Two Ghosts and their Pleas for Remembrance

       Toni Morrison's novel Beloved deals with time in a unique way. At points, it feels as if everything is happening at the same time, the past and the present spill over each other's borders. One of the main examples of this occurring is in the idea of Sethe's dead daughter, named only by her tombstone, coming back to haunt the family. For years, Sethe has been repressing emotions. She has hidden away some of her guilt and spent to rest of it by overprotecting her living daughter Denver, and trying to keep her housebound, where she can't be hurt. They acknowledge that there is a spirit in the house, the spirit of the baby, but not enough to let it out in the open. As they are at the opening of the book, years after the infanticide has occurred, 124 is still a rotten place.

       When a baby faced, weak girl the exact age that Beloved would have been comes knocking on their   door, it is debatable as to what or who she is. She may be a Jesus figure, a devil, a terrible coincidence, or even the physical manifestation of the murdered child. The most accurate explanation may be that she is a blend of all of these possibilities. Whoever she is, this ghostly presence is most of all a catalyst for change. She puts Sethe's repressed feelings of abandonment and fear out into the open. She pushes Denver out of the ambition-draining tomb she has lived in all of her life and into the cold hard light of day. She pushes the truth about what Sethe did out of 124 and out where everyone can see. So that Paul D can realize it, retreat, and come back again with a whole new willingness to help Sethe. Beloved wants to be remembered.

       Without deciding whether or not Beloved is truly a redeeming character, it seems that she does end up being the catalyst for change. Her insatiable desire to be remembered ends up helping the household of 124 in the end. Having Beloved not be forgotten allows the community back in and allows Paul D back into Sethe's life. A similar case in which a ghost is the means to a new ending is King Hamlet in Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Appearing to his son one night and asking for revenge against his brother for both murder and the stealing of his wife, he is, in his own way, asking for remembrance. He is asking that his story not die in the grave with him, but rather be resolved by his son.

       In his article, "Hamlet's Ghost: A Review Article,"(http://www.anthropoetics.ucla.edu/ap0701/hamlet.htm) for Anthropoetics 7, Peter Goldman asserts that "The primary imperative of the Ghost is to "Remember," not to "Revenge," as commonly thought." This reinforces the idea that thinking of these ghosts separately from a positive or negative stance, their main functions are to initiate change. It is from here that the two stories take very different paths. The characters in Beloved end up better off for the truth being out in the open, and those in Hamlet die in a revengeful bloodbath. However, in both cases, the motive of the ghost figure could be interpreted superficially as revenge. It does appear, when the red light floods Paul D at his arrival to 124, that the baby could be purely an angry force. However, the relationship of the ghosts in Hamlet and Beloved to memory proves that, above all, it is their desire not to be forgotten than leads them to be catalysts of great change.
 

Keys and Doors

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, set one, two textbooks on my forearm, grab my coffee. Thumping the door of my convertible closed with my hip, I manage to find my keys and am rewarded with two reassuring beeps.

I swing and sway my to the staircase, carefully up the single flight, to the floor that my apartment is on. My door is in sight, if I can just make it ten more steps... when I hear the jingle of my car keys hitting the concrete. Damn.

I don't have a free hand to get them right now, so I make it to the door of my apartment. Finally I can let my arms rest as I set my load down and double back for my keys, which are... wait? Where are they?

They're gone. Stolen. Someone must have nabbed them while I was away. I look around, but the hallway is empty.

If my dad actually lived here, instead of moving in with his stupid girlfriend, this wouldn't be such a huge problem. I briefly wonder what it's like to come home to a family.

I give my dad a call. It goes to voice mail one, two times.

Loading up with all my stuff again, as I won't have anything else stolen, I make my way down to the front office. There is a sign that says, "Out for lunch, will return 2:30." It's five o'clock.

Back up the stairs, slowly. Reaching the top, I spill my Starbucks all over my new J Brand jeans. And that's when I started crying.

I try my dad one more time. No luck.

I wish mom were alive.

