An Analysis of Robert Frost’s Poetic Themes and Devices

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello Friend, today’s post is going to focus on my favourite poet, the one and only Robert Frost. As seen in my previous posts, I am a die-hard fan of Frost’s literary style, mainly because it was quite unconventional, and way ahead of those times. At a time when poets focused on letting their emotions pour into their poems, and stuck to relatively “conventional” topics, Frost was seen striking out on his own, dealing with heavy topics, and often composing poems which contained a lot of dark humour. His poems were often very simply worded, but they were extremely eloquent; he did not believe in using unnecessarily over-complicated words. However, his themes were very complex, mind you.  One would read the poem from start to finish and think, “Oh, what’s so great about this? It’s just another simple poem, it doesn’t take a genius to figure this out”; but that’s exactly what I’m trying to say here; his poems are deceptive. On the surface, they seem to be so nondescript, but if you read them thoroughly, you’ll be able to get at the underlying message [I will explain in detail in a short while.] Poets often tend to follow one particular pattern—either their poems are lyrical, or they’re written in free verse, without a rhyming scheme. But Frost? Oh no, he wasn’t going to follow a set pattern. Most of his poems are lyrical, it’s true, but some of his longer, lesser-known, and darker poems are written in free verse [they’re less famous because it has taken everyone pretty long to figure out just what he was trying to say. Also, I think that they don’t appeal to a large audience, because they’re really long, really sad, and really complicated.] Besides, his poems are always closely entwined, like strands of fine, multi-coloured silk. Once you enter Frost’s world—trust me on this one, because I know—it’s difficult to extricate yourself. He may have passed away, but his emotions and intellect live on, in his works and in the hearts of people who look up to him, like me. 

Several acclaimed critics have claimed that Frost’s poetic style is very “spiritual”. I agree, because his poems are so mystical, and they always seem to be set in a higher realm of his own, where earthly responsibilities and obstacles cannot intrude. One of his most famous poems, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, deals with contrasting themes [this is often seen in other poems of his as well]: it contains themes of responsibility, temptation, cold and deadly beauty, death, distraction, darkness and deception. For Frost, Winter symbolised everything that was beautiful as well as fatal; it must’ve been one of his favourite seasons, because Winter shows up in a lot of his poems. Frost wrote Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening when he was feeling extremely depressed and suicidal, and the poem reflects this. The poem talks about how the speaker just wants to drink in the beauty of the “snowy woods”; it’s the Winter Solstice, the darkest evening of the year [this helps to enhance the beauty of the woods, as it nicely contrasts the whiteness of the snow.] He has several responsibilities to fulfil, but can’t bring himself to leave the woods; they’re simply too lovely. He does realise that, as it’s bitterly cold, he will freeze to death if he stays there much longer; he is aware that the beauty is just a façade. He is brought back to his senses by the sound of his horse’s harness bells.  Jolted out of his impractical thoughts, he thanks his horse for saving him, and determines to take care of his earthly responsibilities before he can even think of death [the last lines, “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep” have two meanings.] First off, we can assume that the speaker is simply stating that he has a lot to do before he lays himself down to rest; there’s another darker interpretation—he has much to do before he dies, and cannot afford to allow depressing thoughts into his head. I’m so glad Frost understood this; he was a gem of a person, and his poems are works of art. [Sorry, went a bit off track there.] Catharsis is good. Or so I’ve heard.  The Road Not Taken, another extremely famous poem, also deals with responsibility; the tone and the entire structure, though, is far lighter than Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening; in The Road Not Taken, the speaker is talking about the major decisions everyone has to take when they reach a certain stage in their lives. He’s kinda regretting the decision he took when he came to the cross-road; the title is  The Road Not Taken. At the end of the poem he states, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” According to me, when one takes a major, life-changing decision, one must tread very carefully; the speaker was not very careful, and look at him now—he’d like to turn the clock back and take the other path. He wonders where he’d be, had he taken the other path. So yeah, I think that’s what Frost is trying to say here. His poems always seem inter-connected, don’t they?

After Apple-Picking is another poem that looks oh-so-simple, but it’s far from “simple”. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and The Road Not Taken are not difficult to understand, but After Apple-Picking is very, very… tricky! Throughout the poem, the speaker simply says that he’s picking apples and storing them, but if this poem is read twice or thrice, you’ll begin to see that it’s one of Frost’s most deceptive poems. The speaker is so over-worked and exhausted that he’s fallen asleep. Those stupid apples just won’t leave his head—he’s dreaming about them. Dreaming. About apples. In spite of having worked so hard through the day [it’s implied, not explicitly stated, that it’s Winter.] Can you believe just how messed up that is? Also, we’re not even sure if he’s dying or just dreaming, because at the end of the poem he states that a “longer, deeper, not human” sleep is creeping up on him.  As Winter symbolises Death, he is most likely going to die soon; the most notable fact is that he is aware, to a great extent, that he won’t live much longer, but he accepts it with quiet, dignified resignation.  He’s been soldiering on until now, but his body just can’t take it anymore. After Winter is the time when things die, and Spring is a season of joy and renewal. Frost was a devout Christian, and I can’t help but feel that the apples are some sort of reference to the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. In the Bible, apples symbolise temptation and sin; it could very well be the same in After Apple-Picking [it is a very dark poem.] But it’s also a very beautiful poem!

