Attitudes Towards World War II

It was interesting to me that Miranda seemed more disgusted by the war effort at home than the war over seas. This is the only time that I have ever heard of anyone criticizing the war effort during World War II. Miranda was more critical of the Liberty Bond salesmen, the knitting of socks, and the dances arranged with soldiers on leave than she was of the futility of the war itself. All of my grandparents were about the same age as Miranda during World War II, and I guarantee that none of them ever shared any of the feelings that Miranda did towards the war. Obviously it was financially impossible for her to support the war financially by buying bonds, but it does not seem unreasonable to expect her to go along with all of the other fanfare involved in publicly supporting the soldiers and the war. Perhaps if she had been morally opposed to the war and had given more of a reason for her distaste of all things surrounding the war than her belief that it was a distraction from the real horrors of war it would have been easier for me to sympathize with her. However, I believe that it was necessary to make all of the Americans at home believe that they were directly involved in the war to distract them from the guilt and shame of sending other people to the front to die. I know that my grandmothers on each side of my family approached the rationing of sugar, the knitting of clothing, the buying of war bonds, and the other elements of the war effort at home with zeal and enthusiasm at the idea that they were aiding their husbands, brothers, cousins, and neighbors overseas. It is important to rememeber that while some of the things that Miranda opposed to may have been frivolous, World War II was a war that needed to be fought and the propaganda that surrounded it was necessary to keep the general population from experiencing the depression and cynicism that Miranda experienced.

Fiction as Autobiography

Austin brings up an excellent point in his blog: What does it matter if Miranda is the fictional version of Porter?

What matters is: Does it change our realtionship with the story?

I'd like to say no, because it shouldn't change our relationship with the story, but honestly, I think it does. Obviously, this is not a new phenomenon, as Porter dealt with it in her time, but in an era of post-modernism, self-referential essayists and the proliferation of memoirs, I think the natural tendency is to make that assumption.

I've noticed that a lot in English classes. When a classmate submits a story in which the narrator's gender isn't identified, nearly everyone makes the assumption that the narrator is the same gender as the author. When I read someone's story, unless I'm told otherwise, I make the assumption that the narrator is the same gender. That's short-sighted, yes, but I think it's natural for most people.

I've also noticed, in these classes, in myself and other fiction writers I know, that when someone submits a story with a protagonist at all similar to themselves, everyone assumes the story to be somewhat revealing or confessional. Ironically, as Austin pointed out, the same writers that submit these stories tend to make fun of that assumption, but at the same time do use their fiction as a way to work through their issues. At the very least, they do reveal a lot about themselves, whether or not they intended to.

So I think it's natural to read Porter's Miranda stories and make that assumption. Is it correct? Only Porter knows. Should it matter? It shouldn't. Ultimately, as Austin point out, even if it is autobiographical, so what? Is a fictional narrator the most trustworthy of sources? I doubt it.

If Miranda is Porter, that does reveal a lot about Porter, but the fact that we have this drive to make that connection reveals even more about us.

Miranda as Porter?

Porter left the Old South. Porter survived the flu epidemic. Porter reported on society. Porter worked in the Rocky Mountain region.

And so did Miranda.

And so what?

Dr. Cook mentioned in class that scholars think that Miranda is the closest to an autobiography we get to in Porter's fiction. While I'll admit that I always like to fantasize that something like the book I'm reading happened to the author, these suppositions seem to have little place in serious scholarship. Am I wrong?

There is an excellent interview with Margaret Atwood wherein the interviewer asks if The Handmaid's Tale was autobiographical. Atwood is livid. "How can it be autobiographical," she asks, "if it takes place in the future?"

Obviously the prosaic point doesn't hold up my argument, but I think the spirit of her response - spat venom - gives an idea of what it means for one author to have the "autobiography" question leveled at fiction. (Remember also the story of Porter freaking out at her friend for changing the names in a real event and pretending it a short story? KAP and JCO would not have gotten along.)

If Porter is Miranda, does that tell us something more about Porter or Miranda? (I would say Porter; she told us everything she wanted us to know about Miranda.) Given the sparse characterizations that I can't shut up about, what does that mean that Porter wants us to know about herself?

You can know her (fictionalized) family and you can know her sickness, her love life, her independence - but can you know her?

Pale Horse, Pale Rider-Gender Bending?

Building off what Daniel brought up, I too was struck by gender roles in this story, but I noticed many instances of what seemed to be Porter challenging gender roles.  Gender, as we know from theory classes, can be understood as a social construct, and gender seems stressed in this story pretty blatantly.  The structure of gender in the story is laid out very early on:  men go to war and women stay home and knit and take care of injured soldiers, basically.

Miranda's femininity seems stressed by Porter.  There are more than one reference to her touching up her make up and hair and putting on gloves (pgs. 275, 283).  Miranda and Towney can only write such things as the society page or theater reviews for the paper while Chuck can only write about sports.

This is, presumably, the world Porter is living within, but she does not appear to merely accept it at face value.  Chuck tells Miranda to "toughen up" at one point, but she is a woman and this would go against what women "should" be in this world.  The disgruntled actor tells Miranda that he'd hit her if she were a man (pg. 289).

Chuck is the sports writer, as I have mentioned, but his dream is to write the theater column, and "didn't see why women always had the job" (pg. 287).  As a man in this society, Chuck should naturally want to write about sports.  Chuck gets his chance to write the theater column, but is quickly suppressed by society when the newspaper restricts him to the sports page (pg. 315).

This story blatantly lays out the binary opposition of nurse(female)/soldier(male) in its gender roles.  Chuck makes some very misogynistic comments about Florence Nightingale and there being no place for women around the battlefield (pg. 287).  In light of this comment, I found it very interesting that it is Adam that plays Florence Nightingale for Miranda when she is sick.  It would perhaps have been less out of character to have Towney or the land lady come take care of her, but it is Adam, the big masculine soldier.  The nurse/soldier gender roles are reversed cleverly here.  Now I know what most of you hopeless romantics will say, and I do agree that it was very sweet and loving for him to do that, but especially with the Florence Nightingale reference, I read this as being more about the gender roles.

Anyone else notice these challenges to gender roles?  Any other possible examples, and what, perhaps, might Porter be intending with this?

Emptiness in Pale Horse Pale Rider

The introduction of Pale Horse Pale Rider was great, but like the American people in World War II it lost its get-up and go. Despite the fact that I am kind of hating this story right now, I feel that the "fluff" [i.e. the romantic story (which is also empty because the death of Adam is foreshadowed several times) that fills a great deal of space and time between the introduction and the conclusion] reflects Miranda's feelings of emptiness and loss. This story reminds me of a somewhat less original version of Pride and Prejudice set in the 40's. For as great as Miranda's supposed love for Adam is, their relationship is incredibly empty and lacks true emotion because each party member knows that their situation is not permanent, whether or not they want it to be. Thus, the emptiness that prevails throughout the love story of Miranda and Adam reflects the empty feeling of the nation at that time. [At least I hope that is Porter's intent...or else this story is fairly blase if I do say so myself... : ) ]

NPR: Pale Horse....

You may listen to and read this broadcast on NPR by Alice McDermott, entitled "Why Libraries Should Stock Pale Horse, Pale Rider."

Website for WWI Posters: U.S.

Class: This site has an excellent collection of posters from World War I. It will give you a sense of Miranda's visual world in Pale Horse, Pale Rider.

Loss of the Body in PHPR

While reading PHPR I saw a very distinct similarity between Miranda’s thought process and Granny Weatherall’s thought process. Both characters become less aware of time, see people in the room almost float around them, and are almost in a delirious state “babbling nonsense”. In addition to this I found that Porter became focused on the disintegration of Miranda’s body. Here are some examples:
“The body is a curious monster, no place to live in” (313).
“[Miranda was] no longer aware of the members of her own body” (310).
“…she opened her eyes and saw pale light through a course white cloth over her face, knew that the smell of death was her own body, and struggled to lift her hand” (312).
I wonder why Porter chooses to focus on the loss of Miranda’s bodily functions. I think this work relates to some of Flannery O’Conner’s works which also focus on this loss.

Porter the Woman writer

I think what Michelle says about the short story having a romance aspect goes along with what was mentioned in class about Porter writing like a women (whereas Flannery writes more like a man). While reading the story, I could not help but think how whiny and overly romantic the writing and focus of the piece is. Porter emphasizes Miranda's yearning to be with Adam outside of the time and place of the war. Miranda is always fretting about getting to see Adam and worries a lot about how she looks. The themes actually reminded me a lot of Hemingway's story, A Farewell to Arms. I especially find the relationship of Miranda and Adam similar to the relationship between Henry and Catherine. Of course, the main difference would be in the style of writing, however both women are portrayed as semi-whiny and weak (at least to me). What do you guys think?

Pale Horse Pale Rider

I think I am starting to understand the whole ex-patriot thing. This story helped me understand how hard times were back during WWI.

