the texture of a peach:
the taste of a white-flesh peach;
the appearance of a white-flesh peach that has been nibbled?
the smell of an overripe, nibbled white-flesh peach,
the sound of an overripe, nibbled white-flesh peach hitting the ground.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Mr. Blake's Transgressions may include sleeping on a bench in the town centre
When Jason Taylor knocks on Mr. Blake's front door (indirectly, of course), Pluto Noak and Moran end up berating Mr. Blake for beating up Martin. There is no substantial explanation for why Martin would have been assaulted by Mr. Blake, although Mr. Blake definitely has a reputation for being abusive to teenage boys. All that Mr. Blake actually has going for him is his appearance: he lives alone in a house with a fence and a gate, and after his wife died, his son ran away after a fight with his father--this gives him a "dangerous" backstory, and combined with his hostility to local teenage boys (e.g. confiscating balls), there is potential for adventure-seeking teenagers to make him into a legend.
Sylvie seems similarly harmless, except that she sleeps in the middle of the town on a bench, and has other misadventures. When the uptight people of the town see her, they make further assumptions that Sylvie is up to even worse things behind the scenes. As far as they are concerned, Sylvie is likely doing terrible things to her children. This leads them to be especially worried about Ruth after they come home on a railroad--corruption of the youth is a terrible crime. In the end, Sylvie takes Ruth over the bridge with her.
Who is seen as worse, Mr. Blake or Sylvie? Mr. Blake is accused of violent crimes by the youth themselves. Sylvie is accused by the older generation of more insidious but less tangible misdeeds in leading Ruth astray--besides Lucille, there isn't much of a youth voice in Housekeeping.
What do we think Mr. Blake was like growing up? Where did his wife come from? What kind of friends did his son end up having, and how did he go away? What kind of interesting backstory can we invent?
Sylvie seems similarly harmless, except that she sleeps in the middle of the town on a bench, and has other misadventures. When the uptight people of the town see her, they make further assumptions that Sylvie is up to even worse things behind the scenes. As far as they are concerned, Sylvie is likely doing terrible things to her children. This leads them to be especially worried about Ruth after they come home on a railroad--corruption of the youth is a terrible crime. In the end, Sylvie takes Ruth over the bridge with her.
Who is seen as worse, Mr. Blake or Sylvie? Mr. Blake is accused of violent crimes by the youth themselves. Sylvie is accused by the older generation of more insidious but less tangible misdeeds in leading Ruth astray--besides Lucille, there isn't much of a youth voice in Housekeeping.
What do we think Mr. Blake was like growing up? Where did his wife come from? What kind of friends did his son end up having, and how did he go away? What kind of interesting backstory can we invent?
Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Foundations of Violence
On page 112 of Black Swan Green, the principal Nixon of Jason's school speaks about Tom Yew's death, suggesting that "you will note who initiates violence, who conducts the violence, and who must pay the price of violence...I also hope you will consider what is truly precious in your own lives, and what is merely...flimflam...grandstanding...froth...posturing...egotism." Jason says that he is "not sure if even the teachers were sure what Mr. Nixon meant", but I think that from what Jason has been telling us, we might be able to guess.
Jason's life, for the first few chapters, seems characterized by many status games. There are rules about the way to address others based on relative social positions, and artificial postures to make people seem cooler. The way that Jason masks his true personality when Hugo visits characterizes this--Hugo offers Jason a chance to improve his social standing by being seen with a person of high status.
The behaviors the principal mentions might easily refer to these dynamics. I think that the principal is trying to say that instead of playing these games, people need to respect one another and stop judging them for unimportant details of their life, like Jason's stammer. If people were more empathetic, wars might not get fought--this passage represents a turning point in the chapter, after which Jason no longer regards the Falkland War as just another game, between the UK and Argentina. The principal may have been only disparaging thd joke contests about Argentinians in the newspapers, but his point is just as important when applied to the students.
Jason's life, for the first few chapters, seems characterized by many status games. There are rules about the way to address others based on relative social positions, and artificial postures to make people seem cooler. The way that Jason masks his true personality when Hugo visits characterizes this--Hugo offers Jason a chance to improve his social standing by being seen with a person of high status.
The behaviors the principal mentions might easily refer to these dynamics. I think that the principal is trying to say that instead of playing these games, people need to respect one another and stop judging them for unimportant details of their life, like Jason's stammer. If people were more empathetic, wars might not get fought--this passage represents a turning point in the chapter, after which Jason no longer regards the Falkland War as just another game, between the UK and Argentina. The principal may have been only disparaging thd joke contests about Argentinians in the newspapers, but his point is just as important when applied to the students.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
And What to Make of This Laughter?
The third chapter of Black Swan Green, "Relatives," ends with Jason Taylor's cousin Hugo Lamb laughing at Jason Taylor. Attempting to prove himself by smoking, Jason fails spectacularly by puking into the grass by the lake.
