And now for the grand finale...

[From a transcription of a recording submitted to the Gotham Patent Office by Dr. H. B. Wellingworth. The ellipses here will signal a natural pause in the speaker’s statement.]

It’s a strange thing, really, to find a letter—or rather hear it flying through your living room window attached to a brick—demanding your permission to reprint an old academic essay. A scary thing, a stitched-together relic of an underworld that isn’t especially pleasant to remember, a jumbled mess of newspaper clippings and old typeface print of the type one only thinks of in relation to old suspense films, like a renegade Gutenberg Bible, a letter is indeed a strange thing to find on a Saturday morning. And when one doesn’t quite understand another’s uncertain motivations, well, one wishes to ask questions, questions which one finds immediately to be unwise to ask…

I don’t pretend to understand why the Joker wanted this essay, or what he plans to do with it. I don’t know who would even patronize a venue maintained by such an… enigmatic figure. All I can say is that perhaps there are changes that need to be made in this city. One, uh, imagines a sort of hero, a paladin maybe or some sort, who will bring with him a new order… Who will, uh, will change things, the way of things, in some respects…

But it won’t be me, though, of course. In situations of security, concerning the law, you must agree that a person of my type and caliber can’t really be held obligated to act. Therefore, I hereby release my essay, “Balancing Tone: Chekhov’s Outlook in ‘A Doctor’s Visit’ and ‘Peasants’” and all affiliated rights to the one who bills himself as “The Joker.” I would take this opportunity to announce, as well, that I am taking a vacation. I am leaving Gotham, and hope that any concerned will seek the acquaintance of a Dr. Mark Campbell at Gotham University, whose support in this matter I appreciate greatly. God bless him, and God have mercy on this city.

Balancing Tone: Chekhov’s Outlook in “A Doctor’s Visit” and “Peasants”

