The Marriage Mania of Pride and Prejudice

          In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, it is starkly evident that, on the whole, the novel’s female characters are entirely possessed by the idea of marriage. From Mrs. Bennett, who shamelessly plays matchmaker for her five daughters, to Lydia and Kitty, who relentlessly chase any man who strikes their fancy, to the family’s gossiping neighbors, “proper” marriage appears to be the hinge on which the rest of society swings. The very first line, in fact, substantiates this theme: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife” (1). Although Austen uses verbal irony in this statement and thus subtly mocks this aspect of her society, the truth remains that for women of that time period and social status, a good marriage was crucial for their future economic and social security. Furthermore, marriage seems to be the only available avenue for women who wish to find purpose or make any notable contribution to society. As much as the characters discuss “accomplished [young] women,” as Bingley does on page 32, the ironically named “accomplishments” include frivolous and mundane activities such as “paint[ing] tables, cover[ing] screens, and net[ting] purses,” none of which demonstrate any special aptitude on the part of women (32). Instead, a woman may only gain real and lasting recognition as a result of a marriage to a respectable man (ideally to one high above her own station) for the joint benefit of herself and her family. It would seem then, that with marriage being so critical to a woman’s reputation and survival, love and compatibility ought to be secondary concerns at most, with necessity and practicality instead topping the list. Yet through the example of Elizabeth’s gradually growing respect and affection for Mr. Darcy, Jane Austen presents what, in her mind, is the ideal option: marriage founded on both love and reasonableness. In the novel as a whole, however, this idea extends beyond the topic of marriage, but is rather one small part of the story’s greater meaning: the reconciliation of emotional desires and logical reality.

Although marriage is the most obvious reflection of this overarching theme, the “ideal reader” must recognize that it is merely a reflection and that the quest for balance deeply affects the lives of the individual characters as well as the greater society of Pride and Prejudice. In Elizabeth, for example, this conflict manifests itself in her fiercely independent attitude, which she often uses as a defense mechanism to cover up her real emotions. Whether this means feigning nonchalance after secretly hearing Darcy insult her appearance at a ball or pushing aside feelings of familial responsibility in order to refuse a proposal from Mr. Collins, the “ideal reader” must recognize that Elizabeth deals with the emotion/sense struggle on a personal level, not just a romantic one. Furthermore, the society of Hertfordshire as a group also faces this dilemma: the question of whether to follow their own desires and thus find personal happiness or to obey the unwritten rules of higher society in hopes of tangible success is an ever-present conflict. Therefore, the “ideal reader” recognizes that marriage is one small, if clear, facet of a greater theme. On a more literal note, however, the “ideal reader” must acknowledge the fact that Austen’s presentation of marriage, while wonderful and pleasant to contemplate, is highly optimistic and ought to be seen as the exception, rather than the rule. To believe that any given woman could actually find a Mr. Darcy—a fabulously wealthy, yet also endearingly shy, eloquent, devoted, sweetheart-once-you-get-to-know-him type of man—outside of the pages of a novel is improbable. The “ideal reader” ought to realize this and appreciate the entertainment value of the work in addition to its deeper themes—just like the characters who struggle for balance between emotion and practicality, the “ideal reader” must find a balance between appreciating the novel for its simple pleasantness and its analytical merit.

To return to the more specific theme of marriage, in relation to my own life, and speaking from my 21^st century female perspective, I find myself somewhat repelled Austen’s portrayal of marriage and women. While I adore the idea of an Austen-esque romance, it bothers me that women seem to serve very little purpose outside of their marriages. To me, it is almost as if the story ends too soon—Elizabeth relies on her own feelings, intelligence, wit, and great personal strength, eventually learns to sacrifice her prejudices when she is proven wrong, finally agrees to marry Darcy, and!...it ends there. It is as if her entire life were a slow build toward her wedding day and, as wonderful as her love story is, I cannot  see myself finding happiness or fulfillment in a similar situation. In my own life, I do not see marriage as an end goal, but rather as a single, if highly significant, step in life. Even as a little girl, I did not spend the typical inordinate amounts of time planning my wedding or playing house—instead, I read books and taught myself how to ride two-wheelers. Even now, I do not seek to define my life and personality through boys or thoughts of marriage, but rather through my faith, accomplishments, and experiences. In my personal opinion, marriage ought to come in the middle of the story, instead of the final chapter where Jane Austen places it.