The part that I was most interested in with this story was the romance aspect of it all. I thought this whirl wind romance with a soldier was nicely weaved in with everything else going on in Miranda's life. I thought this was one of the more romantic things that I have read in awhile (maybe I just need a boyfriend or something). For a man to hold a bucket while a woman throws up in it is possibly one of the sweetest things that I have read ["Do excuse me" (Porter 300)]. Then to still pat her and tell her he loves her, "He lay down beside her with his arm under her shoulder, and pressed his smooth face against hers, his mouth moved towards her mouth and stopped. 'Can you hear what I am saying?...What do you think I have been trying to tell you all this time?" It almost made me cry it was so sweet (I'm sorry, I'm a softy). Unfortunately, I wondered if it was real. In this scene I questioned whether Adam was really even there. This whole scene seemed so dreamlike to me, and Miranda was so sick that she was hallucinatory, that I questioned if it really happened or not. I also found it a little odd (and kind of scary) that she was taken away while he was (or she thought he was) down the street picking up more ice and coffee. It does make sense that he would be in this scene since he ends up dying of influenza. But was he really in this scene? Why didn't he barge his way into the hospital instead of just leaving a note? Did he die because he caught influenza from her? Why isn't she more upset when she finds out that he dies? Is she just resigned about the whole thing? I also thought it was interesting that there is a scene like this where the manly soldier rescues the woman in a story about a woman who is supporting herself and working during war times.

On another note (ha, no pun intended), the lyrics to Pale Horse and his Rider are at this website, I think this is the song that is referenced in the story, but I am not sure (why would the title be different?): http://www.metrolyrics.com/the-pale-horse-his-rider-lyrics-hank-williams.html

Pale Horse Pale Rider

As far as imagery goes, the idea of the dream state that Porter evokes in "Pale Hose Pale Rider" is different than so many of her other stories. She has done a beautiful job in many of her works by exploring self worth, social constructs, and what it is to be polite. But here there is an exploration of reality. I am not sure weather this is coming from the idea of story and truth, or identity through family, but either way her writing style in PHPR evokes a different image than her previous works. Even the title makes me think of a strange, indistinguishable movement, where you don't know where the rider ends and the horse begins. In this fantastical creature Porter might be referring to the story being indistinguishable from the writer. Seeing as how this was to be incorporated into her most autobiographical work, it seems fitting for her to explore the idea of where her writing ends and her personal story begins.

Community vs. the Atomized Individual: Trajectory of the 3 Novel volume

In the three novels of the Pale Horse, Pale Rider volume, "Old Mortality," "Noon Wine," and "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," I would like to propose that there is a trajectory from a deeply communal aesthetic, broken by a loss of innocence and an act of violence, and moving into an aesthetic of the highly atomized individual.

In terms of basic plot, "Old Mortality" expresses a deep sense of community: the plot concerns the legends and fates of a family, rather than individuals. Even Amy, who is clearly attempting to assert her individuality, is always discussed in terms of her relation to her family members: they admire her, they disapprove of her, etc. The two girls are woven into the family legend as an incorporated audience, as they compare their beauty to the beauties of the family. Even in terms of narrative technique, individual voices are conspicuously absent when Amy's story begins. Her legend seems to come from a generalized, collective family consciousness. Much of Amy's actual story (the ball, etc) seems to come from a singular, observing narrator, and only occasionally do individual voices add their supporting comments. In the third part of the story, of course, voices forcefully demand individual identity: Eva subverts the family legend, and Miranda determines to escape it altogether.

Moving into "Noon Wine," the narration is similar: as readers, we have the same distance from Mr. Thompson and we do from Mrs. Thompson. Descriptions of Mr. Helton at the dinner table suggest that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson are basically observing the same person, and sharing the same experience. However, after Mr. Thompson kills Mr. Hatch, the sense of perspective is narrowed. We either get Mrs. Thompson's internal thoughts, or Mr. Thompson's internal thoughts. There is an abrupt and disturbing sense of sudden alienation: They are no longer members of a family, but rather atomized and isolated individuals who no longer share the same opinions, experiences, instincts, etc.

Then, in "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," the atomization of the individual reaches its logical conclusion. Miranda is totally alienated from those around her, and experiences life as a lonely, singular consciousness, rather than as an incorporated victim of family legend (perhaps Porter wants to know which is worse?). First, she has an intense, internal dialogue when faced with the aggressive bonds salesmen--the ultimate result of war, in this case, is that one is never allowed to say what one thinks. One must remain impassive and keep emotions and opinions securely interior: in short, one must become an atom.

A prime example of this atomization is a conversation Miranda has with a girl in the hospital ward: the girl admits she doesn't really like delivering candy and cigarettes to wounded veterans. Miranda replies that she "hates it." The girl responds "cautiously," saying "I suppose it's all right, though." Then Miranda "turns cautious also," with a guarded "Perhaps."

Even with close friends, Miranda remains guarded and trapped inside the profound isolation of enforced patriotism. She ventures to tell Chuck, "I wish it were over and I wish it had never begun," but she is still checked by doubts: "What she had said seemed safe enough but how would he take it?" (290). In the family community of "Old Mortality," the characters were at least united by threads of common thought--by a collective legend to which they all contributed (for better or for worse). In "Pale Horse," the common legend is being forced upon society: none of the isolated individuals in the community are contributing their share of the story.
In contrast, Miranda barely even seems to know what Adam has on his mind, and, in the theater, Miranda looks a Chuck and "for the first time since she had known him she wondered what Chuck was thinking about."

This profound alienation, atomization, isolation (whatever you want to call it) can be read as a product of the war, a product of (presumably) Miranda's maturation, or a general indication of the times. But historically, the move from communal traditions and collective identity to the individuated, atomization of modernist society can be marked using WWI as the breaking point. In that respect, I think the sense of community in "Old Mortality" can be read as an expression of pre-war communal sensibilities. The act of violence in "Noon Wine" parallels society's fall from innocence during WWI. Then, "Pale Horse, Pale Rider" expresses the fears and isolations of the alienated individual looking into the disillusionment of the post-war future.

It isn't necessary to read these three novels from this frame--certainly, I don't think it takes anything away from them as individual pieces if you don't buy my historicist suggestion. But I do think the movement and structure of the collected volume probably has signficance that merits consideration. I think we should assume that Porter put as much thought into the order of novels in the collection as she put into the order of words in a sentence.
Thoughts? More articulate support or opposition than I seem to be able to come up with this afternoon?

Foreshadowing In "Pale Horse, Pale Rider"

After reader “Pale Horse, Pale Rider” I tried to find the Bible verse containing the ‘Pale Horse” reference. This text can be found in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in the Book of Revelation. Time rides upon the White horse; War rides upon the Red horse; Famine rides upon the Black horse and Death rides upon the Pale horse. According to this story the four horsemen are named after the dangers that they embody and carry with them; they represent the forces of man’s destruction.

Revelation 6:8 “I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.”

According to the Bible the pale horse signifies death and widespread devastation, which in the case of this short story seems to be the influenza epidemic. Death would be the appropriate rider for this horse given what it brings forth. After knowing the significance of this passage from the Bible it is easy to notice the foreshadowing presented by Porter in the beginning of the story. In Miranda’s dream she mentions a “lank greenish stranger” which gives the impression of a very sick and weak person (Porter 269). She then chooses to ride Graylie, a horse whose name implies that its color is gray or even pale. Miranda then acknowledges that the stranger is Death because she say’s, “Come now, Graylie, … we must outrun Death and the Devil” (Porter 270). The stranger’s horse was also gray, which further proves that this horse and rider in her dream are death and the pale horse referred to in the Bible. She tries to outrun Death on her own gray horse, which she eventually does because by the end of the story she has survived the epidemic.

Happiness in PHPR

In a sense, PHPR for me has been refreshing so far. As mentioned in class, before we started with Porter again, I feel like I needed a break from O'Connor. I felt as though the image of Miranda and Adam's relationship was separated from the rest of the text. When I was visualizing their playtime, escaping from the realities of the war, it seemed like a new chapter, and a new emotion being portrayed. I think this was the most refreshing part for me about PHPR...we rarely get to see Porter or O'Connor's characters enjoying themselves the way Miranda and Adam did in each others' presenses. Of course it wasn't picture perfect, since Miranda is revealing signs of her illness, but this one section of the text sucked me in, hoping for something other than abandonment, death, or depression.

Feminism/Pacifism: Pale Horse Pale Rider

One of the more interesting aspects of this story, for me, is the connection Porter draws between women and pacifism, as well as men and nationalism. In the sections leading up to her disease, Miranda's thoughts repeatedly iterate her reservations about the American war effort, and her revulsion towards war itself. Miranda's job in the press exposes her to the details of war-mongering and propaganda first hand, which she views with internal disgust but external complacency, out of a fear, which is mentioned several times, of the consequences of open objection to the war. Miranda encounters liberty-bonds salesmen who feed on xenophobia and war-fever to make money, threatening peoples jobs and making monetary support of violence a condition of good-citizenship. She does her supposed "woman-on-the-home-front" duties, stopping by at soldier's hospitals and going to military dances, but always with a certain uneasiness as to the value/morality of what she is doing, which is only shared with female acquaintances. Towney and a volunteer red-cross nurse express reservations similar to Miranda's in private, but, like Miranda, practice public complacency and support. These objections are indeed only private, but they are living in a nation caught in a patriotic/nationalist fervor, wherein disagreement quickly becomes treason and silent objection can become imprisonment.

On the other hand, the men in the story, even those in no way connected to the war effort (chuck/bill), are never shown by Porter to hold any sort of reservation about the basic necessity of war, even in as much as they might mock the propaganda and machinations behind it. Adam, who is portrayed in a very sympathetic light, is shown to at least hold some disdain for war, when prompted by Miranda, but never openly questions its existence or need. Chuck, who cannot go to war, expresses a similar comic disdain but still says it is right that soldier's "perish where they fall." The only male, and in fact the only character, that seems to be not at all concerned with the war is the playwright who comes to challenge Miranda at her office.

Anyways, I'm losing hold of what my point is so I'll just stop here. If anyone would like to contribute please do

Reply to Austin's post on the Mirandas

I totally connected the two Mirandas as the same person. Maybe they weren't but I saw PHPR as a continuation of where Miranda's story left off in OM.

