Final Project (Essay Part)

Morgan Thoma

Colleen Booker

English 263

May 14, 2010

Carmilla

Throughout this semester, we have explored many aspects of the Irish tradition and of the Irish novel. We have learned about a few well-known Irish authors and what the country of Ireland has really been through. From Celtic Tigers to vampires, the world of Irish literature is packed full of excitement and wit but also has elements of disaster and misery. But nonetheless I found it interesting and enjoyable to explore, and have realized that I have a strong passion for the novel in general and am planning on pursuing it further in my education journey. The novels that I particularly took interest to included Breakfast on Pluto, A Portrait of The Artist, and especially Carmilla.

I decided to do a creative take on Carmilla because the story itself stood out to me. The way it was written and the character of Laura also stood out too. Personally, I could relate to Laura wanting to have a friend so badly that she could relate to but just not having any luck finding any. What I could not relate to was the reason for her lack of friends being desertion of her country. That whole element from the story was really strong, and helped create an even bigger spectrum of possible themes in the novel. It also helped add a sense of isolation not only to the setting of the novel but to the dire circumstance of not being able to escape things, i.e. Carmilla. There is also a theme of desire in this novel—after all it is somewhat of a love story. Laura finds herself to possess something she thinks is love for Carmilla, but it may just be because she is filling the void of her absent mother. Carmilla, on the other hand, claims to love Laura, and makes uncomfortable gestures towards her with which she is unsure of the meaning. The reader finds out quickly though, that the real thing Carmilla is after is Laura’s blood. However, the theme of homosexuality is still evident throughout the novel, no matter what the real reason for the lust is.

In Irish literature, homosexuality plays a big role in some of the main themes seen in novels written by Irish authors. It has been seen in Carmilla, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Breakfast on Pluto, and even The Gathering. In The Picture of Dorian Gray, homosexuality is evident through the character of Basil, and how he becomes “infatuated” with Dorian and his looks. The author, Oscar Wilde, also took a liking to men, and his homosexuality was often questioned, especially since he was imprisoned for having relations with men. In Breakfast on Pluto, Pussy grows up dressing like the opposite sex and has a desire to be a woman. She engages in sexual activities with both men and women, her confusion most likely being fueled with the loss of her mother and the sick notions that fill her head about what she believes happened to her mother from whom she believes is her father. This novel is perhaps the most “rich” in homosexuality, but it doesn’t take over as the main theme of the novel. The Gathering can be seen as having homosexual affairs in it as well, though in a more unfortunate way than the previous novels. The theme of homosexuality is not very prominent, but it is introduced. Liam suffers from memories of being inappropriately handled by Lambert Nugent, which lead him to taking away his own life. And finally, in Carmilla, the relationship between Laura and Carmilla is considered by many who read the novel to be homosexual. It may be a controversial theme to some, but nonetheless is it interesting, alerting, and real.

Though the Irish novels that we read in class had the same theme of homosexuality, they also had themes of want, desolation, and conflict. In every single novel we have read, there has been a want or desire that the protagonist can’t immediately attain. For Carmilla it was Laura’s blood, and essentially having the love of Laura. In Dorian it was everlasting beauty and youth and even for Basil it was having Dorian and his beauty. For A Portrait it was belonging, and finding out whom one really is. This theme is entirely evident in Breakfast, because it was everywhere within the pages of the novel. Pussy wanted her mother and a family; she wanted to belong somewhere. And even in The Gathering, Veronica wanted so badly to know what drove her brother off the edge and into committing suicide. Of course desolation is evident in most of the novels too, whether it be metaphorical or physical. And what novel is truly enjoyable to read without conflict? That theme was also evident in the novels as well. However, I chose to further explore Carmilla because I think this novel is the strongest of these three themes.

Carmilla was a novel that I took interest in right away. Of course it was easy for a vampire novel to capture my attention (thanks to Twilight) but even still I have always loved supernatural fiction and such. I thought it would be interesting to do a modern take on Carmilla because it was so interesting to read Twilight in modern day. The only previous vampire stories I had heard of was Dracula, and that was set in an older era. When I first read Twilight four years ago, the setting and modern aspects of the novel painted such an incredible picture in my mind that I wanted to believe it was all real; I wanted to believe that vampires were real, and that this instance that happened in the novel could possibly happen to me. Of course, I knew it was impossible, but the novel still made me happy and wishful. Not to get entirely off subject but it’s the same with the movie “Avatar.” It has been said that “Avatar” made some people depressed because the movie was so incredible that they wanted to actually live on Pandora, and while watching the film in the theater they for a second almost believed it to be real. While exiting the theater, realization set in and all of a sudden Earth wasn’t good enough for them—they needed to be on the fictional planet of Pandora. Now, this didn’t happen to me personally but I can relate to that feeling all the same.

Back to Carmilla—I wasn’t sure how exactly to conduct writing the story. I didn’t know if I should rewrite the whole thing or just a few chapters. Then I worried about my chapters not being significant enough or not being able to fit enough imagery in with all the action that happens in just a few pages. I settled on rewriting the beginning in modern time with three short chapters up until they grow their friendship to something more. Then I wanted to rewrite the scene at the end where the General attacks Carmilla (which is strangely related to the ending in Twilight, hmm...) I replaced the General with Laura’s father because I think it adds more of a “family love” theme to the novel and makes the scene stronger. I wanted to rewrite these parts in modern time because I think it would be interesting and challenging to stretch my brain around being an author for a moment and having to come up with settings, scenes, dialogue and emotions. Since the novel already has a plot, setting, and characters, I figured it would be like having the same food for dinner, but instead of frying the chicken, grilling it, and having bow-tie pasta instead of spaghetti (if you get what I mean.) The beginning and end seemed the strongest to me; if I could set the tone of the story then the reader could guess the middle and want to jump right ahead to the end of the story. The end is much different than that of the book, but I wanted it to be that way. Of course, in modern day not many people really believe in vampires being real, and I wanted to incorporate that into the story but also wanted to add a little mystery to what’s real and what isn’t.

Originally, I wanted to rewrite the entire novel in modern-day time, and incorporate every little detail or idea that pops up in my mind but realized that it would be way to long both to write and to have someone else read. However I did use my creativity to replace the obsolete objects in the novel with modern-day ones instead, creating a whole new spectrum of a story. It may not be Twilight, but it’s still realistic and intriguing nonetheless with a twist that no one could have seen coming. I hope you enjoy!

