Romeo and Juliet Must Die

Have you ever wondered why all the romantic stories end when one part gets the other? Romeo and Juliet meet each other, marry and then promptly die. Elizabeth Bennet pairs up with Mr. Darcy and the story is at an end. The fairy tale princess marries the fairy tale prince effectively terminating the fairy tale with a flimsy assurance that their marriage is to be a long and happy one.

A familiar fate

Any author or literature specialist will tell you that with the establishment of the protagonists as a romantic unit the initial conflict is resolved. This is the conflict that drives the plot and creates a lack both protagonists more or less actively seek to fill, and their union rounds off the plot by halting its driving force. More on this below, but in the meantime, there is another theory of why the fate of all couples is this way.

The O(o)ther

Jacques Lacan, the French psychoanalyst, launched his theory of "the other". This was an ontological aspect of the self, an idealised exterior part of what each individual considers to be his essence. While the Lithuanian-French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas focused perhaps more on the social and ethical nature of the other, Lacan’s focus on language makes his thinking especially relevant for the literary Other.

Jacques Lacan

He distinguishes between the little other (the “other”) and the big other (the “Other”). The first is not really someone else, but a projection of the self onto someone or something else, so when Catherine in Wuthering Heights says about Heathcliffe that “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”, she is talking of the little other. On the other side, there is the big other, which is radically different, a clear and distinct alternative to the self. In literature, there is arguably a graded scale of otherness, but where for instance Heathcliffe and Catherine are similar in nature, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy are quite dissimilar. For Elizabeth, then, Darcy is the Other whom she needs to relate to.

This is where Lacan argues that language, the system by which we understand everything and conceptualise the world, originates in the Other, rather than the self. It is by relating to the clearly different Other that language originates, and so language development is beyond the individual’s control, or as Lacan puts it: “the unconscious is the discourse of the Other”.

Bringing it back to the concept of love in literature, since the system of language is created by the Other, the concepts understood through this system follow a similar progress, including love. It is by relating to the Other, Romeo to Juliet, Elizabeth to Darcy, Catherine to Heathcliffe or vice versa that the characters can understand love and each other.

Three couples from literature: Romeo and Juliet,
  Elizabeth and Darcy and Catherine and Heathcliffe

If by now you are a bit confused by the haphazard use of the Other and the other, that is understandable, but let me tidy the conceptual area up for you. Previously, I boldly stated that in literature, there is a graded scale between the Other and the other. Romeo is the other to Juliet in the sense that they are both young aristocrats grappling with many of the same problems and desires. Juliet understands her own feelings and fears by recognising them in Romeo. At the same time, Romeo is Other. He belongs to a different familial tradition with different, conflicting interests to that of Juliet’s family. In order for their relationship to work, Romeo needs to advance from Juliet’s Other to Juliet’s other, and to do so, Juliet needs to conceptualise and understand her love for Romeo.

The same progress will, of course, have to be performed by Romeo with Juliet and the area in which this happens is in that literary graded zone between the Other and the other. Once the process is completed successfully, and both parts are the other to each other, they have formed a new unit in the other, as complete projections of their selves. It is when this stage is reached in literature that the narrative will have to end, because no more of the progress of the main characters is possible. Further narrative requires another Other, with implications for the story which are interesting, but far too wide to address here.

Furthermore, as the psychological progress from the Other to the other mirrors the narrative’s progress from exposition to conclusion, the elements of the Other that needs to be overcome in the process reflects the conflict in the narrative.

You see, here we have returned to the conflict as promised.

Conflict

Already the ancient Greeks were familiar with what they called agon, an identifiable element that initiates and propels the plot forward. Later literary studies have identified explored and expanded on this concept of conflict by diversifying into a range of categories like “man vs. man”, “man vs. society”, “man vs. nature” and “man vs. self”. In this way, Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes grapples with Moriarty, Orwell’s Winston Smith opposes Big Brother, London’s Buck and White Fang have to come to terms with nature, external and internal and Beckett’s Krapp, Wilde’s Dorian Gray and Palahnuik’s Fight Club protagonist all spend the span of the plot consciously or unconsciously dealing with some aspect of their own character.

Two antagonistic sources of conflict; Professor Moriarty
and Big Brother/The society in Nineteen Eighty-four

Depending on how you define the different sides of the conflict, several of these categories can play a role. The hindrance for Romeo or Juliet and the progress from Other to other is both actual antagonists (relatives), society (one organised around the family unit and its values), nature (in the sense of their own sexuality) and self (their perception of their own individuality and identity).

