Diamond in the Rough

Michael Fong

English 48A

Journal #2, Rebecca Harding Davis

September 30, 2009

"Do you remember rare moments when a sudden light flashed over yourself, your world, God? when you stood on a mountain-peak, seeing your life as it might have been, as it is? one quick instant, when custom lost its force and every-day usage? when your friend, wife, brother, stood in a new light? your soul was bared, and the grave,-a foretaste of the nakedness of the Judgment-Day? So it came before him, his life, that night...He griped the filthy red shirt that clung, stiff with soot, about him, and tore it savagely from his arm. The flesh beneath was muddy with grease and ashes,-and the heart beneath that! And the soul? God knows." (Davis 2613)

"Davis makes [Wolfe] an exemplary type of the man of feeling, whose feelings have been repressed by his environment." (Studies in Short Fiction, March 22, 1996)

The above quote is taken shortly after Kirby, Mitchell and the others left, leaving Wolfe behind at the mines. He was briefly shown the door to hope by Doctor May, who admired his artwork and praised him for it. He then surveys again his own appearance and openly expresses his disgust against his life, and was heartbroken.

I would say that throughout the story, Davis fashions Wolfe essentially as a diamond amongst the rough; or as the little lump of coal with a surprising gleam beneath the surface. It could be seen as an open lamentation of the brutal reality in which Wolfe, being caged in the lowly status prescribed to him literally upon birth, restricts his potential in reaching who he could possibly become. The stark contrast between the crude work of processing iron and the delicate finesse as well as mastery required in sculpting is, in my opinion, a subtle jab towards Kirby, Mitchell and the group of visitors in the story. With Wolfe being the talented sculptor working at a commonplace job, the unsaid implication is that Kirby and the rest of the group, with their comfortable jobs and relatively high social status, are superficial as well as simple-minded people.

The more compelling thing though in this story is Davis' treatment of art. Wolfe initially creates a sculpture of woman with intense, vivid energy; a woman longing for something. His repression is clearly reflected through his artwork. In the quote mentioned above, again he employs his hands in tearing apart his clothes, yet another action suggesting the release of repressed emotions. Perhaps Davis' ending for Wolfe with him cutting his own wrists is a grotesque yet ironic way of saying that this is Wolfe's last piece of artwork, which ultimately defines who he sees himself as and what he desires. A man, alone and desolate in his cell, with a blunt piece of tin between his fingers and with blood flowing freely on the floor; this is what I think Davis' message was, which is the tragic nature of life for those who were deemed to be low in social status from birth. Would it be too far of a stretch to say that, with all the biblical allusions in the story, that Wolfe's death at the end is, in some ways, reminscient to that of Christ? It could be seen that optimism is still within Davis' scope in this story as she ends with a hopeful tone: "While the room is yet steeped in heavy shadow, a cool, gray light suddenly touches its head like a blessing hand, and its groping arm points through the broken cloud to the far east, where, in the flickering, nebulous crimson, God has set the promise of the Dawn".

Fading into nothingness; resistance against conformity

Michael Fong

English 48A

Journal #1 Herman Melville

September 29, 2009

"Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, his knees drawn up, and lying on his side, his head touching the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing stirred. I paused; then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his dim eyes were open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping...'Lives without dining,' said I, and closed the eyes. 'Eh!-He's asleep, aint he?' 'With kings and counsellors,' murmured I." (Herman Melville 2388)

"HERMAN MELVILLE CRAZY...A critical friend, who read Melville's last book, 'Ambiguities,' between two steamboat accidents, told us that it appeared to be composed of the ravings and reveries of a madman...We hope one of the earliest precautions will be to keep him stringently secluded from pen and ink." (The New York Day Book on September 8, 1852 - Wikipedia)

The above quote is taken from the moment when the narrator goes to the Tombs, only to find Bartleby dead. The grub-man then comes in and, not knowing the situation, asks whether Bartleby is willing to dine. The narrator then replies with references to the Book of Job, and appears to be deeply in grief over Bartleby's death.

What appears to be the most simplistic of stories comes to a climatic end where themes of conformity, resistance, madness, and so many more meet at a single point of convergence. If the location of the story, Wall Street, suggests an overarching theme of industrialization and describes a world revolving around the axis of wealth, Bartleby would be the ultimate figure of resistance against such social change. He is the embodiment of past sentimental values, values of which Melville fears may be extinct if the path of progression of the society is continued at that period of time. Note the difference between the narrator and Bartleby: the narrator is a lawyer, while Bartleby is a copyist. It could be said that lawyers consist the subtle implication of the representation of rigid, social chains, while Bartleby resents such chains due to his attachment to the values of the past with his former post as a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office. The ideals, values, and beliefs he adopted were "dead letters", so to speak. Because of this, Bartleby is, in essence, isolated and eventually pushed towards the edge.