FINAL PROJECT

Hey guys, I have to post my final project early because I will be out of town for a week and won't have my computer with me. Hope you guys enjoy the twist in this story! Also, It's super long, so if you want the more interesting part skip to the last two chapters, I think I like that part the best. Anyways, enjoy! : )

Chapter One

If you have ever heard of the town of Cama de Sol, it would be known to you that not a lot of people reside there. It would also be known to you that it is an island, just off the coast of Costa Rica. Only a few people have the desire to reside there, including Doctor Hanson on the north side with his wife Sue, and a retired army general deep inland named George. An older woman named Patricia and her orderly friend Linda, reside on the west side, close to a beautiful lagoon. The south side belongs to a very wealthy family with a grand estate and a boat dock. The inhabitants of that estate include my father and I.

My mother died when I was young, and it has been just me and my father ever since. Of course, Patricia Perrodon and Linda Livingston contributed greatly to filling in the role of my mother, but nonetheless it has been difficult. I never met my mother—she died while giving me life but not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. My father moved to the island of Cama de Sol where we now reside ever since her death to escape reality and start a new life for us; he was never good with dealing with his emotions. He got a job as a fisherman but since my mother’s family was very well-off, neither he nor I ever need to work; he just works to keep his mind off certain things and to feel important in the world. He feels as though money needs to be earned to be valued. Contrary to his belief however, my father buys me everything—clothes, jewelry, and recently, a new Kawasaki STX-15F jet ski. My father must think that spoiling me will fill the void of not having a mother in the picture, but I still feel emptiness, despite the fact that she died when I was only a little baby. Being an only child is nice, but it’s definitely lonely sometimes—actually make that all the time, especially since there are only 4 people who live close enough to socialize with. And none of those people are under the age of 50. Needless to say I have never really had a true friend my age—no play dates when I was younger, nothing—there’s no one to play with on an island. My father had homeschooled me with Ms. Perrodon all my life so I never experienced public school. So, material items have been filling that void as well. But at 17 I felt the need to have a friend more than ever before. I needed to know things—girl things—things that I felt weird asking Ms. Perrodon or Ms. Livingston. I needed someone to talk to and who could relate to me; someone who had answers to my lingering questions. The only other girl I could think of who fit closest to that description is somewhat of a joke—she’s not even real. When I was younger, I had a dream unlike any other; I had a dream of seeing a girl’s face, and she was very pretty. She was kneeling by my bedside, stroking my hair and kissed my forehead. I remember feeling very comforted, but only a moment after feeling that comfort I felt a sharp pain in my chest, almost like it was being stabbed. I remember awaking in a startle, crying out for my mother but only to have my father come charging in the room with a scared look on his face. When I told him my vision, he ensured me that it was only a dream and that everything’s okay. However I could not keep my eyes from darting back to the place where I saw the girl kneeling on my bed. I tried convincing myself that it was just a dream but something about it just seemed too real. Little did I know that even at age six I could be so aware..

Chapter Two

When I on the morning of July 8^th, it was to my father saying he was heading out to go fishing. I never go with him on days when he has to fish but today was different. Originally, retired army General George’s niece was supposed to visit us on the island but suddenly fell sick and couldn’t make the trip. Needless to say I was disappointed at hearing the news but decided that I would accompany my father today to keep my mind off it. So, as the boat left the tiny dock on the south side of the island, I smiled as I felt the breeze in my blonde hair and the sun on my face. We were fishing for only an hour or so when the clouds came in and masked the sunlight. My father thought a storm may be coming in so we decided to head back to shore. But before we started the boat up again, I noticed something dark in the distance. It looked like a large piece of wood floating on the horizon. My father noticed it too, and we both decided to investigate. As we pulled the boat up to what seemed like driftwood, we suddenly realized that there was something on top of it—something that greatly resembled a person. And indeed it was a person. Laying there on the wood was a dark-haired girl, about my age with very pale skin. She seemed unconscious but when we brought her up on our boat she opened her eyes and immediately I recognized her face very well. This was the same girl I had seen in my dream long ago! We held contact for nearly a minute while my father checked her pulse and then she fell back into the unconscious. Her long black hair matted her porcelain face but I knew that I had seen this very same girl before. My father wrapped her in some spare towels we had on board and we started heading back to shore. I held her hand as my father drove the boat and stared at her—both perplexed and in awe. When we arrived at the dock the doctor was already there waiting for us, thanks to my father notifying him from his cell phone. We docked the boat and took her inside the house and up to one of our spare bedrooms where the doctor looked her over while I anxiously waited for her to wake up. It was only about three minutes until she moved her lips and mumbled something along the lines of “Where’s my mom?” My father looked at the doctor who said that we should just let her rest and warm up and that he would be back to check on her in the morning. He left the room and the girl mumbled the same thing again. My father had a grave look on his face and I asked him what was wrong. He explained to me that the driftwood the girl was laying on was actually a part of a boat—a small wooden boat—and that this girl may have been in a wreckage. He moved her thick, dark hair out of her eyes and asked her what her name was. The girl squinted up at us and answered with “Carmilla” but not before she began staring at me again. It was those eyes that had such intensity that scared me in my dream long ago; I could never forget those eyes. Before we could ask her any more questions she fell back asleep and my father decided that it was time to just let her rest. I asked him what was going to happen to her and he said that first we would try to find her family. Then I suggested that if we couldn’t find them, that maybe she could stay with us. My father’s face was aging and it was evident that he was considering what I was asking, but all he said to me was, “Let Carmilla get some sleep. We will see what she has to say in the morning. In the mean time, you have school work to do.” And with that we left the room and I attended to my homework. My brain couldn’t stop racing though; I knew I had seen her face somewhere before but was it real? Was this all real? I never really believed in ghosts and such but this was a face that I couldn’t get out of my head. And I wasn’t scared at all, if anything I was just confused and wanted to know the reason why I was seeing this girl again. But if I wanted to have anything answered, I would have to wait until the morning.

Chapter Three

The next morning couldn’t have arrived any slower. I woke up and immediately recalled the previous day’s events and jumped out of bed. I threw on my slippers and robe and hurriedly ran down the hallway to Carmilla’s room. When I opened the door, she was awake, sitting up in bed and staring at the wall. She heard me come in however because as soon as the door shut behind me she awoke from her daze and instead stared at me. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I sat down on the chair by her bed and told her how I recognized her. To my surprise, she smiled and told me she recognized me too, from a dream she also had when she was younger. I couldn’t believe the coincidence that we both shared together. I felt some sort of connection with her, and from the expression I saw on her face, so did she. That entire day I sat upstairs with her, asking her questions about her life and telling her answers about mine. She was from Costa Rica, and was vacationing with her mother and father off the coast in a sailboat when a storm hit. The storm, she recalled, was violent and tore apart their boat. She clung to a piece of wood from the boat to survive, and said that she was out there for two days before we found her. The emotion emitting from her eyes seemed so painful; it made me feel something for her, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was yet. It was almost like love—a mixture of sympathy and love. I never had a friend before, and having someone so unfortunate who, like me, lost family brought me closer to her. And something about her eyes—something about her deep dark brown eyes was almost intoxicating. She was so incredibly beautiful. From that point on we became extremely close friends; she helped me with my school work, and my father loved having her around because she would always help him gut his fish—she didn’t have a problem with blood like I did. He also took a liking to her because she had an extremely close resemblance to my mother. Even Ms. P and Ms. L approved of her, saying that they were so happy that I could finally have a friend to tell all of my secrets to. After all, I was seventeen years old and dying to relate to someone my own age. My father took me on vacations to other countries and such but still he always returned to Cama de Sol; he really never got over the death of my mother. But all of that didn’t matter now because I finally had everything that money couldn’t buy—a friend.