I think what did it for me was the "running away" on the horse. Even though it's just a dream in PHPR, could it be a dream that is remembering the past? Like, reliving events that she went through. It also states in the beginning that she has nothing of her own, except nothing, and that was enough. I connected this with OM in that Miranda is living through the tales of her family. Both Miranda's are writers (if I recall correctly) - one is a journalist and one is prose (I think). They are both educated, which could go along the lines of continuing the story.

We can also take these stories separately, which could make the two Miranda's different, or, going off with Austin's namesake theory. But why would Porter give them the same name? Is it similar to O'Connor giving her characters the same name in a single story? Obviously, they are supposed to be connected, the degree is what is in question. Myself - I saw them as the same, and PHPR as a sequel or something.

I could be completely wrong though because we are left not seeing certain important parts of their character in each story that the other story fills in. For instance, we get a general personality and who Miranda acts with others (and loves) while we only see Miranda as she thinks about her family in OM.

Both stories center around death too, and some sort of romantic love is involved. In OM, it is Amy who suffers and dies without truly being in love. In PHPR, Miranda finds love only to lose it and so she learns that it doesn't matter how much you fight to live, there will always be death. She ends up not really seeing the difference in life or death anymore... which maybe that was Amy's conclusion?

Stories about Mirandas

After reading the first half of "Pale Horse, Pale Rider" (Pale Horse, Pale Rider?), I'm not having a problem considering this and "Old Mortality" the Miranda stories, but I am certainly wondering - are these the same Mirandas?

Sarah pointed out in class that "Old Mortality" presented some more of Porter's eclipsed characters. We heard a lot about Amy, but nothing from Amy herself. We seemed to be following the story of Miranda, but only in glimpses until Part III, where she was the center of the action.

Given all of the exposition that Miranda's family receives in "Old Mortality", it seems odd that the characters we grew to "know" (I use the term loosely; you think you know a person . . . ) aren't referenced at all. Not even in passing. The only real reference I could find was the horse in the dream, Miss Lucy, which is what Amy named her horse, and what Gabriel names the following three horses he owns.

Is the Miss Lucy that Miranda dreams about her past echoing in her subconscious? Or is she - like the new Amy, like dream-Miss Lucy (in a long line of Miss Lucies) - just another namesake?

(If PRPH-Miranda is just a namesake, does that make her a living memorial of OM-Miranda? a new Miranda, who will suffer the same trajectory but a different fate? Porter's idea of a hilarious coincidence?)

I don't think Porter made the two Mirandas totally unconnected. Is the disparity between the Miranda of 1912 and the Miranda of 1918 (an assumed date; "Old Mortality" gives us clear settings, and I am guessing that given Miranda's age in 1912 (18), Miranda's age in PRPH (24), and the events of WWI it is 1917 or 18; the chronology matches up more or less) evidence of real change in a character who has had time to mature? Perhaps it is a thumbing of the nose at the narrator of "Old Mortality," who closes the story skeptical of whether or not Miranda can truly sever herself from her past?

I'd love to get thoughts on whether or not they are the same character; perhaps there is another reference to OM Miranda in PRPH that I missed, or a more convincing argument for them being completely different people.

Old Mortality and Ideal Beauty

Because I found this story so intriguing, I wanted to take the time and post--even if it's a little late--my thoughts about the ideal beauty? Miranda believes a "beauty" must be tall with dark hair, smooth pale skin, beautiful teeth and hands. She must be light and swift, but more than anything a beauty must posses "some mysterious crown of enchantment that attracted and held the heart" (176). How, really can you define the last statement? Who declares which lady is enchanting and which lady isn't? Men, seem, to define who is beautiful in society. Miranda's father, for instance, claims "there were never any fat women in the family, thank God" (174). Evidently, according to men, fat women are not only less than beautiful, they are less than family. He furthermore, defined how his own daughters should look holding them on his knee only if they were "prettily dressed and well behaved" but sending them away in a disgusted manner if they fell short of his expectations of what defined nice looking young ladies. Moreover, Amy's father also dominated what she should live up to in terms of ladyness.When dressed for the ball, her father commanded her to change because no daughter should "show herself in such a rig-out. It's bawdy" (185). In other cases, however, she ignored her father, and depended on her brothers' advice on her appearance. Eager to seek their approval-- most likely because they knew what was stylish in their current generation--Amy would change had "they found fault in any way" (183). Surprisingly, Amy cared not at all what Gabriel thought of her beauty, even cutting her hair after he complimented it. Amy's refusal to be swayed by the opinion of men made me consider that perhaps the men are not the ones to define beauty, they just merely support the definition. In class I made the claim that it is women who actually suppress other women by creating the ideal beauty. I support this argument with the example of Eva and her mother. Her mother joked about her ugliness and how she would never threaten her youth by making her a grandmother, making her "blush as if she had been slapped" (178). While her mother wore elegant dresses, Eva wore hand-me-downs altered to fit her size. Eva is described as almost horse-like with a face,"chinless, straining her upper lip over two enormous teeth" (178). At dances where her mother was absent, "Eva bloomed out a little, danced prettily, and smiled" (178). The narrator implies that it was her mother that truly prevented Eva from feeling beautiful, accepted, and an adequate female in society. However, her mother marked her as ugly and "chinless"so her family followed in suit. In some ways, I believe Eva's inner bitterness stemmed from her family who "bedeviled her about her chine" and she succumbed to the psychological notion of "self fulfilling prophesy" where she transformed into what others expected her to be: a homely old maid.

Horse talk in Old Mortality

I think that the horse theme in Old Mortality is interesting. It seems to be an underlying theme that connects many of the characters. There is a lot of mention of riding, jockeying, hunting, running away via horse, and so forth. It seems to connect Amy and Miranda a little too, because Miranda at one point wanted to be a jockey.

The place that I guess I was most repulsed by was the scene where Harry takes the girls to the track and they meet Gabriel. All at once their fantasized views of him were washed away and he was revealed for what he was. But what grossed me out was his obsession with Amy. I don't want to knock true love, but they were only married for 6 weeks and he is riding "her" horses - horses names after hers. And he's killing them by doing it! I don't know what to think of that part, because he obviously thinks that by riding her horses to death honors his dead wife. I don't blame Miranda for not wanting to be a jockey anymore after seeing such a sad scene...

Old Mortality

Personally, I had a hard time reading this story because it reminded me so much of my own family. (This is probably not a unique experience at all...I'm sure at least a few other people were reminded of family legends!) I was struck, though, by the balance between the male and female voices in this piece. The main energy of the male voices come from Gabriel, the father, and Harry, the brother. All of them are concerned with how Amy appears to the world: Gabriel wants to be with the belle of the ball, the father is concerned that she displays herself too much, and Harry is concerned that she attracts too much attention at the ball. Harry and the father are in a position to claim some kind of possession over the honor and sexuality of a female relative, and Gabriel wants to protect the virtue of his future investment. Their repetition of family legends cement and protect Amy's use-value as such an object, if nothing else. In contrast, Eva, who has no claim to Amy's use-value, undermines the legend by suggesting that Amy forsook a pregnancy (female use-value in the most literal, physical sense). In an earlier response, I mentioned that Amy is the victim of the panoptic, patriarchial family circle--her brother and Gabriel do not object to immodest clothing, as long as she stays where they can see her. But the minute she leaves the dance floor with another man, her absense becomes transgressive and they take action to bring her back under their panoptic gaze. But wasn't Eva also in a kind of panoptic prison? Wasn't she also watched with as much energy for her lack of Amy's attributes? Eva's vocal energy in Part III interests me because she, as Amy's shadowy double, is the one to survive the panoptic circle and to speak outside of it. (Also, considering Harry and Gabriel's roles in an observing patriarchy, I found it telling that the grandmother speaks so little. For the most part, she sheds silent tears over artifacts. )

Miranda the tight-rope walker?

I was interested in Miranda’s inability to pick a profession. As a girl she wants to be a jockey, and then a tight-rope walker, and as a young adult she wants to be an air-pilot. Miranda, it seems, has always been running away from conventions for women, much like Amy. Both women seem to be avoiding conventional roles (mother, caretaker, ect…). Amy avoids marriage, and wishes that instead of a husband she would rather have a dancing companion for the rest of her years. Miranda avoids traditional female jobs, and when she does marry, she does not consider it to be a life-long partnership. Both women prefer to be independent. What do you guys think of this parallel between the two girls?

Guilt and Violence

In Porter's "Noon Wine" the guilt that Mr. Thompson feels due to killing Mr. Hatch overcomes him and turns into violence. Thompson kills himself with a shotgun which is a very brutal way to commit suicide. It seemed to me that Hatch and Mr. Thompson's hallucination of Helton being killed were both very violent ways to die unlike just shooting someone. But rather killing someone with and axe or stabbing them in the stomach have a hanus ideal behind them. Also with Thompson's guilt, I am not convince that he necessarily feels guilt so much as he feels ashamed he tries everything to prove his innocence but if it was guilt wouldn't it be easier to admit he was wrong in killing Hatch rather than try to prove his innocence even in his suicide note he is still tryinging to prove he is innocent.

Old Mortality

Going along with the two previous posts, I thought the representation of hair in this story was interesting and might figure into the discussion of feminism. I know that talking about how hair represents femininity has probably come up in other English classes, and might be a little played out, but it was mentioned so many times in this story that I thought it deserved a little attention in the blog. I thought the scene which has been mentioned, where Amy cuts her hair after Gabriel compliments it, is an important scene. To me, this showed how the women wanted to be feminists (cutting off their long "feminine" hair that represents all sorts of feminine stereotypes) and making it short, but then they didn't really act as feminists (I guess depending on the definition one uses for "feminist").