Cleansing (Creative Writing and Symbolism Piece)

            On the shore before a long wooden dock, sits a suitcase. Beside the suitcase stands a girl whose brown hair and eyes exactly match the color of the ratty piece of luggage. Squinting in the sun of the late afternoon, the girl silently reaches down and grips the cracked leather handle and, with a sudden mighty heave, moves the suitcase over one of the thick boards of the dock and it lands with a thud. Heave, thud. Heave, thud. She makes slow progress, taking only one board at a time until she reaches the very end of the dock, where she kneels down ceremoniously, lays the suitcase on its side, and clicks open the rusted clasps.

            Without a flicker of expression on her face, she sits down on the edge of the dock, her feet dangling inches above the dark, cold water. From inside the suitcase, she pulls out a small cloth bag—her makeup bag. She unzips it, pulls out her blush, extends her hand over the undulating black waves, and drops it. It lands with a gentle plash, sinks for a moment, then disappears from view. After watching it for a moment, the girl reaches back into the makeup bag and pulls out a tube of black mascara. Plash. A bottle of foundation that was always a shade too dark. Plash. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, and more cascade into the dark depths, followed at last by the bag from whence they came.

            Her face unmoved, an image of perfect serenity, the girl reaches back into the suitcase. This time, she pulls out a stack of neatly folded clothing, which she balances carefully on her lap. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sends the top article—a red summer dress—flying gracefully into the air, where it twists once in the wind before landing soundlessly on the water’s surface. The red darkens to crimson as the water soaks each thread, until it finally disappears into the blackness. A black pencil skirt, a sequined tank top, a leather jacket, a pair of dark-wash jeans, and a cashmere sweater follow close behind, bobbing on the waves for a few moments, then sinking.

Her pile of clothing now gone, she rummages around once more in the suitcase, finally locating the soft leather cover of a journal. She carefully unties its soft brown strings, and flips through the creamy pages, filled with her tiny, delicate scrawl. Without hesitation, she takes one cover in each hand, flipping the book upside down over the edge of the dock and giving it a few firm shakes. From between the pages flows a river of photos, ticket stubs, love letters, postcards, drawings, and pressed flowers. The thin sheets dance elegantly downward, until they are swept away by the coursing tide. Then, with a sickening plunk, in drops the journal.

The girl sits, empty-handed. The sun has vanished and the night sky now matches the icy blackness of the water. Yet the girl does not shiver. Her face remains calm, even subtly pleased, as she places her right hand on the now-empty suitcase and gives it a little push. Seconds later, the ripples have cleared and the night is silent, but for the roaring whisper of the waves below.

With equal silence, the girl lies down on the rough boards of the dock and closes her eyes. As she gently drifts off to sleep, the pearly moon, caught between crescent and full, paints her still features with a soft, white light that fills every scar, erases every imperfection, and infuses her face with the clean glow of the peaceful.

The Loman Family: Hopelessly Caught in the Movements of History

This image, the cover of a movie version of Death of a Salesman released in 1985, subtly illustrates one of the main themes of the play: as America’s definition of the so-called “American Dream” changes during the 1950s, the family dynamic and stability of the Loman family crumbles. Willy has his arm around Biff, connecting the two characters, while Happy has his arm around Linda, making them a distinctly different pair. Meanwhile, both Happy and Linda have their hands on Willy’s shoulders, symbolically holding him forcibly down along with his adventurous view of life. Biff sits slightly apart from the family unit, apparently unable to reconcile with his father, and certainly not with his mother or brother, with whom he has no contact. Finally, Biff frowns while Willy, Linda, and Happy smile peacefully, as if he cannot swallow his position in life or the qualities of his family.