(Throughout the story, Laura and Carmilla become increasingly close, but Laura stays hesitant. She experiences nightmares and wakes up in the night from them. The nightmares get so bad that Laura’s father flies her out to Los Angeles to see a specialist. Carmilla grows upset that Laura is leaving and demands to go with. Laura’s father agrees, but takes note of her fondness for his daughter. He shuttles them out to the Costa Rican airport on his boat and returns home with concern on his mind for his daughter. Meanwhile, Carmilla convinces Laura to take a pit stop before the airport to her old home. Laura is hesitant at first but after seeing the pained look on Carmilla’s face she agrees. Carmilla brushes Laura’s hair out of her face and strokes her chin. Laura smiles half-heartedly and follows Carmilla down the dock where they got dropped off and finds the car Laura’s father called for them. Laura gets in first while the driver holds her door open for her. Carmilla gets in after, eyeing the driver with her piercing brown eyes. She requests that he drive her to her old house before the airport, for personal reasons. He agrees, frightened. While they drive down the busy Costa Rican street, Laura’s father has second thoughts. He turns the boat around while the day turns to dusk and calls the cab company to find out where the driver is. The company forwards his call to the cab driver and he answers, telling him where he is at with the girls: 10908 South Sand Bay Lane. Laura’s father asks him what he is doing there but before he can get an answer he hears a scream and the phone cuts out. He immediately becomes worried and with the dock on the horizon, speeds up. He dials the number for the police but the phone gets knocked out of his hand by a wave. Still, Laura’s father is on his way to get his daughter.)

Chapter Four

I trembled in the cab as I contemplated what just happened. Carmilla’s nails were halfway in our cab driver’s throat as we sat parked outside of her “house.” She lifted his neck up to her face and bit, hard into his flesh. I gagged at the sight of the blood and before I knew it, everything was fading to black but not before I saw her dark brown eyes almost smiling into mine with her face caked with blood. The next thing I knew I was awake in the dark in a place that smelled putrid. Where was I? Am I dreaming? Where’s Carmilla? Carmilla. All of a sudden the hair stood up on the back of my neck and tears started streaming down my face. I tried opening my mouth but was unsuccessful due to the duct tape covering it. I realized that my hands and feet were also bound and I couldn’t see a thing around me. Then I heard a laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh, or a hearty laugh, it was a sinister laugh, and it came from right in front of me. I wildly looked around the black room and still couldn’t see anything. Then I heard another laugh, like the first one but much deeper, coming from the right side of me. And then another from my left. I could see them now—dark shadows advancing towards me from all directions. I screamed as best as I could with the duct tape on my mouth.

“No one’s going to hear you out here my darling,” I heard Carmilla’s voice; I could tell she was smiling. I screamed again and saw her eyes right in front of me; I could feel her breath on my chest.

“You see, I would have done this sooner but my family wanted to meet you,” she sneered. I was in total shock. This girl who I believed to be my friend was trying to kill me? How could this happen to me? I live on an island for crying out loud! There’s never any crime or violence there, how could she have found me? What made her choose me? A candle lit up to my right and so did one to my left. Soon the whole room was lit up and I couldn’t believe my eyes. About six people in long, black cloaks encircled me, staring and smiling. I gasped when I saw their teeth—filed canines made them look like vampires. Vampires, I laughed to myself. I read about those in fiction novels that my dad bought for me. We didn’t have television or radio or internet on the island but I still had my novels. Twilight was one of the novels I remembered reading. I thought to myself that these people must believe that they are vampires, because they can’t be real, can they?

“Oh Laura, why couldn’t you love me like I love you?” Carmilla sighed while stroking my cheek. She smiled and sighed and kissed my forehead before continuing with, “This is my family, and you could have joined us. But you couldn’t show me what I wanted most. I loved you Laura. Could you not see it? I want to know.” She ripped the duct tape off my mouth and glared into my eyes with hers. I was so scared that only a tiny squeak came out of my mouth. I managed to utter, “Who are you and why are you doing this to me?” She laughed and got really close to my face and said, “Because I want you. And if I can’t have you then I want your blood.” This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening! I was going to die like this—I was going to die from crazy people who believe they are vampires. Then it clicked in my head—this whole thing was a setup. From the moment we retrieved her off the driftwood it has all been planned. Why would she claim that she loved me? She barely even knew me!

All of a sudden my ears got really hot, and before I knew it I started yelling for help, and calling her names. No more than two seconds later the door busted open and my father along with several police officers came in with their weapons ordering everybody to get down on the ground. Now, I half expected these ‘vampires’ to start flying around biting everyone in the neck and sucking their blood but to my surprise they did exactly what they were told and surrendered—all except for Carmilla. When they came in she refused to get down on the ground, claiming that she was invincible and that her business wasn’t finished yet. She whipped her head around and snapped my neck back, sinking her filed canines into it. A second later I heard a loud pop, followed by several loud pops, and the pain in my neck subsided while her body fell down to the floor. My father ran over to me along with two police officers and made sure I was okay. I started crying while my father held me in his arms and the policeman called for an ambulance. My father hugged me and told me he had a bad gut feeling in his stomach and decided to come back for me.

Chapter Five

When the ambulance arrived, I was put on a gurney and wheeled out of the little house. As I was leaving, Carmilla’s lifeless body was being covered and everyone else was being arrested. At the hospital my wounds were patched up and the doctor said although I may have a scar, I’ll be alright after a few days on bed rest. My father stayed by my side for three days straight, breaking only to get food or use the bathroom. When I asked if those people were really vampires or not he responded with, “There’s no such thing as vampires, honey. I’m going to grab some coffee, I’ll be right back.” With that he smiled and walked out of the room. I sighed and closed my eyes. As I drifted off into a deep sleep I had my first dream in three days. It was a familiar dream, one I remembered from my childhood. I was about six years old, laying in my bed talking to a girl about my age. She had long, dark brown hair and skin like porcelain. She was sitting next to my bedside, holding my hand and stroking my hair out of my face. She whispered, “I love you Laura.” I whispered back, “I love you Carmilla.” Carmilla. I immediately awoke from my nightmare to find that I was still in the hospital room. I could hear nurses outside and nothing seemed strange so I relaxed a little. It was just a nightmare, I thought to myself. I went to itch my head when I saw that my hand had a red mark on it, and was strangely warm. My hair was pushed out of my eyes, like someone was stroking it. And there was a crease on my bed from where someone was sitting...