I call Aunt Jane to see if I can crash at her place tonight, but her phone goes to voice mail as well. Figures. If I got a call after what my father did to her, I would probably hang up on me too.

I am wallowing in self pity as six o'clock approaches, when I hear footsteps. A girl my age: seventeen, maybe eighteen. She's skinny with dark brown hair. I've seen her around. She goes to the public high school across the street, so we've never talked.

She walks over and looks at me thoughtfully.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." I am not in the mood to deal with this girl.

I expect her to keep walking, when she sits down next to me.

She's getting in my personal space now, and as if she's reading my thoughts, she replies, "I thought you might want some company. You look sad."

And it's kind of sweet.

"My name's Kit," she says, and extends her hand. "You look like you can't get in to your apartment."

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"Andrea. And that's true. I admire your persistence."

"I can't get into my apartment either."

For a blissful forty five minutes, we sit and talk. Not about anything too serious. The sun is starting to set, and I'm cold, so we get up and walk around.

We're wandering the halls when she asks, "Want some snacks from the vending machine?"

I didn't even know our apartment building had a vending machine.

We pass a door, and I hear screaming and plates breaking. I shudder.

"That's where I live," Kit says uneasily. We lock eyes, our worlds not as different as we'd hoped.

"There's something I should tell you," says Kit. I hear a jingle and she pulls my car keys out of her pocket.

Dad calls, and I let it go to voice mail.

Billy Pilgrim Meets Sean Connery

       For this comparison, I looked for a war movie that was reasonably recent, and not boring. I found what I was looking for in the 1990 film, the Hunt for Red October, starring Sean Connery as the Soviet submarine commander of their newest vessel, the Red October. Also featured is a very young Alec Baldwin, as a CIA analyst who gets in "too deep." The basic plot is that a USSR submarine is detected to have a new capacity that makes it silent and undetectable by sonar. They then enable this new technology. The Soviets put out an order to sink the Red October, as they have shared their plans to defect with them. The Soviets tell the Americans that they have threatened war in order to get them to sink the submarine. With his skills and obsession, Baldwin makes a guess that the commander (Connery) is trying to defect, not start a war. He then proceeds to save the day.
       The Baldwin character is not unlike Billy Pilgrim. He went into the navy at a young age, was severely wounded in a helicopter crash, but afterwards, returned to school. After this he was recommended to the CIA. However, this seems to be a glorified version of our friend Billy, who did all these things, but with lesser reward. After he returned from the bombing of Dresden, he enrolled in the Illium School of Optometry, less reputed than the CIA.
       In this movie, war is centered around strategy, and discovering who your true enemies are. In some of the final scenes, the winner is determined by who can most cleverly manipulate the submarine. By its title and technological innovation, we can see that the Red October is the clear winner at the end of the day. Torpedoes are avoided by millimeter, and require the sheer determination and skill of human beings to be eradicated. There characters are men. Even the young CIA analyst has an intelligence and an ability far beyond his years. Surprisingly, few men die, and none die by chance. In this movie, it seems that every effect is a direct result of a cause, and that if you work hard enough, you can win any war.
       This is not the case in Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 5. In the world of the protagonist, and I use that term loosely, because he's a sad one at best, events happen because this is how that have always happened and always will happen. Nothing is your fault, and time moves around willy nilly, as explained by the Tralfamadorian philosophy. While in the Hunt for Red October, the soldiers are buff, intelligent adults, Billy Pilgrim is a poorly equipped, scared child. It seems that he can do nothing to escape his fate of being "unstuck in time." In contrast to the Hunt for Red October, many people die and are killed. It is not given nearly as much significance as even the brushed over murder of the second in command in the movie, but merely responded to with, "so it goes."
       The vastness in the interpretation of war can be seen just in these two examples of works that address it. While both feature young boys growing up in the throes of battle, they have very different outcomes. The Hunt for Red October explores the themes of strategy and manipulation, while Slaughterhouse 5 deals with fate and an incomprehensible, deterministic universe.

