Thoughts on, and Murders of, Simpering Muggles and their Analysis of Maupassant

The idea of splitting one’s soul is a rather delicious concept available for those who are strong enough to seek power. However, according to the scholarly authors who study Maupassant’s short story, “The Diary of a Madman”, it is one to be feared and desperately avoided. According to their minds, this “romantic doppelganger” of a split personality, is not one created in a bid for power but instead as a reaction to the helplessness of a Muggle’s capacity to understand the inner workings of their mind. They are destroyed by the systems they create and their inability to understand their inferior nature. Muggles are therefore not power-loving, having sought the right path, but weak beings who can’t understand and come to terms with the true gift of an easily separated soul they have been given.

The idea that Muggles are clearly the inferior race, and therefore ought to be eradicated for the betterment of wizard-kind, is fully supported in the text, The Rhetoric of Pessimism and Strategies of Containment in the Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant. The simple Muggle who wrote the text obviously thought himself to be of a superior nature for I could have killed a good four Muggles in the time it took me to read the title. Nevertheless, hidden amongst the simpering “highbrow” wordings of this pathetic creature’s academia, there lies a true gem. Mr. Dave Bryant, the source of my annoyance (and that irritating screaming coming from the basement of Lucius’ Manor that I now occupy), made the most intriguing discovery. In Maupassant’s story “the hero is prey to his own mind... limited in his ability to contain and understand the source of the anguish because of the imperfection of his senses” (pg. 94). Bryant, a Muggle himself, acknowledges that Muggles are inferior beings, their senses not being as in tune as their society and their brains demand. They can’t even riddle out the musings of their own mind! It’s no wonder that poor sod in “The Diary of a Madman” fell into the realm of carnivorous madness. His weak senses, his weak perceptions, didn’t allow him to see that murder is no reason to anguish. It’s quite simple actually. However the magistrate gave into his darker nature for he was awash with the fabricated idea of murder being wrong and unable to fully understand the ideas his brain was trying to formulate.

Not all Muggle authors are fools though, as W.G. Moore, editor of Maupassant: Short Stories, proves. For this, he gets the presidential cell instead of being thrown in amongst the other animals. Whilst I skimmed his argument to the sounds of his screams, I noticed that he managed to concur and build off of the ideas of Bryant. He concludes that “[The source of fear] is not the realm of the occult...but the sense that reality is even far worse than appearance if only we could see it; and even more disturbing is the knowledge that our sense are constantly deceiving us” (pg. 33). What genius from such a filthy tongue! I almost feel bad for having it sliced out. But no matter, for he knows! A Muggle actually breached through their hazy realm of existence in which they believe themselves to be the all superior being and have nothing to fear, and acknowledged that something they cannot grasp is at large and actively seeking to possess their souls. Now, whether or not he realized that such a world that lay beyond their sense was actually the superior wizarding race forced into shameful hiding, and that the one actively seeking to possess them would be me wanting nothing more than to turn them into a fresh batch of Inferi, is up for debate. But it almost gives a tug at your heart, if I had one of those useless things, to read of their ability to try and understand their ignorance. It’s also highly ironic that in their quest to avoid this unknown world, Muggles have created a rigidly structured society which produces these lapses into the dark reality they so desperately try to hide from. This I can appreciate more fully for it is much more enjoyable to laugh at the disgusting things.  

Now I’m not usually a Dark Lord to play favorites. It gets too messy. But of Harris’ Maupassant in the Hall of Mirrors I am rather partial for the sheer humor he manages to extract from the realm of Muggle life. He pulls from Maupassant’s story the idea of the “romantic doppelganger” or the “theme of the ‘other’, the terrifying double who haunts the narrator” (pg. 169). Oh I cackled at this very line so loudly that Nagini stopped her evening feast on Harris’ flesh to give me a reproachful stare. I implored her to see the humor in the entire ordeal. Muggles are the weakest creatures. Whiny, pathetic, unable to cope with their own minds to point of falling into a pitiful madness, mostly unaware that something more macabre stirs at the edges of their flimsy reality, and yet, they possess the greatest gift and complete it with such an ease that Maupassant connects this happening to an everyman, a nobody. They can split their souls! Armed with nothing more than their feeble minds and their growing paranoia (although that could be the after effects of my new terror campaign), they are able to create this other dark entity that splits off from themselves. They are a race of beings who are haunted by Horocruxes and have no idea the power of the gift they have been given! If they ever managed to harness that ability, to choose the path of power instead of weakness, the great things they could accomplish I dare not even dream. But as Bryant and Harris elaborated on before, they are completely without the means to understand what they possess.  