While this bears witness to the fluid nature of conflict in literature, it nevertheless underlines how essential it is. Even when conflict remains unresolved at the end, when the complexity of the conflict is a central theme or when the narrative challenges the reader to make his own conclusions, the conflict is present from the exposition on. Just look at any part of Joyce’s Dubliners, which is riddled with different conflicts but painfully void of resolution.

Happily Ever After

This, however is not the case in most of the romantic stories of literature. Once the lovers are together (or irretrievably lost to each other, which is the same), the conflict is resolved, the Other has become the other and the plot is at an end. There are only two alternatives to this. The first one involves an open ending. Romeo enters the church and sees Juliet and the plot ends there.

The second is that most dreaded of cultural items; the sequel. In this, “Romeo and Juliet 2 – Vampires of Verona” or “Pride and Prejudice – Meet the Darcys”, a new conflict and possibly a new or different set of characters (“Romeo and Juliet 2 – Mercutio the Merciless”) need to be introduced.

In any case, the main characters of the original have overcome the conflict and effectively ended the plot. Romeo and Juliet are one in death and so are Heathcliffe and Catherine. The Darcys, and hopefully many others of your favourite literary characters, do like in the fairy tales and live happily ever after.

of the conflict and the fun

What do you think?

Is this theory correct? Are all love stories doomed to end as soon as love blossoms, and how does this make you feel about your own relationships? I have used the theories of psychoanalysis on literature, can these theories on literature be used on real life social relationships?

Comments on The Tale of Sir Bob are always welcome! 

Sources: as given

A Literary Love Song

Here is Justin Edvards from The Consultants' literary love song with my best transcription of the lyrics underneath. If you should happen to know the author in the third verse, please tell me e.g. in a comment.

Too Jane Austentatious

One wet Wednesday afternoon

I saw my lending library lovely.
Raven haired she stamped my Raymond Chandler,
my heart dissolved

So I stayed ‘till closing time,
I reckoned that to make her mine
I’d have to woo her bookishly;
I Danielle Steeled my resolve.

Oh, library lady, would you care to join me for a cup of T.
S. Eliot or perhaps a glass of Barbara Pyms and lemonade?
Harper Lee she gazed at me then locked the door
I took her Wilkie Collins in my hand and we began to promenade.

This was certainly a Mills & Boon,
had I been too Thomas Fool-Hardy?
But she shared my feeling
I was pretty damn Bernard Shaw.

So I told her how I felt,
she dimmed the lights I dropped my Orwells,
she grasped my dictionaries,
we fell J.K. Rowling to the floor

But the library hall is no place to seduce
it’s too Jane Austentatious.
It would be Rudyard Kipling there
we might get seen, Tom Clancy that

So we crept into the reference
section out of view
and there I lay down with my library lady
on the coconut mat

Oh, she said, this itchy floor
is bound to give me a thesaurus.
I built a bed of Mary Wesleys
upon which we could uncoil

With the photo copier light on,
for a pillow, Michael Crichton,
tenderly she placed her hands
upon my Conan Doyle.

She was Oscar Wilde in bed,
like a leaping Salman Rushdie head-
long into passion, personally I was
a bit too Jonathan Swift.

I could have done with a hardback edition
rather than my floppy old paperback Grisham,
but I gave her the full Brontë
And she didn’t seem too miffed.

But our affair had never lasted.
Something went Kingsley Amis.
She found another lover
with a larger print than mine

I was Graham Greene with envy
I was Somerset Maugham and I felt empty,
but my Philip Roth soon passed,
one day I ceased this futile cry.

Now I stand here feeling sorry,
grasping my Daphne du Mauri-
er a Dewey Decimal teardrop
on my cheek once more.

Occasionally I reminisce
and an Evelyn Waugh escapes my lips
remembering by Dickens
our lending library floor.

