"To the Lighthouse" by Virginia Woolf (pt. 2 of 2) and incoherent ramblings

The lighthouse. Like the thought of summer, it beckons in the distance, that shining beacon of endless possibilities and opportunities; the buzzing of cicadas, droning of the lone biplane overhead, and the smell of dried grass. I close my eyes every now and then while reading this book. Thinking about summer makes me yearn for a distant past, of a past that haunts my hopes of summer and peace. A door slams. I step out of my room into the hallway, and from the lounge at the end of the hall, the grating babble of a sports commentator suddenly washes over me, disrupting a moment of peace I had found. No; a paper to write--two papers. Have I heard back from that summer job posting? What did I forget?--No, what is the use of thinking, worrying, always chastising myself for not being the best I can possibly be. But what is the use? Yes; we are here as students. Our sole task is to absorb knowledge, learn about new ways of thinking, and maybe have a little fun. Like hampsters on a hampster-wheel, we push forward in repetition; unthinking; unfeeling--so we beat on.

Notice The Great Gatsby reference in that last line. The last line of that book was so powerful I inadvertently committed it to memory. It goes something like: "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Okay so maybe my attempt at stream-of-consciousness writing pales in comparison to Virginia Woolf's talent, but we can start to see why To the Lighthouse is sometimes referred to as one of the greatest books of the twentieth century. Woolf enters the sublime (whatever that means). Think about it. Try to catch all the thoughts that pass through your mind. Each thought may have a specific topic, but collectively, all your thoughts are an incoherent mess--only white noise. Woolf, however, has been able to catch these thoughts, and even set them down in words.

To make a profound statement, Lily's painting can be recursively interpreted as Woolf's writing: an attempt at depicting reality--things as they really are--requires an immense amount of effort and concentration. Reflection. Introspection. Meditation. And no, not hippies and yoga.

But Virignia Woolf is too real for me. I noticed that I started looking for run-ons as I was reading, trying to find that glitch in her sentence. At any rate, Woolf is great. I think I will read the book again; let the glorious waves of nostalgia wash over me. And perhaps reread The Great Gatsby while I'm at it.

It's 1:00am. Good night.

"To the Lighthouse" by Virginia Woolf (pt. 1 of 2)

I've come to appreciate To the Lighthouse the same way I found F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby a memorable book. Virginia Woolf is able to weave spectacularly strong imagery into her stream-of-consciousness writing, creating an interesting atmosphere of a dreamy reality; there is a nostalgic feeling that comes with the mundane description of nature. I haven't quite been able to put my finger on why Woolf's writing is so powerfully evocative, but her writing creates a sense of disconnect, detachment, or even separation between individuals. This separation, I believe, is much like the separation of individuals today; that is, this modern (if not, postmodern) movement toward fierce individualism. Although technology has connected disparate parts of the world, this close connection is taken for granted and, I believe, has also added a new element of separation (for instance, social media or virtual reality websites). Maybe that's why Woolf struck such a powerful note with me.

The first section, "The Window," was similar to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. There are similar themes of the family, of love, and of marriage. Although there were some interesting moments in this first part, I was really hit by the transition to the second part, "Time Passes." For instance, I began to understand why Mrs. Ramsy thinks that her son James, when told that they won't be going to the lighthouse, "he will remember that all his life" (62). What I had taken for granted in part one was suddenly taken away from me in the next section; as time passed, relationships wavered, and people died, the vivid contrast between part one and two suggests the major theme of this novel: change.

I will now go ahead and make a cliched and cheesy interpretation; with change, comes hope. In the distance, there is that lighthouse--that shining beacon of hope. Similar to the green light at the end of the dock that haunts Gatsby, the beacon of hope always stands against the backdrop of our everyday lives; the distant blurry silhouette of the lighthouse. Maybe that's just an obvious simple-minded reading, but the themes of change and hope are undoubtedly universal themes of humanity. Change is our only constant (cliched, I know); and if it were not for hope, why would we bother get out of bed everyday?



[note: this post has not been in anyway funded by the Obama campaign]

"Crime and Punishment" by Fyodor Dostoevsky

Intense.

That sums it up, especially when reading alone late into the night. The forces of madness slowly creeps into the mind as silently as the plague, almost becoming real. I fell asleep reading the part where Rodya deliriously asks for his socks. I woke up around 3am only to find myself fully-dressed, stumbled about my room looking for my CU ID, and heard myself say, "Where's my socks?" For just a split-second, in the bleak fluorescent light of my dorm room, I thought I was in Rodya's grimy St. Petersburg room, and that I might have clubbed an old widow to death, and split her half-sister's skull in half. For the briefest of moments, I had entered Rodya's subconscious.

True story. But to regain my sanity, I sauntered down the hall to find a friend who--from reading Crime and Punishment as well--was in a similar state of morbid despondency, or as Joseph Conrad would probably say, a "brooding gloom" (Heart of Darkness).