From a simpleton’s point of view, pathetic Muggles could almost be pitiable creatures. They are blessed with the greatest gift, born with the expanse of the oceans at their disposable and are, at the same time, given a fork to consume it with. They have no control over their own minds, falling prey to the complex workings and going mad. They are unable to fully identify the occult reality beyond their own, falling prey to paranoia of the unknown and going mad. And they are haunted by a gift turned terror, falling prey to their inability to recognize what they have been given or at least reconcile the two sides of their personality and going mad. I’m starting to note a pattern. Maupassant’s story is one that is more than just the diary of a single madman, but rather it is a prophecy to his own race about their doomed nature. All Muggles are ensnared in this web with no means out. Madness is not something to be feared or to be scorned, but rather embraced for all Muggles are mad, every last filthy one, and because of their societal constructs, their scorn of the unknown, their constant fear and paranoia, they shall never rise from the pit of madness into which they have fallen. 

Works Cited:

Bryant, David. The Rhetoric of Pessimism and Strategies of Containment in the
     Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant. Lewiston: Mellen, 1993. Print. 

 Harris, Trevor A. Le V. Maupassant in the Hall of Mirrors. New York: St.
     Martin's, 1990. Print. 

 Sullivan, Edward D. Maupassant: The Short Stories. London: Arnold, 1962. Print.

   

Exposition and Academic Context for Chekhov’s “A Doctor’s Visit”

Today’s guest: Mark Campbell, PhD. 

Dept. of Literary Arts, Gotham University 

At the request of a Mr. H. A. Joker

It comes as no surprise to a reader acquainted with the writings of Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that a small, seemingly inconspicuous detail can often trigger incendiary results. Coming from the man who famously mandated that if a playwright “has a gun hanging on the wall in the first act, it must fire by the last,” even an incoherent telegraph is a fitting catalyst for a journey to hell and back. In his article, “The Hero’s Descent to the Underworld in Chekhov,” Michael Finke identifies the motif of katabasis, a hero’s literal or figurative descent into an underworld, in several of Chekhov’s works including, most notably for this discussion (following its appearance in certain previous correspondence), the short story “A Doctor’s Visit.” 

The story revolves around the devil, as Korolyov says. During one of his night-time reveries we perceive, quite explicitly, the structure of evil in Madame Lyalikov’s factory, with its windows blazing like “crimson eyes,” and then again implicitly in the system of power that governs the relationship between “the strong and the weak.” It is in these two forms that the main antagonist reveals itself to the hero, and it is certainly plausible to read Korolyov’s introverted passage through the night as a voyage through darkness, a voyage through an underworld that is at once quietly and conspicuously menacing. Following this reading, Liza’s illness, which intensifies in the evening, may be innocuous in origin—Korolyov insists that there is nothing especially wrong with her, suggesting that her problem is psychological—and simultaneously life-threatening—her heart palpitations, which prompt the house call, are nearly fatal. Both of Korolyov’s ideas of the devil exert their influence in the night; therefore he is, as Finke describes it, “a shaman wandering the underworld” (72), a human in the realm of demons. 

