Over the past month that we've been working on our historiographic metafictions I feel like I've learned a lot and gotten a lot of unique writing experiences. The worst experience thus far has been getting sick with flu-like symptoms while reading Maia's terrifyingly realistic depiction of the Spanish flu outbreak (complete with gory death scenes!). Although I do admit trying to write an extra scene full of dialogue of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle while I've had a stomach virus hasn't been a walk in the park either. Regardless, I thought it might be fun to share what I've learned about writing in this style and how I can improve in the future.
The first thing I learned was that in creative writing I tend to be a bit too ambitious. For my short story concept I chose a complex twisting drama about the murders of "Jack the Ripper" and a conspiracy involving the press and others to perpetuate the myth for their own benefit. This idea already seems a bit to complex for a "short" story, but I also initially wanted the story to involve the perspectives of 12 different characters who were all equally important and contributed evenly to the tone and message of the piece. I quickly realized that I was setting out to either write a decently sized novel or the world's longest short story. I realized I was too envious of the highly complex and well thought out plots and themes of our books that I sought out to create my own equally intricate attempt. I was eventually able to narrow the perspectives down to 3 but I still have the concepts and character backgrounds to do the larger project if I wanted. Perhaps if I find some free time over the summer I can make a hobby out of it. The point is that I learned early on that ambition is good, but you must keep your goals realistic.
I went fairly deep into some of my research, as my story deals with a lot of historical people and events, much like Libra or Ragtime. It was here that I discovered it is never enough to simply skim the surface in terms of research if you want to truly write a realistic historical portrayal of your time period. For example, at one point in my preliminary research I found that it is widely believed that journalist Tom Bullen was behind the "jack the ripper letters." Once I looked into the sources that the website cited, however I found that they were misquoting their information, it is true that many believed Tom Bullen to be behind the letters, that opinion has been largely discredited after a recent discovery of a confession by Bullen's colleague Fred Best. I would use this info to change a wikipedia article to more truthfully reflect it's cited material.
The last thing I learned about historiographic writing is that little details are everything in terms of setting up your setting and overall tone. I spent a lot of time researching the methods of Victorian constables and the mannerisms of dollymops (cheap Victorian prostitutes) so that I could portray them naturally and not feel that I was artificially manufacturing their dialogue and actions. I write best when I feel I understand everything about the character first, then simply letting them unfold naturally into a situation. If I do it correctly, it is the easiest and most natural way to write, but if I phone it in it can feel samey and unappealing.
I'm very happy to have done this project, as I feel it's really improved my skills as a writer and reader of historiographic and metafictional pieces. It helps that the assignment was also quite fun to do, something that doesn't happen often enough in classic educational learning if you ask me.
Monday, May 14, 2012
My thoughts on the ending
It seems that the ending of Libra, like so many of the past semester, has divided our class in terms of assessing its quality. I, for one, seem to fall somewhere in the middle between those who praise this ending's effectiveness and those who find it confusing and abrupt.
In regards to many who feel that the story should have gone on longer than it did, we must consider the structure with which this story was built. Considering 50% of this novel was built around the perspective of Lee, it would be impossible to have the same level of thematic balance once he's dead. I will admit that this is a problem in terms of the flow of the narrative, as we never get a chance to revisit some of the perspectives that would be interesting and captivating after the death of Lee, but DeLillo had already created such a long and balanced story structure that it would be jarring to change to a new one for the final hundred pages or so. Even taking that into consideration, however, the ending does have a rushed and abrupt quality to it, with the events we were so looking forward to analyzing and delving into happening within a very short time frame. It gives off the feeling of a lot of importance packed into a compact space, which many would say overwhelms the reader and gives them no amount of space to step back and assess what they had just experienced. I do think it's possible though, that this feeling is created intentionally. Experiencing the end of the book is much like how an observer would experience the sudden and shocking events of Kennedy and Oswald's assassinations, overwhelming you over a short period of time and leaving you with a lingering feeling of confusion and exhaustion. It's quite possible in my mind that DeLillo tried to capture this tone in the ending of his book, and so the reactions many members of our class are having are purely intentional. This could, also, be a simple attempt to grasp at any straws that justify the strange tone and experience of reading this book, which is one of the most uniquely impactful novels I've read in a while, leaving me not quite knowing what to feel.