           With a paradoxical mix of melancholy and wary hopefulness, we emerge from a narrative world of Anton Chekhov’s design both impassioned and deflated by injustice. Finding his plots defeating, cyclical, broad in scope and strangling in nature, a reader might easily conclude that the dramatist and short story writer’s work is highly cynical, even despairing. His “A Doctor’s Visit” finds a young woman dying of her neuroses, a mother devastated by grief and worry, and a general mass of workers unhappy and apathetic, while “Peasants” presents a multi-faceted scene of squalor, with central characters not only removed from but often undeserving of any chance for betterment. Chekhov appears, at a glance, to be lost in his exhaustion, fearing that happiness and fulfillment are wholly elusive for characters of any background, any gender, any class. His ontology seems to be characterized primarily by despair, and yet we have this question of a final, lingering, wistful hopefulness. The affective power of Chekhov’s work and, by extension, his later career’s success rely upon both maintaining the gravity of his Russia’s problems and qualifying them with a guarded optimism that, often through mystery and irrationality, protects his readers from nihilism and self-destruction.
           The prominence of the motif which Russian scholar Michael Finke calls “katabasis” (67), a descent into the underworld, illustrates exceptionally Chekhov’s oxymoronic tone. In both “A Doctor’s Visit” and “Peasants,” a protagonist journeys to a metaphorical hell, and in each case there are both casualties and survivors. The doctor’s assistant Korolyov, of the former story, and Olga and Sasha, of “Peasants,” bear witness to the descent and outlive it, while Liza Lyalikov and Nikolay, Olga’s husband, are claimed by dark powers. Finke notes that the factory and the village, in the stories respectively, are settings explicitly linked to hell (71-72). The windows of the factory are likened to the devil’s eyes by Korolyov, while the fire that breaks out in the village and the apocalyptic black stallion represent the otherworldly scene of punishment in their own context. All of these observations serve to propel the theory that Chekhov’s Russia is a place of torment, of cynicism and desperation, but the peculiar reactions of central characters and the surprising conclusions of both stories reveal certain opportunities for hope.
           The first story’s reversal of Chekhov’s supposed pessimism comes, ironically, with the abandonment of a victim. Throughout “A Doctor’s Visit,” Korolyov is overwhelmed by the impotence of both the wealthy factory owners and their workers alike, attributing the slow entropy and denial of happiness caused by the seemingly insurmountable system to the devil, who is at once mysterious and almost tangible to the doctor’s assistant sitting in the factory yard. His sympathy towards the embattled, weary and sickly Liza culminates in a conversation in which he can offer her only a nominal consolation. It is almost a cruel trick that Chekhov stages Korolyov’s happiness, his belief that he has done well in his stay at the factory, in stark contrast to Liza’s abandonment, dressed all in white, to a future recurrence of her psychological disease. Chekhov’s point of lost communication, his implication of the futility of translating meaning satisfactorily from one person to another, is however answered by the hope that meaning may be found internally, and in this Liza may be relieved, partially, from her torment. Korolyov himself is the most direct refutation of futility; his hope as he rides through the sunshine at the story’s end is that of a man who has found a way out, who is content for now to feel redemption momentarily but also cherishes the idea that terrible circumstances may be changed. Whether he is correct in this belief or not is still subject to speculation.
           In “Peasants,” too, we can identify a rebound from despair, although it is subtler and perhaps more suspect. The sick Nikolay and his family, staying with relations in his hometown of Zhukovo, become acutely aware of the squalor of their sudden situation. The story is, in a sense, a long elaboration on his initial impression which, in contrast with his memories of the place as “bright,” “snug,” and “comfortable,” recognizes his childhood home as “dark,” “crowded,” and “unclean.” The first four chapters, as scholars Harold Bloom and Mei Chin call the author’s partitions of the story, are taken up with descriptions of a pervasive and degrading ontology, a force that acts on the titular peasants and breeds in them contempt, fear, ignorance and apathy. The lifestyle that the Tchikildyeevs, and furthermore all of Zhukovo, must abide by is in accordance with death, with the acceptance that one is doing little of worth and must be prepared to pass into nothingness. Fyokla, the wife of Nikolay’s absent brother, Denis, demonstrates this lifestyle in the extreme, reveling openly in depravity, walking deliberately through filth and openly cursing Nikolay’s family, ostensibly for not enjoying the peasant’s life. Katabatic motifs, too, reinforce the story’s tone. Fyokla’s physical attack on Olga and her verbal abuse of Nikolay make clear their status as outsiders, and her reference to the devil having brought them highly suggests that she is an emblem of the underworld. When the fire breaks out in chapter five, the story becomes rife with purgatorial imagery and the narrator even mentions that the peasants seem disappointed to see it put out. Even the bloodletting—in the form of cupping by a former Jewish “medical orderly”—which is meant to save Nikolay’s life appears unholy, or at least un-Christian, and the fact that it ends up killing him appears to be symbolic of his final passage into the realm of the dead. In these many ways, “Peasants” is a strong portrait of despair.
           But its redemption comes in at the conclusion, with the individuals who live on and attempt to escape the cycle of pain and poverty in Zhukovo. It is suggested that Olga and Sasha, their hair whitening and their eyes dull, have been degraded into the same peasant women they are frightened by upon their entrance into the household. They end up on the streets of another village, making supplications to strangers, and in this they are hopeless. But in the time between their departure from Zhukovo and their stopping in this next village, in a landscape faintly reminiscent of Korolyov’s departure at the close of “A Doctor’s Visit,” the mother and daughter are happy, warm and entranced by the simple wonders of nature. They even discover the skeleton of a horse bleaching in a field, as if the demonic steed from the village is dead while they travel in the sunshine. This brief reprieve as they walk to Moscow, is hopeful, and the final ending appears not to be simply because this particular pair becomes mired in another village. On the open road there is hope; in the distance there is opportunity. As Korolyov tells Liza, there is hope in the next life, in the next generation, in other places, even if for the individual there is nothing. In this way Chekhov’s image of the corrupted Russia, of the cyclical class and labor relations of his time which entrap and oppress members of his society at all levels gives way to a careful, predictive optimism. Although his conflicts cannot be satisfactorily concluded in the present, for Chekhov there is yet hope for the future.
           It is this particular quality which best explains Chekhov’s success in his time. Writing on the eve of the Russian Revolution, we might even conjecture that his ontology reflected the general passions of his time. Dissatisfaction with class relations, a wariness of positivistic views of science and a concern with the common psyche characterize many of Chekhov’s stories; in these considerations he may have been emblematic of his culture and his age, if the subsequent revolution that meant to overturn some of the economic imbalances is any indicator. His recognition of Russia’s problems growing into a guarded hope for the future may have resonated with his readership in the way that their own dissatisfactions would eventually result in dramatic action, societal change, and revolution. Seizing upon hopes which were sometimes distant, Chekhov’s narratives allow the will to continue to coexist even with despair.