Another thing I wanted to comment on was some of the misunderstandings in the story, like when cousin Eva is talking to Miranda, "Cousin Eva, my father shot at him, don't you remember? He didn't hit him...." (Porter 212). I think misunderstandings like this happen a lot in real life families, where someone remembers events differently than other family members, but you don't see misunderstandings too often in stories unless it is very intentional. This misunderstanding is interesting to me, because throughout the story I wondered why they started the story with the picture of Amy and what was going to come of that story. I think this scene is very important because so much of the first part of the story is their family history, and then we get this scene which really breaks down a lot of their understood family history. I think this scene is also important, because if Miranda had known the full truth about her family, I wonder if she would have turned out the same way, and if her story would have taken the same path as it did.

The Epistemology of Reputation in "Old Mortality"

Porter seems to be calling to the forefront the unreliability of reputation in "Old Mortality." The story opens with a photograph of Aunt Amy, but its accuracy in representing her is almost instantly called into question by Miranda's father, Harry. "'Her hair and her smile were her chief beauties, and they aren't show at all. She was much slimmer than that, too.'" (174) And then Harry's account of Amy is called into question by Cousin Eva in Part III, when she says that Amy "'was too thin when she was young, and later I always thought she was too fat, and again in her last year she was altogether too thin.'" (214-15) What are we, the readers, supposed to make of this elusive portrait?

Temper that response with what Miss Honey must think of Amy, when her husband brings Maria and Miranda over to demonstrate that the "'[b]oth of 'em rolled into one look a lot like Amy,'" (200), and with the feeling of Eva that the relationship between gabriel and Amy was "'a kind of lifelong infidelity . . . and now an enternal infidelity on top of that.'" (211) To Miss Honey, the quarrel is not was Amy beautiful, was she slim - she is constructed as entirely something else, as the other woman, even in death.

Reputations are constructed - but upon what? Consider the grandmother who, "twice a year compelled i her blood by the change of seasons, would sit nearly all of one day beside old trunks and boxes in the lumber room, unfolding layers of garments and small keepsakes "; Miranda and Maria "examined the objects, one by one, and did not find them, in themselves, impressive." (175) These little pockets of meaning for the grandmother, the combs and locks and feathers and flowers, are meaningless to the younger generation without some kind of exposition to understand them. Instead of sad souvenirs, artifacts of the past, they are tacky anachronisms, like fish out of water: they are "dowdy," "moth-eaten," "clumsy," "silly-looking," "yellowed," "faded," "misshapen," "cracking," and a host of other words that mean out of place and time (175).

So are reputations constructed on nothing? Several artifacts included or referenced directly in the narrative can surely establish the character of, or at least credible witness to, a person. The photograph of Aunt Amy is first and foremost - but Harry discounts its credibility. There are two letters near the end of Part I. The first is from Amy, and we find that she constructs herself within the letter - she is fond of frippery and horses, keen on scandal, and adoring of her mother. There is little insight to be gained from this letter except how Amy sees herself, or how she expects others to see her. The second letter is from Amy's nurse, and it hints to the suicide that Eva alludes to in Part III. It amounts to only another third person account of a character. (Is that a reflection of the narrative?)

The last artifact is Miranda's mother's diary. When Eva goes off on a diatribe about sex-obsession, Miranda defends her mother on habits that she hopes construct her character - cooking, sewing - and a personal record, Mariana's diary, which Miranda has read. Eva says, "'Your mother was a saint,'" - she is constructing a reputation - and Miranda is outraged, and so constructs a reputation of her own. "'My mother was nothing of the sort" (217).

So even personal testaments, such as letters or journals, cannot be trusted to be evaluated objectively - they are simply more supporting evidence in the inevitably subjective construction of a reputation.

What a flimsy construction! "Old Mortality" seems to say. Miranda's father "had a disconcerting way of inquiring, "How do you know?" when they forgot and made dogmatic statements in his presence. It always came out embarrassingly that they did not know at all" (184). Although every character is guilty of retelling someone else's story to fit their own motives, including Harry, each interpretation of another's life is equally as valid - provided that it is a qualified statement, open to common reinterpretation. Harry and Cousin Eva talk in the back of the car about "common memories, interrupting each other, catching each other up on small points of dispute" (220), leaving reputation open to interpretation long after the events that it is constructed from have transpired.

This reading is why the closing of the story struck me as so sad. Miranda sulks in the front seat, thinking, "I won't be romantic about myself. I can't live in their world any longer . . . Let them tell their stories to each other. Let them go on explaining how things happened. I don't care. At least I can know the truth about what happens to me" (221). The narrator lets on to the foolishness of this promise, calling it ignorance - for even as Miranda prepares to leave her vast, intersecting family and their stories for each other about each other, she will live on in their memories. In every letter they receive from her she will have constructed a self to be remembered by, to be reread later by a different generation as she read Amy's and so reinterpreted. Her exploits will live on at home despite the fact that she won't be there; Cousin Eva remembers that Miranda was "planning to be a tight rope walker . . . going to play the violin and walk the tight rope at the same time." (207) This brief snippet of a story serves, until the train, as Eva's last meemory of Miranda - and what bearing does that have on her character now, on who she is as a person?

Miranda cannot remove herself from herself to know the objective truth of her life; she will be constructing herself and play the victim to others' constructions of her and have a reputation created in which there may be small truths about her character, but no grand overarching ones.

So is Porter letting on that there is no real, objective truth - or simply outlining the means by which reputation is constructed?

Feminism in Old Mortality

In response to Jennifer's post, I want to investigate the opposite view of women in Old Mortality. While Porter does spend a great deal of time describing the seeming perfection of these women, there are ironic undertones in these descriptions. For as much as Amy is glorified for her beauty and her "eighteen-inch waist," she, herself, does not value these qualities. Society is boxing her into a category; trophy wife. However, she refuses to be perceived as such. When a suitor, such as Gabriel, comments her on a feature, such as her hair, she destroys or "mutilates" herself in and act of defiance. Further more, at the Mardi Gras ball, Amy dresses provocatively in order to demonstrate how women are viewed as objects, rather than people. In this scene, Amy's father becomes very upset at his daughter for her manner of dress to which Amy replies, "Why, Papa...what's wrong with it? Look on the mantlepiece. She's been there all along, and you were never shocked before." Thus asserting that society says it is fine for women to be seen and not heard, viewed as aesthetically pleasing objects, but when they dress in a suggestive way, it is looked down upon. While by today's standards, Amy's suggestive costume would have been considered "slutty," for her (and in her time) the act was one of total rebellion and liberation. Another example of how society categorizes people is in the example of the "Old Maid" Eva. Because she lacks physical beauty, she is condemned to a lonely life amongst beautiful women. An active "feminist," she is made fun of by her relatives, one of which even refers to her activism as a substitute for a "bed partner."

Though these observations are few among many, I think that the underlying message in this story is that society, of which we as humans are undoubtedly a part, are highly susceptible to categorizing people, whether or not we are aware of this act. I feel that the title of this short story, Old Mortality, tries to describe that we are, after all, mortal and that looks are fleeting, yet we categorize entire races of people based on physical appearances.

Feminist Ideas in "Old Mortality"

While reading the first part of "Old Mortality" I could not help but wonder what Porter was doing with these ideas that a woman must be prim and proper through out her life time and how Miranda and Maria looked up to these women whom were described in this feminine way. Like their Aunt Amy whom looked perfect and rode horse and danced beautifully. It just seemed odd to me how much time Porter spent describing these perfect women within the story and placed this unattainable idea for the little girls to follow. Even their father mentions how all the women in his family are thin and must have dark hair and pale skin. So not only do they have these ideals to follow due to being related to these women whom are perfect but their own father places the burden on them as well and Miranda and Maria are both concerned that they will not live up to these standards.

Final Thoughts TVBA

I really took the ending of the story to mean that Tarwater has transformed into an evil monster. It is almost as if he is going to prey on the "sleeping" city dwellers. From what we know psychopathic killers often have been subjected to assualt or rape, have parental or familiar figures missing in their young childhood, and often believe strongly in perverted or skewed doctrines (I think at one point in class we talked about how the bad people in these short stories often take certain good beliefs to extremes, making them evil). I am left at the end of this story feeling like I do not know who Tarwater is, what he is capable of doing, or his motives in doing anything that he does. I do know, however that he has been through a lot, has violent tendencies, and is able to justify murder with very random logic.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil

The fact that O'Connor does not describe the assault on Tarwater in graphic terms is surprising, as she is best known for her grotesque style of writing. As was previously mentioned, the nature of the assault (homosexual) would have undoubtedly been taboo during O'Connor's time. However, I do not think that a societal ideology would prevent O'Connor from writing as she saw fit. O'Connor, being very familiar with the bible would have known the following verse from Matthew 5:27-8 "You have heard that it was said, You must not commit adultery. But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart." In the same sense, O'Connor, by implying the assault of Tarwater, has already committed the act, there is no masking it. Moreover, it does not appear to be O'Connor's intent to mask this occurence. I'm not particularly sure if that verse is really pertinent as to whether or not O'Connor left the assault so vague due to societal ideologies, but I thought it was interesting nonetheless. : )

Implied violence in TVBIA

Jennifer brings up a great question. Why is the sexual assault of Tarwater implied at the end of "The Violent Bear it Away"? O'Connor is so graphic in other instances, but why so subtle here?

