I guess there's no need for my stupid introduction sentence anymore, now that I do that title thing. Aww. I liked my awkward introductions. Well, I'll just get right down to it then. This book is (mainly) about Sethe, an escaped slave girl living in Ohio a few years after the Civil War. Her house is haunted by a ghost when we first meet her. I feel like I should explain who the ghost is; it's her dead baby daughter. (You find this out about four pages in. I'm being good!) This baby wasn't even named, at least, nothing more than the 'Beloved' that Sethe had carved on the baby's stone. Anyway, she lives in this haunted house with her still-living daughter, Denver. She had two sons, but they ran away because of the house and its "spite", her husband is dead, and her husband's mother dies pretty early on. I guess the most important thing to mention is that a man she knew at Sweet Home (plantation) shows up, chases the baby spirit out, and soon thereafter a stranger shows up at their door.
"'It's gonna hurt now,' said Amy. 'Anything dead coming back to life hurts'" (35). Amy is the girl who helped Sethe escape, and what she actually is talking about are Sethe's feet which are swollen similarly to the way a drowned body's would be swollen, because Sethe has walked so far over rough terrain. But still, it's important for something later on which I'm zipping the lip for. (I don't know why I'm trying to be so good for this. I will be spoiling this later on; it's necessary for book observations.)
Oh, actually, I'll be throwing huge spoilers in now. The stranger appears on page 52, confused at the concept of a last name, confused as to where she is, with stolen clothes and shoes she didn't even know how to tie. (The stranger is supposed to be about eighteen.) The stranger introduces herself as Beloved--the second she said this, a flag went up. I was immediately like, that's the dead baby come back from the dead!!! And Denver immediately realizes, and Paul D (the man from Sweet Home) realizes shortly, but Sethe doesn't realize until about 120 pages later. I mean, it makes sense, if she realized earlier there wouldn't be the same dramatic effect, and it would be much shorter, but it makes Sethe seem a little bit unrealistic. Well... maybe not. I guess not many people expect dead babies to come back... I guess I'm being harsh. Well, going back to what Amy said, Beloved was sick with a fever in a bad way.
"'Today is always here... Tomorrow, never'" (59).
Sethe comes to realize who beloved is because she catches Beloved humming a song that Sethe had made up and sung to her children as youngens. Because of this, she immediately starts feeling immensely guilty... Well, not that she wasn't feeling guilty before, but now that she a physical reminder right in front of her, she wants to apologize for her deeds no longer by explanation (she killed Beloved to protect her from white men) but by overindulging Beloved. She starts giving all of her and Denver's food to Beloved and shutting Denver out, and Beloved grows fat and bloated and Sethe starves herself, so it literally appears that Beloved is sucking the life out of her mother.
Denver at one point (SPOILERS HAVE ENDED RANDOMLY!) seeks work at a white folk's house, and I guess until the mid-1900's it was popular to have these stereotypical black money-holders. I say this because in Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison the (black) protagonist comes across a similar device. I don't remember what the description of that one was, other than the money went into its mouth and that it ended in bitty pieces when he becomes enraged. Denver sees one described in much greater detail, in an uncomfortable amount of detail: "His head was thrown back farther than a head could go, his hands were shoved in his pockets. Bulging like moons, two eyes were all the face he had above the gaping red mouth. His hair was a cluster of raised, widely spaced dots made of nail heads. And he was on his knees. His mouth, wide as a cup, held the coins needed to pay for a delivery or some other small service, but could just as well have held buttons, pins or crab-apple jewelry. Painted across the pedestal he knelt on were the words 'At Yo Service'" (255). Ugh. I honestly can't imagine seeing something like that, much less owning it, or being comfortable with it in the first place. Though I have to say, although Invisible Man definitely didn't have as in-depth a description of it as Beloved did, Invisible Man used it perhaps more... poignantly? Is that the word? Well, it was a tad more shaking because the woman who owned was herself black and didn't really see what was wrong with it, didn't mind or had trained herself not to mind it and even owning something so racist. Denver is bothered by viewing it.
Okay, and here we go: the ending is great. Well... maybe great isn't the proper word. But it works, it fits, it's perfect. I know I've said this before, but this only adds to the proof that the more I like a book, the less articulate I can get about it. Anyway, here is the main portion of the end, my favorite part: "...Then there is a loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place. Everybody knew what she was called, but nobody anywhere knew her name. Disremembered and unaccounted for, she cannot be lost because no one is looking for her, and even if they were, how can they call her if they don't know her name? Although she has claim, she is not claimed... It was not a story to be passed on. They forgot her like a bad dream. After they made up their tales, shaped and decorated them, those that saw her that day on the porch quickly and deliberately forgot her. It took longer for those who had spoken to her, lived with her, fallen in love with her, to forget, until they realized they couldn't remember or repeat a single thing she said, and began to believe that, other than what they themselves were thinking, she hadn't said anything at all. So, in the end, they forgot her too. Remembering seemed unwise... It was not a story to pass on. So they forgot her. Like an unpleasant dream during a troubling sleep... Sometimes the photograph of a close friend or relative--looked at too long--shifts, and something more familiar than the dear face itself moves there. They can touch it if they like, but don't, because they know things will never be the same if they do... Down by the stream in back of 124 her footprints come and go, come and go. They are so familiar. Should a child, an adult place his feet in them, they will fit. Take them out and they disappear again as though nobody ever walked there. By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what is down there. The rest is weather. Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather. Certainly no clamor for a kiss. Beloved'" (275).
So, the book... the book was fantastic. It was shocking and uncomfortable and very disturbing (Beloved at the end of the novel makes my skin crawl just imagining her) and messed with the head. It was written perfectly (well, almost--a lot of semicolons are forsaken) and... man! This book is great. Seriously. Read it, read it, read it.
