Twins Again!
Though not nearly as obvious as in Dunn's Geek Love, the idea of twins is also present in A Wrinkle in Time. They may not have had a very prominent role in the story, but I still was intrigued by Sandy and Dennys. They serve the obvious function of acting as a physical manifestation of Meg's desire to fit in the earlier chapters. Their identical appearance further fits the theme of conformity. To add to this. like Elly and Iphy, they too are constantly referred to inseparably as "Sandy and Dennys."
However, the aspect of their character that truly interested me was how they were perceived by the other characters of the book. The narrator describes them as the following:
The twins didn't have any problems. They weren't great students, but they weren't bad ones, either. They were perfectly content with a succession of B's and an occasional A or C. They were strong and fast runners and good at games, and when cracks were made about anybody in the Murry family, they weren't made about Sandy and Dennys. (page 11)
The twins are distinguished from the rest of their family as ordinary and independent. While Meg, Charles Wallace, and their mother all depend on each other (in terms of Charles Wallace's empathy, and the bond shared between them), the twins are independent from this symbiosis. In their brief appearance, the twins at least once try to breach and partake in this bond when they tell Meg that they would protect Charles Wallace. Though their interference is looked down upon by the narrator, it shows the twins attempts to dependency between them and both Meg and Charles Wallace. It also shows the narrators desire to alienate the twins for their normalcy. More potently, the other characters also practice a policy of alienation with regards to the twins. When Meg, Charles Wallace, and their mother are sharing their midnight snack they consider the possibility of the twins joining them, but decide to remain "exclusive." These isolationist actions taken towards the twins mark the twins as "freaks" from the rest of the family. Their freakishness doesn't come from any remarkable trait of theirs though, but instead the normalcy they represent.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Week of June 14
I was struggling understanding the transition between "Nights at the Circus" and "Never Let Me Go" and so I once again googled Freak in search of a definition. After first arriving at a very helpful rhyming dictionary, I found this denotations particularly useful:
"one that is markedly unusual or abnormal"
Though we have focused on the freak as being a state of mind, the physical qualities of freaks are undeniable as well. The definition insists that the freak is marked as unusual or abnormal and this is consistent with all of our texts. In "Geek Love" and "Nights at the Circus", the freak is marked by physical deformity or extravagance. The freaks of "Never Let Me Go" may be less obviously marked, but they too are. The clones are freaks because of their genetic makeup. Their existence as clones marks them as abnormal in that they are not truly human, and and are marked as separate from humanity. While the freaks of the carnivals/circus have marks that create discomfort in the "norms" because they stretch the "norms" notions of humanity. The clones marks solidify the notions of the human and clearly divide the freaks from the "norms." And that is how I managed to let my mind segue from "Nights at the Circus" to "Never Let Me Go."
Also, I found out freak rhymes with bezique, which I also learned is a real word.
"freak[1]." Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary. 2010.
Merriam-Webster Online. 14 June 2010
"one that is markedly unusual or abnormal"
Though we have focused on the freak as being a state of mind, the physical qualities of freaks are undeniable as well. The definition insists that the freak is marked as unusual or abnormal and this is consistent with all of our texts. In "Geek Love" and "Nights at the Circus", the freak is marked by physical deformity or extravagance. The freaks of "Never Let Me Go" may be less obviously marked, but they too are. The clones are freaks because of their genetic makeup. Their existence as clones marks them as abnormal in that they are not truly human, and and are marked as separate from humanity. While the freaks of the carnivals/circus have marks that create discomfort in the "norms" because they stretch the "norms" notions of humanity. The clones marks solidify the notions of the human and clearly divide the freaks from the "norms." And that is how I managed to let my mind segue from "Nights at the Circus" to "Never Let Me Go."
Also, I found out freak rhymes with bezique, which I also learned is a real word.
"freak[1]." Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary. 2010.
Merriam-Webster Online. 14 June 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Week of Tuesday June 07, 2010
I was inspired to write some flash fiction. Hopefully, It is not as bad as I think it is.
~
Misdirection and the Carnivalesque
I avoided eye contact with others in my row as I shuffled my way to an empty seat. I uttered an array of “sorry”s and “excuse me”s as they forced in their legs, stood up, or otherwise willed their bodies smaller to endure my passage by. After I had finally collapsed onto an empty spot on the steel bench, my eyes scanned the expanse of the tent. I saw thousands of faces circling the stage and I scrambled for my watch, which, as always, was secured safely within my pocket away from the twice-thousands of hands lurking in the audience. I freed the device from its chain and took it into my palm. I glanced down at its face; the show would begin soon. I squeezed the watch in my hand as the lights dimmed and the chatter of the crowd faded.
Minutes passed and the tent remained dark. The silence once again became white noise and whispers hummed in the blackness. I fidgeted with the timepiece and ignored the mumbling of the woman beside me. When the buzz of the crowd reached a low moan, a single spotlight appeared on the centre of the stage and any spark of sound was extinguished. Standing perfectly straight in the light, a formally dressed man casually stroked his moustache, raised one eyebrow, and then his body exploded in a flourish towards the audience.