Bloom, Harold, and Mei Chin. Bloom's BioCritiques: Anton Chekhov. Bloom's BioCritiques. Infobase Publishing, 2003. 61-93. E-Book.

"Chekhov, Anton - Introduction." Short Story Criticism. Ed. Justin Karr. Vol. 51. Gale Cengage, 2002. eNotes.com. 4 Oct, 2011.

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

Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich. “Peasants.” American Literature. Web. Accessed 27 Sept. 2011.

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

Another Jackson Post? Shirley You Must be Joking.

Indiana Jones discusses two of Jackson's works in terms of their background and their similarities.

Why do you think Shirley Jackson wrote about the things that she did, and why do you think all of her stories have a similar morbid nature? Think about it for next class; I have to go look for mummies. I mean... I have to grade papers. Good luck, and feel free to use my response to help you in your studies.
Until next class,
-Indy

Shirley Jackson’s morbid works show characters who lust for blood.  Many have criticized Jackson’s psychotic characters and outrageous plot twists, because they explicitly show seemingly ordinary people developing psychosis and killing senselessly (Murphy). Because Jackson saw her own society’s madness and channeled it into her writing, readers must not misinterpret her works as pointless, disturbingly ironic, but ultimately cheap, thrills. Instead, the reader must understand the parallels between Jackson’s work and her life. She lived when the feminist movement welcomed a surge of women’s rights groups protesting. Prominent women thinkers like Betty Friedan were confidently speaking their opinions, and uncertainty filled the air when people and their older traditions parted ways (Hague). The unsettling scenarios in “Just a Thought” and “The Lottery” reflect Jackson’s interpretation of her tumultuous time, and how social neglect and backwardness produce horrific results if left to their own devices.
       
Jackson’s restless scenarios and her dynamic characters demonstrate how following tradition blindly makes people mentally ill. Both stories present societal tradition overcoming love-able characters’ identities. This bored anxiousness causes them to make unexpected decisions. In “The Lottery,” The reader initially trusts a community leader who is affectionately described as leading local dances and social events. The reader finds out later that the man leads a drawing, or lottery system, that randomly decides to kill a village member. In “Just a Thought,” Margaret is a loyal housewife who loves and respects her kind husband. However, surprise overcomes the reader when Margaret beats her husband with an ashtray and makes elaborate plans to kill him. Margaret and the village people in “The Lottery”  are very similarly isolated. Margaret has not had a chance to independently live, and her restlessness becomes emptiness. Her husband controls her and brainwashes her to appreciate and respect him, and Margaret’s only outlet is looking forward to going to “the movies.” Although she supposedly loves her husband, he is robbing her of a meaningful life. The villagers are similarly brainwashed. Because they have no contact with the outside world, their lack of entertainment and purpose causes anxiety. They cope by perverting their mundane traditions into harmful atrocities in an effort to find meaning in their meaningless lives.  Using Margaret’s and the village people’s example, Jackson shows how following tradition blindly leads to insanity.

However, the motivation for Jackson’s characters’ insanity varies in the two stories. “Just a Thought” comments on old-fashioned ideas regarding the role of women in society, while lethal archaic tradition controls the people in “The Lottery.” Also, “The Lottery” a group's reaction to loneliness, and “Just a Thought” shows the perspective of one individual. In “Just a Thought,” Margaret stays at home and is expected to act like a submissive housewife. She is by herself for long periods of time, and her isolation makes her more vulnerable to insane and aggressive thoughts. Like Margaret, the village people allow their solitude to let insanity corner them. The Villagers long to be free from the anxiety of playing their game similarly to how Margaret wants to separate with her husband .
     
 It makes sense that Jackson wrote in a time referred to as the “Age of Anxiety (Hague).” Jackson took on greater meaning when the women’s rights movement was blossoming after the publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique. According to Friedan, women who worked only at home were sequestered into a lonely world. Women lost touch with their sense of reality and identity. Because of this, women during this time period are described as feeling “empty” or were said to have a condition that was undefined or that “had no name.” This certainly runs parallel with Margaret’s domestic situation and even with the situation of the villagers.