I would say that this is one of Melville's most striking ideas present in the story; that if one fails to conform to the expectations of the society, then one is condemned to isolation and deemed as mad or insane. Is this not a subtle parallel to Melville's own life as well? He and Bartleby certainly share similar paths, with both being eventually declared as crazy at some point during their lives. This may be Melville's lament and musing upon the matter, or rather, his disappointment and resentment against the society where monotonous congregations of clones were celebrated, while the unique nature of individuals striving to become a separate entity was discouraged. More so, the narrator's eventual sadness over Bartleby's may be Melville saying that it is a pity for such loss of traditional past values over present ones, and his prediction that when individuals who embrace and believe these values "die out", as a society we will be reduced to working cogs that serve similar function and cease to retain our unique nature as human beings.

Dickinson II

Journal #22
Posted by Michael Fong
March 20, 2009
Emily Dickinson

"This is my letter to the World / That never wrote to Me - / The simple News that Nature told - /With tender Majesty/ Her Message is comitted / To Hands I cannot see - / For love of Her - Sweet - countrymen - / Judge tenderly - of Me" (Emily Dickinson)

What a beautiful set of letters that Dickinson left to the world! The Loaded Gun, the Yellow Eye, the Fly Buzz - everything from a woman who spent the majority of her adult life in seclusion. This is a general observation that could be applied to other poets and other works, but it is interesting as to how the poet immortalizes him or herself through immortalizing certain ideas/people/emotions in their poems. By describing love, religion, and so many other forms of emotions in such a vivid and powerful way, Dickinson left us with the greatest letter of all, the immortalized form of herself: Dickinson, the poet. I find it extremely difficult to write about poems, for what more could be written about them? I mentioned that Whitman's poetry possesses the same sort of timelessness and universal appeal that few poets (e.g., Rumi) have, and I would say that Dickinson's poetry has that same quality too.

I suppose this is a good way to end the quarter, as I have been asked numerous times by my parents and friends: What is practical about being an English major? There's no money in it, there doesn't even seem to be a decent job in it. But literature is so much more than merely reading poems, stories, novels and discussing them and watch professors snipe at each other in universities about them. It is more than making one seem sophisticated by sipping coffee in an outdoor cafe while nodding and reading poems at the same time. It is more than an impressive shelf of books to show to visitors. Literature is the caricature, the representation of humanity at its best (or worst), and it is up to us, the present generation, to preserve it, and to admire it at the same time. This is where the Dickinsons, the Shakespeares, the Austens, the Twains, and others come in. That's what being an English major's about, at least for me. That, and, of course, the joy of reading that comes with it.

Dickinson - Wild Nights-Wild Nights!

Journal #21

Posted by Michael Fong

March 18, 2009

Emily Dickinson

"Wild nights - Wild nights! / Were I with thee / Wild nights should be / Our luxury! / Futile - the winds - / To a Heart in port - / Done with the Compass - / Done with the Chart! / Rowing in Eden - / Ah - the Sea! / Might I but moor - tonight - / In thee!" (Emily Dickinson "Wild nights - Wild nights!"

Sometimes I wonder if we as readers could dismiss the biography of the poet, as least for a moment, and just read the poem as a piece of work that stands alone. Relatively speaking I am rather unfamiliar to Dickinson's poetry, but this particular poem is one of the first that I have read since I first started reading poetry. I knew nothing at that time. Nothing about iambic pentameters, nothing rhyming, nothing about Emily Dickinson, nothing. And the first thing that struck me was, "Wow, this is a really beautiful poem!" If someone asks me at that time what do I think the poet is saying I do not think that I can give a definite answer. Now I might be able to say that this possibly a love poem, but still much is left blank. However, does it really matter if she wrote it to Susan Gilbert, or to Higginson, or to herself? Does it matter if she's heterosexual or homosexual? Does it matter there is indeed sexual connotations intended?

Higginson once said that he feared that malicious readers might infer much more from the poem than the virgin recluse intended there to be. My position is similar. As a poem, as a piece of art, Dickinson's poetry possesses a transcendental nature. Her depiction of love, pain, and emotions is simply beautiful. As readers, I think it is best to just stand back for a moment once in a while, and admire the poetry, the use of language, and the wit of Dickinson. One may say that further understanding of Dickinson's life may enhance the pleasure derived during reading the poem, but I do not see it as of any importance (unless you're an English major). People always seek to understand and to make sense of everything. But poetry is not logical, one cannot seek to "understand" poetry. Instead of trying to determine who's the lover in Shakespeare's sonnets, why not just admire them instead? I am sure that admiring the secret smile of Mona Lisa is just as well as satisfying without knowing who she is, or why Da Vinci drew her.

Song of Myself

Journal #20
Posted by Michael Fong
March 12, 2009
Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

"Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, / For me those that have been boys and that love women, / For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, / For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, / For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, / For me children and the begetters of children." (Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself")

I wonder if the title for this poem could be more appropriately named. As the biography shows, opera plays a huge part in Whitman's "Song of Myself". While I said that I was greatly confused when reading his poem, one thing that did not escape my attention is that how he groups his poetry into "movements", so to speak. Whitman creates a silent sort of tone in the beginning which usually ends in a climax of repetitions. That is, in a way, very similar to opera, or even classical music. True, Whitman does not have the conventional form of poetry, but he does exhibit certain subtle forms of music in his poetry.