I have two thoughts. The first has to do with the timing of the story. Sexual assault is a much more accepted topic in literature and film these days than it was back then. For better or worse, audiences are accustomed to graphic sexual violence. O'Connor may have had to tone it down for the times. Especially as it was homosexual in nature.

Another possible explanation is that it parallels the assault on Bishop. As graphic as this story can be, when Tarwater kills him, we are left on the bank of the lake with Rayber. The death is implied and confirmed later. Same with Tarwater. I suspected he would be murdered, but in the end we learn he is assaulted.

There is also the notion that implied violence is more frightening than witnessed violence in literature. Could anything be creepier than the image of Bishop disappearing into the darkness, being taken away by Tarwater while we're left on the bank? Same for the sexual assault. The image of a 14-year-old boy getting dressed after being driven down a remote dirt road is more disturbing than anything O'Connor could have given us in way of description of the assault itself.

I liken this to "A Good Man is Hard to Find," when the Misfit has his henchmen systematically take the family into the woods to execute them. We don't see their deaths, and this makes it all the more unsettling.

Turning Away From Violence/ Bishop the Martyr

I find it interesting that in the final sections of TVBIA, O'Connor studiously avoids showing Bishop's death. The reader is given the moments leading up to Tarwater's actually immersing the boy, and Rayber's perspective of hearing the death, but no direct description of the moment. This is interesting to me because, in so much of her work, O'Connor often rubs the reader's nose in horror, in moments of unspeakable violence and hate. Why the reticence here? Perhaps it is because the death resonates more powerfully as a symbolic moment, rather than a heinous crime, when the reader is given only fragments of detail and allowed to piece together the event for his/herself. Another instance of this turning away from the horrible is Tarwater's rape towards the end. Once again, the reader only receives hints and insinuations, the moments before and after but not the moment itself. Perhaps it would be too sensationalistic/exploitative of O'Connor to have reveled in the details of these violent acts, I tend to think so. There is enough direct violence in this story (the description of Bishop's first drowning), so that any more might have been in bad taste and would have diminished the intellectual/spiritual power of this story.

Another thing I find interesting is the positing of Bishop as a christian martyr, perhaps analogous to Christ. Like Christ, Bishop's father sends him willingly into the hands of his executioner(s) and does nothing to prevent his death. And, like Christ, the end of TVBIA seems to indicate that Bishop's only purpose in life was to die, that his life, though lived in tenderness towards those that showed him none, was the life of a lamb whose death feeds the living. Bishop dies so that Tarwater and Rayber can live. They are no longer bound to this boy (Rayber from his burning love and Tarwater from his impulse to Baptise) and are set free from one another. That Bishop's life was no more than a symbol is shown by the ease with which Rayber and Tarwater accept his death; neither think of him as a real human being, whose murder is a horrible act of brutality, rather they only see his death as it affects themselves. His death literally sets the world aflame, burning the eyes of his murderers and driving their lives towards destiny.

The Violent Bear it Away Chs VIII-XI

Whoa. Once again we get quite an interesting O'Connor scene. I also thought the stranger scene was very intriguing, and I also wanted to post on the theme of driving away that occurs in this story twice and also in some of her other stories. I mentioned this in one of my other posts, but I thought I would comment more on it, because it ties in with the other posts and with the scene with the stranger.

In the first car scene, Tarwater gets in the car with a stranger, and starts to drive away. Then in the later scene, Tarwater gets in a car with a stranger, and starts to drive away. I think it is interesting how these two scenes are similar, but yet totally different. The thing I wanted to focus on with these two scenes (and in other stories) is how the characters think they are driving far away, and in a sense driving away from their troubles, but then they just end up in the same place, or in a way worse place (from the frying pan into the fire). I think the characters think that they are in a sense leaving it all behind and starting over, but in reality they are not.

I think this could also tie in with what other people have been commenting on in class and on this blog about the transition between rural and city areas. In a lot of ways they are transitioning between rural and city values and traditions, but in a lot of ways, things do not really improve when they go from place to place, so we never really get a sense of what is considered better. They are just different from one another.

Also, I was interested to find out what other people thought about the very, very last scene in the last paragraph. I hate to sound dense, but what was going on in this paragraph?

Could the Schoolteacher Have Saved Tarwater?

It seems to me that the real tragedy in this story is the schoolteacher's inability to connect in any way with anyone. He tries hard to convert Tarwater to his way of thinking by spending every minute of every day with him but his methods do not have any affect at all. If he had taken a less direct and offensive route to establishing a relationship with Tarwater he may have been able to make some kind of impact on his life. If he had recognized the danger of taking an obviously disturbed young man into his house he might have approached the situation differently. If he hadn't felt such strong desire to have an immediate impact on Tarwater's his life he might have considered it logical to demand good behavior from him in return for his room and board. Perhaps if the schoolteacher had been more stern and detached from Tarwater instead of trying to immediately replace old Tarwater as another deranged father figure he could have forced Tarwater into reacting with his peers or anything else in the world that is relevant he could have saved Tarwater, Bishop, and himself.

Strangers in If the Violent Bear it Away

While reading about the strangers that drive Tarwater back to his home, I could not help but wonder why O'Conner decided to have the one man whom drives him during the night and is using him to stay awake an then the other man whom assaults him. I was thinking maybe she was using the first man to clarify what occurred with Bishop and Tarwater and how Tarwater feels about drowning Bishop. Tarwater not only cannot stop obsessing about his murder but also he feels ill. So it was nice to see that Tarwater has some remorse because he just seemed so cold and heartless throughout the story to me. Like how he tries to burn Old Tarwater's body rather than burying him properly and also how he treats Bishop throughout the rest of the story.

I also thought it was interesting how the first man just abandons Tarwater and kicks him out of the truck because he does not drive people during the day. It just seemed odd that the driver suddenly had a change of heart about driving him especially since he kept grilling Tarwater about his life. Maybe he decided to abandon him because Tarwater was seemingly disturbing talking about drowning Bishop and baptizing him and even when the driver tried to change the subject he brught up the fact that he was born in a wreck. So maybe the driver just did not want to know anymore about Tarwater's life which is understandble in my opinion.

The stranger that picks him up after shocked me I did not think that Tarwater was going to be assaulted in the woods but I guess their was the hint of him making fun of him for not smoking and what not. It just seemed odd that O'Conner placed this at the end of the story it seems out of place and does not really make sense to me because it happens and then it seems to be over and he does not bring it up again after he burns the brush that it occurred in. I wonder why she decided to have this piece of violence placed within the story. Which is also odd because O'Conner and Porter both describe the violence within their stories very elaborately and in a brutal manner where in this story it is barely alluded to and really the only clues that it is a sexual assault is the fact that his clothes are laying right next to him.

So I was just wondering what everyone thought about O'Conner's theme of strangers and why these two men are supposedly helping Tarwater but end up kind of taking advantage of him in very different ways, one sexual and the other by tyring to keep himself awake? And why does the violence in the assault differ from how O'Conner usually expresses violence within her stories?

"The Stranger" scene towards the end of TVBIA

I wanted to discuss the scene that takes place on pages 469-472, in which young Tarwater is hitching and is picked up by a man that takes advantage of him.

This scene was so very horrifying to me for a number of reasons.  Also, I am unsure what O'Connor is doing with adding this scene in, which seems to stick out like a sore thumb.  What transpires is horrifying enough:  young Tarwater is attacked or assaulted (sexually or not, we do not know) by the driver after getting him drunk.  However, what was actually more jarring and unsettling for me was Tarwater after this:  He seems to have no reaction.  He is not alarmed.  He does not appear to be sick or in pain from either a hangover or what might have transpired.  He is merely numb and disassociated, as if he were so mesmerized by his one mission that the fact of his assault leaves no imprint upon him.

The man also steals Tarwater's hat and bottle opener/corkscrew.  I see the hat as representing Tarwater's identity.  The narrator tells us very early on that neither Tarwater nor the old uncle removed their hats often at all, and Rayber was very frustrated at this.  So the hat could be the part of Tarwater that wanted to stay true to the old uncle.  In stealing this, the attacker is stealing Tarwater's identity or agency, but how does this affect him?  When he wakes up Tarwater still continues to the old homestead seemingly unaffected and unchanged.

I have also noticed that O'Connor continually refers to this attacker as "the stranger."  It is a blatant contrast to the other driver that gives Tarwater a ride in this story.  He has a name:  Meeks.  This time we are not given a name, but the title "the stranger" is the same title O'Connor gives to the little voice inside Tarwater's head (of course we know that the name for the voice eventually evolves from "the stranger" to "the friend).  Could O'Connor be making some sort of connection between the attacker and the voice?  On page 469, Tarwater realizes there is something very familiar about this guy.  What could that be?

I was wondering if anyone else also felt so very unsettled in reading this scene.  Maybe that was O'Connor's point?  Maybe this is the big moment of violence in this story (not considering Bishop's drowning, of course)?  And if so, why does Tarwater leave it so unaffected?  Or does he after all?

Baptism

The event in "The Violent Bear it Away" that I found most compelling is the act of Rayber baptising Francis.

In the 430s, Rayber and Francis go boating on the lake. They have a frank discussion with Rayber "preaching" to Francis about the direction his life is going. On 438, Francis gets sick, and Rayber says to him, in the lingo of the Christians, "You need to be saved right here now from the old man and everything he stands for. And I'm the one who can save you."

Ironic, huh?

What follows is Francis abandoning the boat and submerging himself in the lake and swimming back to shore. Rayber then drops his old clothes--a remnant of his time with Tarwater--into the lake so that Francis will have to wear the new clothes he's bought him.