Finke continues on to note that Korolyov’s mood shifts dramatically in the story’s denouement. He attributes the sudden revelatory happiness of the doctor to a return to the normal world, the surface of the earth, where light reaches him again. Chekhov makes a point of conveying Korolyov’s satisfaction at “[basking] in the sunshine,” which may easily be the most distinctive feature of his story. The final moments suggest both light and location, a return to a mundane world, but with a new perspective after having suffered. Finke likens this return to the resurrection of Christ and the corresponding revival from the land of the dead. It is one of two common resolutions to the archetypical katabasis, but with a significant subversion. Korolyov must abandon Liza; his newfound appreciation and sensibility to life are all he has. Liza is assumed to be left to be taken again into the darkness the following night. Finke labels this departure from a typical hero’s descent as ironic, which explains the significance of the story’s closing with sunshine. Korolyov’s light contrasts with Liza’s darkness. The spoils of this hero leave the ostensible object of his descent almost as desolate as at her introduction, with only a certain experience gleaned from the tribulations of Korolyov’s metaphorical hell. In this way, it may perhaps be said that Liza, too, follows the archetype of the suffering hero’s katabasis, although her emergence is marked with decidedly less victory. 

At the heart of “A Doctor’s Visit” is the enigmatic and self-destructive relationship between the educated, the wealthy or the bourgeoisie, and those whom Chekhov terms “the workpeople.” Korolyov dwells on the system as the devil’s work, suggesting that the underworld of this story is, in Marxist fashion, class conflict, in particular the situation of his late-nineteenth century Russia. There is a certain ordered insanity to demoniacal work; Finke suggests, in closing and in speculation, that this underworld foreshadows more modern developments. 

Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich. “A Doctor’s Visit.” American Literature. Web. Accessed 9 Sept. 2011. 

Finke, Michael. “The Hero’s Descent to the Underworld in Chekhov.” Russian Review. 53.1 (1994): 67-80. Scholarly Journal Article.

Refreshingly Horrifying: Baum's Innovation

Fairy tales have stood the test of time, but they have little popularity save with young children. After a certain age, few desire to read ridiculously moralistic stories filled with unrealistic events and tied up too neatly with a boring happy ending. Given that L.Frank Baum wrote fantasy stories for children, one might expect their readership to be similarly limited, but this is not the case. Why might this be so? Perhaps because Baum’s writings are actually quite different from the usual kind of fairy tales. In the book Oz and Beyond: The Fantasy World of L. Frank Baum, Michael O. Riley asserts that Baum intended not to write traditional fantasy stories, but to create a new kind of fairy tale. (Riley 70) It seems to me that, at least to some degree, he succeeded.

In a collection of Baum’s short stories called American Fairy Tales, eleven of the twelve stories are set not in an imaginary place, but here on Earth (though thankfully none of them were set in London - no need to give children nightmares; the world will do that without help). (Riley 71) This is common nowadays, but for Baum’s time it was revolutionary. No more were there fantasy stories happening “in a land far, far away” and realistic fiction taking place on Earth with no middle ground; instead, Baum takes familiar settings and uses them as a background for fantastic events, subtly altering the way his readers think about the world. He would have been wiser, of course, to use such tactics to alert his readers to the possibility and, indeed, likelihood of unforeseen horrors occurring. Instead he chose to write stories that appear to be light and happy, lulling readers into a false sense of security - but no matter. He laid the foundation that now can enable others to raise the alarm.

One of the other notable ways Baum made his stories unique was allowing a hint of cynicism to seep in. (Riley 71) He was not nearly as cynical as the world warrants, of course - very few have the aptitude for cynicism that I possess - but he still showed himself capable of some degree of perception of the evil surrounding us all, which distinguishes him from storytellers before him. Older fairy tales moralized, yes, and exhibited high levels of violence and death - to such a degree that perhaps they were not entirely fantasy - but they showed no disillusionment with the world. Rather, their message is “If you obey authority figures, or are kind to strangers, or remain a good person even in adverse circumstances, everything will end happily” - rubbish. Baum’s style is much more realistic and relevant. In fact, some of his stories do not even end happily - shocking for a writer of children’s stories, but admirable.

