Davis vs. Poe

Rebecca Harding Davis and Edgar Allen Poe both have stories full of darkness. They both use imagery that is depressing but beautiful. The beginning of Davis's Life in the Iron-Mills exemplifies that quite clearly, where she says:

"The idiosyncrasy of this town is smoke. It rolls sullenly in slow folds from the great chimneys of the iron-foundries, and settles down in black, slimy pools on the muddy streets. Smoke on the wharves, smoke on the dingy boats, on the yellow river,--clinging in a coating of greasy soot to the house-front, the two faded poplars, the faces of the passers-by. The long train of mules, dragging masses of pig-iron through the narrow street, have a foul vapor hanging to their reeking sides. Here, inside, is a little broken figure of an angel pointing upward from the mantel-shelf; but even its wings are covered with smoke, clotted and black. Smoke everywhere! A dirty canary chirps desolately in a cage beside me. Its dream of green fields and sunshine is a very old dream,--almost worn out, I think."

Other than the simple fact that the two authors both use the image of birds (Poe with the Raven) to symbolize darkness, they both write beautifully, for the eye. The beginnning of Poe's The Fall of The House of Usher is as follows:

"During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was -- but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible."

Their styles both hold a huge sense of doom and gloom. However, in Poe's stories, they usually end with death and destruction, some sort of tragedy that could not be amended in the least. At the end of Davis's story, we get a glimmer of hope. One person got out. We get the idea that if each person helps at least one person, real things can change, and good can happen. Though there is death and destruction in her story, one can pick out the optimism if they only open their eyes to it. Poe's tales are a bit more far-fetched, and offer no light. Davis is our light in the midst of tragic stories.

Bartleby the Scrivener

 

Bartleby the Scrivener, a story by Herman Melville, is my favorite story we've read in class. I think it really speaks volumes to the human existence, to what we all actually are. Bartleby is a character that we all see, even if we don't pay attention to him. His famous one liner is "I would prefer not to." We all have likes and dislikes, we all have things we'd prefer to do, and prefer not to do, and Bartleby is the one who doesn't filter these preferences out. He speaks them.

Every day, we go about our lives doing things we don't want to, either because we don't think we have the right to refuse, because we're scared, or because we don't realize we have choices. Bartleby makes the choices. However, in his preferring not to participate, we also see him reach the downfall and end of his life.

Perhaps this really shines a light on life as a whole. We have to do things we don't want to do, in order to survive. We have to follow other people's orders, and always have someone else to answer to. If we only follow our own desires, then we will ultimately fail. People need people, which is also apparent in that Bartleby spends his whole life alone. He has no family, no friends, and his only relationship lies in his boss telling him to work, which obviously goes nowhere. By isolating himself, Bartleby is only hurting himself. He needs to be able to talk to someone, to work for someone, to share ideas from someone, to learn from someone, and to love someone. We all do. I almost think Bartleby stems from the human fear of being alone. To an extent, everyone has to be afraid of winding up alone. Bartleby's loneliness goes one step further-- it kills him.

The narrator himself is an incredibly important character. To me, he symbolizes our lack of power. He wants to make Bartleby work, because that is his job. He has all sorts of feelings towards Bartleby-- from "overpowering stinging melancholy" to repulsion. There was a quote that is very important to the narrator's feelings towards Bartleby, which goes as follows: "So true it is, and so terrible, too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart." After not being able to help Bartleby, he grows tired of Bartleby's misery. After not being able to win a battle, we grow sick of it. The narrator even invites Bartleby to his home, but to no avail. We could say that he should have tried harder, he should have drug Bartleby somewhere, got him help, but really it was not his responsibility. He tried, but Bartleby would not let himself be helped. The narrator was powerless, even though he went through a range of emotions and wants for Bartleby. In the end, he sees his employee die, and is only left with the reflection of it-- "Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!"

My Life had stood-- a Loaded Gun--

Emily Dickinson's poem, 754, is one that could be interpreted many different ways. We will never know exactly which way she intended for it to be. But even the simple question of whether a man or a woman is speaking these words dramatically changes the poem. Some have speculated that it is about a relationship. Some have speculated that it is entirely literal, just about hunting. Some have speculated that it is about a sort of split personality. There are so many variations that it could be, depending on gender, how many people, and Dickinson's astounding use of metaphor. However, I interpret the poem as being about suicide.

"My Life had stood-- a Loaded Gun--
In Corners--till a Day
The Owner passed--identified--
And carried Me away--"

Here, it could be interpreted as the feelings a suicidal individual would have about their life. They always feel like they're right on the edge, skating on thin ice as whether to live or die. The gun is loaded, they have the mindset to do it, they're just waiting for the right set-off to press the trigger. The line about the gun standing in corners could refer to the loneliness many suicidal people feel. The corners symbolize not really being in a room, not really being a part of what's going on every day. The narrator may just be standing on the outside edge of society, watching everything, but not taking part. They stay on the outside, a wallflower, not participating, but seeing and anticipating pulling the trigger.

"And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow--
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through--"

This set of lines is also hugely important. I looked up the definition for Vesuvian, though we also talked about the word in relation to volcanoes. I read definitions that included:

• A slow-burning match formerly used for lighting cigars; a fusee.
• Marked by sudden or violent outbursts: a vesuvian temper.
• an early type of match that was difficult to extinguish. 

The term also fits the theme of suicide quite well. When someone is suicidal, they often feel like a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The people around them might tiptoe around on eggshells, waiting for them to "erupt", but never knowing when it will happen. The definition saying "marked by sudden or violent outbursts" also shines a light on this passage. Many times people only talk about their tendencies, or "erupt" with their emotions in outbursts. But, the suicidal thought is one that is difficult to extinguish, and it does offer some sort of pleasure to someone dealing with those thoughts.

"To foe of His--I'm deadly foe--

None stir the second time--

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye--

Or an emphatic Thumb--

Though I than He--may longer live

He longer must--than I--

For I have but the power to kill,

Without--the power to die--"

The narrator is a deadly foe of his or her own self, because they have the power to take their own life, and the mindset to do it. The emphatic thumb could be the hand on the trigger, so close to ending it, but still waiting. They have the power to kill themselves, they have the power to isolate themselves in corners from the world and the people around them. They have that power to kill themselves figuratively, just disallow themselves to participate in every day life and activities, but maybe they don't see themselves being powerful enough, brave enough, even, to really do the deed. Maybe they see what a vast thing life is, and as much as they want to end it, they cannot seem to really pull the trigger with that emphatic thumb. And still, even if the narrator was to kill his or her own self, the poem would not be dead. The poem would still exist. Suicide would not be dead. It would still exist and be an issue for a number of different people. The narrator, and every human, has the power to kill a number of things, but no one has the power to completely extinguish everything they have ever touched, made an impact on, or every thought they've ever had, because we all live by the way we interact with the world, and other people.

 

Overall, I loved this poem. I loved that it can be related to so many things. Emily Dickinson truly has a way with words, and I'm sure she left some of her work open to interpretation, because it is by relating to things that people enjoy them more and get more out of them. The only thing I didn't like was that some of the verses had a sort of rhyme scheme and some didn't. It was distracting to me, because I expected the second phrase to rhyme, like the first, and it did not. Only the first and last were rhyming, which may have been on purpose, but I think its better to have all or none rhyming. That being said, Dickinson has a true power with her poetry.