Words of Innocence and Experience

At first glance, Kundera seems to portray Tomas and Tereza, two of the four main characters in his novel, according to gender stereotypes, in which a man can freely go on physical adventures without injecting emotions in the process while the woman takes pains in tolerating his infidelities. In this regard, the relationship between Tomas and Tereza is complete inequity. Tomas is a skilled surgeon in Prague whereas Tereza is a waitress in a provincial town before they meet. Practically, Tereza is dependent on Tomas during the first few years of their love life after being ‘rescued’ by Tomas from her meager means and household humiliation (and Tomas himself considers her a child sent to him in a bulrush and whom he picks up to love and protect) and agonizes over Tomas’s unfaithfulness. Nevertheless, with Tereza’s distinctive self-perception, or to be more precise, obsession with her soul, her ineradicable residence in Tomas’s heart eventually transforms the libertine into the loyal husband.

To begin with, Tereza’s fixation on her soul is slightly different from the common female experience. According to Rivkin and Ryan’s introduction to essentialist feminism, women’s physical differences from men (birthing, lactation, menstruation, etc.) make them more connected with the physical world. Essentialist feminists argue that men must abstract themselves from the material world by separation from mothers in order to enter the patriarchate. They take a violent and aggressive posture towards the world they leave behind by interpreting it as an “object.” Women, on the other hand, are not required to separate from mothers. Thus, women’s psychological and physical ties to physical being remain unbroken. For Tereza, on the contrary, the blood ties and close proximity to her mother have brought her endless suffering and humiliation. Traumatized by her two dreadful marriages, Tereza’s mother puts all blame on Tereza, who has no choice but receiving the punishment. Not only is Tereza forced out of school given that she is an excellent student, she is both the breadwinner and the one responsible for household chores in the family. Worse still, her mother deliberately puts the ugliness of the body (e.g. marching around the mouse in the nude, farting) on display and denies the existence of youthful beauty in Teresa’s body. To bolster herself in the environment of physical repulsiveness, she longs for something “higher,” something not anchored to the body, as analyzed by Misurella in Understanding Milan Kundra: Public Events, Private Affairs. She worships books, music, and most importantly, her soul. When Tomas appears in the restaurant where she works, the fact that he is reading a book and the radio is playing Beethoven calls to Tereza’s very soul. She feels her soul within her body ascend “through her blood vessels and pores itself to him” (48), propelling her decision to leave her hometown to for Tomas without hesitation.

Unfortunately, Tereza’s expectations on Tomas are, in a way, mistaken. Although loving Tereza deeply, Tomas is the Don Juan who has the compulsion to hold various women in passionate embraces. Teresa’s anguish over Tomas’s infidelities is vividly reflected in her dreams. The most prominent one is the nightmare in which many naked women march around a pool and knee bend and Tomas would shoot a woman if her pose is not in accordance with others. Troubled by the women’s celebration of their sameness and struggling to keep up with them, Tereza feels that she is about to be shot by Tomas. Away from her mother and with Tomas, Tereza’s still feels that her individuality is ruthlessly violated. To have the man all to herself, what she could do was to overpower him, but she does not realize it until much later in the novel.

The Prague Spring forces the couple to take refuge in Zurich. While Tereza has photography as her profession in Prague before the Russian invasion, she counts on Tomas for everything in Zurich. Picking up a call from an unknown woman with a German accent further fills Tereza with jealousy. Driven by vertigo, defined by Kundera as the “heady, insuperable longing to fall” and “the intoxication of the weak” (76), Tereza decides to return to Czechoslovakia, the country of the weak, as an action not to drag Tomas down by her weakness. Tomas, of course, follows her to Prague. As they lie side by side in bed on the night Tomas returns, Tereza feels responsible for Tomas’ life and fate. Misurella regards Tomas’s homecoming as a turning point of their relationship, in which Tereza becomes the stronger partner in the marriage.

Due to the increasing social oppression in Prague, Tomas descends to work as a window washer. Tomas works from morning till afternoon while Teresa works from afternoon till night, so the couple rarely sees each others on week days. Although stuck with a job much inferior to his own profession, Tomas regards it as a break from surgery and makes the most of his working hours for more erotic adventures. Tereza, after sniffing another woman’s existence in Tomas’s hair, again feels her body’s inability to prove her uniqueness to Tomas. In another nightmare of hers, Tomas takes her to a park with red, yellow, and blue benches in it. Tomas sits on one of the benches and asks her to walk on top of a hill to acquire what she really wants. When she reaches the top, she sees men fulfilling people’s wish to die. The men carry rifles and escort people into a forest to choose a tree where they would like to end their lives. Tereza says it is not her choice to die when it is her turn, and the men let her go. This dream is a variation from the dream with marching naked women and Tomas since Tereza has the right of refusal this time. Tomas has absolute authority in the previous dream, but this time Tereza takes the responsibility of her own life. It is a sign that Tomas no longer has complete control over Tereza.