This positioning reflects the tensions in the actual text of the play: half of the family (Willy and Biff) cling desperately to the idea of the “traditional” American Dream, while the other half of the family (Linda and Happy) generally embrace the Dream of the 50s. This difference in goals and aspirations indirectly causes all of the Loman family’s problems—the members of the family are divided into two distinct groups based on their ideal version of life, yet they attempt to unite out of a sense of familial responsibility. It is this continual, if silent, conflict that eventually leads to the destruction of this pitiable family.

            Yet before analyzing the specific characters and events of the play, it is imperative to have an understanding of the definition of each version of the American Dream. The traditional pre-1940s-50s Dream, I daresay the original American Dream, was that with some hard, physical labor, a full supply of common sense, and a mountain of determination, a man could achieve self-sufficiency and even prosperity. It was this dream that drove thousands of enterprising farmers westward during the mid- to late-1800s and gave them the courage to brave unexplored and often dangerous terrain to build their houses, plant their farms, and sustain their families. This Dream meant freedom—freedom from past personal mistakes, from the complexities of modern life, from the stench of the ever-growing cities, and from the increasingly rigid social structure of the heavily-populated regions of the country. The “new” Dream, which really took off around the 1950s, was quite different. Intelligence and a cunning mind for business replaced manual labor as the catalyst for success, the focus shifted from expansion and sheer determination to community and familial stability, and unlike the previous decades, social position was a daily concern.

            The individual members of the Loman family reflect  one of these two views. For instance, during one of his typical hallucinations, Willy frets over the bare garden outside his house, declaring “Oh, I’d better hurry…I’ve got to get some seeds, right away. Nothing’s planted. I don’t have a thing in the ground” (116). Willy is obviously not a farmer, yet it is significant that in his moments of great mental strain, he reverts back to this traditional “farmer’s” Dream of self-sufficiently. Additionally, at Willy’s funeral, Charley states that Willy “was a happy man with a batch of cement” and Biff remarks that “there’s more of him in that front stoop” that he had built himself “than in all the sales he ever made” (129). Willy’s fondest memories and the fondest memories his family has of him all involve physical work or activity—he is not meant for the social complexities and intangible work of a salesman, but rather for hard work, from which his true sense of success and happiness derives. Additionally, Biff reflects his father’s Dream through his lack of success and focus in business and also through his exclamation of “Screw the business world!” (64). In a conversation with Happy, he dreams of the personal freedom of the original American Dream, saying, “We should be mixing cement on some open plain” (64). Like his father, Biff longs for a concrete (no pun intended) sense of success and challenge of manual labor.

            Unfortunately for the Lomans, Linda (and, by extension, Happy) have differing goals. Linda’s American Dream is the Dream of the 50s: familial stability (a permanent home, reliable and respectful sons, financial security, and a general appearance of success) and domestic peace (59). For this reason she and Happy (who dreams of being accepted by his father and, appropriately, keeping everyone happy) constantly play peacemakers, searching for that ever-elusive stage of comfort, tranquility, and being respected by society.

            For these reasons, the Lomans are a family tragically caught in a turning point of American history—the transition between the “old” and “new” American Dreams. The pressure and animosity of this historical transition rip apart the family’s proverbial seams, and the irreconcilability of the two pursuits of happiness eventually ruin the happiness of all.

A Stroll on the Beach

Left, right, left, right. Four turns and I’m at the Cove. As I walk along the pebbly beach waiting for the perfect sunset shot and blowing on my fingers to keep them warm in the near-freezing weather, I mull over four years’ worth of memories at this place: barbeques, bonfires, driftwood forts, a botched set of senior pictures, and even an ill-planned, rain-soaked, midnight adventure. As I relive these pleasant memories, it suddenly occurs to me how much of my life is dependent on my friends. Almost none of my most cherished memories, my favorite activities, or my loftiest plans would be as appealing without the presence of my friends who, for the most part, have been a part of my life since elementary school.

Part of me is content and happy that I have had such wonderful people in my life for so long, but part of me is also apprehensive at this thought. What happens when I’m not around them anymore? The idea of living without the near-constant influence of certain people seems as inconceivable as the snow on the driftwood beside me, but the fact remains that very soon it will be a reality.