Whatever the intended reaction of the reader or the true nature of this book's tone, I'm sure the debate of this ending's effectiveness will power onward for some time after we've all stopped.
In regards to many who feel that the story should have gone on longer than it did, we must consider the structure with which this story was built. Considering 50% of this novel was built around the perspective of Lee, it would be impossible to have the same level of thematic balance once he's dead. I will admit that this is a problem in terms of the flow of the narrative, as we never get a chance to revisit some of the perspectives that would be interesting and captivating after the death of Lee, but DeLillo had already created such a long and balanced story structure that it would be jarring to change to a new one for the final hundred pages or so. Even taking that into consideration, however, the ending does have a rushed and abrupt quality to it, with the events we were so looking forward to analyzing and delving into happening within a very short time frame. It gives off the feeling of a lot of importance packed into a compact space, which many would say overwhelms the reader and gives them no amount of space to step back and assess what they had just experienced. I do think it's possible though, that this feeling is created intentionally. Experiencing the end of the book is much like how an observer would experience the sudden and shocking events of Kennedy and Oswald's assassinations, overwhelming you over a short period of time and leaving you with a lingering feeling of confusion and exhaustion. It's quite possible in my mind that DeLillo tried to capture this tone in the ending of his book, and so the reactions many members of our class are having are purely intentional. This could, also, be a simple attempt to grasp at any straws that justify the strange tone and experience of reading this book, which is one of the most uniquely impactful novels I've read in a while, leaving me not quite knowing what to feel.
Whatever the intended reaction of the reader or the true nature of this book's tone, I'm sure the debate of this ending's effectiveness will power onward for some time after we've all stopped.
The Zapruder film and the inevitability of events
I think that in connecting the dots between Delillo's writing on the Zapruder film and his portrayal of Oswald's perspective a theme emerges that states that some things in life are inevitable and cannot be changed.
When Delillo describes the strange artistic party in Underworld, he talks about how the events of the film become slowly engrained into the audience's expectations, all the while still provoking shock and disgust when the same result always emerges. It was eerie to watch the clip on loop while Mr. Mitchell read that passage, as I began to feel and observe the very same reactions emerge in the classroom. We watch the clip over and over again, knowing on the surface that Kennedy will always be shot, and yet we continue to sit and watch, transfixed, some small part of ourselves hoping that this time will be different.
That same theme presents itself in Libra, especially near some of the later chapters in Dallas. Lee and Ferrie begins to view the act of killing the president as an acceptable inevitability, that there is no way to avoid it and that they might as well accept it for the historical moment that it will be.
On the whole, this reminds me a lot of the tralfamadorians and their views of history and its progression. This line of thinking also led me to consider how my reading has been effected y my understanding of history. In a sense, I haven't read this book before, but have instead known only bits and pieces, a vague overview. This leaves me with a thinly connected progression of events that the book proceeds to fill in. Libra seems to hit a perfect balance between engagement and inevitability, as I know certain events are destined to occur, and yet I am intrigued as to how they will be reached. I know from the onset, for instance, that Oswald will be in the book depository during the day of Kennedy's assassination, but I do not know for what reasons that might be or how Oswald got to be there. A similar reaction occurs with Jack Ruby, who, when he is introduced, I recognize as the assassin of Oswald, yet I do not know the motivation behind the act. The book still has the same air of inevitable occurrences that a second reading brings with it, but it is still engaging, as the events themselves are shrouded in mystery and doubt.
This has been one of the most interesting themes of some of the books this semester, and of all the ideas we explored in terms of postmodernist writing I think it is by far the most advanced.
When Delillo describes the strange artistic party in Underworld, he talks about how the events of the film become slowly engrained into the audience's expectations, all the while still provoking shock and disgust when the same result always emerges. It was eerie to watch the clip on loop while Mr. Mitchell read that passage, as I began to feel and observe the very same reactions emerge in the classroom. We watch the clip over and over again, knowing on the surface that Kennedy will always be shot, and yet we continue to sit and watch, transfixed, some small part of ourselves hoping that this time will be different.
