Oh the English and the Irish and their songs

I have written before about my love of music, and how I connect it with many different texts that I am exposed to. In James Joyce’s “The Dead” I made a few connections specifically to music that was included there. I was very interested in becoming familiar with the included songs because music says so much about a scene, just like the soundtracks of a movie. Becoming familiar with the music allowed me to feel the mood a little more, or at least what I thought was the mood.

 

I became very interested in the song “The Lass of Aughrim” whose lyrics are as follows:

Well if you be the Lass of Aughrim

As I suppose you to be

Come give me the last token

Between you and me

 

Ah Gregory don't you remember

That night on the hill

When we swapped rings off each other's hands

Surely against my will

 

Mine was of the beaten gold

Yours but black tin

Yes mine was of the beaten gold

Yours but black tin

 

Once I had listened to the song, I was reminded of an English Folk Song called “Early One Morning.” This wasn’t because the words were the same or were sung in similar meaning, but more because of my reaction to the words.  It reminded me of Gretta. The lyrics to this song go:

 

Early one morning just as the sun was rising, I heard a maid sing in the valley below: “Oh, don’t deceive me! Oh, never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”

“Remember the vows that you made to marry, Remember the bow’r where you vow’d to be true; Oh, don’t deceive me! Oh, never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”

“Gay is the garland and fresh are the roses I’ve cull’d from the garden to bind on thy brow; Oh, don’t deceive me! Oh, never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”

Thus sang the poor maiden her sorrows bewailing, Thus sang the poor maid in the valley below: “Oh, don’t deceive me! Oh, never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”

The first time that I sang this song, I was a sophomore in high school, and it was one of the pieces that I prepared for state’s Music Festival. It was something from years ago that made me happy when I sang it then because while I had striven to insert as much emotion into the piece as possible, I could not feel what the music was truly saying. A couple of days ago, I heard the song on NPR. The experience that came with that listening was indescribable, but it almost brought me to tears. The song that I had once loved for its mere beauty had become, in a sense, a part of my life.

After two years I learned that I had been no better than a cook and a maid to a guy. He spoke pleasantly often enough to me to keep me around, but most of it was a lie. He swore he was truthful in his actions and words, but I was deceived. Needless to say, we broke up, which is actually a blessing in disguise, but because of that experience, a familiar song became something so new and different that it was profoundly unrecognizable. I think this might've been how Gretta felt too.

Random connection

Reading “The Dead” by James Joyce reminded me so much of reading Henrik Ibsen’s play “A Doll’s House.” I have no idea what sparked that idea in my head, but I remember how BORED I was reading Ibsen’s piece, and I’m not going to lie… Joyce bored me to death, no pun intended.  After watching several of the clips that were posted on Sam’s blog of the cinematic version of “The Dead,” the connection became much stronger because no longer was I directing the action in my head, rather I was watching an interpretation of those scenes. The themes don’t exactly match up, but the action, or rather lackthereof seems to be very similar!

Live henceforth in my heart

Music has played an important role in many of our discussions of epiphany, and as this semester has progressed, other themes have begun to connect themselves to these concepts for me. I have been performing my entire life. I have sung the National Anthem professionally for as long as I can remember, had the privilege to be involved in various opera companies and musical theatre productions, competed in a variety of vocal contests, etc. Music is a language unto itself, and it can be understood and interpreted by so many and in so many ways. Music has connected with the way that I have read for many years, but in my own mind, as themes are brought up, a repertoire of music surfaces as well.

 

 

As I have been working on my group project (Little Gidding), the image of a rose is seen in many different forms. Roses have played a very important role in my singing career, and last year when I had thought about throwing in the towel, I had an ‘Ah’ moment because of a rose. It was in an upper division choral music instruction class here at MSU that I sang a song that reignited my passion for music. It revived my love for performing and for sharing that part of myself. For this class, I was asked to sing a song titled ‘No Flower that Blows’ by Thomas Linley. The lyrics are as follows:

 

No flow’r that blows is like, is like this rose,____ No flow’r that blows____ is like this rose, Or scatters such perfume, or scatters such perfume; No flow’r that blows is like, is like this rose,___ no flow’r that blows___is like, is like this rose: Upon my breast, ah! Gently rest___And ever, ever bloom, and ever, ever bloom. No flow’r that blows is like, is like this rose,___ no flow’r that blows___ is like, is like this rose, Dear pledge__ to prove a parent’s love, A pleasing, pleasing gift___ though art; Come, sweetest flow’r, and from___ this hour Live hence-forth in my heart, live hence-forth in my heart. No flow’r that blows is like, is like this rose,___ no flow’r that blows___ is like, is like this rose.

