To the Lighthouse, XIX through end

As much as I enjoyed reading To the Lighthouse, I feel like there is no way I could actually appreciate the enormity of Woolf's creation without close reading every page. However, here's my first few stabs at an interpretation.

While marriage itself is not the focus of the novel, it certainly addresses the idea of happiness. I found Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay's marriage to be an interesting characterization of what realistic happiness looks like. Initially (as mentioned in my last post), their marriage seems a little strange, due to the Oedipal dynamics with the son James. The extent to which Lily idealizes the Ramsays makes the reader think that their marriage is in reality far from perfect.  However, as the book progresses, this image shifts. In one scene, "Their eyes met for a second; but they did not want to speak to each other. They had nothing to say, but something seemed, nevertheless, to go from him to her. It was the life, it was the power of it, it was the tremendous humour, she knew" (119). The extent of their closeness here, and the fact that they reach such a mutual understanding, "life" and "humour" without even communicating is testimony to the strength of their relationship, and seems to represent an ideal, yet realistic equilibrium that amounts to happiness. At the end of the same scene, Mrs. Ramsay says "'yes, you were right. It's going to be wet tomorrow. You won't be able to go.' And she looked at him smiling. For she had triumphed again. She had not said it: he knew" (124). All Mrs. Ramsay has to do for her husband to know that she loves him is to concede to him on this one little thing (though since this little thing is about the lighthouse, it's obviously not trivial). Both Mr and Mrs. Ramsay are obstinate, but in this way they reach a coexistence, an understanding about how their love works that accommodates both of their dispositions.

Beyond marriage, Woolf addresses other paths to happiness or understanding, specifically art and intellect. Mr. Ramsay, the intellectual, presents one route. However, the effectiveness of intellect to confer happiness is contested. Lily observes that "But now he had nobody to talk to about that table, or his boots, or his devour, and his face had that touch of desperation" (156). The "table" mentioned refers back to his philosophical studies (also mentioned in my first post), but this philosophizing is depicted as lonely: being too deeply buried in ideas that no one else can understand leads only to "desperation." In contrast to Mr. Ramsay, who is "good" at what he does (thinking), there is Lily, who is bad at painting. However, the ending of the novel suggests that art, whether good or bad, more likely leads to true understanding and happiness than does even the highest form of intellect. The last lines of the novel read: 

"With a sudden intensity, as if she saw it clear for a second, she drew a line there, in the centre. It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision" (209). After the entire novel filled with constantly shifting images, mingled perspectives, and the intangibility of the lighthouse, Lily is the only character who "saw it clear," is able to feel like something is "finished," who has a "vision." The fact that this vision occurs through painting badly emphasizes the power of art over intellect, of passion over skill, in facilitating illumination of the world and resolution in one's life. 

Mr. Ramsay is also used to illustrate and discuss misogyny and identity. Though he manages to have this "perfect" understanding with Mrs. Ramsay, he fails to understand other women. When he watches Lily paint, "Why, thought Mr. Ramsay, should she look at the sea when I am here?" (151). This represents a lack of understanding on two levels: he cannot fathom why a woman would not be focused primarily on a man, and it does not occur to him that Lily's gaze on the sea is unrelated to his presence, is rather caused by other more complex thoughts and deliberations. This relative cluelessness implies that male ideas about women are selfish and incomplete, and do not do justice to the complexity of female minds. Later on,  "He thought, women are always like that; the vagueness of their minds is hopeless; it was a thing he had never been able to understand; but so it was" (167). This more explicitly draws attention to Mr. Ramsay's inability to "understand" women, but the use of "hopeless" and "never" here also illustrate that he has made no attempts to do so. He complains of the "vagueness of their minds," again exemplifying the misogynistic idea that women are intellectually inferior. The fact that Mr. Ramsay eventually fails to attain the "vision" that Lily does essentially negates his approach to happiness and his world view, including his misogynistic tendencies. And of course, the fact that Woolf herself (a woman) wrote this incredibly intricate intellectual masterpiece in itself defends women against any accusations of cognitive inferiority. 

Random, particularly beautiful quote:
"only the Lighthouse beam entered the rooms for a moment, sent its sudden stare over bed and wall in the darkness of winter, looked with equanimity at the thistle and the swallow, the rat and the straw" (138).

