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. 

Montaigne, Essays: On Cannibals, On Repentance, On Experience

Without question, out of the texts we have read in Lit Hum, Essays is the one most relevant to my life, the one to which I feel the most personally connected. Perhaps it is simply that it is the most modern of our readings thus far, but I found Montaigne's insights on how to live and the human condition poignant and pertinent. 

The picture Montaigne paints, particularly in the final essay, of human values, is markedly different than what we have seen in Dante, Boccaccio, Augustine, or certainly the earlier Homeric tradition. Montaigne's value system is deeply rooted in an individual's inner acts, private actions, and sense of justice rather than public opinion. For example, he points out that "Many a man has been a wonder to the world . . . Few have been admired by their servants" (240). It is more laudable, more difficult, and more rare, to be judged as good by the ones who see you on a day-to-day basis. Montaigne continues on to explain that "the worth of a soul does not consist in soaring to a height, but in a steady movement" (241). In both of these quotes, individual worth is derived from consistent, basal goodness rather than extreme displays of glory or even large scale acts of benevolence. Nowhere else have we seen this sort of value judgment, but I entirely agree that it provides a more accurate and honest picture of an individual's morality. Because "good" is derived from an individual's consistent, smaller actions, Montaigne comments on the failure of society to properly evaluate individuals, lamenting that "my honour and my life depend on the skill and care of my lawyer rather than on my innocence" (352). Because an individual's public image is so much less telling about their morality than their private actions, Montaigne is suggesting that legal and social systems cannot provide any true insight into or judgment.

Beyond this internal evaluation, Montaigne's views on what constitutes "goodness," especially with regard to physicality and pleasure, are novel. While Augustine and Dante condemn pleasure, and see physical bodies and the accompanying lust as something that must be escaped, and Boccaccio revels in lust and physicality, Montaigne aims for a happy medium. He recognizes the futility of trying to escape basic human desires, and points out that because they are part of nature, and nature, having been made by God is inherently good, there is nothing shameful or problematic with desire and physicality. His extensive descriptions of his own physical habits emphasize their value, and he even says that "bodily delights, like bodily sufferings, are the more rational" (395).  Rather than trying to repress these things, Montaigne notes, "I generally give in to those appetites that are insistent. I allow my desires and inclinations authority" (369). While Christian theology requires repression of what seem to me to be large parts of natural human emotion and consciousness, Montaigne recommends that "we too must accept the good and evil that are consubstantial with our life. Our existence is impossible without this mixture, and one side is no less necessary to us than the other" (374). To me, this balance represents the value set most conducive to a happy life out of all those we have seen, hovering in a pleasant intermediate between deprivation and excess. Montaigne accepts the individual as a whole, reveling in mankind's flaws. In his view, the best humans can do is to exist as they inevitably are, and enjoy life in all its glory and flaws. Personally, I loved Montaigne's final comment that "the man who knows how to enjoy his existence as he ought has attained to an absolute perfection" (406). Unlike previous literature's focus on the afterlife, be it the Homeric concern with personal glory, or the Christian conception of hell, Montaigne recognizes that life is fleeting, and deems a perfect life one that has been enjoyed. Personally, this is the philosophy that I subscribe to- what is the point of living life without enjoying it, if you only live once?

Though it may seem that Montaigne's recommendation to relish in life's pleasures might lead to a chaotic, gluttonous and corrupt society, the view he presents of human tendencies counteracts this fear. In his view, "These testimonies of a good conscience are pleasant; and such a natural pleasure is very beneficial to us; it is the only payment that can never fail" (238). He believes that humans are innately drawn to and take pleasure in good rather than evil, again, a perspective very different from Augustine or Dante. I'm not sure whether this was a prevailing view in the time of Montaigne, or what the cause was of the shift, but again, I personally like to believe that this is true. 

Relating to this more uplifting depiction of humanity, Montaigne, somewhat contrarily, presents a relatively dismal picture of the capabilities of the human mind and his own intelligence. Montaigne declares, "I speak as one who questions and does not know . . . I do not teach, I relate" (237). By casting himself as lacking exceptional knowledge, Montaigne places himself on the level of humanity he describes more generally, thus extrapolating his own lack of wisdom to all other individuals. Later, Montaigne explicitly points to the inability of the human mind to attain perfect wisdom, because "connectedness and conformity are not to be found in low and commonplace minds, like ours" (358).