Caution: Illness in Literature May Actually Mean Something

       In the chapter "Marked for Greatness," it seemed kind of wrong to judge a character based on their physical markings. However, I came to terms with the fact that it is a good way to tell characters apart and see into the future of the character while they are still young. Something seems different about judging a character by their illness. It could be because it's more temporary (in some cases) or that there is less stigma related to it (as long as it isn't syphilis or AIDS.) Actually, I can't explain why it seems more harmless. It just does. In chapter 23, "It's Never Just Heart Disease," Foster tells us that illness in literature is often more than what meets the eye.
       The most immediate character that comes to mind when I think of problems of the heart relating to emotional and social trouble is the Grinch. I admit this is pretty cheesy. Said to have a heart “two sizes too small,” the Grinch is a misanthropic cave creature who hates all things to do with Christmas. Through the course of the story, the Grinch learns the real meaning of Christmas from the people in Whoville are content and grateful even without their presents, and his emotional problems are fixed. The heart problems play a big role in the mediocre live-action movie version, showing that the Grinch's heart is initially broken when his childhood sweetheart rejects his valentine. Either way, in both versions, he comes out of the story with a little more empathy and humanity, and as a result, his heart grows.
       As Foster explains in the chapter, not all illnesses of the heart are so obvious. It can even have to do with a pacemaker and a murder. In the television series Homeland, one character has a run-in with “heart trouble.” Responsible for a drone attack that killed the precious child, also Nazir’s son, Issa, that Brody had come to love, Brody and Nazir plan William Walden’s assassination.  They do this by manipulating Walden’s pacemaker from a distance, while Brody is with him. When his heart starts to fail him, Walden tries to reach for the phone, but Brody snatches it away and says, "You still don't get it, do you? I'm killing you." The idea of a sick heart could come into play in several places here. Both Brody and Nazir suffer from broken hearts after the death of Issa. It is for separate and semi-twisted reasons, but that’s another story. Also, both assassins kill Walden believing that only a man with a very sick heart would be capable of bombing a school filled with children, even if it was abroad.
       Tiny Tim’s story from A Christmas Carol could also fit in under this chapter: the idea that Scrooge’s greed is killing Tiny Tim. Scrooge gives a face to the many greedy misanthropes that have hoarded money, and Tiny Tim gives a face to all of the starving children who suffer as a consequence. Fantine’s death in Les Miserables is not far behind on this train of thought. I have only seen it once, but the feeling I had as the last curtain closed was that society killed Fantine, and that it was not a direct consequence of any character, nor was it her fault.
       I can think of one example that fits the category of “illness, starring as illness.” In other words, once case in which tuberculosis does not mean much at all. This is the character of Buddy Willard in The Bell Jar. Although his time spent in the TB hospital parallels Esther’s time in the mental institution, the TB itself doesn’t seem to be very relevant to the overarching plot. Buddy's illness is just as boring as Buddy himself.
       Since most modern work has grown out of the stereotypical “fever,” when an author in our times chooses to include an illness or disease, it is to serve their agenda. Whether it’s for the symbolism, to drive the plot, or as a result of the time period, heart disease or another such ailment, is not to be ignored. I will definitely be thinking about this the next time someone dies of a heart attack in a book.

Snow? Oh no!

