Marxist Criticism- -Group 5

Well I must admit that when it was announced what school of criticism I would be studying, I wasn't too thrilled with the news that I was placed in the Marxist group. Why couldn't I have the joy of studying something that I knew a bit about, such as feminism or psychoanalysis? Essentially it came down to the reality that I was clueless about Marxism, a state of being which I am not especially fond of. There are two upsides to this story, however, which I discovered later.

First, I got placed with some really amazing students who have a passion for literature, great personalities, and the ability to get things accomplished. Ben-thank you for filming and editing and for your constant (and contagious) smile. Chelsea- you are a blast and I will always remember that shake of you head which says "you guys are ridiculous and I love it." Lisa-your cheerfulness and go-get-em attitude was such a pleasure to work with. Kyle- I don't know where to start, your beard was awesome and I hope Karl won't be upset that you didn't give it back. Heather-umm...I mean Don Quixote, you are a kick in the pants...you make me laugh all the time and you played your part perfectly. Danielle-I am glad you were willing to work things out so that you could be a part of this group, and you did a commendable job with the narration.

Second, I was able to learn something new. Learning is a gift and I am so thankful that I got the chance to dive into Marxist criticism and not only discover what it was but also see it throughout works of literature. Marxist criticism stems from the dialectical and socialist theories of Karl Marx. The focus is on the social class of the author and how that is reflected in his/her work, as well as the social hierarchies that are seen throughout the texts. Essentially, Marxists believe that a work of literature is not a result of divine inspiration or pure artistic endeavor (such as someone like Samuel Coleridge believes), but that it arises out of the economic and ideological circumstances surrounding its creation. When you put on the Marxist spectacles, you can see that many texts exhibit Marxist ideals. As we discussed on Wednesday, Don Quixote shows that struggle between the classes, especially when looking at the interactions between DQ and Sancho Panza. DQ is of the upper class so he believes himself to be above such things as paying for lodging...it is Sancho who ends up paying, suffering, and taking beatings that belong to his master because he is of the lower class.

Thank you Dr. Sexson, I admit that you knew what you are doing in making us complete all of these assignments and I acknowledge that you made the right choice when placing me in the Marxist group, thank you! =)

Group 5 - - From Story to Reality!

It was early Saturday morning as I pulled up to International Coffee Traders and walked inside for my group meeting. I was slightly overwhelmed and frustrated knowing that our group had almost no idea what we were doing and I had more than a bit of homework to accomplish. We all grabbed a hot beverage and sat down to discuss possibilities and nail down specifics. After several minutes of talking about everything BUT Marxist criticism and our presentation, the thought came to me that since Dr. Sexson says tangents are the truly important parts of conversations, we should just get up in front of class and go off about whatever we choose. On second thought, however, we came to the general consensus that improvisation would be a better alternative and more entertaining. So off we went in our separate directions to gather props and then rendezvous at Kirk Park.

No one would believe what took place at that park.....how can I explain the transformation that we all made from normal, "boring," college students, to critics and characters from the great novel "Don Quixote."All of a sudden it was no longer about a mere project, it became about taking on the characteristics of those characters that we were imitating. Don Quixote was spot on when he assumed that you could become like someone or something else simply through imitation. The line between who I was and who I was trying to be began to fade....Slowly I became less of myself and developed the mindset and the actions of Don Quixote's squire Sancho Panza. The things I said and did were not planned out or organized, they were random and explosive and somehow quite befitting of the little squire. Filming that day is something I will never forget for countless reasons; so many memories were made and laughs were shared, yet I learned more than I ever would have expected. I actually have to admit that it was worth putting in the time, even though, upon first hearing about another assignment, I was loathe to do it.



This experience taught me something very valuable about reality. We have often entered into discussion about stories that aren't "real" and how uneducated individuals consider them "useless" because they are so far fetched. What truly is far fetched though? Isn't anything possible if you "suspend disbelief" and allow it to become a part of your reality. I have learned that the answer is yes. A story such as Don Quixote is nothing short of far fetched and untrue if you choose to view it that way, yet, if you give it a chance, it can become so much more. Stories come alive if we let them, if we embody them, if we enter into them. Some may argue with me on this but I know that I experienced Don Quixote, I was not just an observer but a part of the story. I could have read that book a hundred times and not have understood it as much as I did when I acted it out. So...this is how I would now enter into a conversation with someone who asked me the all to famous question....

Uneducated/none English major: "Sarah, what is the point of stories that aren't even true?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

Uneducated/none English major: "I just don't see how they have a point!"

Me: "Do you have a point?"

Uneducated/none English major:"Yes what does that have to do with this?"