As for poetic devices, Frost generally used imagery [in literally every poem], onomatopoeia [the most notable example of this is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening— “The only other sound’s the sweep of easy wind and downy flake”], personification [in several poems—such as The Wood-Pile, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Home Burial, Death of the Hired Man, Birches etc.], and metaphors and similes.

Some of Frost’s poems were… controversial, because they were extremely morbid and uninhibited. Home Burial, for example, gave me chills. I love that poem because it’s very well written, and I felt everything the poet felt when he penned it, but yes, I understand why people didn’t really like it when it was published. The title itself is enough to turn the milk sour—it’s such an unpleasant title. Home Burial? Really? The poem is about a man and a woman who have just lost their baby. Both of them are grieved, but the man prefers to deal with his grief by losing himself in his work and digging his child’s grave with his own hands, while the woman, Amy, prefers to deal with her grief by dwelling on it. She accuses her husband of being insensitive, when he’s not; she is unable to understand his method of dealing with his sadness. This poem is indescribably sad as it depicts a rift between two people torn apart by the untimely loss of their child; grief usually brings people closer as they seek solace in each other’s company, but in this case, they’re being driven apart, because they don’t get the other’s method of coping with the gaping vacuum in their dreary lives.

There are a lot of poems that I want to mention: The Black Cottage, There Are Roughly Zones, Two Look At Two, A Soldier, An Unstamped Letter in our Rural Letterbox, An Encounter—these are some of my favourites. They are all very articulate, and they’re close to my heart, because Frost’s poems have given me a lot of strength; at times when I didn’t believe in myself or didn’t want to do anything, his poems would seep into my heart and fill me with energy. My journey with Frost has been very fulfilling and enriching. 

That’s all for now. See you next time!

Thank you! I hope you liked my article.

An Analysis of Feminism in Shakespeare’s works

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello everyone, I’m on an “analysis” spree; last week I analysed Catherine Earnshaw’s character, today I’m going to write about one of my pet subjects—Feminism in Shakespeare’s works. Of course, that man was a genius, and I absolutely love all of his plays and poems; they’re very well-written, and are very beautiful and emotive [at times, they’re so dark you won’t like them in the beginning, but they kinda grow on you—like Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear etc.] Some of my favourites are The Merchant of Venice, Hamlet, A Comedy of Errors, Twelfth Night, As You Like It, Othello, Macbeth, The Winter’s Tale, Cymbeline… I have so many “favourites”, it’ll take forever to list them! So anyway, [sorry, I got excited. I tend to ramble on and on when I’m excited] Shakespeare’s plays have contained some very, very, very strong female characters. These amazing women often tend to overshadow the men in the respective plays; even when they’re relatively minor [like Jessica from A Merchant of Venice], they still stand out in their own ways [some of them just don’t get enough screen time, though. Humph!] When I was younger and less experienced, I always thought that Shakespeare was a man who thought way ahead of his time [especially in his portrayal of women], and I still think that, though I now have mixed opinions about the “feminism” in his works. Here we go!

I’d just like to begin by saying that Portia, the lead female of The Merchant of Venice, is probably the best example of Shakespeare’s powerful female characters. She has garnered critical acclaim for her self-sufficiency, intelligence, strong-will [she really has indomitable will-power], quick wit [she has the ability to take major decisions very quickly], and sharp sense of humour. She is also very wise, in spite of having lived a very sheltered life [she’s super rich. Her father died shortly before the events of the play, and now she’s being wooed by idiotic men who want her beauty and her money. She’s extremely beautiful.] She also has golden hair [I don’t know where the stereotype of dumb blondes originated from—I mean, just look at this paragon of wisdom!] According to me, Portia is the best example of a fictional woman who possesses beauty, bravery, and brains in equal measure. People who are unable to look beyond the surface are unable to appreciate her fully [and this includes Bassanio, her husband, even though he is more insightful than other men. He values her greatly, but does not know just how invaluable she is until the end of the play.] I liked Portia since the beginning, but the real treat is when she quickly decides to travel to Venice to save Antonio’s life [ in a nutshell, Antonio, Bassanio’s best friend and the titular “Merchant of Venice”, is being targeted by a psychotic money-lender Shylock, who wants a pound of his flesh. Since this was a legal agreement, Antonio is in troubled waters.] She decides to use her wit to deal with his unwarranted nuisance. She disguises herself as a male lawyer [cross-dressing was one of Shakespeare’s favourite themes] and hastens to Venice with her companion, Nerissa.  Once there, she proceeds to bowl everyone over with her insightful, philosophical speeches; when her entreaties to Shylock fail, she calmly states that he can have his pound of flesh, but must not shed a drop of blood in the process. Of course, this effectively renders Shylock’s scheme useless and saves Antonio’s life. She did this single-handedly! She is completely inexperienced when it comes to law, but she still dealt with this matter swiftly and smoothly, succeeding where actual lawyers could not. She completely outshines every character in this play [I actually would love it if there was a play centred only around her. Sadly, there isn’t. Anyways, I love her!]

I’m taking a moment to appreciate Jessica, Shylock’s daughter. She’s way too under-rated; critics just pass her over. Sure, she’s more of a “side character”, and she doesn’t shine like Portia does, but so what? Not everyone can shine like Portia does. And I really do like Jessica. She’s very intelligent, perceptive, unconventional, passionate, and sweet-tempered [but feisty, hahaha.] She’s the mastermind of her dramatic elopement with Lorenzo, a Christian. [She’s a Jew.] She feels stifled by her father, and really wants to spread her wings and fly; Lorenzo gives her an opportunity to do so. She cross-dresses too [as a page-boy. What is it with Shakespeare and cross-dressing?] We don’t hear of her after her escape, but I hope she’s happy and healthy [wow, I’m talking about her as if she’s a real person!]

