection is intentional, or a subconscious expression. Does Harry’s eventual realization that he has nobody to blame but himself for the state of his life indicate a similar change in Hemingway’s perception of the events leading to his father’s death? Was he trying to implicitly acknowledge that through the story, or did it perhaps materialize without his intention? I believe people can learn a lot about themselves by analyzing their own actions, especially with hindsight, so the possible connection between Hemingway’s father and the story interests me. If he wrote “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” without thinking about his father’s death, but then noticed the connection in a similar manner as myself and consequently re-evaluated his thoughts regarding his father’s death, the story is infinitely more interesting to me. However, for all I know, he could have forever maintained the belief that his father’s death was his mother’s fault, making the similarities between that situation and the story purely coincidental, if not a figment of my imagination.

Anyone who knows Hemingway better than me care to chime in on the likelihood of the connection?

Interpreting the ending of "To Build A Fire"

In class, we’ve already discussed the most notable concepts from “To Build A Fire,” so I’ll leave those alone even though the instinct vs. intelligence dichotomy is probably the most intriguing aspect of the story. Digging for a topic for an eight blog post, I started to think about the ending a little more closely. Specifically, I’d like to talk about the man’s decision to accept his death. It may not have been Jack London’s intention—I have trouble reading too much into writers who claim they write solely for money—but it seems to allude to the clichéd generalization “it is better to have tried and failed than to have never tried at all,” which is, of course, an adaptation of Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem “In Memoriam” that originally used “loved and lost” in place of “tried and failed.”

Back on topic, if we read that allusion into the story, it’s interesting to note how it plays out. The man has the opposite mindset—he likens what he was doing (trying and failing) to “running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” (638) Instead, he settles down to die in peace. He was “bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it decently.” (638) As his life fades away, he treats himself to a little flight of fancy, making his last moments enjoyable rather than the terror we’d expect.

So what is London trying to say? The man decides it is in fact better to not try at all, and instead dies in peace rather than terror. From that perspective, it seems that London is rejecting the notion that it is better to try and fail. Yet, the man isn’t just trying and failing to dunk a basketball or some such inconsequential thing, it’s his life that’s at stake. The result of not trying was death. Perhaps London is implying that if you never try, your life is meaningless anyway—you might as well be dead. I think you could realistically interpret it either way, which I suppose might possibly detract from the value presented by whichever interpretation you do choose.

Or, the ending could just be part of the story, simple as that. That’s the problem with trying to analyze writers who claim they write solely for money—you always have to second-guess your interpretations and wonder if the author intended to impart wisdom or is merely telling a story, not that there’s anything wrong with telling a story for the sake of storytelling. So maybe I’m reaching by trying to interpret any deeper meaning from the man’s decision, but hey, it’s better to have tried and failed than to have never tried at all, right?