Guerillas/No Telephone to Heaven

Please read Genevieve Lloyd from "The Man of Reason" which is posted on the courseworks site for tomorrow, as well as the Camus I passed out in class on Thursday. 

Guerillas II

Guerillas

Don't worry about the Zizek (secondary reading), I think we've maxed out on psychoanalysis for the week. Enjoy the Naipaul and please bring printed copies of your proposals to class tomorrow. 

Sylvia Plath reads Purdah

"Purdah"

please ignore the silly images! or take them on, if you will...

Wuthering Heights III

Wuthering Heights II/Sedgwick/Kristeva

Wuthering Heights I

Respond here before class tomorrow for Wuthering Heights (at least) thru p 180. 

Wide Sargasso Sea II/ Caribbean Gothic

Wide Sargasso Sea

A couple of things to think about as you read (not necessarily to respond to): how is Eve Sedgwick's sketching out of Gothic convention borne out in Rhys's text? How does that potentially indexical relationship compare to the appearance of the Gothic in Beloved? How does the post neo-Gothic make use of form in the service of producing affects of terror? In what ways are those strategies both similar to and departures from the neo Gothic as in the Brontes, Melville, Gilman, Dickinson? How do names and the importance of "the call" or what one is called work in all four of the novels we've read? How does Rhys's invocation of Bronte's name refer to an adherent haunting while simultaneously effecting a "making of the world" in Elaine Scarry's sense? Time to start pulling things together...

Jane Eyre II

The Other Side of A Mirror

The Other Side of A Mirror

I sat before my glass one day,
And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
That erst were found reflected there -
The vision of a woman, wild
With more than womanly despair.
Her hair stood back on either side
A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
Of hard, unsanctified distress.

Her lips were open - not a sound
Came though the parted lines of red,
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.

And in her lurid eyes there shone
The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy and fierce revenge,
And strength that could not change nor tire.

Shade of a shadow in the glass,
O set the crystal surface free!
Pass - as the fairer visions pass -
Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
That heard me whisper: - 'I am she!'

-- Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1896)

Jane Eyre I

Beloved III/ Modern Medea/ Black Frankenstein

Did you have a chance to look at the Kara Walker images? This is a reminder. Second short Beloved, etc. response here...

Beloved II

post short responses to others' comments / secondary reading/ Beloved here.

Whitman "A Boston Ballad"

A Boston Ballad

by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)

---

To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early,
Here's a good place at the corner, I must stand and see the show.

Clear the way there Jonathan!
Way for the President's marshal--way for the government cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons, (and the apparitions
copiously tumbling.)

I love to look on the Stars and Stripes, I hope the fifes will play
Yankee Doodle.
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town.

A fog follows, antiques of the same come limping,
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless.

Why this is indeed a show--it has called the dead out of the earth!
The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see!
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!
Cock'd hats of mothy mould--crutches made of mist!
Arms in slings--old men leaning on young men's shoulders.

What troubles you Yankee phantoms? what is all this chattering of
bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? do you mistake your crutches for
firelocks and level them?

If you blind your eyes with tears you will not see the President's marshal,
If you groan such groans you might balk the government cannon.

For shame old maniacs--bring down those toss'd arms, and let your
white hair be,
Here gape your great grandsons, their wives gaze at them from the windows,
See how well dress'd, see how orderly they conduct themselves.

Worse and worse--can't you stand it? are you retreating?
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?

Retreat then--pell-mell!
To your graves--back--back to the hills old limpers!
I do not think you belong here anyhow.

But there is one thing that belongs here--shall I tell you what it
is, gentlemen of Boston?

I will whisper it to the Mayor, he shall send a committee to England,
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the
royal vault,
Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from the
graveclothes, box up his bones for a journey,
Find a swift Yankee clipper--here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper,
Up with your anchor--shake out your sails--steer straight toward
Boston bay.

Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out the government cannon,
Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession,
guard it with foot and dragoons.

This centre-piece for them;
Look, all orderly citizens--look from the windows, women!

The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that
will not stay,
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull.
You have got your revenge, old buster--the crown is come to its own,
and more than its own.

Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan--you are a made man from
this day,
You are mighty cute--and here is one of your bargains.