From this paradox of intrinsic human goodness and intrinsic lack of wisdom, it seems that "good" as Montaigne sees it is unrelated to knowledge, or perhaps even exists more easily in its absence. This extremely opposes Plato equation of wisdom with the highest good, though it aligns slightly with Augustine's insight that wisdom is insufficient (or maybe even a barrier) to becoming close to God. 

On a different note, I wanted to make a few comments about the essay On Cannibals. I thought Montaigne's comment that "we all call barbarous anything that is contrary to our own habits. Indeed we seem to have no other criterion of truth and reason" (108) was particularly insightful. In the Greek and Roman literature we have read, there is a strong concept of "barbarians" as lesser human beings, but Montaigne recognizes instead that humans in fact are unable to make this type of value judgment, because our own ideas of "truth and reason" are unavoidably clouded and influenced by the society into which we were born. This recognition seems to mark a shift towards a more equalized view of humanity,  though I do not know enough about the historical context to say whether this is the case. I was also struck by the fact that in what Montaigne describes as an extremely simple, uncorrupted society, the only two values are "valour against the enemy and love for their wives" (111).  Love for wives seems to fit well with Montaigne's positive characterization of humanity, but the fact that the most basal society's main focus is on war seems bizarre. The nation's cannibalism is described as "a measure of extreme vengeance" (113). The prevalence of vengeance and brutality here seems initially to cast humanity in a less positive light, but, upon closer examination, it is apparent that the people of this society are content. Perhaps, then, the relatively happy balance between love and war, two things that would ordinarily be judged as good and bad, in the society of cannibals mirrors the appropriate balance between and cooexistence of good and evil in individuals that Montaigne advocates as the path to a happy, good life.

Montaigne, Essays: To the Reader, On Idleness, On the Power of the Imagination

In reading these first few essays, I was intrigued by the difference between Montaigne's purpose and that of Boccaccio, Dante, or earlier authors we have read. In his statement "To the Reader," Montaigne expresses that he is writing not for personal glory or for "serving you" i.e. the reader, but rather so that his family can remember him. To me, this is the least hubristic and most selfless motive thus far, and additionally, most reminiscent of dedications on more modern works, which are often to family members or friends. In his essay on the imagination, Montaigne provides additional insight into his intent. He is notably unconcerned with hard facts and explicit truth, proclaiming that "fabulous incidents are as good as true ones" (46). This is logical given that his purpose  "would be to tell what might happen" (47) rather than to record physical events. He is interested in patterns of human behavior, rather than explicitly in facts and concrete events. As my mom says, "I'm not interested in facts, only opinions," which seems quite similar to Montaigne's perspective. However, Montaigne in a way redefines what truth actually is: he says that because he doesn't invent examples, "I surpass the most faithful historians in scrupulous reverence for truth" (47). In this view, anything that is naturally thought up by a human mind is a form of truth, but examples concocted for didactic purposes are not. I'm not sure whether this perspective marks a more general shift from interest in history to interest in philosophy, but it is nonetheless notable. A final observation regarding Montaigne's purpose is his lack of hubris. Much as Boccaccio deemphasizes his own talent, Montaigne states, "I have no proper skill in composition or development" (47). This humble statement echoes his earlier claim that he is writing only so that his family can remember him, rather than with the intention of preserving himself and his honor through his writing (as Ovid does).