To the Lighthouse, I through XVIII

It is impossible to talk about To the Lighthouse without examining its style and tone, particularly Woolf's use of stream of consciousness. While Austen and Dostoevsky use free indirect discourse to offer insight into the psyche of characters while still maintaining some narrative distance, Woolf degrades the barrier between narrator and character one level further. Rather than being "pulled" towards characters, Woolf's narrator actually moves in and out of their minds, meaning that to some extent, there is no true narrative voice, only an amalgamation of the characters' observations and thoughts. An interesting example of this is Mrs. Ramsay's stream of thoughts while she is measuring the stocking against James' leg, "Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, half-way down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed; a tear fell; the waters swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad" (28). Here, the observation, "never did anybody look so sad" is filtered through Mrs. Ramsay's consciousness. Her imagination of the situation, "perhaps a tear formed" overlays the physical image, and the imagery of "darkness" and "waters" are a product of her own perspective rather than an explicit narrative choice. While it's a bit difficult to read this style, it offers less biased insight into characters than free indirect discourse, and in my opinion, a more intense depiction of their consciousness than simple interior monologue.
Because Woolf meanders in and out of each character's mind, it is interesting to observe the characters (often opposing) views of each other. For instance, Lily contemplates, "for that was true of Mrs. Ramsay- she pitied men always as if they lacked something- women never, as if they had something" (85), but Mrs. Ramsay in some way exhibits pity for Lily: "There was in Lily a thread of something; a flare of something; something of her own which Mrs. Ramsay liked very much indeed, but no man would, she feared" (104). These opposing depictions and perceptions primarily serve to elucidate both the characters' way of seeing the world and the way they present themselves. However, it seems to me that these confusions of perception also illustrate the inevitable failures of human communication, and the inability for any one individual to actually understand another (as the narrator manages to do). Both of these quotes relate also to the discussion of gender roles that permeates Woolf's work. Mrs. Ramsay's apparent lack of pity for other women suggests that misogyny and oppression of women does not only stem from men, but rather has been engrained in society to the extent that women themselves facilitate it. This is somewhat refuted when we see that Mrs. Ramsay does actually feel positive and sympathetic emotion towards Lily, however, this pity centers around the fact that "no man would [like her]." The pity is not for Lily herself, but rather for her fate in a world where marriage is of utmost importance. This emphasizes the difficulty of constructing, pitying, or maintaining the female identity in the absence of men and marriage- a problem which Woolf treats as lamentable.
Woolf also uses male characters' misperceptions about women to call attention to the flaws of misogyny. Mr. Tansley observes, "They did nothing but talk, talk, talk, eat, eat, eat. It was the women's fault. Women made civilization impossible with all their 'charm,' all their silliness" (85). Tansley believes that intellect is the cornerstone of civilization, and while this idea is not refuted, his idea that talking, eating, and "charm" are actually antithetical to civilization seems vaguely absurd. Even the root of the word "civilization" contains "civil," which implies a focus on social conduct, the things which women embody and Tansley abhors. Woolf thus uses Tansley's complaint about women to refute this particular source of misogyny. Later on, when Paul, Andrew, Minta, and Nancy are by the shore, Minta "had no control over her emotions, Andrew thought. Women hadn't. The wretched Paul had to pacify her. The men (Andrew and Paul at once became manly, and different from usual) took counsel briefly" (77). Here, another complaint about females is presented: excess emotion. However, the fact that Andrew and Paul had to "become manly, and different from usual" in order to pull Minta out of this emotion implies that in fact men naturally have this "excess" emotion as well, and have to work to restrain it in order to appear manly. If both genders possess it, and only can artificially move away from it, then it is ridiculous for women alone to be criticized, and may mean that this is not actually a flaw at all.