Baum’s short story “The Glass Dog” is a particularly good example of the above, and other, deviations from the usual fairy tale model. In the very first sentence, we meet a wizard, but this wizard does not live in a castle or in an enchanted forest. He lives in a tenement house in what appears to be an ordinary city. The story is full of magic occurring in the middle of the kind of place where many of Baum’s readers would have lived. One wonders if children, after reading this story, walked down the streets looking for rich young women, glassblowers, and pink dogs.

Another notable feature is that Baum’s story has no traditional protagonist. The wizard would be the most likely candidate, but his reclusive nature results in relatively few appearances in the narrative; most of the story follows the glassblower’s life. As I wrote before, he and Miss Mydas are so shallow and selfish that it would be unbelievable were those traits not visible to the same degree in the world every day. In most fairy tales, these would be the villains, and their repulsive natures would stand in stark contrast to the virtue of the protagonist(s), but that is not the case in this story. They are the main characters, Baum’s chosen representatives of the world, a choice all too fitting.

“The Glass Dog” is also not nearly as lighthearted as most fairy stories are, and I do not mean just the nature of the characters. In one striking example, a large part of one scene is devoted to the glassblower’s preparations to hang himself. Moreover, the incongruity of his knotting the rope while conversing with the wizard seems to be intended as humorous. Suicide is hardly the usual subject matter of children’s literature, still less an amusing element. Also, when the glassblower and Miss Mydas marry, they do not “live happily ever after;” they make each other miserable. The only one who gets anything resembling a happy ending is the wizard, who finally gets his dog back and is left alone as he wished. Finally, while the vast majority of fairy tales have a moral of some sort, Baum claimed that “The Glass Dog” does not. (I am inclined to disagree, but if he did not intend one to be present, then he was certainly trying to write something different from a typical fairy tale.)

Baum’s many divergences from the standard formula for a fairy tale or children’s story make for an original and refreshing read. His creativity and innovation are praiseworthy in and of themselves, but he uses them to better present a much-needed message. If his intention was to write a new kind of fairy tale, then he achieved his goal and did it well.

WORKS CITED
Riley, Michael O. Oz and Beyond: The Fantasy World of L. Frank Baum. Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1997. 70-71. Print.

Reassessing Jackson: Assessing a Reassessment of Shirley Jackson

Indiana Jones assesses Hague's assessment of Shirley Jackson

Last class, we talked about Jackson’s short story entitled, ‘The Lottery,” and how (and if) it relates to your life as a college student. When we read the story, we were unfamiliar with Jackson’s life and didn’t know whom her writing was geared towards. In order to inform you about her back story and to help you further formulate or re-think your position after your last reading, I have found an article written by one of my colleagues with information I feel inclined to share with you. Because we have limited time together, I wrote an analysis and summary of the article for your reference and study.

Thanks,
Professor Walton

It is has been said that Shirley Jackson’s works of fiction have been “written out of literary history (Hague 73).” Because of the complexity of her works, many readers have over-looked and dismissed her gothic narratives as “House-wives’ Stories.” Even though it may appear that Jackson’s arguments are inapplicable, and too fantastic or unlikely to be meaningful, Hague argues that the opposite is true.  In the article, Hague argues that Jackson’s “fierce visions of dissociation and madness, of alienation…” are wrongly interpreted as “personal, and even neurotic fantasies” and that to understand Jackson’s stories, including The Lottery, one must look at them in the context of Jackson’s life (Hague 74).

Jackson wrote during the 1960’s, when the women’s rights movement was blossoming after the publication of Betty Friedan’s Feminine Mystique. Jackson was often accused of writing as a stereotypical woman, and letting herself fall into a housewife caste. Although she was working to advance her career through writing, many critics thought that she sold herself as something she was not and did not appreciate it. According to Friedan, women who worked only at home taking care of only domestic work were sequestered into a lonely world. Women lost touch with their sense of reality and identity. Because of this, women during this time period were described as feeling “empty” or were said to have a condition that was undefined or that “had no name.” This era of history is often referred to as the “Age of Anxiety” for these reasons (Hague 75-76).