The aforementioned nightmare still leaves Tereza with bitter aftertastes. She makes up her mind to try sleeping with someone whom she does not love, to test Tomas’s theory of sex without love. She goes to the house of an engineer, who was a customer of the bar where she works. During their sexual intercourse, Tereza experiences contradictory feelings—her body’s excitement and her soul’s rejection to take the engineer in. She rebels against the man with whom she has sex in order to affirm her soul’s unconquerable position in her identity. Even though she considers her one-time affair with the engineer a mistaken step in her life, it instigates her choice to move to the country.

Tomas, having indulged himself in one or two erotic adventures, finally experiences emotional tiredness. His libertinism, interestingly, is linked to his desire to know the individuality of his lovers, the “millionth part dissimilarity” (199) that separates a woman from others. However, no matter how many women he has slept with, his heart is tied to Tereza alone, and none of his mistresses can replace Tereza’s position in his heart. Both he and Tereza realize how spiritually and physically ugly Prague has become, and amid pangs of stomachache, he agrees with Tereza’s suggestion to move to the country even when he knows that both his career and erotic adventures would come to an end afterwards. As Tereza comforts Tomas when he tries to sleep, role reversal has taken place in their relationship.

The lovers’ village life is not always pleasant, the peacefulness disturbed by Tereza’s suspicion of yet another Tomas’s affair and the death of their beloved dog, Karenin. During the days where Karenin’s health deteriorates, Tereza envies Karenin’s reveling in daily repetition and also sees the love from an animal as better love, as it does not require anything from the beloved one. In one dream of hers, Tomas shrinks into a tiny rabbit before her, and Tereza happily holds it in her arms and takes it into the room she had when she was a young girl. All in all, seeing an aging Tomas trying to refill a tire of a car one day, she understands that she is responsible for the end of Tomas’s professional career by making “a display of her suffering to him, thereby forcing him to retreat” (300). In the end, Tomas loses his strength and became a rabbit in her arms. Revealing her feeling of guilt to him, he assures her that he feels happy in the country.

Tereza’s love for nature in the last section of the novel reenters the shared realm of female experience. She identifies herself with the tranquility and harmony of nature and takes Tomas into her world in which they are both enveloped. Kundera makes light of the existence of idyllic happiness by killing off Tomas and Tereza in a car accident, but at least in their last hours on earth, they are bathed in bliss.

References

Irigaray, Luce. An Ethics of Sexual Difference.
Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993.

Kundera, Milan. The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
New York :Harper Perennial, 1999.

Misurella, Fred. Understanding Milan Kundera: Public Events, Private Affairs.
Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, c1993.

Rivkin, Julie and Ryan, Michael. Literary Theory: an Anthology.
Malden, MA : Blackwell, 2004.

It’s been a long time since I posted anything on this blog. I had been lazy in the previous semester and wrote on my Chinese blog and BBS board instead.

However, I suppose I’ve always suffered from a bout of “graphomania,” as termed by Kundera, the urge to write books. I tried to analyze the reasons for my obsession with being an author and came up with some explanations.
Firstly, I need to write things down so that forgetting them will not worry me. Secondly, similar to what Kundera says in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I only have this life to live. Thus, I personalize and beautify things even though I’m quite certain that most of them are merely coincidences. Writing them down grants them a curious air of significance.

Many things happened to me last semester, some of which are sublime to me. Having experienced inexplicable, traumatic incidents, I’m like the ancient mariner who needs to have his stories heard; in my case, read.

After finding proper pseudonyms for the people I encountered, I may start writing. Stay tuned~ (Hopefully, I won’t break the promise).

Like dry, waterless land
Yearning for rain,
It was bliss
When that storm crashed on the parched earth
of her weary heart.
But the flood overtook her sanity,
Her defense, her dike

Eventually it would fade
The sun sap the remains of escapade
And dry spell retake

Games, tricks, camouflage
Somehow we are engaged in endless rounds of
Wit race
Caught in the middle
In the deadly channel of Scylla and Charybdis
Where my mephistopheles, my sleek serpent
Writhes with a shining white satin
–A sight so frightening yet dazzling

When this world is trying its hardest
To leave me unimpressed
Just one caress
From you and I’m blessed
–Depeche Mode “One Caress”

After enduring the dullness of daily routines, now I’m ready to talk about “Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

It is an extremely controversial book, continually denounced for its explicit sexual content. It is true that it does contain some, uh, steamy parts. However, I find myself equally enjoying the first half of the book, especially the descriptions of Connie’s disillusion with life and love. The words, coated with elegance and sorrow, are unbelievably accurate accounts of the unbearable emptiness of 20th century life.