Blast from the Past: “Wuthering Heights” and Combined Perspectives

In this essay I will aim to describe how my experience of Emily Brönte’s novel “Wuthering Heights” has been altered as a result of my reading the critical essay by Susan Meyer included in the edition of the novel. The latter is the last in a number of critical essays concerning the novel, all of which argues for their different critical approaches and point to symbolism, hidden themes and aspects of the novel to which it would be advantageous for the reader to direct his attention. What sets Meyer’s essay apart from the others, is that she does not focus on only one perspective, but combines several to provide a fuller interpretation of the novel. I will argue that she, in addition to this, presents her own perspective. In order to find how my experience of the novel altered by reading Meyer, I had to make sure that my first reading of the novel was a process in which I passed judgment upon and decided how to relate to the actions of the characters and their conduct. In addition to this, an awareness of the fact that there were underlying themes and symbolism in the novel had to be present, in order to have something to compare the themes and symbolism of the critical essays to. How was my experience of the novel altered by reading Meyer, and in what ways did this essay prove to be more beneficial to the reader than the single perspective essays represented by the also included Wion essay?

Having read Susan Meyer’s essay and then reread the novel my awareness of several points of which I had been previously unaware arose. This was mainly in relation to theme and the role of the characters. My first reading had produced a notion of the novel conveying some sort of social criticism, but, having read Meyer’s essay, I came to acknowledge just how prominent this theme was. The novel is primarily thematically critical of various forms of social oppression enacted by contemporary society of the time, more specifically inflicted upon the colonised peoples and women, and to some extent the working class (i). However, having stated this, I found that the driving force in the novel, at least according to Meyer, is these oppressed groups fighting back and ultimately winning, primarily through the character of Heathcliff.

The essay’s interpretation of the role of Heathcliff, combined with the theme above, also enriched my experience of the novel. I had not really seen Heathcliff as a representative of anyone or anything but himself until rereading the novel. What seemed most intriguing were the ways in which Heathcliff was shown to represent the colonised peoples and the determined manner in which he reversed his relationship to those to which he had been subjugated (symbolic of the reverse imperialism). The essay also helped me become aware of the fact that the novel had close connections to the real world, not just in themes but also in small details such as Heathcliff’s three year long absence, which, “as a calculation of dates in the novel reveals, takes place between 1780 and 1783, the last three years of the American Revolutionary War” (ii). These enlightening facts are the result of a closer study that gives meaning to the novel, results that I may not have been able to achieve myself without the benefit of Meyer’s essay.

Is, then, Meyer’s approach in some ways more beneficial to the reader than the other approaches, being one that claims to be combining several perspectives rather than arguing just one? I would say that this is the case, but not in the manner which one may at first expect. In theory, any such essay that considers more than one perspective would have more to offer the reader than one that focuses primary on one. The perspectives are being weighed against each other in significance, and also, such a combination of perspectives provides a fuller picture of literary phenomena such as the roles of the characters. The single perspective essay, although useful in the thorough way it presents its perspective, is inevitably bound to consider only those aspects of the novel that support that particular perspective, thus giving an incomplete picture of the novel.

Philip K. Wion’s essay of psychoanalytic perspective “The Absent Mother in Wuthering Heights” shows ways in which a single perspective essay is less successful as a means of understanding the novel than an essay such as Meyer’s. Although Wion is touching central issues in the novel such as the identity of the characters, this is only a minor point. His main point, though not his only point, is that of the mother figure, and the basis for his focus on this is, I believe, his knowledge of the author’s problems with coping with the death of her own mother. I consider this to be slightly misguided, as Wion to a larger extent than the others fails to focus on the novel as an entity in its own right, and becomes too preoccupied with the author. A theme of little prominence and consequence is given too much attention due to similarities to the life of the author. Although the link between the author and the novel is present, the primary focus of such an essay should be the novel in itself. The essay suffers the fate of many other similar single perspective essays, it fails to focus on prominent and influential themes in the novel and through lack of hard textual evidence impose its views upon lesser evidence (iii). Instead of joining together several minor perspectives, which would have presented the reader with a sense of the variety of themes and possibly some interconnectedness, Wion has to lean on information that need not necessarily be of any consequence to the novel to grant his perspective validity. This makes the essay less successful as a means of understanding the novel than, in fact, all the other essays, but Meyer’s essay of combining perspectives in particular.

The status of Meyer’s essay as being a more effective tool in understanding the novel than the others is based in its dual goal of presenting a new perspective in addition to providing a combination of perspectives. The essay does not actually combine perspectives merely for the benefit of the reader as much as for the purpose of providing a basis for a new perspective, which leaves the reader with a myriad of impressions. The main one, though, is that of the novel as a testimony to reverse imperialism, as is indeed indicated in the very title of the essay (iv). Thus, the essay actually goes beyond the others, as it both presents a new perspective, as well as leaving the reader with an interpretation of decisive sections of the novel in accordance with the most befitting critical approach. Meyer recognises and takes into account that the novel does, in fact, have several themes and can be critically approached in an equal multitude of ways. In conveying this she provides an approach much more beneficial to the reader than the other critics. By using the other approaches as a basis for her own perspective, she gives the latter a status, or at least an air, of superiority as it is well founded, not only in the text, but also in a variety of other approaches.