And, while I'm thinking of Invisible Man, we just watched the Malcolm X movie in Rebels--anyone thinking the Narrator's story and Malcolm X's seem very similar, at least until the very very end? Yes?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Tarantula by Bob Dylan
I finished this Sunday, but I've had one hell of a busy weekend-into-this-week, so we're going through it now. Oh, what is 'it'? To live freely and without preoccupations with nothing holding you back... Oh, sorry, thought I was in Rebels for a second. My bad. The 'it' I'm referring to is Bob Dylan's book Tarantula. It is, if I remember correctly, his first book as well.
I was pleasantly surprised by this book, I have to say. I read a while ago, before I started this blog, another of his books, Chronicles Volume One, a... less than impressive book. The sort that makes you say, stick with songwriting, bro. Also, shave that moustache because it grosses me right out the back door. Anyway. This was kind of off-kilter too, but good off-kilter and interesting off-kilter. It was like Kerouac's freewriting, only he didn't even attempt to make correlations, even in the same sentences and paragraphs. He just thought of anything ever and laced it together, though it does come a little more together throughout and create something followable, even if I don't see a really story happening... Yeah, no sources I can find have anything for me either. Okay well, whatever. On with the show!
In the introduction, the publisher has a note that it didn't really matter what was in the book, it would sell and sell big because Bob Dylan wrote it. And all I could really think was, well, duh. It's not worth pointing out I guess, but I felt kind of stupefied at the fact that he felt the need to mention it.
"Poets and writers tell us how we feel by telling us how they feel. They find ways to express the inexpressible. Sometimes they tell the truth and sometimes they lie to keep our hearts from breaking" (VII).
"You know who that everybody's not a Job or a Nero nor a JC Penney..." (6). It's pretty clear what he means, of course, it seems like such an odd range however. Those are three guys I wouldn't mash together.
"My eyes are two used car lots" (14).
"...while it pays to know who your friends are but it also pays to know you aint got any friends... like it pays to know what your friends aint got--it's friendlier to got what you pay for" (23). Bob Dylan, though I understand about ten percent of this book, I agree with this one.
"...maria, she says i'm a foreigner. she picks on me. she pours salt on my love" (48).
"wonder who ronald reagan talked to about the foreign situation? dthink about it kid, but dont ask any foreigners... wonder why castro hates rock n roll? think about kid, but dont ask no roll. wonder how much the man who wrote white christmas made? think about it, but dont ask no made... wonder why youre always wearing your brother's clothes? think about it kid, but dont ask your father. wonder why general electric says that the most important thing for a family to do is stick together? think about it kid, but dont ask no together... wonder what paydirt is? go ahead, wonder... wonder why the other boys wanna beat you up so bad? think about it kid, but dont ask nobody" (65-66). That's an excerpt from 'Note to the Errand Boy as a Young Army Deserter', my favorite, uh, letter of the book. It's kind of set up in these letters to anyone, no back and forth really between a few subjects (they change names, but I don't see a lot of similarities that would say it's two characters just name-switching) just letters, letters.
"why are you so frightened of being embarrassed?... why dont you admit it? why are you so embarrassed to be frightened?" (83).
"...& me so Sick so Sick of these lovers in Biblical roles--'so youre out to save the world are you? you impostor--you freak! youre a contradiction! youre afraid to admit youre a contradiction! youre misleading! you have big feet & you will step on yourself all the people you mislead will pick you up! you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing--you are afraid of being nothing--you are caught up in it--it's got you!' i am so Sick of Biblical people--they are like castor oil--like rabies & now i wish for Your eyes..." (84).
I couldn't help but notice there was a section called Subterranean Homesick Blues... which is the same name as one of his songs. I thought it was interesting, and though I can draw some small connections between the two, I can't really make a great case for their connection, or, I'm not picking up on it well. Honestly, I'd really have to study the two and I've had a hell of a busy two weeks... and I have to give the book back... But this is a book I'd buy, so maybe someday...
I was pleasantly surprised by this book, I have to say. I read a while ago, before I started this blog, another of his books, Chronicles Volume One, a... less than impressive book. The sort that makes you say, stick with songwriting, bro. Also, shave that moustache because it grosses me right out the back door. Anyway. This was kind of off-kilter too, but good off-kilter and interesting off-kilter. It was like Kerouac's freewriting, only he didn't even attempt to make correlations, even in the same sentences and paragraphs. He just thought of anything ever and laced it together, though it does come a little more together throughout and create something followable, even if I don't see a really story happening... Yeah, no sources I can find have anything for me either. Okay well, whatever. On with the show!
In the introduction, the publisher has a note that it didn't really matter what was in the book, it would sell and sell big because Bob Dylan wrote it. And all I could really think was, well, duh. It's not worth pointing out I guess, but I felt kind of stupefied at the fact that he felt the need to mention it.
"Poets and writers tell us how we feel by telling us how they feel. They find ways to express the inexpressible. Sometimes they tell the truth and sometimes they lie to keep our hearts from breaking" (VII).
"You know who that everybody's not a Job or a Nero nor a JC Penney..." (6). It's pretty clear what he means, of course, it seems like such an odd range however. Those are three guys I wouldn't mash together.
"My eyes are two used car lots" (14).
"...while it pays to know who your friends are but it also pays to know you aint got any friends... like it pays to know what your friends aint got--it's friendlier to got what you pay for" (23). Bob Dylan, though I understand about ten percent of this book, I agree with this one.
"...maria, she says i'm a foreigner. she picks on me. she pours salt on my love" (48).