On a totally different note, I was struck by the Woolf's use of classical reference, given how temporally removed she is from, say, Plato. When Lily "asked him what his father's books were about. 'Subject and object and the nature of reality,' Andrew had said. And when she said Heavens, she had no notion what that meant. 'Think of the kitchen table then,' he told her. 'when you're not there'" (23). The type of intellect that Mr. Ramsay possesses is in a way Platonic: he is concerned with the idea of the table, the epitome of its existence independent of observation. To me, this is a testimony to the pervasiveness of Platonic ideals, and the fact that the definition of what is considered true intellect (which Mr. Ramsay represents is the novel) has changed so little over such a long time.
Woolf also explores the ancient Oedipal complex, with the relationship between Mr. Ramsay, Mrs. Ramsay, and James. James "most of all he hated the twang and twitter of his father's emotion which, vibrating around them, disturbed the perfect simplicity and good sense of his relations with his mother" (37). James views his father as an impediment to a relationship to his mother, and has violent impulses towards him at the very beginning of the novel. This alludes to the story of Oedipus's love affair with his mother, and unintentional murder of his father. The confusion between father and son is further developed when Mr. Ramsay is described as "filled with her words, like a child who drops off satisfied" (38). As James seeks to push his father away from his role as husband, Mr. Ramsay regresses to the role of child. These blurred ideas of familial versus romantic love, and the tension between the role of fathers and sons creates a sense of unsettlement in the Ramsay family, contrasting Lily's idyllic perception of them.

At this point in the novel, I'm still a little confused by the idea and metaphor of the lighthouse itself. I felt that this was an important passage: "she looked at the steady light, the pitiless, the remoreseless, which was so much her, yet so little her, which had her at its beck and call .. . but for all that she thought, watching it with fascination, hypnotised, as if as if it were stroking with its silver fingers some sealed vessel in her brain whose bursting would flood her with delight, she had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly" (65). Though I'm not completely sure how to interpret this, it seems that the lighthouse might be a metaphor for the two-pronged nature of light, as both a "pitiless and remorseless" entity, and a bringer of "exquisite happiness." The image of "silver fingers," and Mrs. Ramsay's "fascination," as well as the general metaphor of light, cast this force of the lighthouse (whether or not it is also a metaphor for life) as captivating, permeating, and unavoidable.

Pride and Prejudice: 156-happy ending

The title of a novel typically draws attention to important themes: however, in Pride and Prejudice these themes are not simply alluded to, but more actively discussed by the characters. After realizing how badly she had misjudged Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth says "I, who have prided myself on my discernment . . . Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind" (159). Unlike Darcy's excessive pride, Elizabeth's pride does not regard her own status or accomplishment, merely her ability to discern things about others. It is a pride of perception, as opposed to a more hubristic pride of character. However, just like Darcy's pride, it is an impediment to happiness. Being excessively confident in one's abilities, even if it's not a characteristic thought of as particularly desirable (in Elizabeth's case, perceptiveness) is problematic. Because Elizabeth is a relatively reasonable character, the fact that her initial hatred of Darcy makes her so "wretchedly blind" illustrates that just as love clouds judgment, so does excessive hatred, and that no one, regardless how "good," can avoid the sway these emotions have over judgment.
Another type of pride becomes visible when Elizabeth hears about what Darcy has done for Lydia, and
"she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself" (248). Here, pride is good because it is pride for someone else rather than for oneself. Elizabeth is proud that Darcy "had been able to get the better of himself," overcoming his character flaws. Because the focus is on an improvement rather than an intrinsic characteristic, representing a positive evolution of character, it is no longer destructive. In fact, Elizabeth's emotion here arguably marks the beginning of the realization of her love for Mr. Darcy.

Beyond the obvious title themes, another motif I observed was the interplay between appearance and character. After realizing the truth about Wickham and Darcy, Elizabeth observes that "one has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it" (172). In this society, outward appearances (both physical appearance and manners/social conduct) are what matter most, but it is obvious that these do not often match up to inward character. For the first half of the book, however, outward appearances triumph over true good (Wickham over Darcy), illustrating the difficulty of succeeding without appropriate social manners in this kind of world. However, after Mr. Darcy's character has been somewhat vindicated, Mrs. Gardiner: "He has not an ill-natured look" (195). I've definitely experienced this too: after better understanding someone's character, your view of their physical appearances shift accordingly. This suggests that eventually, those who are actually good should triumph eventually (as they do in the end of Pride and Prejudice).
Pemberley, Darcy's estate, is obviously meant to echo its master's character. It is described that "in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, without any artificial appearance" (185). This natural importance" without "artificial appearance" is exactly the temperament Mr. Darcy is eventually shown to possess, and it is clear from the beauty of Pemberley that this genuine, unembellished "good" is far superior to the affected pretensions of morality and classiness embodied by so many other characters.

