I enjoyed this article. It made me look at Wikipedia as much more of a legitimate effort at universal knowledge, rather than its somewhat awful reputation. I think the article rather intelligently examined the websites foibles as well as its benefits over more traditional forms of encyclopedia.
I do think that some of the things said in defense of the site were rather unconsidered, but then again, coming from Wikipedia, unconsidered is hardly a rarity. I thought the defense of errors was particularly flawed: "When confronted with evidence of errors or bias, Wikipedians invoke a favorite excuse: look how often the mainstream media, and the traditional encyclopedia, are wrong! As defenses go, this is the epistemological equivalent of 'But Johnny jumped off the bridge first.'" However, part of what makes this quote so frustrating to me is the tendency of the articles author to treat her subject as a juvenile one. How can we be expected to examine Wikipedia fairly and without bias with that kind of obvious tone to the work?
Also, and this is likely because I've never bothered to contribute myself (although I flatter myself to think that if I took the time I could surely find something useful to say), I did not realize how many rules, and good rules, there were about contributing. The rules about N.P.O.V. (the neutral point of view) and verifiability are both interesting, but I had never really inferred them from the site's content.
Overall, even though it pointed out flaws of the site I had never considered, I think this article has made me take Wikipedia somewhat more seriously. Yes, it is obviously a flawed effort: nothing allowing that much free input can expect to be free from a few "trolls", an unfortunate law of the Internet. However, its goals are strangely optimistic, and I find myself hoping that, eventually, we can have this sort of all-inclusive knowledge.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Pygmalion: 2nd Response
The sequel is undoubtedly my favorite part of this play. While I appreciate the movie versions, I have to say that I found the Eliza and Higgins romance aspect to be unrealistic, at best, and I am extremely happy with the way Shaw explains this away in his true ending. I can also understand how frustrating it must have been for him to deal with the seemingly unalterable opinion of the public that every "romance" must absolutely end with the main characters falling for one another. This kind of staid, formulaic opinion of performance and literature is what I most abhor about the "Hollywood-izing" of popular culture. I applaud literature that goes against the formula, and Shaw not only does this, but does it well and in a way that makes sense, not simply for the sake of rebellion. You can romanticize it all you want, but all feelings aside, Higgins would make a deplorable husband. Whether or not you believe Eliza really loves Freddy, it's easy to see that her life with him would be much more emotionally stable. Granted, he might not be intellectually stimulating, and certainly not rich, Eliza was guaranteed to get all the argumentative intellectualism she wanted simply from being around Higgins, and with the promise of financial assistance from Higgins and Colonel Pickering, I think that her choosing the guy who obviously adores her is the only logical choice.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Pygmalion: 1st Response
This is absolutely one of my favorite plays. I've read it numerous times, although I've only seen it performed once or twice, and have also seen the musical adaptation My Fair Lady, which I enjoy enough, but I have to evaluate it separately from the play, being that the movie is edited to have that oh-so-Hollywood ending.
Aside from the obvious points to admire, such as the clever mythological allusion in its title (I'm a bit of a mythology buff, mostly as a hobby, and it always excites me when some of that usually useless knowledge comes in handy), perhaps one of the things I most enjoy upon repeated readings is Shaw's stage directions. As a reader of many plays, and a writer of one woeful attempt, I am used to stage directions being sparse and utilized only when necessary to clarify some issue of mechanics in the scene. In fact, previous play writing classes have all suggested to me that the "proper style" of stage directions is as few as possible to convey the point. Shaw gleefully ignores this provision in favor of providing the rich detail that I feel really helps create the scene, both in the mind of a reader (although this is obviously not the works intended audience) and the mind of a director. Without some of these incredibly specific descriptions, I feel that it would be difficult for the play to maintain its consistency of message across different performances, because some of those descriptions, such as the one for Eliza's entrance, are specific not simply because of the author's whim, but because the circumstances of the setting of the play require that level of exactitude.