Related to Montaigne's views about truth are his insights on imagination. I found it interesting that he describes the transformative power of imagination, such as a man turning into a woman on his wedding say, or a bullfight spectator sprouting a horn (38). While Ovid describes love as a transformative power, Montaigne's depiction of imagination's ability to create physical change shifts the emphasis from love, a somewhat external force, to the immense power of the human mind. On the other hand, Montaigne comments on our inability to control physical organs, particularly libido, saying "Does it always desire what we wish it to desire? Does it let itself be guided, either, by the conclusions of our reason?" (43). By commenting about the almost complete lack of control we have over our physical bodies, Montaigne draws attention to the limitations of human consciousness. In this way he is somewhat similar to Augustine: human intellect is not enough. The prowess of human intellect is further diminished by Montaigne's inclusion of animals in these descriptions. He says that "even animals can be seen, like us, to be subject to the power of the imagination" (45). Montaigne doesn't hesitate to draw parallel between us and animals, unlike in previous works in which a comparison or transformation of human and animal marks a regression to baseness and loss of civilization. According to him, imagination is not a uniquely human ability, and animals have a level of consciousness similar to humans and volitional power of imagination as humans (ex. the cat who can kill the sparrow just by looking at it, 46). On the flip side of this, our inability to control our desires is also shared with animals.

On a different note, Montaigne's views on trickery are very different than Boccaccio's. He says, "I am enemy to all subtle deeds of deception . . . if the action is not wicked, the way to it is" (41). In this view, the ends do not justify the means, because Montaigne places so much weight on the power of thought and imagination. It is logical that because he is more concerned with ideas and behavior than with events themselves, he would judge trickery more harshly regardless of the outcome because it represents a perversion of what he views as most important.

One final comment on the essay "On Idleness": I was somewhat shocked by Montaigne's description of how "women, of themselves, sometimes bring forth inanimate and shapeless lumps of flesh, but to produce a sound and natural birth must be fertilized with different seed" (26). After reading Boccaccio, in which women are equally capable of complex thought, if not socially equal, to men, this seems to represent a regression in the views of women.

Decameron, Readings for Day 2:

Because the stories told in Decameron are unrelated, and we read so many of them, I had trouble figuring out what to focus on: which stories are most important? Which themes should I pick apart and focus on? However, while feeling overwhelmed by the number of anecdotes, I simultaneously felt that they were in essence very similar.
I think it is interesting to look at Boccaccio's purpose and approach to art, love, and God. In the introduction to 4th day, Boccaccio says "the Muses are ladies, and although ladies do not rank as highly as Muses, nevertheless they resemble them at first sight, and hence it is natural, if only for this reason, that I should be fond of them" (289). Here, it seems that he uses artistic purpose to justify natural desires, which echoes what seems to be a larger purpose of the book: by artistically describing scandal and lust, it becomes less shocking and more acceptable. Boccaccio more explicitly describes his purpose in the epilogue, explaining how "like all other things in the world, stories, whatever their nature, may be harmful or useful, depending on the listener" (799). His tone here implies a goal of artistry rather than didacticism. Much like Ovid, it appears the Boccaccio's purpose is primarily to reveal multiple perspectives and illuminate common situations, and it is up to the reader, and beyond the authors' control, to extract whatever meaning they may.  Also notable, in contrast, to Ovid, is Boccaccio's lack of hubris. He says, "there is no craftsman other than God whose work is whole and faultless in every respect" (800), indicating a humility towards his own work that certainly does not exist in Metamorphoeses, Aeneid, or the Homeric works. This may indicate his more plebeian purpose, and the fact that he is making no judgment on these universal human desires, but, as a human, is subject to them himself.

Another similarity to Ovid is the number of botched "metamorphoses" that exist in Decameron, which in some cases also echo Dante's idea of contrapasso. For instance, after Friar Alberto convinces the woman that he is "angel gabriel" going to bed with her, his punishment is to be honeyed and feathered (311). This "metamorphosis" is obviously artificial, temporary, and failed, but temporarily "turning" the Friar into an animal is a reflection on the animalistic baseness of his deception, and further echoes the idea of humans behaving as animals during the plague. However, the hilarity of the image of the Friar also adds levity in light of the animalistic horrors of the plague. This punishment is also a contrapasso in that after deceiving the woman, he is forced to appear deceptively to others (in costume).
A more obvious contrapasso-like punishment, which simultaneously echoes the story that Vertumnus tells Pomona about Iphis, who spurns her lover and turns to stone, describes another woman who has rejected her lover, who then, after death, "Every Friday at this hour I overtake her in this part of the woods, and slaughter her in the manner you are about to observe . . . on the remaining days I hunt her down in other places where she was cruel to me in thought and deed" (422). This punishment involving love seemed vaguely out of place among the other stories of Decameron, because elsewhere, regardless of amorous transgressions, no one is severely punished. I'm not sure what Boccaccio is doing here!