The end! Hope you liked it.

Modern Day Story of Carmilla

Here is a rough draft of Chapter One of Carmilla, written in the setting of the present day world. I do not think that I will write the whole story since it would be super long, but for now this is chapter one. Hope it makes sense to you guys!

If you have ever heard of the town of Cama de Sol, it would be known to you that not a lot of people reside there. It would also be known to you that it is an island, just off the coast of Costa Rica. The island itself is quite large, dense with vegetation and wildlife. But only a few people have the desire to reside there, including Doctor Hanson on the north side with his wife Sue, and a retired army general deep inland. An older woman named Patricia and her orderly friend Linda, reside on the west side, close to a beautiful lagoon. The south side belongs to a very wealthy family with a grand estate and a boat dock. The inhabitants of that estate include my father and I.

My mother died when I was young, and it has been just me and my father ever since. Of course, Patricia Perrodon and Linda Livingston contributed greatly to filling in the role of my mother, but nonetheless it has been difficult. I never met my mother—she died while giving me life but not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. My father moved to the island of Cama de Sol where we now reside ever since her death to escape reality and start a new life for us; he was never good with dealing with his emotions. He got a job as a fisherman but since my mother’s family was very well-off, neither he nor I ever need to work; he just works to keep his mind off certain things and to feel important in the world. He feels as though money needs to be earned to be valued. Contrary to his belief however, my father buys me everything—clothes, jewelry, and recently, a new Kawasaki STX-15F jet ski. My father must think that spoiling me will fill the void of not having a mother in the picture, but I still feel emptiness, despite the fact that she died when I was only a little baby. Being an only child is nice, but it’s definitely lonely sometimes—actually make that all the time, especially since there are only 4 people who live close enough to socialize with. And none of those people are under the age of 50. Needless to say I have never really had a true friend my age—no play dates when I was younger, nothing—there’s no one to play with on an island. My father had homeschooled me with Ms. Perrodon all my life so I never experienced public school. So, material items have been filling that void as well. But at 17 I felt the need to have a friend more than ever before. I needed to know things—girl things—things that I felt weird asking Ms. Perrodon or Ms. Livingston. I needed someone to talk to and who could relate to me; someone who had answers to my lingering questions. The only other girl I could think of who fit closest to that description is somewhat of a joke—she’s not even real. When I was younger, I had a dream unlike any other; I had a dream of seeing a girl’s face, and she was very pretty. She was kneeling by my bedside, stroking my hair and kissed my forehead. I remember feeling very comforted, but only a moment after feeling that comfort I felt a sharp pain in my chest, almost like it was being stabbed. I remember awaking in a startle, crying out for my mother but only to have my father come charging in the room with a scared look on his face. When I told him my vision, he ensured me that it was only a dream and that everything’s okay. However I could not keep my eyes from darting back to the place where I saw the girl kneeling on my bed. I tried convincing myself that it was just a dream but something about it just seemed too real. Little did I know that my eyes would grace this face again...

Well, that's chapter one! Let me know if I could improve/fix anything. So, in this class I have learned a whole lot more than I expected. First off, I learned how to dig deep into a novel and sort of "dissect" it, finding out the reasons behind the characters, plot, setting, etc. I was also taking a blues poetry class this semester and I learned this skill in that class too, so I'm proud to say I am now experienced and can interpret compositions a lot more easily than I used to be able to. I also learned about the Irish culture, and that it is not just a pretty green country, but that it suffered a lot of struggle and turmoil throughout its years. I learned about the Celtic Tiger, the Irish separation, and the famine that wiped out much of the country. I want to say that I'm very happy I took this course, and that the work was challenging but rewarding at the same time. I would definitely reccomend taking this class to anyone, because it flexes your brain and pushes you to think in even the most abstract ways to understand things. I just want to say thank you all for helping me in this class and contributing to my learning (as cheesy as it sounds!) I wish you all luck in continuing your education!! xo - Morgan

Ghosts, Gatherings, and...Cinco de Mayo!

From Colleen's Blog...."With the spectre of Liam haunting Veronica's every move, The Gathering is very much a ghost story. Avery Gordon in his book Ghostly Matters writes,

“Haunting was the language and the experiential modality by which I tried to reach an understanding of the meeting of force and meaning, because haunting is one way in which abusive systems of power make themselves known and their impacts felt in everyday life, especially when they are supposedly over and done with (slavery, for instance) or when their oppressive nature is denied (as in free labor or national security). Haunting is not the same as being exploited, traumatized, or oppressed, although it usually involves these experiences or is produced by them. What’s distinctive about haunting is that it is an animated state in which a repressed or unresolved social violence is making itself known, sometimes very directly, sometimes more obliquely. I used the term haunting to describe those singular yet repetitive instances when home becomes unfamiliar, when your bearings on the world lose direction, when the over-and-done-with comes alive, when what’s been in your blind spot comes into view. Haunting raises specters, and it alters the experience of being in time, the way we separate the past, the present, and the future. These specters or ghosts appear when the trouble they represent and symptomize is no longer being contained or repressed or blocked from view. The ghost, as I understand it, is not the invisible or some ineffable excess. The whole essence, if you can use that word, of a ghost is that it has a real presence and demands its due, your attention. Haunting and the appearance of specters or ghosts is one way, I tried to suggest, we are notified that what’s been concealed is very much alive and present, interfering precisely with those always incomplete forms of containment and repression carelessly directed toward us.” (xvi)"

Whoa. This passage is very interesting, and well thought out in my opinion. Avery Gordon makes a great point on what a haunting consists of (in his eyes) and what it really entails. I liked the part, “Haunting raises specters, and it alters the experience of being in time, the way we separate the past, the present, and the future. These specters or ghosts appear when the trouble they represent and symptomize is no longer being contained or repressed or blocked from view.”

It seems as though The Gathering truly is a ghost story, with this in mind. Veronica manages to sort of “ruffle up” the “ghosts of the past” and it is seen in this novel in her “night thoughts” and through the “presence” of her now dead brother Liam. It is also sort of seen when she goes back to the past in her point of view of what she thought happened. Just the actions she uncovers and the scenery alone prove to be haunting; going back and uncovering a secret as vast as the one she uncovered can be haunting enough, without the presence of another “being.”