 

In the lyrics there specifically is an ‘Ah’ moment, but that was not my epiphanic moment. Mine came when I, at one point, crescendoed and ritarded as my voice climbed the scale. The point was so thoughtful and meaningful in the lyrics, that there were many comments that followed the song about that section; however, I felt those emotions too. I was no longer the speaker in the song singing about her love. I was singing about my love. The rose became my music. The rose is my love. 

The Book Smart vs. the Tech Savvy

DISCLAIMER: Well the lag in my postings was not due to laziness rather technical difficulties (which we English majors seem to be subjected to more often than not!). I am pleased to say that my blog is now up and running, again, so I will be able to post all of the blogs that I have typed up in Microsoft Word.  To kick things off, here is my blog on my career as an English major:

 

The following is a list of the English classes that I have taken over the past five years, including those of that are in progress:

Fall 2005

English 121W—College Writing I

English 123IS—Introduction to Literary Study

 

Spring 2006

English 212—Biblical/Classical Backgrounds in Literature

English 236—Theory and Methods in Linguistics

 

Fall 2006

English 216—British Literature I

English 218—American Literature I

 

Spring 2007

English 217—British Literature II

 

Fall 2007

English 221—College Writing II

English 300—Survey of Literary Criticism

 

Spring 2008

English 219—American Literature II

English 343—19^th Century British Literature

English 385—History of the English Language

 

Fall 2008

I had originally enrolled in a handful of classes, including Dr. Sexson’s children’s literature course, but I unfortunately became very ill. I withdrew from all of my courses because my health declined so quickly and in a very extreme fashion. I learned that hospitals do not make for good classrooms, and that while it was important to me to obtain my degree, I was not going to do so if I didn’t have my health. That was one of the biggest “Ah!” moments in my life.

 

Spring 2009

English 214—Regional Literature (focus on Montana)

English 342—Restoration/18^th Century British Literature

 

Summer 2009

English 326—Advanced Composition

 

Fall 2009

Literature 324—16^th/17^th Century British Literature

Literature 414—Literature of Place (focus on the American West)

Literature 440—Studies in World Literature

 

Spring 2010

Literature 233—Classical Foundations of Literature

Literature 337—Oral Traditions

Literature 420—Critical Theory

Literature 494—Seminar: Research Issues

 

 

Thanks to a wide variety of course materials, I have been exposed to what I would think is a pretty well rounded assortment of writing. There have been classes that have influenced me more than others, and the same can be said for texts, as well. Here is a brief and rather informal analysis of a few of those:

 

The Penguin Guide to English Literature: Britain and Ireland—this was the first book that I bought from the MSU bookstore. I actually bought it the weekend of orientation, the summer before my freshman year. I was so excited to major in English being the daughter of a graduate Yale’s English program, and the granddaughter of a highly accomplished grandmother who held bachelors and masters in both English and Latin and went on to teach. I also have aunts and uncles who have specialized in the same field, so it was no surprise that my passions laid there.  The book itself is a very broad overview of the study of literature, but it gave me a taste of what was ahead of me!

 

“Six Walks in the Fictional Woods” by Umberto Eco—This was a lecture series that Umberto Eco presented at Harvard. My instructor for English 123 actually went to the lecture series and admitted that the content was difficult to understand, and that even she was unable to grasp it in its entirety. The first time I read the book I became frustrated, so I read it again…and again… and again, and I never quite got it; however, I was able to find out that this book could alleviate the pain of other situations, and so when I was upset in other areas of my life, I would read Eco. Oh wait, I still do.

 

A History of the English Language—This was the textbook that was required for English 385, and it lead me to become infatuated with the English language. I graduated from being an English major who reads books for understanding, enlightenment, and enjoyment (etc) to being an English major who read an appreciated all of the history behind the words themselves. I also found that I love Old English for its raw beauty. The English language is ever changing, thus the way we read changes as well. This book helped me step back and learn to read in a different way.

 

Other books, which have inspired me, include: “The Elizabethan World Picture” by  E.M.W. Tillyard, “Verbivore’s Feast” by Chrysti the Wordsmith (LOVE HER NPR SHOW!), and the Oxford English Dictionary. 

