|Saturday, Feb. 29th||2:30-4:00||Amherst Room|
|Saturday, March 7th||2:30-4:00||Amherst Room|
|Saturday, March 14th||2:30-4:00||Amherst Room|
Versions of the Myth … Homer – In Homer’s account … Clytemnestra played a passive role in Agamemnon’s death, merely permitting her lover, Aegisthus, to murder Agamemnon… In this narrative, the driving force of Agamemnon’s death is Aegisthus’ desire to avenge his brothers and uncles, and take the throne which he believes belongs by right to his family.
Aeschylus – In the play Oresteia … Clytemnestra is the motivating force who plans to kill Agamemnon to avenge her murdered family members. She commits the killing herself, with a double-edged axe called a pelekus. Clytemnestra kills Agamemnon using the same method that would be used to sacrifice an animal to the gods: three blows, with a prayer to the gods uttered before striking the third. This is doubtless a reference to the sacrificial killing by Agamemnon of their daughter.
The Death of Clytemnestra … Aegisthus would remain as king for just seven years, for by that time Orestes was of age, and the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra returned to Mycenae to seek revenge upon the killers of his father. Aegisthus was thus killed by Orestes, as was his half-brother, Aletes, but it was also said that Orestes committed a great wrong when he killed his mother despite her pleadings and prayers. The killing of Clytemnestra would bring forth the wrath of the Erinyes upon Orestes, and indeed it was said that the very ghost of Clytemnestra cajoled the Erinyes in their persecution of her son. Eventually, Orestes was released from the hounding of the Erinyes when he was cleared of murder by Athena, and Orestes would subsequently marry his half-sister by Clytemnestra, Erigone.
… In short, yet another story of Happy Families.
Clytemnestra’s Story (PDF for download – 2 pages)
I’ve found an MA thesis online, written in 1977, that discusses specifically what I brought up in a general way at our first meeting: that the concept of The American Dream is as important to Faulkner’s portrait of Thomas Sutpen, as it is to Fitzgerald’s description of Jay Gatsby. Sharon Shreve Strohmaier, a graduate student at Drake University, begins her thesis with an Abstract that I summarize below (using a good deal of her own language)
Strohmaier’s thesis discusses the ways that both Faulkner’s Sutpen and Fitzgerald’s Gatsby engage in “fatal pursuit[s] of the American dream,” which she defines a “goal of personal success … sought in a state of unlimited possibility.” The “dreamer” believes the success can be reached “by faithful and arduous pursuit” and that it will lead to social acceptance and even admiration.
- They share insignificant beginnings and lack of family ties
- Neither has formal education and both rely on self-education
- They create their own personalities through their own efforts (self-definition instead of social prescription)
- They act with great discipline and have a clear timetable for achieving their dream
- The accumulation of wealth is a secondary but integral part of their dream
- Both use morally and legally suspect methods to obtain that wealth
- Sutpen and Gatsby achieve initial (if qualified) success after they become wealthy
- But both also wish to gain a measure of respectability in their very different societies. They never succeed and remain outsiders
- In the end, both characters fail utterly to achieve their dreams, in part because of a trait I would call naivete – but which Strohmaier describes as their “over-simplification of reality [that leads them] to ill-founded assumptions of success”
I would add to this commentary that in classic American literature and popular myth the impossibility of realizing the American Dream has been portrayed in heroic (or mock heroic) terms, and has long been described as “an essential” part of American history and “the American character.” Since the shattering of old norms in intellectual discourse beginning in the late 20th century, the concept of “The American Dream” has become an object of ridicule or worse. But it seems to me that a good deal of American history, literature and culture cannot be fully understood without an appreciation of the old Dream’s power to stimulate the imagination of Americans with diverse histories and backgrounds. The Dream survived for many generations in spite of its inherent ambiguities and the continuing uncertainty about whether its ideals were achievable and noble … or whether they were pernicious illusions.
Strohmaier’s full thesis (below) doesn’t present the most sophisticated analysis nor does she write particularly well – but I find many of her points interesting, her quotations from sources are good (if, of course, dated) … and anyone who studied American Studies, history, or literature in the 1960’s and 70’s might enjoy rediscovering some of the old ideas and interpretations – for all that later scholarship has passed them by. The thesis a fairly quick, easy read for anyone interested, but it’s not going to be everybody’s cup of tea.
An American Dream – The Fatal Gambit for Sutpen and Gatsby (Strohmaier MA thesis 1977) (118 [typescript] pages)
Marie sends us an essay that appeared in the New York Times in 2012, adapted from the then upcoming publication of a Modern Library Edition of Absalom, Absalom! It covers some basic ground, tries to address the crucial, probably central issue of race in the novel, and argues that Absalom is the Ulysses of American fiction.
And, if you want to see the ads, here’s the link to the article in the New York Times.
In 1933, three years before the publication of Absalom, Absalom!, Faulkner wrote a short story called “Wash” that was clearly part of his warm up for the great novel. Published in 1934, the story gives a straight-forward account of a climactic scene in Absalom between Wash Jones and Sutpen. Of course Faulkner made a number of changes to the story when he incorporated it into his larger work, and this makes it an interesting read after we’ve finished the novel. It also stands on its own as a fine short story and has often been anthologized.
Here’s a PDF of “Wash” … along with a corrected (and reformatted) version of “A Rose for Emily” – that shows Elisa was entirely correct in her assumption that we’d been reading a mildly expurgated text (vide the description of the workers whom Homer supervised).
A Rose for Emily was published in 1930, four years before Faulkner completed Absalom, Absalom!. Carcassone first appeared in 1931 in a short story collection that also contained A Rose for Emily. I post these because I think they serve as a good warm up for Absalom, Absalom!, in terms of shared themes, story props, and style.
Guardian Review, Far From The Madding Crowd (2015 retrospective)
Diana sends me this scan of an ad that’s been appearing in the Daily Hampshire Gazette.
I hope the Gazette’s editorial staff knows just how much trouble something like this can cause.
Helen Allingham (1848-1928) drew twelve full-page engravings for the first edition of Far from the Madding Crowd (1874). The Victorian Web has very full descriptions of these illustrations, as well as a biographical note about Allingham. (If the Slide Show doesn’t work on your computer, you can scroll down the page and access the images individually.)
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
[British] Schoolchildren used to learn this resonant memorial to humble rustic folk, and they still should – Carol Rumens, The Guardian (UK), January 2011
Here are some excerpts from Gray’s Elegy, the poem from which Hardy derived the title for his fourth novel. Below this, I’ve attached PDFs of the complete poem and of a fine introduction to the Elegy written by poet Carol Rumens as part of The Guardian’s long-running Poem of the Week series.
From Gray’s “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire’s return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e’er gave,
Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour:-
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. . . .
. . .
Th’ applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation’s eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib’d alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin’d;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame.
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;
Along the cool sequester’d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck’d,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. . . .