Also this week we were supposed to post another passage about our ideas for our final project and well, although I have somewhat of an idea of what I could do, I don't know if it will be sufficient enough to fit the criteria we have to match...if anyone has a creative idea of what to do please, feel free to comment! I could use all the help I can get.

By the way Happy Cinco de Mayo everyone!!

There Are Tigers In Ireland?

This week’s reading was a mixture of sadness, unfortunate events, and powerfulness. The Gathering is a book that I remember looking at two years ago while browsing for books at my local library, and it’s so strange that I came across it again in this class. I thought that the options we had to write about for this blog were interesting, and I thought that for this week I would do some historical research (since I never choose that option) and see what I could find that pertains to this story.

I decided to look up Celtic Tiger and found that Celtic Tiger is actually a term that describes a time of supreme growth economically, which occurred between 1995 and 2007 in Ireland. When I read this it mildly shocked me that this was quite recent---more recent than I had predicted. We have been studying novels and excerpts from texts that date back, well, further than two years ago and so it was a nice surprise to know that I have been alive during this time when this occurred! One other interesting thing I found was the real meaning behind the term Celtic Tiger. The term stemmed from the supreme growth of tigers in East Asia from the late 80’s to early 90’s. This represented the same growth but with economical facets in Ireland. I’m not a big economics fanatic nor do I fully understand the topic but I know that the economy always has a cycle, and once you reach the top, the next step is to decline (like we are in right now) and Ireland did that in 2009. Recently this past February, a report commented that the money in Ireland wasn’t invested intelligently or efficiently, and now they are worse off than they were before the boom. Now other countries (seeing Ireland’s mistake and having all the potential Ireland had before the Celtic Tiger) claim that they are capable of creating the same sort of Celtic Tiger phenomenon, except by removing the name Tiger and putting another type of big cat or animal in its place (like Scotland using the term Lion.)

The aftermath of this situation looks grim. Exclusive people have been describing the outlook of Ireland’s economic situation as poor, bleak, and dire. However, they are at least not the only country in the world experiencing this sort of economic downfall and turmoil. When the economy does it’s cycle, the whole world is involved and things eventually take their place and resume once again. However, with the growing world and development of stronger countries, who knows WHEN that will be.

In relation to material items and the value of things, the Celtic Tiger really was a big change for Ireland’s possession of wealth. In the stories we have read in class, almost all of the characters were far from being well-off. But what’s interesting about the stories is that most of the characters (at least the main characters) preferred non-materialistic things over materialistic things. For example, in Carmilla, all that Carmilla desired was Laura. And the people of Ireland endured tough hardships like the plague and the Irish potato famine, but still found beauty and pride in their country. In Dorian Gray, the desire wasn’t material, it was to be forever youthful, or to preserve his age. In Portrait of the Artist, the main goal was finding oneself, not having all the riches in the world or anything like that. And finally in Breakfast, all Pussy really longed for was a family and a sense of belonging (although a cute pair of shoes wouldn’t hurt!) For Veronica in The Gathering, her main goal was just finding out the reason of things---finding out what drove her brother to kill himself, and uncovering the rest of her family’s secrets. It just goes to show that although Ireland wasn’t a wealthy country, through its stories you can find solace in non-materialistic things, and you don’t need those things in order to be happy, and I think this message is subliminally or maybe intentionally brought out in many of the novels we have read so far this semester.

Literary Criticism on Lacanian Pussy

Lit Crit. On Lacanian Pussy

*So, this week I’m happy to report that I’m feeling somewhat better and am caught up with my work. Although doing a literary analysis on “Lacanian Pussy” wasn’t the easiest job in the world (especially in terms of keeping my focus!), I managed to get it done. I wasn’t exactly expecting to incorporate so much psychology information in my essay but I also didn’t expect “Lacanian Pussy” to have so many psychological references in it! Though I am taking a psychology class online, it is way less advanced than the terms mentioned in this piece. So although it may seem a bit scatterbrained and unsure, I did my best.*

With the numerous mentions of “Lacanian psychoanalysis” throughout this piece, I decided to first look up the definition of that. I found that Lacanian psychoanalysis is the theory and clinical practice of psychoanalyst James Lacan. James Lacan brings us back to Freud and Carmilla, but goes even further on the road of bizarre. Like Sigmund Freud, James Lacan’s work is based mainly on the unconscious and the ego (id, ego, and superego). It also features something called the “castration complex,” which I found was by definition: the fear of emasculation literally and metaphorically. There are also notable ideas which are talked about in the article that Lacan came up with himself. These include The Real, The Symbolic, The Imaginary, and the Mirror Stage. The discussion of “Breakfast on Pluto” doesn’t really start until the mentioning of Lacanian psychoanalysis, and up until then Peter Mahon discusses Irish culture, history, and background in context to other Irish films and novels of the time.

When he begins mentioning “Pluto,” he states, “What is perhaps unique about Breakfast on Pluto is that its exploration of the psycho-dynamics of the Troubles is suggestive of the concepts and techniques of Lacanian psychoanalysis.” He mentions the Troubles in this statement, which are another term for the period of ethno-political issues dating from 1960-1998.He then continues with an in depth explanation of the relationship of Lacanian psychoanalysis and the novel. It is in this paragraph where most of his analysis is stated, so I wanted to further dissect both this paragraph and the novel to state my analysis. Before I do that though, Mahon also mentions something called “The rhetoric of sameness.” I had to research what exactly he meant by that, and couldn’t really pin point anything. So, I broke down the saying and translated “rhetoric” into “persuasive speech” and “sameness” into “similarity”. I am not sure if Mahon meant a deeper meaning of “rhetoric of sameness” but what I got from it is considering males and females as ‘one’ or ‘the same.’ But I am not completely sure since I couldn’t find a good definition or explanation of it on the internet. What I did find was a use of that phrase while comparing a strong-willed female to a male, so I had to take a guess on what it really meant.