However, Boccaccio does seem to make some comment about appropriate versus inappropriate love. In the fourth story on 5th day, which is essentially the only love story without any wrath or complications, the man notices "her charming ways and impeccable manners, and, seeing that she was marriageable age, he fell passionately in love with her" (394). Here, logic and consideration of appropriateness of situation comes before lust, and it appears to be this rationality that enables relatively peaceful marriage. In other stories love and lust take precedent over rationality, and, though hilarity generally ensues, it is clear that Boccaccio does not view lust and love negatively. When the woman whose husband won't sleep with her is debating taking on a lover, she muses, "for I shall simply be breaking the laws of marriage, whereas he is breaking those of Nature as well" (434). Based on this, and the universality of lust in Boccaccio's stories, it seems that natural laws are more important than contractual laws, and that the physical often does, and perhaps rightly should, prevail over the logical. This is especially relevant in time of plague, which is essentially a massive physical force undermining all attempts at reason and rationalization. Boccaccio's views on love are further elucidated in introduction to the story of Guiscardo and Ghismonda, which says "Love, to whose eyes nothing remains concealed" (293). Here, Love is depicted on being omniscient in a similar way that God is omniscient, casting Love in a semi-divine, powerful, and valuable role.

I found the question of intelligence and agency that was addressed at numerous points in the text to be particularly interesting and particularly paradoxical. One of the storytellers explains that "men will come to realize that women are just as clever as their husbands" (490), in a clear acknowledgment of the equality of female intellect. However, there is also an irony here, because though females may be equally intelligent, they nonetheless are given very little agency and in many of the stories, are traded around, married off, and made into mistresses at the whim of the men around them (particularly notable in the story of the woman with nine successive husbands). By setting up this paradox of intelligence and agency, Boccaccio seems either to be making the argument that in fact intelligence is not in itself valuable, or sympathizing with women's lack of sway in their own lives (I'm not sure how likely the latter is). Boccaccio's stories often include some element of intelligent trickery, and it is often here that the hilarity and the action lie, suggesting that Boccaccio places high value on wit (though still acknowledges that it doesn't directly lead to agency). However, trickery is a questionable manifestation of wittiness, as exemplified in the tale of Elena, who tricks her suitor into waiting in the cold, prefaced by the warning: "it will teach you to think twice before playing tricks on people" (586). Perhaps Boccaccio values intelligence, but only with this caveat: it's acceptable that women are smart as long as men triumph in the end, as the spurned lover does in this story.
One final twist to the conception of female agency is in the story of Gualtieri marrying a peasant girl, who "was so gracious and benign towards her husbands' subjects . . . whereas they had been wont to say that Gualtieri had shown lack of discretion in taking this woman as his wife, they now regarded him as the wisest and most discerning man on earth. For no one apart from Gultieri could ever have perceived the noble qualities that lay concealed beneath her ragged and rustic attire" (787). Here, though the woman had no control whatsoever in marrying Gualtieri, she has significant impact on his public image. It is somewhat ironic that females are so powerless in marriage and yet have such dramatic influence on public view of husband, but also offers slight condolence for the general lack of female agency: this is where they can exert at least a little control.