[page 66] I'm so ashamed. Hugo's trying to teach me how to be a kid like him, but I can't even smoke a single cigarette.
"I'm really"--I wipe my mouth--"really sorry."
But Hugo's not even looking at me.
Hugo's squirmed out on the bench, facing the churned-up sky.
My cousin's sobbing with laughter.
The phrase "sobbing with laughter" is an interesting choice of words. Ostensibly, it means that Hugo is laughing so hard that he appears to be crying and upset. Hugo is laughing so hard that he is physically out of control, and has been forced to recline on a bench in order to be comfortable until he regains his composure. However, the aspect of "sobbing" also reminds us that Jason has been put in a bad place by this accident on his part. In some way, Jason is "sobbing" that he has failed to succeed for Hugo.
Throughout the chapter, Jason sacrifices a lot to impress Hugo. Someone suggested in class today that Jason might have a crush on Hugo. It's hard to tell what to make of this, although homosexuality has a large role in the novel so far, as Hugo and other "cool" kids tease others about having "gay" interests and habits. Hugo is definitely very charismatic.
When Hugo laughs at Jason, how does he judge Jason? Should Jason feel very ashamed, and "sob" internally? Hugo might be laughing because Jason's inability to hold down a cigarette is simply humorous due to its absurdity--Jason has a major reaction. Hugo is a "cool" kid, and this might make him confident enough in himself that he won't care enough about this to judge Jason any worse for it. Hugo can afford to not be picky in his associates?
Alternatively, I wonder if this is the turning point when Hugo will begin to reject Jason, and Jason will slowly become more true to himself and unaccommodating to Hugo. Could this be the first big turning point in Jason's character? "The Maggot" isn't a very sympathetic character, and I think it would be nice if this turned out to be the case.
[page 66] I'm so ashamed. Hugo's trying to teach me how to be a kid like him, but I can't even smoke a single cigarette.
"I'm really"--I wipe my mouth--"really sorry."
But Hugo's not even looking at me.
Hugo's squirmed out on the bench, facing the churned-up sky.
My cousin's sobbing with laughter.
The phrase "sobbing with laughter" is an interesting choice of words. Ostensibly, it means that Hugo is laughing so hard that he appears to be crying and upset. Hugo is laughing so hard that he is physically out of control, and has been forced to recline on a bench in order to be comfortable until he regains his composure. However, the aspect of "sobbing" also reminds us that Jason has been put in a bad place by this accident on his part. In some way, Jason is "sobbing" that he has failed to succeed for Hugo.
Throughout the chapter, Jason sacrifices a lot to impress Hugo. Someone suggested in class today that Jason might have a crush on Hugo. It's hard to tell what to make of this, although homosexuality has a large role in the novel so far, as Hugo and other "cool" kids tease others about having "gay" interests and habits. Hugo is definitely very charismatic.
When Hugo laughs at Jason, how does he judge Jason? Should Jason feel very ashamed, and "sob" internally? Hugo might be laughing because Jason's inability to hold down a cigarette is simply humorous due to its absurdity--Jason has a major reaction. Hugo is a "cool" kid, and this might make him confident enough in himself that he won't care enough about this to judge Jason any worse for it. Hugo can afford to not be picky in his associates?
Alternatively, I wonder if this is the turning point when Hugo will begin to reject Jason, and Jason will slowly become more true to himself and unaccommodating to Hugo. Could this be the first big turning point in Jason's character? "The Maggot" isn't a very sympathetic character, and I think it would be nice if this turned out to be the case.
Lucille and Ruth's Housekeeping in the Woods
In Housekeeping, there is a turning point after which Lucille and Ruth become estranged. Lucille doesn't accept Sylvie any more, and eventually goes off to live with the home economics teacher, while Ruth begins to embrace Sylvie's transient lifestyle, until she ultimately runs away at night with Sylvie. While Ruth and Lucille are initially somewhat equally accommodating yet nevertheless uneasy with Sylvie's behavior, Ruth begins to grow closer just as Lucille grows farther. Thinking back to physics class, it is almost like Lucille and Ruth were two objects next to one another--when Lucille started to conform more, Ruth was pushed in the opposite direction by an equal and opposite force--or did Ruth's increasing accommodation to Lucille really trigger this division of the sisters? A division of Ruth and Lucille is by no means inevitable--one must only think back to Lily and Nonah for an example of close, old sisters in the family.
Importantly, Lucille and Ruth's separation seems to be less about Sylvie than about a growing difference between their basic approaches to their environment. Although Sylvie's arrival hastens this change by exposing Lucille and Ruth to a new lifestyle, Sylvie is only a catalyst in this process. This can be seen in Chapter 7 of Housekeeping, pages 113-117.
