Meaning Please

As the young mind -insatiable and self-centered- often ponders on matters which are of little true preoccupation to it, I often find myself thinking of motherhood (which brings forth unnecessary consternation, I might add.) After the first few pages of The Awakening the reader comprehends with clarity how the Southern-Creole late 19^th century society works. The characters in the book are aware, too, of the ways in which society (the machine) works. There is order. The point of rupture in the story comes when character Edna Pontellier questions and wishes no longer to be another piece in the apparatus. She encounters conflict as in every situation where there is alteration to the norm. Somehow, Edna knew what she was getting into. Somehow, she expected adversity and did so courageously. But what happens when you live in a society without order, exempt of expectation, unbearably uncertain?

The modern woman (and here I make a very bold generalization) has no more a definite role in society. It is true that sexism, along with racism, anti-Semitism, xenophobia, regionalism, and other thousand types of irrational hate persist in humanity, yet somehow hate is no longer as central to society as in previous years. What is left? The Modern Woman: A woman with the world at her feet, her only obstacle being her own initiative. A woman with a myriad of options for lifestyle. “Success!” One might think. “Finally, after all those years of struggle, no more external pressures, no more blocks!”

I, the modern woman, nevertheless can’t help feeling a little lost. My ingratitude somehow translates in confusion, and my confusion into stillness.

The big difference between Edna Pontellier and a woman in my position is people expected something from her; there was a correct path for Edna. Today, success in an infinitely subjective concept. Edna had it easy. Society had clear, unlabored expectations of her. Today a woman could be a cook, a lawyer, a doctor, an artisan, an errant, a nun, an artist, a bum, have children, not have children, adopt, get married, have a divorce, get married again, not marry at all, be a lesbian, be a man and it would all be ok.

So, when I read a book like The Awakening and think about how to apply Edna’s teachings in my life, I simply can’t because I’m not repressed in any way.

Edna Pontelliers do not exist in the 21^st century. Fighting for something requires an obstacle. This is why I felt a tremendous disappointment upon finishing the book, because I, naively, expected some kind of awakening for myself. Sadly, (Happily?) today there exists no place where no woman has swum before. I concluded that the book is obsolete if one seeks inspiration from it.  One might look at it as cute little window into the past, as one looks at a Neolithic tool display at a museum and is surprised by the unexpected  technological advances from such “primitive” creatures.

I have this recurring dream where I’m running and there’s an annoying pebble inside my shoe. It makes running painful and frustrating. The thing is I knew that, earlier, I had put the pebble inside my shoe.  Is the pebble necessary? Why does life without the pebble seem empty and aimless?

A Chat with Text

Perhaps one of the most exceptional qualities of a Shakespeare play is its malleability. It is a though the characters of the play are just the framework of a performance involving the player’s circumstance.  This quality makes the character and the actor inseparable, hence making each performance intentionally unique (unlike plays like “Waiting for Godot” where it is crucial that the actor sticks faithfully to the script).

This American Life’s “218: Act V” podcast spoke about the powerful bilateral relationship between actor and character in Hamlet performed by individuals whose lives are alone worthy of a playwright.  It seemed as though the personal stories of each actor fed the character played. The actor, instead of disembodying from its own circumstance, utilized its personal experience to deliver his performance. The prisoners needed not to pretend, and instead they spoke to themselves. In turn resulted a performance separated only from real life by the unnatural Shakespearean language.

After experiencing this kind of catharsis (perhaps the most genuine ever to be experienced) I wonder about the rest of “Hamlet” performances, and about acting itself. When staging a play, the actors have the daunting task of making their performance feel as veracious as possible. At any given time, if the task is delivered successfully, the audience might lose their sense of circumstance and become lost in the play. However, in the end, the closed curtains remind us of the inevitable falseness of it all.  Written words have not that problem. Literature embraces the lie as part of its nature. However, in the case of the prisoners staging Hamlet there is a rupture between the lie and the truth. The lie, pretending to be true, is actually true.

In the case of one prisoner playing Laertes, he fully embraces the role in his personal life. Even before becoming familiar with the character, he was already carrying out the role of Laertes. The opportunity of performing gave him the chance to repeat his actions, which now are redundant, as he is just acting like himself. “I am Laertes.” He said repeatedly.

I have never encountered such a powerful relationship with a text. It makes me think that there is a possibility of us feeding on the character and the character feeding on us. Literature is only what we choose to make of it. Its meaning depending only in the individual reading it. The prisoners performing “Hamlet” are the best example of conversation with the text, something we must procure if interested in the valuable interpretation of literature. 

A Pair of Ragged Claws

What if Hamlet hadn’t died or killed? What if Hamlet- old and alive- made by thought one part wise yet three parts coward, had instead sat to watch the yellow fog fall asleep every soft October night of his life, with the excuse that there will be time? Had Shakespeare not chosen to make the final scene of his play resemble more a works day at a slaughterhouse more than anything else, Hamlet could have well turned out to be J. Alfred Prufrock.

It is true that both characters are eternally conflicted by thought.  Both verbalize their concern: Hamlet by the way of soliloquies and Prufrock in an afflicted stream of consciousness. Perhaps they are unaware of the ruthless irony found in their prolonged consideration of prolonged consideration.  Perhaps not. “Whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event” (Act 4 Sc.4) or “a perfume from a dress that makes me [him] so digress” it is thought which they hold responsible for their inactivity.

Hamlet is young, Prufrock old. This marks a big difference in their stances, for Hamlet reprimands himself for his passivity, while Prufrock has let go hope and does not look back with anger, rather with gloom. Fear, nevertheless, is a shared cause of their stasis. J. Alfred asks himself “Do I dare disturb the universe?”  and Hamlet “To be or not to be?” The thought of trouble, life, action, is too intimidating. They both ask themselves if it (to take arms against a sea of troubles) is worthy after all. Life is too painful, disappointments too abundant. Hamlet desires relief from decisions (to die, to sleep) because he dares not to think of the consequences. Prufrock, as an eventual Hamlet, simply surrenders. Both men see their shameful figures as shadows in a wall, and they regret.

 But in short, they were afraid.