“Welcome,” he bellowed, paused briefly, and bowed. Upon rising, he continued, “to the Circus.”
Two more spotlights flashed on and high above the audience, two women threw themselves off the tops of opposing turrets. They flew towards each other across the air with such confidence that I almost believed that it was not the trapeze that supported them, but rather the reverse. Though their forms were clear in the yellow glow, I found myself unable to distinguish the aerialists from another. Both performers wore matching sparkling uniforms and delicately applied makeup. Even the liquorice-like smiles plastered on their face lacked any individuality. I began to wonder if they were the same person, or if they were even people at all. The crowd cheered as the twins somersaulted delicately into each other’s hands. I rolled the watch between my middle and ring fingers while I scoured for any aberration in the flawless synchronicity of the acrobats.
Before I could find anything, an orchestra of bells, whistles, and horns drew my attention back to the stage floor. There, like some kind of serpent, a miniature vehicle twisted in repeating figure eight patterns. The car was covered in tinted blots akin to that of a Rorschach test, but when I looked at them no images came to mind. I felt my grip on the pocket watch begin to slacken.
The spectators were compelled to laughter as the occupants of the vehicle emerged into focus. The figures that appeared were varied in form; they were large and small, round and sharp, obtuse and acute. I gazed at the paintings upon their faces; they were more intense than those on the car. It numbed my mind to look at them, but I could not will myself to turn away. Now, there were no faces, but instead colours, and shapes, and reflections. I searched and searched but no where could I find a visage. The audience is howling and smiling and I don’t understand how they can find humour when I can’t even find an expression. If there aren’t faces then there can’t be anything under the faces and there can’t be people. There are just colours and shapes and reflections. I open both my hands to touch my face. I feel skin, lips, and bone, but do I feel a face? Do I too have no face? I look again at the figures, and the twins, and the ringmaster’s cocked eyebrow and all at once everything that was mine became theirs.
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Florescent lights flickered and glowed in the near empty big-top. Paper cups and popcorn littered the floor of the isles. Eric pushed a broom down the rows and moved the trash towards a large pile. Streaks of makeup were still showing across his cheeks. He breathed a sigh of exhaustion; he was the only performer left cleaning up from today’s show. He grimaced and dreamed of sleep, not noticing as a forgotten watch was swept away with the rest of the mess.
~
Misdirection and the Carnivalesque
And so my face eclipses me. I have become this face which is not mine,
yet I chose it freely
-Angela Carter, Nights at the Circusyet I chose it freely
I avoided eye contact with others in my row as I shuffled my way to an empty seat. I uttered an array of “sorry”s and “excuse me”s as they forced in their legs, stood up, or otherwise willed their bodies smaller to endure my passage by. After I had finally collapsed onto an empty spot on the steel bench, my eyes scanned the expanse of the tent. I saw thousands of faces circling the stage and I scrambled for my watch, which, as always, was secured safely within my pocket away from the twice-thousands of hands lurking in the audience. I freed the device from its chain and took it into my palm. I glanced down at its face; the show would begin soon. I squeezed the watch in my hand as the lights dimmed and the chatter of the crowd faded.
Minutes passed and the tent remained dark. The silence once again became white noise and whispers hummed in the blackness. I fidgeted with the timepiece and ignored the mumbling of the woman beside me. When the buzz of the crowd reached a low moan, a single spotlight appeared on the centre of the stage and any spark of sound was extinguished. Standing perfectly straight in the light, a formally dressed man casually stroked his moustache, raised one eyebrow, and then his body exploded in a flourish towards the audience.
“Welcome,” he bellowed, paused briefly, and bowed. Upon rising, he continued, “to the Circus.”
Two more spotlights flashed on and high above the audience, two women threw themselves off the tops of opposing turrets. They flew towards each other across the air with such confidence that I almost believed that it was not the trapeze that supported them, but rather the reverse. Though their forms were clear in the yellow glow, I found myself unable to distinguish the aerialists from another. Both performers wore matching sparkling uniforms and delicately applied makeup. Even the liquorice-like smiles plastered on their face lacked any individuality. I began to wonder if they were the same person, or if they were even people at all. The crowd cheered as the twins somersaulted delicately into each other’s hands. I rolled the watch between my middle and ring fingers while I scoured for any aberration in the flawless synchronicity of the acrobats.
Before I could find anything, an orchestra of bells, whistles, and horns drew my attention back to the stage floor. There, like some kind of serpent, a miniature vehicle twisted in repeating figure eight patterns. The car was covered in tinted blots akin to that of a Rorschach test, but when I looked at them no images came to mind. I felt my grip on the pocket watch begin to slacken.
The spectators were compelled to laughter as the occupants of the vehicle emerged into focus. The figures that appeared were varied in form; they were large and small, round and sharp, obtuse and acute. I gazed at the paintings upon their faces; they were more intense than those on the car. It numbed my mind to look at them, but I could not will myself to turn away. Now, there were no faces, but instead colours, and shapes, and reflections. I searched and searched but no where could I find a visage. The audience is howling and smiling and I don’t understand how they can find humour when I can’t even find an expression. If there aren’t faces then there can’t be anything under the faces and there can’t be people. There are just colours and shapes and reflections. I open both my hands to touch my face. I feel skin, lips, and bone, but do I feel a face? Do I too have no face? I look again at the figures, and the twins, and the ringmaster’s cocked eyebrow and all at once everything that was mine became theirs.