"wonder who ronald reagan talked to about the foreign situation? dthink about it kid, but dont ask any foreigners... wonder why castro hates rock n roll? think about kid, but dont ask no roll. wonder how much the man who wrote white christmas made? think about it, but dont ask no made... wonder why youre always wearing your brother's clothes? think about it kid, but dont ask your father. wonder why general electric says that the most important thing for a family to do is stick together? think about it kid, but dont ask no together... wonder what paydirt is? go ahead, wonder... wonder why the other boys wanna beat you up so bad? think about it kid, but dont ask nobody" (65-66). That's an excerpt from 'Note to the Errand Boy as a Young Army Deserter', my favorite, uh, letter of the book. It's kind of set up in these letters to anyone, no back and forth really between a few subjects (they change names, but I don't see a lot of similarities that would say it's two characters just name-switching) just letters, letters.
"why are you so frightened of being embarrassed?... why dont you admit it? why are you so embarrassed to be frightened?" (83).
"...& me so Sick so Sick of these lovers in Biblical roles--'so youre out to save the world are you? you impostor--you freak! youre a contradiction! youre afraid to admit youre a contradiction! youre misleading! you have big feet & you will step on yourself all the people you mislead will pick you up! you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing--you are afraid of being nothing--you are caught up in it--it's got you!' i am so Sick of Biblical people--they are like castor oil--like rabies & now i wish for Your eyes..." (84).
I couldn't help but notice there was a section called Subterranean Homesick Blues... which is the same name as one of his songs. I thought it was interesting, and though I can draw some small connections between the two, I can't really make a great case for their connection, or, I'm not picking up on it well. Honestly, I'd really have to study the two and I've had a hell of a busy two weeks... and I have to give the book back... But this is a book I'd buy, so maybe someday...
"i have never taken my singing--let alone my other habits--very seriously--ever since then--i have accepted it--exactly as i would any other crime" (108).
"...there is nothing i can take from you excpt a guilty conscience..." (129).
Well, there you have it. It was interesting, and I would read it again and buy my own copy--mostly so I could take notes in it.
You may also have noticed that the title style has changed: I realized I was being an idiot for not doing this to begin with... (Though I most likely won't be fixing all the other posts.) Even though I have that fun little google search thing, this will be beneficial.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
These walls are paper thin and everyone hears every single sound
Today's post is Paper Towns by John Green. From the many John Green fans in my school, I've come to the conclusion that it is the favorite of 89% of the Green fans. I am sorry to say that I do not fall into this 89%. I have trouble even being kind to it--it was a huge disappointment, especially with his other books in mind. It honestly felt like it was done, rehashed and reused. It was like one of those rulers made out of recycled materials, you know? It's composed of what was once a plastic bottle and Tupperware and what have you, but now it's something new and different--but you can still see the flecks of what into its composition. It's the same old, just in a new form.
I know I sound like I'm being a huge jerk, and I don't really mean to be, but this was just... such a let down. It had its moments, but in its whole, it was just... well.
Our story begins with Q(uentin), who loves Margo, a girl he was friends with as a child but after seeing a dead man in the park with her, never really spoke to her again. Until, however, she hatches a revenge plot upon her friend who was sleeping with her boyfriend, her boyfriend, and the friend who she believes knew all about it in the middle of the night and they break into Sea World and stuff. And then she runs away, and Q becomes determined to follow clues he thinks Margo left for him to find her.
I couldn't help but notice similarities early on: Q is kind of a loser. He made best friends with his best friends because there was really no one else available. Unattainable girl, who he loves but warns us before the story really even begins that he will not end up with her.
And, when they're on their nighttime excursion, Margo makes this speech that I guess is supposed to sound really deep: "'Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town... all those cul-de-sacs... those streets... all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store... all the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters'" (57-58). Maybe you're thinking that's really deep. Maybe I'm just jaded. But I was kind of waiting for more. Like... your point is? Yes? I've read many books by people with this same opinion. Throw something new at me. In this case, maybe it was just bad luck that I happened to read this after I read Palahniuk, Ginsberg, et cetera. It just seemed same old, same old.
Later on, during a drunken party, he refers to his classmates as "paper kids" (178), too. It was just like... shut up. Do you think hating your town and thinking everything is fake is so novel? It's like those kids who discover The Beatles or Bob Dylan and act like they invented them. They've been around for fifty, sixty some-odd years. This idea has been around for much longer.
Though I have to admit, her revenge tactic (throwing fish in the aforementioned people's homes) is genius. I would love to do that to everyone who's done me one over.
"It seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die'" (139).
I hate Q's obsession with finding Margo, too. I understand that he's worried. But his friends get annoyed, and I got annoyed. Get a hobby. Go on Youtube. Do something. Something that's not obsessing, anyway. Jeez. He acts like a whiny brat too, when everyone's excited about prom. Some people are going to prom and are going to have fun. Calm down.
"All along, I kept thinking, I will never do this again, I will never be here again, this will never be my locker again, Radar and I will never write notes in calculus again, I will never see Margo across the hall again. This was the first time in my life that so many things would never happen again" (228). He's about to graduate high school, obviously. And to that I can relate. I haven't quite hit that stage yet, but it's on the horizon.
They go on a road trip, Q and a bunch of his friends, to find Margo. How predictable, how much like an eighties high school movie. It seemed so... boring. Even funny things didn't really make me laugh, like there's this whole scene where Ben has to pee and they can't stop so he pees into a bottle. It's supposed to be hilarious, but I was so... uninterested. Hell, I wasn't even grossed out. Their trip was ridiculous, too. He had the damn thing scheduled down to the half second, which quite frankly is kind of missing the point of a road trip. I mean, they're supposed to be fun and exciting, but he made the thing feel like a slow day at the New York stock exchange (except for a few choice moments). I mean, jeez, if On the Road's road trips were like this, Kerouac would have broken my heart.
"Maybe the sure knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again--even if I never see proof of it. I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again'" (274).
"What a treacherous thing it is to believe that a person is more than a person" (282).
"'I mean, he was something that happened to me, you know? But before he was this minor figure in the drama of my life, he was--you know, the central figure in the drama of his own life'" (300). Margo's talking about the dead man she and Q saw as kids. I like that whole scene too, burying her childhood self. And when she talked about her journal it struck me and felt as familiar as my own hand, her story about her the detective and her dog and all... Well, that did strike me. There were some gems in there.