That same theme presents itself in Libra, especially near some of the later chapters in Dallas. Lee and Ferrie begins to view the act of killing the president as an acceptable inevitability, that there is no way to avoid it and that they might as well accept it for the historical moment that it will be.
On the whole, this reminds me a lot of the tralfamadorians and their views of history and its progression. This line of thinking also led me to consider how my reading has been effected y my understanding of history. In a sense, I haven't read this book before, but have instead known only bits and pieces, a vague overview. This leaves me with a thinly connected progression of events that the book proceeds to fill in. Libra seems to hit a perfect balance between engagement and inevitability, as I know certain events are destined to occur, and yet I am intrigued as to how they will be reached. I know from the onset, for instance, that Oswald will be in the book depository during the day of Kennedy's assassination, but I do not know for what reasons that might be or how Oswald got to be there. A similar reaction occurs with Jack Ruby, who, when he is introduced, I recognize as the assassin of Oswald, yet I do not know the motivation behind the act. The book still has the same air of inevitable occurrences that a second reading brings with it, but it is still engaging, as the events themselves are shrouded in mystery and doubt.
This has been one of the most interesting themes of some of the books this semester, and of all the ideas we explored in terms of postmodernist writing I think it is by far the most advanced.
Pity for Lee
Lee Harvey Oswald is not a historical figure that I've usually looked on with much kindness. Looking at just his actions from my twenty-first century perspective, I see little that I could sympathize with or relate to. This is probably the greatest achievement of Libra in my mind, because this work of fiction has forced me to reconsider my opinions of historical characters and readjust the ways in which I seek to justify my evaluation of others.
The tired old adage goes "walk a mile in someone else's shoes." Libra does much more than that, showing you how the shoes were made, expectations of the shoes, and the flaws inherent in the shoes' design. To get away from this INCREDIBLY tortured metaphor, Libra serves to help us understand what makes Lee tick, and better understand him as a flawed human being, not just the black and white deranged villain of the twentieth century that historical photos seek to portray him as.
Interestingly though, much of this character is little more than interpretation. The Lee we find in Libra is a patchwork of history and fiction, with DeLillo filling in the missing bits with his own unique interpretations and assumptions. No person in their right mind would defend the historical Lee Harvey Oswald by saying "oh don't be so hard on him, haven't you read Libra, he's really an unlucky guy who sought to be more than he could reasonably achieve, a modern day Icarus!" Instead, we are meant to consider the plausibility of this Oswald's existence. In other words, Lee Harvey Oswald was not necessarily the person that DeLillo portrays, but he COULD be, and that's what's important.
I started this book with the belief that Lee Harvey Oswald was a mentally sick individual who brutally murdered a man he never met, whether by chance or by conspiracy, and believed his actions were inherently commendable. While it is entirely possible that Oswald behaved this way, DeLillo has shown me that he could reasonably be a pitiable man who sought to prove himself and be a part of something bigger, showing his own worth as a thinker and a man of ideals. Neither interpretation has more weight on my mind when I consider the historical figure, and this has also trained me to view more than just the surface appearance when judging the actions of individuals.
The tired old adage goes "walk a mile in someone else's shoes." Libra does much more than that, showing you how the shoes were made, expectations of the shoes, and the flaws inherent in the shoes' design. To get away from this INCREDIBLY tortured metaphor, Libra serves to help us understand what makes Lee tick, and better understand him as a flawed human being, not just the black and white deranged villain of the twentieth century that historical photos seek to portray him as.
Interestingly though, much of this character is little more than interpretation. The Lee we find in Libra is a patchwork of history and fiction, with DeLillo filling in the missing bits with his own unique interpretations and assumptions. No person in their right mind would defend the historical Lee Harvey Oswald by saying "oh don't be so hard on him, haven't you read Libra, he's really an unlucky guy who sought to be more than he could reasonably achieve, a modern day Icarus!" Instead, we are meant to consider the plausibility of this Oswald's existence. In other words, Lee Harvey Oswald was not necessarily the person that DeLillo portrays, but he COULD be, and that's what's important.