Decameron, Readings for Day 1: Desire, Truth, and Bending the Rules

Background of Plague
Though I'm not sure whether Boccaccio would have read History of the Peloponnesian War, his description of the Plague at the beginning of the Decameron certainly mirrors Thucydides' description of the plague in Athens. Both authors describe the physical infliction of the plague in grotesque detail, but also focus on the accompanying degeneration of social order. Examples of this abound in the Prologue, but I felt that Boccaccio epitomized this chaos in his mention of the animals who are given free reign to eat and roam, but "after a whole day's feasting, many of these animals, as though posessing the power of reason, would return glutted in the evening to their own quarters, without any shepherd to guide them" (12). This is on contrast to many of the people who, believing they have no time to live, are able to exercise no restraint. This description of animals having more reason and control than humans emphasizes the extent to which societal values, rationality, and civility have collapsed as a result of the plague.
I noticed an obvious contrast between the world of the plague and the characters/setting in which the tales of the Decameron are told. The four women and three men are all described as exceptionally tidy, polite, beautiful, and civilized, and the house that they retreat to is luxurious and appealing (19). The group even unanimously decides to have a ruler, and fairly divides up the power by allowing each member to be queen for a day (20). This is the epitome of civilization and order. Initially, I was confused by this dichotomy: why bother setting the book amidst the plague if the "action" occurs in such a removed setting? However, judging by the baseness of some of the stories told, I felt like Boccaccio may use this physical removal to emphasize that the impossibility of actually escaping the chaos, brutishness, and carnal emotions that arise as part of the plague, regardless of apparent physical civility and well-being.

Corruption
Another theme relating to disruption of social order is corruption in religious institutions. It is evident from the levity with which Boccaccio tells these stories that he is not as serious a Catholic as, say, Dante or Augustine, and that his purpose, while maybe not directly to mock the church, is far more light-hearted than that of Inferno or Confessions. For instance, in the second novella of the first day, the narrator describes how Jehannot knew that if his Jewish friend visited the court of Rome, "not only will he not become Christian, but, if he had already turned Christian, he would become a Jew again without fail" (39). Jehannot recognizes the immense corruption within the Church, yet somewhat paradoxically still wants to a) remain a member himself (conversion is not even mentioned), and b) recruit other people to the corrupt institution. To me, this was quite humorous, but I think also illustrates the high level of awareness of corruption, and may be a comment on the necessity of reform (unlike the Jew in this story, most people will not join the church if it remains so corrupt).
Perhaps an even more direct mockery of religious institutions is the story about the nuns seducing a man who works at the convent. The former garden helper, Nuto, says of the nuns: "they seem to me to have the devil in them" (193), which immediately sets up the irony of their alleged religious devotion and actual sexual deviance. In deciding to seduce the gardener, one of the nuns says, "we are constantly making Him promises that we never keep! What does it matter if we fail to keep this one?" (196). In addition to pointing out the lack of adherence to Christian ideals within the church, the nuns devil-may- care (pun intended) attitude to their promises to God echoes the lack of restraint and morality exercised by individuals during the plague. Furthermore, the nuns emphasize the universality and relative harmlessness of human "carnal desires," perhaps suggesting that it is unrealistic for the Catholic church to regulate and limit sexuality (similar to Ovid's comment on the feasibility of regulating human sexuality through the Lex Julia).
One other, hilarious, episode that somewhat ridicules Christianity is of course the "devil in hell" episode (277), depicts two people using religion to justify sex- a perverse but remarkably biting depiction of how individuals can essentially justify anything they want via religion, which, most of the time, is somewhat illegitimate.

Truth
Amidst these descriptions of chaos and corruption, both within and without the Church, I did find an implicit emphasis on truthfulness in these early novellas. For instance, in the third story of the first novella, Saladin's attempts to deceive the Jew fail entirely, but when he simply asks for money straight out, his requests are happily granted. Similarly, Messer Riciardo's former wife initially pretends not to recognize him, but, when confronted, gives him the brutally honest reason for why she doesn't want to come back to him (his impotence), and as a result lives relatively happily ever after (183). He is somewhat upset, but she gets to remain married to her new husband. In both of these cases, everyone ends up better off when truth prevails over deception, which seems to argue for the importance of truth as a basic human value, and perhaps also to contrast the lack of transparency and accompanying hidden corruption in the Church.