I can't recommend this. However, I highly recommend Looking for Alaska and An Abundance of Katherines. I haven't read his most recent book yet.
I know I sound like I'm being a huge jerk, and I don't really mean to be, but this was just... such a let down. It had its moments, but in its whole, it was just... well.
Our story begins with Q(uentin), who loves Margo, a girl he was friends with as a child but after seeing a dead man in the park with her, never really spoke to her again. Until, however, she hatches a revenge plot upon her friend who was sleeping with her boyfriend, her boyfriend, and the friend who she believes knew all about it in the middle of the night and they break into Sea World and stuff. And then she runs away, and Q becomes determined to follow clues he thinks Margo left for him to find her.
I couldn't help but notice similarities early on: Q is kind of a loser. He made best friends with his best friends because there was really no one else available. Unattainable girl, who he loves but warns us before the story really even begins that he will not end up with her.
And, when they're on their nighttime excursion, Margo makes this speech that I guess is supposed to sound really deep: "'Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town... all those cul-de-sacs... those streets... all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store... all the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters'" (57-58). Maybe you're thinking that's really deep. Maybe I'm just jaded. But I was kind of waiting for more. Like... your point is? Yes? I've read many books by people with this same opinion. Throw something new at me. In this case, maybe it was just bad luck that I happened to read this after I read Palahniuk, Ginsberg, et cetera. It just seemed same old, same old.
Later on, during a drunken party, he refers to his classmates as "paper kids" (178), too. It was just like... shut up. Do you think hating your town and thinking everything is fake is so novel? It's like those kids who discover The Beatles or Bob Dylan and act like they invented them. They've been around for fifty, sixty some-odd years. This idea has been around for much longer.
Though I have to admit, her revenge tactic (throwing fish in the aforementioned people's homes) is genius. I would love to do that to everyone who's done me one over.
"It seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die'" (139).
I hate Q's obsession with finding Margo, too. I understand that he's worried. But his friends get annoyed, and I got annoyed. Get a hobby. Go on Youtube. Do something. Something that's not obsessing, anyway. Jeez. He acts like a whiny brat too, when everyone's excited about prom. Some people are going to prom and are going to have fun. Calm down.
"All along, I kept thinking, I will never do this again, I will never be here again, this will never be my locker again, Radar and I will never write notes in calculus again, I will never see Margo across the hall again. This was the first time in my life that so many things would never happen again" (228). He's about to graduate high school, obviously. And to that I can relate. I haven't quite hit that stage yet, but it's on the horizon.
They go on a road trip, Q and a bunch of his friends, to find Margo. How predictable, how much like an eighties high school movie. It seemed so... boring. Even funny things didn't really make me laugh, like there's this whole scene where Ben has to pee and they can't stop so he pees into a bottle. It's supposed to be hilarious, but I was so... uninterested. Hell, I wasn't even grossed out. Their trip was ridiculous, too. He had the damn thing scheduled down to the half second, which quite frankly is kind of missing the point of a road trip. I mean, they're supposed to be fun and exciting, but he made the thing feel like a slow day at the New York stock exchange (except for a few choice moments). I mean, jeez, if On the Road's road trips were like this, Kerouac would have broken my heart.
"Maybe the sure knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again--even if I never see proof of it. I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again'" (274).
"What a treacherous thing it is to believe that a person is more than a person" (282).
"'I mean, he was something that happened to me, you know? But before he was this minor figure in the drama of my life, he was--you know, the central figure in the drama of his own life'" (300). Margo's talking about the dead man she and Q saw as kids. I like that whole scene too, burying her childhood self. And when she talked about her journal it struck me and felt as familiar as my own hand, her story about her the detective and her dog and all... Well, that did strike me. There were some gems in there.
I can't recommend this. However, I highly recommend Looking for Alaska and An Abundance of Katherines. I haven't read his most recent book yet.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sing the bells of Notre Dame:
So, after about 12 years I've rewatched Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame. I recently acquired it at at a tag sale, though thinking back on it it's kind of strange we didn't own it, seeing as I owned a lot of Hunchback-related toys. I had (and still have) a plastic toy of Djali (Esmeralda's goat), I had a backpack with Esmeralda on it in Kindergarten (the other kids in my class made fun of me because I could never say her name properly) and I had a water paint coloring book of the movie. It was one of those weird ones, with the palette on the paper underneath the picture, and you wet the 'paint' and I guess it would run and you'd use that the paint. And, on the back, there was a picture of Frollo with his hat off and he's balding and it was so funny (hence why he never scared me as a child). Oh, and I had a book where he found a kitten! It was so cute! And I had a finger puppet of one of the statues; I think it was Hugo. The one who said "Who cut the cheese"? Totally remember that commercial, even now. And my neighbor Kristin had this totally cool Esmeralda Barbie doll! (She had Pocahontas, too. Soooo jealous!) And I remembered some parts of the movie, like when Quasimodo is sliding in the water and singing and stuff, though one thing I did not remember was how creepy Claude Frollo is. He SNIFFS Esmeralda's hair at one point. Sniffs it. I'm not even kidding.
Anyway... uh. As you may have guessed, I read Victor Hugo's original novel upon which the movie is based (I decided to after rewatching the film, of course). It was actually pretty good, and I don't feel that Disney changed it too much--well, not any more than usual. Of course some things had to change, like some hangings and imprisonment... Anyway, it was a pretty good book. It makes me a little less nervous to move on to his other works like Les Miserables. In most respects, the book was fairly straightforward, aside from a few digressions and tangents to give a history of a building or person or an explanation of some law or whatever.