Me: "Every story is true, it happened; in fact, these stories are as real as you!"

Uneducated/none English major:"You are crazy, you must be an English major."

Me: "Actually I'm not, I have just come to realize that the characters in every story are just as real as you and I. They may fill the pages of a novel, yet they can step off the page and walk beside you, offer you an apple, make you drink disgusting balm, fly with you on a fake horse that isn't really flying, and fight with you to open a bottle of champagne!"

Uneducated/none English major:"I still don't understand, you are not making any sense!"

Me: "Maybe you should join an English class on literary criticism, you could learn a thing or two (or a hundred). If you prefer, however, you can just stay in your state of ignorance. In the meantime I am off to find Don Quixote- I did, after all, promise to follow him to the ends of the earth!!

--The End

The Idea of Order at Key West- - - - Wallace Stevens

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.

The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard.
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.

If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.

Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.



I was thinking about this poem tonight and decided that my blog would simply not be complete without it. I am amazed at how much this poem has become a part of me-like breathing in and breathing out. When the words come out of my mouth, they are not forced, nor do I need to rack my brain for what comes next, instead they flow out like the tide and surprise me with their clarity. I never would have imagined that this would be the case when I first sat back, closed my eyes, and listened to Dr. Sexson’s enchanting voice as he recited the poem to us for the first time. I find that I am very thankful that he “forced” the memorization of these words upon us because no matter how the seasons change and the winds of affliction blow, only death or disease can rob these words from the place they have taken root in my heart and mind.

Reader Response

I found myself quite impressed with the presentations today made by each group. The were didactic and entertaining and solidified the main thoughts of feminism and reader response criticism in my head forever. Claire A.K.A. "Rosie" brought up an interesting point about how you can read something completely different when looking through the eyes of a feminist. Jon A.K.A. "Mary" added that the glasses you wear decide what you will or will not see in a work. This seems to be where one group begins reaching its finger tips into the other, because it is through the reader response critics that one is given the "right" to read a text through the eyes of a feminist or any other mentality one desires. I am thankful for the permission, haha, because I often find myself reading something in a way that relates it to my own experiences. I also enjoy melding works of literature to fit my emotions in a way that allows me to meet certain needs I have. Were this to be a crime, I would likely be in prison the rest of my life. In fact, it occurs to me that if the only way that people read a text was through the perspective of new criticism, they would eventually find that reading would lose some of its appeal. It seems that what can draw us so deeply into a work is the ways that we can interpret and discover new meanings through it.

Dr. Sexson made the point that there is a value to looking at the text purely for what the text is, as well as looking at it for what it is to you personally. I completely agree with this and feel that there is a time and a place for each kind of criticism to rear its claws and fight for its point of view.

During the reader response presentation a poem was read and elaborated on, yet I didn't get a chance to gather my thoughts on it because hearing it once is not enough. As a result I am posting it here for the benefit of anyone else who wishes to read it a bit slower and spend some time mulling over its contents.

THE FLEA.
by John Donne

MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

---

Source:
Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, ed.
London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 1-2.


I even found a youtube video of a man reciting this poem if you are interested.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yrSGRWTOzQ&feature=related

Truth in the eye of the myth!

“Myth is the name of a way of seeing, a way of knowing. Not fantasy, not lies, but things coming to us from beyond the walls of this world.” –Waking the Dead

Something has been stirring in my mind for several weeks now. Once I began thinking about how to make my apology for poetry, a new train of thought was opened up before me. I am not an English major so I have never had the incessant need to defend my position on stories that aren’t true. Our assignment, however, challenged me to investigate my beliefs on this subject and ask myself some hard questions about what I really do believe. Do I think that there is a point to studying English as a major? Do I agree that there is a purpose in reading poetry, fiction, and myth? I had never really stopped and considered where I stood….I ended up diving into many ideas that I was able to incorporate into my defense. Through my thoughts, a light bulb began to turn on, at first very dimly, yet gaining brightness the more I contemplated it……I wasn’t ready to write about it in my paper (and even now I may not be ready to discuss it) but I am going to attempt to share with you what I discovered.