“Wuthering Heights” by Emily Brönte is a novel packed with various themes. It can be read and reread with focus on a new theme each time, and one would thus get several different impressions of the novel. However, an essay such as the one by Meyer can go a long way in touching on all the themes and thereby providing a much more effective and, to the reader, beneficial tool than the other essays. Also, it ensures that the themes it presents are of influence in the text, and often connected in some manner. My experience of the novel was certainly enriched by having read the essay, and this to a much greater extent than would have been the case after reading a single perspective essay.

Endnotes

(i) The same conclusion is reached by Linda H. Peterson in the introduction to Meyer’s essay (Peterson 479). The similarities between the situations of these groups as well became clear to me through the essay, as I had at first perceived Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship to be a purely amorous one.)
(ii) Meyer 495
(iii) The Wion essay is also a complete essay, it is not taken from a larger argument, so one would expect it to be more focused than it is.
(iv) Meyer 480

Bibliography

Emily Brontë, ‘Wuthering Heights’, edited by, and including introductions by, Linda H. Peterson (Boston and New York: St. Martin’s Press; 2nd ed, 2003).

Critical Essays included in this ed.:

Susan Meyer, ‘Your Father Was Emperor of China, and Your Mother an Indian Queen’: Reverse Imperialism in Wuthering Heights (Reprinted from ‘Imperialism at Home: Race and Victorian Women’s Fiction’, Cornell University Press, 1996)

Philip K. Wion, ‘The Absent Mother in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights’ (Reprinted from ‘American Imago 42:2’, John Hopkins Press, 1985)

(original essay written for the course ENG1301, 07.04.2006)

It's Good to be Bad - The Appeal of the Villain

Recently I went to the cinema to watch Tim Burton’s ”Alice in Wonderland”. The film was visually astonishing and very Burtonesque but all the while I felt there was something amiss. It might have been the notion that all the 3D graphic splendor was obscuring something lacking, perhaps an erratic and unclear plotline or possibly an ad hoc, disconnected and irrelevant ending. Be that as it may, and granting Burton some leeway due to some rather erratic source texts, I came away with a newfound fondness for another literary character.

Two weeks later, the only character from the film that really sticks in my mind and retains its puzzling appeal is the Red Queen. In the film, she is a waterhead combination of Helena Bonham Carter, who portrays her, and Elizabeth I. In fact, for those with some knowledge of the British monarchy a study of the Red Queen’s family, castle and its décor in the film should add to the experience of the film. I spent the two weeks reading Lewis Carroll’s books and became further enchanted with the character after which it was promply initiated into my pantheon of literary exclusifs.

What characterises this exclusive society is that its members are all on the morally wrong side of their respective texts. The Red Queen joins Emily Brontë’s Heatcliff, Shakespeare’s Iago and Victor Hugo’s Javert, neither of whom would be asked to be the best man or expected to bring an apple for the teacher in class. None of the members can be said to have made their worlds better places by their sunny disposition or by their souls’ overflow of the milk of human kindness, which begs the question; why are bad guys so much more interesting, not to mention appealing, than the good guys?

Samuel Johnson meant that authors had a moral obligation to make the good seem rewarding and pleasant and the evil abhorrent. However, he seems to have been disregarded. To seek an answer to the question above I will take a closer look at the three members, starting with the first member accepted, Heathcliff. Heathcliff holds the peculiar position of being the protagonist of his text but embodying many of the characteristics generally attributed to the antagonist. Not only does he bring death and damnation to his rural Yorkshire community, but he probably does not do any good for anyone at all apart from himself. Probably as a result of a bad childhood, being abandoned by his parents and bullied by his foster family, Heathcliff spends 30 years getting his own back and succeds in doing so. (For those interested in Brontë’s motivation for this elaborate and time consuming revenge, I will soon be posting one of my papers discussing that very topic.) Heathcliff’s appeal is for me twofold; firstly, he is tenacious and consistent and secondly, he is justified. The commitment with which he exacts his revenge without losing sight of his goal and the effort he puts into achieving what he think is right is exemplary. This and empathy we have for him as he sets the record straight gives him an appeal which his actions, or rather the surface actions of the supraplot, don’t directly communicate. Perhaps it is the combination of doing something consistently bad, being able to justify it and getting away with it that is appealing for those of us who do neither.