Let's see, some notes on my copy: It is relatively old, but AL Burt and his publishing company apparently felt no need to provide a printing date, nor to include the address of their company (which I could have used to gain an estimate of the date, as they apparently changed locations many times in their existence--1889-1937). My guess is that it would have been printed from 1934/4-1937, since it more closely resembles a book from the forties. I suppose that's neither here nor there however...
Oh, and some notes on the characters: Quasimodo hardly crops up till the second half of the novel. Claude Frollo was actually a very decent man (he adopted Quasimodo of his own free will, and killed no gypsy), though he goes half-mad--all the way mad--with lust for Esmeralda. Phoebus is not in love with Esmeralda, he merely wants to sleep with her (though she is in love with him). There is a minor character, Gringoire, who was apparently a real-life poet, who finds himself married to Esmeralda, but she won't let him have sex with her (and of course, he wants to--when he attempts to 'assert' himself she pulls a knife on him, I kid you not. Bravo!) so he apparently takes his--uh--affections out on Djali (thankfully I missed that, though he does seem overfond of the goat always). Oh, he does not appear in the movie at all, either. Let's see... Clopin appears as well, though he's not nearly as cool as he was in the movie. Oh, and the story: Well, it's actually pretty much the same at its base, except Quasimodo is deaf, and doesn't have schizophrenic delusions.
Victor Hugo often speaks to 'the reader', saying things such as, "If it is agreeable to the reader, we will endeavor to retrace in imagination..." (7). And often asking permission, or, if it would please the reader, and so on and so forth. I find that kind of cute. Look at Vic, breaking the fourth wall! You cutie you! Vonnegut thinks he's so novel. (OH SEE WHAT I DID THAR!?) He also occasionally reiterates the scene in a simpler way, which is pretty cool too. Victor Hugo actually invented SparkNotes. And the Internet.
"'What a goodly beard he has!'" (19). I know, you probably think it's idiotic and vexing that I like pointing out parts that have no depth other than that they made me chuckle. But 'goodly beard'!? Come on. I hope I have the chance to tell someone that some day. Preferably a stranger, but not one that's a hobo.
"The bailiff of the palace was a sort of amphibious magistrate, a kind of bat... a something between the rat and the bird, the judge and the soldier" (37). He also describes lawyers as crocodiles, but only crocodiles, unfortunately. Crocodile-birds? Oh wait, pterodactyls. Though, now that I think of it, a "something between the rat and the bird" seems a little redundant if he's talking about bats. Victor Hugo, you crocodile-bird you.
A description of Quasimodo: "...We shall not attempt to give the reader any idea of that tetrahedron nose, of that horse-shoe mouth, of that little left eye stubbed up with an eyebrow of carroty bristles, while the right [eye] was completely overwhelmed and buried by an enormous wen; of those irregular teeth, jagged here and there like the battlements of a fortress; of that horny lip, over which one of those teeth protruded, like the the tusk of an elephant" (43). Victor, thank you for going and giving me an idea of all of those things completely.
"'A one-eyed man is more incomplete than one who is quite blind'" (45). I thought this was an interesting way to look (no puns intended) at it, since when I first read it I was kind of confused. If someone stabbed one of my eyes out in a duel, I would be all, "Well, at least I have the other eye to see with!" But I started thinking--how maddening would that be? Exactly one half of the world would be open to you, and the other half would be, well, black. You could see that other half if you moved, of course, but never would it be open to you all at once. You'd be like a dog chasing its tail all the time. And you'd have no depth perception... So yeah, either go all the way either way. I think I'd hate to have just one day. It would be pretty awful to be completely blind, but if there's anything I've learned from TV and movies, it's that blind people have powers on par with psychics.
"'How gladly I would drown myself, only the water is so cold!'" (49). This line had to have been added to show how cowardly or weak Gringoire is. Ophelia so bad for yourself! Move away from the water! Oh, sorry, wrong story. In any case, this proves that Gringoire is stronger--or, more cowardly--than your average female Shanksspeare character, since Gringoire does not drown himself, and he didn't even need a sassy gay friend to convince him not to kill himself. Which is kind of a shame. It's a good book, but sassy gay friends do tend to improve everything.
There's another description of Quasimodo, which pertains more to his personality: he's strong, active (a "bandy-legged dwarf" [59], whatever that may mean), and spiteful. This kind of reminds me of a story of Edgar Allen Poe's I read a long time ago. I believe the story is called 'Hop-Frog', though that name may have actually only been the name of the main character, a dwarf and a cripple. He was the jester for a king who of course abused him and in revenge Hop-Frog sets him (and several other noblemen) ablaze. But I just... you know... they were both malformed, in almost the same manner (Hop-Frog is named so because his deformities make him unable to stand up straight so he moves with a strange hop, similarly to Quasimodo), and their deformities made them more powerful than the average man. Well, I guess the similarities kind of end there, but still, the description made me draw a connection. And that is a good thing.
Esmeralda amuses the townspeople with pretty tricks and dancing (as does Djali) and this of course inflames Gringoire with passion, though Quasimodo loves her for her kindness to him, even though he is malformed. Anyway, Gringoire decides to follow Esmeralda through the streets, and during his pursuits Quasimodo swoops down and attempts to take her away. Gringoire is petrified with fear, but Phoebus comes from nowhere and saves her. Thus, why she loves Phoebus, and why she rather dislikes Gringoire. Though I believe I mentioned (spoiler alert!) that Phoebus was only lustfully attracted to her... maybe. (Not checking.) There's even a scene where Phoebus is trying to get her into bed and she's like "Oh, I can't wait to be married!" and he says something like, "Why get married? We don't need marriage to validate our love!" Girls, when guys say that, they are probably trying to just get in on that. But my point is, this scene where Quasimodo takes her is important, because it sets up a lot of the future relationships of the book. Yep.