The plot is actually quite predictable. Connie, the heroine, married Sir Clifford Chatterly before the war. Tragedy hit Clifford before he returned from the battlefield–he was severely injured and thus was paralyzed from the waist down. Unable to travel around like normal aristocratic men do, Clifford found his pleasure in writing, having intellectual talks with his friends, and later his mining projects. While Connie enjoyed Clifford’s recreations from the beginning, she gradually grew aware of the meaninglessness of these activities. Moreover, her female self begged to be adored and cherished. Things grew even grimer when her tentative affair with Michaleas turned out to be disappointing and humiliating. Finally, she found solace with Mellors, the Chatterley’s gamekeeper, who lived in a hut in the woods…

When I first finished reading the book, I was obsessed with the mutual love Connie and Mellors have established as most dreamy girls would be. Their relationship is passionate, honest, intense, perilous, tender but exciting. Clifford is the villain who is incapable of facing the reality, showing respects to his wife, and do with his foolish stubbornness. Nevertheless, while envying Connie and Mellors’ love, I began to sympathize with Clifford, even more than the lovers.

Clifford, after all, is the most wretched victim of war in the book. Circumstances force him to move out of his misery and move on, and composing, reading, chatting, and bossing around are his ways to remain positive about life. Although Connie’s zest for love and sensuality should be fulfilled, Clifford cannot afford to think about them since he would never be able to provide them for her. His pleasure in reading and composing literary works is, unfortunately, incomprehensible to Connie.

Due to personal experiences, I realize that people would naturally turn to intellectual development, or the so-called “reason,” when there is no way that their sensual desire would be satisfied. As people gain more and more knowledge, they also drift away from the primitive, spontaneous, and sheer affection Connie and Mellors share.

Love is worth yearning for, but I can’t bear to think about it now…

In addition to probing into love and relationships, “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” is compelling in its celebration of innocent lives and beautiful landscapes. Categorized as Modernist literature, it offers solutions to tolerate modern life and ways to find retreats. Well, the amorous parts alone are worth reading. Wrought with emotion and fragility, they are much deeper than the b-rated romantic sagas commonly found in bookstores.

You know that silence is loud
When all you hear is your heart
And I wanted so badly just to be a part
Of something strong and true
But I was scared and left it all behind
–Michelle Branch “Here with Me”

One of the essays Professor Wu assigned us to read is one on Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. Although she is a widely recognized poet, this sonnet sequence has long been overlooked because people are embarrassed by it–being overly personal. Also, it reverses the sexual roles in poetry.

It occurred to me that women were not supposed to talk in the past. Women should be silent, meek, and satisfied with their position as the objects of men’s love. When a woman states her love outrightly, people think that it should be kept in private.

I’d admit that I was not truly impressed with Ms. Barrett’s poetry until after reading the essay. What is outstanding is that Ms. Barrett breaks the convention of women’s silence and speaks of her love in various approaches, tones, metaphors, and literary allusions. Besides, her story was true. Emily Dickinson may be as talented as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but the authenticity of her love(s) is/are debated.

As a female, I never thought that my love could not be spoken of. I mean, it is not that whenever I fall in love with someone, I should confess to him immediately. Rather, I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I write about the feelings. I wrote some lame poems back when I was a freshman, in the middle of an illusory crush, and there are bits of scattered pieces which can be found here on this site. The thought that it might embarrass people never came into my mind.

It doesn’t matter. The taboo has long been broken. I wish I could be as eloquent as Ms. Barrett is. However, perhaps words would not add any more charm to me. Not every woman writer/poet can meet a Robert Browning, after all.

“Meeting Sting was like being locked in your car, with the windows shut, with a good-looking scorpion. Sting is polite, cold-eyed, intelligent, brilliant, and ruthless.”

“The cool. The mask. The soul. The beauty. The music. Those words. The voice.”

The above are two excerpts from Uncut Magazine

“I will turn your face to alabaster
then you’ll find your servant is your master
You’ll be wrapped around my finger”
–The Police “Wrapped Around Your Finger”

In the British Literature classes on Wednesday, I learned about the qualities of a Byronic hero. The modern example Professor Fei-fei gave was Robbie (Williams), whom I also fancied before. However, Robbie lacks the depth and mystery in such a figure. The first person that emerged in my mind as I listened to the professor was actually Sting–the Police Sting.