Moving on, Viola from “Twelfth Night” is another great example of a strong woman.  I really like her, too! At the beginning of the play, she is shipwrecked off the coast of Illyria, and loses all contact with her twin brother, Sebastian. She is understandably afraid, as it is unsafe for young women to wander in Illyria unescorted; however, the Captain of the ship which rescued her advises her to disguise herself as a man and enter the service of Orsino, the Duke of Illyria; he has a very good reputation, and will definitely help her. As she has no other options, Viola agrees immediately. Disguising herself as a pageboy named “Cesario”, she joins Orsino’s train of servants. In spite of her young age, she is very well-versed in the ways of the world, and is very… “street-smart” [I just wanted to use this word.] She’s vey shrewd and observant.  Because of her wisdom and precociousness, she quickly grows very close to Orsino, becoming his closest advisor and companion. The two often hold long discussions about true love [Orsino is deeply infatuated with a beautiful woman called Olivia, who refuses to see the face of any man till seven years have passed, as she is mourning her brother’s death.] Viola, who has discovered that Orsino’s reputation does not do him justice, slowly but surely begins falling in love with him. She drops subtle [sometimes not-so-subtle] hints about the same, but Orsino is so… dense! He doesn’t get it at all. Viola is so charming that even Olivia [who, like everyone else, thinks she’s a man] falls in love with her [this was hilarious. It really was so hilarious. I love this play!] Sebastian is revealed to be alive [Viola looks just like him in her disguise; the poor twins often get mistaken for each [so it’s kinda like A Comedy of Errors]. Ha—the best thing was Olivia mistaking Sebastian for Cesario and dragging him off to be married instantly [this was one of the greatest scenes!] Eventually, the twins come face-to-face, the confusion is cleared up, Viola is finally able to reveal herself as a woman [and Orsino, recalling her sharp wit and quick tongue, along with her beauty, decides to marry her. This isn’t some stupid infatuation—he actually does love her, I believe. Well, I’m glad she got what she wanted! She deserves a man who will value her and love her unconditionally.]

The Winter’s Tale has three very strong female characters. My favourite is Paulina, the closest confidante of Hermione, the queen of Sicilia. Paulina is extremely distinctive, as she is charismatic, down-to-earth, very kind-hearted, very intelligent, prudent, and observant. She is one of the key characters of this play. She is very vocal about her dislike of the king’s treatment of Hermione [I’ll explain in detail in a while.] She’s also rather under-appreciated [for reasons unknown to me] but I don’t care what others think, Paulina really shines. She is a huge help to Hermione, and the only person who dares to stand up to the king, Leontes, when he’s being irrational [which is like 99% of the time.] She’s the voice of reason and justice in this play. However, Hermione should not be left out; oh my god, she’s so strong! She’s more of the “strong and silent” type—Shakespeare’s strong women often tend to be very vocal and expressive. Hermione is eloquent, but in a very quiet way. She could be mistaken for passive, but she’s not—she just doesn’t believe in wasting her breath, and really wants to maintain her dignity and maturity [she’s a queen, after all.] When Leontes accuses her of infidelity [he rages and rants, throwing unjustifiable insults at her], she calmly and firmly states that she has NOT been unfaithful. She asks him to just listen to her, but he demands that she prove her innocence; she is aware of her purity [she’s as pure as a mountain lily] and does not feel the need to prove herself to anyone. Leontes imprisons her, and puts her on public trial after a week. Though the Oracle of Apollo declares that she is innocent [hence proven], the tyrant who calls himself king of Sicilia refuses to believe this, and slanders her further. She defends herself very well; her anger is obvious, but she chooses her words carefully, as she does not want to act as immature as Leontes. However, soon after, a servant declares that Mamillius, the prince of Sicilia, has died of a broken heart upon witnessing the inhumane treatment of his mother; this is the last straw for Hermione, and she swoons. Paulina reports her death to the king [don’t worry, though. She’s actually alive, she’s just very shocked.] She recuperates at Paulina’s home [she stays there for sixteen years. A very long time, huh?] and reunites with Leontes at the end [cause that king realised how wrong he was, and he’s been mourning her for sixteen years.] So… it’s happily ever after for her!

Her daughter, Perdita, is no less! She was abandoned by Leontes as an infant, because he was sure she was the result of Hermione’s infidelity; of course, these are unfounded suspicions. She is Leontes and Hermione’s daughter. Well, so she was left to survive on her own—as a babe! Fortunately, she was found by an old shepherd and his son, and they raised her as one of their own [but they knew of her royal status, because Antigonus, the man who was forced to abandon her, left a bundle of royal documents beside her.] Sixteen years later, here she is, a feisty, independent, indescribably beautiful girl who has no dearth of admirers. However, she has eyes for only one man—Florizel, the prince of Bohemia [where she resides]. She doesn’t know he’s the prince, though; he has disguised himself as a shepherd, Doricles.  The two often hold conversations on deeply philosophical topics, and Perdita proves to be very intelligent and very well-versed in spirituality.  Polixenes, the king of Bohemia, does not approve of the growing closeness between the shepherdess and his son, so the two lovebirds flee to Sicilia, where they are warmly greeted by Leontes; when he finds out that Perdita is his long-lost daughter, his joy knows no bounds. She is reunited with her mother, and betrothed to Florizel; so, it’s happily ever after for her, too!