I also am consistently impressed by the Technical Note at the beginning of the play, wherein Shaw acknowledges that some of the scenes he has written would be well nigh impossible to stage in a regular theater. Again, in my experience, one of the things that typically defines a well-written play is the absence of impossibilities like that, simply for the sake of its staging. However, even as Shaw includes these scenes (the first instance being that of Eliza arriving at her domicile in the taxi cab), he marks them off clearly. The play is written to stand without these inclusions: the plot still makes sense, and the audience comes away with much the same story. To me, though, those scenes are crucial, both as a reader of the play, being able to collect so much extra information that only serves to further enrich the piece, and also, potentially, as an actor. Whether or not these extra scenes are being performed in a particular run of the play, the knowledge of those in-between events, and the characters behavior in them, could be very useful to an actor looking to strengthen their performance by providing background information that would otherwise have to be inferred from the text (although this is often a necessary skill, I have found that many prefer strong, specific support for their character choices, rather than having to make these inferences).
Despite my familiarity with the piece, I find myself still discovering new things to enjoy about it. I look forward very much to class discussion!
Aside from the obvious points to admire, such as the clever mythological allusion in its title (I'm a bit of a mythology buff, mostly as a hobby, and it always excites me when some of that usually useless knowledge comes in handy), perhaps one of the things I most enjoy upon repeated readings is Shaw's stage directions. As a reader of many plays, and a writer of one woeful attempt, I am used to stage directions being sparse and utilized only when necessary to clarify some issue of mechanics in the scene. In fact, previous play writing classes have all suggested to me that the "proper style" of stage directions is as few as possible to convey the point. Shaw gleefully ignores this provision in favor of providing the rich detail that I feel really helps create the scene, both in the mind of a reader (although this is obviously not the works intended audience) and the mind of a director. Without some of these incredibly specific descriptions, I feel that it would be difficult for the play to maintain its consistency of message across different performances, because some of those descriptions, such as the one for Eliza's entrance, are specific not simply because of the author's whim, but because the circumstances of the setting of the play require that level of exactitude.
I also am consistently impressed by the Technical Note at the beginning of the play, wherein Shaw acknowledges that some of the scenes he has written would be well nigh impossible to stage in a regular theater. Again, in my experience, one of the things that typically defines a well-written play is the absence of impossibilities like that, simply for the sake of its staging. However, even as Shaw includes these scenes (the first instance being that of Eliza arriving at her domicile in the taxi cab), he marks them off clearly. The play is written to stand without these inclusions: the plot still makes sense, and the audience comes away with much the same story. To me, though, those scenes are crucial, both as a reader of the play, being able to collect so much extra information that only serves to further enrich the piece, and also, potentially, as an actor. Whether or not these extra scenes are being performed in a particular run of the play, the knowledge of those in-between events, and the characters behavior in them, could be very useful to an actor looking to strengthen their performance by providing background information that would otherwise have to be inferred from the text (although this is often a necessary skill, I have found that many prefer strong, specific support for their character choices, rather than having to make these inferences).
Despite my familiarity with the piece, I find myself still discovering new things to enjoy about it. I look forward very much to class discussion!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Convincing a Coy Mistress
First of all, let me state up front that I'm somewhat of a poetry geek. In fact, and I personally find this fortuitous, my Performing Literature class is using the same textbook of poems from which to draw performance pieces. I'm excited to study the performative aspects of the art form in that class while reading about it with you guys in here. Should be interesting!
I really enjoyed this poem in particular, because it embodies the sort of back handed sweetness that I personally enjoy most in poetry: it's a sweet ode to his lady's virtues, showering her with love and promising to spend "An age at least to every part" in his adoration. However, after the flowery and admittedly lovely promises and adulation, there's a sense that the poet is trying his hardest to talk the the lady into abandoning her coy manner. It's almost a completely contradictory message to the first part of the poem, which implies they have all the time in the world to spend in each others' company. However, the delicacy with which he handles this transition makes it seem smooth and fitting.
I enjoyed the switch also from the intellectual nature of the first stanza, rife with historical and geographical allusions, to the somewhat baser nature of the imagery in the second part. It's as though the poet is moving from mental and emotional state to physical desires as he speaks. He says that, contrary to the languid and unhurried pace of the first part, the onward rush of time will turn "into ashes all my lust". This switch in imagery styles is, I think, a beautiful and skillful way to reinforce the switch in subject of the poem. Did you guys find this switch appropriate, or did you think it distracted from the emotional content of the piece?