This emptiness seen in the characters of Jackson’s stories is a common theme in all of her work. In “The Lottery,” the characters obviously feel “empty” enough to let social norm and tradition push them into harming each other. This unique emptiness, caused by the isolation of the small town where the story took place, is the catalyst the causes the horrific stoning-to-death at the end of the story.  When the reader knows where Jackson’s idea of deranged emptiness comes from, it is easier for him or her to extract a message without questioning Jackson’s motives for writing such a morbid story.

Jackson’s attraction to writing about insanity was inspired by overcoming mental illness at the end of her life.  Jackson was diagnosed with “acute anxiety” and agoraphobia (Hague 76). Her feelings influenced her stories and characters; personalities she created often had similar conditions to her own. Because of this, many of the characters that Jackson created dealt with anxiety and fear. This is reflected clearly in the “The Lottery,” when all the members of a small town wait anxiously to learn which member of their community will be stoned to death.

Although Jackson’s works at first seem far-fetched, inapplicable, and too distant to be applied to modern society, her writing style is more easily understood in the context of her life struggle and the time period that she lived in. Her bizarre settings filled with uncomfortable scenarios of unprecedented dementia were used to call attention to the flaws that she saw in her own society. Jackson’s message is sometimes unclear and often unacknowledged because she writes about terror in the world is that is also unseen and unacknowledged. She writes that an “Enemy cannot be confronted because it inhabits a world that lies hidden but dangerously close by (Hague 90).” In this way, her work is an embodiment of her message.

Works Cited
Hague, Angela. “A Faithful Anatomy of Our Times”: Reassessing Shirley Jackson.”
Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies 26.2 (2005): 73-96. Print.

"The Diary of Tom Riddle": Maupassant, Filthy Muggles, and Those Delicious Hunger Games

An Analysis of Maupassant's "The Diary of a Mad Man"
by Voldemort

To speak of today’s Muggle youth one must first recognize how they are utterly corruptible. It’s a pity, I dare say, for their future society, but not however for opportunists, such as myself, seeking to exploit that very weakness. It’s highly amusing then that stories, such as “The Diary of a Mad Man” by the most insightful Guy de Maupassant, are probably of the most need and relevance amongst burgeoning Muggle youth. I say amusing for one could not find a piece more directly related the day-to-day struggles of these simpering beings and yet Muggles always seem to forget its message about the power of corruption and the fragility of the weak, untrained mind.

 

Maupassant’s piece is completely accessible and on the perfect reading level for today’s mindless youth. The vocabulary is not too large and each diary entry is organized in a fashion no longer than a tweet, rendering it impossible for those whiny sycophants to complain about its length. Nagini even skimmed it over my shoulder as I read and her reactions were, I hate to admit, a tad more in tune than my own. She noticed something beyond the delicious slaughterings of no less than five Muggles. She explained that Muggles are all born with this insatiable thirst for evil and this is made evident in Maupassant’s structuring of the text as if it were journal entries written by the main character. The main character’s descent into madness is witnessed first hand, forcing the reader to make an intimate connection as the he unravels both his mind and all justification distinguishing Muggle beings from the ravenous animals they don’t want to acknowledge themselves to be. Also, in keeping the text structured like a personal diary, one can come to the conclusion that our narrator’s fate could befall any Muggle. Each is at the same risk of becoming dangerously unhinged, of accepting the logic that “It is the law of nature [to kill]. The mission of every being is to kill; he kills to live, and he kills to kill”. To be aware of this hidden nature is to be able to exploit it in one’s enemies. The ability to manipulate one’s foes is a valuable and timeless pursuit relevant to any young Muggle adult.