This event is huge, if you ask me. For one thing, the tension of the previous chapters came from the question of whether or not Francis was going to baptize Bishop, then all the sudden O'Connor throws us this twist.

The greatest irony, though, is Rayber. He dismisses the act of baptism itself, then, ritualistically at least, performs it himself. Though he professes that the ritual, which imposes other's values onto another, is flawed and meaningless, Rayber himself carries out a similar ritual, stripping Francis of his old clothes so that he has to wear the new suit he bought him--as if a new suit would change his behavior and their relationship.

There's also the issue of water, which is huge in this story, such as Rayber's earlier attempt to drown Bishop. On page 434 O'Connor ominously writes, "... water is made for more than one thing." It can cleanse or it can kill. And sometimes, with these characters, it's hard to tell if they can see a difference between the two.

The Violent Bear It Away

After class today I started thinking about what it means to be baptized. In the catholic faith when a person is baptized they are formally becoming a member of the Church. However, does baptism have any significant meaning to anyone other than the person being baptized? It seems to me that the act of baptism and the responsibilities that come along with it only has meaning to the person who is being baptized. To them, they are now a member of the Church, they are cleansed of their sins and they can start new; they are reborn. On the other hand, this action has no affect on anyone else. It does not alter the way someone else interacts with this baptized person, nor does influence others in any significant way. This leads me to my question: If Bishop were baptized, would he really know what that meant? It would mean something to Rayber, simply because he is extremely anti-religious, but would Bishop be affected? Bishop was already (in a way) baptized when Rayber tried to drown him. He died and was reborn, which is a baptism. However, Rayber does not see this act as a baptism, even though it is. This drowning and rebirth has no affect on Rayber and if he did not care so much about religion, a real baptism would have the same affect on him as well. By baptizing Bishop, Tarwater would be happy because he would feel his mission is fulfilled regardless of whether or not Bishop continued a Christian lifestyle. Tarwater simply wants to perform the act of baptism. I am sorry for the rambling and somewhat nonsensical ideas. I am not quite sure where to go with this but I felt as though there was something there, now as I continue to ramble I feel as though I am not making any sense. Does any one else see where I’m going with this?

The Violent Bear It Away

I find the young boy, Bishop, very interesting. He is yet another one of the unidentified characters that O‘Connor writes about; he is a silent character and is only described by the words of others. He never makes his feeling known. We learn about Bishop through the words and actions of others. Even though Bishop does not have a voice his role in this story is very important. He, is almost, the center of the story because without him it seems as if this story would not exist. Tarwater’s purpose revolves around his ability to baptize the young boy. As we have learned from other stories by Porter and O’Connor, the lesson and message within their stories lie within the study of the silent character.

Tarwater has compared Bishop to several different animals. He compares him to a hog at dinner one night and then he compares him to a dog. O’Connor than makes yet another kind of animal reference without actually naming a type of animal. “The child began to scramble up the steps on his hands and knees, kicking his feet up on each one” (O’Connor 427). I can imagine any child climbing a set of stairs like this (I’m sure I climbed stairs on my hands and knees when I was younger) but in this case, since Bishop has been compared to animals in the past, I get the impression that O’Connor is referring to animalistic qualities of Bishop. When I picture him climbing the stairs I imagine some sort of dog scampering up the steps. I find it very interesting that these authors use their silent characters as their message carriers. Perhaps this shows us that it is the quiet people, the ones who observe life, who hold the answers. Since they merely observe the world that surrounds them they are able to scrutinize and examine what is really going on. In Bishop’s case, he is surrounded by anger and frustration yet he still maintains a kind and loving outlook on life.

The Violent Bear it Away, Chs III-VII

Something I noticed when I started to read chapter three was the name "Habakkuk." I did not know who this was and how this was significant , so I decided to Google it, and this is a brief synopsis of what I found in a nutshell: Habakkuk (his name means "wrestle" or "embrace") was a prophet in 620 B.C. and wrestled with the issue of if God is good than why is there evil in the world. According to bible.org (love that web address!), the story of Habakkuk is supposed to teach us that, "1)God sometimes seems to be inactive, but He is involved, 2)God is holy, 3)God hears and answers prayers, 4)God sometimes gives unexpected to our prayers, 5)God is just and God is good, 6)The righteous live by faith and faithfulness."

Unfortunately, since I did not know who Habakkuk was, I had to look this up online. Maybe someone has more to add to this explanation?

Anyway, this brought up what we were talking about in class about what is a prophet? I do not have a good answer for this yet, but I thought I might start working through one. When I hear the word "prophet" I usually think of someone that tries to spread the word of God and interpret what God means. With this story, I started thinking about which characters are considered prophets (I think they all three could be considered prophets, or consider themselves to be prophets). All three are trying to interpret the word of God, and trying to spread the word of God and baptize each other.

Another thing that I think is interesting that goes along with religion is how the characters in this story all seem to be making religion their own. This got me thinking down a really philosophical path of how much is religion made up of what we choose to believe and how is faith formed by what we believe? In this story, the characters seem to be making a religion all their own and they seem to think that they are the ones that are right.

Here is the website I used to look up Habakkuk:
http://www.bible.org/page.php?page_id=975

Exploitation and Love in The Violent Bear it Away

One of the things I've been noticing throughout this story is the constant exploitation of children by the adults around them. Both of the central adult figures (Mason and Rayber) treat children not as individuals, but as things to be molded into reproductions of themselves. Mason's exploitative attitude towards children is obvious from the beginning and is remunerated throughout the story: he seems to need an impressionable template on which to imprint his ideas. His first attempt at this self-reproduction (kidnapping Rayber) is a failure, so, years later, he kidnaps Tarwater, a boy who has no real parents to claim him or give him love. Because of the conditions of his conception, Tarwater is a perfect disciple for Mason, whose satisfaction in life derives solely from his belief that his "work" will be continued by the boy after death.

Rayber is no better in his attitude towards Tarwater, and children in general. Like Mason, Rayber sees the boy not as an innocent in need of love and support, but more like a lump of wet clay, ready to be remade in whatever image satisfies his own insecurities but somewhat resistant: in need of a firm hand. When Tarwater arrives at Rayber's door, Rayber does not give him comfort or love (perhaps the essential elements of a healthy childhood), but instead immediately begins insinuating his own worldview into the boys mind and telling him he will be "free." Like Mason, Rayber's idea of individuality has nothing to do with independence, but is instead only a mask disguising an urge to recreate himself, a narcissistic impulse that is also self-loathing: Rayber sees, in Tarwater, a chance to create himself as he should have been, without their mutual uncle's "corrupting" influence. This feeling is not unique to Tarwater; Rayber admits wanting a child from the "welfare woman" for the purposes of raising it to his specifications, not because of any innate need for love or family. At the Pentecostal meeting, the young-girl preacher, whom Rayber recognizes as being exploited by her parents, causes him to experience a vision of himself whisking all the supposedly-exploited children of the world away to a place where outside minds cannot influence them, except his, of course.

The boy Bishop, however, throws a wrench into this rotation of exploitation-escape-exploitation. Because he is "slow," Bishop is beyond exploitation: he cannot be molded or rewrought, he is a true individual in the isolation of his condition. It is because of this that Rayber experiences the "hated love" for his son that "gripped him and held him in a vice." Because Bishop is beyond exploitation, he becomes an irresistible receptacle for genuine love: a caring and comfort without need of recompense or recognition. This is the love that Tarwater needs (and which Rayber needed, as shown by the brief stories of his childhood), but does not receive by either of the adults in his life. If he had received any earnest, unconditional love in his life, if he had known a place in the world where he was wanted and not just needed, perhaps he would not have to struggle to find his place within the world. I believe Bishop is a symbol of love, a being that asks for nothing and gives only kindness, with no thought of consequence.

On a side note, I find it interesting that Bishop was in fact baptised and reborn in his father's attempt to drown him. I don't really know what to make of that in relation to Mason's/Tarwater's need to baptise him, but maybe someone else can shed some light?

Eyes in TVBIA

What interested me the most about this reading was that O'Connor utilized "eyes" even more than in our reading for Monday. She represents the characters' moods through the imagery of their eyes, whether it be through the use of color, light/darkness, or the shape she describes. The schoolteacher sees himself in the face of Tarwater, noticing that the only difference between then is their eyes. He observes, "The face before him was his own, but the eyes were not his own. They were the student's eyes, signed with guilt" (pg. 392). In expressing Tarwater's rage, O'Connor paints her readers a picture through his eyes. "The boy turned very white. His eyes were blackened by the shadow of some unspeakable outrage" (pg. 397). His character represents Old Tarwater in this reading, through the interaction with the schoolteacher, and the evil which comes out through his eyes. When Tarwater notices where Old Tarwater shot the schoolteacher, "he looked up and his gaze fastened on the gash in his uncle's ear. Somewhere in the depths of his eyes a glint appeared. 'Shot yer, didn't he?' he said" (pg. 394). As I was reading today's section, I felt that I got a further glimpse into the characters through O'Connor's portrayal of their eyes, letting us in to their thoughts.

TVBIAA

Spiritual warfare, between the uncle and the school teacher, the uncle and society, or the boy and himself is a prevalent character struggle thought the story so far. O'Connor uses this to show inner struggle. weather it is the Prophets drinking, or Tarwater's betrayal of his great uncle's wishes. There is a very different sense of what is right and wrong and it varies from character to character. The whole situation with burying the grandfather and Tarwater's seemingly possessed "stranger" with the other voice is very counter intuitive, and when he goes with the teacher seems so far from reality but then again it also seems logical. At the same time Tarwater's adult attitude is almost creepy, but with his upbringing you understand it as well. I still have no idea where this story is going and what I am going to take out of it, but O'Connor does use beautiful imagery, and very evocative scenes.

