Katja's Literature Journals

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 11, Twain II
31 January, 2007


"Sometimes we’d have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark—which was a candle in a cabin window—and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two—on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It’s lovely to live on a raft." (Mark Twain 301)

Mark Twain describes the slow-moving life on Huck and Jim’s raft on the Mississippi River in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Twain’s loving portrait of the Mississippi River is unforgettable. Providing life, transportation and beauty the Mississippi lulls the reader with its quiet rhythms. The beautiful description ends with Huck (redundantly) musing over what he seems fortunate to be experiencing: a life in near solitude no faster than the speed of a current. The river serves as a peaceful foil for the turmoil and uncertainty—and sometimes violence—of Huck and Jim’s lives. Additionally, he river’s pace seems to heighten some of Huck’s attributes: his reasoning, his sensitivity, his vulnerability and purity.

Of course the Mississippi can be seen as a metaphor for Huck’s life, but also Mark Twain’s own life as well as the life of the nation. It is important to see these three ersatz river-lives as snapshots, seemingly idyllic and pastoral, but under the surface of each lurks chaos, grief and doubt.

Twain must have confronted his personal demons when crafting this novel. If his aim was to create a people’s parable with a weighty moral message he succeeded, however at great cost to himself. The Norton Anthology states that his writing—and his persona—was forever altered after Huck Finn was published, increasing "the depth of his disillusionment" (215). Perhaps letting Huck take him down the Mississippi River was too much of a catharsis for Twain, who struggled with his own responses to socio-political issues such as slavery and personal issues such as sudden fame and fortune.

The tumultuous events taking place in the nation at this time are reflected in the river’s surface, as well as in the circumstances of the novel. Mark Twain leaves his readers with a lot of contemplative work, inviting them to consider life from the vantagepoint of a raft on the great river.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 10, Twain
30 January, 2007


"I went to the raft, and set down in the wigwam to think. But I couldn’t come to nothing. I thought till I wore my head sore, but I couldn’t see no way out of the trouble." (Mark Twain 357)

The quote refers to the point in Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, when Huck realizes that his companion, the runaway slave Jim, has been captured.

The novel places Huck in the very active role of problem-solver numerous times. Being a boy of marginal background the reader sees Huck fall back on his quick streetsmarts to salvage a situation or deflect attention from himself or whomever he is trying to protect at the time. Huck is constantly thinking and scheming; playing out potential scenarios in his head. Huck Finn takes his thinking seriously, and makes time to sit down and really meditate on the issue at hand. The reader can easily visualize Huck in deep though almost like a cartoon with a thought-bubble over his head.

Mark Twain has granted Huck with means of strategizing, reasoning and clear judgement, attributes not usually bestowed upon a character of such lowly status, or a child for that matter. Twain’s genius lies in this ability to draw characters that are just regular people and to give them value by allowing them to be smart, capable and highly functioning human beings. Twain lends credibility and integrity to the entire American population in a way, because Huck’s character reflects Everyman.

Even though Huck states that he cannot see a way out of his troubles, he resolves to try to "re-steal" Jim back from his captors. This drive to do one’s very best mirrors a sentiment rooted in the American spirit so well illustrated by Mark Twain.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 9 Winnemucca
26 January, 2007


"Since Winnemucca’s original handwritten manuscript has long since been lost, we have nothing but suspicion and intuition for our guides." (Dr. Scott Lankford 13)

This quote offers some explanation as to why Winnemucca remains largely unknown, both as a writer as well as a historical figure, yet allows us to read between the lines to form our own image of Sarah Winnemucca.

I find it sad that Sarah’s notes and manuscripts are lost. A search on the Internet did not turn up a single mention of any papers attributed to her. I understand that the West was a chaotic place back then and Nevada did not even achieve statehood until 1864, thus neat record keeping cannot be expected. I find myself wondering what Sarah’s life was like; how often did she write; when did she meet with Mary Mann, her editor; did she show her writing to anyone else; did Mary Mann volunteer her editing services on the basis of friendship or something else? Do we even know that there were handwritten manuscripts to begin with and do we know for certain that they are lost?

Dr. Lankford addresses the need for "suspicion and intuition" (13) in research, which often represent the very first triggers of any research in the first place. However, the concrete evidence that could hold up to epistemological parameters is unfortunately missing as far as Sarah Winnemucca is concerned.

I hope that one day we can find out more about Sarah Winnemucca perhaps even through the discovery of her manuscripts. It would be interesting to compare the Sarah evident in her handwritten pages with the Sarah that appears in Life among the Paiutes.