There are so many women I want to write about. Right now, I’m just quickly gonna mention Lady Macbeth from “Macbeth” and Rosalind from “As You Like It”; I don’t really like Lady Macbeth, as she’s evil [but I can’t deny the fact that she’s very prominent—the most prominent character of Macbeth. She has been highly praised by critics. But, dear reader, is portraying a strong but evil woman “feminism”? I don’t exactly think so. I feel that some of Shakespeare’s works have been over-hyped, and people ooh-aah over how great his female characters are, but all of them are not great. I think he had a rather typical mindset [even though it was more progressive than his time], and his strong women were either cross-dressed [or portrayed as helpless when they were not], very quiet like Hermione, or femme fatales [yeah, I’m talking about Tamora from “Titus Andronicus”. She is the most iconic villainess of Shakespeare’s plays.] About Rosalind—she’s my undisputed favourite from As You Like It, as she is very courageous, quick-witted and kinda tomboyish [she’s also taller than most women her age, much taller. She’s also quite playful!] However, she cross-dresses, too, as a shepherd lad called “Ganymede”. That’s what irritates me—his plays are jewels, but the themes are often so repetitive; it would’ve been so much better if his plays experimented more with different concepts. Also, several critics have accused him of being too explicit and misogynistic [if you read The Taming of the Shrew, you’ll know what I mean. That play is good for laughs, and I think the characters are very well fleshed-out, but it’s no longer one of my favourites. It’s the farthest thing from “feminism” I’ve ever read. It literally revolves around how a woman, Katherine [she’s very sharp-tongued, so she’s called a “shrew”], is tamed and made to submit by a man called Petruchio. It was my sister who opened my eyes to the deceptiveness of this play. Don’t get me wrong—there are plays that I haven’t mentioned, plays that have some really remarkable women; but there are also other plays that I haven’t mentioned, plays that don’t promote gender equality at all.

That’s all for now. See you next week!

Thank you! I hope you liked my [really long] article!

A Detailed Character Analysis of Catherine Earnshaw

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello Friend, this post is going to be quite different from anything I’ve written before; until now I’ve only written stuff about books, plays, manga and a ton of historical posts [yeah, I just realised I have a pretty diverse blog], but since I’m a literature student, I wanted to do a character analysis post today. This is basically an experiment, and it’s good practice for when I have to do it in my exams. Wuthering Heights is one of my favourite books, so my first “character analysis” post focuses on the one and only Catherine Earnshaw, one of the pivotal characters of this unique and darkly fascinating book! I’ll try my best to analyse her as minutely as possible, so please be patient and bear with me! Catherine is present only for about half of the book [she passes away], but her presence is acutely felt throughout the book, and since Wuthering Heights is literally built around the damaging, unhealthy, weirdly intense, obsessive “love” that binds her and Heathcliff, she’s an unforgettable character [really… I don’t need to say that, but I’m still gonna say it. Just because I want to. This doesn’t mean that I like her—I’m really not fond of Miss Earnshaw at all, but I have to admit that she’s a very well-fleshed out character, and Emily Bronte really did a good job with her.] She’s largely an unsympathetic character, as she causes trouble to everyone around her [and, most of all, she harms herself.] However, there were times when I felt some slight sympathy for her, like when she cried despairingly at her father’s deathbed, and when her mental state completely regressed [she was only a few days away from death then.] These sentiments of sympathy quickly vanished, though, when she did something that was just too childish and disgusting—oh god, she’s the Queen of Tantrums.

The audience’s first introduction to Catherine is in the second chapter of the book [Wuthering Heights is in non-chronological order]. It begins seventeen years after her death. Mr. Lockwood, one of the book’s two narrators, witnesses her ghost while lodging at Wuthering Heights, which is owned by Heathcliff; the spirit looks nothing like she did when she died. Instead, it has the form of a child. The child sobbingly states that she has been wandering the moors for twenty years, and begs Lockwood to let her in; the horrified and shocked [and daft] man rightly refuses to do any such thing. By this small but significant scene alone, the audience understands that Catherine is a very important character in the book; one immediately begins associating her with otherworldly and supernatural things […I’m not exaggerating. I’m honestly not.] Catherine was not a child when she died, yet her ghost takes the form of a child. Why? According to me, her childhood is the phase of her life closest to her, because of her closeness with Heathcliff; she is so attached to her home, Wuthering Heights, that her spirit resembles a child. When the book’s main narrator, Ellen “Nelly” Dean, enters the scene, the audience gets a far deeper insight into Catherine’s character and her true importance in the story; I’m sorry, but I can’t help but think of Wuthering Heights as a huge chessboard with Catherine and Heathcliff being two of the most vital players [they’re not the ultimate victors though.]