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Florescent lights flickered and glowed in the near empty big-top. Paper cups and popcorn littered the floor of the isles. Eric pushed a broom down the rows and moved the trash towards a large pile. Streaks of makeup were still showing across his cheeks. He breathed a sigh of exhaustion; he was the only performer left cleaning up from today’s show. He grimaced and dreamed of sleep, not noticing as a forgotten watch was swept away with the rest of the mess.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Week of June 1, 2010
I awoke from a feverish dream at four a.m. on Sunday and apparently had to write this before I went to bed. It's terribly written, but I think it shows the effect these books are having on me (or at least my sleep cycle)
The allure of the circus:
Though I cannot speak for everyone, I can tell you that I have at least some internal desire to be special. My more than moderate interest in superheroes and last novel at least proves my curiosity towards the extraordinary public figure, and personally, I can tell you that I feel the twitching need to do remarkable things and draw attention to myself. However, in reality, I repress this urge and do what I think most of us do: attempt to blend in. Though I admire the idea of marvel and attention, I constantly undermine it socially. I think that this paradox explains the strength of the circus in Carter's book.
The seductive power of the circus is its ability to trick its participants into believing it is safe to pursue the previously mentioned desire. The performers fulfill the urge by experiencing both a fruition and loss of self by becoming a public commodity. The audience become participants in the experience, and sate their desire by feasting on the performer/commodity in an act of visual consumption. This ritual of performance and consumption serves to pursue their inner desire to perform without actually doing so, but what happens when the need becomes to great?
The allure of the circus:
Though I cannot speak for everyone, I can tell you that I have at least some internal desire to be special. My more than moderate interest in superheroes and last novel at least proves my curiosity towards the extraordinary public figure, and personally, I can tell you that I feel the twitching need to do remarkable things and draw attention to myself. However, in reality, I repress this urge and do what I think most of us do: attempt to blend in. Though I admire the idea of marvel and attention, I constantly undermine it socially. I think that this paradox explains the strength of the circus in Carter's book.
The seductive power of the circus is its ability to trick its participants into believing it is safe to pursue the previously mentioned desire. The performers fulfill the urge by experiencing both a fruition and loss of self by becoming a public commodity. The audience become participants in the experience, and sate their desire by feasting on the performer/commodity in an act of visual consumption. This ritual of performance and consumption serves to pursue their inner desire to perform without actually doing so, but what happens when the need becomes to great?
Monday, May 24, 2010
Week of Tuesday May 25
Since our first class, I have been thinking about the word "freak" and how we should think of it as a state of mind. Specifically, I've been thinking of the freak's mindset in our current novel. Olympia is the character whose mind is most easily accessed because of the first person perspective of the story.
I think the most "freakish" aspect of Olympia's personality is her self-hatred (though, I also found this was her most relatable trait). Olympia frequently reveals her lack of self esteem through her often repeated desire to change herself and (according to her) improve her physical appearance. She tells Miranda, "'I've wished I had two heads. Or that I was invisible. I've wished for a fish's tail instead of legs. I've wished to be more special" (Dunn 34). Furthermore, Olympia's state of mind serves to segregate her from both the "norms" and her fellow carnival workers. When discussing Arturo her fears and truama resulting from the earlier murder attempt with Arturo, she relates, "Arty narrowed his long eyelids and said I was flattering myself ad there was nothing about me special enough to make anybody want to kill me" (Dunn 85). The produce managers attempted assasination serves to seperate her from the "norms," while Arturo's insists that Olympia is not special enough seperates her from the other "freaks."
While this was by no means was a thorough or complete analysis, I really enjoyed how the novel highlights the human elements of the freak's state of mind. I hope to see more of this (or maybe the complete opposite) motif in the next books.
I think the most "freakish" aspect of Olympia's personality is her self-hatred (though, I also found this was her most relatable trait). Olympia frequently reveals her lack of self esteem through her often repeated desire to change herself and (according to her) improve her physical appearance. She tells Miranda, "'I've wished I had two heads. Or that I was invisible. I've wished for a fish's tail instead of legs. I've wished to be more special" (Dunn 34). Furthermore, Olympia's state of mind serves to segregate her from both the "norms" and her fellow carnival workers. When discussing Arturo her fears and truama resulting from the earlier murder attempt with Arturo, she relates, "Arty narrowed his long eyelids and said I was flattering myself ad there was nothing about me special enough to make anybody want to kill me" (Dunn 85). The produce managers attempted assasination serves to seperate her from the "norms," while Arturo's insists that Olympia is not special enough seperates her from the other "freaks."
While this was by no means was a thorough or complete analysis, I really enjoyed how the novel highlights the human elements of the freak's state of mind. I hope to see more of this (or maybe the complete opposite) motif in the next books.
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