I have never thought of myself as dependent before—I have no problem doing things alone and I don’t collapse if my social life slows down. Yet in spite of my introvertedness, I realize that my friends are what give my life color and humor, and quite often they are the reason that endless weeks of school are bearable. A select few, specifically, who have encouraged me during the worst days of my life thus far, have proven themselves to be genuine friends—never dismissive, never vindictive, always understanding.

It is as I contemplate their endless list of admirable qualities that I decide to make a two-fold New Year’s resolution (something I rarely do). First of all, I want to let those friends know just how much I love and appreciate them. I only hope that they feel as blessed as I do as a result of their love.  Secondly, I am not going to live with a mindset that says “all of this will end very soon,” because even though it is true that our constant closeness will come to an end in the near future, I don’t want anything to inhibit me from growing closer to these people. I will not use it as an excuse to pull away and attempt to protect myself from the sadness that will accompany graduation. Instead, I am going to accept the fact that, come May and June, I will have several breakdowns and will cry and mourn for the ending of this volume (it has been way too full to be called a “chapter”) of my life. No matter how hard it is, life will go on, but I refuse to let it end early by distancing myself. My resolution, then, is to live an exciting, love-filled, adventurous, involved life with the people I love and to enjoy every second of it, rather than worrying about the future.

At that moment, as if it approved of my decision, the sun finished setting and I realized that I could no longer feel my fingers or toes. So, memories and resolutions swirling around my mind, I headed home with a thoroughly content and optimistic mood and the car heaters turned up full blast.

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and its "Overwhelming Question"

It appears that the third time really is the charm. After my third reading of this poem by T.S. Eliot, I have arrived at a position regarding the overall meaning of this poem that differs greatly from my original impression. At first, it seemed to me that the long-winded, stream of consciousness style of this poem created a thick layer of complex-sounding thoughts that covered one exceedingly simple idea: a man is attracted to a woman. Poor Prufrock is clearly a thinker, not a doer, as indicated by his frequent questions like “Do I dare/Disturb the universe?” and “So how should I presume?” (45-46, 54). He perpetually overanalyzes his life, beating himself up for his own age (“I grow old…I grow old…”), his clothing (“My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin”), and his physical build (“They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’”) and he freely admits his self-consciousness around the women, stating quite simply, “in short, I was afraid” (120, 43, 44, 86). Therefore, my original theory dealt mainly with the idea that men of the early 20th were intimidated by women who were beginning to fight for their right to vote and, in the process of that fight, breaking away from their traditional societal roles as wives and mothers. With this new and sudden change, the men of the era were left wondering if they should change their position in society as well—there was much confusion surrounding these gender roles and, as it turned out, men like Prufrock seemed, for a time, less manly than they might have hoped.

After my most recent reading, however, I think that Eliot’s meaning goes deeper than the femininity that industrialism and modern society forces upon men. Instead, I think the key to the total meaning of this poem revolves around Prufrock’s “overwhelming question” which, though mentioned twice (lines 10 and 93), goes undefined and unanswered. One commentary on the poem suggests that the overwhelming question relates to Prufrock’s desire to understand the women’s purpose in life, while another perspective was convinced that the question had to do with the suppressed sexual drive of all of the poem’s characters. I disagree.

I think Prufrock’s “overwhelming question” is more along the lines of “What happened to passion?” To be clear, I do not limit the definition of passion to affectionate relationships; though they may certainly be included, passion also extends to any strength of conviction, any rush of vivid creativity, and, essentially, any strong emotion felt by humans. It is this kind of powerful, life-giving emotion which is so desperately lacking in Prufrock’s world. From the very beginning, dull anticlimaxes abound: the evening sky is not beautiful, it is “like a patient etherized upon a table” (3).  “A hundred visions and revisions” end only in indecisive questions of “Do I dare?” (33, 38). His time spent weeping and fasting, in agony over the desire to act on his desires ends only in his disappointing statement of “I was afraid” (86). Prufrock’s life is completely devoid of real passion that exists outside of his own mind and, as a result, he lives a lonely life surrounded by the interminable chit-chat of emotionally detached acquaintances. The only semblance of imaginative life in Prufrock appears at the end of the poem when he dreams about “mermaids singing… [and] riding seaward on the waves” (124,126). Yet even this promising flash of vivid imagery and beauty is quashed by “human voices,” and, with the demolition of Prufrock’s final ounce of passion, he “drown[s]” (132).