Guilt vs Sanity of Rayber

I agree with Austin and Brad in the second part of The Violent Bear it Away we have to questions Rayber sanity. Rayber seems completely drenched in guilt that he could not save Tarwater from the Old man earlier and this idea and the fact that it is his sister's son seems to haunt him. He even describes Tarwater as looking like him, probably not just because of the family likeness but because Tarwater had to live the life that Rayber barely escaped.

I think this plays into his guilt about not getting his nephew earlier, the idea that he escaped this life of religious influence and becoming a prophet whereas Tarwater not only did not escape it but is still influenced by the Old Man's words and the guilt of not burying the Old Man but rather burning him instead.

It seems that Rayber takes his guilt to a whole new level when he allows his own son to be harmed by Tarwater. We have to conclude that his only interest is the interest in trying to fix Tarwater which becomes the obsession that leads to his downfall because he cannot see what is coming.

I feel really bad for Rayber and Tarwater it seems like they have been haunted by this notion of becoming a prophet and everyone in their family has suffered from it, whether it be kidnappings, death, or losing ones mind. They all have been placed with this curse of becoming a prophet which is ironic due to the fact that it is supposedly a blessing.

Family Ties in TVBIA

Brad makes an apt point: "The rational schoolteacher constantly has to fight against falling into madness, which would make him no different than the old uncle." The schoolteacher feels that there is an affliction in the family, and that "[t]he old man had been ruled by it. He, at the cost of a full life, staved it off." (402) Here I would differ with the schoolteacher. The old man has handed down the baptism of Bishop to Tarwater. "'Either [Tarwater] or me [the old man] is going to baptize that child. If not me in my day, him in his.'" (351) So the schoolteacher removes himself from his uncle by not baptizing his child, and so fends off the madness that he fears he has inherited.

To get an idea of what a Tarwater family baptism entails, we can look at the schoolteacher's experience at the hands of his uncle, in the stream where "his head had been thrust by his uncle into the water and brought up again into a new life." (409) There's a parallel between this scene and the schoolteacher's attempted drowning of Bishop, where Rayber forces Bishop "below the surface on his back and held him there, not looking down at what he was doing but up, at an imperturbable witnessing sky" (418). It's strange that Rayber tries to drown his child in a way that he can see his face, and the position speaks to Bevel's baptism, when he too is dipped on his back. And Rayber looks up, as if for guidance or at least approval from God, and add into the mix the word witness, which one usually bears in a religious right -- all of this makes me think that the calling didn't skip a generation after all: Rayber has done the Tarwaters' work for them. Bishop has been baptised.

The cyclical relationship that we discussed in class, of inter-generational kidnappings, and especially the family tree, put me in a mind to look at Tarwater the elder, Rayber, and Tarwater the younger as all victims to that kind of Greek "sins of the fathers" fate - for what Pelops did, isn't just everyone on down to Orestes punished for it. Every - uncle? nephew? - with Tarwater blood has the same work cut out for him: propheteering. What makes Francis Marion so special is that he is the end of the line - he has no sister to have children to be uncle to. Whatever work God has in mind for the Tarwaters ends with the youngest one. The line ends with him.

And as long as I'm talking about family, I wanted to bring up the veritable absence of fathers in O'Connor's work. We know that O'Connor's father died young, of the same disease that she suffers from. We know that she dedicated The Violent Bear It Away to her father, Edward Francis O'Connor, who shares his middle name with the main character who refuses to be called by it. Also in this novel, we have one of the few major father characters in any work of hers we've read - Rayber. (And Rayber is a terrible father; he tries to kill his son and in attempting to act as a father figure Tarwater, the boy is horrified and outraged (397).) Beyond Old Dudley/Tanner and Bevel's shell of a dad, I can't think of any. Mr. Head was Nelson's maternal grandfather, Mr. Turpin had no children, the Lucynells were haunted by their husband/father's car, and I can't remember if Hulga's father is ever mentioned. I'm probably missing out on a few, but I think it's interesting to tell a story of bloodlines so indirectly, - from uncle to nephew/uncle to nephew - especially when fathers are so absent.

It probably isn't a good idea for me to try to psychoanalyze Flannery O'Connor, but when she's always talking about a father in heaven, I figure it bears some thought.

Insanity and Love in TVBIA, Day II

Building off the last post, I would like to talk about insanity.  In the reading for Day II of this novel, O'Connor gives us an insight into Rayber/the schoolteacher.  Rayber formulates something of a binary opposition of insanity vs. rationality, and of course, the old uncle represents the insane side of this divide for Rayber.  

The rational schoolteacher constantly has to fight against falling into madness, which would make him no different than the old uncle.  What I am interested in his looking at how Rayber characterizes this madness.  The narrator often speaks of this madness in connection to Bishop, whom Rayber usually ignores, but at times "he would experience a love for the child so outrageous that he would be left shocked and depressed for days, and trembling for his sanity" (pg. 401).  It is a love that "terrified him," that is "completely irrational and abnormal" and would "overcome him....dragging him backwards to what he knew to be madness" (pg. 401).

It is so jarring to see love described in such a way.  Insanity and madness are not usually lumped together with love, which is usually seen as a very natural, universal emotion.  Just a few pages down, O'Connor has the little girl at the tent revival stating that "Jesus is love" (pg. 412), and I'm sure this cannot be a coincidence.

Rayber is talking about passion, but it seems as though to him, anything other than logic or rationality leads to madness, so he must suppress his passions and view love as something horrifying.  Is this why he attempts to drown Bishop, out of the incapacity to accept and understand his emotions and passions?  I am very interested to see what becomes of this as we get to the third part of the novel.  Any thoughts?

Insanity and Isolation

Isolation is a major factor in the insanity that afflicts the Tarwaters. The old man and his nephew live in complete isolation from the rest of the world, and old Tarwater seems to be unable to understand the way that his ‘prophesies’ and visions fit into a larger social structure. As a prophet he preaches his own beliefs to no one except his nephew. He believes that he has direct contact with God, but his own inability to connect with anyone from the real world makes his prophesies worthless. The boy becomes a soundboard for the absurd preaching of the old man, but this is not the source of his own madness. The schoolteacher was also exposed to the madness of the old man, but the fact that he had a family that came to save him from an isolated existence in the forest saved him from becoming disassociated from society. The visions and hallucinations of the old man may be a madness that he had possessed his whole life, but because he was unattached the rest of the world he was able to drift further into madness. His young nephew was able to maintain a somewhat healthy mentality through a relationship with his insane uncle, but when he was left on his own he was visited by a detached voice that became his new friend and a reassurance to him. Initially it seems to keep him grounded by providing some reference point outside of his own consciousness, but unless he becomes permanently anchored through a relationship with real people his alternate consciousness could drive him further into isolation and insanity.

The Violent Bear it Away

I was actually surprised at how much O'Connor gave away in this first section of The Violent Bear it Away. Usually we ponder different ideas and possibilities of what O'Connor might be telling her readers, or what/who something/someone symbolizes in the text. The boy's thoughts are revealed, "Only every now and then it sounded like a stranger's voice to him. He began to feel that he was only just now meeting himself, as if as long as his uncle had lived, he had been deprived of his own acquaintance...his new friend..." (pg. 352.) In this passage, O'Connor spills an enormous chunk of information that she usually is more subtle about in her text. In this story, in particular, I saw more of the mystery in the imagery O'Connor gives us, rather than the actual dialogue, or the stranger's voice. She spends more time than usual on the images of the sky, and how the sun hits the trees. While she gave away information through the boy's thoughts, and the dialogue, she left me wondering about the pictures she paints, and the significance, if any, to the tone of the story.

The stranger's voice- God or the Devil?

I also like the voice and it's parallel to religion. I read the voice as Tarwater's own conscience. He calls it the stranger's voice because when Mason was alive he would not allow Tarwater to listen to himself and his conscience. He used religion to control the boy. Mason must know on some level that he's not a prophet. He claims to live by religion but he is immoral. He kidnaps his family members and makes his living on moonshine. So why does he keep Tarwater secluded in the woods? I believe he likes the control it gives him. He is looking for control in his life, forcing it into religion. His control of Tarwater provides him with someone he can control and someone that can continue his lifestyle into his old age. In order to keep his control over Tarwater, he had to convince the boy that the only thing to trust was religion, personified by him.

So when Mason dies and Tarwater is free of his control he hears his conscience again. Since he's lived with Mason his whole life, it is a stranger's voice to him. However, since he only knows life through the scope of religion, he asks himself what this voice is. Is it God or the Devil? He's been taught that God's voice comes from Mason. So this new voice must be the devil.

Proximity

As evidenced by the many insightful posts that have appeared so far, "The Violent Bear it Away" is loaded with color and character and subtext. One of the elements of this story that stands out for me is proximity.

In the O'Connor stories we've read before, there is the distinction between city and country, and it is very clear, and the divide is wide. In "The Violent Bear it Away," that divide becomes a lot narrower. I don't know if this is due to the proliferation of suburbs or urban sprawl, or if this is even intended to be an issue, but it seems to me that this is the first time we've encountered the city and country in such close proximity.

That said, though the geographical gap is closing, the cultural one is not. When the schoolteacher goes out to the country to reclaim his nephew, he is shot twice. One wonders why he doesn't return with the police. I think this is O'Connor's way of getting the point across that the country is still clinging to its mores, and the schoolteacher understands that--their turf, their rules. (Not to mention the kidnapping that went unacknowledged and the burning down of a farm house that seems as though it happened on another planet for how much attention it drew.)