So what makes a person a Byronic hero? According to my textbook, the qualities are

Sting, in his Police times, was fatally handsome and attractive. There was a sinister quality to him that made women (and some men) extremely drawn to him. He was cold and indiffernt, a noticeable misantrope. He was also notorious as a philanderer. However, he was immensely tortured by this evil in him and constantly engaged in self-blaming and debauchery.

There are some notable differences between Sting and a typical Byronic hero, though. Sting was (and always has been) very politically conscious and claimed that he sometimes wrote songs for the poor. Sting was/is a poet, and a Byronice hero doesn’t seem to be one.

Perhaps the Police Sting is a literary Byronic hero, then. Sting is now an aged gentleman. Although still considered attractive by some women, he has lost the charm as a devil. Oh, I miss that coldness and menace in him.

I’m just a common mortal, who would be hypnotized by a charming evil spirit. If I had lived in the era of the Police, perhaps Sting would treat me with contempt… never mind.

On a side note, Martin Gore and Dave Gahan are the belles in my heart now (as if I need to mention that every day). Do they have the Byronic qualities? This is a question worth thinking.

I wanted to run but she made me crawl
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing
Eternal fire, she turned me to straw
Oh oh, the sweetest thing
You know i got black eyes
But they burn so brightly for her
Mine is a blind kind of love
Oh oh, the sweetest thing
I’m losing you…
–U2 “Sweetest Thing”

The number of students as literary majors has been shrinking in my department. Many of the people who quit complained about either the difficulty of studying literature or its detachment from real life.

It somewhat saddens me that I’m losing peers. I agree with all the accusations of literature, but an unwillingness to surrender spurs me to move on.

Besides, literature preserves humanity in this chaotic, materialistic world. When we eventually step into society, into the job market, we may never read those “hollow” stuff. So why not cherish the opportunity now?

I have no right to stop the people from leaving, and I wouldn’t bother. I’d leave… after all.

Sacred Love, eh?

Pros
This is critically acclaimed, positive message

Cons
Weak plot and characterization, very uninspiring

The Bottom Line
If you’re looking for a tear-jerking love story or a brilliant emotional journey, believe me, this book is not for you.

Set in Spain, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept describes the gradual reconstruction of a romantic relationship between a young man and a young woman. Pilar, the female protagonist, led an insipid life in the countryside like a walking corpse. One day, she received a letter in which her childhood sweetheart invited her to attend his evangelization assembly in Madrid. Out of curiosity and a burgeoning desire to see him again, Pilar accepted the offer.

Then she was astonished to learn how much he had changed over the twelve years they were apart. He was now a preacher believed to be endowed with healing power by disciples. However, after the assembly, the young man told Pilar that he had always been in love with her and convinced her to go on a trip with him for one week, in which she opened her mind for him and developed feelings for him…

For a dreamy and romantically obsessed reader as I am, the plot seemed promising to me when I started the book at first. Nevertheless, the whole book turned out to be a huge disappointment to me as I continued my reading.

Firstly, it is too religious. This is my first time to read Coelho’s work, so I’m not certain whether including religious themes is his writing style. Unfortunately, discussions about Christianity make the story inconsistent rather than accentuate the message of the book. The male protagonist, though a Christian preacher, is a firm worshiper of Virgin Mary. It is widely known that HER believers are likely to identify with romantic love, yet in the story, the male protagonist often rambles on and on about religion. I just can’t see how these talks would appeal to Pilar, a woman who has long lost her faith and only yearns for love and welfare.

The story is not particularly moving, either. Some books have simple plots, but the author’s oh-so-vivid description of human emotions, nature, disasters, or simply everyday life would stir the reader’s feelings. Conversely, the book contains none of the above features. Thus, it gets tedious sometimes since there is no specific reason that prevents the two people from falling in love, and their doubts and confusion seem to come in the middle of nowhere.

In my humble view, the story is likely to become much more lively if it were told in the male protagonist’s point of view. It would be interesting to know how his appreciation for Virgin Mary hinders him from entering a traditional theology school and how he resolves the dilemma of spreading God’s big love for the rest of his life or spending his days with the woman he loves.

Finally, the conflict near the end of the book is a bit lame. The little scene echoes the title of the book. Yet, if Pilar and the man have really come to mutual understanding and love, it is unlikely for her to fret over so petty a thing. The author’s depiction does not point out that it is about human immaturity and stupidity. In brief, the characterization is confusing at times.

Still, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept has a positive theme, telling the reader to listen to their hearts and to venture in love. Of course, there are many other books about this particular subject. I do not see anything spectacular about this book that makes it stand out from other ones, despite the favorable response it receives from critics.

Recommended
No