Mahon continues the paragraph with, “The text's exploration of the Troubles in this manner makes it possible to see how the rhetoric of sameness is not only indebted to Lacanian psychoanalysis, but is also, as a result, shaped by the phallo-centric politics of authoritarianism that restricts the formulation of desire and the signifier as developed in Lacan's work. In the place of this politically charged, authoritarian, and phallocentric rhetoric of sameness, Breakfast on Pluto offers the reader an alternative, non-phallic mode of intervening in the discourse of sameness and political violence.” Now, back to the psychological part of the analysis. To further understand Lacanian psychoanalysis, Mirror Stage needs to be further explained. The Mirror Stage is Lacan’s first real contribution to his work, and it “describes the formation of the Ego via the process of objectification, the Ego being the result of feeling dissension between one's perceived visual appearance and one's perceived emotional reality.” (Wiki7) This is also known as alienation. This is seen in the book with Pussy’s cross-dressing and desire to be a woman. There is a deeper and more elaborate explanation of the Mirror Stage, but it doesn’t immediately pertain to neither the book or Mahon’s piece, so I’m not going to divulge into it. The three orders are also part of Lacanian psychoanalysis, but I don’t feel that it is necessary to understanding this novel; technically, you could apply any amount of psychology on this piece and every psychoanalyst or psychologist will have some sort of explanation of what goes on in the book on a psychological level. However, Mahon writes an interesting paragraph concerning one of the orders, The Imaginary, which I found interesting. It reads, “For Lacan, the imaginary is the psychical site where the child's ego is formed through its identification with the bodily image that the child sees in either a mirror or another child (Ecrits, p.130). Once this idealized bodily image takes shape, it becomes what Lacan calls the 'semblable' or double--the 'other' that forevermore shapes, and simultaneously frustrates, the ego and its desire. (20) Because the ego is always exiled in the image of another, it is always marked with separation, alienation, and doubling, which in turns affects what the ego wants: T will always want what the 'other' has, not because T 'really' and 'truly' want it, but because the 'other' has or wants it.”

After reading this paragraph it has come to my knowledge that although Mahon has talked quite a bit about Lacanian psychoanalysis, he hasn’t really made any significant comparisons to “Breakfast on Pluto.” Did he describe perhaps why Pussy has a violently compulsive and obsessive relationship with finding his mother? He mentions it but never explains what realm of psychology could prove why he feels that way. Forgive me for writing in a “stream of consciousness”-like method here but as I read this piece I couldn’t really figure out who Mahon was trying to prove his theories to—the reader or himself? He does a fine job of explaining for instance what The Imaginary is and what Mirror Stage is but he never really explains how that relates to Breakfast On Pluto. I would have enjoyed this literary criticism piece a whole lot more if I saw more conclusions drawn between the novel and Lacanian psychoanalysis, and though I would draw those conclusions myself, I’m no psychologist. In other words, I am not really sure what the purpose of this piece was! I would love if anyone else held an explanation for me. Does anyone else have a guess or disagreement?

Works Cited

“Lacanian Psychoanalysis: Description”. Changing-minds.org. Web. 20 Apr. 2010.

http://changingminds.org/disciplines/psychoanalysis/articles/lacanian_psychoanalysis.htm

Clark, Robert. "Castration Complex". The Literary Encyclopedia. Web. 20 Apr 2010 http://www.litencyc.com/php/stopics.php?rec=true&UID=1601

“Jacques Lacan”. Wikipedia. Web. 19 Apr 2010.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Lacan

Mahon, Peter. “Lacanian Pussy: towards a psychoanalytic reading of Patrick McCabe’s Breakfast on Pluto”. Web. 20 Apr 2010.
http://www.accessmylibrary.com/article-1G1-172978392/lacanian-pussy-towards-psychoanalytic.html

I missed Breakfast this morning...Now onto my Creative Project..

So this week I have been sick with the flu and have been at home 3 hours away from campus. Needless to say I have fallen behind on work this week :/ so I haven't started Breakfast On Pluto yet, but I plan on going to the library once I feel better and will have a blog ready for next week.
Anyways, for my creative project I was thinking of doing a video-montage type thing maybe of Carmilla or Portrait or Dorian Gray. I think it would be interesting to re-create the sea scene in Portrait of the Artist, or the scene in Carmilla when they meet for the first (2nd) time. I still have to think about what exactly I'm going to do, but I know it will be some sort of video or picture. I love to express myself creatively and take advantage of every opportunity I have to do it. I know this blog is vague (not to mention, late!) and I apologize but this week has been no bueno for me. If anyone has any ideas they would like to pitch to me, I would greatly appreciate it. Thanks!

Feed The Fish...Creative take on A Portrait

I LOVE doing creative work so I was excited when we got the opportunity to write about an epiphany in our own lives! Needless to say, I chose that option for this week’s reading. I never really told anyone this story before, because I hate reliving it and seeing the opportunity I had missed. Door County is an extremely small county composed of several small towns. The town I live in has the highest concentration of elderly people in the United States. Or at least that’s what’s been rumored. I tried my best to write this in the voice of James Joyce but found it very difficult considering two things: One, I am currently taking a blues poetry class and have been writing compositions for that class, so if this sounds poetic, that’s why and I apologize! And two, James Joyce does not write modernly, using words like cell phone or Hollywood. So it sounds sort of silly when I tried to make it sound like him. It also sounds silly how I wrote it in third person but that’s how A Portrait was written. Moreover, I hope you enjoy this story, and yes it is true!

It was crowded. Children, adults, elders packed the musty room, smelling of snow. December in Door County was never bare of that burden. However that was expected—that was wanted for the sheriff scene, outside of the town hall were those people were now waiting. The light was fading and they wrapped up filming, but not before one last take. Tony Shalhoub in his fake mustache and police jacket put on his character and finished, not a second too late when the sun disappeared. He gazed out at it as the director yelled “Cut!” and a small smiled crept across his face. Time for the next scene.

Inside the town hall, amidst people she’d seen many times in her life, sat a seventeen-year-old girl in a white and black plaid coat. Her hair hung low, styled in soft brown curls, and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Morgan was her name. She had lived in this town all of her life and never had she been graced with such an opportunity. Her heart had always longed for the film, trying out for plays, musicals and whatnot, hoping to play a different character in a different life; hoping to break free from a town full of the elderly and unmotivated. She saw a sign a few weeks prior for extras and suddenly there was hope again in her world. Even if it was the smallest contribution to something bigger than herself, she wanted to do it. So she had gotten out of her high school early on the day of the shoot, and made an appointment at the salon, the clients around her in for their monthly touch-ups. It may seem silly to some, but this was important to her…so important. When she was finished she headed down to the film spot, and waited, for five hours. Sometimes Hollywood runs the clock. And so she waited.

The drone of a fifty-year-old’s smoke-heavy voice woke her from her daze: “Alright people we’re ready to film the Christmas concert scene. Please keep your cellular phones OFF, not on vibrate. We are going to rearrange some seating now as well. Thanks for your patience.” The old wooden benches creaked and groaned with the removal and replacement of the people who were dressed the best. About fifty people in horrible holiday sweaters, puffy coats and festive dresses were moved around, one of them including Morgan. “We love your jacket, and want you to be in the focused shot,” a guy who looked like Ryan Dunn told her. She was moved from the back middle to the inside front; her stomach bubbled with blissful excitement. She smiled to herself. Although it was going to be only a shot from her back, she felt like she was on top of the world.