All of Jackson’s works are obviously united by the time period they were written in, and Jackson expresses her opinions about the time she lived in through her work. Emptiness is a common theme in all of her work and defines her strongest character’s meaning (Hague). These characters feel “empty” enough to let social norm and tradition push them into harming each other. This unique emptiness, shown through her stories, teaches how lack of action is more evil than obvious wrong doing, and how mistreatment and isolation can cause psychological disturbance in even the healthiest appearing people.

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.
Murphy, Bernice M. Shirley Jackson: Essays on the Literary Legacy. Jefferson, NC:      McFarland &, 2005. Print.

The Fall of the House of Oz? Poe, Baum, and Their Common Cause

Few readers notice similarities between L. Frank Baum’s and Edgar Allen Poe’s writing. Most know only that the former writes children’s literature and the latter writes Gothic horror stories, and see these genres as polar opposites. One might think the two authors are more different than they really are, but they actually share several common methods and goals. They frequently use similar settings; occasionally they even write in similar genres. Their lesser-known works illustrate this most clearly.

Poe’s horror stories brought him fame; fewer people appreciate, or have even heard of, his satire. This is a pity, for Poe truly mastered diverse genres. He possessed the ability to portray the world accurately as dark, gruesome, and evil in his horror stories, while using his satire to expose the many faults of this diseased society. He did not, however, go about these two distinct tasks in the same way. Indeed, someone familiar with Poe’s better known work could read his satirical writing and never guess it came from the same person, for to write in these two genres, Poe used very distinct styles, with several differences between them.

Poe’s horror stories generally take place in distant places and times. For example, “The Cask of Amontillado” happens in Spain during Carnaval, seemingly earlier than Poe’s time; “Ligeia” also seems to take place in an earlier era. However, Poe’s satirical stories frequently take place where and when he lived: His short story “Some Words with a Mummy” appears to take place in America in Poe’s era.

Poe’s satires, unlike his horror stories, typically do not set out to evoke any strong emotional response in the reader, but instead subtly sneer at humanity. “Some Words with a Mummy” will not give its readers nightmares; they will more likely be left either laughing at the absurdity of the world or disillusioned with its flaws. In this story, although a supposedly dead man spontaneously reawakens, he does not proceed to haunt, terrorize, or murder those around him, as would be the logical next step in a horror story. Instead he simply converses with them, in the process exposing them for the fools they are.

To truly understand Poe’s work, we must keep in mind that, especially in his satirical stories, he was not merely a scribbler of gory and sensational tales; he was an adept social critic. He possessed wisdom enough to recognize the futility of attempts at “social reform;” knowing that neither he nor anyone else could exorcise the world’s demons, he chose to write about them and to mock them. If only more people had read and understood what he had been trying to say.

Just as Poe is best known for his Gothic horror tales, L. Frank Baum is best known for writing the Oz series. Few people are aware that he wrote several novels unrelated to Oz, in addition to many short stories. Unlike Poe, he does not use such different styles in his various works that it is difficult to recognize them all as coming from him, but the techniques he chooses frequently vary.

Baum’s Oz series, predictably enough, takes place in the magical imaginary land of Oz. Even some of his books that are not part of the Oz series take place in some fantasy realm; Dot and Tot in Merryland, for example, takes place in Merryland. (Baum’s strength was not subtlety.) Many of his short stories, however, take place in his America. In fact, he wrote a book of twelve stories, titled American Fairy Tales, in which eleven of the stories take place on Earth, an unusual choice for fantasy. The stories which take place on Earth are the best examples of his deviations from the typical children’s literature and fairy tale style.
Baum’s Oz series is generally lighthearted and optimistic, but his short stories often show hints of cynicism toward the world, like Poe’s satires. To return to the example of American Fairy Tales, many of the stories in that book have depressing elements or end with nonsensical “morals.” His short story “The Glass Dog” talks about suicide and betrayal and ends with Baum saying, in essence, “I suppose this story has a moral, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what is is.” The stories are supposedly written for children, but their wry portrayal of the world is quite unusual for children’s literature.

We have seen now that Poe wrote satire, although few are aware of this fact; likewise, few people would regard any of Baum's work as satire, and yet elements of satire are often unmistakably present. The cynical tone mentioned previously is only one aspect. “The Glass Dog,” for example, is only a short story, but in its few pages it satirizes human greed, obsession with physical appearance, and the twisted, treacherous nature that all possess.

This apt commentary on society shows Baum’s skill as a social critic. He proved himself able to see the horrible truth, brave enough to accept it, and noble enough to attempt to reveal it. One might take issue with his choice of children’s literature as a medium, but really, he could hardly have been better at what he did, save by becoming a murderous barber.