"and with its soft touch came instant oblivion"

During class on Wednesday, Dr. Sexson asked us to used deductive reasoning, as opposed to inductive reasoning, to formulate a definition of 'epiphany.' That is to say that we should use the text to create the definition, and not try to fit a current definition of the word to fit the text. The epiphanic moment that was to be our guide was chapter seven in "The Wind and the Willows" by Brian Jacques. I was already familiar with the book because it had been read to me as a small child. I've probably seen every cinematic version as well (turns out the Brit's versions are my favorites!), so I was already confident in where the major epiphany occurred in the story.

Through careful re-reading of the chapter, I found that I could also incorporate another idea that Dr. Sexson presented to the class: the little 'Oh' epiphanies and the larger 'Ah' epiphanies. Even though I am familiar with the text, I found myself still having those moments, especially with the sense of having to create a definition based on the text.

I connected the emphasis on the 'norm' with the actually epiphany itself, first. Portly, the juvenile otter, was missing, again. To Mole, it didn't raise a concern, which he shares saying "What, that child?.... Well, suppose he is; why worry about it? He's always straying off and getting lost, and turning up again; he's so adventurous. But no harm ever happens to him" (Jacques 117). The first 'oh' moment comes soon after when Rat shares that it isn't normal this time; Portly has been missing for several days. It is after hearing this that Mole is overcome by an urge, an obligation, to help find the missing otter. It is a small epiphany because it was only upon hearing the news that he felt this stirring inside of him.

As the story moves along, and the characters' lives have been altered by that small epiphany: "Their old haunts greeted them again in other raiment, as if they had slipped away and put on this pure new apparel and come quietly back, smiling as they shyly waited to see if they would be recognized again under it" (Jacques 120-121). Their lives had been altered in some fashion, and they could no longer connect with things the same way as they did in the past. Perhaps, it was because they were being forced to look at things around them in a different light and more closely, and as a result they began to appreciate their surroundings more.  

Moving on, the story begins to build to a larger epiphany. The 'ah' moment. Rat and Mole's surroundings begin to change, and the they are in awe to what is happening to them. Rat recognizes it at first: "It's gone!.... So beautiful and strange and new! Since it was to end so soon, I almost wish I never heard it. For it has roused a longing in me that is pain, and nothing seems worth while but just to hear that sound once more and go on listening to it for ever" (Jacques 121-122). But it returns. Mole is unable to see for himself the change in nature that Rat is seeing until the dawn begins to show the beauty of the landscape mixed with the music in the air. The two friends realize that they are experiencing something special that will not last. It was overwhelming to their senses. Mole literally has an 'ah' experience: "Then suddenly the Mole felt a great Awe fall upon him, an awe that turned his muscles to water, bowed his head, and rooted his feet to the ground....indeed he felt wonderfully at peace and happy" (124).

This was a point in their epiphany where they were overwhelmed by the experience. The act did not happen all at once. It occurred over a series of time, how long, maybe as long as it takes for the sun to rise just enough to shed light on the landscape to make them visible enough to appreciate. For as the sun continued to rise, the vision vanished for them. The experience was over. Things were normal again because with the sun rise the birds wake and sing their merry songs, and the time has come when they usually explore the world. Their experience has greatly affected them, but it has only changed them in a split moment, and its effects are not so great as to alter their lives in some dramatic way. They will go on with their lives, and their subconscious will take the experience and file it away. Thus, "gift of forgetfulness" (Jacques 126).  Put willows here.

So getting to the point of this assignment, through careful reading of chapter seven of "the Wind and the Willows," I have attempted to create my own definition of 'epiphany.' To me, I think that epiphanies can be grand, overwhelming experiences, like that of Rat and Mole at dawn when they hear the 'music,' or they can be seemingly normal blips of time, when overwhelming realizations come and affect the parties involved, but they are not necessarily awesome, like when Mole has an overwhelming urge to help in the search for Portly. . It was not a great, big ephiphanic experience, yet it altered his life. It was an 'oh' moment. He felt in his gut that he needed to help after finding out that the norm had changed. The epiphanies are seen/recognized in some way or another, whether is through an outward change in how, physically, they view their surroundings, or if it is a change in their outlook in life, etc. Epiphanies do not have to be recognized by those who have them as blatant objects of time. They are felt within, and can be dismissed as fast as they come. I'm sure I am overlooking something, but at this time, this is at least a start to a working definition of 'epiphany' that has been formulated through careful reading of a text.

Don't judge a book by its cover!!!!!