I really enjoyed this poem in particular, because it embodies the sort of back handed sweetness that I personally enjoy most in poetry: it's a sweet ode to his lady's virtues, showering her with love and promising to spend "An age at least to every part" in his adoration. However, after the flowery and admittedly lovely promises and adulation, there's a sense that the poet is trying his hardest to talk the the lady into abandoning her coy manner. It's almost a completely contradictory message to the first part of the poem, which implies they have all the time in the world to spend in each others' company. However, the delicacy with which he handles this transition makes it seem smooth and fitting.
I enjoyed the switch also from the intellectual nature of the first stanza, rife with historical and geographical allusions, to the somewhat baser nature of the imagery in the second part. It's as though the poet is moving from mental and emotional state to physical desires as he speaks. He says that, contrary to the languid and unhurried pace of the first part, the onward rush of time will turn "into ashes all my lust". This switch in imagery styles is, I think, a beautiful and skillful way to reinforce the switch in subject of the poem. Did you guys find this switch appropriate, or did you think it distracted from the emotional content of the piece?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Feminist Criticism and Wuthering Heights
I found the feminist criticism infinitely easier to relate to than the other critiques we have so far read, but I have always been a sucker for those championing the female point of view. Especially in older novels, I feel that examining the relationship between the female author and her cultural surroundings is a crucial element in understanding what she has written (this is perhaps most fully displayed in Charlotte Bronte's "Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell", which gave me a much deeper understanding of the choice to publish the work under a somewhat androgynous pseudonym).
One thing that I found most interesting was Lyn Pykett's comment on page 473: "Like so many women in Victorian fiction, Catherine dies in childbirth and is thus not required to negotiate that other profoundly ideological version of womanhood-'the mother'." Indeed, even in such an arguably feminine novel, the role of females as the mother figure is profoundly deemphasized. Most of the mother's die with little effect on the child, as in the case of young Cathy, who never knows her mother, and Linton, whose major personality traits are primarily defined by his interaction with Heathcliff, his father. Although Isabella raises him by herself for a time, all this interaction occurs outside of Wuthering Heights, so that very little information of this period is provided in the novel. Even earlier on, Mrs. Earnshaw and Frances die with barely a page devoted to either death. The women in this novel seem more defined by their choices of marriage partners, and once that choice is made, it seems that they become passive: they are more affected then by the choices made by the males in the novel.
I find this omission puzzling. It seems that, in the world of Wuthering Heights, the most important role of a woman is to marry well, rather than to serve thereafter as the woman of the house. I have to wonder if this notable blank spot in the writing had to do with Emily's own life. As discussed in the biographical portions of the novel, and in class, Emily seems to have been much more influenced by her father than her mother. She herself never had to face the challenges of motherhood. I realize that it may be a stretch to project this much of Emily's life onto her writing, but her lack of experience in the field and the correlating lack of description of women as mother figures seems too strong to ignore.
One thing that I found most interesting was Lyn Pykett's comment on page 473: "Like so many women in Victorian fiction, Catherine dies in childbirth and is thus not required to negotiate that other profoundly ideological version of womanhood-'the mother'." Indeed, even in such an arguably feminine novel, the role of females as the mother figure is profoundly deemphasized. Most of the mother's die with little effect on the child, as in the case of young Cathy, who never knows her mother, and Linton, whose major personality traits are primarily defined by his interaction with Heathcliff, his father. Although Isabella raises him by herself for a time, all this interaction occurs outside of Wuthering Heights, so that very little information of this period is provided in the novel. Even earlier on, Mrs. Earnshaw and Frances die with barely a page devoted to either death. The women in this novel seem more defined by their choices of marriage partners, and once that choice is made, it seems that they become passive: they are more affected then by the choices made by the males in the novel.