Nelly was a servant at Wuthering Heights when Catherine, her brother Hindley, and Heathcliff were children [she was a child herself then.] She also served as a confidante to them. She reveals that, as children, Catherine and Heathcliff were uncommonly close [ though Heathcliff was only Mr. Earnshaw’s adopted son, Catherine loved him more than she did her own brother.] Their friendship deepened on the moors [in this book, moors are symbolic of everything that is wild, untamed, unholy and unrefined. Yup, that’s definitely this demonic duo.] It is seen that whenever Hindley, who is resentful and jealous of Heathcliff, mistreats him, Catherine also stands up in rebellion and comforts Heathcliff in whatever way possible. So far, so good—on the surface, it’s nothing more than an innocent friendship between two kids. But is that really all? No! Everyone disapproves of their bond, which is growing at an alarming pace—even Nelly states that she always viewed this closeness unfavourably. She is also very vocal about her dislike of Catherine: “her tongue was forever going, laughing, singing like a mad thing, plaguing us all from morning till night. In play she liked exceedingly to be the little mistress, and would use her hands freely; however, I would not bear slapping and ordering, and I told her so.” Though Catherine is very rough and mischievous [in a diabolical way] in the beginning, a slow change begins to overcome her as a teenager; she and Heathcliff are caught spying on the Lintons, who live at Thrushcross Grange [a grand manor, two miles away from gloomy Wuthering Heights.] While trying to escape, Catherine is bitten in the leg by the Lintons’ dog, and by means of an apology, they insist that she recuperate at the manor. She stays with them for two weeks, and—truly—does not return as herself. She is no longer the Catherine that ran about barefoot, with unbrushed hair, laughing, screaming, and generally being the biggest nuisance ever. She is now a polished, refined “young mistress” who dresses in flawless white evening gowns, wears bonnets, gives herself airs, and carefully curls her naturally beautiful dark brown hair. [At least, she seems to be polished, but her hidden wild side rears its ugly head soon enough.] The Lintons are landed gentry, and after carefully watching the two children, Edgar and Isabella Linton, Catherine has managed to cultivate some of their natural charm; she is consciously imitating all of their gestures. Hindley is proud of his sister, but both Nelly and Heathcliff are uncomfortable around this new Catherine; a rift between her and Heathcliff is detected in the next few chapters. Catherine, being the insensitive and emotionally dense girl that she is, laughs at Heathcliff’s unkempt appearance. After this point, Heathcliff begins to grow insecure about the place he holds in Catherine’s heart; she often ignores him, hardly ever wanders over the moors with him, and—most of all—favours Edgar Linton. Yes, she favours him!  She’s actually not in love with him or anything, but she deludes herself into believing that she is, just because he’s rich, handsome, young, and good-humoured. Edgar is hopelessly in love with her [honestly, I don’t know what a nice, simple, pure-hearted man like Edgar sees in Catherine, but his love is obviously not superficial. Maybe it was her strong-will, intelligence, and sharp [if cutting] wit that attracted him. Oh, and her beauty—while not a priority for him [or me]—is definitely hard to ignore.]

Well, what do you think happens next? I was sure this was gonna happen. Edgar confesses his undying love for Miss Earnshaw, and asks her to marry him; the silly girl agrees, but then runs to Nelly for advice, asking what should be done. Nelly is understandably shocked at her hasty decision, and berates her, inquiring if Catherine truly thinks she can be happy with Edgar [they’re really very incompatible.] Catherine airily answers that she will be happy with Edgar, as he is socially very desirable, and she intends to climb her way to the top [using him.] She quietly states that marriage with Heathcliff would degrade her, as he has no social standing, no position; “[they] would both be beggars” if she married him. However, after this comes the legendary “I am Heathcliff” and “Whatever our souls are made of, they are the same” as she cites her great love for Heathcliff, comparing their relationship to the rocks beneath the earth [ha, ha… what a farce. Heathcliff obviously loves her more than she loves him [and by the way, his “love” for her is an unhealthy obsession, no matter how much he tries to sugar-coat it.] While her speech is impressive and passionate, it’s not possible for the audience to sympathise with her because by this point we’re so tired of how quickly her mind changes… and this sentiment is shared by Nelly. Heathcliff, who’d been eavesdropping, ends up hearing that devastating “marriage with him would degrade me” part [he doesn’t stay to listen to the rest of the speech. He just disappears.] Catherine, upon making this shocking discovery, realises that she has unthinkingly hurt him. [Well! Would you look at that! She really is troublesome, isn’t she?].

She gets over it quickly, though [too quickly], and marries Edgar Linton. For three years, she is very happy, but that kind of superficial happiness can’t last for long; Heathcliff re-enters her life, complicating matters between her and Edgar [Heathcliff returns as a mysteriously wealthy gentleman.] She is extremely happy to see Heathcliff, inciting Edgar’s jealousy; this leads to a massive verbal fight between the two men competing for her heart. She initially defends Edgar and Isabella, but then quickly switches sides and fiercely begins defending Heathcliff. Result? Edgar has Heathcliff thrown out of the manor, Heathcliff shouts a whole lot of obscene words, Catherine throws a massive tantrum and locks herself up in her room. Determined to make Edgar feel sorry for hurting her [… he didn’t hurt her, she just has a massive victim complex], she pretends to be both physically and mentally unwell [it turns into a complete psychosomatic illness, so in a while she’s actually unwell]. Her condition rapidly worsens, and in a few weeks, she’s at death’s doorstep [she is also currently pregnant with Edgar’s child. I feel so sorry for the baby.] Just a day before she dies, Heathcliff blackmails Nelly into allowing him to see her; Nelly tries to refuse, but Heathcliff’s threats and Catherine’s passionate entreaties ensure her allegiance. Catherine and Heathcliff share a passionate but extremely horrifying reunion; they hardly seem human anymore; they’re demon’s spawn.  Edgar’s sudden arrival causes them to hastily separate.  The next day, Catherine dies two hours after giving birth to a daughter, Cathy Linton.