Source for Nevada statehood information: http://www.50states.com/nevada.htm

I've changed the numeration to the correct sequence. Sorry about the confusion.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 8, Dickinson III
21 January, 2007


"It often alarms Father—He says Death might occur, and he has Molds of all the rest—but has no Mold of me, but I noticed that Quick wore off those things, in a few days, and forestall the dishonor—You will think no caprice of me—" (Emily Dickinson 209)

This is from a letter, [My Business is Circumference], Emily Dickinson wrote to her friend Thomas Wentworth Higginson in 1862. Here she laments her father’s request for a portrait of her.

I think this letter speaks volumes of Dickinson’s apparent feelings towards her family and herself. She seems quite unhappy to have to consider the idea of sitting for a portrait or photograph, and with good reason. The already existing "Molds" (209) of her siblings seem to have lost their charm and have fallen out of favor with her father. She asks the Mr. Higginson not assume she is making this statement frivolously; she has really thought this through. I think she is offended at her father’s lack of enduring interest in his children.

It is sad that a father would have to consider making special arrangements to get a picture taken of his child. If the child is as unwilling as Emily is it would seem rather rude, since it is such a big deal. If my kids refuse to have their picture taken, I just wait a couple of days and try again. I do not live in fear of them dying suddenly. There might be some reason why Emily’s father fears this fate for his daughter, perhaps explaining why she was such a recluse. Was she sickly? Did she have emotional/psychological problems putting her at risk for suicide?

Emily might also dislike the notion of sitting for a portrait because it would mean having to invite the world into her home, an idea she would definitely resent after working so hard to be left in isolation. Perhaps she suffered low self-esteem or lacked tolerance for "common people." Whatever is the basis for her reasoning, this letter offers a glimpse in to Dickinson’s daily life and her family relationships.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 7, Dickinson II
21 January, 2007


"Some keep the Sabbath going to Church—/
I keep it, staying at Home—/
With a Bobolink for a Chorister—/
And an Orchard, for a Dome—/

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice—/
I just wear my wings—/
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, /
Our little Sexton—sings. /

God preaches, a noted Clergyman—/
And the sermon is never long, /
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last—/
I’m going all along. /"
(Emily Dickinson 179)

Here, Emily Dickinson speaks of how she spends her devotional time, channeling some Emersonian Transcendentalist ideas about Man being Nature being God.

This poem, number 324, has such a beautiful rhythm I had to quote the whole thing. I think it well illustrates what I tried to get across in my previous journal, about Dickinson’s life being one of devotion. She, perhaps ironically, points out that living life can be a pious activity in itself if one observes the details.

Dickinson, who said that her home was "the definition of God" (166), suggests that any place can be equally holy to Church, no doubt a controversial attitude in Victorian times, and when Dickinson wears her "wings" (line 6), she is an expression of divinity, or even a personification of God. Her ideas bring to mind the Quaker belief where each person is directly connected to God.
The tone of the poem is casual and intimate. In the third stanza, Dickinson seems intimately acquainted with God, and attempts to sway her audience to her brand of Faith with promises of short sermons. She is not combative, but confident and secure in her worship. The poem reminds me of the contemporary trend of mindfulness regarding how to incorporate your philosophy into daily life, This sentiment fits better in with a modern spiritual outlook as opposed to the Jonathan Edwards version of tyrannical religion.

The last two lines are the most interesting. Dickinson convinces me that one does not need to wait for life to pass to reach the Pearly Gates. She does away with human suffering and tedious hours of ruminating over the purposes of life. Emily says the journey is the destination.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 6, Dickinson
21 January, 2007


"From her twenties until her death Dickinson was free to devote much of her life to poetry; and by the late 1850s, when she had become a true poet, Richard B. Sewall explains, Dickinson "lived increasingly in her own chosen country, where she was free. Her home was the setting, with a family that learned not to intrude."" (168)

The editor of the Norton head notes touches on the remarkable life of isolation that Dickinson impressed upon herself. The Richard B. Sewall quote enhances the reader’s understanding of Dickinson’s eccentricities.

When I think of Emily Dickinson I think of repression, self-negation and social and emotional asceticism. Dickinson’s lack of physically close relationships stands in stark contrast to the considerable intellectual long-distance friendships she formed with writers, editors and family members. This backdrop of bizarre self-imposed isolation adds to the allure of Dickinson’s poems, because they seem to mirror a very rich inner life of vivid thought processes and deeply held emotions.