In a similar vein, the second half of the novel continues to reflect on the absurdity of class structure and snobbery. To me, the epitome of this was Mr. collins' letter about Lydia, which said, "the death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this" and recommended that Mr. Bennett "to throw off your unworthy child from your affection forever" (225). Even though Mr. Bennet doesn't exactly relish in Lydia's misdemeanor, there is no consideration of actually banishing her from the family. The fact that Mr. Collins proposes something which is so obviously immoral and cruel highlights both the absurdity of being concerned with public reputation to this extent, and the fact that being of higher class (as Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine are) does not confer good morals or good sense.
Similarly, when lady Catherine is talking to Elizabeth, Elizabeth says " Neither duty, nor honor, nor gratitude have any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either, would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy" (274). She implies here that there is nothing morally reprehensible about marrying into lower classes, implying that there are certainly no moral differences between social classes, and thus that there are no truly sound reasons for class barriers to exist.

Though the novel focuses on the ability to change one's character, as Mr. Darcy is able to do, it seems that this is only possible to some extent. Elizabeth says to Jane: "If you were to give me forty such men, I could never be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I can never have your happiness " (267). From this quote, it seems that happiness is intrinsic, though it may be helped or hindered by circumstances. At the end of the novel, it seems that Elizabeth is as happy as Jane, but is it true that in reality, her happiness is constrained by her disposition? Are some people just generally more at peace with the world, while others are perpetually unsatisfied? Is it possible to change something this basic about oneself?

Pride and Prejudice (pg. 1-156)

It is immediately apparent from the opening set up of Pride and Prejudice that money, inheritance, and class are of utmost importance in the world occupied by the novel. However, within this more general motif, a few things stood out to me. Besides the fact that the Bennet girls out of necessity seek wealthy husbands in order to support them, it seems there is another less obvious motive for marrying rich. Mrs. Bennet says: "What an excellent father you have, girls . . . I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter" (5). The idea that children have to "repay" their parents is not entirely foreign, in that children often take care of parents as they age, but Mrs. Bennet seems to imply some financial recompense as well. If this is the case, then the burden a daughter faces by not inheriting her father's estate (as the Bennet girls do) is twofold: firstly supporting herself, but also "making amends," financial or otherwise, to her mother after her father dies. If the Bennet girls do not marry into money, they let down their parents as well as relinquishing their own comfortable life.
Though this necessity of marrying into wealth is obvious, the moral judgment of considering money when making romantic decisions is not entirely clear. Elizabeth understands why Wickham would pursue Miss King (with her newly inherited fortune) rather than her, but doesn't understand Darcy's justification of why he advised Bingley away from marrying Jane (who is poor). This is a bit of a double standard: it is acceptable to pursue wealth if you do not have it, but unacceptable (at least to Elizabeth) to be concerned about marrying into wealth if you already are wealthy. While Elizabeth is generally an extremely likable, rational, and honest character, she is still also subject to the social ideals and necessity of marrying for money: for instance, she likes Colonel Fitzwilliam well enough but can't even consider marrying him because he does not inherit the family's fortune. This emphasizes the extent to which money is engrained into females' consciousness, and that this somewhat unsavory pursuit is essentially unavoidable regardless of quality of character.
Amidst this constant background of the importance of money, the borders between socioeconomic classes are described as artificial and in many ways meaningless. The most obvious example of this is the pretense and snobbery of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Collins also says "Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinctions of rank preserved" (124). Lady Catherine's preference about clothing here reveals the fabricated nature of aristocracy: at this point, the only distinguishing feature to recommend the aristocracy or really differentiate them from other classes is clothing.