Even though she’s dead, Catherine’s presence can still be felt throughout the rest of the book; Heathcliff and Nelly think of her almost all the time, and the fact that she couldn’t be with him forever [physically] is the reason behind Heathcliff’s vendetta. Besides, though her daughter, Cathy, is more like Edgar, there are some very prominent Earnshaw traits in her: she has large, expressive dark eyes, is very strong-willed, and is distractingly beautiful.  In the climax, Catherine and Heathcliff are reunited in spirit form [and doomed to wander the earth, it seems…]

That’s all for now! See you next time!

Thank you! I hope you like my article.

Never Let Me Go

Hello friend! I have brought you a new blog post today. Happy reading!

[WARNING: this contains MAJOR spoilers]

Never Let Me Go is a 2005 dystopian novel by famous Japanese-British author Kazuo Ishiguro. It was declared the best book of 2005, and has won several awards since [and still continues to bowl readers over, even when it’s been so long—thirteen years!] It deals with several themes, such as love, friendship, heartbreak, equality, humanity, and nature vs nurture; it also contains a lot of dark humour [I really like dark humour]. I’ve always loved dystopian fiction [it’s one of my favourite genres] as it offers a deeper insight into how complex—yet, at times, simple—human nature is, and when looked at from a sociological perspective, dystopian fiction really is one of the best genres—in effect, it should be analysed carefully in order to gain more knowledge. This book is written in first-person, and the events unfold from the viewpoint of Kathy H., a thirty-one-year-old clone [yes, clone.] She is somewhat unreliable; though the book starts off clearly enough, she often second-guesses or contradicts herself, and her mind tends to meander from one memory to another in a jumbled way. Also, she is clearly very biased toward her friends, Ruth and Tommy; though she does not often sugar-coat their faults, she does have a tendency to portray Ruth in a slightly more favourable light than Tommy, though Tommy is obviously a better person from the readers’ perspective. Anyway, I’d better get on with the story!

The story opens with Kathy H. describing herself as a very experienced “carer”, meaning she looks after organ donors. She has been a carer for nearly twelve years now. She feels terribly lonely at times, and often dreams about the days she spent at Hailsham, a faculty for future organ donors. The teachers are known as guardians, and students of Hailsham, though they are clones, are very sheltered and treated as humanely as possible. They are watched closely, and the importance of being “creative” is often stressed [ they must paint, write poetry, make stuffed animals, etc. It doesn’t really matter which.] They are also told that they cannot have children, and must stay healthy at all times [smoking is taboo, and playing some sport is mandatory]. The students’ creations are displayed in an exhibition known as the Exchange, and the best art is chosen by an enigmatic figure known as Madame, who keeps their art in a gallery. Kathy talks about how she quickly becomes close to a girl called Ruth, who is manipulative and a pathological liar, but charismatic and intelligent [and good to Kathy].  After a few years, Kathy also slowly befriends a problematic boy called Tommy, who is often bullied and neglected for his lack of creativity. After she helps him out of a tight spot, Tommy begins to open up to her. However, when the three of them, who have grown inseparable, turn sixteen, Ruth and Tommy form a relationship, leaving Kathy feeling very bitter and left-out [though she never directly admits this, Kathy H. is not good at hiding her feelings. She’s too obvious. She definitely feels like a third wheel.]

In an isolated but very memorable incident, Miss Lucy, a taciturn guardian, informs the students that only organ donation awaits them beyond the protected walls of Hailsham; they will not be able to pursue their dreams [many of them want to be actors, musicians, poets, authors, doctors etc.] They will die young. Miss Lucy is dismissed from the school because of her abrupt disclosure, but the students—after the initial shock—accept their fate with quiet resignation [Kathy states that by that time, most of them already knew that they were different from the guardians, and their fate was not going to be good for them. However, she insinuates, most of the students lived in a pretend-world of their own, as a means of temporary escape. She was practical, she knew what lay in store for her, and she never tried to escape from it.] The same year, Ruth, Tommy, and Kathy move to the Cottages, another faculty for clones. However, the clones that are kept here are not as naïve and protected as Hailsham students; they are far, far more experienced, and wiser. Ruth immediately begins sucking up to the veterans, something which Kathy and Tommy view unfavourably; the two grow even closer over time. Two older housemates, Chrissie and Rodney, tell Ruth that they have most likely found her “possible”, an older woman who resembles Ruth; she could be the woman from whom Ruth was cloned.  As a result, the five of them drive into town to look for the woman, but the veterans want to discuss a rumour that they heard: that two people who are in love can have their donations deferred for a few years if they can prove that they are truly in love. It’s just a rumour, though, and apparently, only Hailsham students can apply for deferrals. After this tense conversation, the five of them continue their quest for Ruth’s possible; they track her down, but her resemblance to Ruth is only superficial, causing Ruth to embark on an angry tirade about how they were all cloned from “human trash”.

During the trip, Kathy and Tommy, who are not very comfortable with the veterans, separate from them and Ruth; they prefer to spend the time looking for a copy of a music tape that Kathy had lost when at Hailsham. Tommy’s wistful recollection of the time spent at Hailsham together and his intense desire to find it for Kathy makes the strength and sincerity of his feelings for her clear. They find the tape; Kathy is incredibly touched, but does not show it [a tsundere in an English book!] Following this, Tommy shares a theory with Kathy—he believes that the reason Madame collected their art was to determine which couples were actually in love, quoting a guardian by the name of Miss Geraldine, who used to say that art revived their souls. Kathy is struck by this profound theory. However, after this detour, she and Tommy do not tell Ruth about this theory [indicating that a wedge has already sprung up between Ruth and Tommy. This rift only deepens later. You’ll see.] Ruth notices the growing friendship between Kathy and Tommy, and does everything in her power to drive them apart. Fed up with her machinations, Kathy decides to leave the two for good, applying to become a carer. This means that she will not see Ruth or Tommy for about ten years.