It is suprisingly easy to find modern echoes of Heathcliff, especially in Hollywood movies. Beatrice Kiddo in Quentin Tarrantino’s “Kill Bill” shares many of Heathcliff’s characteristics, although her revenge is swift by comparison. John Travolta’s character in “Swordfish” similarly lives by the creed that to deter acts of terrorism one should respond to them by doing something so terrible that other acts of terrorism would be unthinkable. This also bears an eerie resemblance to the attitude of certain neo-con White House advisors and a certain ex-Vice President.

The Original and Three Copycats

Iago’s forte is his ability to lay great plans and to understand the personality, response and behavioural pattern of the pawns in his play. Even though his ends are foul the tenacity and the skill with which he creates appearances and steers the other characters of “Othello” towards their doom are astonishing. Thus, you might call him a Heathcliff with social skills.

Javert also shares the tenacious character of Heathcliff. His animosity with Jean Valjean, like Heathcliff’s to his foster family and neighbours, spans several decades during which his drive for what he sees as justice never diminishes. He is the only credible character, the others being flat; either too idealistic or too villainous. Javert, cold as he may be, is a man determined to do his duty even though he is a diametric foil to the angelic protagonist Valjean. There is a liberation in having a task to stick to irregardless of moral considerations which, I think, the reader envies Javert. This is not to say that one would like to be one of the many anonymous henchmen in literature, who do their duty without too much hesitation. Javert has an established and in the novel clearly presented view of his world and has a conscious relationship to his task. The crisis for Javert occurs when this understanding is rocked with Valjean’s mercy disproving the infallibillity of the law Javert follows. However, up to this point, Javert seems a force larger than life, as reliable a friend as an enemy or employee and in a world of constant distractions his doggedness and efficiency when on the case appears admirable.

"You'll Wear a Different Chain"

The Red Queen is a bad guy of a different sort. She is a mad bad guy. Her appeal lies in her mad and for her consequence free impulsivity. Her catch-phrase “off with her head” is uttered in an offhand manner as if resolving the most trivial requests rather than matters of life and death. In Carroll’s books, these sporadic death sentences are never carried through due to the Red King pardoning the unfortunate convicts. In the film, however, Alice has to jump across a moat using heads as stepping stones.

Helena Bonham Carter as The Red Queen

Perhaps the allure of the Red Queen is her whimsical use of her absolute power. Both man and beast bows for her often childish whim and she is allowed to act unquestioned by anyone but Alice. The Red Queen can do as many bad things as she like without having to face the consequences while we seldom can. Even if we avoid the judgement of our peers, there will always be some part of us which reacts to our transgression. However, all the characters above seem devoid of such qualms and, as they evade punishment from without, they appeal to an aspect of us which craves this freedom of action, possibly originating in our childhood.

We may trace the appeal of the villain way back, to Milton and further. Milton’s Satan in “Paradise Lost” serves to exemplify the allure of the villain. While God is aloof and rather flat, an unforgiving, immovable character, Satan is a dynamic force which overcomes obstacles and struggles to achieve. I think we are able to identify with bad guys because we recognise this struggle as our own justifiable existence. What we find sufficient reason for our actions can often be reflected in that of the villain. While the good guy’s actions get their virtue from being performed by the good guy, the bad guy’s actions are driven by more familiar motivations. Very few would consider “I’m a good guy” a valid reason for any action, but they might find zest and zeal for one’s job, pursuit of personal happiness or setting the record with your childhood bullies straight mitigating. As for the Red Queen, that might be a question of personal freedom and independence from social standards which is to some extent what the Alice books are all about.

In addition, it is easier to be really bad than to be really good…



Sources: http://blog.pennlive.com/pennsyltucky/2008/01/AP080123017792.jpg,
http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs49/f/2009/237/2/c/Heathcliff_by_Vestergaard.jpg,
http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/wingman735/Favorite%20Movie%20Characters/swordfish1.jpg,
http://buldra.altervista.org/immagini/beatrix_2.jpg,
http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist255-s01/students/Kelly-E-Buttermore/images/javert.jpg,
http://www.shockya.com/news/wp-content/uploads/alice_in_wonderland_helena_bonham_carter_red_queen.jpg