"Reality burst upon him, paining his eyes, treading upon his toes, and demolishing piecemeal the whole frightful poesy by which he had at first fancied himself to be surrounded. He could not help perceiving that he was not walking in the Styx, but in the mud; that he was not elbowed by demons, but by robbers; that his soul was not in danger, but merely his life, because he lacked that excellent mediator between the ruffian and the honest man--the purse" (71). (Gringoire being dragged through the Court of Miracles to his trial, because no one but the Egyptians and vagabonds are allowed down there. Also, I realized for the first time ever whilst reading this that 'gypsy' is short/slang for Egyptian. Oh huhhh.)
Ah! All right, so there's this whole twist (kind of) in the story that's sort of predictable and kind of not. Because I can't shut up about the movie (I'm not even talking about the Lon Chaney one either, gah) I kind of figured it out. Quasimodo's mother is a gypsy (hence why Claude Frollo kicks her down the stairs) then, so I figured it was about the same. Well, they reveal in a flashback that Quasimodo was left on a board for foundlings in Notre Dame (apparently you could just leave babies there back in the day) apparently because of his deformities. Claude Frollo, full of pity, adopts the child of his own free will. But, later on, we meet an old woman whose story is seemingly unrelated and random to the plot, other than that she hates gypsies, because sixteen or so years ago they stole her beautiful child and replaced it with one of their misshapen own. Oh hi, Quasi. And never does the lady stop speaking of how much she hates to see Esmeralda, because her daughter would have been that age, had she not been eaten by the gypsies. That's what gypsies do to kids, by the way. You see what's going on here? Well, I hope so, because this is a lot simpler than Victor Hugo's writing. Sorry if I spoiled it--it's just how I roll.
Yeah, but one of my points is that in the book, Frollo is a really good-hearted guy until he gets an eye on Esmeralda. After his parents died he raised his infant brother on his own (and his brother is a brat too, he's constantly stealing money from Frollo) and like I said adopted Quasimodo and treated him as though a son. Apparently, Quasimodo's first try at bell-ringing had an effect upon Frollo like "that produced upon a parent by the first articulate sounds uttered by his child" (128). Awww, Frollo! Too bad you went crazy.
"Such of them as not most religiously disposed had hoped that the thing would be more easily accomplished in Paradise than at Rome, and had therefore at once prayed to God instead of the pope in behalf of the deceased" (151). I can't tell if Victor Hugo is being sarcastic or not here. The book was written in 1831, and apparently Hugo was Catholic when he was younger (according to Wikipedia) but it does not say how young exactly. Later in his life he became a 'freethinker' and became extremely opposed to the church... but there aren't really any clear dates on this. In fact, I can't really find anything much regarding his Catholic life, though he has some interesting beliefs (the most in my opinion is that he believed evil was a necessary state to wade through in order to achieve higher being)... that apparently wrecked his family life. Oh, oops. (Source: http://www.answers.com/topic/victor-hugo ) Well, I might as well defend my position of why I'd believe it would be sarcastic--of course those less 'religiously disposed' would be more religiously disposed because they're actually praying directly to God--not through the pope.
"'The gallows leads to hell.' 'That is a rousing fire.' 'Jehan, Jehan, the end will be bad.' 'The beginning at least will have been good'" (212).
Ah, yes, here is Phoebus talking his way out of marrying Esmeralda: "'Of what use is marriage? Do people love one another the less for not having mangled Latin in the shop of a priest?'" (232). Yeah, he just wanted to get some--he's even so bold as to pull off her neckerchief and gets an eyeful of her bare shoulders! Woah, Phoebus! Talk about a sleazy dude. (No, but seriously, he probably would have raped Esmeralda if Frollo hadn't stopped him.)
"'We Egyptians want nothing else but air and love'" (233).
"'Alas! If victory has not remained with me, it is this fault of God, who has not made man equal in strength to the demon'" (256). Frollo, lamenting his lust. I thought this was pretty cool because of the Hellfire song--I LOVE the part where Frollo sings and says: "It's not my fault; it's in God's plan--he made the devil so much stronger than a man!"
"Love is like a tree: it shoots of itself, it strikes its roots deeply into our whole being, and frequently continues to be green over a heart in ruins" (296).
"Seizing with both hands the hair remaining on [Frollo's] bald head, [Esmerelda] strove to prevent his kisses... 'Loose me!' she cried, distractedly, 'or I will spit in thy face!' He loosed his hold. 'Strike me; heap indignities upon me; do what thou wilt; but for mercy's sake, love me!'" (308).
On page 319 it is briefly mentioned that it was "'only last month that they hanged a sow'" (319). This is--I believe--based on the actual trial where a sow was accused of beating a child. She was hanged. Her piglets were let free because they were only following the poor example set by their mother.
"'She must have swum over'... 'Who ever heard of a woman swimming?' cried the soldier" (397). I KNOW, RIGHT? Utter stupidity to even suggest that. Women. Swimming. Did we just wander into the twilight zone? Because I'm pretty sure we just did.
Just a note that's yet another spoiler: Esmeralda's mother actually dies in the fashion Quasimodo's does in the movie. Frollo's death isn't that dissimilar from the film; he's clinging to a pipe on Notre Dame which bent under his weight and he fell to his death on the streets of Paris. Esmeralda is hanged, though she is wearing a white rag dress, which may symbolize her purity (as she was not guilty of the crime for which she was accused). Gringoire contented himself with saving Djali, as he is really, really attached to that goat. Like, seriously, man. It's a goat.
I guess I won't spoil it completely, though I am very fond of the ending, even if its somewhat grisly but it's also very touching. Well, this is certainly one of the best books of my recent reading history. Yay.
Yeah, I don't really have much else.
Anyway... uh. As you may have guessed, I read Victor Hugo's original novel upon which the movie is based (I decided to after rewatching the film, of course). It was actually pretty good, and I don't feel that Disney changed it too much--well, not any more than usual. Of course some things had to change, like some hangings and imprisonment... Anyway, it was a pretty good book. It makes me a little less nervous to move on to his other works like Les Miserables. In most respects, the book was fairly straightforward, aside from a few digressions and tangents to give a history of a building or person or an explanation of some law or whatever.