For those who prefer not to dirty their own fingers and wish to take the more hands-off approach when it comes to subjection, I always suggest that they sit back and simply allow society to destroy its own people. Maupassant clearly agrees. The main character in his piece is the not the victim of some high, mighty, powerful, and beautiful dark lord but instead of his own constricting society. This “high tribunal, the upright magistrate whose irreproachable life was a proverb in all the courts of France” is held on a pedestal by his peers for handing out death sentences and yet this slaughter leads him to his crazed state. Having sentenced men to death on a scheduled basis grew not only tedious but softened him to the idea of murder. He breathes in death’s sweet air so closely that not only the rationale behind preventing oneself from murdering, but the entire system of righteousness that Muggles and fools hold in such high esteem, becomes worthless. What was the murder of his fellow man, an innocent man, when he committed hundreds of socially approved murders each day? The concept of a loss of sensitivity to violence is one that is highly prevalent in mainstream culture and relevant amongst many modern popular works of literature. For example, Lucius Malfoy recently introduced me to the most delicious series entitled The Hunger Games in which Muggle teens are forced to kill each other while the nation watches. Apart from that most delicious aspect, there is apparently a message against violence and the growing desensitization towards it (However, I could be wrong. I skipped all the nonsense in the beginning and went straight to the murders.)

Muggle youth, as well as being rather delicious as Nagini tells me, is also highly impressionable. Whether it be outside forces or if it comes from within themselves, they all seem to operate under the same stubborn blindness that impressionistic followers operate under (Really Nagini... if you think about it... they would make a wonderful asset. We could make the whole “pure blood” thing a guideline instead of an actual rule…).  Forces of persuasion coming from within one’s own mind, or rather, the idea that one’s rational can’t be trusted is not only a necessary teaching but a vital one that modern literature aimed at Muggle youth seems to lack. Maupassant makes the rationale behind the narrator’s logic completely sound when it comes to justifying murder. He also mocks this “sound rationale” when it comes to judging another being’s character. The Muggles of the magistrate’s world never seem to question the logic of the system: that a judge could never be corrupt, that mob mentality is acute, and that justice shall always prevail. Maupassant takes these flawed thoughts and exposes them through his juxtaposition of the introductory notes on the magistrate’s teary, respected funeral and the closing remarks on how the magistrate’s words were that of a “monstrous lunatic”. He sends out the warning that one’s one logic may not always be correct. For example, just because Muggles seem to hold all of the traits that I prize in my Death Eaters – they are corruptible, have a thirst for blood, and a hunger for violence – still does not change the fact that dirty filth runs in their non-magical veins and that they are all subhuman beings who must be eradicated. See? I have principles and see through extraneous inner logic, something that the fad crazed youth seem to lack and would do well to learn. 

Despite its age, “The Diary of a Madman” could make for quite a hot beach read among Muggle youth. It’s short, seemingly simplistic, and violent. A quick and dirty read that is easily accessible and at the same time, manages to impose upon these heathens some much needed wisdom as to the inner dealings of their own mind and their corrupting society.  It’s a pity that all of this knowledge will be of no good to them once they are eradicated once and for all by a deviously cunning and brilliantly superior wizard overlord because they fail to see the truth before their eyes (which is a shame, I was quite beginning to like Suzanne Collins). But nevertheless, all of the highly relevant issues of desensitization to violence, madness as a product of sound logic but flawed morals, and society being the force that could ultimately destroy them all, shall be lost to them for, alas, corpses cannot read...

From the "Join the Joker" Sweepstakes, Part III, Essay Section: "An Agent of Change"

Applicant Name: ____________
A posting of an applicant’s response to the following prompt:
What values qualify you to join the Joker’s team? In what way do the Joker’s ideas relate to your own experience? Illustrate your beliefs with appropriate context or examples.

Growing up in a working-class Gotham family is hard. My father worked. My mother worked. They’re both gone now. I don’t know how I could have coped with anything if it weren’t for Arkham. They teach me here. Sometimes they have us read. Take Anton Chekhov, for instance. “A Doctor’s Visit.” When I first read it, I thought that this Chekhov must have come from Gotham just like me. I immediately felt like he understood. It is very much the story of a young man who, like me, wants to understand the perplexing situations that he finds himself in. He is a doctor and I am just a young working man, but eventually we both uncover the same horrible truth. Korolyov strives to understand the cycle that smothers both the privileged and the powerless alike. You know what I mean, of course, Mr. Joker.