Desire
A final theme that is extremely prevalent is desire. Generally, the men telling the stories have a consensus that female desire is more potent than male desire, and that females are less loyal. For example, Dioneo laments "the stupidity . . . of all the other men who are given to thinking . . . that while they are gadding about in various parts of the world with one woman and another, the wives they left behind are simply twiddling their thumbs" (179), emphasizing the infidelity of women. However, the fact that Dioneo laments the "stupidity" rather than the acts themselves, and points out that the men are also "gadding about . . . with one woman and another" illustrates a perspective that this female infidelity is neither surprising nor particularly wrong- a view very different from what we've seen in Roman and Greek value systems.
Another interesting counterpoint to this depiction of human desire is the story of the woman who was married nine times. In one of the many exchanges from husband to husband, 

"the flames of his desire burned correspondingly fiercer, and,  unperturbed by the crime he had just committed, he lay down at her side, his hands still dripping with blood, and made love to the woman who was half-asleep and believed him to be the Prince" (135). This grotesque image that so graphically combines blood and desire casts love as a dangerous force, and echoes a similar perverse combination of sex and violence that occurs when women are captured as "booty" of war. This episode puts a damper on the otherwise humorous and lighthearted tone with which Boccaccio addresses desire, and even offers a bit of insight and sympathy into the powerlessness of females in the context of love and desire- again, a perspective we have rarely seen. 

Inferno (Canto 21-34):

Through the end of Inferno, I continued to find notable deviations from the value set and principles of the ancient Greeks and Romans. After Dante sees crucified Friars, Fra Catalano says, "that one impaled there, whom you see, counseled the Pharisees that it was prudent to let one man--and not one nation--suffer" (23.117). Whereas Homer portrays a certain glory in dying for one's country's war, and Virgil prioritizes the well-being of the city-state over the well-being of the individual, here, Dante implies that it is unacceptable to let one man suffer in place of a whole nation. While of course I'm of the school that it would be better if no one had to die for their country, I think the rationale here is somewhat bizarre: wouldn't it be better for one person to suffer than for many? Part of Dante's purpose in including this may be a glorification of Christ, but I think it also marks an interesting shift in ideas about what an individuals' obligation is to his or her nation.
On a similar note, when Dante accidentally steps on face of one of the treacherous souls buried in the ice, Dante says "I am alive, and can be precious to you if you want fame." Despite the extreme shift in social values, "fame" is still inevitably a significant consideration. The soul replies: "I want the contrary . . . your flattery is useless in this valley" (32.90), emphasizing the important point (often ignored in Homer) that glory does not actually benefit you because you are dead and don't live to enjoy it.

Most of the classical influence in Inferno has been fairly straightforward. However, in two passages of this section, it seems that classical scenes are purposefully perverted. For instance, the scene in Canto 25 in which the Five Florentine thieves, some snakes, some men, combine, morph together, and shift places,  is described incredibly gruesomely. This metamorphosis mirrors those in Ovid's Metamorphoses, but whereas the metamorphoses in Ovid were unidirectional, and resulted in one thing entirely changing into another, the shift here is two-way, and results in a grotesque perversion of nature. Whereas Ovid, as most Romans, was not terribly concerned with the concept of sin, and the transformations that he describes, though they may be enacted as punishments, are not in themselves painful or punitive, Dante uses this transformation as a part of the souls' punishment. As I talked about in the last post, this perversion of the natural world may serve to emphasize both the extent to which the souls have become twisted and malformed as they act upon evil, as well as the extent of the evil present in Hell.
Another interesting reversal of Roman lore is Dante's encounter with Guido da Montefeltro in Hell. This echoes Aeneas' encounter with Anchises, in which Anchises prophecies future of Rome. However, while in Virgil's scene Aeneas is hearing about the future from a shade, in Inferno, Dante, the alive soul, tells Guido da Montefeltro about how his city in present day "lives somewhere between tyranny and freedom" (27.54). The fact that Guido inquires about the world (much as Aeneas asks Anchises), but the best Dante can offer is a description of the mediocrity of his city (rather than a glorious spiel about the founding of Rome) casts humanity's prospects an extremely depressing light. Furthermore, the fact that Dante, the living soul, is the one with knowledge illustrates that one of the punishing elements of Hell is that is causes total disconnect with and ignorance of all that is important to an individual, for one, their city.