I started this book with the belief that Lee Harvey Oswald was a mentally sick individual who brutally murdered a man he never met, whether by chance or by conspiracy, and believed his actions were inherently commendable. While it is entirely possible that Oswald behaved this way, DeLillo has shown me that he could reasonably be a pitiable man who sought to prove himself and be a part of something bigger, showing his own worth as a thinker and a man of ideals. Neither interpretation has more weight on my mind when I consider the historical figure, and this has also trained me to view more than just the surface appearance when judging the actions of individuals.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Linden as a Human
I felt that this interpretation of our former president wasn't as offensive as many seem think.
Many people I've discussed this with have cited the ways in which Johnson is viewed as weak or obnoxious as reasons that this interpretation is disrespectful or diminishes Johnson's memory. I disagree with this assumption. If anything, i think that David Foster Wallace wanted to make Johnson more human by making him both sympathetic and relateable.
The way that we have been trained to treat presidents does a few separate things to how we view them as people. For one, we are taught that the President represents the country as a whole. He is meant to be wise, respectable, and level-headed in his approach to everything. Because of this way we portray our leader, we also find ourselves unable to relate to them.
We work so hard to make them seem professional and focused that we could never picture them doing a normal everyday task. This habit has changed for the most part, with the development of larger journalistic groups and the advent of paparazzi, but for Linden Johnson, many still viewed him as a wholly serious individual.
Those who didn't respect Johnson despised him. His involvement in the Vietnam War made him the closest relateable image for protestors to latch on to. This meant that Johnson was only ever viewed as traditional strong or diabolical and heartless.
Wallace uses the human flaws and "gross" asides to take apart the concept of Jonson we all hold in our countries collective memory, smashing it to pieces like taking a sledgehammer to a statue. Wallace also serves to present a human Johnson by showing the man's reaction to many socially and emotionally pressuring situations, such as the protestors heckling him.
Wallace allows the reader to consider how they've viewed great leaders of the past. By presenting Johnson in a human and vulnerable context, he's reinforced the idea that no one person is beyond doubt, weakness, or vulnerability. Ideally, a reader should walk away from this book with a new perspective of politics and celebrity of today.
Many people I've discussed this with have cited the ways in which Johnson is viewed as weak or obnoxious as reasons that this interpretation is disrespectful or diminishes Johnson's memory. I disagree with this assumption. If anything, i think that David Foster Wallace wanted to make Johnson more human by making him both sympathetic and relateable.
The way that we have been trained to treat presidents does a few separate things to how we view them as people. For one, we are taught that the President represents the country as a whole. He is meant to be wise, respectable, and level-headed in his approach to everything. Because of this way we portray our leader, we also find ourselves unable to relate to them.
We work so hard to make them seem professional and focused that we could never picture them doing a normal everyday task. This habit has changed for the most part, with the development of larger journalistic groups and the advent of paparazzi, but for Linden Johnson, many still viewed him as a wholly serious individual.
Those who didn't respect Johnson despised him. His involvement in the Vietnam War made him the closest relateable image for protestors to latch on to. This meant that Johnson was only ever viewed as traditional strong or diabolical and heartless.
Wallace uses the human flaws and "gross" asides to take apart the concept of Jonson we all hold in our countries collective memory, smashing it to pieces like taking a sledgehammer to a statue. Wallace also serves to present a human Johnson by showing the man's reaction to many socially and emotionally pressuring situations, such as the protestors heckling him.
Wallace allows the reader to consider how they've viewed great leaders of the past. By presenting Johnson in a human and vulnerable context, he's reinforced the idea that no one person is beyond doubt, weakness, or vulnerability. Ideally, a reader should walk away from this book with a new perspective of politics and celebrity of today.
Understanding symbolic injury
When Dana first lost her arm, I quickly recognized that it would have important symbolic importance. Using loss of limb or injury in general (also exemplified by Kevin's scar) as symbolism for a painful past or loss of innocence, has been a long-running theme in literature, film, and interactive media, and I've always enjoyed the element when it is used.