Another obvious motif throughout the novel is the process of courtship. I found the successes, failures, and processes of the the various different courtships that occur to be quite revealing about morals and standards of the time. Unlike the Enlightenment periodicals, in which a women's coquettishness is heavily criticized, the relationship between Jane and Bingley presents the dangers of the opposite: insufficient display of affection. Charlotte says of the couple "he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on" (15). Partly as a consequence of Jane's subtlety, Darcy advises Bingley against pursuing Jane further. Not only is flirtation no longer a problem: it is actually a necessity.
Beyond this initial condition for courtship, a more profound question arises: to what degree should you really know someone in order to make a good decision about their character, and whether to marry them? How can you judge someone objectively? Or is subjective judgment more important in the realm of love? On one hand, Wickham points "I have known [Darcy] too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible to be impartial" (58). In this way of thinking, knowing someone too well actually impedes objectivism. However, this applies to a friendship rather than a romance, and must be taken with a grain of salt given Wickham's deception about Darcy. On the other end of this spectrum are Jane and Bingley: Charlotte and others wonder whether they can actually be in love after knowing each other for so short a time. In general, however, it seems that this is not considered problematic, and in fact I was struck by the speed at which most of the courtships/marriages in the novel occur. Because marriage is primarily practical, it is logical that the time period of "getting to know each other" is less important, however, for cases of actual love such as Jane and Bingley, perhaps speed simply intensifies the process but is not actually problematic.
Another somewhat bizarre characterization of courtship, related to the haste with which it often occurs, is unwillingness. Mr. Collins says to Lizzie, "You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been a little unwillingness" (80), and then later refuses to accept that Elizabeth is actually rejecting him. On one level, Mr. Collins is too silly and pompous to realize that he is being rejected; on another,  he actually relishes in coercing Lizzie into something she doesn't want (albeit unsuccessfully). This strange joy in her unwillingness seems to contrast the earlier emphasis on the necessity of female flirtation: being too eager. It also communicates some level of misogyny, in that women are required to be slightly desexualized, and "unwilling" so that they can be appropriately overpowered by men. However, since Lizzie is able to reject Mr. Collins' advances, and is obviously not in any real danger, it seems that perhaps Mr. Collins' attitude is somewhat outdated and gradually becoming less socially acceptable.

The Tatler and the Spectator, Selections

My first, very obvious question regarding these readings: why is everything capitalized? Is this simply in the style of the age, or is there a specific reason? It seems to me to communicate some kind of authority and objectiveness, which somewhat contrasts the fact that these periodicals are concerned with ideas and human nature rather than facts or news.
I observed that in several of the selections, the majority of the piece is written in third person, but switches to first person at the end (with the exception of Tatler 107, which is entirely first person). I think the initial writing in third person emphasizes the universal nature of these discussions, and the fact that they are intended to apply to humanity generally rather than the author or any individual specifically. It also may explain their wide appeal! However, the final switch to first person provides a reminder that this entirely impersonal approach is infeasible, and that of course, though these ideas may be widely applicable, the level at which they can be implemented is individual. Similarly, this "I" contrasts the alleged objectivism of ordinary periodicals, distinguishing The Tatler and Spectator from other publications (and perhaps implying that since true objectivism is impossible, publications should make no illusion of presenting unbiased facts and news, and instead concern themselves with "self-definition" and social theory). Tatler No. 225 seems to further comment on journalism. It explains that "he that is now a Wit in Conversation, would be considered as a Spreader of false News is in Business," perhaps implying that just as Wit may be perceived as good until we realize that it does not make polite conversation, bearers of actual news, though they may seem truthful,, are often biased and inaccurate.

On a different note, I noticed a significant emphasis on the importance of pleasantries and a focus on the good rather than the bad. Tatler No 225 explains how in polite conversation, "we should always be inclined rather to hide than rally each others infirmities," and Spectator No 291 similarly explains, "a true Critick ought to dwell rather up on Excellencies than Imperfections." Here, the multidimensional nature of humanity is recognized, however, in order for society to function properly (in conversation or in criticism), it is necessary to sweep imperfections under the rug. What is important is not brutal honesty, but rather presentation, and adhering to social standards.
Spectator 411 and 414 address similar ideas in the discussion of nature and art. It is described how though humans like nature better than art, "we find the works of nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of Art" (414). Nature itself is wild and unruly, but humans like it when its appears on the surface to resemble Art, something controllable, created, and civilized. This suggests that humans are basally attracted to disorder (nature), but because of social norms and expectations, value the appearance of civilization and rationality.