I think that Dickinson’s isolation was a form of devotion. Her self-promotion—some would call it illusions of grandeur—seems almost like a kind of worship, as it is righteous and true. Her religious doubt allowed her to really explore her faith in a way few people ever do, excepting those who have devoted their lives to God. The parameters of Dickinson’s life are similar to those of a nun or monk: the isolation, the devotion to one cause, the meditation on deeper levels of existence, prayer (in Dickinson’s life expressed as writing).

What is curious is the way she lived in the family home, yet somehow apart. I find it fascinating that anyone could accomplish that, and I can hardly imagine having a deep relationship with someone based on letter writing only. Dickinson wrote letters to her friends and family members who lived next door! Why did her family let her be? As a parent I would think it very strange—even suspicious—if my children demanded that much isolation. Dickinson’s family appears to have been in awe or perhaps fear of her. I must read a good Dickinson biography. Do you know any?

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal #5, Bierce II
18 January, 2007


"He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great draught of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek!" (Ambrose Bierce 456)

Ambrose Bierce’s short story An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge would be a great story for creative writing students to work with. The text is full of examples of tension and foreshadowing; the story arc is perfect and the metaphors solidly classic. This quote refers to when Peyton Farquhar is dying from hanging but his end-of-life hallucinations take over and offer up another version of reality.

The sentence is a complete scene in itself. Farquhar falls into the water and subsequently emerges as illustrated above. Bierce obviously—and with no shortage of irony—uses the rebirth motif to illustrate the most lucid and life-changing event in Farquhars life, i.e., his death. The explosion of this one brief and next-to-last instant of this man’s life invites the reader to ponder the speed with which life passes us by. The amount of happenings in this one moment in Farquhar’s life is astounding, but not unlikely. I believe that our marvelous brains are capable of creating this sequence of events. The moment’s psychological impact on Farquhar is so massive that his mind independently conjures up a scene easier to deal with than reality itself. It seems like some type of built-in self-preservation.

Bierce challenges his readers intellectually and emotionally. His writing strikes me as modern, given what they knew about science and brain function at the time the story was written. Perhaps his time spent in battle pushed him to believe in some layers of psychological protection during a person’s time of death.

Katja
ENGL 48 B
Journal # 4, Bierce
17 January, 2007


"Suppose a man—a civilian and student of hanging—should elude the picket post and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said Farquhar, smiling, "what could he accomplish?" (Ambrose Bierce 455)

This quote from Ambrose Bierce’s An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge refers to an exchange between Farquhar, the Southern "victim," and the Northern soldier who is setting him up to be captured.

Farquhar sees his chance to get into the action and do something honorable for his Southern state of Alabama, having been "prevented [...] from taking service" (454) at an earlier occasion. Based on false information from the soldier, Farquhar hopes to set the bridge on fire by using accumulated driftwood, thereby hampering the progress of the Union Army.

Our friend Farquhar appears a pretty desperate fellow deeply in need of boosting his male ego. Farquhar would have a hard time explaining what he was doing at home at this time of crisis, no matter which side of the conflict he agreed with. Other men his age were all enlisted, like the soldier who has come by the plantation. Perhaps the soldier is offering up false information to Farquhar as an impulsive sort of revenge. I can imagine the rage such a man would experience had he come face to face with someone so securely tucked up at home in the midst of a war. Farquhar preposterously believes that he can alter the course of events by his single contribution. How arrogant!

Bierce refers to Peyton Farquhar as a "student of hanging" (455), managing to offer both a blow to (Southern) supporters of vigilante-style justice (read lynching) and a foreshadowing of events to follow. As a plantation owner he may very well have "studied" hanging on his very own land, during "lessons" featuring his very own slaves. However, Farquhar, who is all talk and no action, eventually must swallow a big dose of his own bitter medicine. The swift end bring s swift justice to the deserving Farquhar.

This fatalistic type of outcome of "karma is a bitch" reminds me very much of Flannery O’Connor’s stories: the Southern setting, the grotesque topic dripping with irony, the fable-like moral at the end.

Katja
Journal #3
ENGL 48B, Harte
January 17, 2007


"Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome face betrayed small concern of these indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause, was another question. "I reckon they’re after somebody," he reflected; "likely it’s me." He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture." (Bret Harte 428)

This excerpt is from Bret Harte’s The Outcasts of Poker Flat of 1869. The four short sentences above paint a detailed portrait of a Western character: the gambler. Oakhurst is an archetype; the gambler wearing his poker face; a man so detail-oriented the dust on his boots cannot even escape his attention.