The point is, these Russian (and Polish) authors really know how to get into your head. The collective emotions of Russia in the late 1800s, coupled with social tensions introduced by the Industrial Revolution and movement towards modernity, came to fruition in these powerful works of literature by Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Solzhenitsyn, and the likes. The inescapable filth of the citys' roads, and utter loss of moral judgment in individuals, create an altogether grim depiction of human nature: murder, prostitution, bankruptcy, alcoholism, domestic violence, and so on.

There is too much to talk about in Crime and Punishment, I feel like I won't be able to do it justice in so such a short post. I'm slightly delirious and rather exhausted right now, I'm positive I've gone mad already. But if I were to pick one thing that stuck out to me, it would be the strong parallels with Notes from the Underground. The Underground Man is essentially identical to Raskolnikov; they are both immensely spiteful characters. They are very rational people, but their hyperrationality has come to border the irrational. They are neurotic. In other words, they can function as normal human beings, but there is a glaring emotional imbalance. After committing his crime, Raskolnikov is repeatedly described as a "hypochondriac," he easily faints, and his health in general deteriorates. Since Notes preceded Crime and Punishment, there are similar themes of power and control. Both men seek control and power. Raskolnikov, for example, terrorizes Sonya and his family, and likens himself to Napoleon. When Porfiry questions him, Raskolnikov thinks he is control when he thinks he doesn''t fall for a trap Porfiry had set for him; he's also paranoid.

So of the numerous themes in Crime and Punishment, power and control are two themes that really stood out to me.

"Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen

I have seen no more than five minutes of Gossip Girl or Jersey Shore, but based on what I have seen and heard, I conclude that Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice is an 18th-century version of either one of these.

I also don't think I've ever yawned as much reading a book.


[Update 4/10: Just finished Pride and Prejudice in its beautiful entirety. Am feeling warm and fuzzy inside. I think I have a tear in my eye...what a beautiful ending. *sniff

No, just kidding. So maybe my initial reaction may have been too rough. When I told someone that Pride and Prejudice was similar to Gossip Girl, I was received by a glaring scowl.]

Nevertheless, of the interesting cast of characters in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth, Darcy, Mr. Bennet, and the Gardingers are characters who would be interesting to meet in real-life.

Elizabeth, as the protagonist, is a remarkably dynamic individual operating within a very static society. For instance, recall the one scene where she trudges through muddied paths and over stone walls to visit her sick sister Jane. By climbing over walls and finding the shortcuts to the Bingley's place, Elizabeth asserts her ability to transcend preconceived societal norms. She travels alone, and arrives at the Bringley residence disheveled and dirty--but she does not seem to mind at all. While the other ladies comment on her appearances, Elizabeth immediately tends to her sick sister.

There are two notable implications of this scene: Elizabeth's complete and utter disregard for social and gender norms and her ability to see past the superficial. That's why, as readers, we are generally inclined to side with Elizabeth.

Perhaps a better way of stating the issue presented in Pride and Prejudice is that social norms are superficial. The norm is to consider all things that concern surfaces; that is, there is tremendous weight placed on the appearance of clothing, apparent wealth, apparent relation to big names, and so on. Like Elizabeth, Mr. Bennett doesn't take such superficial matters so seriously. In response, he talks very little, makes fun of the women of his family, and retreats to his library. And speaking of library, the concept of books and reading is a recurring motif throughout the book. There is one scene where the Bennets, Bringleys, and Darcy retire to the living room after a massive banquet. Both Darcy and Elizabeth separately decide to while the time away by reading (while Miss Bringley, trying to flirt with Darcy, eventually gives up pretending to read).

Elizabeth, Darcy, and Mr. Bennett are all portrayed as avid readers, which attests to why they are such interesting individuals. They are critical readers, as well as critical thinkers. In a way, Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship represents that of individuals who see too much beyond surfaces. In light of the outright shallowness of their social norms, Elizabeth and Darcy struggle to figure out what aspects of their relationship are shallow (i.e. the marriage of Charlotte and Mr. Collins) and actually not shallow (i.e. not being attracted to the social stature of a person, but to personal, intrinsic attributes).

Really, I think Mr. Bennett is the most modern character of the novel. I really like him because he really doesn't give a flying hoot about anything. But that also makes him less interesting and less relevant in terms of what this book intends to do. He is cool, but is too far out. So, in terms of highlighting the major issues raised by the text, Elizabeth appropriately plays the protagonist because she can see through the superficial, but cannot quite extract herself from it. She is limited in so many respects: as a woman, a daughter, as a marriageable woman, and so on. Thus, these different roles she must cater to create a multiplicity of tensions that stretch Elizabeth in all dimensions.

And so after writing this post, I suppose that if I could look beyond the superficial--just like Elizabeth--then things start to become very interesting.

[Here's a clip we watched in class. Elizabeth explicitly asserts herself an equal to Darcy, effectively enraging Lady Catherine.]