The reason I enjoy the symbolic event so much is because of its effectiveness. When a character loses a limb it is an obvious visual change. They are severely hampered, and they are constantly reminded of the event that stole it from them. Films like The Empire Strikes Back understand that seeing a person lose their arm is a brutal thing to see, and so when Luke is disarmed (ha) we are just as shocked and upset as he is. From that point, Luke is no longer a pure and honest innocent, and doubt begins to fill his mind with the revelation of his father's identity.
The use of scars as symbolism has also been done effectively in series like Avatar: the Last Airbender. In that series, the character of Zuko was an optimistic and ambitious youth, but when he angers his father the young prince is severely burned, leaving a horrible scar on the side of his face. From that point on Zuko was sullen and bitter, carrying his shame in the same way he carried his scar.
In these ways, scars and losses of limb can be some of the most effective ways to demonstrate a characters hardship, and here is no different. When Dana looses her arm, it symbolizes how she has lost part of her own innocence. She has left it behind, and she can never be the same person she was before. This specific use of the symbolic element reminds me of the Coen Brothers' interpretation of True Grit, a story in which the young girl Mattie, loses her innocence (along with her arm), and becomes bitter and cold. On the whole, this is one of my favorite forms of physical symbolism.
The reason I enjoy the symbolic event so much is because of its effectiveness. When a character loses a limb it is an obvious visual change. They are severely hampered, and they are constantly reminded of the event that stole it from them. Films like The Empire Strikes Back understand that seeing a person lose their arm is a brutal thing to see, and so when Luke is disarmed (ha) we are just as shocked and upset as he is. From that point, Luke is no longer a pure and honest innocent, and doubt begins to fill his mind with the revelation of his father's identity.
The use of scars as symbolism has also been done effectively in series like Avatar: the Last Airbender. In that series, the character of Zuko was an optimistic and ambitious youth, but when he angers his father the young prince is severely burned, leaving a horrible scar on the side of his face. From that point on Zuko was sullen and bitter, carrying his shame in the same way he carried his scar.
In these ways, scars and losses of limb can be some of the most effective ways to demonstrate a characters hardship, and here is no different. When Dana looses her arm, it symbolizes how she has lost part of her own innocence. She has left it behind, and she can never be the same person she was before. This specific use of the symbolic element reminds me of the Coen Brothers' interpretation of True Grit, a story in which the young girl Mattie, loses her innocence (along with her arm), and becomes bitter and cold. On the whole, this is one of my favorite forms of physical symbolism.
Time Travel as a Metephor
I've always enjoyed stories that involve time travel. It's truly the epitome of the fish out of water scenario, but in these specific situations, the main character is constantly viewing their new setting as either the origins or result of the setting they've become familiar with. It wasn't until Kindred that I realized how perfectly this represents historical analysis.
A historian is presented as a tragic hero by Butler, a soul who is forever cursed to look back upon the mistakes of the past without any ability to change them. The same is true for Dana. She is quite literally forced to view the events and ideas of the past and not only accept them as unchangeable, but also understand them as an inseparable part of her culture's history.
The framing device of time travel allows the author to give a more personal explanation of a historians process, allowing us to better understand how history affects us. In a way, the book has the same goals as many of the historical novels we've read: transforming the reader into their own self-aware historian. I really admire these books for doing this, and think that time travel has been one of the most effective so far, because of how it provides a surrogate for the reader's modern mindset.
A historian is presented as a tragic hero by Butler, a soul who is forever cursed to look back upon the mistakes of the past without any ability to change them. The same is true for Dana. She is quite literally forced to view the events and ideas of the past and not only accept them as unchangeable, but also understand them as an inseparable part of her culture's history.
The framing device of time travel allows the author to give a more personal explanation of a historians process, allowing us to better understand how history affects us. In a way, the book has the same goals as many of the historical novels we've read: transforming the reader into their own self-aware historian. I really admire these books for doing this, and think that time travel has been one of the most effective so far, because of how it provides a surrogate for the reader's modern mindset.
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