Let's see, some notes on my copy: It is relatively old, but AL Burt and his publishing company apparently felt no need to provide a printing date, nor to include the address of their company (which I could have used to gain an estimate of the date, as they apparently changed locations many times in their existence--1889-1937). My guess is that it would have been printed from 1934/4-1937, since it more closely resembles a book from the forties. I suppose that's neither here nor there however...
Oh, and some notes on the characters: Quasimodo hardly crops up till the second half of the novel. Claude Frollo was actually a very decent man (he adopted Quasimodo of his own free will, and killed no gypsy), though he goes half-mad--all the way mad--with lust for Esmeralda. Phoebus is not in love with Esmeralda, he merely wants to sleep with her (though she is in love with him). There is a minor character, Gringoire, who was apparently a real-life poet, who finds himself married to Esmeralda, but she won't let him have sex with her (and of course, he wants to--when he attempts to 'assert' himself she pulls a knife on him, I kid you not. Bravo!) so he apparently takes his--uh--affections out on Djali (thankfully I missed that, though he does seem overfond of the goat always). Oh, he does not appear in the movie at all, either. Let's see... Clopin appears as well, though he's not nearly as cool as he was in the movie. Oh, and the story: Well, it's actually pretty much the same at its base, except Quasimodo is deaf, and doesn't have schizophrenic delusions.
Victor Hugo often speaks to 'the reader', saying things such as, "If it is agreeable to the reader, we will endeavor to retrace in imagination..." (7). And often asking permission, or, if it would please the reader, and so on and so forth. I find that kind of cute. Look at Vic, breaking the fourth wall! You cutie you! Vonnegut thinks he's so novel. (OH SEE WHAT I DID THAR!?) He also occasionally reiterates the scene in a simpler way, which is pretty cool too. Victor Hugo actually invented SparkNotes. And the Internet.
"'What a goodly beard he has!'" (19). I know, you probably think it's idiotic and vexing that I like pointing out parts that have no depth other than that they made me chuckle. But 'goodly beard'!? Come on. I hope I have the chance to tell someone that some day. Preferably a stranger, but not one that's a hobo.
"The bailiff of the palace was a sort of amphibious magistrate, a kind of bat... a something between the rat and the bird, the judge and the soldier" (37). He also describes lawyers as crocodiles, but only crocodiles, unfortunately. Crocodile-birds? Oh wait, pterodactyls. Though, now that I think of it, a "something between the rat and the bird" seems a little redundant if he's talking about bats. Victor Hugo, you crocodile-bird you.
A description of Quasimodo: "...We shall not attempt to give the reader any idea of that tetrahedron nose, of that horse-shoe mouth, of that little left eye stubbed up with an eyebrow of carroty bristles, while the right [eye] was completely overwhelmed and buried by an enormous wen; of those irregular teeth, jagged here and there like the battlements of a fortress; of that horny lip, over which one of those teeth protruded, like the the tusk of an elephant" (43). Victor, thank you for going and giving me an idea of all of those things completely.
"'A one-eyed man is more incomplete than one who is quite blind'" (45). I thought this was an interesting way to look (no puns intended) at it, since when I first read it I was kind of confused. If someone stabbed one of my eyes out in a duel, I would be all, "Well, at least I have the other eye to see with!" But I started thinking--how maddening would that be? Exactly one half of the world would be open to you, and the other half would be, well, black. You could see that other half if you moved, of course, but never would it be open to you all at once. You'd be like a dog chasing its tail all the time. And you'd have no depth perception... So yeah, either go all the way either way. I think I'd hate to have just one day. It would be pretty awful to be completely blind, but if there's anything I've learned from TV and movies, it's that blind people have powers on par with psychics.
"'How gladly I would drown myself, only the water is so cold!'" (49). This line had to have been added to show how cowardly or weak Gringoire is. Ophelia so bad for yourself! Move away from the water! Oh, sorry, wrong story. In any case, this proves that Gringoire is stronger--or, more cowardly--than your average female Shanksspeare character, since Gringoire does not drown himself, and he didn't even need a sassy gay friend to convince him not to kill himself. Which is kind of a shame. It's a good book, but sassy gay friends do tend to improve everything.
There's another description of Quasimodo, which pertains more to his personality: he's strong, active (a "bandy-legged dwarf" [59], whatever that may mean), and spiteful. This kind of reminds me of a story of Edgar Allen Poe's I read a long time ago. I believe the story is called 'Hop-Frog', though that name may have actually only been the name of the main character, a dwarf and a cripple. He was the jester for a king who of course abused him and in revenge Hop-Frog sets him (and several other noblemen) ablaze. But I just... you know... they were both malformed, in almost the same manner (Hop-Frog is named so because his deformities make him unable to stand up straight so he moves with a strange hop, similarly to Quasimodo), and their deformities made them more powerful than the average man. Well, I guess the similarities kind of end there, but still, the description made me draw a connection. And that is a good thing.
Esmeralda amuses the townspeople with pretty tricks and dancing (as does Djali) and this of course inflames Gringoire with passion, though Quasimodo loves her for her kindness to him, even though he is malformed. Anyway, Gringoire decides to follow Esmeralda through the streets, and during his pursuits Quasimodo swoops down and attempts to take her away. Gringoire is petrified with fear, but Phoebus comes from nowhere and saves her. Thus, why she loves Phoebus, and why she rather dislikes Gringoire. Though I believe I mentioned (spoiler alert!) that Phoebus was only lustfully attracted to her... maybe. (Not checking.) There's even a scene where Phoebus is trying to get her into bed and she's like "Oh, I can't wait to be married!" and he says something like, "Why get married? We don't need marriage to validate our love!" Girls, when guys say that, they are probably trying to just get in on that. But my point is, this scene where Quasimodo takes her is important, because it sets up a lot of the future relationships of the book. Yep.