It does, however, seem that the country is losing its grasp of this autonomy.

Viewed in this context, old Tarwater's repeated attempts to baptize the schoolteacher's son takes on a less literal purpose. Sure, due to Tarwater's beliefs, there is a religious connotation to this infatuation with baptizing the child, but for me it is the perpetuation of the country vs. the city struggle. Tarwater tried to pass on his traditions to the schoolteacher's generation, but he now considers this a lost cause. His goal then becomes to instill these traditions in the next generation.

We see Tarwater becoming more desperate as the story progresses. He knows his time is short, and the only person left to whom he can pass on his values is the younger Tarwater. This gives enormous significance to the legacy he passes on when he dies. It will be interesting to see how this plays out.

narrative structure in The Violent Bear it Away and the Catholic mass

Wow, there is so much to unpack with this story, but I am really interested in the narrative structure here.  Rather than a linear narrative that we would be perhaps more accustomed to, this story is presented in what seems to be cycles of history repeating itself (in terms of the family tree and the different generations, character mirroring each other, etc.) and in another way, cycles of repeating the events of the story more than once, with little details added with each retelling.

I find it interesting that much of what would seem to be the plot is given in the first sentence:  the death of the great uncle.  There is no gradual set up.  After this, we get continual flashbacks (I'm not sure if this is the right term, but for lack of a better one) that interrupt the "real time" of the story.  These flashbacks are not linear either and give us details over and over of the old man going to live with the schoolteacher who's writing the article about it, the old man kidnapping both boys, the car wreck, the schoolteacher coming to get Tarwater and getting shot for it, and so on.  

I really liked this way of telling the story.  The retelling provided something of a ritualistic rhythm for me.  This retelling of narration is also echoed in the old man and Tarwater's relationship.  The old man would continually tell the story of the boy's origins and his own mission as a prophet over and over.  So much so that the boy would anticipate the story.  On page 372, we see the boy reminding the old man of parts of the story he has skipped, dreading parts of the story he does not like, and wishing to rush to parts of the story he does like.

Now I may be way in left field here, but this rhythm really reminded me of the Catholic mass.  One of the definitive features of mass is that it is the same structure and ritual every time.  In particular, the reciting of the Apostle's Creed really seemed to mirror what's going on in this novel.  It is something recited every mass that in addition to stating beliefs, also sums up the history of the religious movement up to that time, in a way, by chronologically listing the events of Jesus' life.  Every time the old man tells the story to the boy, it is like this reciting of his beliefs and the history of the family member's lives again and again.  The connection really was reinforced for me when the narrator mentions that the old man would start reciting this story to the boy about once a week (I apologize for not being able to locate the page number at the moment), the same time interval that most Catholics go to mass (not taking daily mass into account, of course).

So, in a way, the old man and the boy were celebrating mass cyclically in their home by reciting this story, and this structure is mirrored in how the narrator is telling us the story too.  Any thoughts on how effective/not effective this narrative structure may be?

Plato's Cave: Powderhead or the city?

While reading the first two "Violent" chapters, I was strongly put in mind of the myth of Plato's Cave (i.e. imagine that we have all been chained in a dark cave and are unable to accurately understand shadows moving on the walls of the cave. Then, one of our fellows escapes and, after a life of darkness, is blinded by the sun--or Plato's ideal Truth. Because the sun/Truth is so powerful and dazzling, he stumbles about disoriented and, to the ignorant, chained masses in the cave, he looks and sounds like a crazy person upon his return. Brief lit theory refresher in a nutshell;))

In the context of this story, I think the question is whether Powderhead or the city is the true cave. In its isolation, Powderhead seems like a dead ringer for the cave, where Tarwater has been chained to the hem of his uncle, and his uncle's plow. However, one of the most perplexing passages thus far suggests that the old man (old Tarwater) might be the blinded, disoriented seer of Truth: "a finger of fire" comes out of the sun and touches him (332). When I first read this, I thought perhaps it was a colorful interpretation of a stroke. Either way, it seems to be disorienting, and he is frustrated that the aching, searing element of truth falls on him as "destruction...in his own brain" (332). The repeated references to the old man's insanity only reinforce the argument. He stands outside the sister's door hollering his received truth, and it put in an asylum. But Plato writes that "the eyes can become confused in two different ways, as a result of two different sets of circumstances: it can happen in the transition from light to darkness, and also in the transition from darkness to light." (Norton, 67, from The Republic, Book X).

I think this parallel is significant because the cave myth deals explicitly with epistemology, and young Tarwater's primary anxieties are epistemological as well. He "knows" what his uncle has told him, but he is suspicious of his source of knowledge. He wants to understand "how" he knows. Indeed, there are many references to the basic epistemological concerns knotted between Descartes, Locke, and their respective descendents ad nauseum. At one point, Tarwater asks the old man how he could have been sure the schoolteacher was glad to see him; the old man replies "I'm as sure...as I am that this here...is my hand and not yours" (374). (i.e. with only their senses as sources of information, how can Tarwater or the old man even know the hand exists in the first place? This is not the most signficant, thematic example, but I think it is still worth noting). The great anxiety surrounding Powderhead is Tarwater's position of having to take all his knowledge on faith from an unreliable source, against whom he can make no comparisions. Even the stranger who attends Tarwater as he digs the grave shadow's Descartes "malicious demon" who is determined to obstruct truth at every turn.

So as we follow young Tarwater's progress in the city, we might want to consider whether his confused state--any apparent ignorance or madness that mirrors the old man's--stems from a transition from darkness to light, or from light to darkness. Plato writes that when observing an apparently disoriented, confused and/or insane person, one should consider whether his "mind was returning from a mode of existence which involves greater lucidity and had been blinded by the unfamiliar darkness, or whether it was moving from relative ignorance to relative lucidity and had been overwhelmed and dazzled by the increased brightness" (Norton, 67).

The stranger: voice of God or the devil?

It was hard to follow a lot of the parts of this story so far, and I started to get really confused (yet more interested) when the strangers voice comes in to play. It comes in slowly and gradually and seems to sneak up on you. At first I thought he was referring to his own voice sounding like a strangers (which I think it is) but then it started to take a life of its own.

I started to think about old Tarwater (again, I love the way she names people!) and how he was telling his young apprentice that God would come to him and tell him what he is supposed to do. Is the "stranger's" voice the voice of God? It seems a little mischievous though, so maybe it could be the devil? I remember my mom telling me when I was little how her mother told her about a man that came up to the house selling Bibles but the WAY he was selling them made her believe he was the devil in disguise. It's kind of like the serpent leading him astray...

I hope the voice comes up again, and we can find more about it.

The Violent Bear it Away Chs I-II

There are so many things to comment on in this story, I am not even sure where to begin!

I was not sure who was who in this story even after reading the beginning three times. So, I tried to make a family tree, after I read the part about the accident and how Old Tarwater became the "guardian" of the boy. "Try" being the key word here. I keep having trouble filling it in because the family situation in each generation is so similar, that I keep getting myself confused. I usually think of myself as a pretty good close reader, and I know O'Connor is a great writer who puts everything in her stories for a reason and is not prone to just throwing things in her story, so I think this means that this confusion is purposeful. Now my question is why was I confused, and what is O'Connor accomplishing by confusing me?

The first question is easy to answer. I think my confusion comes from the fact that the schoolteacher is the boy's uncle and Old Tarwater is the schoolteacher's uncle, and Old Tarwater kidnapped both boys when they were little. I was also confused because the schoolteacher took care of the boy for awhile. I also find it very coincidental that the women that are mentioned in this story are both "whores." Both the schoolteacher's mother (Old Tarwater's sister) and the schoolteacher's sister (the boy's mother) are referred to whores and they both die in the same accident. I think. This is the point I am most confused on, because it says, "The two of them [his own mother and grandmother], along with his grandfather, had been killed in an automobile crash, leaving only the schoolteacher alive in that family, and Tarwater himself, for his mother (unmarried and shameless) had lived just long enough after the crash for him to be born. He had been born at the scene of the wreck" (355). The women are not named in this story, which also complicates things, and we do not get a big enough picture of them to actually construct an image of what they are like in our heads. I think I am also confused because when O'Connor says, "nephew," I am not totally sure if she is referring to the schoolteacher who is the nephew of Old Tarwater or the boy who is the nephew of both men. Also, they all could be called Tarwater, and O'Connor varies what she calls each man enough that it gets a little confusing. For instance, the old man is sometimes Old Tarwater, or the old man, or just Tarwater, or the great uncle. I don't expect O'Connor to use the same name each time, but I think the way that she varies the names says something about what is going on in this story. The sudden shifts in tenses also got to me as well.

Another thing that was confusing at the beginning was who is the stranger's voice? I think it might be the new "rebirthed" boy, but I am not sure. "Rebirth" seems to be a big theme in this story. Everyone is running around trying to baptize everyone else. But yet, the boy's biggest rebirth and experience comes from his great uncle dying and the boy's running away (It is amazing to me how many people in these stories try to run away from everything in their cars, only to be worse off or in the same place as they were before...but that is another post altogether).

The hardest question I am trying to muddle through is what this story accomplishes by confusing me (and making me draw graphs and charts). For me, this confusion leads me to believe that not a whole lot has changed in this family from generation to generation, and I started to draw connections between the schoolteacher and the boy. A lot of my confusion started to lift in the second chapter once we started learning more about their family and the backstory, but I think it says something the way we were left confused for about twenty or thirty pages before things started to (somewhat) fall into place.

(Sorry for all the confusion!)