Relating to these ideas about surface pleasantries and order versus underlying character are the ideas about wit and logic. Spectator 291 advocates the necessity of a "clear and Logical head" in both authorship and criticism, and the value of reason more generally is espoused continuously through these selections. Reason, logic, and wit are all to some extent related here: wit requires some degree of logic, however, it also is deemed inappropriate in the context of criticism, and, "in an improper place . . . is impertinent and absurd." On one hand, reason is ideal, and wit undermines the proper operation of reason. On other hand "productions of a great genius, with many lapses and inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the Works of an Inferior kind of Author, which are scrupulously exact and conformable to all the rules of correct writing." Though though reason is preferable, "lapses and inadvertencies," i.e. what allows wit, are necessary for the creation of Art. Again, the human tendency away from order and reason is emphasized. This is presented as an inevitable truth, rather than a call for reform, illustrating the contemplative, rather than prescriptive or informative purpose of these periodicals.

Though the human taste for chaos is presented, Spectator 409 provides a contrast to this in its focus on defining "good taste" in writing. This illustrates the immense value placed on this quality of good taste, and thus the social focus on self-betterment and intellect. The "conversant among the Writings of the most Polite Authors" or "conversation with Men of a Polite Genius"described here are valued much more highly than the "polite conversation" described in Tatler 225, because they enable an individual to hone their personal characteristics. This "good taste" is in opposition to "wit," although, in the picture drawn by the Tatler and Spectator, humans inevitably possess both. "Good taste" surpasses wit because whereas wit represents degradation of something for the sake of humor, whereas "good taste" represents a desire for improvement.  Here, "turns of Wit, and forced conceits, which have no manner of Influence, either for the bettering or enlarging of the Mind of him who reads them." Ironic, given that these pieces are quite "witty" themselves.

Twelfth Night: Originally in English and a Comedy! A Lit Hum first!

Warning: this may be a long post- it's hard to cover a whole Shakespearean comedy in 250 words!

Nature and Love
Just as we talked about the relationship between love and nature, and the idea of "love as a plague" in Decameron, Twelfth Night explores whether love is a necessary and civilizing force or an uncontrollable, natural force. In the opening of the play, Orsino says "And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me" (1.1). Here, desire is depicted as a natural force, much as we have seen before. However, I found it interesting that desire is not something which consumes or overcomes an individual, but rather something that Orsino is "pursued" by, and thus it seems is trying to escape. On the other hand, "hounds" are hunting dogs presumably owned by nobility, so being pursued by hounds is slightly different than being pursued by, say, wolves. This nuance relates well to the play's generally more favorable treatment of love as a force which, though it may cause individual unhappiness, is ultimately acceptable and favorable. This is echoed near the end of the play, when, after recognizing her brother, Viola says "Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love." (3.3, near the end of the scene). Here, she recasts something natural and brutal-tempests- as something "fresh" and "kind." This switch in the depiction of nature occurs at the end of the play when love "plays out," that is, Viola finds Sebastian and reveals her true identity as a woman, and is able then to marry Orsino. Perhaps this transition from depicting nature as chaotic to characterizing it more positively echoes the shifting role of love from a catalyst of chaos to an enabler of actual happiness.
In several instances, Twelfth Night more explicitly references the relationship between civilization and love. In Act 1 Scene 4, Orsino instructs the disguised Viola to "Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds/ Rather than make unprofited return" (1.4.267) in her attempts to woo Olivia. Here, Orsino's passion explicitly leads to degeneration of "civil bounds," not simply for himself, but for those surrounding him. This illustrates that while love may ultimately be a positive force, it certainly leads to disorder and uncivilized conduct. This relates to nature in that humans' natural state is chaos rather than civilization, so love, as a natural force, understandably causes regression from constructed society. 
Another interesting contribution to the characterization of love comes from Orsino at the end of the play. After Sebastian appears and Viola's identity is revealed, Orsino says, "One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons, A natural perspective, that is and is not!" (5.2415). Though this refers to the Sebastian/Viola resemblance, it also echoes the idea that true love comes when two bodies are occupied by a single soul (much as in Aristophanes' speech in Symposium). If this is the message, it is slightly complicated by the fact that it blurs the lines between familial love (between Sebastian and Viola) and romantic love. However, it does provide a way to understand love in the context of Viola's fluid gender in the play: if the "face, voice and habit" are what is important, then it is understandable that Orsino could so quickly go from seeing Viola disguised as a servant to loving her romantically. However, this idea that "bodies" are of lesser importance simultaneously makes it more tragic that Olivia's love for Viola must necessarily dissipate the moment Viola's gender is revealed.  