I find this omission puzzling. It seems that, in the world of Wuthering Heights, the most important role of a woman is to marry well, rather than to serve thereafter as the woman of the house. I have to wonder if this notable blank spot in the writing had to do with Emily's own life. As discussed in the biographical portions of the novel, and in class, Emily seems to have been much more influenced by her father than her mother. She herself never had to face the challenges of motherhood. I realize that it may be a stretch to project this much of Emily's life onto her writing, but her lack of experience in the field and the correlating lack of description of women as mother figures seems too strong to ignore.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wuthering Heights and Marxist Criticism
I enjoyed reading the Marxist criticism of Wuthering Heights. I find the effects of societal pressures in the novel fascinating. However, the phrase in the critical essay that had the biggest impression on me while I was reading had little to due with that issue. I loved the description of Catherine's marriage to Edgar as an arrangement in which "Catherine trades her authentic selfhood for social privilege" and compares it to "spiritual suicide and murder." this description, although perhaps melodramatic, I feel is very intriguing. In a way, this symbolic suicide leads to the deaths of many more characters, as well as the near death of the hereditary lines of both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. Does anyone else feel that this is a revealing description?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Wuthering Heights
I have traditionally been dubious about frame novels, and "Wuthering Heights", while initially promising, has, in the end, reinforced my distaste for them. I feel that the ending of the novel is severely minimized by the inclusion of Lockwood. Overall, since the beginning, Lockwood's inclusion had been limited, and there was very little mention of him to interrupt the flow of the primary narrative, but from about page 256, when we are informed about Lockwood's intention to depart from Thrushcross Grange, the story pays him undue attention. It seems to me as though the wrapping up of the main story, including Heathcliff's death and the imminent marriage of the scions of the two houses, young Catherine and Hareton, is told much more in the context of Lockwood's listening.
We are interrupted in our contemplation of Catherine and Hareton by Lockwood's increasing voice, as on page 264 he himself contemplates Catherine's face , "...and I bit my lip, in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had, of doing something besides staring at its smiting beauty." As a reader, I found this in particular to derail my attention towards the focus of the romance and instead begin to consider what Lockwood might have changed about the story by being more of an active participant. Part of the power the novel had held for me to this point was the isolation of its characters, in the fact that its events plowed forward, unceasing, with no one else being able to interfere with what took place. This comment, delivered as somewhat of a cast off phrase, reminded me that, despite Heathcliff's seemingly omnipotent role as the manipulator of events, he might not hold so firm a control over things. It forced me to remember that at almost any point, the intervention of another party could have drastically changed the way the plot unfolded. I feel that here, Lockwood robs the story of an essential quality of predestination, a sense that things were uncontrollable, and the perception of Heathcliff as a grand force of nature.
Lockwood is even given the important task of ending the novel, in his contemplation of the three graves, two conjoined. His final comment, somewhat derisive, is here: "I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleeprs in that quiet earth." To this point, part of the romance of the relationship between the first Catherine and Heathcliff had been the clues given from every side, including Lockwood, that something so simple as death could not separate the lovers. Lockwood's nightmare at the beginning, and Heathcliff's subsequent reaction to it, might in fact be the strongest evidence to support that. While Lockwood does mention the rumors of the mysterious couple wandering the moors together, presumably Catherine and Heatcliff, I feel that his commentary towards the end, though understandable as an outsider to the events, prevents me as a reader from fully investing in these beliefs, and in the end, provides a weak start to a novel with a strong beginning.
We are interrupted in our contemplation of Catherine and Hareton by Lockwood's increasing voice, as on page 264 he himself contemplates Catherine's face , "...and I bit my lip, in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had, of doing something besides staring at its smiting beauty." As a reader, I found this in particular to derail my attention towards the focus of the romance and instead begin to consider what Lockwood might have changed about the story by being more of an active participant. Part of the power the novel had held for me to this point was the isolation of its characters, in the fact that its events plowed forward, unceasing, with no one else being able to interfere with what took place. This comment, delivered as somewhat of a cast off phrase, reminded me that, despite Heathcliff's seemingly omnipotent role as the manipulator of events, he might not hold so firm a control over things. It forced me to remember that at almost any point, the intervention of another party could have drastically changed the way the plot unfolded. I feel that here, Lockwood robs the story of an essential quality of predestination, a sense that things were uncontrollable, and the perception of Heathcliff as a grand force of nature.
Lockwood is even given the important task of ending the novel, in his contemplation of the three graves, two conjoined. His final comment, somewhat derisive, is here: "I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleeprs in that quiet earth." To this point, part of the romance of the relationship between the first Catherine and Heathcliff had been the clues given from every side, including Lockwood, that something so simple as death could not separate the lovers. Lockwood's nightmare at the beginning, and Heathcliff's subsequent reaction to it, might in fact be the strongest evidence to support that. While Lockwood does mention the rumors of the mysterious couple wandering the moors together, presumably Catherine and Heatcliff, I feel that his commentary towards the end, though understandable as an outsider to the events, prevents me as a reader from fully investing in these beliefs, and in the end, provides a weak start to a novel with a strong beginning.