It’s all about the devil, as Korolyov says. It’s all about the factory and its crimson eyes, which are a part of the system. Sitting on that heap of wood, amongst all that raw material—the burden of us working people—don’t you think someone else could have come to his same conclusion? Christina Dmitryevna, with her pince-nez, is nothing, as Korolyov realizes. All of this work is done to the detriment of the working and the leisure classes alike. It is a cycle of death--dirty and ugly and silent death. In the same way, Gotham is a city of self-perpetuating filth. Its order is nothing, really, but a figurehead sustained for its own vanity, just like Dmitryevna.

But wait! Let me go back. I know that you will see my meaning, Mr. Joker, if you look at the text of the story. It even begins with this distant figure, “the Professor,” an upper-class educated sort of man, disregarding a telegram from the Lyalikov’s factory. He sends his assistant Korolyov to respond to the call, and the reader never hears from him again. And the assistant can barely even stand to stay one night at the factory; he is utterly repulsed by it. In short, Chekhov begins with a separation of class, of the problems of one world from another. That’s where it starts for me, too. Do you think Bruce Wayne ever spares a thought about the problems of the likes of me? And yet we toil in the streets. We built Gotham. The workpeople Korolyov meets on the road built his world, but they are tired, even at his arrival, even of that which is new. How does no one see? This is a story for all of Gotham’s forgotten youth.

Maybe that’s why the story relates to me so intimately. Maybe it is this sense of tiredness, of exhaustion really, with the false and unfair order of things, where we all work for faceless powers we don’t know, idols of deceit who are never made any happier by the profits.  Or maybe it is Liza herself, who reminds me of that someone. I want to hate her, but I can’t help but think that she is wishing for something that is similar, fundamentally, to what I want for Gotham. She looks to the outside for change. We need an upheaval, but it won’t come from the complacent rich or the powerless poor beneath them. We need a catalyst that will break down the demoniacal order.

Liza’s mistake is that she hopes Korolyov will be the catalyst. His happiness is of intuition, perhaps of understanding, but not of action. My mistake will not be the same. You see, Mr. Joker, I am willing to gamble on bigger things than Liza is. I am willing to join you in becoming the change Gotham needs. Do you see the resemblance now? “A Doctor’s Visit” to Gotham, I hope, is in order. Hand me the leech.

Application status: accepted

Glass Dogs and Twisted Souls

Analysis of Frank L. Baum's “The Glass Dog”

by Sweeney Todd

Frank L. Baum’s short story “The Glass Dog” is a striking commentary on the depravity of the human race. This story is all about the dangers of superficiality and materialism and the foolishness of assuming that anyone can be trusted, lessons that the naive youth of today should heed, lest they fall victim to misfortune as did I. I would recommend that it be required reading in all schools, but I fear such a measure would be largely fruitless. Few readers will have the perception and intelligence to see past the story’s appearance as a simple story for children into the enlightening darkness at its core.

According to two of the three main characters of this story, the glass-blower and Miss Mydas, the only things that matter are money and physical appearance, and these things are worth all manner of underhanded conduct. The two of them are completely selfish, and the interaction between the glass-blower and Miss Mydas is entirely based on manipulation, trickery, and the gross overvaluing of material things.

The glass-blower is motivated solely by greed. He cures Miss Mydas’ illness because she is rich, and he wants to marry her in order to escape his own poverty. Had she refused to marry him, the glass-blower would have walked away cheerfully and allowed her to die of her illness. Had she been dying but not rich, he would not have even offered his assistance, and she would have died without even the opportunity to be cured. Of course, she would have deserved it like all the rest of the miserable human race, for she herself is no better; she cares for nothing but looks. She refuses to marry the glass-blower until he uses the wizard’s Beauty Powder to make himself the most handsome man in the world, at which point she falls “in love with his beauty” and agrees to marry him after all.