So what is the point of Prufrock’s sad, dismal life? It is an illustration of society’s power to kill creative thought and human emotion. The need to fit in to established rules and etiquette that Prufrock feels while at sophisticated tea parties so overwhelms his mind that his creativity and emotions are smothered by self-consciousness and timidity. At the root of this problem is insecurity and fear of man—the innate human desire to be accepted combined with a developed willingness to do whatever it takes to avoid being an outcast. This is a problem I encounter every day, as I observe my own actions. Like everyone else, I desire approval. I cringe inwardly at embarrassing moments, though I may laugh on the outside. I feel antsy at times when I am by myself at school and feel much better with other people around. Thankfully though, I have not reached the point that Prufrock does. Unlike him, I am unwilling to sacrifice my passions (for reading, writing, performing, studying, travelling, etc.) even if my friends do not share them. I do not desire to fit into my society so much that I will forsake my own set of unique and powerful interests to do so. Prufrock’s empty, hopeless, and meaningless life is warning enough that such conformity systematically chips away at a person’s energy, character, desires, and identity and is ultimately not “worth while” (90).

The main idea?

A life without passion is no life at all.

Tone Analysis

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


After reading this poem, it is impossible to nail down one specific tone that describes the work in its entirety. Instead there are several clear tone shifts that eventually come full circle. For example, in the first two lines, when the speaker describes himself as "lonely," lacking direction ("wandering") and separated from the rest of nature (floating "high o'er vales and hills"), the tone is melancholy and very dispassionate. The scene is very pale and cold and so is the presence of the speaker. The moment that the daffodils come into view, however, the tone abruptly shifts to one of warm admiration. There is an abundance of visual imagery- "golden daffodils" that are "fluttering" and "tossing their heads in sprightly dance"- and all of the descriptions are very specific (the daffodils are "beside the lake, beneath the trees"). It suddenly seems like the speaker is captivated by the scene before him, which is a drastic shift from his disinterested tone in the first few lines.

By the second stanza, the tone has increased from admiring to completely awed, as the speaker compares the daffodils with other-earthly things such as "the stars" of "the Milky Way" and describes them as "continuous" and "never-ending." In the third stanza, the dominant tone is one of joy. The speaker is enraptured as he describes the flowers as "sparkling" and "jocund company." As he "gaze[s]" at them, he feels "gay" and sees the daffodils as "wealth." This joyful tone also carries over somewhat to the final stanza, where it is mixed with a tone of nostalgia. The speaker still describes the memory of the field of flowers as "bliss" and it still gives him great "pleasure" to think of it, but the imagery and diction are not nearly as powerful as before. His tone almost reverts back to its original distant quality, as is evidenced by the fact that these happy memories crop up only when he is "vacant" or "pensive." However much he may have enjoyed the daffodils, the memory and his happiness are, in the present, only shadows.

Meyers-Briggs Personality Test

My personality type is:

INFJ

Percentages:

I- 22%

N- 25%

F- 25%

J- 67%

       Having read the various descriptions of my personality type, I can safely say that this assessment, in my case, is spot-on. Those with an INFJ personality type typically work well by themselves, frequently gravitating towards detail-oriented jobs, like writing. They can also work well in groups, however, as they can easily sense and empathize with the emotions of others and have a deep desire to improve the lives and feelings of those around them. Among the other qualities with which I can relate are a tendency to be rather private, or to live inside my head, the desire for solitude after spending extended periods of time with large groups of people, and an overactive imagination. Overall then, I would say that this test is a surprisingly accurate summary of my personality!