Old West stereotypes were lovingly developed and gleefully explored by Harte and his contemporaries. Here, the gambler, a man of questionable quality, is portrayed as quiet, manly, intelligent and in control. He appears somewhat vain which implies he must have something to be vain about, be it status, belongings or an unusual amount of savvy. Harte wants the reader to embrace Oakhurst as the hero of Poker Flat, regardless of his little gambling habit. By placing his flawed protagonist in a short story, Harte offers the reader no time to consider likeability factor.

Oakhurst leaves a lot to the imagination. The only thing we really know is his profession/pastime. As the story develops we learn that he seems to be a good man, a sympathetic soul who kindly shares gambling advice and helps prostitutes in need. However, can we be sure that a gambler—a winning gambler at that—can be trusted? The many levels of this story reveal themselves in the details, much like Oakhurst himself. Depths are only hinted at in Harte’s text, inviting the reader’s own interpretation. Harte leaves the conclusion of Poker Flat deliciously open-ended and Oakhurst remains a frustratingly shadowy figure like a set-piece on a stage. The story pivots, essentially, on Oakhurst’s character until the very end and beyond.

Katja
ENGL 48B, Whitman II
Journal #2
10 January, 2007


"I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me/" (Walt Whitman 98)

"I remember, I say, only one rude and ignorant man/" (Walt Whitman 98)

Both lines are taken from Whitman’s "Once I Pass’d through a Populous City," although from different versions of that poem. Whitman describes how one memory has been completely overwhelmed by another. The intensity of the break up and the relationship between the poem’s lovers is well illustrated by this obliteration of time and place.

I chose to use both versions of this particular line because I think each gives completely opposite meanings to the poem as a whole. Let’s start with the first rendition. I think Whitman draws an adequate portrait of his "woman" (98) in just this one short line. I visualize a somewhat needy female, who through her desperate ways have caused the relationship to come to an end. She clings to her lover, she ardently hopes for a continuation of their connection, however her partner cannot fathom prolonging their relation. He wants to go, she begs him to stay, he stays a while, comes to his senses, leaves, comes back, etc. This intense emotional dance causes the loss of any sense of the lovers’ surroundings, the lapse of time, their place in the universe.

Whitman’s re-interpretation of the poem offers new details. Here, the tables are turned. His phraseology in the second time around allows us to read with a different voice. Perhaps, the voice in this version takes on the role of the jilted lover, victim of a rejection so hurtful as to usurp all knowledge of surrounding goings-on. The line sounds angry and offended, as if spoken by someone who was taken by surprise at the turn of events.

As is typical in Whitman’s poetry the genders do not really matter. In any place we could switch out man for woman and vice versa. Whitman’s poem is not about gender specifics, but rather the emotional impact human relationships impart on partners in love.

Katja
ENGL 48B
Journal #1, Whitman
9 January, 2007

"Leaves of Grass [Song of Myself]"
(Walt Whitman)

Walt Whitman, champion of the intimate aspects of humanity, hints at the greater scope of his most famous poem in its title. Whitman combines some Emersonian pathos, some eastern-influenced navel-gazing and some American brawn to create a new form of poetry.

The title's subtitle, "Song of Myself," tells the reader to expect a celebration of the Self; indeed a very modern and American sentiment. The "myself" becomes the reader's Self (empty signifier, anyone?) as the poem unfolds its layers. Whitman's poem is on the whole positive and accepting; a merciful stance towards all that is human, whether pretty or not. "Leaves of Grass" allows the reader to indulge in some self-promotion, something one can never have enough of.

Whitman shows how Man and Nature are interwoven and interdependent; a beautiful example of the kind of symbiosis hailed by Emerson and other Transcendentalists. The "leaves of grass" that are instrumental to the poem can be thought of as parts of a greater whole, regardless of whether that whole refers to one single indiviual or all of Mankind. In nature, the repetition of leaf upon leaf creates a perfect grassy expanse time and time again, but in detail every blade is a unique individualist, crucial to the finished product. Man is similarly recreated time and time again, year after year, generation after generation in order to form a powerful race, but each one holds considerable individual value and beauty.

The poet calls upon each of us to not lose ourselves in our roles as cogs in the machine, but to look inward to reap rewards unique to Mankind. This, according to Whitman, unlocks the magic of the Human Experience.