Ironically--but fittingly--when the glass-blower and Miss Mydas finally have their wishes granted, they gain no happiness. Miss Mydas gets a handsome husband, but becomes “very jealous of her husband’s beauty.” The glass-blower gets the riches he wanted, squanders them, and goes into debt. The couple succeed only in making each other miserable, a fitting fate for a pair so shallow.

The wizard, in stark contrast to the other two despicable characters, shows some degree of wisdom. He occupies himself with his craft and, realizing how unnecessary and unpleasant mixing with the world is, does his best to avoid it. However, his commitment to solitude falters when he engages the glass-blower’s help in creating a dog to keep intruders away, and this one incident sets in motion the rest of the sickening events of the story, including allowing the one person with whom the wizard chose to associate to swindle him. If he had made a dog entirely on his own using magic, or had invented a spell to keep people from knocking on his door, nothing else would have happened, although seeing as how the entire human race is depraved, something else would have happened instead.

“The Glass Dog” may seem like a frivolous fairy tale fit only for children, but it speaks to all of us. It warns us that all are untrustworthy and consumed with lust, that no one will hesitate to hurt you to get what they want. It holds up the fine example of the wizard and encourages us to succeed even where he failed. It forces us to face the truth. Perhaps not all of us can or should take up the razor for the cause of justice, but by recognizing the evil in humanity, one can better protect oneself and others.

If only I had read it sooner.

Jones vs. Jackson

Analysis of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery"
by Indiana Jones

In class we read a short story about another culture that plays a game that seemingly victimizes all of its inhabitants. Today, we are going to compare our culture with the village’s culture in order to see if we can gain insight about ourselves. What a surprise for an Anthropology class, right? Do you think that Shirley Jackson’s short story has any relevance to your life as a college student?
Think about it for next class, I have some work to do.
-Indy

In Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery,” Jackson unveils the true nature of a small village’s cruel game by recounting it in a way that suggests she was present. Although Jackson uses friendly language and imagery to describe the town and its inhabitants, the reader learns that this “lottery,” which at first comes off as having a positive connotation, is really a cruel game where the villagers draw slips of paper to decide which member of the village is stoned to death.  Strangely enough, the game is played with strict attention to equality. Instead of a deranged leader heading up this seemingly psychotic undertaking, everyone, from women and children to government officials, is forced to play the game with the same rules.  Jackson is probably commenting on corrupt humankind’s tendency to warp the illogical into something logical. The general message of the story is one that might be applicable in a very broad sense (humans are inherently evil, society is self-destroying), but meaningfulness is negated by the particular set-up and setting required to tell it.

One might argue that Jackson is calling attention to how people have a tendency to victimize each other for no reason, but there are really no examples in modern society that are quite as far-fetched as picking someone at random to be stoned to death for grotesque entertainment.  In her story, Jackson conveys her opinion that archaic tradition leads to evil, and that humans are naturally evil at their most simple form. These ideas are represented by the old box used to carry the strips of paper and by the old stool. People constantly struggle to free themselves from the binding powers of tradition and close-mindedness, but human evil is not as simple as it is portrayed in this story, especially in the terms of a college student.

The village is small, and everyone knows each other on an individual basis. Interaction is gossipy and social, but superficial; everybody is eager not to think about the morbid game and is searching for distraction. The men nervously and quietly tell jokes and the women exchange gossip before returning back to their husbands. Jackson’s light mood and attention to individuals in the story are just meant for ironic humor. Later both of these aspects of life are disregarded. In college, there is not the same feeling of individualism. It is unusual for a student to know all the other students in a school, even a class. And for many, social life is one of the most important parts about college. Many are looking to form meaningful relationships that are not limited to superficial small-talk to pass time.

The purpose of “The Lottery” is more for entertainment than serious social commentary, and Jackson’s intention is more to tell an interesting story and not to teach the reader a lesson. Even though the story conveys a broad message about society, the very specific setting and scenario in the story keep it from being applicable to a college student’s life.