After that, though Kathy is not in contact with either of them, she hears that Ruth’s first donation has gone badly, and she will not survive very long. Feeling remorseful, Kathy becomes Ruth’s carer, and both are aware that the next donation will be Ruth’s last. They bond over this shared realization, and Ruth suggests that they go for a drive and meet up with Tommy. Kathy reluctantly agrees.  During the trip, Ruth, who has been wracked with guilt over the instrumental role which she played in keeping Kathy and Tommy apart, apologises to both of them. Eager to make amends, she hands them Madame’s address, asking them to apply for a deferral, as she wants them to try to be happy after everything she’s done. She asks them to forgive her; both of them immediately state that they forgave her a long time ago. Shortly after, Ruth makes her second donation and “completes”, an implied euphemism for dying. Struggling to cope with Ruth’s loss, Kathy becomes Tommy’s carer, and the two form a relationship. Encouraged by Ruth’s last wish, they go to Madame’s house to seek a deferral, bringing Tommy’s artwork with them to support their claim that they are a match made in heaven […or not.] They find Madame at her house, and are shocked to see Hailsham’s former head guardian, Miss Emily, who also lives there. Miss Emily is fairly pleased to see them, but Madame is not; she tries to hide her disgust of the two, but fails spectacularly. The two women reveal that unlike at other institutions, the guardians at Hailsham tried to give the students a humane, conducive environment in which to grow up. The “gallery” was meant to convey to the outside world that clones are as human as supposedly “real” human beings; they have souls, too. It is also revealed that this experiment has failed, which is why Hailsham was closed. When Tommy inquires about the deferrals, Miss Emily reveals that such deferrals never existed.

Tommy, who has come through three donations already, knows that his next donation will end his life, and asks Kathy to resign from her job as his carer so she will not have to deal with seeing him die. She does accordingly, after bidding him an emotional—and final—farewell. The novel ends with Tommy’s “completion”; Kathy, who has grown tired of life’s miseries, resigns from her job as a carer altogether; she is aware that society has forsaken her and thousands of other clones who are struggling to survive. In a way, she has forsaken society too, but will treasure the memories of Ruth and Tommy till her completion. Now that she is on her way to becoming a donor, she is serene, almost happy.

Isn’t this book amazing?!?! This is the best dystopian book I’ve ever had the good fortune to come across! It does not attempt to cover up the more unpleasant aspects of society, and the ending came as something of a surprise; I definitely knew that these “deferrals” were too good to exist in such a cruelly practical world, but I still feel so sad for Tommy [even Ruth, in fact]. That’s all for now. See you next time!

Thank you! I hope you liked my article!

The Winter’s Tale

Hello friend!

I have brought you a new blog post today. Happy reading!

[WARNING: this contains MAJOR spoilers]

The Winter’s Tale is a play by William Shakespeare, believed to have been penned in 1632. Although critics initially grouped it among the comedies, modern critics have cited it as one of Shakespeare’s “indeterminate” or “problem” plays; the first three acts are full of intense psychological drama and fear, and the audience is led to believe that the play culminates in tragedy. However, the next two acts are quite light and breezy in nature, supplying a happy ending. The complexity of this play is what makes me love it so much!! It’s filled with all the differing aspects of Winter: it’s so dark, sad, cold and harsh in the beginning, but as the plot progresses, Winter reveals a gentler side of herself. There are three very strong female characters in this play—Hermione, the queen of Sicilia; her lady-in-waiting, Paulina; and the princess of Sicilia, Perdita [though only the audience knows of her position initially.] Hermione dominates the first three acts, her daughter takes over the last two acts, and Paulina—well—she’s there throughout. Without her, The Winter’s Tale would not be what it is today. All three of them are so unique and impressive in their own way; I can’t even select a favourite character! [Which, I assure you, is not a common occurrence for me.] I’m just gonna have to go with all three of them! Anyway, I’d better get on with the story!

The play begins with the appearance of two childhood friends: Leontes, King of Sicilia, and Polixenes, King of Bohemia. Polixenes is visiting the kingdom of Sicilia, and is greatly enjoying his conversations with his old friend; however, he has already spent nine months here, and would like to go back to Bohemia as he misses his son. Leontes attempts to convince him to stay, but in vain. Finally, he asks his queen, Hermione [who is known for her oratory abilities], to entreat Polixenes to stay. She agrees, and achieves her objective in three short speeches. Leontes is surprised, as Polixenes refused to listen to him, but agreed to stay when Hermione spoke to him. The King of Sicilia suddenly flies into a jealous rage, suspecting his pregnant wife’s adultery [he believes that the child is Polixenes’. Well, dear reader, that’s not true at all. Hermione is as pure and unsullied as a lily.] Leontes orders Camillo, a Sicilian lord, to poison Polixenes. Camillo, knowing full well that this order is completely unjust, urges Polixenes to flee immediately [out of gratitude, Polixenes takes Camillo with him to Bohemia.] Furious at their escape, Leontes publicly denounces Hermione, calling her an “adulteress” and a “traitor”, insisting that she aided Camillo and Polixenes’ flight. [I really, really love Hermione, and really, really dislike Leontes. Don’t you?] He imprisons her, ignoring the protests of his nobles, and sends two of his closest aides, Cleomenes and Diones, to the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi to confirm the truth. Meanwhile, the queen gives birth to a beautiful baby girl, and her loyal [and extremely intelligent] lady-in-waiting [Paulina] takes the child to Leontes, hoping to make him see some sense. However, despite her most passionate entreaties, Leontes refuses to allow the baby to live, declaring that it shall be cast out into the wilderness and must survive on its own. Cleomenes and Diones return with word from the Oracle, only to find Hermione humiliatingly put on trial before the king. To her credit, she defends herself in a very calm but firm manner, saying as little as possible, as she wants to preserve her dignity; besides, she is aware that nothing she says will change Leontes’ mind, as he has turned into a jealous tyrant. She does not cry, scream, beg, or weep. She knows that she does not have to prove herself.