I have been trying to do some background information to better understand the subject of this class, but I have also been trying to keep up with four literature classes (I'm sure some understand how tough that can be), and I realized that as I opened my T.S. Elliot for this class that I was officially ready to graduate. You see, Dr. Sexson had said that he expected our copies of the "Four Quartets" to resemble his own by the time we were done with this class. When I was a freshman, I would've have cringed at the thought of that! Now, as I have spent five years at MSU, I have learned that it is completely fine to rough up your books (not the library's). And so, as I began the process of reading, that snap occurred when you open your book all of the way... and the binding breaks! That was the moment I knew that I am on the right track to graduating this semester.... as loony as it sounds!

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...

I was quite fortunate growing up to have two parents that valued education as highly as they did. My mother was a graduate of Smith and my father was a graduate of Yale. My father majored in English literature, and he was the editor of the Yale Daily News; my mother minored in English. With this information, you can probably understand why they were so concerned with how I was educated. The story goes that I was not even walking when I was learning to read, granted they also said I was a late walker, so I don't know if there's anything to be proud of there. My father worked hard to teach me how to read and write at an early age. By the time I was in second grade, my father was assigning me novels to read, and then he would, at a minimum, quiz me on what I had read, or he would make me write on it. Some of my favorite books from that time were Penrod by Booth Tarkington, the Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, and the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis; however, one book that resonated with me the most, and the one that I return to most often is a book called Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier.

The story was about a young woman who meets a fabulously wealthy widower, Maxim De Winters (for short), in Monte Carlo while working as a companion. Through a very shot amount of time, the young woman (who is never given a first name) and Mr. De Winters marry, and he whisks her off to his sprawling estate in the English countryside: Manderley. The second Mrs. De Winters is welcomed almost without question by the household staff, but it was Mrs. Danvers, the head housekeeper, who was cold from the start. She has been devoted to Maxim's first wife, Rebecca, and after her tragic death, Mrs Danvers enshrined her possessions in such a way that it was if she had never died.

Rebecca's death is one of my favorite types of epiphanies in literature, and it was one that took Mrs. Danvers, who I think is one of the best female villains in the books that I have read. I do have to apologize if I ruin the ending for anyone who has read it, but it is most important. You see, when Rebecca died, it was said that she had a sailing accident, which a body washed up a few weeks later that Maxim identified as his wife's, though it was thoroughly mutilated by the Channel. Rebecca was an accomplished sailor, and she often sailed alone off the coast of the Manderley estate. Her boathouse had be transformed into a lush retreat for her to entertain company, and so it was fairly often that she would be away from the main house. One person that frequented the cottage was Rebecca's cousin, Jack Favell, with whom she was sexually involved with.

Jack was convinced that Maxim staged Rebecca's death after a fight. Rebecca had sent word to him that she needed to seem him as soon as possible, and he was under the impression that it was to have news of her being pregnant. Thinking this, Jack wove a brilliant tale of a madly jealous husband killing his wife to prevent scandal, and then sinking his wife and her boat. Rebecca did tell him that she was pregnant, but she used it to her advantage.

Towards the end of the story, a wreck in the Channel brought in government divers, and they found the lost boat and discovered a body in the cabin; it was Rebecca. An inquest was held, and it was looking bleak for Maxim De Winters. Jack Favell and Mrs. Danvers (or Danny as he affectionately called her) were about to triumph over the De Winters and have justice for their beloved, and idolized, Rebecca.

It was after a visit to one of her doctors that the inquest found that Rebecca had been sick; that was the news she had for Jack, and though Maxim may have done the dirty work and murdered his wife, it was ruled a suicide. Rebecca had used her false pregnancy to enrage Maxim enough to kill her; essentially, it was assisted suicide, but the law was unaware of those facts.

The epiphany in this story that hit me the hardest was when Mrs. Danvers learned of the cancer and the secret visits to a London doctor. She had thought that she was the closest to Rebecca, and that she knew her most intimate of secrets. The fact that Rebecca had an advanced form of cancer, and that the verdict matched so well with the circumstances tore Mrs. Danvers apart. In her madness, she burned down Manderley. I began to realize that the characters needed the house to burn. It was Rebecca's house and toxic to their relationship. This was probably my first epiphany that I truly had in literature, though it was probably not my brightest.

As an additional note, the book has been adapted to the silver screen, several times. My favorite has always been the 1940 Alfred Hitchcock version. Judith Anderson was a brilliant Mrs. Danvers!