As you may now be able to more fully understand, Poe was not as dissimilar to Baum as is commonly assumed. Poe, like Baum, wrote stories setting fantastic events in the modern world; Poe, like Baum, exhibited a cynical attitude toward humanity and society. Poe, like Baum, wrote satire, which is less commonly known than his other works. Poe, like Baum, used his writing as a medium to criticize his society. The master of horror and the master of fantasy show their true talent and versatility by finding common ground.

Muggles are Futile. Kill Them. Dance in Celebration. Repeat Until All are Eradicated.

Muggles love stories about their demise. Muggle children committing murder for sport, Muggles committing murder for infamy, Muggles committing murder for their next dinner, the population devours these stories with bloodthirsty hunger akin to the cannibalism they read about.  It’s like watching Nagini play with her tail. Only such a jovial sport could lead to the ensuing whimpering and blood, yet she continues despite my protests that as the most wanted Dark wizard of this era I can’t keep strolling into Petsmart to buy bandages. But Muggles, like Nagini (bless her) never seem to learn. They poke and prod these festering wounds of sore subjects about their true nature until rancid pus leaks down their arm and their fingers are scratching at bone. And why do you ask would they continue to act like such simpletons? Apparently they believe that exploring the macabre will bring about a catharsis. Pathetic really to believe that delving into darkness shall bring light. “Crusaders” of their time, authors such as Maupassant and Gogol, try and delve into the murkiest and most revered subject of Muggle fascination in order to bring some understanding to a subject that can’t be understood. Madness. However, in their pointless exploits, they do paint a much more useful picture about the rigid and yet pointlessly illusory nature of Muggle society.

To say that Gogol was an advocate for simple law-abiding men would warrant one a trip straight to my dungeon (which would aggravate me so, I am quite running out of room). His reflection on madness in his story, “The Diary of a Madman” is used, much like Pushkin’s, as a device in which to channel his own thoughts on Muggle society. However, unlike in Gogol’s other works such as “Nevsky Prospect” and  “The Nose”, in this particular piece Gogol does not use the madness of exterior Muggle society, grotesque forms of “waists beyond your wildest dreams - slender and narrow, no thicker than the neck of a bottle.... And the ladies’ sleeves... [that] are rather like two hot-air balloons” (Gogol pg. 81), but rather delves into the interior madness of Muggles. In a bid to show his readers that he is still a flawed mortal, he goes against his own warning against “the boundaries the artist crosses at his peril… separating imagination from inner reality” (Peace pg. 124) and fully immerses himself into the subconscious of this crazed Muggle.
 
Said foolish Muggle, Poprishchin, spirals into a madness because of his realization that Muggle society is rigid and unmoving. To that I have no mercy, of course Muggle society must be rigid. How else are Muggle “officials” to try and maintain control of those heathens? But nevertheless, this realization that he is nothing but a titular councilor, nothing but his societal title, is enough to push him over the deep end. Pathetic and weak. I say if you don’t like your position in the world then rally some sympathetic followers and simply kill all those who stand in your way. But no, this is a Muggle and therefore an idiot. If he wasn’t fictional, I would kill him myself. He lost his mind due to anger over his place in society? I fixed that problem years ago with a few easy murders, a slice and dice to the old soul, and a strict maintenance that casual Fridays are not permitted amongst my ranks and look at where I am today. Yet this pathetic weakling allows himself to be carted off to a mental institution – all while believing that he’s in Spain of all places! – where he is subjected to torture (Which admittedly is rather primitive and ineffective, only mere water torture. So five centuries ago). He subjects himself to torment and torture because of a crisis of identity when he could have been administering such torture instead! But no, because of his inability to see his options, I’m stuck reading about his descent into the recesses of his brain when I have much better things to attend my time towards. Being a Dark Lord is no easy task. And Gogol makes Poprishchin’s descent a lengthy and structured one, dragging out for several pages so that Muggle readers may appreciate the flimsy nature of their own minds or for some other fruitless purpose. Gogol doesn’t even have Poprishchin become aware of his own madness until the very last paragraph. Even then, after this revelation, he quickly recesses back into futile insanity, “Mother, save your poor son!... There’s no place for him in this world! They’re persecuting him! Mother, have pity on your poor child... And did you know that the Dhey of Algiers has a lump right under his nose?” (Gogol pg. 196).