The Oracle states that Hermione and Polixenes are innocent, Camillo is an honest man, and that Leontes will have no heir until his daughter is found. [Serves that insane man right!] Leontes shuns the news, believing it to be false; at that moment, a servant reveals that Leontes’ adolescent son, Prince Mamillius, has died of a broken heart upon witnessing the inhumane treatment of his blameless mother.  At this, poor Hermione, who has borne so much, faints, and is carried away by Paulina, who subsequently reports the great queen’s death to her horrified and repentant husband. Leontes, who is sincerely saddened [though he’s still responsible for two deaths] vows to spend the rest of his life atoning for the loss of his son, his abandoned daughter, and his queen [who was the most wronged—for no fault of her own!] Meanwhile, Paulina’s husband, Antigonus [who was ordered to abandon the baby], leaves the baby on the coast of Bohemia, reporting that the queen appeared to him in a dream and bade him name the girl Perdita. He leaves a bundle containing trinkets and documents suggesting that Perdita is of royal blood. Though he is sorry to abandon such a cute, helpless mite, he is punished for his sin; a bear eats him alive. [Ugh…I didn’t like Antigonus, but that doesn’t mean that I liked this scene. Besides, I feel awfully sorry for the widowed Paulina.] In the next scene, Perdita is rescued by a shepherd and his son, also known as “Clown”.

Father Time enters and announces the passage of sixteen years. Camillo, now in the service of Polixenes, is beginning to have nostalgic thoughts of home sweet home [well, maybe not so sweet at present]; he begs Polixenes to allow him to return to Sicilia, but the king refuses and reveals that his feisty and independent son, Prince Florizel, has fallen in love with a “lowly shepherd girl”, Perdita. [If only you knew who you’re calling lowly, Polixenes.] To distract Camillo from thoughts of home, Polixenes suggests that they disguise themselves and attend the sheep-shearing festival where Florizel and Perdita will be betrothed. When they arrive, the Old Shepherd obviously does not recognise them [they are disguised too well.] With increasing anger, Polixenes watches as Florizel [disguised as a young shepherd named Doricles] and Perdita are betrothed. Unable to contain himself any longer, Polixenes tears off his disguise and intervenes, threatening to execute the Old Shepherd on charges of high treason and scratch up Perdita’s distractingly beautiful face [the girl is surprisingly unfazed by this threat. She calmly looks Polixenes in the eye and truthfully states that though Florizel—or Doricles—always seemed somewhat regal, neither she nor her father knew that he was a prince. I simply love Perdita!] Polixenes orders his son never to see Perdita again.  However, our rebellious prince enlists Camillo’s aid [Camillo just can’t wait to see his homeland again]; Florizel and Perdita take ship for Sicilia. They are joined in their journey by the Old Shepherd and his son. In Sicilia, Leontes is still mourning the deaths of his wife and son and the loss of his daughter. Though Cleomenes and Diones beg him to think in a practical manner and remarry in order to produce an heir, Paulina fiercely counters them by saying that the king’s repentance is still too little, and remarrying is out of the question, as he will never find another woman as accomplished, loving, and beautiful as the late queen. When Florizel and Perdita arrive, seeking an audience with the king, Leontes greets them effusively. Polixenes and Camillo arrive in Sicilia, too; Leontes is overjoyed to see his old friend again, and goes down on his knees, begging forgiveness. Polixenes, who has always secretly longed to reconcile with Leontes, readily forgives him. The Old Shepherd, who was aware of Perdita’s royal status all along [because he preserved the bundle which had been left next to her], reveals that she is not a lowly shepherdess; Leontes is overjoyed at being reunited with his daughter, and Polixenes is not against the match anymore [ha! What a rapid turn-about!] Leontes, Perdita, Camillo, Florizel and Polixenes then visit Paulina’s house in the country, where a statue of Hermione has been sculpted.  Paulina notices Leontes’ distress upon witnessing the lifelike statue; Leontes makes a speech about how, were he to atone for thousands of years, Hermione could never come back to life. However, Paulina smiles and reveals that Hermione is alive; to everyone’s amazement [this scene was priceless, hahaha] the statue stirs and shows sign of vitality; yes, it’s our amazing Hermione!! She’s alive, hurray! As the play draws to a close, Florizel and Perdita are engaged, and the whole company celebrates the miracle. However, in spite of this happy ending, the gloom of Prince Mamillius’ death lingers to the end. [Sob sob…]

So that’s the summary of The Winter’s Tale. Isn’t it an amazing play???

That’s all for now. See you next time!

Thank you! I hope you liked my article!