      For the most part, when the weather is calm, we don't think about it. I have yet to hear anyone complain because it's too sunny and mild outside. We go on with out lives. In chapter 9, "It's More Than Just Rain or Snow," Foster tells us that weather in literature can indicate or provide contrast against the mood of the piece. Bad weather can push people together. Thinking about tumultuous storm clouds, my  mind is drawn to the Wizard of Oz, with the small farm shaken around by the tornado. It can make you stay home, cancel plans, or run for shelter. It can also separate people, if the weather is too severe for them to meet. The section about the cleansing effects of rain reminded me of a religious ceremony- almost like baptism. Rain in a book can either reflect the mood or create the mood. It seems that when things hit rock bottom, and can't get any worse, it starts pouring. And that's when the lightning starts.
      Back to English II required reading, the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, weather plays a significant role in the creepiness of the novel. I remember that throughout the book, the sky stayed foggy and grey. When there is fog and rain and clouds, it gets dark. Especially since street lamps were in their infancy. I bet dark in 1800's England is about as dreary as it can get. The dark is a symbol of the unknown. We're not afraid of the dark itself, but rather what lurks in the realm beyond what we're able to see. In this case, the quality of the weather deepened the dark mood.
      When I think of rain, I can easily picture a woman crying outside during a storm, with her makeup running down her face. Like in that sappy movie The Notebook. In those cases, it's almost like the sky is sympathizing with the downtrodden woman and cries with her.
      In the last few pages of the Catcher in the Rye, Holden stands out in the pouring rain watching his sister Phoebe ride the carousel. This rain is a kind of cleansing rain. It could mean a fresh start. For once in the book, Holden doesn't feel like complaining. He's almost indifferent to the water. He is at peace and has found some state of happiness.
      The first big weather significance I can think of in television is from House, M.D. Because of the infarction he suffered in his right thigh, for House, rain or snow means pain.Whenever the weather is bad, we see him inside. He cannot risk slipping outside as water, a cane, and a painful disability don't mix well. The one time we do see him in the pouring rain is during the days when the Ketamine treatment has temporarily cured him. We then see him running through the rain in nostalgia and joy. Too bad it doesn't last. But then again, if our favorite characters were always happy and keeping themselves out of trouble, there wouldn't be anything interesting to watch.
   

Would you care to dine with me?

      Food is everywhere. From the McDonald's on the corner to the refrigerator, consuming food can be as mundane as blinking. This, as Foster tells us in chapter two, Nice to Eat with You: Acts of Communion, is what makes a meal in literature special. I can't imagine an author having to describe things like, "Tom stabs the piece of lettuce with his fork and then raises it to his mouth, lowers the fork and takes a drink of wine." A meal lasts at least thirty minutes (if it's going well), so that would get old fast. Unless it's a symbol, and more than your everyday meatloaf. Sharing anything can be special, like letting your daughter drive your sports car or taking turns with your favorite doll. The importance is heightened by how sensitive that people are about nourishment. The energy we get from our food and drink is a basic survival need, and humans are right to be picky about what goes in their bodies and who eats with them.

      The meal described in Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky is one that does not bode well for any of the characters. Katerina Ivanovna spends over half of all she has on a memorial dinner for her late husband, even as she and her children have been living in terrible circumstances and are on the brink of starvation. She only has the money because of Raskolnikov's generosity. Though she invites everyone, only the worst bunch from the complex she lives in come out to eat. It was intended by Katerina to be a last stand of pride, but by the end of the dinner she is alternating between screaming at her guests and coughing up more and more blood. In this case, the meal is a downward spiral for the characters in the book. A meal is a chance for things to go very well or very badly, and here it was the latter. This failed meal precedes Katerina Ivanovna's death.

      It's a stimulating thought to imagine that sharing a meal can be a form of communion. From splitting a piece of gum to getting drinks after work, sharing food is sharing a part of what you have with someone else. When I read the paragraph about a shared joint being a form of communion, I was reminded of the closing tableau of The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Though the Joad family has failed at all the dreams they had hoped for going West, Rose of Sharon is able to share her breast milk with an old man dying of starvation. This communion is the difference between life and death for the man, and a chance for the Joads to finally influence fate positively. This ends the book on a note of hope that if you can still help others, it might be worth it to keep on living.

      Line 649 of Comedy of Errors sums up in a great way that it's not the food, it's the company: "But though my cates be meane, take them in good part, Better cheere may you have, but not with better hart." I haven't yet heard of anyone leaving a meal because the food was bad, if they were with people they cared about. Because food is so vital to our bodies, eating when we are nervous or excited can be very difficult. Eating with those that make us uncomfortable can be even worse. The next time that any sort of meal comes up in a book I'm reading, I'm going to keep a lookout.