On this theme of ignorance, both in and out of Hell, I found that Dante emphasizes the limitations of human intellect. At beginning of Canto 28, he muses on own ability to accurately recount the experience of Dis, says "the shallowness of both our speech and intellect cannot contain so much" (28.4). Confessions similarly alludes to the inadequacy of intellect, in that uneducated people can reach God before educated ones. Another interesting addition to this idea is Dante's encounter with the two men in the innermost circle of Dis whose souls exist in the underworld despite the fact that their bodies still roam the earth. One of these men says, "I have no knowledge of my body's fate within the world above" (33.122). The concept that a human body and soul are so separable that the soul can exist without any awareness of the body emphasizes the extremity of the limitations of human knowledge: if we cannot be aware even of ourselves, then we can never hope to know as much as God. This inadequacy of intellect also seems to emphasize that humans cannot attain good in this way, and so must turn to God instead.

The final Canto of Inferno was totally befuddling to me. When Dante reaches Dis, he says "I did not die, and I was not alive; think for yourself, if you have any wit, what I became, deprived of life and death" (34.25). I feel like I do not, as Dante requires, have any "wit" in this case, because I can't figure out "what I became." The only connection I see here is that "deprived of life and death," Dante is a bit like the figures in the outermost circle of Dis, who did nothing good and nothing bad, but still suffer, emphasizing the sin that exists even in neutrality. I suppose this duality of life and death could only exist when a live human travels into Dis (as Dante does), but perhaps Dante is implying that the pain of Hell arises because the souls there are neither alive nor truly and peacefully dead.

Inferno (Canto 11-20): Pineapple and Purgatory

While reading these ten songs of Inferno, I was munching my way through a massive slice of carrot cake at Magnolia Bakery. Frosting and fraud? Pineapple and purgatory? A bit of a strange combination.

Anyway, here are some of my (less sugary) thoughts on the midsection (pun intended) of Inferno.

As an obviously Christian text, Inferno necessarily contains an omniscient, omnipotent God. However, I thought Dante included some interesting deviations and layers of complexity to this conception of God.

Dante says to Virgil "you are my lord; you know I do not swerve from what you will; you know what is unspoken" (19.37). In referring to Virgil as his lord, and saying that he knows what is unspoken (i.e. has a level of omniscience), Dante casts Virgil as a god-like figure. In a similar vein, at the end of Canto 16, Virgil can hear Dante's thoughts, again occupying the omniscient role of God. I interpreted this in two ways: either Virgil is a manifestation of God (which is problematic in Virgil occupying the role of Christ), or Dante is praising Virgil to the extent holding him at the level of the divine. Either way, this parallel is theologically complicated and I suspect contentious in Dante's time. By granting Virgil these godly powers, God's own power seems diminished. This also comes up when Dante is describing the 7th circle of hell, and says "just so were these embankments, even though they were not built to high and not so broad, whoever was the artisan who made them" (15.10). It is apparent from this passage that God did not create hell. On one hand, this makes sense, because it would be difficult to imagine a benevolent God creating something this wicked (as Augustine points out). On the other, the idea that a) God has not created everything and b) there is this entire world of hell in conflict with the world God did create, draws God's omnipotence into question. 

Because hell is a punishment for sins, Dante's conception of hell reflects upon specific Christian values In general, Dante's description of the different sinners' punishments reflect a policy that you get what you've given (ex. the astrologers and diviners who tried to see the future have their heads turned backwards). In my opinion, this essentially condones revenge, at least in the sense of divine retribution. On one hand, if I believed in God, I would be horrified by a God who was vengeful. On the other hand, this type of punishment also echoes the non-Christian ideal of karma (what goes around comes around).

Speaking of the damned astrologers in the Eighth Circle of hell, I found that Greek and Christian views of theology to differ in an interesting way. In Greek tradition, divination extremely important: we see oracles in Homer, Virgil, and Herodotus, and the word of these oracles is taken seriously. However, in Dante's hell the diviners are condemned. He describes "those sad women who had left their needle, shuttle, and spindle to become diviners" (20.121), alleging that divination is bad because it takes place of other productive tasks. I think, however, that this is not the main reason for its criticism: in Christian theology, divination can't exist because God knows future, so the only acceptable way to try to know the future is through trying to know God.