A few more preparations were made and then it was put into action. Ross Partridge ran in and down the town hall through the benches that were set up like pews. At the slam of the door, the audience members were to look back, confused, and Morgan did just that. During a break from that scene, the man who looked like Ryan Dunn checked on the extras and gave tips. When he got to her row, he touched her shoulder and said, “Nice job, that was perfect.” Needless to say she got butterflies again. And during another break after the shoot of the scene, with a camera positioned right next to her, Morgan struck up a conversation with the operator. The director was there too. She shyly mentioned that he looked like George Clooney, and he laughed, “Well I have gotten that before, I have to say. You know, you could be somebody.” And with that line Morgan was soaring. She should have told him how baldy she wanted to be an actress. She should have said how it was her dream. But instead she told herself no, for what reason she could not remember and said, “People have told me that I look like Leona Lewis…” Michael Matzdorff claimed that he wasn’t aware of who she was, smiled politely, and walked off to continue directing. It was as he was walking away that Morgan realized something. She just blew a possible chance to network a connection with a movie director. The one time when her town actually gets a movie filmed in it—the one opportunity she has to even have a chance at becoming known, she blows it.

At that moment, through the disappointment and disbelief, Morgan had an epiphany, and swore to never again let an important opportunity pass her up. She had held back from a lot of things in life that could have helped her get farther than she is today because she used excuses, was too lazy, or “didn’t feel like it” at the time. After the director walked away, filming only continued for twenty minutes, and then the extras were no longer needed. Michael Matzdorff disappeared into a private area, and Morgan was ushered out. She appeared in the movie, her back being the actress, but that moment still lives inside her. It has pushed her to make the most out of life today, and she now knows never to let such an opportunity pass her up again.

The movie is a small independent movie called Feed The Fish, and has not been released yet but should be relatively soon! J

Portrait of the Artist

I hope everyone had a great spring break...didn't seem long enough! Anyways, I thought this reading this week was funny, I enjoyed the whole "moocow" phrase, as that's what my younger brother used to call cattle. It was an interesting read nonetheless and I enjoyed it.

What I think is most interesting in this novel is that there are the existing themes of religion, the role of an artist, and individuality, but there is also a theme of the human finding themselves throughout the turmoil of life despite the consequences of their actions, expectations of others, and obstacles they face. This is seen throughout this entire novel; the reader sort of goes on a timeline adventure of Stephen Dedalus's life, and more so James Joyce's life, since this IS a semi-autobiographical novel. I found through some research that this story was based off of a novel called Stephen Hero, but completely rewritten. Joyce was writing that novel when he became frustrated at what his wife, Nora had said it would never be published. I like how this novel is based off of Joyce's life, because I like when authors are brave enough to write about their life--from their success and failures to their dreams and most intimate of thoughts...basically I like autobiographies that are somewhat stories as well.

I found that this novel was highly relatable, even for someone living in the 21st century. The scene where Stephen goes for a walk on the beach and sees the beautiful young girl which triggers an epiphany is very relatable. The beginning of the epiphany starts with this passage..

“A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.”

He uses such delicate language when describing her, which hints what is coming to the reader. He continues with:

“She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither; and a faint flame trembled on her cheek.

-- Heavenly God! cried Stephen's soul, in an outburst of profane joy.”

This one line is the climax of the entire story. Joyce does an excellent job with imagery too—I can picture the whole thing in my head. It’s such a powerful passage, it makes the reader happy for him and gives a wave of relief (at least for me) that he realizes this. I became so attatched to the character of Stephen I guess simply because I could relate to the hardship of coming into one’s own and finding themselves. Continuing with the epiphany:

“He turned away from her suddenly and set off across the strand. His cheeks were aflame; his body was aglow; his limbs were trembling. On and on and on and on he strode, far out over the sands, singing wildly to the sea, crying to greet the advent of the life that had cried to him… To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on!”

He realizes that love is natural to want, and that beauty shouldn't be a shame to desire, like how the church reinforces. He feels as though there should be no boundaries and doesn't want to conform or abide to any religion or other set of rules. That is why he chooses to live his life as the most liberating thing he can be--an artist. I personally can relate to a society where there are certain expectations you as a young adult have to live up to in order to be formally 'accepted' by society. Even if people don't admit or act that way, it's still in the subconscious. To further explain what I mean, look at homosexuality in today's world. Although it is becoming more widely accepted, most people still find it 'wrong' or they don't accept it, due to their religion or even just their personal beliefs. This can parallel to Portrait of the Artist in a way that is different but works. I have more things to say about this piece, but I’ll save it for next week. :)

Also, now I know who that picture is of on our teacher's homepage!

The Gay Artist as a Tragic Hero

Reading this week’s homework was less enjoyable than the story (which is expected) but it was also very interesting to gain Alley’s insight on Oscar Wilde’s story. I thought that Henry M. Alley did a good job thoroughly depicting Oscar Wilde’s story about Dorian Gray. Even the title was nicely and accurately thought out—I could definitely agree with Alley and say that Basil is the gay artist but more so the tragic hero in this story. I particularly liked this passage,

“…The Picture of Dorian Gray is an impassioned affirmation of homoerotic love and its

healthy potential, since such love comprises the interior theatre for a compelling tragic drama, giving

new meaning to Wilde's statement, "Hallward is what I think I am" (Wilde qtd. in Hart-Davis 116). In

The Wilde Century: Effeminacy, Oscar Wilde, and the Queer Moment, Alan Sinfield writes that

"Hallward comes closest to same-sex passion and is an artist, so we have one correlate in the Wildean

queer image" (101)….”

When Alley writes this, he gives a broad statement. He says that The Picture of Dorian Gray has a definite meaning/theme, which is homoerotic love as he calls it, and that makes it a good and interesting story for readers to become intrigued with because it is so filled with compelling drama that is almost scandalous. Now as for the meaning of “homoerotic love,” I found a few things. Wikipedia (I hope this is an alright source to use…) claims that:

“Homoeroticism refers to the erotic attraction between members of the same sex, either male-male (male homosexuality) or female-female (lesbianism),^[2] most especially as it is depicted or manifested in the visual arts and literature. It can also be found in performative forms; from theatre to the theatricality of uniformed movements (e.g., the Wandervogel and Gemeinschaft der Eigenen). According to Oxford English Dictionary, it's "pertaining to or characterised by a tendency for erotic emotions to be centred on a person of the same sex; or pertaining to a homo-erotic person.” (Wikipedia) So that relates to the novel in the sense that Basil had become “infatuated,” so to speak, with Dorian and his striking good looks. He even mentions that Dorian is “necessary to him.” This “homoerotic” relationship can also be seen between Dorian and Lord Henry. Although there are other women introduced in the novel, like Sybil and Lord Henry’s wife Victoria, they do not keep the mind off of the possible “homosexual undertones” of the story. Both women appear to be very unimportant and are kind of dismissed as being naïve. It’s almost like Wilde wanted to provide an ulterior view of the story, so that people reading it can view it as having homoerotic circumstances in the story and also the view of misunderstanding of the bond between Lord Henry, Basil and Dorian. Although, if you knew about Oscar Wilde, you would probably lean towards the view of noticing the homoerotic undertones.