Women
Much like Lysistrata, this comedy contains strong female characters, namely Viola. However, the attitudes towards women are still far from favorable. Early in the play, Aguecheek asks "What's that?" about Maria (1.3.162), referring to her as an object rather than a human. Though I think this is intended to be funny, it is nonetheless very insulting. Similarly, Belch later says to Maria after they were plotting against Malvolio, "Good night, Penthesilea" (2.3), Penthesilea being a brutal female warrior. The fact that a clever, cunning woman must be compared to a warrior illustrates a lack of acceptance, and maybe even fear, of intelligent women. On the other hand, Belch seems attracted to Maria's mind, and Aguecheek and Belch joke that they could marry her after hearing her scheme, making it unclear whether or not these characteristics are acceptable for females.
Further insight into the views of women is revealed through the difference between the female-female (Olivia-Viola) and the male-male (Antonio-Sebastian) attraction in the play. Olivia questions Cessario (Viola) about whether she is from a noble family, and is initially attracted to her delicate form and her beautiful face. On the other hand, Antonio's (arguably homoerotic) loyalty to Sebastian seems less superficial. He follows Sebastian to Orsino's court despite the fact  that he knows he is in danger, saying "that danger shall seem sport (2.2). Later on, in a very sweet gesture, he gives Sebastian his purse, saying "Haply your eye shall light upon some toy" (3.3). The fact that this male-male relationship seems more genuine than the female relationship and rooted in actual love rather than just attraction casts females in a comparatively unfavorable and shallow light. 
In an additional jab at women, Orsino says "For women are as roses, whose fair flower/ Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour" (2.4). Though this depicts women favorably in the sense of being "roses," this comparison alludes only to beauty and not to substance, and essentially says that when a woman's beauty withers (which happens quickly) there is nothing valuable left. Thus, despite what appears to be a progressive premise for the play, a woman acting like a man, it is nonetheless relatively misogynistic. 


Fools
The role of fools is quite different in Twelfth Night than in King Lear. Because this is a comedy, the fool seems much less out of place in the context of the plot and other characters. Whereas in Lear, the Fool provides subversive commentary, in a comedy this is unnecessary because everyone already more or less seems to speak their minds. Because the whole play is more lighthearted, Feste occasionally provides a somewhat sad counterpoint to the plot line. For example, his song at the end of the play (after everyone else is happily married) talks about his own rejections (being turned away from gates), providing a dose of reality that prevents the ending from falling into corniness. 
Because this is a comedy, foolery itself is far more prevalent than in Lear. Feste says, "Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines every where" (3.1), illustrating that while he may be the officially designated fool, everyone else is acting just as foolishly (if not more so). Whereas in Lear the Fool's character did highlight others' insanity and poor choices, here Feste serves to draw attention to everyone's hilariously misguided actions. In a sense, everyone plays "fool" at some point. In particular, Malvolio becomes a secondary fool after Maria tricks him into acting so bizarrely. However, while Feste gets away with his madness because it is his job, Malvolio is imprisoned. Again, in this case foolery provides a reminder about the role of madness in the world: though everyone is acting somewhat madly in the play, Malvolio reminds us that in fact this cannot work in society.    
While in Lear, the fool provides insight while everyone else lacks it, Feste is more directly recognized for his perceptiveness. Viola says, "And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time" (3.1). Perhaps being slightly mad themselves, whether crazed by love, trapped in another gender, or so on, enables the characters to understand the importance and value of the actual fool.

Other interesting things I noticed

-Perspectives about mourning and death: Feste says, "The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven." (1.5.361). Feste points out that in the living world, it is not our job to be concerned with those who are dead. For Olivia, this inappropriate consideration of death interferes with what should and does consume the living world: love. By saying that considering those are dead is foolish, Feste also implies the pointlessness of seeking glory after death and worrying about your own afterlife. Finally, it seems we have moved totally beyond kleos!