Monday, January 24, 2011
"A History Of Reading"
Alberto Manguel's "A History Of Reading" has so far delivered exactly what its title promises, although, following the caveat on page 23, it "skips chapters, browses, selects, rereads, refuses to follow conventional order." The organization of the book, by chapters focusing on specific subsets of the subject, including silent reading, being read to, and the shape of books, among others, seems to me a more logical one than a strict historical time line. In a way, its organization reflects its subject matter almost as well as the actual content: the flow of the book seems to me a reader friendly way to approach the topic. I know personally that, though an avid reader I may be, history tends to intimidate me with its heavy emphasis on whens and wheres, but I remain fascinated by historical details once separated from this confusing entanglement. This is exactly what Manguel has done for his readers: he provides the interesting details of the history while removing the pressure of conventional historical exactitude.
My personal favorite chapter so far has been Metaphors of Reading, which begins on page 163. It discusses the symbolic implications of reading, something Manguel describes when discussing Walt Whitman as "an act whose meaning he expanded until it served to define every vital human activity, as well as the universe in which it all took place." (168) This depiction of reading I feel mirrors the earlier sentiments of readers as a community, as in the books opening images, and also communicates the vital emotional and even spiritual place that the written word holds in the lives of devoted readers everywhere, myself included.
My personal favorite chapter so far has been Metaphors of Reading, which begins on page 163. It discusses the symbolic implications of reading, something Manguel describes when discussing Walt Whitman as "an act whose meaning he expanded until it served to define every vital human activity, as well as the universe in which it all took place." (168) This depiction of reading I feel mirrors the earlier sentiments of readers as a community, as in the books opening images, and also communicates the vital emotional and even spiritual place that the written word holds in the lives of devoted readers everywhere, myself included.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Twilight Of The Books"
This article depresses me. There's no simpler term. I'm a reader, always have been, and it still floors me that people don't do this for fun. I feel uncomfortable if I'm not in the middle of a novel at any given time. I put off homework to keep reading. Even when I'm tooling around online, I much prefer something interesting to read than any of the multitudinous videos and clips scattered around the internet.
I did enjoy reading the article, if only because of it's topic, but I too found the information provided somewhat overwhelming. It took me a couple of passes to pick up all the detail, and although I enjoyed all of it, once I understood it, I am left wondering if it was all truly necessary to make the article worthwhile.
This article is in itself a good example of why some people find reading an overcomplicated way to receive information. I doubt that was intentional, but it's certainly a bitterly enjoyable bit of irony.
I did enjoy reading the article, if only because of it's topic, but I too found the information provided somewhat overwhelming. It took me a couple of passes to pick up all the detail, and although I enjoyed all of it, once I understood it, I am left wondering if it was all truly necessary to make the article worthwhile.
This article is in itself a good example of why some people find reading an overcomplicated way to receive information. I doubt that was intentional, but it's certainly a bitterly enjoyable bit of irony.
Introduction
One of the things you'll learn about me pretty quickly is that, while I love writing, I despise writing about myself. It feels self-indulgent. But seeing as an introductory post is sort of how one generally starts these things, I suppose I have little choice.
My name is Trista Montoya-Childers, I'm a sophomore majoring in Theatre and English, mostly because I'm a drama geek and a fiction nut, and also because my goal is to teach high school theatre (for which you are right to assume I'm nearly certifiably insane). I live off campus, but barely: my apartment is a fifteen minute walk away. I'm desperately hoping that that covers most of what needs to be said. I promise I'll loosen up a bit when I can write about an interesting topic.
My name is Trista Montoya-Childers, I'm a sophomore majoring in Theatre and English, mostly because I'm a drama geek and a fiction nut, and also because my goal is to teach high school theatre (for which you are right to assume I'm nearly certifiably insane). I live off campus, but barely: my apartment is a fifteen minute walk away. I'm desperately hoping that that covers most of what needs to be said. I promise I'll loosen up a bit when I can write about an interesting topic.
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