I had to stop and ask myself, why are people so attracted to myth? When I think about some of the great myths that have been written over time, Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia come to mind. I am sure we can all think of many others as well. The point is that these stories are certainly NOT true, yet they seem to draw people in by the millions. In order to discover the reason for their powerful pull, I decided the best place to start was with myself. I know everything isn’t always about me, but just maybe, if I could find out why I am drawn to them, it might give me a clue into why others are as well. From here my quest began and it led me to a highly unlikely place (insert sarcastic tone here) a book! Waking the Dead is a book by John Eldredge that, I must admit, I have only read parts of. I became enthralled with it this time around because of its strong focus on myths and what they teach us. The book delves into the thoughts that I have been experimenting with… I sense that the beauty of myth is that is opens the pathway for the discovery of some very important truths. There are so many things in life that we hear are supposedly “true” yet to grasp onto them can be very difficult sometimes. What I realized when looking at myths is that, through them, I am able to accept truths about life. The book talks about one of the truths being that “some great struggle or quest or battle is well under way….."


When the four children stumble into Narnia, the country and all its lovely creatures are imprisoned under the spell of the White Witch and have been for a hundred years. In another story, Jack and his mother are starving and must sell their only cow. Frodo barely makes it out of the Shire with his life and the ring of power. In the nick of time he learns that Bilbo’s magic ring is the One Ring, that Sauron has discovered its whereabouts, and that the Nine Black Riders are already across the borders searching for the little hobbit with deadly intent. The future of Middle Earth hangs on a thread.

Darth Vader just about has the universe under his evil fist when a pair of droids fall into the hands of Luke Skywalker. Luke has no idea what is unfolding, what great deeds have been done on his behalf, or what will be required of him in the battle to come. Sitting in a sandstone hut with old Ben Kenobi—he does not know this is the great Jedi warrior Obi-Wan Kenobi—Luke discovers the secret message from the princess: “This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”


In all of these stories there is the underlying truth that a battle exists that must be fought, someone must step up, and it can be anyone that makes the difference….we can hear about the truth that we have a role to play in the world that is important and has the potential to make a huge impact on civilization, but how many of us actually believe this? Especially the idea that little (seemingly insignificant) you and I each have the ability to change something significantly. That is one of the reasons I am drawn to The Lord of the Rings, even if I don’t at first realize it, because reading about a little hobbit named Frodo who stepped out and saved the world, gives me the ability to see that it doesn’t take a big person to make a big impact on the world.
The book again seems to echo my feelings on this by discussing that every mythic story shouts to us that in this desperate hour we have a crucial role to play. It goes into several myths (not just in books) that point at this truth--


For most of his life, Neo sees himself only as Thomas Anderson, a computer programmer for a large software corporation. AS the drama really begins to gear up and the enemy hunts him down, he says to himself, “This is insane. Why is this happening to me? What did I do? I’m nobody. I didn’t do anything.” A very dangerous conviction, though one shared by most of you, my readers. What he later comes to realize—and not a moment too soon—is that he is “the One” who will break the power of the Matrix.

Frodo, the little Halfling from the Shire, young and naive in so many ways, “the most unlikely person imaginable,” is the Rind Bearer. He, too, must learn through dangerous paths and fierce battle that a task has been appointed to him, and if he does not find a way, no one will. Dorothy is just a farm girl from Kansas, who stumbled into Oz not because she was looking for adventure but because someone had hurt her feelings and she decided to run away from home. Yet she’s the one to bring down the Wicked Witch of the West. Joan of Arc was also a farm girl, illiterate, the youngest in her family, when she received her first vision from God. Just about everyone doubted her; the commander of the French army said she should be taken home and given a good whipping. Yet she ends up leading the armies to war.


Myths remind us that we are not just ordinary people as we seem to be and that things around us may not be exactly what they seem to be. We talk all the time about the fact that we live in “reality” which is often boring or mundane as well as uninteresting; however, I find that we really live in a world of unending adventure and excitement. The issue ensues when we hide this truth in familiarity. As C.S. Lewis points out, “The value of…myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by ‘the veil of familiarity.’”

Even if all that I have written does not fully make sense to you, I am hoping it at least engages your minds and causes you to consider something that you may not have previously given time to. Regardless, I am thankful for the truths that “stories that aren’t even true” have taught me. Even Don Quixote had a truth to teach, that you can be whoever you want to be regardless of whether people call you crazy or accept who you are. In this “real” world that we live in, we often live in fear of people. We try to hide or change who we are so that people will accept us, yet we love to dive into books because, in them, we CAN be those people that we dream of being. Myths like that of Don Quixote teach us that it is ok, and even admirable, to follow that which we want to be, even when it isn’t necessarily the safest or most fruitful pursuit. What matters is that you go after it, and you fight to show others that a dream can be made into a reality. The beauty of a story is that it does inspire us to be more than we have dared to be because someone in the story shows us that it is indeed possible. In a way, as the book title suggests, a story has the power to “Wake the Dead”.




**All quotes from "Waking the Dead" by John Eldredge, Thomas Nelson Publishers 2003