My knowledge about operas is painfully limited, but I do remember the time when I first heard Luciano Pavarotti sing. His nine high Cs in La Fille du Regiment could still bring shivers, and who could forget his version of "Nessun Dorma", one of the most powerful versions that I have ever heard. His repetition of the nine high C notes is very similar with Whitman's constant repeptition of phrases and words in his poetry. It also has the operatic quality of the telling of a story. It makes the audience "feel" the music; the audience feels saddened when the tragedy of two lovers is unfolded, and rejoice when the villain is slain. Similarly, readers are invited to embark upon the "roller-coaster" of "Song of Myself". It is definitely not for the faint of heart, and indeed, a lifetime could be spent upon this single poem entirely. Is it perhaps because of lack of experience in life that makes the poem so difficult to comprehend for me? One way or the other, I do hope that someday I could be able to feel the music myself, and understand "Song of Myself" more completely.

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

Journal #19
Posted by Michael Fong
March 12, 2009

Walt Whitman, "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry"

"What is it then between us? / What is the count of the scores or hundreds of ye

ars between us? / Whatever it is, it avails not-distance avails not, and place avails not, / I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine, / I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, a

n

d bathed in the waters around it, / I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, / In

 the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me, / In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me, / I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution, / I too had receiv'd identity by my body, / That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of my body." (Walt Whitman, "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry")

In Whitman's "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry", he muses about his place in the flow of time, and examines the identities of individuals as well as himself.  He includes images of ferries and buildings in the poem, and seems to say that the experiences that he has and the things he has gone through are, to some extent, similar with those of others.

I will not attempt to say that I understand the poem fully, but I have also gone to some lengths to refrain myself from looking up the synopsis/analysis of Whitman's poem online, as I feel that I should "get" the poem myself.  My impression of "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" is the intriguing notion put forth by Whitman concerning one's individuality.  Not long ago I have heard an idea from a friend of mine who is currently majoring in sociology: Everyone claims to be unique in this world, and that is what makes everyone similar.  For Whitman to break all barriers of time, location, and place and say that everyone is, in a sense, not so different from others and that he understands everybody is an extremely bold idea to be said in his time.  Using simple, down-to-earth images of people boarding ferries and the river flowing

 by to make his point is ingenuity upon

 Whitman's part.  At the end of the day, we may all be only small particles of water constituting to the river of time.  We are not as significant or important as we perceive ourselves to be, but instead, we only are tiny pieces that are put together to create the big picture.  At the same time, such interconnectedness makes us not that much different from each other.  This is roughly what I myself got from "Crossing Brooklyn Bridge".  Whitman's poems are indeed organic, and who knows, twenty, or even forty years from now I may finally "get" and connect with the poem myself.  I might even be interviewed about my thoughts on Whitman's

 poetry with the camera rolling in my face on Columbus Ave/Broadway (or so I hope...)

The Awakening

Journal #18

Posted by Michael Fong

March 6, 2009

Kate Chopin, The Awakening

"'The trouble is,' sighed the Doctor, grasping her meaning intuitively, 'that youth is given up to illusions. It seems to be a provision of Nature; a decoy to secure mothers for the race. And Nature takes no account of moral consequences, of arbitrary conditions which we create, and which we feel obliged to maintain at any cost.'" (Kate Chopin, The Awakening)

After witnessing Madame Ratignolle give birth, Edna feels uneasy, and goes out into the open air. She engages in a conversation with Doctor Mandelot, in which she expresses implicitly of her desire to be alone and free from the bonds of her husband and children. The doctor, being an astute observer, realizes the implications behind Edna's words and utters this response, in which he addresses the desire of sex as a decoy set by Nature in order to ensure that humans do not die out. He then goes on to invite Edna to go to speak with him as soon as possible.

When taking Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" into consideration, it comes as a moderate surprise to me that the doctor in The Awakening appears as the only person who seems to have the capability to understand Edna. When I got to the part where the doctor is introduced, I almost half-expected that Edna would be locked up eventually in the story as a woman with the "female disease". He is the only life buoy, so to speak, that Edna could grab and hold on to. "Yes, I will blame you if you don't come and see me soon. We will talk of things you never have dreamt of talking about before." Oh if only Edna had gone to the doctor and confided him with her troubles, she may not have met her end as she did in the novel. If Edna is in the process of awakening during the novel, then the doctor is the "awakened" and the "enlightened" one.

However, in regards to the doctor's argument, I beg to differ. Can we blame who we are on Nature? We as humans pride ourselves to being different from animals in that we have a higher level of independence and individuality. It is therefore reasonable and logical to say that we owe responsibility to our own actions. Animals can act according to their instincts for that is what Nature made them to be, but as we are different from animals, the same consideration for them do not apply to us. Yes, desires and passions play a big role in the course of our lives and I am not saying that it is not a factor to a great many of our decisions, but I am saying that this should not be merely related as the main cause, or the main reason to what we do. Doctor Mandelot here seems to be saying that it is not the fault of youth, but rather, the illusions that Nature set up that is to blame. One can also make the relation to Twain's Letters from the Earth, where the yielding of mankind to sexual or personal desires is being addressed as well.