Other than that, I liked Alley’s interpretation of the meaning behind the story and I think he dissected it well, though it got kind of confusing to read at times I think I understood most of it.

Btw I hope this green font is easy to read, I thought I'd get in the spirit of St. Patrick's day, since this IS Irish Literature! :)

I Love Oscar Wilde

This week’s reading was pretty enjoyable for me; I love a good story with a moral and a twist, and I love Oscar Wilde. Starting out, it seemed as though this story was going to take a while to read but I found myself flipping through the pages (via mouse clicks) quite quickly. Oscar Wilde was one of my favorite writers to study in high school; I loved The Importance of Being Earnest. Having read these this play and now this story, I have concluded that Wilde is very good at writing novels with very clever endings.

Wilde was (appropriately) an Irish writer, and I researched him and found that The Picture of Dorian Gray is his only novel. I also found that Wilde’s family had experienced quite a bit of tragedy during Wilde’s early years. Perhaps this lead to Wilde’s homosexuality, which was discovered by the public when he was arrested for gross indecency, or sexual acts with a man. It’s interesting to me how in Carmilla’s story, homosexuality seemed to not be such a big deal to write about, but then in Oscar Wilde’s case, it was a very serious “criminal act.” Although, Carmilla is a fiction story. But I still wonder if maybe Carmilla is a subliminal message and small petition, if you’d call it, for gay rights? However, I took the story of Carmilla a lot differently than I noticed other classmates did, so who knows. Everyone’s views are different.

But back to the story for this week. I enjoyed it a lot. I could go on and on and explain what I thought every chapter of the story meant but for space & time's sake I'll just stick to this end chunk. Oscar Wilde writes enjoyable pieces with clever morals. I just want to say that the scene when Dorian stabs the painting and ends up getting the knife in his heart, was really where all of my anticipation led up to. “He looked round and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward.
He had cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it.
It was bright, and glistened. As it had killed the painter,
so it would kill the painter's work, and all that that meant.
It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free.
It would kill this monstrous soul-life, and without its hideous warnings,
he would be at peace. He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture
with it…”

I have to say it was quite predictable what would happen, but I have read hundreds of books and have seen hundreds of movies so still I thought it was quite clever. The line where he says, “It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free,” is most interesting to me. The knife did indeed kill the past—the past that was living within him. But yet it restored the past to the painting. Not the effects of the past, which is what I believe the aging was, but since it restored Dorian to his full youth, I believe it preserved himself in the past, long before his past was ever a bad thing. So, in a way, it got rid of the past like he said, but just the part of his past that was regretful.

I also liked the quote, “Youth had spoiled him.” I believe this is a very powerful quote from the novel, because it is the sum of what the whole story is about. If Dorian hadn’t spent all of his focus on staying young, he would had never had the problems he went through---the aging. He still aged from trying to stay young, and it showed in the picture of him. His mind still aged, and further endorses the quote “Beauty is only skin deep.”

Carmilla Continued.....

Hey guys…Sorry if I skip around a lot in this blog, I just got very excited about incorporating psychology into this week’s reading, so bear with me!

(<-----Freud)

When I saw the name Freud pop up in this reading, I knew there would be a whole lot of nonsense going on and I would be rolling my eyes. I have taken many psychology classes in high school and now one in college and I find myself not being a big fan of Freud and his ‘philosophies.’ Though I don’t like Freud, I was open to the argument posed in this reading and I read it with an open mind. After reading it, I could draw connections between Freud’s theories, thoughts, and views on subliminal ‘messages’ the human brain unconsciously thinks and the story of Carmilla. Freud wrote a book (as you read in the reading) called The Interpretation of Dreams, which became very well known for its interesting and unconventional take on what dreams really mean and what the human mind is really unconsciously thinking. I had to read this part of this book and reviews of this book for my high school psychology course and quickly figured out that Freud was extremely, EXTREMELY strange. But, for the sake of writing an unbiased blog, like I said before I kept an open mind about the connections between his theories and Carmilla.

So, back to the reading…From the beginning I liked how Michael Davis stated, “Dreams are often enigmatic and enigma, as we know, also lies at the heart of the Gothic.” I like how this was said, because I think it is very true. I haven’t done much Gothic reading myself, but I have read some Edgar Allan Poe (The Fall of the House of Usher, The Tell-Tale Heart) and have found his stories to be extremely mysterious but in the most fascinating way—very enigmatic. So connecting dreams with the Gothic through enigma is very perfect, I’ll say, because both are so full of wonder, perhaps muddled darkness, and, as certain psychologists deem, full of meaning. In Carmilla, the story starts out with a dream which is just the beginning of all the puzzling mystery yet to come but the coolest thing, to me at least, is that it’s a dream in a gothic story—sort of like a double dose of enigma, which is what I think the quote I mentioned up above is stating.

Back to Freud…in the reading they mention “latent content” of dreams and “manifest content” of dreams. Latent content is basically the “disguised” meaning of dreams hidden by more obvious subjects, and manifest content is basically the story line of dreams. In the reading, Michael Davis writes, “…the manifest content ‘is given as it were in the form of hieroglyphics whose signs are to be translated one by one into the language of the dream thoughts’.4 Only by deciphering the picture puzzle that is the manifest content can the psychoanalyst reach the latent dream thoughts or those forbidden and thus repressed wishes and desires disguised by the dream

work.” Then he says, “Like a rebus, Gothic encodes its meanings; its signifiers form a puzzle that demands to be translated.”

So you can see, there is an obvious relation between dreams and the Gothic. See, with Sigmund Freud, I’m not much of a believer when it comes to his thoughts on certain things. I was apprehensive about what Michael Davis was saying in this piece because I know that Freud had some really messed up theories about dreams (at least they were messed up in my mind) like dreaming of flying translating into wanting to have sexual intercourse and dreaming of a baseball bat translating into dreaming about the male reproductive system. However, though I don't agree with Freud on those things (I’m no psychologist but hey, everyone has their own thoughts & opinions) I do think that the connection made using Freud’s latent content and manifest content in relation to the Gothic was done very well. Does that make sense?

Have a great week everyone!