-Class Mobility: When Malvolio gets the letter allegedly from Olivia, he imagines what it would be like to be ruler, "I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control" (2.5). The absurdity and hilarity of this scene in which Malvolio acts as a king illustrates both the extent to which lower classes are looked down upon, and the impossibility of actually climbing the social latter, even by marrying into wealthier class.

King Lear Acts 1 and 2: Finally Something Written in English!

I would have thought that reading something originally written in English (finally!) would be a relief. However, when it's Shakespeare, it's definitely not any easier than reading translated ancient Greek. (I did enjoy the creative insults, though, "you whoreson cullionly barbermonger" (II.2.30)!)

I found a main theme in King Lear to be the indignity of aging and having to bequeath an inheritance. It seems that this is such a psychological strain that it leads, essentially, to madness. In a conversation with the Fool, Lear says "Dost thou call me fool, boy?" and the Fool replies, "All other titles thou hast given away; that thou was born with" (I.4.145). In aging and giving up his land to his daughters, Lear has lost his youthful vigor and his power over both his land and his children. In this scene, speaks more rationally than the Fool who insults him, but later, at the end of Scene II when Goneril and Regan declare that they will not allow him any servants, he is equally nonsensical and crazed. Without his titles, it seems, Lear is nothing more than the Fool. Another compounding factor in Lear's insanity seems to be that he has only daughters, no sons. I know that the ideas about inheritance are different in Lear's time than in, say, Virgil's, but a patriarchal structure is nonetheless in place: a man's heir to the throne should be his son. In Act 1, Scene 4, Lear curses Cordelia into sterility- something he can afford to do because she cannot actually bear him an heir. This draws attention to Lear's plight and powerlessness that arises from his lack of a male child, as well as providing insight into the extent to which female children are viewed as useless and undervalued.
Lear's honor is further insulted when Regan and Cornwall are deciding what to do with Kent after Kent hits Oswald. They say that to punish Kent would insult Lear, because Lear is his messenger, but that not punishing Kent would insult Goneril because Oswald was her servant. Firstly, this scene calls attention to the fact that property, in this case servants, are intimately tied to an individual's honor and respect. In this case, Lear's honor is valued below his daughters, further emphasizing his depressing loss of power.

Though Love is not the primary focus of King Lear the way it is in Decameron or Symposium, it still plays an interesting role in the relationships and interactions between characters. In Regan's hyperbolic declaration of her love for Lear, she says, "I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short, that I profess myself an enemy to all other joys" (I.1.71). While this is obviously intended to be read as insincere, it does raise an interesting perspective on love. Whereas Boccaccio describes love as pervasive and universal whether you want it to be or not, Regan describes that she actively decided to make enemy to other emotions in order to make room for love. Because her speech is so disingenuous, it seems that this is then a comment both on the fact that love should not prevail over all other emotions, and that it is actually impossible to control it to this extent.
Another interesting love-related twist regards the characterization of what is desirable. While the Duke of Burgundy shuns Cordelia after realizing that she no longer has an inheritance, the Duke of France is impressed by her honesty, saying "my love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter . . . is queen of all of us" (I.1.260). This indicates somewhat revolutionary new standards for a wife, beyond dowry and beauty, and perhaps a small victory for females in that it is possible for integrity and intelligence to actually be considered an asset.

A last motif I picked up on was the relationship between man and nature. The play seems to oscillate between the characterization of nature as being in opposition or in alignment to mankind. Lear declares,

"We are not ourselves when nature, being oppressed, commands the mind to suffer with the body" (II.4.105). This statement in itself presents both perspectives: Lear says that it is when nature is oppressed that it causes problems, but he also says that it is the sickness caused by nature which corrupts the mind. Later, at the end of Act II, nature is more obviously antagonistic, when Lear ends up shut outside in a tempest after his two daughters insult him. In both of these cases, there is a clear relationship between failings of the mind (insult, insanity) and chaos in nature (illness and storms), perhaps indicating a view of humanity in which the mind is more (or at least equally) governed by natural forces as is the body.