Maupassant on the other hand, sees Muggle society as it truly is. Not as too strong for its own good, but rather too weak and flimsy to contain the menace that is Muggle. I mean honestly, how concrete could their society be when it takes only a couple of well placed terror-inducing missions on the part of my Death Eaters to reduce it to nothing but rubble? As I have previously discussed, Muggles relish murder. They live and breathe in a society that endorses the idea of it. Maupassant shows this pitiful attempt at justification through his magistrate main character, someone revered in Muggle society, someone who dishes out murder daily to rapturous applause. In Maupassant’s world, madness is not born from the realization that one’s identity only comes from one’s place within the framework of Muggle society, but rather that madness stems from the realization that the justifications Muggles have built their society upon are nothing but sand. Maupassant sees Muggles not as ruthless beings like Gogol, but rather as weak-minded creatures that cower from true knowledge and fear murder for they may discover who they truly are. While Gogol’s character is subjected to a crisis of identity, Maupassant’s is tormented by a crisis of purpose. Which, to be honest, is just as futile as Muggle’s frantic attempts to “discover themselves” (they really are quite idiotic creatures, never able to figure out anything about themselves). I’m not even a filthy Muggle and I know their purpose! So listen up Muggles. It’s quite simple. You’re purpose is to die. No, not in the Hamlet sense, “to be or not to be” and all of that nonsense. No, you are to die (at my hands) so that the superior wizarding race may be realized. Any questions? No. Good. Moving along.

Maupassant also leans more heavily on the crutch of structure when it comes to exploring the crazed Muggle mind. His spurts of diary entries move along at a rapid pace to suggest a downhill slide. The turning point of the magistrate’s snap from sanity to insanity is quite clear. However, Gogol’s madness is much more subtle, building at a more slow and ambiguous pace. Some of the first clues that his character has slipped into insanity come only from the way in which he dates his diary. Maupassant has his magistrate contemplate his own soul straight from the moment his conscience turns. Gogol’s takes some building. He only erupts at the end when he cries out for this mother, proving himself to be human, weak, pathetic, and disgusting. He does switch back though for an instant at the end. Porprishchin reaches the brink of truly understanding himself and his affliction but then he falls back into madness, almost by choice, as if he can not stand to bare his own world and the horrors around him. I don’t blame him. My target is Muggles and, if I do say so myself, I’m terrifying. Maupassant’s magistrate never realizes that he’s dropped off the plane of sanity. His fate is only realized after he’s dead and those who thought they cherished the life of a hero learn that instead they honored the life of a murderer.

So yes, two Muggles go crazy. I can’t say that it’s anything new to me. They are practically like popcorn the breed of them. Place them under the Cruciatis curse for about ten minutes and their minds pop like kernels (If you haven’t tried this before, it’s quite a rewarding endeavor). This we all know, that Muggles don’t just live on the brink of insanity because of their society – whether it be too rigid and demanding or too vague and allowing of murder – but instead they stick their whole leg over the edge of the cliff. So what can any aspiring wizards hoping to rise to the heights of my greatness take from these stories? It’s quite simple. Muggles are hopeless. Both of these stories written in the late 19th century are still applicable to the modern world because, and only because, Muggles still remain as hopelessly deadlocked in these same issues as they did almost two hundred years ago. They still don’t know who they are. They still don’t know what they want. They still rail and rant against a system that constricts them. And they still snap and break under their own logic in a system that encourages murder. They still justify slaughter daily. They are no closer to finding a solution. So here’s mine. Mass genocide. It’s a tried and tested technique for getting rid of pesky problems. The Muggles even enjoy it themselves. Look at their history! The Holocaust, the desecration of the Native Americans, and that Africa place in today’s times. They suffer and inflict suffering to such and extent that it seems unfair to let the little imbeciles squirm around in their misery. One could think of it as euthanasia if the word “murder” upset their stomach. But one thing is clear, the Muggles certainly wouldn’t mind. They are too lost in their own heads to notice any warnings right before their eyes.

Gogol, Nikolay. The Diary of a Madman, the Government Inspector and Selected
     Stories. London: Penguin, 2005. Print. 

Peace, Richard Arthur. The Enigma of Gogol : An Examination of the Writings of
     N.V. Gogol and Their Place in the Russian Literary Tradition. New York:
     Cambridge University , 1981. Print.