Ruth and Lucille stop by the side of the lake to hang out in the woods on a Saturday. "It was a place of distinctly domestic disorder, warm and still and replete" (Robinson 113). Even though they are in the woods, a sense of domesticity is nonetheless present. They see not a house they are living in, but a space they have constructed for themselves that they feel in control over. "Lucille and I sat down and tossed pebbles at dragonflies for a while. Then we fished...tossing the guts up onto the beach for raccoons. Then we made a shallow fire...rituals of predation engrossed us until late afternoon" (Robinson 113-14).
At the point described, Lucille and Ruth have a balanced posture in the woods--they aren't afraid of its wildness and dirtiness, but they take significant steps to make it "theirs." As night comes, they realize they cannot get home; "the woods at night terrified us" (Robinson 114).
Together, Ruth and Lucille built "a low and slovenly structure, to all appearances random and accidental...We had to sit with our chins on our knees to avoid bringing a wall down" (Robinson 114).
Later at night, Ruth woke up, and woke up Lucille. Lucille stood up through the roof. Lucille "sat down beside me in our ruined stronghold, never still, never accepting that all our human boundaries were overrun" (Robinson 115).
"Lucille would tell this story differently. She would say I fell asleep, but I did not. I simply let the darkness in the sky become coextensive with the darkness in my skull and bowels and bones... ...While it wass dark, despite Lucille's pacing and whistling...there need not be relic, remnant, margin, residue, memento, bequest, memory, thought, track, or trace, if only the darkness could be perfect and permanent" (Robinson 116).
On this duo trip without Sylvie, Lucille finds herself unable to cope with the darkness and company of woodland creatures. The house is broken, and she is resigned to whistling and frantic attempts to ward off the wilderness. Tranquility is gone for her, just as it is truly appearing for Ruth. Ruth finds that, in the darkness, having so little domestic possession or pleasure at the moment, she can simply embrace the lack of normal comfort. Once they return to the house, Lucille's disgust and recent trauma with un-domesticity will make her greatly resist Sylvie's housekeeping, while Ruth suddenly can appreciate Sylvie more. Although Sylvie definitely helped to speed up and incite Ruth and Lucille's estrangement, this episode of Housekeeping allows Marilynne Robinson to show that rather than being about Sylvie, the story is fundamentally about Lucille and Ruth.
Importantly, Lucille and Ruth's separation seems to be less about Sylvie than about a growing difference between their basic approaches to their environment. Although Sylvie's arrival hastens this change by exposing Lucille and Ruth to a new lifestyle, Sylvie is only a catalyst in this process. This can be seen in Chapter 7 of Housekeeping, pages 113-117.
Ruth and Lucille stop by the side of the lake to hang out in the woods on a Saturday. "It was a place of distinctly domestic disorder, warm and still and replete" (Robinson 113). Even though they are in the woods, a sense of domesticity is nonetheless present. They see not a house they are living in, but a space they have constructed for themselves that they feel in control over. "Lucille and I sat down and tossed pebbles at dragonflies for a while. Then we fished...tossing the guts up onto the beach for raccoons. Then we made a shallow fire...rituals of predation engrossed us until late afternoon" (Robinson 113-14).
At the point described, Lucille and Ruth have a balanced posture in the woods--they aren't afraid of its wildness and dirtiness, but they take significant steps to make it "theirs." As night comes, they realize they cannot get home; "the woods at night terrified us" (Robinson 114).
Together, Ruth and Lucille built "a low and slovenly structure, to all appearances random and accidental...We had to sit with our chins on our knees to avoid bringing a wall down" (Robinson 114).
Later at night, Ruth woke up, and woke up Lucille. Lucille stood up through the roof. Lucille "sat down beside me in our ruined stronghold, never still, never accepting that all our human boundaries were overrun" (Robinson 115).
"Lucille would tell this story differently. She would say I fell asleep, but I did not. I simply let the darkness in the sky become coextensive with the darkness in my skull and bowels and bones... ...While it wass dark, despite Lucille's pacing and whistling...there need not be relic, remnant, margin, residue, memento, bequest, memory, thought, track, or trace, if only the darkness could be perfect and permanent" (Robinson 116).
On this duo trip without Sylvie, Lucille finds herself unable to cope with the darkness and company of woodland creatures. The house is broken, and she is resigned to whistling and frantic attempts to ward off the wilderness. Tranquility is gone for her, just as it is truly appearing for Ruth. Ruth finds that, in the darkness, having so little domestic possession or pleasure at the moment, she can simply embrace the lack of normal comfort. Once they return to the house, Lucille's disgust and recent trauma with un-domesticity will make her greatly resist Sylvie's housekeeping, while Ruth suddenly can appreciate Sylvie more. Although Sylvie definitely helped to speed up and incite Ruth and Lucille's estrangement, this episode of Housekeeping allows Marilynne Robinson to show that rather than being about Sylvie, the story is fundamentally about Lucille and Ruth.
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