On a final note, the motif of natural settings permeates all circles of Dis. Almost every Canto in which Dante enters a new circle includes a physical, natural description (for example, the beginning of Canto 13). This, along with the intensely physical descriptions of suffering, seems to conflate the body and soul, and sin of the body/sin of the soul much more explicitly than Augustine suggests in Confessions.
It seems that Dante also sometimes mixes natural metaphors, such as when he is talking about the people who were violent against god, upon whom "above that plain of sand, distended flakes of fire showered down" (14.28). The paradoxical sand, flame, and flakes (snow?) represent a perversion of nature, perhaps intended to reflect the extent to which the sinners have perverted custom or even the natural order of the universe by being violent towards God.

Inferno (Canto 1-10): Beasts, Values, and Epic form

Because the epic genre is defined by the meter, Inferno is not "officially" an epic. However, I think that Dante, while obviously doing a little bit of Aeneid fan fiction, has significantly different purpose from those of the Homeric and Virgilian epics. Dante opens Inferno more or less in media res, in contrast to the extensive background of family feuds, divine bickering, and fates often provided in epic. Immediately, this points the focus to the individual rather than the city-state. Though of course the Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid all generally follow one character, they address a far broader scope and more perspectives than does Inferno. Notably, this is also the first fiction written in first person that we've read, a perspective which in a way serves to combine the story of personal journey, introspection, and discovery of Confessions with the more sensationalist backdrop of a mystical world pulled from Virgil's Aeneid.

An interesting motif that prevails throughout the first ten songs (and I expect through the entire book) is the role of beasts. In Book 1, Dante encounters the leopard, lion, and hound, then later Minos and Cereberus. Out of these, all fulfill the stereotypical characterization of the brutality and inhumanity of beasts. However, they also hold significant and important jobs: Minos delegates souls to the circles of hell, and Cereberus is a guard to one of the circles. The prevalence of unfavorable described creatures holding important roles in the underworld seems to serve two purposes: to echo the dismal, basal state to which the souls have returned and thus to emphasize the horrors of hell (perhaps in a Christian, didactic way), and possibly to pervert the normal social order of the upper world for the sake of making a comment on the condition of the real world at the time of Dante's writing.

It is also notable which characteristics are condemned and which are valued within the paradigm of a Christian as opposed to a Greek underworld. Right before Dante enters the underworld, he says "I myself prepared alone to undergo the battle" (2.4), with "battle" alluding to the Homeric culture of war and accompanying pursuit of glory. Even in a culture so removed from ancient Greece, it is difficult to avoid a little self-glorification: the pursuit of renown, whether in battle or in memorialization through literature (or, as we see here, a conflation of both), seems universally and inescapably human.

In Book 3, the ante-inferno, there is a related condemnation of "those who lived without disgrace and without praise" (3.36). The idea that neutrality in life is unacceptable echos the pursuit of renown, but recasts the homeric idea as an action necessary in avoiding hell. 

I noticed one other interesting development of values in the description of Virgil's fear, when "the poet, who was deathly pale, began" (4.14). This depiction of Virgil's fear and decision to continue anyway brings to mind a definition of bravery that I've heard before (though I can't remember where...probably some children's book): bravery is not the absence of fear, but is persevering despite fear.

On a final note, I think there are some subtle (and some not-so-subtle) parallels to Augustine's Confessions here.  Francesca says "there is no greater sorrow than thinking back upon a happy time in misery" (5.121). This echoes Augustine's discussion in Book 10 about the uniquely human capability to remember emotions without re-experiencing them, or even while experiencing the opposite emotion. Though Augustine marvels at this, in Inferno the ability to lament joys passed compounds souls' misery, casting this human capacity in a less positive light. Another parallel lies in Augustine and Dante's treatment of individuality. Augustine discusses the universal human pursuit of joy in truth, and desire for a happy life, eliminating consideration of individual character in this equation. In Dante's underworld, people are characterized only by the nature of their sins, "the undiscerning life which made them filthy now renders them unrecognizable "(7.53). Dante's underworld physically depicts the loss or absence of individuality that I understand from Augustine to be part of belief in a Christian god.