"Reality burst upon him, paining his eyes, treading upon his toes, and demolishing piecemeal the whole frightful poesy by which he had at first fancied himself to be surrounded. He could not help perceiving that he was not walking in the Styx, but in the mud; that he was not elbowed by demons, but by robbers; that his soul was not in danger, but merely his life, because he lacked that excellent mediator between the ruffian and the honest man--the purse" (71). (Gringoire being dragged through the Court of Miracles to his trial, because no one but the Egyptians and vagabonds are allowed down there. Also, I realized for the first time ever whilst reading this that 'gypsy' is short/slang for Egyptian. Oh huhhh.)
Ah! All right, so there's this whole twist (kind of) in the story that's sort of predictable and kind of not. Because I can't shut up about the movie (I'm not even talking about the Lon Chaney one either, gah) I kind of figured it out. Quasimodo's mother is a gypsy (hence why Claude Frollo kicks her down the stairs) then, so I figured it was about the same. Well, they reveal in a flashback that Quasimodo was left on a board for foundlings in Notre Dame (apparently you could just leave babies there back in the day) apparently because of his deformities. Claude Frollo, full of pity, adopts the child of his own free will. But, later on, we meet an old woman whose story is seemingly unrelated and random to the plot, other than that she hates gypsies, because sixteen or so years ago they stole her beautiful child and replaced it with one of their misshapen own. Oh hi, Quasi. And never does the lady stop speaking of how much she hates to see Esmeralda, because her daughter would have been that age, had she not been eaten by the gypsies. That's what gypsies do to kids, by the way. You see what's going on here? Well, I hope so, because this is a lot simpler than Victor Hugo's writing. Sorry if I spoiled it--it's just how I roll.
Yeah, but one of my points is that in the book, Frollo is a really good-hearted guy until he gets an eye on Esmeralda. After his parents died he raised his infant brother on his own (and his brother is a brat too, he's constantly stealing money from Frollo) and like I said adopted Quasimodo and treated him as though a son. Apparently, Quasimodo's first try at bell-ringing had an effect upon Frollo like "that produced upon a parent by the first articulate sounds uttered by his child" (128). Awww, Frollo! Too bad you went crazy.
"Such of them as not most religiously disposed had hoped that the thing would be more easily accomplished in Paradise than at Rome, and had therefore at once prayed to God instead of the pope in behalf of the deceased" (151). I can't tell if Victor Hugo is being sarcastic or not here. The book was written in 1831, and apparently Hugo was Catholic when he was younger (according to Wikipedia) but it does not say how young exactly. Later in his life he became a 'freethinker' and became extremely opposed to the church... but there aren't really any clear dates on this. In fact, I can't really find anything much regarding his Catholic life, though he has some interesting beliefs (the most in my opinion is that he believed evil was a necessary state to wade through in order to achieve higher being)... that apparently wrecked his family life. Oh, oops. (Source: http://www.answers.com/topic/victor-hugo ) Well, I might as well defend my position of why I'd believe it would be sarcastic--of course those less 'religiously disposed' would be more religiously disposed because they're actually praying directly to God--not through the pope.
"'The gallows leads to hell.' 'That is a rousing fire.' 'Jehan, Jehan, the end will be bad.' 'The beginning at least will have been good'" (212).
Ah, yes, here is Phoebus talking his way out of marrying Esmeralda: "'Of what use is marriage? Do people love one another the less for not having mangled Latin in the shop of a priest?'" (232). Yeah, he just wanted to get some--he's even so bold as to pull off her neckerchief and gets an eyeful of her bare shoulders! Woah, Phoebus! Talk about a sleazy dude. (No, but seriously, he probably would have raped Esmeralda if Frollo hadn't stopped him.)
"'We Egyptians want nothing else but air and love'" (233).
"'Alas! If victory has not remained with me, it is this fault of God, who has not made man equal in strength to the demon'" (256). Frollo, lamenting his lust. I thought this was pretty cool because of the Hellfire song--I LOVE the part where Frollo sings and says: "It's not my fault; it's in God's plan--he made the devil so much stronger than a man!"
"Love is like a tree: it shoots of itself, it strikes its roots deeply into our whole being, and frequently continues to be green over a heart in ruins" (296).
"Seizing with both hands the hair remaining on [Frollo's] bald head, [Esmerelda] strove to prevent his kisses... 'Loose me!' she cried, distractedly, 'or I will spit in thy face!' He loosed his hold. 'Strike me; heap indignities upon me; do what thou wilt; but for mercy's sake, love me!'" (308).
On page 319 it is briefly mentioned that it was "'only last month that they hanged a sow'" (319). This is--I believe--based on the actual trial where a sow was accused of beating a child. She was hanged. Her piglets were let free because they were only following the poor example set by their mother.
"'She must have swum over'... 'Who ever heard of a woman swimming?' cried the soldier" (397). I KNOW, RIGHT? Utter stupidity to even suggest that. Women. Swimming. Did we just wander into the twilight zone? Because I'm pretty sure we just did.
Just a note that's yet another spoiler: Esmeralda's mother actually dies in the fashion Quasimodo's does in the movie. Frollo's death isn't that dissimilar from the film; he's clinging to a pipe on Notre Dame which bent under his weight and he fell to his death on the streets of Paris. Esmeralda is hanged, though she is wearing a white rag dress, which may symbolize her purity (as she was not guilty of the crime for which she was accused). Gringoire contented himself with saving Djali, as he is really, really attached to that goat. Like, seriously, man. It's a goat.
I guess I won't spoil it completely, though I am very fond of the ending, even if its somewhat grisly but it's also very touching. Well, this is certainly one of the best books of my recent reading history. Yay.
Yeah, I don't really have much else.
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